#every website keeps trying to get me to do the thing where you just rent out a room in a bigger apartment but all of them also tack on that

[cemeterym]

apartment hunting is hell in case anyone was wondering 👍

[ghouldump]

Your lestat x louis x claudia fic EATSSSSSSSS

If your are up to it could you do something with my pretty husband armand and his manipulative ways?

Beautiful Deception | Armand x Reader

ෆ moving to paris, the last thing you expected was to come across the ancient vampire.

lol thank youuu so much, i hope you like this 💕 sometimes i take a while to post because i rewrite my work over and over until i think it’s good. this was a great idea and i don’t mind taking more.

“How long will you continue to claim that you are a vampire?” The interviewer, Daniel Malloy asked. Crossing your leg over the other, you smiled.

“It is merely one of many truths, but I will let you and the readers decide if it should be accepted,” you said.

It had been nearly a year since you turned 100. Since you made the blog, originally to share stories from your past. Despite all events being true, and the website becoming a success, it was all seen as fiction. You were seen as a character, an upcoming writer dedicated to your role, but it would be coming to an end. Daniel, someone you’d been studying for some time now, needed a story, something fresh. He was getting the raw unspoken truth, things you hadn’t shared before, publishing it along with an interview.

“Why now?”

“Why not now, Daniel? We live in a new age, where we people of the night should be known,” you smirked.

Just then, the door opened, and Armand, your partner of over 80 years entered. The sleek black turtle neck was perfect against his glowing brown skin. Turning to him, you looked up in admiration, as he placed a soft kiss on your lips, before sitting next to you.

“I hope you don't mind, my husband, Armand, joining us”

“Armand the vampire? You said some concerning things about him,” Daniel said, trying to get under both of your skin.

“We’ve moved past those times,” you said, as Armand intertwined your fingers.

“Alright, whatever that’s supposed to mean, shall we start?”

“Yes, let’s,” you smiled, nodding.

“Let’s start here…”

Run, run, don’t stop, keep running.

Your heart pounded, as you ran through the streets, gasping for air as you grew more tired. Afraid to look back, you kept going, you were sure you’d drop dead in fear seeing him behind you. Turning on nearly every corner, relief washed over, seeing a store owner closing his shop.

“Sir,” you called out, as you jogged to him.

“No, no, I’m closing,” he pointed at the sign.

“Please help me, he’s going to get me,” you cried, as the man finally turned to face you, genuinely concerned.

“Come in,” he said, letting you into the store. As you came in, he locked the door behind you. With the adrenaline coming down, you could feel pain in your foot from stepping in glass.

“We have to hide,” you told the man, tugging at his sleeve.

“You go,” he pointed to the back, before he went behind the counter, pulling a shotgun out.

Limping to the back of the store, looking back one more time, you screamed as the door burst open, the shop owner being killed instantly. As the elderly man fell to the floor, you cried out, before he appeared in front of you.

“Y/n,” his eyes softened seeing your tear stained face, all of your makeup running down, mixed with the tears.

“Please….”

“You’re moving ahead of yourself, Daniel, we have to start from the beginning, I had just moved to France-

“So Armand didn’t kill the shop owner and was about to kill you next?” He asked, as Armand clenched his jaw, glaring at the man.

“Daniel, you only get one session, you have to get this right, just let the story seduce you as it had done to me,” you said as he begrudgingly nodded, finally ready to listen.

"Here are your keys, rent is due on the third of each month," your new landlord, Henri said, handing the keys to your husband, Phillip.

“Thank you, sir,” he muttered, while you giggled, your eyes exploring the place. Neither of you was the best at French, at least speaking it. Despite the previous months of studying and reciting, your articulation was still overwhelmingly, American.

He didn't say anything, giving you both a questionable stare, before leaving the small apartment. Compacted in size, and already cluttered with furniture, but it was your new home, and that's all that mattered. Shutting the front door, you walked over to the full-sized bed. This was the fresh start you needed.

“What do you think?” Philip asked.

“I love it,” you told him, jumping into his arms.

Living all of your life in the States, you were the youngest of two children. Your father, you never knew, not that it mattered too much to you. It was your mother who came from a wealthy family in France. Before she decided to move to its child, New Orleans.

She didn't talk about her time there much, only telling short stories about your grandparents or her early life in Paris. She was lonely as a child, and her parents were oftentimes neglectful, as a result of having her at an old age.

Having her own children, you and your twin brother, Elijah, from a hookup with an attractive soldier, she vowed to dedicate herself to both of you. She made sure neither of you ever went without, providing the best of your desires.

Around 9, you were certain you wanted to be a performer. It didn't matter how or what you did, the idea of being adored, captivating the crowd, your juvenile mind was set. Your mother soon paid for all sorts of lessons, dancing, singing, and instruments, she was just as determined that you would achieve your dreams.

While you were striving for your goals, your brother, Elijah, struggled with living in your shadow. You took up most of your mother's time, which is how she didn't notice the bullying. He had always been introverted, harmless as a butterfly, nose deep in a book. While you were holding onto hopes and dreams, your brother was guaranteed a successful life with how smart he’d always been.

However, there was a problem, jealousy. She was a demon, stronger than most, willing to compel whoever that would allow, to do whatever their deepest desires were. This is why, on that Saturday evening, on your 14th birthday, you and your mother left for the market, intending on baking a cake for the two of you, she attacked.

Bullies from his class saw him as he was taking out the trash. They never liked the boy, coveting the lifestyle he had been fortunately given. Attacking him, they only meant to roughen him up a bit, until he fought back. Then, filled with that ancient spirit of jealousy, one of them picked up a rock.

Thankfully, one of the neighbors heard the commotion and came running to save him, but the damage had been done. From that point on, your brother was different, as was your mother.

The life that he was once guaranteed to have was gone and your mother spent all of her time focused on caring for him. She still paid for your classes, but you were no longer a priority.

At 18, you met and eventually married Philip, a 22-year-old, journalist. He was very handsome with the most alluring brown eyes and soft wavy hair. He didn't have much money, but once he settled somewhere and established his career, he promised to give you the world.

Your mother disapproved of the marriage, how could you carelessly marry a poor man trusting his empty promises, she screamed at you. Which is why, out of spite, you told her you’d be moving to Paris. You watched as the hardened expression dropped, and sad memories flashed through her eyes. Throwing her hands up, she gave up with her argument, letting you leave, sending a parting gift of a few thousand dollars, before you were out of the country.

Now in the beautiful city, Phillip’s future seemed to be already looking up to be just as bright, as he had already been hired by a popular news corporation. Securing the apartment was simply the final step in your new life, at least that's what you thought.

Immediately, Philip worked day and night, hoping to begin to provide you with the life you deserved. Dates weren't as frequent as they once were in the States, but intimacy was just as regular as before, if not more.

Meanwhile, you oftentimes left home, looking for work. Not many places would hire women and the people who did expected their workers to work twice as much as they were paid. Until The Grand Cabaret, Edward, the head director of the restaurant/theatre was in dire need of new performances.

He'd stopped you on your way home from the store, captivated by your looks, giving you his card. Telling Phillip about the man, he agreed that it could be a good idea. Perhaps even a step towards becoming the big star you always wanted to be.

The next night you went, Philip was going to be out a little later than usual, finishing work. Anxiously, you made your way to the address on the card. Stopping in front of the building, you were surprised by the lack of guests. The establishment was nice, a few people were seated eating, and slow music was playing, but people continued to walk past.

“Ah, mademoiselle,” Edward smiled, as he stepped out.

“Not a busy night?” you asked him.

“People are more willing to eat with an equally lovely performance,” he said sheepishly, his eyes shifting to his left.

Following his eyes, you stared at the theater, Théâtre des Vampires. You could see the line of customers, excited to get into the theater. Although, the workers looked extremely rude and intimidating, dressed in the vampire costumes.

“I’m sure you just need the right act,” you told him, making eye contact with security, catching his brash expression.

“Do you sing or dance…?” He asked, waiting to hear your name.

“Y/n, and yes, I’ve been trained in both, I will admit, I am still not the greatest singer,” you laughed, as you accepted his hand.

“Please allow me to offer you a job here, as one of our employees. I trust your word, I am desperate, you’ll be paid weekly-

“I-when would I start?”

“Tonight…I mean, if it is possible,” he said.

“I can only stay for a while, my husband isn’t aware that I am away”

“Yes, of course, come right this way,” he said, leading you to the dressing room, allowing you to set your things down.

The cast members were all kind, introducing themselves as you glanced at yourself, checking your makeup.

“We have our newest act of the evening, the lovely and beautiful, Y/n,” Edward said, introducing you, before leaving the stage. He could already see the attention shifting to you, excitedly he opened the door, along with the windows, allowing potential guests to see.

“Just follow my lead,” you spoke to the small orchestra before you began singing a song you’d heard back when you lived with your mother. As the audience grew more interested, you felt your confidence rising by the second, as you danced freely, shutting your eyes, thrilled to finally be performing.

That night, for the first time, The Grand Cabaret was a full house. Everyone who passed wanted to see and hear more of your talent. As everyone clapped for you, and you could see now, you would be a star.

“What is the meaning of this?” Santiago frowned at Sam, wondering why he hadn’t been notified about any signaling of the play starting.

“Well…” Sam faced their leader, who stood, waiting for an answer.

“They’ve all gone to that stupid cabaret,” Estelle crossed her arms.

“Cabaret?”

“Apparently there is a new girl, American, she’s bringing them a bit of attention with her…performances,” Celeste told him.

Not saying a word, Armand furrowed his eyebrows, leaving the theater. His steps held a steady stride as he approached the building. Never since the theater had been opened had the place been empty. He had to see with his own eyes, this person, what had you done to take all of the loyal guests.

As he approached the entrance, the first thing he noticed was everyone wearing all black. The Dance of the Dead, starring the beautiful lead, Y/n,” his eyes skimmed the sign.

“Excuse me,” you said, brushing past Armand, and nearly running to the dressing room.

It had been a little over a month since you began working and although at first anxious, you were more than grateful for the opportunity. Edward was incredibly generous, wanting to keep his main act satisfied. You began to recommend themes, scenery, and new music, the guest needed to be able to visualize the show further than what you were giving.

The Dance of the Dead was a mockery of the vampire theater but with your own twist. A few people you'd grown familiar with had gone, telling you about how real everything seemed. How they’d managed to pull off some sort of screenplay, like movies. You never took the time to visit yourself, but saw the action as simply a little fun competition.

As the lights dimmed, Armand sat down, unintentionally gulping as you sauntered onto the stage. Immediately, the music started, along with your dancing. Armand watched as everyone focused, hypnotized as you were oozing in sex appeal. He nearly second-guessed himself about you, it shouldn't be possible for a mortal to captivate so many people in such a way, Armand thought to himself.

Going to your knees, as your head went back, he couldn’t help but think of how supernatural your beauty was, how luring your essence was. Going further to the floor, you faced the audience, your eyes meeting his. He smirked slightly, nodding at you, while you bit your lips.

As the song came to an end, you stood up, bowing your head. The audience cheered loudly, clapping and whistling.

‘Beautiful’ you heard, your eyes going to Armand, as he stood up.

“Thank you,” you blew kisses at the crowd, before going backstage.

He watched in amazement as they still cheered for you, the way that you moved ingrained into his thoughts. Coming from the dressing room, you looked almost different, blending in with the audience. He walked to the door, as you talked with your boss, accepting the envelope, along with a quick hug.

Moving outside, he stayed not too far behind you. Seeing that no one was around, he sped up, intentionally bumping into you.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologized, as his hand brushed against your waist.

“No, it is my apologies, I may be mistaken, but do you work at the Cabaret?”

“Yes, I do,” he watched as your eyes twinkled with joy.

“I’m Armand, I am the director of Théâtre des Vampires,” he held out his hand.

“Y/n,” you went to shake his hand but froze as he lifted your hand, placing a soft kiss near your knuckles.

“I…I have to get home, my husband is waiting,” you told him, emphasizing the title, as he stared into your eyes. You couldn't deny the mysterious man was quite the sight.

“Allow me to walk you home,” he offered.

“Oh no, I wouldn't want to take up your time-

“Nonsense, a woman of your caliber should be escorted, perhaps we could talk business,” he said, making you smile.

“Okay,” you nodded.

“Ladies first,” he motioned for you to lead the way.

Armand was unnaturally enchanting in every aspect, a forbidden fruit your heart told you to stay away from, but your flesh tingled in his presence. It was an unspoken understanding that you could only see him at night at these shows. You anticipated seeing his youthful face, every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. He'd sit within the audience, watching your every move. Then backstage, approaching you, he'd always have a fresh bouquet. You would give him a look and he’d say something along the lines of how a star deserves flowers.

“Knock knock,” Armand said, catching your attention, turning from the vanity.

“Hi,” you smiled, standing up, and closing your robe.

“For you, the beautiful star of the show,” he said, handing you the bouquet.

“Thank you, Armand,” you told him.

“You never have to thank me,” he shook his head, reaching for your hand, and placing a soft kiss on top. Pulling away, as your heart leaped, you shifted your eyes.

“I have to get home soon,” you said.

“Right, your husband…it is a shame he doesn't come out to support you,” Armand said, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“He works a lot”

“Unfortunate, I mean for him, because I get to have you to myself,” he said, smirking.

“Are you walking me home?” you asked, your face burning at his shameless joke.

“I'm ready when you are, angel”

You admired Armand, greatly, how confident, bold, intelligent, handsome-wait. Being around Armand, you oftentimes had to remind yourself you were married, as well as him. He had no problem blatantly flirting and laughing as you froze up in embarrassment. The two of you were growing closer than you should have been, while, it seemed like your marriage was crumbling.

“I don't want you working there anymore,” Philip told you, as you replaced the water in the vase, setting it near the window.

“Why? The extra money is helping…” you said, still staring at the flowers, Armand crossing your mind.

“My colleagues have been talking about the place nonstop, they think you’re some exotic whore,” he grumbled.

“Okay? There opinions aren’t paying us,” you told him.

“I don’t need them having you as a subject in the paper, you’re quitting,” he began to raise his voice.

“Philip, the money is great”

“I told you, I would provide the life you deserve-

“When? We’ve been out here for nearly a year and you have no signs of a pay increase. Am I supposed to sit around and hope? My mother was right about you,” you spat.

“What did you say?” He stalked towards you, your hands went up defensively as he walked towards you, as if you were prey. Raising his hand, he held it high, ready to strike you. You’d shut your eyes, waiting for the blow, but it never came.

Opening your eyes, you watched as he stood still, realizing what he was about to do, he shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he began to repeat, reaching for you before you ran out of the building. As you made it down the flight of stairs, you mentally cursed yourself, realizing you forgot to grab your coat, but were too afraid to go back.

Instead you walked the streets, stopping in your tracks, seeing the familiar faces. The cast members dressed as creatures of the night. You were about to walk towards them when a hand lightly pulled you backward. Gasping, your face relaxed as you bumped into Armand.

“Hi,” you said, breathlessly.

“What are you doing out here, in the middle of the night?” He tilted his head at you. You could ask the same thing, they were all here, a good distance from the theater.

“Just walking around, clearing my mind,” you said, shrugging.

“Something happened?” He asked, a concerned expression on his face.

“I’ll be fine, it’s nothing,” you shook your head. Armand was the last person you wanted to burden your problems with.

“Then allow me to join you, we can clear our minds together,” he intertwined his arm with yours.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to-

“Shall we go to the park? It’s quiet around this time,” he thought, leading you in the other direction.

“What are you all doing out here, in the middle of the night?” You asked him.

“Finding…inspiration,” he smirked.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course”

“Do you think it is wrong to regret big decisions you’ve made?”

