#i have a hard time embodying that feeling

[eldritch-spouse]

i-is it possible to get the full, delicious sex scene of this? uwu 'cause the idea of kalymir taking y/n frantically due to her matching his angel-killing-and-woman-in-robes-dream is so fucking hawttt https://eldritch-spouse.tumblr.com/post/769523379185319936/pinnie-pinnie-pinnie-pie-i-thought-of

[Yahoo, pain time!]

TW: NONCON; Gore; blood loss; delusional states; panic attacks; unhygienic moments; Kalymir's caps lock.

You didn't really have time to prepare.

It makes you think about how wars start, at times. How, in some circumstances, people are just outside performing their daily routines, before being subjected to unimaginable horrors at the hands of a force they'd never guess would show up.

Humans and monsters alike have always been tempted, it's natural, it's what leads to deals being established with those who aren't native to the surface. There had been rumors your city was hardly any different, and you've always thought that one day there might be consequences for the figures in power who think they can flirt with the fires- Pull the wool over the eyes of creatures who were made to deceive. Stories of high-ranking beasts unleashing punishment on those who break contracts always terrified you as a child.

There was no way to force judgement on them, their laws are different than ours, you sign and receive your goods on their terms, so any violations of protocol are also dealt with on their terms.

For all that childish fear your parents worked so hard to eventually snap out of you, they must be tearing their hairs off by now.

Because the very city you live in has angered a being so foul and tremendous that you felt the ground heat and shake before they even emerged.

Your night terrors couldn't have made this justice.

As screams rang ever closer, drowned out by belted roars and the horrid sounds of flesh being zipped apart, time seemed to slow down to a wounded crawl. You had barely the energy to breathe, forcing your head up towards the epicenter of the ruckus.

One look at him was enough to clamp your windpipe shut with terror. A sensation of vulnerability and hopelessness so nauseating that, when it finished raking down your spine, your stomach tightened into a marble and you held back your dinner.

That's no high-ranker.

That is so much more.

One of them. The embodiments, the focus points of each Ring, the demons who syphon all the sin around them like endless black holes of power. To provoke one of these things is to cast despair upon everything and everyone you've ever known.

This city will be nothing more than a corpse pile when he's done with it.

His generals -if you can call them that- spread out in a circle of gleeful gore. Smashing into crowds, letting no one escape their savagery and going as far as to toss each other people, playing volleyball with the lives of those they shame as weaklings. They seem equally as uncoordinated as they do strategic, hysteric with the freedom to cause as much death as possible yet still sharp enough to let none weasel out.

You've never seen a street get painted in red so fast.

Whatever chants and howls they emit do nothing but cause a ringing to take over your ears, buzzing into your brain. You can't even feel the tears running down your face.

You're outside of yourself in that moment. No longer a bystander in the massacre unfolding, you exist in a separate layer, watching it from above, everything muted to a much more bearable level.

Only the persistent, foggy sensation of touch keeps breaking that barrier. You try to shake it off, to ignore it, but it succeeds.

With a blink, the stench of innards and blood fills your lungs. You've become wet with crimson, things are now on fire. The force at your left ankle tugs again, some kind of gargle following, making you instinctively kick hard at whatever's grabbing you.

It was a man.

It is a man, more dead than alive, his lower body hanging but by a thread to the rest of him, so disfigured that you're sure adrenaline is the only thing powering his leaking, crushed body. When the force of your outburst makes him roll back, he heaves wordlessly, what you can only describe as a massive clot of blood pops out of his dismantled jaw. He stops moving.

And you vomit.

The shriek you let out felt like daggers through your acid-burned throat.

Louder still manage to be the cackles of the demons around, stopping to stare and taunt as if you're no more than a silly clown.

This mess, unfortunately, raises the attention of the entity you least want to think about. A spiked head bolts towards the general direction of the commotion, gluing itself to the miserable sight of you immediately.

Both of you freeze in burning time.

Where are his eyes...? A gaze of scorching intensity fixes you in place, but for the love of you, there seem to be no eyes on his gnarled face, just streaks of marred skin descending from a depraved crown of horns, and exposed teeth.

Aside from his hulking height, you can only focus on the sharp protrusions coming from his chest, the ones torn off his back and regrowing steadily, stalagmites of what you might guess to be bone. You wonder, briefly, sickly, if some of the scars on his form are from tearing these growths off.

When the rest of his body turns, when one heavy clawed foot steps forth, towards you, it must be towards you- It takes too long for you to react.

One step. Two steps. Three steps.

Something like incredulity in the way he moves, but not quite hesitation.

Then sprinting.

Even if the whole city were between you, it wouldn't feel like enough distance was established.

Your heart begins thunderously pumping blood everywhere, limbs throbbing with the energy of a lone rabbit in a wolf's den before blind instinct takes a hold of you.

You run faster than you ever have your entire life. Faster than you ever thought you'd be able to.

Frantic legs carry you through sharp debris that stab through your shoes, tripping past corpses and obstacles without landing on your face, dashing and batting everything away with no clear goal. You dare not scream, saving every bit of air for the blood cells racing in your organism.

Large wrathful demons mockingly stand aside, going as far as to cheer -Not that you can hear much with the ringing of your panicked ears- You don't need sound to feel the thump of gargantuan footsteps behind you.

Your chest tightens, physical effort making you spit like an animal when gasps become desperate inhales.

He's too fast, too large, too much- You're going to die.

A swipe of claws across your back disorients you, ripping through your shirt and leaving bleeding welts in its wake. Like a whipped horse, you can only try to run faster.

Not fast enough, however.

Maybe it's because you're in debilitating panic, maybe just because you could never physically compete with such a creature, but everything starts hurting, the muscles in your legs almost pulling wrong, slowing you down, the pain in your chest now a raging headache.

You could have never escaped the shove that throws you to the ground.

Didn't even have the energy to shield yourself.

A wave of agony spreads through your whole face when you make contact with concrete, you fear you might have broken something when blood bubbles from your nose.

" FINALLY. "

His voice barrels through your entire body. He doesn't sound one bit exhausted, not even strained, just mortifyingly excited.

The demonlord rolls you over without a crumb of resistance, your open-mouthed, panting visage weakly staring upwards.

Towering over you is death himself, you don't waste time thinking about how he'll torture you for his own amusement. You don't think at all, waiting for the first blow. Will he kick your ribs in? While he crush your face with a foot? Will he pick you up and twist you in two?

Instead, the massive monster tries to pull you up by the already torn collar of your shirt, growling when that doesn't work. He tears it off brutally, knocking out the air you'd been trying to catch. You're yanked up by the arms instead, likely because if he did that to your neck, your head would have popped clean off.

" WHY AREN'T YOU WEARING YOUR ROBES?! "

...

Robes?

A terrified mind races to understand.

You've never once come in contact with him, he's mistaking you for someone else.

The pain coursing through your arms and shoulders only allows you to grunt, not that he seems very intent in getting an actual response from you.

The Icon of Wrath looks around, easily throwing you onto something hard and vaguely chipped. You realize it must be hood of a car, perhaps a truck, from the way it squeaked upon impact.

No time is wasted as he traps you there, studying you for a pause. There's the sound of something slapping onto the ground, though you can't possibly see it from this angle. In fact, all you can see is his intimidating physique casting darkness upon you.

" THE FOOL I WAS. TO THINK YOU'D COME TO ME IN THE PERFECT CONDITIONS... "

You shiver, though it has nothing to do with temperature.

Something about the way you're being regarded screams trouble is coming. A whole new type of fear encompasses you.

" WHY HERE, OF ALL PLACES?! " A balled up fist slams so hard against the car hood that you're jostled up for a moment. " YOUR HOME IS NOT WITH THESE MAGGOTS! YOU BELONG IN WRATH, MADE AS MY TROPHY FOR THE AGE OF BLOOD I'LL BRING FORTH. "

What can your shaking mind even respond with?

" ... W... What? "

He doesn't deign your squeak of a noise worthy of attention, this rumbling sound emitting from his chest, loud and low, the rattle of a satisfied predator. All at once, he uses both hands to grab the hem of your pants, lifting your lower body when he tugs up and rends the fabric apart, easily peeling it out from under you.

Animal instinct kicks in before you even confirm the gravity of the situation, flailing and kicking with sore muscles.

The beast laughs, this racuous sound devoid of any care, amused, easily holding you down by the midsection while his dominant hand comes to rip senselessly at your shoes, your underwear, your bra. All of it goes flying back. You don't even notice the shards of glass that have stabbed into the soles of your foot.

" Stop! Stop! " The scream rips out your throat, a pathetic sob.

" YES... " He nods, confirming something to himself at the sight of your now bare body. You realize idly that he's allowing you to scratch and hit however you please, entirely unfazed.

Incredulously, disgustingly, he strokes a hand upon his dark, blood-soaked skin, then slaps a warm wet paw over your body. You don't understand what's happening until both meaty hands are caking you in blood.

There's a different quality to his breathing as he paints you in red, it becomes harsher, his chest heaves like a bull about to charge. The knowing revulsion within you causes you to jerk and attempt to weasel away, but every time you get on his nerves too much, he lifts and slams you against the car.

The third time he does that, a sting spreads across your spine, vision swimming. You decide it might not be a good idea to encourage this. It's all you can do not to shake too much while warm and sticky crimson is spread all over your form. He seems to be thinking as he does this, trying to imitate some kind of pattern, deciding the zones where you should be most covered in the gross, foul-smelling results of his slaughter.

Whose blood is this? Your neighbors'? Your friends'?

A bit of it wedges past your lips, you're glad your stomach has already flipped everything it had.

When he passes by your tits, both hands squeeze and roll too hard, catching your nipples in a sharp pinch that zings through your whole figure. Desperation has you opening your mouth to say something pointless, to plea, to cry, but all it does is whimper when you take note of the growth bulging his unique loincloth.

With neither shame nor hesitation, as soon as he notices where your gaze has fallen, the massive monster uses one hand to untie the cloth, toss it aside, revealing a length that nearly makes you feel lightheaded.

It's not just the comparative size, something he seems very eager to display, it's the barbs flaring underneath, no doubt meant to tear into any hole he claims and anchor his cock as deep as possible. The mental image of your body stretching disgustingly to accommodate it is sickening. He looks incredibly hard, you're sure that there's no give to his shaft, that it's heavy and unmanageable for most partners he attains.

Partners... As if this beast doesn't just grab people randomly like he's doing to you.

There's a snort, you realize he's studying the newfound horror on your face.

" YOU DON'T REMEMBER ME. " It's not a question. " I'LL JOG YOUR MEMORY, WHEN I RATTLE THAT FUCKING BRAIN OF YOURS- "

" H- Hu-?! "

In a blink, the Icon is blanketing you in a suffocating closeness, panting against your face as the hand that isn't pinning you by the ribcage darts to his cock and pumps aggressively. While the lurid sound haunts your ears, all you can focus on are his misaligned blade-like teeth. The bits of flesh caught between them when he no doubt bit sections out of people. A dark tongue hovers behind them, wet with drool and shimmering in excitement. His breath is far from pleasant, though there's hardly a way to escape it.

When your head turns in an attempt to abstract from the situation, he forces it back in place and hunches further to lick the mess on your ruined face. A scratchy, far too hot sensation that claims the red he previously caked you in, then bridges over your nose to collect the river that flowed from it when you fell.

The god-awful agony of that location being nudged has a scream belt out of you. Flailing legs thump uselessly against his thighs, your foot nudging his dick at some point. Fuck if he cares. All force you have goes into slapping and scratching at his head, another fruitless effort seeing as he doesn't even flinch. It gets him to stop assaulting your face, to bite your right hand instead.

It wasn't too hard. You know he has the force to tear it right off, to sever all those ligaments and tissue. All he does is give you a taste, aggravate your suffering, cackling at your shriek.

It feels like your extremity's been crushed, fingers struggling to move when a frightening numbness sets in.

Your intact hand has no direction and no goal, furiously swiping at his neck in hopes that it would get him to back away. You mostly succeed in chipping nails.

The demon groans however, apparently incensed by the effort.

" FIESTY LITTLE FUCKTOY CAN'T WAIT FOR MY COCK, CAN YOU? "

...

He's interpreting your fight in the worst way possible.

" I'LL MAKE SURE IT'S ALL YOU GET WHEN WE'RE HOME. "

Home? Home?!

As soon as your bitten hand regains some feeling, the avalanche of trepidation within you just at the implication of being taken to Hell -to this beast's dwelling- makes you swing as swiftly as you can towards his jaw. A punch that pops the fluid between your aching joints yet hardly molds his rictus.

You try everything. Bruising your arms, letting the pain flare through them. There's little hope in your motions by the time you curl both fists around the horns sticking out his head, yanking aimlessly.

" TEAR THEM OFF! " He demands, the want in his insufferable voice utterly transparent.

You can't.

You pull and twist and try to snap them off his skull, but the protrusions stay lodged there as a crown of morbid victory.

" BAH- THE SURFACE HAS MADE YOU WEAK. ANOTHER THING I'LL HAVE TO FIX. "

The demonlord's disappointment is palpable, though enthusiasm quickly replaces it, you can't disappoint him enough to avoid being assaulted, it seems.

His focus shifts to your nethers. You're anything but wet, though he pays no mind to it, suddenly pushing your hips apart so he can frame your pussy.

" TINY FUCKING THING. " He chuckles, observing your fear-clenched hole.

Clawed thumbs trace the rift of your entrance casually, on occasion nudging the bud above in lazy rolls. It's not as if you wish to get aroused, the amount of pressure he uses behind every motion is just inescapably stimulating. The first jolt of your hips, entirely reflexive, is rewarded with a wanton hum.

He slips a thumb inside with some resistance, then the other. You can only wince at the stretch, alarmingly aware of how those claws might slice through your vaginal walls if you shake too much. The fear causes you to tighten further, a painful feedback of sensation that appears to excite him.

A visceral hiss escapes through the gaps between your teeth when he pulls, spreading you out forcibly and mercilessly.

With no inch of lubrication to be found, a burning Hell settles and you start crying quietly again.

" I NEVER GOT A GOOD LOOK AT YOUR CUNT BEFORE... WONDER IF IT'LL FEEL BETTER! "

And that's all you get.