“I think there are no coincidences, your mistake can lead you to your biggest culmination, regret is unnecessary, stress about something from your past, but tell me, what is it, you wish could have been done differently?”

“Maybe stayed home, pursued my dreams there, found a husband who was a man of his word, who supported my ambitions despite if others thought negatively of me,” you said, you hadn't realized you were crying until you felt Armand's finger brushing the tears away.

“This is nothing to be ashamed of, your dreams are coming to reality and I am a man of my word, I couldn’t care what anyone has to say when you’re on stage,” he smirked as you started laughing.

“And why is that?” You stopped walking.

“Because my eyes are blessed to see an angel and I don’t want to miss any parts of your beauty,” he said, as he gazed into your glossy eyes. Stepping closer, he pressed his lips against your own, and your arms guilelessly went around his neck.

“Where have you been, all my life?” you peered into his eyes.

“Waiting for you,” he said, kissing your lips, once more.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you giggled as the kiss broke.

“You’ve been worth the wait, come, it is getting late, I’m sure there are still some hotels opened-

“I can go home”

“Y/n-

“Trust me, I’ll be fine at home,” you smiled, as he redirected the walk to your apartment.

“Are you sure you want to stay here tonight?” Armand asked, as you both stood outside your door.

“Knowing Philip, he left,” you reassured him.

“Come to my theater tomorrow night”

“Okay,” you nodded.

“See you then,” he grinned, pecking your lips, before turning away.

“Edward, I don’t understand?” You frowned, trying to fathom what he was saying.

“I think it’s better this way, I’ve been more than grateful for the business you’ve brought to us, but we can’t risk having the article released, it will do more damage than anything,” he explained, his eyes full of pity.

You had extra time on your hands, stopping at your job, when Edward gave you the news. He was firing you, not because you had done anything wrong, but because he had received an anonymous tip about the cabaret soon to be in the media, and not for anything positive - going as far as being compared to a brothel.

All coverage wasn't good coverage in Edwards's eyes and he knew the target audience would turn away from the establishment in an instant.

“I'm sorry, Y/n,” he said, as you sighed, before putting on your best smile. You wouldn't cry now, sometimes this happened to big stars, you told yourself.

“It is alright, I wish you nothing but the best, goodbye,” you told him, leaving the cabaret.

You never looked back, keeping your eyes forward as you approached the ticket collector. His eyes snapped to you as he slightly frowned.

“There is a line,” he told you matter-factly.

“Is Armand here?”

“You can find out after you get in line just like everyone else-

“Y/n,” Armand walked outside, giving him a look. You watched as he lowered his gaze, almost in submission.

“Come,” he motioned, reaching out. Smiling, you accepted his hand, letting him lead you to his booth.

“Is there a reason you look like you’re on the verge of tears?”

“Just trying to figure out why everything is going wrong in my life,” you said, with a chuckle.

“Perhaps your culmination is closer than you realize”

“I hope you’re right”

“I’m in love with you,” your eyes widened at his words as you spoke at the same time.

“Armand, I-

“Since the moment you graced my eyes, I’ve been bewitched by your presence and…and I don’t want to leave it. I can give you the life you deserve, a stage to perform, love unlike any other, and pleasure beyond comprehension, choose me,” he told you, his eyes went to your lips, before he turned, watching as the lights dimmed.

Throughout the play, you could hardly focus, as your finger interlocked with Armand’s. His thumb caressed your warm flesh, bringing your hand to his lips. You could agree with your former colleagues, the play seemed real, almost too real. If it wasn’t for Armand’s swooning, you would be panicking.

You watched as the girl screamed, begging to be saved, but death came to collect. Surrounding her, her shrieking faded away as the curtains closed.

“That was…intense,” you gulped, as Armand laughed.

“It is all apart of the show,” he reminded you.

“Yes, doesn’t change that it was a little scary”

“You would look ravishing on that stage, whatever you'd like, singing, dance, it's yours,” he told you.

“I have to go,” you bit back your smiled, flattered by his bold promises.

“Stay, for tonight”

“I can't, it has been on my heart to write to my mother, so I want to get a head start,” you told him.

“Then will I see you tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night,” you nodded, accepting his kiss, before you left, making your way home.

Thinking of the steady decline of your marriage, you worried for your future, if you were headed towards a divorce. Your mother was the smartest woman you knew and although she was disappointed, you knew she would never turn her back completely. Like the prodigal son, you’d return home if it meant better circumstances, and your mother like the father, would accept you with open arms. Your heart wanted to believe Armand, but you couldn’t allow yourself to fall for more empty promises.

Settling back into the apartment, you sat at Philip’s desk. You wouldn't consider yourself nearly as good as a writer as he was, but he had taught you a few things to better your craft. Grabbing a pen, you started a bit formal, it had been a while since you'd seen your mother after all.

As your writing progressed, you poured your emotions out into the paper. Dealing with the suppressed feeling of being the reason for your brother's condition, your failed attempts at marriage, and your career, since leaving home. Glancing at the clock on the wall, you raised your eyebrows at the time. Had it already been two hours of writing? Albeit, there was a pile of crumbled papers.

Suddenly the door burst open, Philip rushed in, terror covering his face. Locking the door, he immediately went to the small kitchen, pushing the stove in front of the door.

“Philip?”

Hearing his name, his head jerked around as he met your gaze. Rushing over to you, he stopped, seeing you back away nervously.

“Y/n, please, I won’t…just let me explain,” he said, opening the manila folder.

“It started when you wanted to work at the Cabaret, I was so excited for you, I started an article, you were going to have an entire page. But…but then my brain began to get distorted and fuzzy, I could hardly think. Before I knew it, the article was on fire. I came to your show and I noticed someone”

“You came to my show before?”

“Always, after the first time, you came home gushing, I promised to try to make it,” he said, pulling out the stack of photos he continued.

“This man, he came to every show, front row, bringing you flowers,” he showed a series of pictures of Armand, some of the photos you were in. His arms around you, his lips pressed against your own.

“Philip-

“Just listen,” he shook his head, stopping you.

“I went to his theater, to confront him, to win my wife back, but then I found this, in his office,” he pulled out more photos.

“He has been watching you since we came here, from the time we arrived, there are photos of you taken. Then, I looked around, and what I saw, they aren't human, none of them. Those aren't plays, they're actual murderings,” he cried, showing the hardly developed pictures of the coffins and corpses in a box full of rats.

“I think he has been getting in my head, since I began to suspect him, I’ve felt like another person is living inside of me,” he said, wiping his tears.

“I waited until they all settled in for rest and I set the hell house on fire, we have to leave, now, we can go home, start fresh, leave all of this behind us,” he stressed.

Moving to your shared closet, he began to rip all of your clothing from the hangers, throwing them on the bed. You stood with your hand on your stomach, trying to process the photos. Indeed, there were photos of you from the moment you stepped off the boat. You didn't want to believe any of these bizarre claims, but here was the proof right in your face.

Unexpectedly, the stove was pushed out of the way, as the door burst open. Armand walked in, his hair slightly disheveled, the scariest glare set on Philip.

“Armand?” you called his name, hesitantly.

“Y/n, run,” Philip told you, as you jumped away from the table, the paper catching ablaze.

“Philip-

“Run, now,” he shoved you, right as Armand grabbed him. His hands around his throat, lifting him off the ground. Philip struggled, trying to free himself, gasping as fangs came out. Armand seemed to be growling at him, before sinking his teeth into him, determined to drain every ounce of blood from him.

“Run,” Philip strained, as you covered your mouth, rushing out the door.

Run, run, don't stop, keep running.

Your heart pounded, as you ran through the streets, gasping for air as you grew more tired. Afraid to look back, you kept going, you were sure you'd drop dead in fear seeing him behind you. Turning on nearly every corner, relief washed over, seeing a store owner closing his shop.

"Sir," you called out, as you jogged to him.

"No, no, I'm closing," he pointed at the sign.

"Please help me, he's going to get me," you cried, as the man finally turned to face you, genuinely concerned.

"Come in," he said, letting you into the store. As you came in, he locked the door behind you. With the adrenaline coming down, you could feel pain in your foot from stepping into the glass.

"We have to hide," you told the man, tugging at his sleeve.

"You go," he pointed to the back, before he went behind the counter, pulling a shotgun out.

Limping to the back of the store, looking back one more time, you screamed as the door burst open, the shop owner being killed instantly. As the elderly man fell to the floor, you cried out, before he appeared in front of you.

"Y/n," his eyes softened seeing your tear-stained face, all of your makeup running down, mixed with the tears.

"Please, don't kill me,” you cried, shaking your head.

“Shh, shh, there is no need to cry,” he consoled you, forcing your head into his chest.

“Why did you kill him?”

“Because he married you,” he admitted.

“What are you?”

“A vampire,” he shifted his eyes as you looked at his face.

“They weren’t acting,” you shook your head, trying to shove him away.

“Not at the end, no,” he confessed. Wrapping his arms you, he walked you out of the store. You continued to try to fight him, but he was much stronger, holding you effortlessly.

Lifting into the air, you gasped, realizing he was floating, no flying! Wrapping your arms around him, you shoved your face deeper into his soft coat. He smiled as one of his hands held your head.

“We were out hunting, when I noticed you, stepping off of the boat. I could hear your precious thoughts, you were sure you'd be the next big star. You had dreams but weren't putting yourself out there, so I sent Edward to you, and I made sure he paid you like the star you are,” Armand said, as his feet landed on top of the museum.

“I showered you with praise and gifts of all kinds, and yet you left every night, going back to him, what is it that he could possibly have that I couldn't give you?” he asked, a gloomy look in his eyes.

“He was my husband, he didn’t have much, but I loved him,” you cried.

“He wouldn’t have given you the opportunities you can have. He would work himself to death, not without cheating on you to fill the void within himself because he knew he could never give you the life he promised”

“You killed him,” you continued to cry. Rolling his eyes, he felt himself growing frustrated with you.

“Because I love you, I can love you better than his wretched human mind could ever think to fathom. I could give you the eternal gift, lavishing you, treasuring you, why can’t you see, has your love for me left that quickly?” he asked, as he grabbed your face, forcing you to look into his eyes.

Glamouring you, he hoped to find the truth, that your heart had turned cold at the sight of him. Wiping your eyes softly, his hand trailed to your lips, brushing against them softly.

“No,” you said, breathlessly.

“Then choose me, you have no need to fear me, we will be companions, equals, I, your maker, and you, my angel,” he said, a bloody tear slipping out of his eye. As he looked away, you snapped out of the trance, your heart ached to see Armand this way.

“I don't think I can forgive anytime soon, but I love you and I want you,” you told him, as you began to cry all over. Reaching towards his face, you wiped the blood away, before cupping his face in your hand. Searching your face for reassurance, you nodded.

“This will hurt for a short moment, but our eternity together will make up for it,” he told you, softly pecking your lips. Swiftly dipping you, you held onto him, as his fangs sank into your neck.

“Then what happened?” Daniel raised his voice, leaning towards you.

“I drank from him, and became his fledgling. I would say the rest is history, but it’s on the blog,” you laughed.

“You forgave him, just like that, after what he had done to Philip?”

“She actually took nearly a decade before I didn’t hear anything anymore,” Armand said, lifting your hand to his lips.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to a few things,” Daniel said, writing on his notebook.

“Okay, let’s hear it”

“Philip said that he came to your shows, nearly every single one, up until you were fired. But, during your time with Armand, he always seemed to working”

“He was saying a lot of things that night, him showing up to my shows was the least important thing to me at the time, but it was like 80 years ago, I don’t remember it like it was yesterday,” you laughed.

“I understand, Philip and Edward both spoke about an article, did this said article ever come about?”

“No-

“The fire was talked about, it took any attention from Y/n,” Armand interrupted.

“And what of the Cabaret? The Vampire Theater?”

“As far as we know, no one made it,” Armand said.

“The Cabaret went out of business a few years into my new life, I hear it’s a bakery now, you should visit,” you told him.

“If I’m not busy, I will think about it. What about your mother and brother?”

“I checked on them a few times, but the bloodline has ended with me,” you said, your smile faltering.

“I see,” he nodded, writing a note down.

“I trust you will do well with my story Daniel, reflecting on my past, I was a child, I didn’t have a real grasp of love and what it meant. I cared for Philip, he is who influenced my writing, but I can finally understand how much I didn’t actually love him,” you told him before he stopped the audio recording.

“Well, that’s it,” he sighed, saving the contents, before closing the computer.

“Lovely, would you like to stay for dinner?” you asked, as Daniel rubbed his head.

“No, I already made plans,” he said, his head feeling distorted and fuzzy.

“Awe, too bad, let me at least walk you to the door,” you stood, leading him to the front door of the spacious penthouse.

Sitting alone, Armand clenched his jaw, his eyes sharply piercing the air. Years upon years, nearly reversed in a single session. He could tell by the way Daniel was asking these questions, he wanted you to remember the obvious, but the truth was far too blurred for you to ever remember things how things were.

From the moment he saw you, he wanted you, filled with jealousy seeing you kiss him. He immediately began to find information about the two of you, watching from a distance. He did hear your thoughts, about how you wanted to be a star, which is why he sent Edward to you. The Cabaret had been nearby for some time now and hardly got any attention, you could work there for a while until you were ready for his stage.

Philip had been to nearly every show, but Armand was too far into your mind for you to ever notice him. Dancing and singing for the vampire alone, he had changed your memory too many times for you to even recount your performances. His breaking point was after stalking you, approaching your apartment, his heart shattered hearing you moan for him. The man he despised.

Lastly, he wished him turning you was as romantic as you made it out to be. After you told him you didn’t love him anymore, he promised that you would learn to love him again, before draining you. The thought of the fire infuriated him, his hate growing towards him. Philip ruined his plans and for that, he paid with his death. You were supposed to be turned, in the most beautiful way, becoming the lead actress at his theater. All of his plans, plans for you, the both of you, went to waste, because of him.

Armand knew some would come to this conclusion, and begin to question why. The answer was simple, so simple that many would hate him for his actions. He was jealous, seeing someone have what he wanted, so he took it. He had lived too long to care about his decisions hurting others and he held no regrets.

“Hey, are you coming to get ready for bed?” You asked, coming back to the entrance of the living room. Standing up, in an instant, he stood in front of me.

“Am I forgiven for my choices, my angel?” he asked, rubbing his face against your hands as you held his cheeks.

“You don't have to ask, don't let this story get to you, it's in our past,” you told him, furrowing your eyebrows at him.

“I love you,” he smiled, kissing your lips.

“I love you too,” you told him, kissing him once more.

“I'll join you soon,” he said, watching as you turned, walking away.

Armand would never admit how prideful and monstrous his nature could be. Selfishly, he has taken you away from any and everything you knew, keeping you all to himself. However, none of these things mattered, he had won, in the end. You were a star, only meant to perform on his stage.

[starlitmelanin]

ᡣ𐭩ྀི birthday blues; t.alexander-arnold

pairing - trent x varsity!fem!reader

word count - 2.9k

warnings - none

summary - you’re stressed out about trent’s birthday, because what on earth do you get a man who already has everything?

it's not like you can just roll up with a box of chocolates and call it a day. this man's used to the best of the best, and while he's never made you feel like you weren't enough or didn't fit into his world, the reality is you're still a varsity student, still trying to stretch your monthly budget to cover textbooks, takeout, and the occasional night out with your girls.

and trent? well, trent can have anything he wants, whenever he wants. you've watched him casually browse designer websites like he's scrolling through twitter, picking out shoes that cost more than your rent with a kind of nonchalance that makes your head spin.

so, no, a simple birthday card from the campus bookstore isn't going to cut it. this is your first birthday together as a couple — you've got to make it special.

but how?

like, you've been lying in bed for hours now, phone in hand, scrolling aimlessly through shopping websites, pinterest, and even resorting to typing "what to get your rich boyfriend for his birthday" into google. nothing is helping. in fact, everything's making it worse. because even though you've got a list of ideas in your notes app, none of them seem to match up to the weight of what you feel this gift should be.

"babe, you don't have to go all out," trent had said during a conversation you had with him earlier in the week, flashing you that pretty smile that somehow makes everything feel like it'll be fine. "whatever you get me, i'm gonna love it. i'm just happy to spend the day with you."

but that's the thing, though. you want to go all out. he deserves it. even if he's not asking for it, you know he would never say anything if you just showed up with something basic—but it would eat away at you. you'd remember it every year.

so, yeah, no pressure or anything. just your sanity slowly slipping away as the days inch closer to his birthday and you still have no clue what to do.

your friends have been no help either. a bunch of suggestions that are either way too expensive or feel way too impersonal. "just get him something sentimental," one of them had said, but you're not even sure what counts as sentimental when you've only been dating for a few months.

like, are you supposed to pull some dramatic pinterest diy project out of nowhere? is that your lane now? because you're not crafty. you're not about to break out the arts and crafts just to end up frustrated and glue-stained.

you're definitely overthinking this, and you know it, but you can't stop. you keep picturing the day itself. like, what if you get him something and he likes it but doesn't love it? what if he's too polite to say it but deep down, he's thinking, "wow, she really couldn't put more effort into this?"

it doesn't help that every time you bring up his birthday, trent just brushes it off like it's no big deal. "it's just another day," he says, shrugging, but you know it's more than that. his birthday is a big deal to you because he's a big deal to you.

you can't let this flop.

days are passing by faster than you'd like, and you still haven't made any progress. now it's the weekend before his birthday, and you're sitting on the floor of your apartment, surrounded by discarded ideas. you've gone from designer cologne (too basic) to a surprise trip (too expensive) to planning a cute dinner night in (too... ordinary?).

it's gotten to the point where you're spiralling. full-on stress mode. you're overthinking everything, imagining how disappointed he might be, how awkward the whole thing could feel, and for what? he hasn't said anything that makes you think he's expecting something grand, but it's like your brain is running on a loop, replaying worst-case scenarios.

you're deep in your thoughts when your phone buzzes. it's trent. a simple text.

trent: wanna come over?

you sigh, conflicted. on one hand, you'd love to see him and spend the day wrapped up in each other like you usually do, but on the other hand, you feel like you should be using every spare second to figure this gift thing out. but it's trent, and maybe seeing him will take your mind off the stress for a bit. so, you grab your keys and head out.

when you get to his place, trent's already waiting for you at the door, looking casual as ever in sweats and a hoodie. he greets you with a grin that immediately makes some of the tension in your shoulders ease up. you can't help but smile back, even though the stress is still simmering in the back of your mind.

he pulls you into a hug, kissing the top of your head as he mumbles, "missed you."

"you saw me yesterday," you laugh softly, burying your face in his chest, inhaling the scent of his cologne. it's the same cologne you thought about getting him for his birthday, but now that you're here with him, it feels too safe, too... expected.

"still missed you," he murmurs, pulling back slightly to look at you. "you okay?"

God, how does he always know?

"yeah," you lie, but it's not convincing. trent raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but he doesn't press. instead, he just leads you inside, hand slipping into yours like it always does.

you spend the afternoon curled up on the couch, watching some random show neither of you are really paying attention to. trent's arm is draped over your shoulders, his fingers occasionally brushing against your arm, but your mind keeps drifting. keeps thinking about the damn gift.

it's not until he asks, "you sure you're alright?" that you realise you've been quiet for too long.

you glance up at him, debating whether or not to just tell him. you don't want to admit how stressed you've been about something that probably seems insignificant to him. but trent's looking at you with that soft, patient expression, and before you know it, the words are tumbling out.

"it's just... your birthday," you mumble, picking at the hem of your shirt, avoiding his gaze. "i wanna get you something special, but i don't know what to get you. you have everything already."

there's a pause, and for a moment, you worry you've said too much. but then you hear him laugh. not in a mean way, but in that gentle, amused way he does when you've overcomplicated something in your head.

"babe," he says softly, cupping your chin and turning your face so you're looking at him. "you don't have to stress over that. i don't need anything fancy or expensive. i just wanna spend time with you."

you feel your chest tighten a little because, logically, you know he's right. but still... it's his first birthday with you. it feels like it should be more.

"i know," you mumble, eyes flicking away from his. "but i just want it to be perfect."

"it will be," he promises, leaning down to steal a kiss. "because you'll be there."

and maybe that's all that matters, but still...

—

the next couple of days are a blur.

classes, assignments, and late-night scrolling sessions trying to figure out the perfect present. you've moved past the point of practicality. now, you're grasping at straws. googling things like "unique gifts for the man who has everything" and getting absolutely nowhere. your notes app is full of crossed-out ideas, your stress level rising with each passing day.

by the time thursday rolls around, you're a full-on wreck. trent's birthday is next monday, and the thought of showing up with something underwhelming—or worse, empty-handed—has you on edge. you've always been the type to put pressure on yourself, to want everything to be just right, especially when it comes to people you care about. and trent? well, trent's at the top of that list now, no question.

it randomly hits you at 2:19 in the morning, that spark of inspiration you were so desperate for, the puzzle pieces of your chaotic brain finally starting to click into place. and as you brush your teeth before class a few hours later, you replay the idea in your mind.

you obviously still need to work out the details, but at least you have direction now. no more over-the-top ideas. nothing that screams, "i tried too hard." instead, you're going for something more personal, something that shows trent how much you've been paying attention to the small things.

because, really, that's what this relationship has been about for you—finding beauty in the details. sure, trent's life is loud and flashy, but what you've learned in the past few months is that it's the quiet moments, the ones where it's just the two of you, that really matter.

like the nights where you read him your biochem thesis because you want a second opinion (and, bless him, he never understands a thing). or the mornings where you wake up tangled in his sheets, 15 minutes late for whatever morning class you have. or the late-night talks where he opens up in ways you know he doesn't do with most people.

that's what you want to capture. that's what his birthday should reflect.

the rest of the week passes in a blur, a whirlwind of classes, your part-time job, and late-night planning sessions. every free moment you get, you're jotting down notes, sketching ideas, making phone calls, and somehow managing to keep all of this hidden from trent. it's not easy—he's nosy as hell, always asking what you're up to, but you've gotten good at playing it off, keeping him in the dark just enough to maintain the element of surprise.

you've already set everything in motion. well, mostly. there are still a few loose ends to tie up, but it's all coming together in a way that feels right.

on the morning of his birthday, you both settle on a time that works—right after your last class and after he's done with training. by the time he gets to your place that evening, you're all giddy, eyes beaming as you open the door for him.

and he's instantly on you, arms smoothly slipping around your waist, pulling you to him just as you close the door. he leans down, pressing his lips to your exposed shoulder — gentle, lingering kisses, his breath warm against your skin. "hi, baby."

"trent..." you murmur, trying to sound disapproving because you can almost guess where this is going, but failing miserably. it comes out softer than you intended, more like an invitation than a scolding.

he hums against your skin, his lips brushing the curve of your neck now, his hands tightening just a bit on your waist, pressing your back to his front. "hmm?"

his lips move to your jawline next, and you reach back with one hand, tangling your fingers in the soft curls at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. he takes the hint, pressing more kisses along the side of your face now, trailing up to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

"so pretty," trent turns you around slowly, his hands still on your waist, guiding you until you're facing him. his eyes are dark, a little playful, but there's something else there too—something softer, deeper.

you barely have time to register that look before his lips are on yours, soft and sweet. it's not hurried or frantic, but there's an urgency to it, and you kiss him back just as passionately, your hands clutching his shirt, your body leaning into his. it's instinctual now, the way your whole being responds to him.

when you finally pull back, both of you breathing a little heavier, trent rests his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. there's a lazy smile on his lips, the kind that makes your heart do a little flip in your chest.

"wait, you're distracting me," you laugh quietly, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. "i have a surprise for you."

he smiles, his lips brushing against your forehead now. "yeah?"

you nod, grinning as you lead him over to the living room, where you've set everything up. on the coffee table, there's a small collection of items: a few handwritten letters, a disposable camera, and a small, leather-bound journal.

trent raises an eyebrow, glancing between you and the table, clearly intrigued but not sure what to expect.

"so, i know you don't need anything," you start, your voice suddenly a little shaky as you sit down beside him. "and i didn't wanna get you something you could just buy yourself. so... i thought about what would mean the most to you. and, well... this is what i came up with."

you hand him the journal first, feeling a knot of nerves tighten in your stomach as he unties the string and carefully opens it.

the pages are filled with handwritten notes, photos, and little mementos from your time together so far. it's not just a scrapbook or a diary; it's a love letter. every page is a piece of your relationship — the silly inside jokes, the photos of the two of you at your favourite café, the pressed flowers from the first bouquet he ever gave you, the ticket stubs from the movie you saw on your second date. it's a collection of memories, a reminder of how far you've come in such a short time.

it's quiet for a while, the only sound being the soft rustle of paper as he turns the pages. you watch him carefully, trying to gauge his reaction, but his face is unreadable.

finally, he reaches the last page—a note you wrote, a few simple words; happy birthday, trent. thank you for being you. thank you for seeing me. i love you.

he's quiet for a moment, his eyes scanning the words, thumb tracing over the ink. when he finally looks up, there's this... softness in his eyes, a depth of emotion you don't always see from him.

"this is perfect," he sets the journal aside and pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your temple. "thank you, baby."

you feel a wave of relief wash over you, but you're not done yet. next, you hand him the disposable camera.

"i know you're used to having a million pictures taken of you all the time, but... i thought it might be nice to have something just for us. we can take pictures whenever, wherever. and at the end of the roll, we'll get them developed and see what moments we've captured."

trent turns the camera over in his hands, a warm, appreciative smile gracing his lips. "this is... yeah, this is really thoughtful. i didn't expect this."

and finally, you hand him the letters. "these are from the people closest to you. i asked them to write you something personal, something that shows how much you mean to them."

he looks up at you, his eyes soft, a mix of gratitude and something deeper reflecting in them. "you really went all out for this, didn't you?"

you shrug, feeling a little shy now that everything's out in the open. "i just wanted you to feel appreciated. i didn't want to get you something that didn't mean anything."

trent's quiet for a moment, just looking at you, and then he sets everything aside and pulls you into his arms, holding you close.

"you're amazing," he says, his voice all soft and thick with emotion. "seriously. this is the best gift i've ever had."

you feel the tension drain from your body as you bury your face in his chest, a smile spreading across your lips because, yeah. all the stress, all the overthinking, it was worth it.

"i love you," trent pulls back slightly, his hand cupping your cheek as he looks down at you. "more than i even know how to say."

your heart stutters at that. you've both danced around the words for a while now, neither of you wanting to rush into saying them, but hearing him say it now, in this moment, feels right.

"i love you too," you whisper, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as you pull him closer, your lips meeting in a soft, lingering kiss.

when you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours again, his hand sliding down to rest on your hip. "best birthday i've had," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your cheek, and you laugh softly, your heart full.

"i'm glad," you say, smiling as you snuggle closer to him, his arms wrapping around you like a safety net. "but it's not over yet."

he raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "oh? what else do you have planned?"

you grin, leaning back just enough to meet his gaze. "i figured we'd spend the rest of the night doing... whatever you want."

trent chuckles, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "whatever i want, huh?"

"yep," you nod, biting your lip to keep from smiling too wide. "you're the birthday boy, after all."

"careful," he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "i might hold you to that."

and he does hold you to it.

all night long.

[meo-eiru]

Hihihiii :3 Hope you're having a great day author!

This is my first direct interaction in this website generally speaking, so what better way to start than rambling my head off about the twink slutty baby? YES. Lavi. That cute whore that's been on my mine for a good while now...I want to kiss him, want him to cuddle me so bad grrrr I want to rim his pretty ass and use it as my only life source for the rest of my mortal existence. I want to follow every single one of his instructions on how to please him while he guides me with that shit eating smug grin '>:3'. I totally see him as a power bottom, riding my strap effortlessly while he pins me down telling me how much of a pathetic virgin I am and how fortunate I am to even be touching him, how lucky I am that he's willing to teach me how to make him feel good, how he'd laugh once I'm exhausted and he keeps nonchalantly bouncing still with his endless incubi stamina...MMMM...But also, I want to hit his ribs each time he throws an annoying tauntrum, or make him whimper each time he breaks something expensive, I want to sneak into his phone and watch just all the dozens of porn he has in his gallery along with his search history, I need to make him cry so hard until we're both doubting who's the real pervert here...I NEED to peg him. I NEED to spank his cute jiggling ass until it's red and sore. I need to make him deepthroath my strap and perhaps give me head. I NEED to grope his cute small chest and nurse on his rosy nipples while he tries to make a teasing remark only to be interrupted by his own lewd moans. I NEED to watch how all that lube and cum slowly leaks out of his puffy hole with profane sounds while spreading his supple asscheeks further apart as he whines and mewls begging for more. I NEED to cuddle him from behind while I finger his thight whorish asshole, I NEEEED to give him some genuine, gentle love-making while kissing his pretty face and cooing sweet nothings into his ears while he grabs onto my neck thightly saying shamelessly how good it feels.

I want to give him goodnight kisses on the forehead, cheeks, nose, eyes, tummy and finally his soft lips. I want to feel him clinging onto me with his limbs (and tail of course) while we sleep, even better if he craddles my head on his chest. I might even forgive his murders if he promises to be a good boy with a pretty pout even though he'd probably be crossing his fingers behind his back. I want to do each other's hair and nails. I want him to listen to the music I listen to (Rabbit Hole by DECO27 would be SO him). I want to see his deadpaned and disdainful face when I tell him all my bad jokes. I want to go out with him at those aesthetic cafés and buy him everything he wants even if I won't be able to buy anything else for a while. I want us to get matching couple cheesy things. I want us to do lovey dovey stuff together and maybe a kiss that doesn't end up looking out of a hentai. A wholesome one. I want him to live on my lap. I want him to try make him wear decente clothes from time to time. I want to see his reaction once my mortal life comes to an end. (If he cries and gets depressed he'll look so pretty but if he laughs he'll also look so pretty). I want to show him off to my friends even if I know he's probably the type that types 'uwu', ':3' or 'nya~' either satirically or not. I would bear the cringe for him. I want to send him memes and reels and, overall, just hear his laugh because I'm sure it would be gorgeous just like him. <3

He literally lives rent free in my mind this is a call for help. I crave for more Lavi content.

I'm not horny. You are.