Hot-flashes have you sweating when his thumbs finally leave you alone. A thick tongue swings around, preparing a ball of spit that unceremoniously lashes against your genitals. You realize then that his spit is the only semblance of help you'll have to handle that torture device of a cock.

He slaps it on top of your mound, and you don't look down.

You don't want to see how much he'll hollow you out, don't want to see where it reaches, don't want to think about the weight and heat of it on top of your skin.

Your body... Your poor body. What evil did you commit to warrant this?

" I WANT YOU TO SCREECH MY NAME, THE SAME WAY YOU DID IN MY VISIONS. " He giddily reveals, dragging himself lower to line up properly. A foul maw leans to snarl in your ear. " KALYMIR. "

The sound echoes in your mind, adding to the stab of terror when the tip of his much-too-large dick prods at your entrance. You can't breathe, for a second, wondering how he thinks this is actually going to work, morbidly questioning if this is really how you'll die.

As soon as trepidation releases your lungs and the first crack of pain from his pushing arises, you babble hysterically.

" Stop! Oh God stop- I'm gonna die! "

Kalymir does pause, likely because the sound of fear must be arousing to him in some way. He's already smirking before you even say another word.

" Listen- I'll do anything, please I'll do anything, anything you want- "

" HAH. " Bold teeth get a coating of saliva, one brutish hand holding onto your neck just hard enough to silence the rest of your whining. " I WANT YOUR HOLES AROUND ME. "

Perhaps it was a small mercy that he rammed into you.

Maybe, if he was less excited, he'd have taken his sweet time pushing inside, dragging out the pain until your throat is hoarse from screaming.

All you feel is a flash of indescribable agony, vision going black and body tensing like a coil about to break. There's no direction to go and nothing comforting to hold onto as Kalymir's member carves its place within you.

This must be how vivisected bugs feel.

Writhing is all you're allowed.

Distantly, you realize you're bleeding. You can sense the way your torn body tries to lessen the pain, tries to lubricate itself, tries to contract in pulses meant to shove him out, yet only cause him to groan happily.

Every single time Kalymir throbs inside you, he presses into everything and offers a contradicting mix of feedback. There's the scorching of your poor insides begging you to remove the unwanted intrusion, and the creeping pleasure of sensitive spots being crushed into submission.

The monster himself looks vaguely out of breath, drooling openly onto your stomach while he recovers from the suffocating hold your body has around him. Kalymir cants his hips to somehow slide more of himself inside you, but there's no space left, he merely ends up sliding you back.

" LOOSEN UP ALREADY- " The Icon huffs, a note of incredible cruelty following. " OR WILL I HAVE TO FUCK YOU OPEN? "

You know those barbs aren't in use when he pulls back, and thankfully, your insides don't shred into ribbons.

There's no describing the vacant sensation of his retraction. The split second where air chills your abused hole as it tries to pitifully shrink anew, only to be rammed wide again in yet another nauseating piston.

He's too hot to handle, too rough, the mere contact of his war-hardened hide against your skin causes scratches and rashes from unrequited friction.

You wish you were wet. Maybe you are, but it's hardly enough. Only blood can periodically ease the torment of his jarring, mercilessly mechanic thursting. The truck hood bounces while he damn near crushes you to the vehicle, frantic claws finding purchase on squealing metal, perhaps mocking your own cries of pain.

The stimulus becomes too much.

No matter how hard you might want to alienate your mind from the situation, he won't let you. Kalymir's barking comments, the way he'll clumsily paw and grip at your softer sections, the press of teeth around a bare neck- It all stabs alertness into you, forces a figh or flight heave of primal panic whenever you so much as manage to vaguely dissociate.

Perhaps you instinctively can't abstract from this torment at all.

Kalymir yanks at your soul, chewing and tearing into it, all-demanding and all-consuming.

There's no escape from what's being done to you.

A confused body, unable to escape, fights for a different kind of preservation by drowning you in waves of arousal. It's unavoidable, you think through the slightly muted burning, it's predictable. You don't care to stifle the way your cries have shifted, don't try to mask twitching legs and curling toes.

You don't want this, you never wanted this, whatever is forced upon you isn't evidence that your mind has changed.

You just want it to end, really.

Ignoring your own creeping orgasm is impossible, though you try to focus on breathing evenly, shoving away his snarls of pleasure by listening to the squeak of the vehicle beneath you.

You're not too sure what you screamed when he hilted inside you in a telltale erratic grind, when you were claimed in a way so vile it chilled your bones. When it seeped out of your ruined orifice, onto the car, a pinkish hue that reminds you of sickly discharge.

The rest of it coated you, the monster grinning and huffing with pride at his work.

At this point, most of the pain you feel has become unreachable, replaced by an ambiguous throb of physical exhaustion and trauma. You cannot move, as if your limbs were made of cement and your back had rooted itself to the metal contraption beneath.

Yet your eyes still find Kalymir's face.

Inside them, burns an animal rage that creases your complexion into something borderline inhuman.

This demon will die by your hands.

Kalymir must have felt the silent, sweltering fury showering you from head to toe, releasing a delighted swoon as he picks you up like a soaked rag.

You wonder what Hell is like.

[green-apple-juice]

My take on the Angbang reunion when Melkor finally returns to Mairon after being separated for 3,000 years. This is part of my fanfic, which I originally wrote in Ukrainian because my English isn’t perfect, and I feel more comfortable expressing the thoughts in my native language. I liked this part, so I tried to translate it. I hope you enjoy it, but I apologize for any mistakes.

***

“You have not changed at all… my dear Mairon…” A soft chuckle came from above. “My loyal lieutenant. Rise and let me finally look at you.”

The Maia obeyed, though the words sounded more like a request than a command. When he was near Melkor, the line between the two often blurred, like a pattern in the sand washed away by the stormy sea. Still, no matter how the words were spoken, he could not ignore his master’s will.

Mairon rose to his full height before the bed, straightening his back and trying to keep his expression calm, though the tears welling in his throat were impossible to suppress entirely. He knew, of course, that hiding them was futile. Melkor knew him too well—he had always been able to read Mairon as easily as an open book.

Now wasn't the time to show weakness. Mairon feared Melkor might take it as an insult or, worse, as pity. He had no right to pity one whose name was the very embodiment of power and majesty. Melkor didn't need his tears. No matter what had happened, he was still the lord of the world, his king. Even now, injured and exhausted, he remained the one who had conquered both the world and Mairon himself.

For a long moment, Melkor was silent, simply studying his lieutenant. He neither spoke nor moved—it seemed as if he wasn’t even breathing. Mairon dared not look up, but as the silence dragged on, screaming in his ears, he could endure it no longer. Finally, he whispered:

“My lord?…”

Their eyes met. Mairon felt his knees weaken, but not from fear or despair at having disappointed his beloved. In Melkor’s black eyes, there was no disgust, no rage. Instead, he gazed upon Mairon as though he were the greatest and most beautiful being in all the universe. A gentle smile touched his lips, and in the deep darkness of his eyes, there was a glimmer like starlight reflected on the ocean’s surface. Yet to Mairon, that sight outshone even the creations of Varda.