Anyway, thanks for the constant posting! I love how you write your characters and draw/paint! You're one of my favorite artists. Eat well and have a good day/night. :)

Oh my dear GOD this was a ROLLER COASTER

I don't even know where to start. Alright so first of all, this is so deliciously written omg??? You made me put Lavi on a plate and eat him I bet he'd taste like cake. The contrast between the wholesome parts and the extremely unholy parts were crazy I felt like I was in a car that randomly speeds up and down

Rabbit hole is indeed very Lavi, the animation fits him so well as well. If I knew how to make them I'd definitely draw a Lavi version. And yes he's definitely the type who'd type "uwu" and ">:3" unironically

THE DRAWINGS ARE SO CUTE AS WELL!! HE LOOKS SO ADORABLE LOOK AT HIS CUTE LITTLE FACE AND CUTE BUTT

[f1haaland]

could you do fernando alonso imagine where he’s a sugardaddy and she’s a student in college ? reader is around 22 and the relationship originally started out with no feelings just sex, because he had a no falling in love rule, but then they both fall in love with each other ? thank you 💕

𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 / 𝑭𝑨𝟏𝟒

pairing: sugar daddy!fernando alonso x fem!reader

word count: 3.0k

author's note: shout out to my girl @loomiscorpse who help me during the creative process of this one 🤎 also, i went a little different with the "no falling in love rule" but nothing crazy

warnings: significant age gap (reader is 22, fernando is 41), brief mentions of sex, brief descriptions of oral (female receiving), not meant for minors.

reblogs, feedbacks and likes are appreciated. support your content creators!! 🫶🏽

➜ 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚 𝟏 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ༓  ༓ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

You decided to follow one of your friend's tips and find a different kind of financial help. At first, you thought it was bullshit, but after you saw her getting tons of money, wearing different designer clothes every day, and going to all the most expensive places, you just needed to know her secret. There's no way a college student could afford all that, you thought. And when she opened up to you about her "sugar relationship", you thought the worst. That's prostitution, but she promised you it wasn't. She swore she wasn't sleeping with her so-called "sugar daddy". So you decided to give it a try and find one for yourself.

She got you into an exclusive website, where you found some rich older guys who were looking for company and a young girl to spoil. Some of them reached out to you, but they were kinda boring, and their interests were only about wine, golf, etc. When you came across a Formula 1 driver, you thought he would be one of those guys, that he would want to talk to you about vintage cars or his career. Unfortunately, you didn't know anything about cars, nor about F1, but when you started to chat, he never mentioned anything about cars or his professional life. Not once.

You frequently chatted with him on that website, but you had no idea how to approach the only subject that mattered to you; money. He was so nice to you, you didn't want to seem like a gold digger. Eventually, he started to tip you, and you didn't even ask for anything. He invited you to dinner, and you got a chance to know each other better. One dinner turned into another, and another, another... And he bought you small gifts, mostly pretty dresses that you wore for him every night you were supposed to meet each other.

Today you wore a silky green gown he gifted you the last time he took you to dinner. You entered the restaurant, giving the name "Alonso" so that the waiter could take you to your table.

This time he chose an italian restaurant, where you'd be eating to candle lights. He was a romantic man... even if he kept you waiting for half an hour. And while you sat there all alone, you sipped on an expensive glass of wine that cost almost your entire rent, that he obviously would pay for making you wait.

"I'm so sorry it took me so long, hermosa..."

His voice captured you. Fernando had a thick spanish accent, that apart from his looks, you thought was the sexiest thing about him. Of course, you were there for the money, but you were not blind. You felt lucky that you got yourself some sort of sponsor that was not only very nice, but very handsome as well.

He greeted you with a kiss on each side of your face. He carried a strong, masculine, scent of sandalwood, that impregnated your nostrils.

"If you were so busy we could've had dinner another time" You watched as the spaniard took a sit on the other side of the table.

He frowned, obviously feeling your discontent "I had a couple of stupid interviews to give, I just didn't know it would take so long. I'm sorry for keeping you waiting, Y/n"

"Sure..." You pondered, drinking your wine.

"And how's my favorite lawyer doing?" He tried to cheer you up.

"I'm not there, yet" You bit back a grin, your need for validation feeling quite happy with the title, "But I'm okay, I guess"

"What about college?" He asked, and called out for one of the waiters to bring in more wine for you both.

"Hmm... One of my professors is in need of an assistant, and it's paid work. It's not much, but it will help me a lot with rent, and the tuition, and..."

"Won't that get in the way of your studies?" Fernando interrupted you.

You could lie to him and tell him it wouldn't, but Fernando was no dumb man. And honestly, you were getting tired of having to look for small jobs every time the money got tight. You even thought of selling one of the dresses he gave you so you could pay for your college tuition, which was... pretty late.

Your silence spoke for you.

He sighed, "Why don't you ask me for anything?"

How could say you needed the money? Well, you got there because of it, but you didn't have the guts to ask for it.

"I don't know..." you muttered.

"You don't know?" Fernando questioned, "Y/n, I want to give you those things! The money means nothing to me. I won't let you be someone's assistant and have no time to study. Let me handle your college tuition, and your rent, okay?"

That was too good to be true. Fernando was too good to be true. He wasn't asking for anything and wanted to give you everything. But if there's one thing you learned being a law student, is that everything has a price.

"What can I do to pay you back?"

Fernando chuckled, "You catch things real quick, don't you? You're going to be a great lawyer" He gave you a flirtatious wink.

"Fernando." Licking your lips, you voiced in an accusatory tone, "I'm not a whore."

He frowned, quite offended by your statement "Y/n, it's not like that, I would never think that of you. Don't ever say that again."

"But you gonna ask me to sleep with you, aren't you?" You inquired.

"No..." Fernando smirked, "...unless you want me to ask you to." He purred in a low voice.

And then, it was like all the noises around you vanished. You both were there, at the restaurant, and suddenly you weren't. You couldn't recall how you got to his hotel room.

And you thought there would be some doubt or regret, anything that would make you stop it, but instead, you overflowed with lust and desire through your veins as his hands touched you, squeezing your thighs and ass. You deep sighed when his wet kisses found their way from your mouth to your neck, leaving bites on your soft spot. You almost moaned.

Fernando turned you on your back against the wall and unzipped your dress to help you out of it. His lips sucked on your skin, leaving remains of his devotion marked on you. He turned you back to him, slipping the silky fabric through your legs. Unconsciously, you covered your breasts as soon your dress touched the floor, and your intimacy was protected only by black laced panties.

He looked into your eyes, searching for any signs of hesitation in you. You startled him by attacking his lips in an urge, as the hands that once covered your breasts now tangled onto his hair. He lowered his lips to your chin, neck, and collarbone until eventually, they found your sensitive nipples. He sucked and bit on them until you became a whining mess, begging him to go lower. And he did as you asked, kneeling in front of you and placing one of your legs above his shoulder. A breathy moan escaped from your throat as soon as his wet tongue touched your warm core.

He made you cum three times that night. If you were being honest, your expectations weren't too high, and he gave you the best sex of your life.

When you thought it couldn't get better, there was the aftercare. There were the calls, the messages, the surprise gifts. He would always send someone to take you anywhere you wanted and pick you up as well, and when you got home, there were lots of flowers waiting for you. Chocolates. Clothes. Jewelry. He gave you everything you could ask for, and for none of it you did.

And most importantly, he listened to you. During your calls, you talked more about your essays and the constant university environment stress than he shared about his work and personal life. He liked to listen to you babbling about attorney shit that you learned during your classes. He admired your brain more than your body, and for that, you felt seen.

Fernando was different from every man that you ever had in your life. There weren't many, as you always prioritized your studies and never had much time for dating, but you had a couple of dates during your first year in university. You thought the rich people from your college would treat you like one of them, that they wouldn't care that you were not from a wealthy family because it wouldn't matter. But the boys only used you for fun, and the girls ignored your existence.

Fernando made you forget all that.

As the months went on, you eventually got attached to him. You missed him terribly when he was away. You even took some of your free time to study Formula 1, so you could understand a little more of his world and his passion for motoracing. You started to follow the races so you could cheer for him, blushing and giggling like a teen schoolgirl every time his face appeared on tv, or screaming excitedly every time he made it to the podium.

Even when he was away, you felt like you weren't alone anymore.

With time, you noticed that Fernando had established some unvoiced boundaries; You never really slept together. After sex, he'd let you sleep in his arms, but he would leave the room once you were snoozing. On your free days, he would take you traveling with him for the races, but never to the races. He'd leave you at the hotels, with his credit card so could go shopping if you wanted to. Perhaps he just didn't want to be seen with a woman at the paddock, but you never asked why, and you never asked him to take you there.

And then he surprised you.

Fernando was having a great time after he qualified on pole in Monza, so he took you to celebrate with him at his favorite restaurant, which he had reserved just for you both for the night.

But in the middle of a conversation, Fernando handed you an envelope.

"What's this?" You questioned, having it open.

After finishing reading the pieces of information written on the paper, you glanced up at him through lowered lashes.

Fernando cleared his throat, "You're a law student, so I'm hoping you won't be offended by it"

"You're having me sign an NDA?"

You tried to sound less hurt and more unbelieving, but the crack in your voice was giving away how you felt about the non-disclosure contract in your hands.

"Y/n, It's just proceedment. Actually, my lawyer said I should have asked you to sign this sooner." Fernando insisted, placing a pen on top of the table.

You peeked at the paper again, finding a very intriguing paragraph.

Clause 3: The relationship between the parties is entirely "professional", not being considered a romantic relationship.

Clause 4: The parties are obliged to keep the relationship strictly professional, in which, romantic feelings affect the breach of contract.

"The breach of any present clause will be considered a breach of contract, in which the parties must terminate the contact immediately." You read it out loud, "Jesus, Fernando! You're basically rubbing in my face that there's nothing serious between us!"

Fernando frowned, confused, "Is that a problem?"

Yes.

Your heart ached. You remembered the calls, the laughs, the intimate conversations, everything and every moment you shared with him.

Why am I so bothered by this?

That's when it hit you.

I'm in love with him.

You haven't even signed the contract yet and you already breached it.

Yes, that is a problem.

"No" You noted, dryly, "Except from the fact that makes me feel objectified. Like I am your whore."

"I asked you not to–"

He went silent once you grabbed the pen and signed the contract right in front of him.

"Thanks for the dinner, Nando. I'll meet you back at the hotel." You murmured before leaving the table.

You were officially forbidden to fall in love with him, like it wasn't obvious before with all the secret affair stuff. And now, you had to deal with your feelings or lose him forever.

Fernando stayed at the restaurant and ate dessert alone. He felt bad for offending you and wondered if the non-disclosure agreement was really necessary. It's been months and not once have you exposed him, nor questioned his decision to not go out with you in public.

Why would you?

Why wouldn't you?

Oh, now he felt bad about it.

Once he got back to the hotel, he went to your room to apologize. Fernando found you in bed, curled up and snoozing, still in the same dress you wore at dinner. He could have just left the room and closed the door, but laid with you, wrapping you in his arms and finally, for the first time, sleeping in the same bed with you.

You never spoke about the contract again, but you noticed how things started to change after that. He took you to the paddock for the first time so you could watch a qualifying session. He took you shopping with him, not minding the risk of being caught by a paparazzi. You held hands in public. He kissed you. He did all the things you thought it was forbidden for boundaries. And still, there was nothing but professionalism between you.

You were good at pretending. You were good at smiling even when something bothered you, at lying when something hurt you, and at doing something even when you didn't want to. You got there for the money but stayed for him.

But you couldn't take it anymore. Every week there was tabloid news where there were rumors of him and many different women, and none of them were you. Fuck, even Taylor Swift was one of them, but not you. You were nobody. He was somebody.

You had to let him go.

Once more, Fernando took you to a private dinner. This was the last you were going to see each other before he left for Abu Dhabi, but you had planned this to be the last time you'd see each other ever again.

"It's a shame you have to stay for your finals, I really wanted you to come with me." Fernando gushed, "The last time you went to see a race, I won. Maybe you're my lucky charm."

"Stop."

Fernando went silent. You took a deep breath and chose your next words carefully. You didn't want to hurt him, but you also didn't want that situation to hurt you even more.

"We can't do this anymore, Fernando" You looked down at your own hands, too afraid to face him, blinking to keep tears from falling, "I can't take it."

"You can't...? Y/n, what's going on? I thought you liked this. What is the problem, cariño?" He questioned, quite worried.

"The problem is that I like this!" You raised your head to look at him. The tears fell from your eyes, rolling down your cheeks ungovernably.

Fernando frowned, "I don't understand..."

"I like this!" Sobbing, you wept your tears, "I love the things you gave me! The things you did for me..."

"Did I do something wrong? Have I not given enough?"

You shook your head, sniffling "No. I signed the NDA. We must end this."

"So is this about the contract? Fernando speculated.

"Fernando..."

"If it's money, we can do something about it. I don't know, I can give you an allowance or something, but–" He pleaded, "–please don't do this. Don't leave me."

"I'm so grateful for you, but no money in the world is capable of buying me what I really want"

He pried, "What do you want, Y/n?"

"You!" you bawled, "Shit, no designer dresses are compared to the way you kiss me! There's no jewelry, no fancy restaurant, no expensive hotel that gets close to the way you make me feel. I love you so much..."

"You love me?"

"...more than I can put into words, Nando."

Fernando stared directly into your eyes like you were in a staring contest. He analyzed every inch of your face, capturing your features like a photograph. His face didn't show any clue about what was going on in his mind. He didn't say a word. He just stared, and you couldn't look at him anymore. You felt rejected.

"It's okay, I know you don't feel the same, I know I'm not the kind of woman you would fall in love with. I get it. And, as you said, I'm a law student, the contract said..." You started another sentence without looking at him.

"You don't get it, do you?" He interrupted, getting over your words, "I do like you, y/n. In fact, you're the exact type of woman that I would fall in love with, and I did. Otherwise, you think that I would be taking you to places where you would be seen with me? I've been treating you like a girlfriend for ages by now." He beamed, gazing up at you. "The contract is over, ok? After that night, I felt miserable, knowing that I hurt your feelings and never gave it to my lawyer, so let's forget all this contract thing and move on. What do you think?"

Fernando was calm. You could see this in his eyes, and also, he was telling the truth.

"You should've told me that..." You grinned, still sobbing, watching him take your hands in his, "I've been faking smiles, silently comparing myself with all those girls that are rumored to be dating you, Nando. You don't know how terrible and hurt I felt..."

Fernando pressed a kiss on the back of your hand and entwined your fingers to his.

"It doesn't matter. You're the one for me. The only one I want."

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ༓  ༓ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

read a spin-off about this story here

[ladyyatexel]

Friends, Romans, Tumblrites, lend me your reblogs.

I'm Xel and I live in a society! I think there's a solid chance you do also! So you may relate to the profoundly crappy thing that happened to me and that I once again need a community assist.

I lost a temporary job that was supposed to turn into a permanent job in June because no one there felt safe enough to retire. Only two of us in the apartment were under 50. One of the crew was over 70. Three were chronically ill/disabled. No one felt safe enough to leave in order for me to stay, so I was trained for basically 6 months for nothing.

I have survived on savings from that job until this point, but I'm at the point where I cannot pay rent. I'm looking into getting help from sources more local to me but the internet has always felt like people who cared about me more than the people I share DNA with, really.

Many of the social services that I was signed up for expired the day that I was supposed to be told that I would be a permanent hire, and since that didn't go down, now I have to start it all again from the beginning, and there are gaps in my security net.

I tell you all of that just to say that I am actually trying to do things, I'm not here to just beg and coast along on some sort of lavish lifestyle where I, uh. Keep living in this dodgy apartment with my cat.

I don't want to bore you with an itemized list, but like 2,000 US dollars would get me through September and October without being worried about it like every 3 minutes. My rent is 700 and change, if you would like to know that. So I'm looking for like September and October rent and money to renew my driver's license, pay a few utility bills, buy a bag of cat food, and refill my medications.

If you have the notion to toss help at an internet pal or the extended reblogged acquaintance of an Internet pal, as is more likely the case, probably, that would be super rad of you.

I'm an artist! You could get things with images on them from me! I sell buttons, prints, and commissioned illustrations if that's your thing. My commissions are going a bit slow as of late - I only recovered from being not really able to walk like 2 months ago, and so I'm doing a lot of catch up like everywhere else in my whole life and trying not to spend too much time at a desk since it aggravates the spine thing that was the problem in the first place.