It was with that same gaze that Melkor had welcomed Mairon on the day he arrived in Utumno, leaving behind Aulë, Yavanna, and all of Almaren to pledge the eternal devotion to his new master. And it was with that same gaze that he looked upon him each time their passionate embraces carried them into oblivion, in the whirlwind of shared ecstasy.

“You are as perfect as the day I last saw you,” Melkor whispered, his deep, low voice trembling. “As if it were only yesterday.”

“But it was so long ago,” Mairon said before he could stop himself. The words escaped more like a sob, raw with pain. “And it was hard for me. I… I missed you, my lord. So much that I thought I would lose my mind. I wanted to go to Valinor and kill Manwë and Varda with my own hands for parting us. Or fall to my knees before them and beg permission to be with you.”

His legs gave out again, and Mairon nearly collapsed, clutching the edge of the bed as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. He knew he had no right to voice such feelings. He should have been reporting to Melkor about important matters: the fortress, ready to rise above the land, grander than ever; the army, gathered and awaiting orders to kill the enemies and glorify his name. Those were the things that mattered—his own emotions did not. And yet, the words poured from him, unstoppable, breaking through all barriers and drowning him in a torrent of longing and despair.

“But you did not do it, and for that, I am proud of you,” Melkor’s hoarse whisper came again, as the rustling of leaves in the wind. “I knew you would remain strong, even when it was unbearable. In doing so, you helped me as well. It would have been far more painful to see you there—forced to humble yourself before them, to beg for mercy, to promise to amend and atone for your guilt. And then to watch them imprison you, or worse, condemn you to serve that wretched Aulë again. They… they do not deserve you. None of them do. They are unworthy even to touch a single strand of your hair, Mairon.“

Mairon held his breath, hanging on every word. Melkor’s wounded hands gripped the edge of the bedspread as he continued:

“I have endured everything that has befallen me because I held your face in my mind. I thought of you waiting for me. And I know you will wait—however long it may take. You are my most precious treasure, my fiery Maia, my other half. You belong to me—you are mine, and mine alone. More than that, you chose to be mine, and not even damn Eru can change that.”

Mairon could not find the words to fully express what he felt upon hearing this. The knowledge that Melkor had never stopped thinking of him, that their love had not faded but had only grown brighter and stronger, filled his heart. Their bond had hardened, like molten metal shaped in the flames of a forge, hammered into a weapon forged for unwavering loyalty and vengeance against their enemies.

Mairon felt as though he could destroy the entire world to avenge the suffering and loss they had endured.

But doing so would mean leaving Melkor alone in this room—and he would sooner die than abandon him now. Instead, Mairon did what he had dreamed of through all those long, lonely years, when he lay in his cold, empty bed and dared to imagine Melkor by his side.

Grasping Melkor’s pale face with trembling hands, he pressed his lips to his master’s dry, cracked ones, breathing in his familiar scent, tasting the iron tang of blood, and savoring the warmth of his breath. In that moment, it felt as though the unyielding chain that had bound his heart for all those endless years—forcing him to smother his emotions, choking him with pain—was finally breaking apart, freeing him at last.

[beastgoddk]

State of Harley 2025

Talked about it before but I’m most likely going to be quitting my full time job. The plan, at least in the short term, is to work on art; I wanna make more games, and possibly open up commissions in the future (not soon, sorry). Frankly though, right now, I want time to work on my problems, have new experiences and be around people I care about, new and old. Lately I’ve been feeling some of the worst depression I’ve ever felt in my life. I cannot stop thinking about killing myself. Sorry, I’m a fraud, I know I wrote about telling you all to live. I want to be better. I want to embody what I talk about. I want to believe I can avoid stagnating or falling further into a spiral, and that we all can. I’m tired of feeling so alone and disconnected. I feel like I was only born five years ago. When I look at so many of the people around me I feel such a vast disconnect, watching them exist so effortlessly. I’ve spent so long ignoring these problems and feeling isolated that I feel like I need time to focus on fixing those things, more than a 9-5 job allows anyway. 

I’ve also wanted to focus on creating art for a long time now and felt dejected about being unable to do so. I’ve felt more and more disillusioned about the idea of ever being able to do art in the “industry”, or wanting to for that matter. The things most games are doing are just not something I really care that much about. And that’s if I could get stable, paying 2D art jobs. For a long time it felt like watching my dreams melt in my hands. I can’t wait any longer, I have to make a real attempt at this. I have to try making things I at least care about a little and see what happens. If I fail, at least I tried. I’m prepared to take that risk.

I’m scared. I know it’s risky, but I feel good about finally having the capability to actually attempt this. I look back 10 years or so to when I started learning to draw and I feel ok saying; I’ve worked hard to be in a spot where I can even consider doing this.

Anyway. Exciting things coming soon hopefully. Or maybe not, who knows. Maybe I’ll just spend the whole time being kidnapped and beaten up by other women, that’s fine too.

[tribalauthor]

THE WISEWOMAN (roman reigns ff) <chapter 7>

word count: 1.9K

Sophia's POV:

My whole life I have been a woman of logic. What I mean by that is I have never let a man play with my feelings.

I got this from my mama.

I don't believe in love from first sight. Love is a feeling that develops with time and becomes deeper and deeper every single day.

Therefore, it takes a lot for me to feel attracted to a man. It was like that with Robert. It was like that with Steven in high school.

Yup, I've had only two boyfriends my whole life. No situationships. No one-night stands. And trust me, there have been a lot of candidates but I just know how to reject them since I am very hard to impress.

I am saying all of this because I barely know Roman for a week and I already am impressed by him.

1) The surprise he made me earlier 2) the place he decided to take me 3) the way he is dressed.

He is wearing a white tight dress shirt which is not fully buttoned and he literally looks like those book main characters I always read about. It fits his muscular body perfectly and it makes him look tight and even more buff.

And masculine.

There is a slight exposure of his beautiful tattoo and his brown matte skin. His hair is slicked back in his signature man bun and he had that focused look on the menu big part of which was covered by his hands.

I have never felt like this.

Probably because I dated boys in my life and not men.

Roman is the embodiment of a man - masculine, tall, gentleman, strong, highly self-aware.

I understand why he is so loved by women across the world. He just has the effect.

"So what did you choose?" Roman's voice startled me and I immediately looked at the menu before he looks at me.

Damn, those prices are insane.

I was caught by surprise, so I have to think of something very quickly and not seem suspicious.

"I am puzzled. What are you thinking?" best response I could give.

"I will go for salmon." Roman declared.

"This was the one from my top picks. Okay, I will go for it too." I announced and I put the menu on the table revealing my cleavage in front of him and he immediately glanced at it.

"And for drinks?" he glanced at me with that playful suspicious look in his eyes.

"White wine?" I gave him the same look back and he chuckled.

"I guess you love wine so much, huh?" he teased me and closed the menu.

"Correct. What about you?"

"Wine as well as whiskey but I tend to be careful." he said in a convincing tone as he pulled his chair a bit closer to the table.

"Have you ever got blackout drunk?" I asked out of nowhere.

Roman looked like he got a lot of war flashbacks but tried to beat them with a soft grin.

"Yeah, especially in high school."

"Mm, you were probably one of the jocks, right?" I immediately assumed what would have he been.

"Yup. Is it that obvious?" Roman looked around and then back at me innocently but who knows what that man has been up to.

"Duh." I shook my head.

"Well, what were you like then, little missy?" he teased me.

"Guess." I replied innocently while looking straight at him with doe eyes and a Mona Lisa smirk.

"Before I even spoke with you, I would say you were from the popular mean girls... BUT right now I would say you were from the nerdy girls- those who attended almost like every literature club and stuff." my jaw almost hit the floor.

"Okay, that's so specifically accurate." I said. I have to acknowledge his logic skills. "I'd like to add though that I have rejected everyone from the football team."

"Oh yeah?" he raised his eyebrows and looked down smirking. "I would be one of them if we were in the same high school."

"Most definitely." I confessed and shrugged my arms trying to surpress the big smirk that was about to appear on my face.

"They tried everything. They even signed up for the literature club, they were coming to libraries but it was not working."

"Sadly, I understand them." he sighed. "And who was the lucky guy in the end?"

"The leader of the literature club." Roman rested his back on the chair.

"Of course. Of course." he seemed disappointed but in a teasing way. "I see that you like smart guys - leaders of literature clubs, professors...probably some scientists." his playful madness is bringing so much joy in me and I started laughing out loud.

"Have you decided what to order, Mr. and Miss?" the waiter came to ask us and interrupted the comeback I just prepared.

...

I had zero idea that Roman Reigns is such a funny guy. You could never guess he is actually like that. I usually got the vibes from him that he is a very serious, cold guy but as I see for now, it's far from truth.

The stories he's been telling or more like the way he was telling them was so funny for no reason.

I just wiped another tear that formed in my eye.

"I swear to God my mascara is gonna leak." I stated.

"Better from laughter than anger or heartbreak, so." Roman shrugged and then he licked his lips trying to hide the smug that was forming on his mouth. "Actually the best option is from another specific activity." he snorted and looked down.

I pressed my lips and stared at him with playful judgemental look.

"And what exactly is that specific activity? Enlighten me." I challenged him to elaborate.

He stayed in the exact same position as he was with his eyes down and a shy smile on his face.

"Haven't drank enough for me to go into that topic." his response just couldn't be more mysterious.

Yup, he looks like the guy who broke a lot of hearts in the past, so I kinda understand that he wouldn't want me to get these vibes from him.

As for me and sex. I have been with only two guys as I mentioned. I wouldn't consider myself to be a highly sexual woman. I just did it because I knew I had to and is a crucial part of the relationship. I have never found myself enjoying it so much like my friends for example but they just say this is all because I haven't found the right guy yet.

Roman seems like the kind of man who would want to do this non-stop. He is an athlete, so I guess his drive must be high and his stamina too. Therefore this makes me wonder if something even happens between us, how is this gonna work?

"Maybe some other time we can drink a bit more." I teased.

"Nope. You wouldn't wanna do that. I'm scared of myself and the things I'm gonna do." he hinted and shook his head.

"Hmm...if you say so." I bit my lips. "That wine is very good, by the way and the food. Everything. Thank you for taking me here." I started with the thankful speech since I know men really love that shit.

Roman flashed his diamond grin while I was taking another sip of my glass.

"You are weclome." he replied but then when he saw me, he put his finger on the corner of his mouth. "You have a bit lipstick on the side." I tried to wipe it off but he shook his head and got up from the chair to lean to me and wipe the lipstick stain out of my face with his thumb.

For a damn wrestler, Roman's hands feel soft to the touch.

We iust stared at each other and I fear that even people around us could feel the tension that was going on.

"Thank you." I muttered as he sat back on his chair.

...

Roman stopped his black Lamborghini in front of my house.

We just turned our heads to face each other, knowing that the date has come to its end.

"Good thing is I will get to see you often." he finally broke the silence and I laughed.

"Yup. Do we leave for Georgia on Friday?" I couldn't help but asked the business topics.

"I was thinking of leaving on Thursday actually since Georgia is the city where I studied. I wanna, you know, show you around. Show you the university I've been in." he suggested.

"Okay. Deal." I agreed and flashed a mysterious smile.

"Great." he grinned at me. "Hope you had a great time tonight."

"I did. Thank you so much for everything." I said once again and now my heart started beating faster because I have no idea what to do - should I hug him, should I kiss him...on the cheek?

I don't know.

"I will go with you to the door." he said and got out of the car.

Okay, now I have forty steps time to think.

I felt so cold once I got out and what Roman did is to put his blazer immediately on me which caused me to giggle.

"We are literally here." I said through the laughter.

"I don't care. I don't want my wise woman ill in any way." he stated. "By the way, have I mentioned how beautiful this dress looks on you?"

"Around two or three times." I snorted.

"Fact is a fact." now we are standing exactly in front of the door in my house and as I see my mom ain't asleep yet.

"You live with somebody?" Roman couldn't help but ask.

"Yeah, my mom." I simply replied and I hope he doesn't ask more because I don't wanna get into detail about my father.

At least not yet.

"Ah, I see." he nodded his head and looked down for a bit and then he looked straight up to me with a bit sneaky look.

"Would she be mad that you are home late?"

After his question I rolled my eyes immediately.

"I am 26, not 16." I crossed my arms. "You wanna meet her?" I was about to open the door but he caught my hand to prevent me doing so.

His grip was strong but not strong enough to hurt me. While I was feeling cold, I suddenly felt warmth going through my body.

"No. What are you going to introduce me as?" he spoke in a quiet tone and glanced at the door. He kinda looked like those dramatic guys you see in the movies. I have actually never seen him so concerned.

"As my temporary co-worker." I shrugged.

"No. I don't wanna be introduced like that." he declared as he pouted his lips and shook his head once.

"Oh excuse me. I will do the classic Tribal Chief introduction then." I finally got what he meant. He can't be real.

"Nope." he shook his head again and now I got confused.

"Then?" I furrowed my eybrows and he just shrugged with a tiny smirk forming on his face.

"Let's just wait for now." he spoke as he looked at me with that sweetly devilish spark in his eyes.

That's a man with a clear plan in his head and the scariest thing is that so far it's going well.

[pianistbynight]

ugh when you have the perfect kind of day for chopin's e minor prélude but it's really quite an awful mood to be in so you try as much as possible to avoid it but ugh i think in this state i can play it with emotions that sound quite right... let's hope i can replicate that the next time i practice (i should be sleeping rn)... bc it seems that even if i write down in words what i think the emotions are, they just don't seem to come out right if i'm not currently feeling them myself. and sometimes i don't want to feel them myself. lately i've been putting a block on my emotions when i play because i don't want to feel them. but then i start playing like a robot. which makes me feel worse because this ONE artsy thing i was supposed to be good at, i can't seem to do anymore.

but maybe i should just get better at allowing myself to feel the things i don't want to. imagining the physical and mental sensations of it, the heaviness, the lethargy, the resignation, the shaking with racking sobs, the resolutions made while depressed, just sitting with them, and accepting the feelings and thoughts for what they are. an experience, a sensation, but not my entire being. maybe being able to pick and choose what i feel, both the super negative and the super positive, would be a sign of me getting better at regulating my emotions...