To be honest, it would be a greater help to me to just receive some Aid rather than full-on commissions, but I completely understand feeling fishy about people getting something for nothing and also feeling bad for being a charity case on the internet, so I'm not opposed! If you want to chat about that, I have a commissions post on the side or top of my blog depending on where you're looking at this!

Ko-fi contains my buttons and is a good place to toss digital dead American presidents if that suits you. I will get hit by some PayPal fees in this process but, I'm willing to call that a call for help on the internet tax.

I promise I'm a real person and not a bot who has made up a cat and is pretending to have interests. My blog has been here since 2010! I've met people on this website in person and everything. I've had embarrassing obsessions no bot would bother coming up with. Speaking of:

Similarly to times before, I would like to be able to do something in order to feel like I have earned some kind of support, and as of my birthday last week I have resolved to try very hard in the next year to conquer my fear and absolute mortification about many of the things I make, so I will once again go digging into my archives for things I can post for you to enjoy as thanks and tribute! I also have a poll running right now to see what kind of buttons people want!

Thanks for taking a look! Be nice out there, take care of your spines!

[talenlee]

Decemberween 2024 — Cohost (RIP)

In August 2023, I wrote about trying to make for a cozier internet. Now part of that is unavoidably built around the fact that I turned 40 that year and you know what it’s really really hard to avoid noticing how often I make the same typos from hand to hand, like it’s just possible I’m now at an age where one of my two hands is faster than the other and that’s how I’m going to notice my age rather than the normal model of like, my first gray pubic hair. But the point is, back then I talked about the idea of taking things slower and making more careful searches, treating the internet as a place to be connected to people, and one of the ways I mentioned – offhandedly – doing that, was Cohost.

Cohost was a website. It was like a website.

I wrote something about the end of Cohost back in the diary of the month when it passed – my September 2024 wrapup has some of the thoughts there, about what Cohost was in the broad, top-down sense of the form.

This article was always planned to happen, here in Decemberween, when I started the year — I sketched out the idea that I would use the Decemberween posts as a chance to show you a ‘best of Cohost’ set of posts, things that my friends or peers made and I wanted you to see or know about. It was, in my mind, a way to encourage you to use a social media platform I used, not just ‘because I was there,’ but because I could show to you its merits, and how it worked.

Except, y’know, it didn’t work.

Definitionally, Cohost did not work because it could not make enough money with its model of remuneration that could meet its costs. I don’t know much about those costs, though every person I’ve seen discussing those costs tends to be someone who I wouldn’t trust to manage their own bathroom supplies let alone managing a multi-national business that’s meant to pay people’s rents, so I don’t think it’s a good conversation for me to get involved in. Still, if you define the function of a website as ‘exist enough to keep existing,’ for whatever parameters you consider that to mean, then Cohost did not. In a few days, it will be deleted off the internet, and that is all for what Cohost is.

And then it will be what Cohost was.

Not only was Cohost not financially viable, though, it was also a place that was, undeniably, very white. It was too big for the people who made it to moderate it at the rate it grew, and it was biased towards people who were friends with the founders, and the kind of people who were friends with those people. All very real, very legitimate problems that were part of the character of cohost and I don’t want to pretend that actually, it being a place black people didn’t feel safe was somehow a quirky speech affect. I can think of four or five ‘big name’ posters (by their avatars, I actually don’t know their names) who would create and promote posts about this problem, which I remember seeing leading to some goodnatured comments from people going ‘hm hm hm,’ and then too many people piping up to say ‘can I argue with this post so effectively structural racism stops existing?’ and those seemed exhausting to produce.

It isn’t like knowing about these problems changes the impact the place had on me. I’m a byproduct of a lot of racist things. I like to make sure I hold onto, and keep present, the awareness of those racisms, especially those ones that aren’t ‘this person keeps saying a slur’ but rather, ‘there’s this structural problem and whatever neutral stance you took failed to fix it.’

Cohost was a place that taught me the phrase, ‘you don’t want an audience, you want a community.’ I talk to students about audience a lot, in a deliberately anodised way. When I say ‘your audience’ I mean ‘who is this for? who do you want to see it?’ and my students, brains rotted by a million platforms that have been teaching them to be pre-emptively burnt out Fiverr ‘social media experts,’ ‘audience’ means ‘the number under my name on my platform of choice, that can be turned into some kind of graph.’ This is one of those words that I’m genuinely coming to think need a new schisming, I need to use a term that doesn’t make these people assume I mean the thing they’re already predisposed to think of because of course, the way I’m using it, I mean something that can be intimate and dynamic and immediate, and if that’s not what people hear, then I can’t restructure their heads, I need to find some other way to get the idea into them.

Because what I mean, so often, is your community.

Not ‘who are the people you broadcast to’ but who are the people you share with?

I don’t know who reads this blog. I don’t know who watches my videos. I don’t know who listens to the podcasts. I know that I have a degree of microsuccess here, where things I make have ten to thirty people express some interest and engage with some effort. But I have spoken to some of those and you know what? the reason the cohost race discussion sticks out in my mind is because I know one of the people in my audience would expect me to not ignore it. I don’t want to let that person down.

Because I am in community with the audience, even if I don’t know you. I don’t know you, by name, reading this, right now. I don’t have that analytical tool and I’ve done things to turn those tools off, to take them away. The point of this system is not to try and steal information about what you think from the material you touch, but rather, to make you feel comfortable talking to me about what you think.

It’s not everything I learned from Cohost. But it is something Cohost taught me. Also that I gotta be the one to reach out on discord to check in on people, y’know?

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[leclerced]

I just unlocked a new fake scenario with my crush but since im mad at him im shamelessly giving it to you and lando now.

Imagine you’re a hobby seamstress and your good pal Lando is your personal photographer for your finished pieces. But when you finally made some lingerie sets (one even in his fav color) you ask someone else to shoot you, bc you’d find it too weird to ask your crush friend to do a boudoir photo shoot for you. When he finds out he convinces you to let him shoot you. Since he also has a crush on you he can barely keep it together seeing you in all these lewd poses. And when you both are getting more comfortable (turned on), your poses get more and more explicit until he can’t take it anymore and fucks you in his favorite set.

Maybe he even grabs the camera mid fuck to document how pretty you look stuffed full with his cock. And obviously grinning like the cocky bastard he is in every foto he’s in.

(Oh and btw that was me with the german greetings last night so frohes neues meine liebe❤️)

-🫀

please i'll cry. happy new year angel 🫶🏻

i was literally thinking about photographer lando while looking at lando.jpg yesterday… need it in my life

you'd made plans with a female photographer, but she ends up cancelling because a friend needs a last minute wedding photographer. she immediately returns the deposit and apologizes repeatedly, offers to reach out to some contacts to replace her. lando happens to overhear a phone call and asks what you need a replacement for. when he hears you hired another photographer, he asks why. you tell him you thought he was busy that weekend, make something up about him telling you that he had plans with his family. he'd check his schedule and confirm he's free and insist on it, and you have to admit that the reason is because you didn't think he'd do a boudoir shoot, since it's not really his style. he shoots runways or shoots for expensive brands. you’re lucky that he's your best friend and happily shoots for you.

he'd immediately jump at the idea, trying his best not to sound eager as he says he'd do it if you’re comfortable with it. he'd show you shoots he'd done years ago, earlier in his career before he got his foot into high fashion. you hesitantly agree, worried you won't be able to contain herself prancing around in lingerie in front of your best friend. you were planned on renting somewhere to shoot, but when lando offers, you're suddenly worried hoping something will happen and you'll be charged a cleaning fee, so you convert your guest bedroom into a shooting room.

he's used to commanding his models around during shoots, telling them how he wants them posed and where to look and you're no different. it feels different ordering his best friend who is dressed in lingerie on how to pose, but he's looking at you through the lens and he has no option but to analyze every line of your body to get the perfect composition. he's peeking through the lens and telling to you to move this arm here, that leg there. taking a few photos then telling you to roll over, arch your back. at some point, he asks if he can position you a certain way, and the moment his hand touches your thigh to maneuver you, you let out a little whimper and he nearly drops his camera.

the photoshoot-the one meant to go on your website to advertise the new custom fitted sets you're offering- is immediately forgotten when he hears that sound, his grip on you tightening and both of you are moving towards each other without thinking. you sit up to meet him halfway but he pushes you back down onto the bed as your lips meet and hitches your thigh over his hip. the camera is set down next to you oh so carefully so as not to damage the thousand dollar lens, but it's not entirely forgotten about. he's kissing down your body when you grab the camera and try to figure out how it works, flicking through settings before you give up and ask, can this thing record? he looks up at you, holding the camera pointed down at his mouth hovering over your center and nearly knocks it out of your hands in the rush to take it and start recording, stumbling off the bed to grab his tripod and set it up.

he asks if you're sure before he hits the record button, and you answer by beginning to tug your panties off, but he immediately tells you to stop because he wants to take them off. what he means by that is he wants to tease you for ten minutes straight, kissing your hips and thighs and mouthing at your covered center until you're begging him to take them off and touch you.

the photos from the beginning of the shoot are usable, but you end up telling lando that you think you'll need to remake the last set and shoot that one before you can even upload any of them, not wanting to overburden yourself with orders for the ones you do have photos of when there's a third one that you still need photos of. you'd make an extra when you remake it, just because you have a feeling it's going to turn out just like the first one did, and it does. but luckily you already have a backup and he shoots you in it a few days later, this time saving the fun for after the shoot.

[franki-lew-yo]

Two rants, one family

As someone who was scammed just last year by actual bots because the help I hired didn't know what they were doing, and then by actual grifters who told me everything I wanted to hear and took my money for my project promos and gave THAT to bots ---

I'm a little fracking tired of this idea that any online donations or transactions to small-companies MUST be scams because 'it's spammy'. Well then call it a 'spammer' then, not a 'scammer'. That's not the same thing.

It's not that scammer hand-outs don't exist. They do. They suck, but also they also don't last long. BUT- if you are ever in a situation where you've needed money asap and you're NOT an influencer with a huge audience, you have to get on track with dayly reblogging and self-promoting as much as possible. Otherwise, if people are anything like yourself when YOU feel like donating, people forget about you, they overlook your struggles, and they never even know you were having a 'sale' or a 'deal' at all!!

One thing that a lot of *bad* entrepreneur websites try to tell people, especially vulnerable people who can't pay for services that give them online marketing tips cuz that money needs to go to rent or food or pets or not dying, IS to flood people's inboxes from any blog they have (and any blog their friend has) to get the word out. They (crap companies who make all the 'free advice' or marketing garbage) tell a lot of people to do this and it's why a lot of n00b donation holders get dismissed as scams and/or bots -> because we get it, we're annoying and you don't want to be seeing us. Cept, UNLIKE actual scammers and bots, we don't have access to all your private information and we also don't want it. We don't have access to emails we get to fill up with crap. We/I have to do EVERY. SINGLE. THING. MANUALLY.

E V E R Y T H I N G-

Tumblr is the easiest website to use (at the moment) because of my queing system. You have to pay to que thing up on Instagram and Facebook. Yes. You do. Look it up. You do. In order to promo myself, my work, my brand, with little to nothing on me, I HAVE to do things manually. I hate it. I can't get good at it out of no where and with not professional training or, again, paying.

Just this last year I've had people on my TNBC comic blog be all "ugh can you not post this" or "can you just post tnbc". Quick solution to those folks: Use my tags -available to EVERYONE- if you JUST want to see my TNBC submissions. That's my blog as much as this one is and PARDON ME for wanting to promote my original artwork that I hope you'll give some attention to as much as my fanart for. I know it's hard to do/care about people's original work when you don't know/don't want to give money to something you don't know. I shouldn't act entitled to the reaction I want, and I'm not trying to.

But, personally, as an artist - nothing tells me "I don't care about you personally or your health/wellbeing" more than asking 'when's 'x' thing coming out?' again and again and AGAIN . . . And frankly, I've been slacking on reblogging as many people's fundraisers, commission prices and MORE because I was afraid of this kind of behavior. I'm sorry I have a life and maybe need a little help sometimes. I'm sorry my friends who are also writers and artists have lives. In the case of my TNBC blog specifically, I made that blog because I felt at peace and in love with my hyperfixation in Nightmare Before Christmas. Don't make me dread of associate these kinds of feelings with my hyperfixtion. Don't make me a moody-proody Jack Skellington who feels like no one understands me and just wants me to 'keep dancing'. Don't take this passion away from me.

You know that crapphrase that everyone says is Marilyn Monroe when it isn't: "if you can't take me at my worst you don't deserve me at my best" or however it goes? That one. The thing that sucks about that phrase, besides it not being from Marilyn, is that it's used and weaponized by shiddy gaslighter-type when it's not supposed to be about the right to be mean and get away with it. It's SUPPOSED to be a plea of acceptance. It's one of many philosophies that can be used for toxic self-care/self-harm, but in itself is not about forcing people to tolerate your bull. Believe me; I've been screamed at in real life and goaded into letting someone trashtalk me online because I was gaslit to 'sit there and take it' because 'I deserve it' one too many real times. I know what someone who truly does the "take me at my worst = me hurting you;disregarding your feelings" ACTUALLY acts.

If you can't take me at my self-promoty-cringey-social-justice-gawker awkward-autistic self, than you don't deserve me at my creative ~autistic gurl~ aesthetic self.

DM or PM me if you're having a legit problem and think something is wrong or I'm hurting myself/others/making an unwise choice. Other than that: cope. My blogs are my blogs.

[realsafari]

i went on a college tour the other day :D Any tips for college?

ou good question!!

let me introduce u to….

*radio announcer voice*

SAFARI’S OFFICIAL TIPS ON SURVIVING YOUR (FIRST YEAR OF?) COLLEGE

This is really long so here’s a line break for your benefit:

RESIDENCY

WHAT TO CONSIDER:

Do you know where you’re staying? Most colleges have dorms built into the student life plan for freshman, but it’s always good to check. You can usually find this on their website, but you can also call to ask. I promise they will not laugh at you.

If your residence is further away from your campus, how are you going to get there? Is it reliable? What are the chances of a problem happening with it?

MY SPECIFIC TIPS:

- If you have a dorm, remember that while you are going to be living in it, it’s not your permanent home. Don’t buy decorations for it that you wont be able to pack and take back to where you’re staying over the summer.

- Buy a toiletry caddy. I got mine at Target. Chances are you will have to share a bathroom with your hall or wing, and you do NOT want to worry about losing your things or mixing them up with others. This also makes carrying everything a whole lot easier.

- Connected to the previous, buy shower shoes. I literally just got flip-flops from dollar general (I think, I’ve had them since before I went to college)

- ALWAYS make a copy of your house/dorm key and keep it somewhere you physically can’t lose. Don’t use this key unless you genuinely misplaced your first. I had mine inside a small zipped pocket in my backpack.

- If you’re paying rent or bills, calculate the exact (or as close as possible) to how much this will cost per payment window. Bills are finicky, so try to keep your water/electricity usage the same every month. After a bit of this, you can calculate the average price. Set this money aside in a separate account for billing.

- Get to know your (possible) roommate(s). They don’t have to be your best friend. You don’t have to even hang out often. But PLEASE, at least learn each other’s names, primary study departments, and contact information.

CLASSES AND SCHEDULING

- For the love of god, you do not have to know what you’re majoring in the moment you arrive. Try out anything in any field of interest. Narrow it down later.

- Yes, you have required classes, but try to fit in classes that you’ll enjoy in between them. Breaking up my standard segments was super refreshing for me.

- PLEASE do not schedule classes for first thing in the morning or late at night. You’re going to want all the sleep and study time you can get.

- Schedule all your day classes to be relatively consecutive. If you go back to your residence in the middle of the day for a bit, you’re not going to want to leave.

- I did my best to have three classes per day on weekdays, none on saturday, and one on sunday. my basic schedule went:

CLASS 1 - 9:00

BREAK

CLASS 2 - 12:00

LUNCH

GO HOME, USUALLY STUDY OR WORK

DINNER

CLASS 3 - 18:00

Sunday are mostly free, but I like to have one class starting somewhere between 17:00 and 18:30, never later than 19:00.

- Before your first day of classes, make sure you know where every room is, which wing it’s in, entry codes, etc.

- INTRODUCE YOURSELF TO YOUR TEACHERS. IF YOU CAN’T DO THIS IN PERSON FOR ANY REASON, WRITE THEM AN EMAIL, OR BETTER YET, A PHYSICAL LETTER IN THEIR STAFF MAILBOX. ASK THEM TO GO OUT FOR COFFEE WITH YOU. I PROMISE THEY ARE NICE PEOPLE AND ARE VERY HAPPY TO BUILD A RELATIONSHIP WITH YOU.

STUDYING AND WORK

- Do not stay up past 1:00 if you can help it. I get that all nighters are necessary at one point, but you WILL regret it in the morning.

- Waking up early is not a requirement. While I recommend not waking up after 8:00, you don’t need to be up at 6 or earlier. Pretty much nobody expects you to.

- I swear to god, I know how hard it is to stay organized. I used digital notes for everything, and I had at least a folder for each subject. Every subject had a different color, and most of them were thin enough that I could keep them all in a bag at once.

- Again with organization, spend time at the beginning of every quarter deleting unnecessary files, putting everything in correct folders, and labeling documents properly. Your brain is not going to understand “AS4.2/LO-DAY 5 NOTES.html” for longer than 5 minutes.

- I know we all hate Google deep down, but I have to admit I use Drive to organize my notes. I have a folder for every class, where there is a subfolder for every quarter. within these, I have a folder for each unit, or other important category. This is super helpful when studying for finals.

- Do not drink coffee or any other caffeine to stay up later. “Chugging an espresso” is not going to help you study at 24:00. Have a cup in the mornings, but never have caffeine at least 2 hours before sleeping. Power through the pain, it gets easier to stay awake as you keep going.

- DO NOT WORK IN BED. DO NOT STUDY IN BED. DO NOT WORK OR STUDY WHILE IN A PLACE YOUR BRAIN ASSOCIATES WITH SLEEP. TRUST ME ON THIS YOU WILL NOT GET ANYTHING DONE.

- Outlines are your best friend for writing essays. Literally search up “essay outline template” and go wild filling that shit in.

- While you SHOULD read the book, I don’t expect you to read everything. Spend some time summarizing what you DO know on paper, then do some research to fill in the gaps.

- Body doubling works wonders. If you can have a study buddy (bonus if they live with you) that you can check in on to keep them on track while they do the same for you, do it ASAP.

- Yeah I don’t expect you to be fully prepared for your first year in terms of study prep. Don’t worry, neither do your professors.

- Speaking of professors, please please PLEASE email them (or ask them in person!!) if you have questions or need help with their class. It’s so much better to admit you need help than to lie and postpone the inevitable.

- Charge. Your. Goddamn. Devices. You. Will. Be. Fucked. If. You. Don’t.

STUDENT LIFE

I KNOW IM AN ANTISOCIAL FUCK BUT TRUST ME ON THIS OK. I MAY NOT GO TO EVENTS OFTEN BUT I HAVE GENERAL TIPS.

- Don’t drink until you’re of legal age. Don’t do drugs ever. It doesn’t end up well, it doesn’t make you cool. Yes, THC is a drug. Yes, adults can tell if you aren’t sober. Ideally don’t drink at all unless it’s a special occasion.

- Always have the contact information of someone who isn’t at the hangout or party you’re at. Ok admittedly I didn’t go to parties but like do this anyways.

- Yeah most people don’t care if we can hear your music through your headphones unless It’s like the library or something. Or silent working time.

- Yes. You. Can. Make. Friends. With. Seniors. AND. Juniors. AGES DON’T MATTER MUCH IN COLLEGE FRIENDSHIPS.

- You literally do not have to go to any events that you don’t want to. I don’t care if people judge (they probably won’t). Just tell someone who is going where you’re going to be (even if you’re staying home!)

- Skipping class to mess around with friends once in a while is okay. I mean like once every few months. Don’t do it regularly, and make sure you get notes from anything you miss.

- You also don’t need to have friends! While it’s nice, as long as you are able to contact at least a few people for safety reasons, be as solo as you want.

- Clean up after yourself- I SWEAR IF YOU MAKE CLEANING STAFFS’ JOB MORE DIFFICULT I WILL FIND YOU.

I’m genuinely sorry that was so long, but I hope that helps in some way. I’m not used to displaying responsibility online lmao.

For added context: Im actually still in Uni. I have been since I was 19, and I plan on staying for 3 more years before doing life shit. All of these tips, even in past tense, are things I do currently/have done.

[barrenstars]

𝙱𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝙸𝙲𝙾𝙽 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 !

hello ya’ll it’s me, poloma, finally making this post after being reminded like five times by space over the course of like two months.  i decided to try my hand at doing icon commissions given that i do almost all of my own ( except for the few lazy comms i’ve made ) and i actually enjoy it!  it would be nice to make some extra cash as well because of the cost of living crisis where i live and everything is going up in price, and i mean everything.  so if you’d be interested or want more info then read below the cut!  reblogs are VERY much appreciated! ♡

( steve rogers voice ) so you’ve read below the cut?  well, thank you for even wanting to be nosy!  or if you’re here because you’re genuinely interested then i’ll get right into it.  i want to start by stating that i will not screencap or make icons for any problematic actor / actress.  the same can be said for some fictional characters, but i’ll let you know if i’m uncomfortable capping for any character or actor / actress, but i tend to be very open about stuff.  

please note i only have access to uk netflix, disney plus, crunchyroll, and hulu ( and maybe a few other websites like them ) so if your face claim or character of choice isn’t from a show from any of these platforms then please provide me with a website that i can watch it on.  i can use youtube and am willing to rent films if provided half the payment!

moving on from that let’s get into the pricing.  ngl i understand that people can be put off a lot by prices and it’s not like i’m a graphics blog and can do a shit ton more than just making caps and slightly editing them ( and on a good day making a cute and simple icon border ) so i plan on keeping my prices low and affordable, simply because i enjoy doing this, so it’s not the type of “you pay for my time” situation.  below are my icon prices!

50 base icons     £5

100 base icons   £8

150 base icons     £12

200 base icons    £15

and so on and so forth!  if you’re wanting lighting adjustments then i’ll probably slap on an extra two pounds or so given that requires me going through each cap / icon and editing it individually.  now, moving on from that, i think a few examples of my work is in order?  so i’ll toss some examples of manga icons i’ve made and some caps from some shows i’ve had open recently.  ( there are no examples of any webtoons or manhwa, but i think you can kinda get the idea of things from the examples below! )

example: phanora kristoffel from the manga the witch and the beast.

example: steven grant from marvels moon knight.

example: sabaku no gaara from the manga naruto.

example: musa from the netflix show fate: the winx saga.

in addition to making icons, i’ve decided to also do screencap comms!  purely because every icon maker has their own way of making icons, they cap and crop and edit differently and i’ve noticed how some people prefer their icons up close and personal or with certain angles, which i totally get.  ngl, i’m the same.  if you’re not too sure what i mean i’ll provide a little example below.

so here we have the absolute love of my life, may calamawy as layla el faouly.  in this single cap alone you could get three, maybe four or five icons if you messed around with the angles and sizing.  and, of course, i took the liberty of making another example for you all because i am never too sure if what i say makes any sense.

as we see here it’s the same exact cap but just positioned differently, which is easy to do if you have an icon border with all the little nooks and crannies.  so the option to commission caps instead of icons is there, an alternative if you will, if you’re not too fond of the way i make my own screencaps or the angles i use!

please note this option works best with realistic face claims as manga caps, webtoon caps, and manhwa caps can be tricky to work with.  if you’d still prefer this option with a non-realistic face claim i’d have to flicker through the manga / webtoon / manhwa to see if i can work with the artwork to create big caps that work well enough without ruining the quality.

but if you’d prefer icons but like having multiple icons of the same cap ( like above ) then that is also an option, but i will charge for each icon instead of each cap.  so if i make three icons from a single cap alone i’m charging you for the three icons instead of the cap ( does this even make any sense ) unless you’d like to pay for extra.  honestly, anything goes.  i’m open to discussing it if nothing i’ve written makes sense.  so if you’re interested or have any questions then shoot me a dm and i’ll get back to you!

[ashsomethingart]

Good evening my loves!

I hit a bürnøut wall pretty hard a couple days ago, and it’s been a rough one. I’m gonna have to power through recovering and get back to work soon, because rent is coming up fast, but I wanted to take a moment to talk about this issue.

As all of you may know, I’m a 100% independent artist. I don’t work for a company, instead I work for all of you who order commissions from me.

That being the case, it comes with a lot of work that people don’t ever see. This month has brought some absolutely phenomenal changes to me in the form of tech/setup which will make some parts of the process a lot faster and easier, but the reality of what I do is that 95% of my job is not art, and all of that side and back-end work can be soul crushing.

I’ve talked about it in the past, but to upkeep what I do I have to do constant commission hunting, create marketing materials and maintain a constant social media presence, continuously update my portfolio, constantly learn new techniques and art programs, as well as keep up with doing the art, planning and completing my personal projects, keep my merch and print shops up to date, and so forth.

My biggest roadblock as an independent artist is having no base income; meaning a consistent amount of money I get at regular intervals. Every dollar I make is either from commissions or tips, and currently I can work upwards of 100 hours in a week without earning a single dollar, because none of that 100 hours ends up being art that has been paid for, but work to help me BRING IN new paid work.

It’s incredibly rough on me and I’m always on the lookout for ways to make it easier; I tend to go through this ebb and flow of doing 1-2 months of work with a crazy amount of output that ends in 2-3 weeks of intense burnout where I’m totally nonfunctional, then come back to the grind.

I do not have a social life. I wake you to work and I tend to work until I crash for the day, then rinse and repeat.

Not having a base income means I can’t plan for savings. I can’t set aside money for upgrades to my business; I have no emergency funds. If any single thing goes wrong I can be set back by months.

It also means that every month, when the 1st rolls around I have to make a mad dash to the finish line to meet rent and I never know if I’m going to have it all in time or not.

The last two months I was on time, but for around 6 months prior to that I was over a week late.

When I explain all of this, most people fall back on that argument of “Well why don’t you get a real job” and I’m not going to explain my reasoning here but suffice to say; I can’t. It’s this or nothing for me.

All of that said, I have a business plan for myself that hinges on all of you; the start of that plan is (and has been) to build myself up a base income that I can rely on every month, and once I have that, start expanding what I do.

It’s no secret that I have big plans that don’t seem to go anywhere, and the reason they don’t is because I’m CONSTANTLY grinding trying to upkeep my bills and rent, and I have no energy to put into those plans.

I want to move forward with my tarot decks.

I want to start a new endeavor that I’m calling Something Strange. I want to start actually publishing my webcomics.

But I’m not fortunate like some artists who somehow manage to land the startup funds I would need to be able to focus on just those things. I currently HAVE to rely on commissions while slowly building my base income up.

Which is where I come to my point.

I was on Patreon for ages, and I did fairly well there; however it was really only pocket change I managed to get from that platform and I got hit with a warning every few months because they didn’t agree with my content.

Eventually, I left Patreon and founded my VIP Funpass membership, which I host right through my website.

I need to build this membership up to the point where I’m making at least $800 a month on it, and I’m asking you all to support me in that endeavor. Please.

On the VIP Funpass you choose how much you pledge each month: I have four tiers; $5, $10, $25 and $50.

In the past I’ve gone on about what YOU get if you join up, but you can find all the info about it on my website.

If I can build my VIP Funpass memberships up to the point where I am making $800 a month through my site, and only my site, that covers my site ent ($675), my phone bill ($50) and my Internet bill ($25) plus the fee my seller platform takes.

It will remove around 80% of my daily stress and help me stop needing to grind myself to burnout.

This will mean I can put more focus on finishing commissions, cut my turnaround time in half, and allow me to divert energy into my passion projects.

So, I’m asking everyone who follows me to consider subscribing to my VIP Funpass Membership; the way I see it is, for the same cost as a single fast food meal every month you can help me change my life for the better; support an independent artist and help fight back against AI image generators all in one go.

So, do with all of that info what you will; if you want to learn more about the VIP Funpass Membership you can check it out here.

[herleaf]

Why was she here? Why had her first solo mission in the TARDIS end up being one where she ends up in some spooky, teen comic looking town, having to explain to people how a diner appeared out of nowhere? Good lord, when she gets back to Me after this to catch her up, Me is going to have an absolute field day with this. Clara Oswald, the Doctor’s past companion, not able to keep her nose out of trouble for one minute.

Yes, she was still having to keep up the facade of being a waitress/owner of a seemingly timeless diner that constantly seemed to appear from nowhere, and she was damn glad that she had enough psychic paper to pretend to have permits to run things. To be fair, she did end up hearing a lot of what was what and weird around while serving coffee, but needing a place to rest or rent to pay wasn't an issue for her seeing as the diner was a facade and somehow her TARDIS had realized that in order to seem legit during undercover it would need to make food. The old girl is clever, making food that is good enough but not so good that people will want to keep coming back regularly because she was the only staff and she would not be changing that.

Clara wasn't the Doctor. She wasn't going to be bringing on companions. She didn't even mean to land here--wherever here is--but something was keeping her grounded here. So, she played the waitress role. Went into town at early and late hours to mention a diner that was catered to the early birds and night owls, that people were convinced that it had appeared from no where when in fact it was just a gem hidden in plain sight. Really, it's too easy to convince people what is real with a fake couple fake Google reviews and a TARDIS-generated website.

Tonight, though, she'd spent most of her late hours snooping around town, trying to see if anything was amiss. Well, amiss enough that it would halt the TARDIS from moving, because in all her time as the Doctor's companion, only a few things could keep a TARDIS landed.

Having been so lost in thought, Clara hadn't noticed she was in the direct walking path of another before it was too late. The items that were in her hands (psychic paper, a burner phone, and a couple of old newspapers) were strewn to the ground. Eyes widened as she took in the physique of the individual--had she touched Clara long enough to feel her lack of pulse? Surely not, but she couldn't be too sure. Nothing seemed to have raised alarm bells as the person seemed as frazzled as Clara herself.

"No, no -- it takes two to tumble, I wasn't watching where I was going and I'm not used to the town just yet." Falling into character, Clara began to pick up her fallen belongings before stuffing them into the messenger back that was slung over her shoulder. She needed to play the part of a small town waitress who... somehow inherited a diner? What is this, a Hallmark Movie? Clara, focus. This is your first interactions with someone interesting and who might be your in to beginning to figure out what the heck made this place so special. "I can't tell which I need more at night, a cuppa tea or coffee. I was rushing to get to my cycle to head into work, the diner just outside of town? Been here for ages, passed down by some estranged family member who married into the family. I'm lucky I got here when I did because it apparently had been forgotten by everyone. Can I -- do you want coffee on the house?" Realizing this was absolutely an outrageous thing to ask a stranger, she added in the words that every woman would want to hear after being requested to go to a second location with a stranger, "I promise, I'm not a murderer. Just a waitress and owner... and absolutely failing at this conversation. Can I blame the different social cues from the UK and here? Or do I just have to say that I have scared away a potential customer? I'm really bad at this communicating with new people thing, what with the diner hours being so whack that I barely get to get out. I'm Clarissa, but everyone just calls me Clara. I'm... very new, as you can tell."