[shredsandpatches]

Our beloved local outdoor summer musical theater venue is doing Les Mis this summer and they're looking for 20 extra singers from the symphony chorus to fill out the ensemble on "Do You Hear the People Sing," "One Day More," and the finale -- it would basically involve a couple of days of intensive rehearsals (necessitating two days of vacation time) and a week of performances, it's after the symphony season is over, and it would allow me to do something I've dreamed of since I was ten.

So why am I waffling about it? Oh right, it's my mother's voice in my head. (It's probably also that recovering from covid has got me worried that my voice won't come back--even just with the symphony there's so much amazing stuff happening this season)

eta: it's actually 10 days that we need to be available for rehearsals, I think, which would make it a lot less doable for me, but idk if the supers need to be there the whole time -- I guess I'll go to the interest meeting in a couple of weeks and find out. We get 180 hours of vacation time a year but I will actually need to take a real vacation at some point

[ashmp3]

i think when i’m like 30 i either gotta be an extremely rich architect in a foreign country or i’m killing myself no in between i’m sorry

[earthyorangeaid]

You know what feeling the Red White and Royal Blue movie is helping me finally put into words?? The joy that comes from ACTUALLY getting to relive a piece of work I love.

By that I don’t mean that it’s exactly the same. It’s actually quite different on many levels. But that’s something that I actually LOVE about it. It’s given me a chance to be surprised by and relive the feeling the book gave me in a new and completely wonderful way. There is no one true perfect, right way to tell any one story, and they did a great job of telling this one in a new and just as enjoyable way.

Love you entire crew and staff and cast and directors and writers of RWRB movie, you’ve captured my heart again.

[ebitenpura]

I should just buckle down and finish instead of letting my fic do psychic damage to me when i'm not writing it but I still think about the juxtaposition of Eight next to Theron. I've been trying to parse why their relationship is so tense from Theron's pov even though Eight feels no threat or animosity towards him whatsoever and besides the guilt, it's because he's looking at what he's afraid of being: a spy that became so much of the role's definition that he no longer has any place among other people. One who is used to hurting and hurting others. An agent who only exists in the liminal spaces of blacked-out documents and in the hurried whispers of shadowy figures that do not stay.

Theron is a good spy. He devotes himself wholly to the job. But he hurts and hesitates when forced to do an aspect of it that goes against his conscience; an odd thing to have as an agent, when betrayal is the name of the game.

He remains riddled with guilt for one mission that ultimately had no friendly casualties, while Eight stands before him, an agent known for killing friend and foe, for his lack of commitment to sides, for his self-made solitude built out of the skeletons of other people. Eight is so desensitized to the game that he can thrive nowhere else. Eight has been in it so long he does not blink at these actions, nor at Theron's. He wonders if he's really here for him or just to watch him fall, like a carrion feeder waiting for the body to cool.

Then he beats himself up for thinking that way towards someone who has taken shrapnel for him without hesitation before, and the cycle of having no answers to a cipher of a living being continues.

But in the back of his mind, he sees the same nightmare he so often dreams about on the most sleepless of eves; Eight is extending a hand to him, halfway through a door with no light. "Come on," He says, darkness lapping at his outline like disturbed waters, "I'll lead you to a place where no one can see your mistakes ever again."

[pigmartyr]

How the fuck do I rationalise wanting to live alone for some time

[flaptopfuture]

throwing every canon gf ship out the window with my mind at full power (you can stay melody)

[quarterlifekitty]

hii

can I ask for more scent kink soap? ugh just something about that nasty nasty man GETS me.

So first of all this is inspired by this post that I’m fucking obsessed with so. Omegaverse be upon ye

Freak Soap who finds a pair of used panties on the floor of the communal laundry room in his flat building. So, like the animal he is, he lifts it to his face to sniff.

And like. He’s never really believed in being able to smell someone and just know that they’re a perfect match. Like, that’s nonsense. But right now? If he had a tail it’d be thumping. Like, he whines when he pushes the gusset of your panties right up to his nose, that’s how amazing it smells to him.

He ends up waiting in the laundry room all night to see if the owner will show. No luck. Sulks back to his flat, keeps the panties bunched up in his face while he fists his cock more than a few times.

Every so often he’ll catch little whiffs of it. It’s actually a very subtle scent— it’s probably why he’s never noticed, not till it was concentrated in that slick-soaked fabric. Sort of like how there are some things you’d never find unless you already knew what they looked like. People tell all kinds of stories about scents. That their mates smelled of bergamot and lemongrass, teakwood and honeycomb candy, peppermint and vanilla— all sorts of bath and bodyworks style shite. God knows he’s heard the word petrichor enough for one lifetime.

Gaz told Soap that he smelled like salt and single malt whiskey. Also dirt, but they all smelled like dirt at the time.

This scent was fascinatingly, infuriatingly simple and yet it smelled like the embodiment of home, of comfort—

You smelled like wheat. Warm wheat. It wasn’t spicy, herbaceous, sweet, earthy. Just… wheat.

At the front door of the building. By the mail boxes. In the laundry room. Sometimes, in a cruel twist of fate— right by his own front door. Always weak— just traces. Never accompanied by the wearer. His unpredictable schedule of deployments and leave just make it harder to try to track.

Until one day he comes back. Long bloody mission, dragged through mud, run ragged. Just barely able to scrape through to the finish line before his rut started, thank god. And yet, he’s dreading it. That pair of panties has basically all but lost any traces of you, he’s had it and held it in desperation for so long.

When the lift door opens, he can feel his spine straighten in alert. Wheat. Abundant. Fertile. You’re so close, and so close to a heat.

He drops his duffel by his door as he loses the battle to think of anything but stuffing his knot in a soft, hot cunt. His cock is already painfully hard as the rut claws and pricks at his synapses, coiled and at the ready. But he doesn’t have to travel far.

The door across the hall from his.

He gets low to the ground, like he’s trying to squeeze himself under the door— trying to get closer and closer to the scent.

Knocking, introducing himself, and acting like a human being is far from the forefront of his mind. His first instinct is to jiggle the handle of the door, growling when he finds it locked.

His second instinct is to dig the picking tools from his duffle.

[sugarplumfairy777]

𓂃⋆.˚ ۫ ꣑ৎ a short n’ sweet guide on how to induce the void state ft. hachi

—————————————————————————

meet hachi a young girl who one day stumbles on how to induce pure consciousness. this is her journey:

day 1:

hachi spends her first day scrolling through some of her favorite bloggers posts; a little bit after she scrolls through “#void state” and “#pure consciousness” after a few minutes she comes across a post that reminds her of her power and how she can induce the void state like literally R I G H T N O W now hachi is ready and excited to induce pure consciousness, so she lays down and goes through a flow of instructions and BOOM she is now and her most natural and pure form, which some know as pure consciousness, the void state, I am state, or whatever you wanna call it. now if you thought the following while reading hachi’s journey, you do not understand what it means to be god.

-if you thought that hachi’s journey sounds too fake or too unrealistic because she induced her purest form on the first day of finding out about it, you do not understand.

- if you feel bad now that your journey is longer than hachi’s you do not understand, it doesn’t matter if it’s been two weeks since you’ve been on your journey or if it’s been 4+ years it does not matter at all.