@herleaf - Starter

All Jenny wants is a god damn cup of coffee.

Running the butcher shop meant that some days involved getting up at the ass crack of dawn each morning for a trip down to the market. On a morning like this a cup of coffee was desperately needed yet of course today is the day Jenny’s old coffee machine finally decides to kick the bucket and stop working. And she has no instant coffee either; the sun hasn’t even risen yet and her day is off to a bad start.

So instead of getting to enjoy a hot cup of coffee in the comfort of her own home, she’s out roaming the streets, searching for any café or coffee shop that is currently open no matter how overpriced they may be. The morning air is cold, the sun is yet to rise, the streetlamps still on. The only saving grace of the situation is that the streets are practically empty and thus Jenny’s search for a coffee shop is a solo journey. Or so she thought.

A brief moment of distraction is all it takes for Jenny to quite literally bump into another person, her shoulder hitting someone else’s.

"Shit," she curses under her breath as she looks over at the person she bumped into, a sheepish expression flashing across her face for a moment.

“Sorry about that.”

Of course that’s exactly what would happen, only one other person on the whole street and she had managed to bump into them. Now who the hell else was out here roaming the streets at this early hour?

[amjustagirl]

chapter 13: home and hearth

chapters: 13 / 15

pairing: miya osamu x f! reader

genre: romance / angst / fluff

word count: 2.5k

summary: miya osamu does not dare set fire to his heart. it burns anyway.

(prev / next)

“I guess I don’t actually have to kick you out of the farm”, Ichika remarks when you and Osamu return back to the guest house, the status of your newfound relationship clear from your joined hands. He rolls his eyes, ready to snipe back with a snarky remark about how he’s not as dumb as his brother, throwing ‘Tsumu to the wolves when Kita pipes up. 

“We should have food to celebrate”, he says, ever the peace-maker. “I’m sure I have some mochi that obaa-chan made this morning, we could even break out the sake -” 

“Thanks Capt’n, but I’m full”, Osamu replies flatly. 

Everyone blinks at him. But before anyone can vocalise their utter shock, judging from their flabbergasted expressions - because he’s Miya Osamu, a bottomless pit and he never turns down food, he grabs your arm and hightails it to your room. 

“What’s the rush?”, you ask him, confused. It wouldn’t hurt to sit about and chat with Shinsuke and Ichika for a bit, especially when you’re living under their roof. 

“I’ve waited a whole year to talk to you, so I’m gonna treasure every minute I have here. And don’t worry about ‘Chika and Shinsuke. They’re romantic saps deep inside, so they understand.” 

“Still, ‘Samu that’s so rude.” 

“I missed you”, he declares, unrepentant. “Plus didn’t you hear ‘Chika promising to kick me out of the farm if I don’t make you happy -” 

“With you, I’m always happy -” 

“Keep sayin’ things like that and I’m never leavin’ your side, sweetheart. Now c’mon - let’s plan our first date. I’m thinkin’ of heading back to my hometown so we can try more ice cream flavours.”

“Cos it’s life changing from what I hear”, you tease, and he can’t help but kiss you again. 

You do go on that first date, and a few more after until he has to return back to Osaka, but once Kita’s guests check out (you realise they’re Suna Rintarou’s parents who seem absolutely loaded - no wonder he’s so obnoxious), you get on the first train back to Osaka, flying off the train right into Osamu’s waiting arms.. You slip right back into the rhythm of being in Osaka, renting a tiny apartment though you really don’t need it since you and Kombu-chan spend most of your time at Osamu’s apartment, helping out at his restaurants as a means of spending more time with him whenever you’re free, in between breaks of running your own business, which is booming. Osamu boasts about it to all his customers and it strengthens your resolve knowing he’s your biggest supporter, that he couldn’t be prouder of you. 

He broaches setting up a night where you take over the restaurant as a visiting chef-in-residence, and you gladly take him up on his offer, curating menus that blend your family’s traditional techniques with the flavours and ingredients you’ve discovered. These biweekly affairs draw almost a cult following of sorts purely through word of mouth. The primitive reservation link he uses on the Onigiri Miya website crashes as people keep flooding it, desperate to score a seat, and right now there isn’t a seat to be had for two months at least. 

He’s brimming with pride that he gets to serve as your sous chef and tells you so, but there’s a weighted pause before you smile and nod, and he’s sharp enough to ask you what’s wrong.  

“If I stopped cooking one day because I decided I hate it, would you still love me?” 

“I guess it’d be fine”, he teases. “Since we won’t go hungry ‘cos I can cook for us both.” 

“‘Samu!” 

He presses a kiss to your forehead in apology. “I don’t love you for your cooking, let’s just be clear about that.” 

“Then why do you love me?”   

He must take a beat too long in hesitation because you mutter a soft “nevermind”, rolling on your back to stare at the cracks in the ceiling. 

“Hey”, he rolls towards you, resting his chin on the top of your belly where you’re the most ticklish, chuckling when you swat at him. “You gotta give a guy time to think of a reply, ‘specially when I’m not good with words.”  

You crack a smile when he boops your nose with his. “You know I’m gonna love you whether or not you’re a chef right? It’s not like I love you ‘cos of that. If that’s what I was lookin’ for then I might as well date Suzuki-san, though gross - that’d be like datin’ a grumpy auntie of mine, no can do.” 

“I’m gonna tell her you called her grumpy -”

He chokes as if he’s downed a can of kerosene. “You won’t do that.” 

“Try me”, you say, a cheeky grin stretching across your face. 

He forgets to give you his answer when the night devolves into a pillow fight which ends only after he traps you in a bear hug and you distract him with heated kisses and - well his crew teases him when he turns up to work late after oversleeping because he doesn’t have the heart to leave the bed when you and Kombu-chan are snuggled against his back, and you groan when the alarm rings, blearily pleading just for ten more minutes. That quickly turns into an hour, and he scrambles into the restaurant with tufts of hair sticking up on all sides as if he’s stuck his finger into a power socket. 

“Ah, young love”, Morita and Ishida chorus, never missing an opportunity to clown on their boss. 

He wouldn’t consider himself over the hill yet, but he’s hardly a fresh faced teenager with his first girlfriend, floating on the high of infatuation like he’s just inhaled bubbles of champagne. 

With you, it’s easy, uncomplicated.He likes that you understand his worries, the pressure he faces because you’ve been through it all before. There are always bills to pay, vendors and suppliers to manage, cranky customers who leave unjustified online reviews, snobby food reviewers he has to convince that onigiris are indeed an art form in and of itself. 

“Bad day?” you ask, when he returns home, a storm cloud of gloom trailing behind him. 

Your things have moved themselves into his apartment, your father’s knife carefully sheathed in the kitchen, your clothes shoved into his closet. You’re lounging on the sofa, watching some show about street food in Asia - Singapore this time, some chicken rice hawker who gets a michelin star. Kombu-chan glares at him for daring to interrupt its nap, as if he were an interloper in his own apartment. 

He shrugs, sprawling onto your lap, nuzzling close in a wordless plea for comfort. . 

“Kombu-chan, give ‘Samu a kiss!” you’d say brightly, lifting the cat to his cheek. 

He wrinkles his nose when Kombu-chan begrudgingly gives him a lick with a sandpaper rough tongue. “Why don’t you give me a kiss instead”, he bargains, and when you do, somehow you manage to brighten his bad days with the sweetness of your affection, the sunshine of your smile. 

Why does he love you? 

Because you’re you. You’re the best thing to happen to him. 

Everyone in his life seems to agree. 

The crew loves you. Suzuki-san already took you under her wing when you first started helping out at the restaurant. Miyamura-kun looks up to you. Ishida and Morita tease you for being the boss’s girl until he quells them with a stern look. Murata just nods and says “good job” to him, which he takes as the ultimate stamp of approval. 

Atsumu, of course, approves, even if he’s obnoxious about expressing it, hollering and taking a photo of you to send to the Inarizaki group chat with a thumbs up “mission accomplished” - as if he had any part to play in this entire escapade, which Suna points out wryly .The middle blocker texts him privately later a cryptic message to tell you that you were right (about what, he doesn’t explain even when probed) and to not let a good thing go (well, the less said about Suna’s own marriage, the better). Aran and Gintama send warm congratulations and ask to meet you when the next Inarizaki gathering rolls around, and he can just feel Kita radiating paternal pride all the way in Hyogo. 

Kaiyo actually gets a little misty-eyed when he shyly holds your hand in front of her and Atsumu for the first time. While she doesn’t actually say much to him, she shoots him a look that says plain as day it’s about time, which, to be absolutely honest, he kinda agrees with. 

“I think I finally understand why you took ‘Tsumu back”, he murmurs as you bustle around the kitchen, having commandeered it for yourself so you can utilise the entire Miya clan as your test subjects for the concoctions you’re cooking up.

Kaiyo uses his shoulder as a headrest. “Why’s that?” 

“Cos love makes everyone a little bit crazy.” 

She laughs brightly. “I’m definitely the craziest woman alive then.” 

Atsumu perks up like a puppy. Yeesh. “Awww, baby -” 

He’s gonna lose his appetite. “Stop slobberin’, it’s fuckin’ embarrassing”, he tells his brother, who responds with a kick to his shin. 

Shoma chimes in just before Osamu tries to grab Atsumu in a headlock. “Auntie ‘Chika says since you’re crazy about auntie, you should get married soon, Uncle ‘Samu.”

Osamu glowers. “Auntie ‘Chika should also learn to mind her own damn business -”

“Language”, Kaiyo chimes in with an annoyingly smug grin, gleeful that her friend’s gotten her son to do her dirty work. 

An evil idea strikes Osamu. “Shoma, why don’t you apply Auntie ‘Chika’s advice by asking your Uncle Kita if you can marry Asami-chan. Let’s see what he says.” 

A beat before both Kaiyo and Atsumu goggle at him. 

“Kita’s gonna murder you, you better avoid Hyogo for the next decade -” 

“I guess we may as well plan the wedding -” 

Shoma just blinks at the idiot adults in his life, unperturbed. “Okay”, he says serenely. 

Thankfully, Kaiyo doesn’t push the matter when you’re around because he’s terrified she might scare you away. You’re already so obliging when she adds you into the Miya clan family group chat, instructing the kids to address you as auntie right away. He worries that the speed at which they’re moving frighten you, but you take it in stride. Of course, it helps that the kids know you well (Shoma still remembers your cooking lessons, holding a knife just as you taught him too), and you were always fast friends with Kaiyo (not a great thing in his book, when she insists on dragging you out for girl nights when he really just wants to stay home and cuddle you and Kombu-chan).

“She said she’s always wanted sisters”, you giggle when you come back after one of such get-togethers at Kaiyo’s favourite izakaya, unsurprisingly a little sloshed considering Ichika’s also visiting from Hyogo. 

“Mmhm”, he helps you unzip your dress as you hold your hair up, swaying. “And did you ever wish for sisters for yourself?” 

“I wanted - well, it doesn’t matter what I wanted then, when I have it now. Kinda. Somewhat.” you stab your toothbrush into your nostril and wince, and he decides to take over toothbrushing duties for the night. “I gotsch a fwamily - mmphhh - with you and Kai and ‘Tsum and the kiddos and it’s sho niceeeee  - ”

“A family, huh?” he remarks, tucking you into bed as you nod off to sleep. 

Speaking of family - his mother is over the moon when he brings you to meet her in Hyogo. You’re apprehensive, almost stiff when you bow to her, back almost parallel to the ground. The scars that are etched themselves to bone linger in your mind far more than those on your skin, but your shoulders lower from their place around your ears when his mother asks if you’re hungry, and without waiting for a reply, whips out enough mochi and dango to feed an army along with a thick photo album. 

“Ka-san”, he whines, petulance thickening his accent. “Yer ‘barrassin’ me.”

“You and ‘Tsumu were such cute babies”, his mother replies mistily, ignoring his complaints. But when you gush over those damned photos, he sits back and munches on dango quietly, objecting only when his mother whips out a whole set of photos of him and ‘Tsumu stark naked, paddling through mud like piglets. 

“It’s not my fault the two of you were allergic to clothes as children”, his mother laughs.

He swallows his retort when you flip over yet another photo, one where Tsumu and him clutch their first volleyball trophy, gap toothed and sweaty, exclaiming how cute the both of you were - which fine, he supposes he was a cute kid. Which then makes him wonder if your kids would be cute - they should be, given your genes and his, though if they inherit ‘Tsumu’s personality, that’d be a huge pain in the ass - wait a minute - 

His mother somehow reads his mind, pulling him aside when they’re about to take their leave. 

“You’d make beautiful babies together”, she whispers to him. 

He splutters. “‘Ka-san, you can’t say things like that.”

“Like what?” you ask, his mother’s impertinent statement out of your earshot, thankfully. 

“Nothin’” he says gruffly, ushering you out of his childhood home, ignoring his mother’s entreaties to come visit again soon (he will, but he’s gotta find a way to burn that accursed photo album first). But his mother’s words linger in his mind, a niggling thought that he can’t quite dismiss, perhaps because he does actually like the thought of a kid with your temperament and soft heart.  

But it’s far too early for him to be broaching this topic with you. 

You and he are still figuring out your footing in this journey of life. The industry you both work in is tough - rude customers, dishonest suppliers, rising food prices. Sometimes when you least expect it, the anxiety inherited from your parents boils over. He hates to see you struggle. He doesn’t dare add to it. 

“Want to talk about it?” he asks when he finds you curled up on the couch, Kombu-chan purring on your lap. 

You shake your head. Still, he doesn’t let your stubbornness steal you away from him. 

So he puts on your favourite music, makes you a cup of tea. “C’mon”, he pleads, refusing to take no for an answer until you take his hand, allowing him to twirl you all around the living room, breaking out into the silliest of dance moves until you’ve laughed your worries away. 

“The neighbours are going to think we’re crazy”, you giggle. 

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I am definitely crazy, so they’d be right.” 

“You’re not crazy!”

“Sure I am”, he smirks. “Crazy in love with you.”

You hide your smile, shyly pressing your cold lips to his cheek, but there’s no hiding your heart is no longer frozen because he can hear it flutter against his skin, a bird finally set free. 

Slowly, surely. One step at a time. Forge a way forward, away from fire and ice.

a/n: where nothing much happens, but hope you guys like the fluff :)

[sluttyminghao]

Part 1/?

✧ pairing: wen junhui x gender neutral!reader ✧ word count: 2k ✧ genre: smut ✧ warnings in this chapter: camboy!jun, masturbation, masturbating on camera, camboy!minghao makes an appearance ✧notes for this chapter: reader only makes an appearance at the end of the installment, i hope it makes sense as you read it! ✧ a/n: you asked, and i delivered! this is the first installment of going live! a series about camboy jun and his adventures! i hope you all enjoy, and if you would like to be added to a taglist pls inbox me! feedback is appreciated! ✧ synopsis: he’s a shy college boy who is stuck in financial difficulty, and his best friends gives him a suggestion that may or may not be a good idea.

A slight glance at the clock on his nightstand indicated that it was 10:49 pm, and he knew that within a matter of minutes he’d be doing the exact thing he said he would never do. His palms had grown sweaty and he felt his heart rate quicken at the thought, and all he could think to do was wipe his palms on his sweats. He remembers the conversation he had about his thoughts with Minghao vividly, even though it had happened months before his current situation.

“I just don’t see how you can do it, how do you not get embarrassed? Aren’t you being watched by...god knows how many people?” Junhui spoke between mouthfuls of ramen, immense heat rising in his cheeks at the nature of the conversation that had come up when talking about Junhui’s increasing level of financial difficulties. Minghao raised a brow at the older, before erupting into a fit of giggles and making Junhui cock one of his brows in confusion. Did he say something funny?

“Why would I be embarrassed about my livelihood?” Minghao began, wrapping some noodles around his chopsticks expertly and blowing them lightly to cool them down. “I make so much profit off of doing camming and making videos, that I’ve been able to pay my rent and amenities for the next six months, as well as keeping on top of all my art school debts,” he continued, an amused smirk finding its way onto his face at Junhui’s shocked facial features.

“Six months? That’s crazy... I’m basically living paycheck to paycheck at the minute,” he mumbled and let out a small sigh, picking at the small pieces of meat left within his ramen bowl with his chopsticks. “Well, that’s kinda what you get for working at a small and dingy diner run by a bunch of college students,” Minghao quipped while giving him a pointed look, letting his napkin fall to the table to signify he had finished his meal.

Junhui sighed. He knew Minghao was right, 99% of the time he generally was, but this was one thing he really didn’t want to admit to him. “But...would people recognise me? That’s one thing I really don’t want,” Junhui spoke shyly, and Minghao’s face softened towards his elder, before shaking his head slightly. “You can use blurring filters or wear items on your face so people won’t recognise you, that’s what I do, and no one knows who I am to this day.”

He thought a little more about it, and Minghao could practically see the cogs turning in his brain, deciding to offer a piece of advice to his struggling long-time friend. “Hey,” he spoke, gaining Junhui’s attention, “you should really think about it, especially if you need the money. With a face and a body like yours, I’m sure you’ll have thousands of subscribers in no time.”

Well, what did he have to lose? He sure didn’t have any shreds of dignity left, may as well give it a shot.

In all his years of living, he had been very well off financially, but in recent months his rent had become increasingly more expensive and the cost of living had jumped up exponentially. To his dismay, he found himself without a choice, needing the money as soon as possible so he would still have a roof over his head and the bare minimum of food. 

He had been staring at the webpage for the camming website for the past 45 minutes, trying to hype himself up, but he had just become increasingly nervous as the time had passed. Minghao had explained to him countless times that this website was very reputable and a great starting point for beginners going into camming, and he knew that he could trust the words of his younger friend.

But even still, the nerves would not stop pouring over him, almost acting like a cascading effect, flowing down his back like a waterfall and seeping into every crevice of his body.

He sucked in a breath before exhaling shakily and picking up his phone to call Minghao. He knew that if anyone was able to calm his nerves, it would be his long-time friend. He tapped on Minghao’s contact before placing the phone to his ear, listening to the phone ring a few times before he was met with Minghao’s groggy voice.

“Were you sleeping?” Junhui’s voice is quiet as he speaks into the receiver, awaiting his companion’s response even though he was almost sure he knew the answer already. “No, I was out feeding the ducks, of course, I was sleeping,” Minghao sighed sarcastically, and Junhui suddenly felt a pang of guilt for the late-night call to his friend. “What did you need, ‘Hui?” Minghao continued, sleep laced in his voice.

“I’m sorry for waking you up...I’m so nervous...I don’t even know how to start the camming videos…do you have any...pointers, maybe...” Junhui trailed off, and he could hear Minghao hum from the other end of the phone. He remained silent for a few beats, only further amplifying Junhui’s nerves to the point where his leg had begun to bounce incessantly.

“I think you just need to relax a little, maybe have a drink or two to settle your nerves,” he replied smoothly, wanting to end the conversation so that he could get back to sleep. “If you’re really worried, why don’t you just show everything from the neck down when you’re recording?” He continued, waiting for his older friend’s reply.

Junhui was contemplating the options laid out to him and decided to combine both, deciding he didn’t have anything to lose. “Thanks, Hao, I owe you,” he rushed, hanging up and throwing his phone on his desk and standing up to get himself a bottle of alcohol. He assured himself that he was only going to have a few sips to loosen himself up, but he figured that he may need to down the whole bottle by the night’s end.

A few swigs of his precious alcohol later, and he had finally built up the courage to remove his shirt but left his sweats on as a safety measure. Minghao was right, the alcohol definitely loosened him up, and before he had even realised what he was doing, he had pressed the record button and had started his live stream.

He didn’t know what he was doing, not a single clue. His mind was fuzzy and his last shreds of dignity left him the moment his pants were pulled down and thrown haphazardly to the side. The only thought that was now running rampant through his mind was how much he wanted to cum. He wasn’t even focused on the live video anymore, only focused on his hardening cock and the way his hand wrapped around it.

Normally when he got himself off, he would take his time and relish in the sensations, not wanting to rush. In his nervous and alcohol-fueled state, however, he wasn’t going to beat around the bush like he would if he was sober. His hand moved up and down the length of his cock rapidly, small whimpers eliciting from the man’s lips as he pleasured himself.

Junhui could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge the faster he pumped his cock, but he knew he didn’t want to cum just yet. He slowed his hand significantly to a steady pace, almost feather-like touches, and moved his free hand up to flick at his nipple, sighing at the sensation. 

Not that he would ever admit to anyone, but his nipples had always been extra sensitive and even just the slightest feather touch would have him reeling and wanting more.

The whines poured endlessly from his mouth, even as he built up his orgasm for a second time. He kept one hand on his cock, pumping up and down swiftly and gaining speed, while the other pinched at his nipples. It was getting harder for him to hold himself back, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer in the position he was in.

Before he could even think about stopping himself from cumming again, he felt the string snap in his abdomen and felt the hot streaks of white land on his stomach. He gasped at the feeling and let his hand continue to move steadily, letting the white streaks hit his chest. His head had grown fuzzy from the sheer intensity of his orgasm, and he could feel his hips lightly bucking up into his still closed fist.

When he was sure his orgasm had ebbed away, he removed his hand from his softening cock and sighed, leaning back in his computer chair. After a moment of stillness, his eyes widened upon seeing the small red recording dot on his computer, reminding him of the act he had just performed.

He clicked the stop button hurriedly and closed all his tabs before slamming the lid of his laptop shut. He couldn’t believe what he had just done; his mind was whirring with a thousand and one thoughts, his heart was about to leap right out of his chest, and he knew that there was no going back from the acts he had just performed.

He pushed himself out of the chair and headed towards his bathroom, showering in an attempt to get the cum off his body and somehow trying to scrub off the gross feeling he had from his lewd behaviour. It wouldn’t come off that easily, however, so all he could do was face the consequences of his actions and own them as Minghao told him to.

After a hot shower and a whole lot of contemplation later, Junhui knew that he would have to use his laptop again and see the damage that he had caused, so he decided to simply bite the bullet and take a look back at his video and see if anyone had commented or liked it. It didn’t seem likely in his opinion, since it was his first video and he had no subscribers, but there was a small glimmer of hope buried deep within him.

His eyes widened at the results in front of him. He truly could not believe the sight he saw when he clicked back on to his video to check for feedback.

200 new subscribers, 800 stars and 27 comments

He blinked rapidly, thinking it was all a hallucination. How could this be? He only sat in front of his computer for roughly 10 minutes jacking himself off and had garnered a huge response to it. He clicked the refresh button, thinking that it was simply a mistake on the website’s part. Surely he, a newbie to camming, did not just rack up over a thousand notifications from a ten-minute video.

When the page refreshed he saw the same notifications, except for one new comment that had caught his attention. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to look at just one comment and then head to bed, so he let his mouse hover over the little star-shaped notification icon and pressed on it. His eyes moved across the screen quickly, and he couldn’t help but feel the heat rise to his cheeks at the comment he had seen.

angelbaby96: you’ve got such a nice cock, and such pretty noises too. I would love to hear more of them sometime <3

[dianight]

4 months

My hair has reached a critical mass point where keeping it free is too annoying and gets in my face way too often, same as the first time I started growing it. Best I can do is style it to the side and try to push down the ahoge or do ponytail with a lot of short messy strands. Both look decent but when I'm up in the morning it takes a while to get it under control. I thought about how long until I can do weird shit (bangs) to it but for now it seems unviable. Oh well.

I need to start shaving every 4-5 days because right now it's like. Good for day and a half. Minor discomfort for 2 or 3. And then there's like a period after 4 days where it doesn't seem to grow at all but eventually I do it after a week or so but then it doesn't fit with the days I need to go for errands and it pisses me off. It's kind of like, it doesn't bother me as long as I'm home but I'm "concious" of it outside. I've looked into laser and as of now it's not doable, I'd need to move first and it'd be one of top priorities after sorting the main survival (rent/work) ones. It's also expensive as fuck. Literally the one thing that bothers me. We'll get there eventually but unfortunately there's just no way to do it currently.

Another one that I hadn't felt at all until now: I'm colder. Might have been all these days with intense summer heat but there was a singular foggy day where it was a bit cold at night. My arms were frozen while I was covered in sweat everywhere else, what a weird sensation. I heard something at some point about how women have lower temperature on their limbs and maybe that's what it is. But after that I've been paying attention and in general I do feel colder than I should be.

While doing some numbers I had a sort of realization about transition. This might seem overly negative but I'm trying to be neutral. The way people talk about it on this website (and in general) you'd think it's some sort of panacea that solves your life that up to that point was missing that one key ingredient. Reality is, while positive, it's not been even important compared to other shit that I have going on. Best way to express it: imagine you have several major catastrophes and you tackle one of them and "solve" it. The other ones are still there trying to fuck up your life. Not to say it's something bad or trivial, but when having to find a place, a job, dealing with people you want to kill, disability and other "minor" issues, getting on the path to living like I want is a minor step that won't let me go that much further until everything else is also dealt with. I've lost so much already and there's even more that I will soon lose too. As long as I get where I want to be it will be worth, but the road is long. Less poetic point: I have to sort a bunch of documents (waiting/money) and keep searching (waiting/timewaste) before I can even consider what I've seen called fully "social transition".

Whatever other physical changes there are I don't have the capacity nor drive to notice them at this point in time. Do I look like a lady? Do I pass? Totally irrelevant, now and always. I've grown increasingly displeased at the many conversations where it's a given that I want to pass, doing things or dressing in stereotypical feminine ways. All (most!) of that costs money, which I have very little of, and ultimately matters not to me. Will I be discriminated less and maybe have a better chance of not getting hatecrimed if I dress feminine, cover up any masculine features and voice train? Maybe. Not what I want though, and what I want requires significantly more work than that. I don't have the energy for all that bullshit.

Actually furious that I can't post a picture of my tits even for reference lest my account gets fucking nuked. I'd do it on a sideblog but it's the principle of it. Outrageous.

Out of curiousity I've looked into (easy) ways of getting rid of body hair and it's like, too complicated/painful/expensive, very often all of them at once. Randomly thinking of that time I saw "legbeard" as an insult for women who didn't bother shaving and it's like. Why bother. If I ever have the drive for it there are ways but not at the moment.

Back to the math I was doing, in the near future I am going to need a big clothes shopping trip because when doing inventory of what I haven't lost these past few years, I barely have shit. The only shoes that are not falling apart are my heavy boots and that's not something for every day use. Very few shirts left, I use like the same 3 at home so I didn't even notice until recently. Only two flannels left and the red one seems to have shrunk... it's just too small now. That's like high-mid priority as soon as I'm settled and starting other matters that will require time, such as waiting for documents/letters and getting appointments several months(!!!) into the future.

Still haven't weighted myself because between the heat, tourists and terrible sleeping due to noise and other factors making me skip dinner more often (<- excuse, yet true) I'm sure I've lost 2-3 kilos by now and it's going to push me more toward insanity so I'm kinda avoiding it for now. I'll do it at some point in september.

A minor yet very funny one: I like having long nails. They look naturally gorgeous (haven't painted them in years now) and I try to cut them only when they become unwieldy when typing/using a controller/doing any manual work (you may look at them). Well I've been doing some reading and testing some new ways to masturbate lately. My sex drive is significantly lower now which I don't really mind, it's the craving violence that has gone way higher. But apparently you still need to use it because atrophy and all that. So I've been reading to see what I can try, and I've found out that it can still be amazing without needing toys (of which I have very few left and want to eventually try new ones) BUT I need to be careful because having long nails can graze certain sensitive areas and it does get problematic. So unfortunately I'm probably going to need to keep them short more often, which is a so so tradeoff for being able to cum really hard. Incidentally without toys I am missing two more hands, it is kind of limiting to only have two.

That's it for now.

1 month (long, TMI as they say)

So I was planning on making a list of changes, sort of, stuff I've noticed but when I try to put it into words it gets quite difficult. Anyway. In no particular order and with the caveat that it might be placebo or simply something that I've never paid attention to or some other unrelated factor:

My hair looks nicer? It used to get tangled pretty often, now I simply get the drill hair curls unless I comb it a bit. Do I notice less hair falling overall? Maybe(?), I still get some loose ones on my hair ties or in the shower. But I feel like (<- feel like) it's less now. Not quite how I'd like it yet but better (<- even if not a thing still feels nicer).

I was genuinely looking forward to having an easier time crying, no luck yet. What emotional changes I've gotten are "villainess behaviors" instead which if I were to elaborate is an incredibly difficult time containing myself when someone antagonizes me in any way. As an example I had a celebration (not mine) recently and some relative said something passive agressive to me, I wanted to just ignore instead I found myself laughing in their face and telling them to mind their business (<- less nice than that). Other minor "I should not let this matter to me" stuff feeding the urge to be cruel. I'm fine but it's funny in a way since it's harder to be nice when people are assholes.

Shaving is much much worse and a bit better now. It used to be something that if I ignored/forgot about for a while it'd not matter, now I had a moment where I couldn't sleep and had to go shave at 2am due to how bad it was making me feel. It does feel nicer now, but only for a while.

Less smell? It's summer, it's hot, I'm not particularly sweaty and yet. It's too big of a change to be something I'm imagining. Weird, in a really nice way.

[I lost track so I check the table for reference to see what else.]

Oh yeah. Big changes happening (<- exaggeration). My nipples randomly get sore, one of them is sore all the time! No noticeable size changes though. Way more sensitive to the point of almost being painful (<- in a good way). Actually concerning. I could talk more about it but perhaps not right now.

Body hair is all the same(?), no differences on skin softness/oiliness. My skin condition remains the same.

Body fat redistribution and pelvis changes seems to not be happening yet. My hips are massive anyway and the dimples in my lower back have always been there (<- bragging).

Decreased muscle and strength. Yeah, not from E I can tell you. It's more the disability and the injuries.

This one is kinda funny. "Changes in mood, emotionality, and behavior". It could be. It could also be the sheer relief of getting something I've been trying to get for 8(9?) years, while being able to focus on other stuff that was simply asking too much of me. I'm biased obviously but apart from the slightly stronger urges it's mostly the same.

Sex drive and all that stuff. Let's just say expected changes. Shooting blanks now, which is amusing. No morning wood. You know the drill. I know there can be atrophy if you don't use it and I'll gladly let that thing rot, but. Let's think about how it might be necessary later on. Bear with it for now.

Another interesting one that comes with those emotional changes is how little I care now about certain things, sexually speaking. And how some others will instantly fill a metaphorical bar until it says !!! MADNESS !!! out of nowhere. Case in point, that drawing about the two girls playing the rhythm game(?) while one holds the other's leash. Yeah funny mental image. Somehow it got stuck in my brain for a couple days. Wait what. I'm also much more picky about what types of works I read. It all just seems so boring now. Seen that setup before, that one's got very bad art, that one is too misogynistic, that one is just uninspired.

Anyway I could type more about how it feels different now but words fail me a bit and I think that's enough for now.