-if you thought of ANY limitations or had any doubt or thoughts of how you can still fail or even uttered “b-b-but that doesn’t make sense, that’s not pos—” yeah, uhm I’ll stop you there before you accidentally make a fool of yourself.

what are you talking about, “impossible” “unrealistic” “too hard” nothing is any of those words for you; a god. like seriously stop making my point fly across your head, YOU ARE GOD. period.

now for the curious people who are wondering, “what did hachi do to induce the void state so fast????”:

step 1: recognize your truth

𓂃⋆ the first step is realizing the most important truth: you are god. you are not a body, not a mind, not tied to any rules or limits. you are pure consciousness—infinite, powerful, limitless. there is no separation between you and the universe because you are the universe. everything flows from you. the void state isn’t something outside of you—it’s within you, always has been.

step 2: it’s already yours

𓂃⋆ the void isn’t something you need to “enter.” there’s no effort, no struggle. it’s instant. you are already there because you are it. time doesn’t exist in the void; it dissolves the moment you recognize your infinite nature. don’t overthink it. you don’t have to do anything special. the void is your natural state—limitless potential, pure being. just by knowing this, you’re already connected to it.

step 3: let go of limitations

𓂃⋆ close your eyes if you want, but know it’s not even necessary. all limits, all beliefs, all stories are illusions. they don’t define you. in this moment, drop everything that tells you who you are “supposed to be.” you are beyond all of that. realize the simplicity of it: there’s no need to fight or overcome anything. just let it go. you’re already infinite.

step 4: feel the stillness

𓂃⋆ once you let go of everything, there’s only stillness. this stillness is you. it’s not the absence of movement—it’s the presence of infinite potential. in this space, there’s no need to question, doubt, or analyze. you don’t need to “try” to reach the void, because you’re already embodying it. the moment you stop chasing it, you realize you were already there.

step 5: exist as pure consciousness

𓂃⋆ in the void, you are pure consciousness, untouched by the world, unshaped by time or space. you are everything and nothing at once. feel this—you are the creator of all, and yet, you are perfectly still. this state is simple, yet profound. you don’t have to do anything to maintain it. just be aware of your own infinite nature.

that’s it. the void state is effortless because you are it. there’s no process, no waiting, only instant realization that you are god, and everything is within your power. hachi did nothing but know her powerful and boom— she manifested her dream closet, her dream body, her dream boyfriend and her dream life in general. if she & so many others can—then so can you 🩷 it’s nothing that deep :p

note: the steps are not required duh anything and everything you do whilst holding the intention of inducing the void state is correct and guaranteed you are god so stop doubting. https://www.tumblr.com/sugarplumfairy777/772229618617991168/failure-doubt-limitations

[pandapetals]

Crush

logan howlett x fem!shy reader - slight angst, misunderstandings, struggle expressing feelings, crushes, introvert reader, x-men cameos, logan being jealous, fluff at end

You have a crush on Logan but being shy and introverted makes it hard for you to tell him that.

read on Ao3

You had a painfully obvious crush, at least to yourself. You kept it locked away, buried under layers of awkwardness and forced indifference. There was no point in admitting it, no point in setting yourself up for the kind of rejection that would leave you reeling for weeks. That’s why they called it a crush—it hurt. And you’d rather avoid the sting altogether.

Logan, of all people, would never look at you that way. Why would he? The man was a living embodiment of rugged confidence, the kind of guy who attracted the attention of bold, sexy women without even trying. Women who exuded confidence, who knew how to flirt without stumbling over their words or turning beet red at the slightest hint of interest.

You were not that woman.

You were awkward, sometimes downright clumsy with your words, and whenever Logan was nearby, you either avoided him completely or turned into a jittery mess. The few times you’d actually spoken to him, you’d kept it short, clipped even—anything to hide the way your heart raced whenever he was within arm’s reach.

But today? Today, fate was not on your side.

"Hey," Logan’s low, gravelly voice cut through the air, pulling you out of your swirling thoughts.

You jumped, nearly dropping the stack of books in your arms as his voice startled you. A squeal escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you cursed under your breath, feeling heat flood your cheeks.

"Hi!" you blurted out, avoiding his gaze as if your life depended on it. Your eyes darted anywhere but at him, settling on the wall, the floor, even the damn ceiling—anywhere but on Logan’s piercing hazel eyes.

You stood there, clutching the books like they were some kind of shield between you and him, your heart hammering in your chest. Logan stood in front of you, his hands casually in his jacket pockets, looking as effortlessly cool as ever. His brows furrowed slightly, probably trying to figure out why you were acting like a deer caught in headlights.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice gruff, though there was a hint of amusement in it.

You nodded quickly, a little too quickly, your palms suddenly sweaty. "Yep, fine," you muttered, shifting your weight from one foot to another. “Just busy.” You gestured vaguely to the books in your arms as if that explained your entire existence.

Logan's gaze lingered on you, those damn intense eyes scanning your face, trying to read something in your expression. You swallowed hard, willing yourself to act normal, but normal wasn't exactly your strong suit when he was around.

"Right," he said, his tone skeptical but not unkind. "You sure? You look like you’re about to bolt."

You forced a laugh, though it came out more like a strained chuckle. "No, no bolting," you lied, though the urge to flee was strong. Your nerves were screaming at you to make up some excuse and leave before you made an even bigger fool of yourself.

Logan didn’t move, didn’t let you off the hook that easily. He stood there, hands still in his pockets, watching you with that calm, unshakable presence that made him impossible to ignore.

"So, I was thinkin’," he started, his voice a little softer now, almost hesitant—something you weren’t used to hearing from him. "You and me, we should... hang out sometime."

Your heart nearly stopped. Hang out? Logan wanted to hang out with you?

Your brain went into overdrive, trying to process the words, but instead of the cool, collected response you wished you could give, you blurted out, “Why?”

The word came out sharper than you intended, and you immediately winced, mentally kicking yourself. Of all the ways you could’ve responded, why was probably the worst? It sounded rude, and defensive, like you couldn’t believe he would even suggest it.

Logan raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Why not?”

You blinked, feeling your face grow even hotter. “I-I don’t know, I just—” You stumbled over your words, trying to backtrack but only making it worse. “I mean, you don’t usually talk to me, and I figured you’d rather—uh—hang out with someone else, you know?”

The smirk on Logan’s face softened, his eyes narrowing slightly in the way they did when he was trying to figure someone out. "I’d rather hang out with you," he said, his voice low and steady, without a hint of hesitation.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, your mind reeling. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t mocking you. He was... serious and that realization only made you more nervous.

You shifted on your feet, clutching the books tighter. “I’m... not exactly the best company,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze again. “I’m awkward, and—well, I’m not really good at this kind of thing.”

Logan chuckled, the sound low and almost warm. “Darlin’, you think I’m lookin’ for someone perfect to hang out with? I’m about as rough around the edges as they come.”

You hesitated, sneaking a glance at him from under your lashes. He was still watching you, but there was something softer in his expression now, something that made the knots in your stomach loosen just a little.

“I don’t know,” you murmured, feeling your voice wobble under the weight of everything unsaid. Uncertainty hung in the air between you and Logan, thick and suffocating, making your chest tighten with every awkward breath.

Logan stepped closer, his usual gruffness softened by the unspoken question in his eyes. His hand moved toward your face, almost instinctively, but he stopped short, his fingers lingering just inches from your cheek, as if he was afraid to touch you—afraid of crossing a line. His jaw clenched the hard edge of frustration in his expression barely masked by the vulnerability he wasn’t used to showing.

“Do you hate me or somethin’?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, so sudden and raw that they knocked the wind out of you. Hate him? Your throat tightened as you stared at him, the disbelief written all over your face. How could he think that? How could anyone hate Logan? The idea was so far from the truth that it left you speechless for a moment, caught between the shock of his question and the overwhelming desire to fix whatever misunderstanding had led him here.

“No—” You shook your head, the word falling out of your mouth clumsily, but it wasn’t enough to erase the hurt that flickered behind his eyes.

Logan’s face hardened, that familiar guarded look slipping back into place like armor, shielding him from whatever pain he thought you were hiding. He shifted his weight, his arms crossing over his chest in a way that felt more like a barrier than anything else. “Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered, his voice low, almost resigned. “You don’t talk to me. Hell, you barely look at me.”

You winced, feeling the truth in his words like a knife twisting in your gut. He wasn’t wrong. You had been avoiding him, dodging his gaze in hallways, keeping your conversations short, brushing him off whenever he tried to get close. But it wasn’t because you hated him—not even close. It was because every time he looked at you, your heart raced in a way that terrified you, a way that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall.

The last thing you wanted was to fall for someone who could never want you the way you wanted him.

Logan took your silence as confirmation of his worst fears. His jaw clenched tighter, the hurt in his eyes hardening into something closer to anger, though not quite—more like frustration and resignation rolled into one. “Look, if I’ve done somethin’ to piss you off, just say it,” he said, his voice rough around the edges, but quieter now, like he was trying not to let the hurt show. “But this whole… act? This avoidin’ me all the damn time? I don’t get it. I ain’t done nothin’ to deserve this.”

His words cut deep, guilt gnawing at the edges of your heart. You could see it now—how your awkwardness, your fear, had been misread as rejection. How Logan, of all people, had been standing there, arms outstretched, only to be met with walls you didn’t even realize you were building.

You opened your mouth to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. You didn’t know how to explain the mess inside your head, the way you’d convinced yourself that keeping distance between you and him was safer, easier, than admitting how much he affected you. How much you wanted him, despite everything telling you it could never work.

Logan’s eyes flashed with frustration as the silence stretched between you. He ran a hand through his hair, his rough fingers tangling in the strands like he was trying to keep himself from saying something he’d regret. “You’re really not gonna say anything, huh?” His voice broke a little, rawer now, like the frustration had finally worn him down.

Your heart hammered in your chest, the weight of his words suffocating. The look on his face—the quiet hurt, the way his eyes flickered between anger and something far more vulnerable—was too much. It was too much to bear, too much to know that he’d spent all this time thinking you hated him when the truth was the exact opposite.

“I don’t hate you,” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips, but they carried more weight than you realized.

Logan stilled, his eyes locking onto yours, searching for something—some hint of truth, some explanation that made sense of all the confusion that had built between you. “Then what the hell is it?” he asked. “’Cause I don’t get it, darlin’. One minute you’re actin’ like I don’t exist, and the next you’re—” He stopped himself, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to find the right words. “I just don’t know what the hell I did wrong.”

Your heart ached at the pain in his voice, at the way he seemed so sure he was the problem. The truth weighed heavy on your chest, but fear kept your mouth shut—fear that once you said it, once you admitted how you felt, there’d be no going back.

Logan wasn’t going to wait forever. He took a step back, pulling his hand away from where it had hovered near your face, his eyes flickering with something close to disappointment. “Forget it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna beg.”

He turned as if to walk away, and panic surged through you, your chest tightening with the fear that you’d let him leave without explaining, without fixing what you’d broken. Your hand shot out instinctively, grabbing his arm before you even realized what you were doing.

“Wait—Logan, please.” Your voice cracked, your grip on his arm tightening. He stopped, glancing down at your hand, then back up at you with those sharp hazel eyes, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

He waited. His silence a heavy, painful thing as you struggled to find the right words. “I don’t hate you,” you repeated, more firmly this time, your heart pounding in your ears. “I… I just—” You swallowed hard, your chest aching with the weight of what you were about to admit. “I didn’t know how to be around you.”

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing as he studied your face. “What d’you mean?”

You bit your lip, your mind racing for an escape, any way to pull yourself out of this vulnerable moment. You could feel the truth bubbling up inside you, threatening to spill out, but fear clenched around your chest like a vice. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t tell him.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, your voice tight, forced. Your eyes flickered to the floor, your stomach twisting as you scrambled for something, anything, to steer the conversation away from the truth. A lie formed on your tongue, half-formed and desperate, and you latched onto it before you could stop yourself. “I’ve just been... distracted.”

Logan’s frown deepened. “By what?” His voice was quiet, but there was a sharpness to it, a need to understand that made your stomach churn. He was getting too close, too damn close.

Panic surged through you, and before you knew what you were saying, the words tumbled out. “It’s... someone else.” You cringed inwardly as the lie left your lips, feeling the weight of it settle between you like a barrier.

Logan’s expression shifted, confusion flickering across his face, and then something darker. He tightened his jaw as his eyes hardened. “Someone else?” he repeated, his voice low, carefully controlled.

You nodded, your heart sinking. You couldn’t stop now. The lie was out, and you had to commit to it. “Yeah, um... it’s just—I’ve been kinda... into someone from the team.” The words felt foreign, clumsy like they didn’t belong to you. You hated how easily they fell from your lips, how they felt like a betrayal of everything you actually wanted to say.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, his arms crossed over his chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he studied you. “Who?” The word was clipped, sharp, like he was bracing himself for something he didn’t want to hear.

You froze. Who? You hadn’t thought that far ahead. Your mind raced, and in your panic, you blurted out the first name that came to you. “Scott.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Logan’s reaction was immediate—his jaw clenched so tight you thought you could hear his teeth grind. His eyes flickered with something hot and dangerous before he quickly masked it. He took a step back, his hands curling into fists at his sides, his posture rigid. “Scott, huh?”

You nodded, swallowing the guilt that rose in your throat like bile. “Yeah,” you mumbled, hating yourself more with every second that passed. “I mean... I know he’s kinda, you know with Jean but...you can see why I didn’t want anyone knowing—”

Logan let out a sharp breath, cutting you off. His eyes, usually so intense but warm, were cold now, narrowed and unreadable. “That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?” His voice was rough, edged with something that made your heart ache. “Because you’re into Scott?”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak. You just nodded, the lie sitting heavy on your chest, suffocating you.

Logan’s laugh was humorless, more of a bitter scoff than anything else. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair, his movements tense, almost angry. “Well, should’ve seen it.” 

You stood there, the room suddenly feeling too big, too empty, the weight of your lie pressing down on you like a heavy stone. Logan had left without looking back, his words still ringing in your ears—“Should’ve seen it”—and you wished, more than anything, that you could take it all back. But the damage was done, and now you were left with nothing but the bitter taste of regret.

You slumped into a chair, burying your face in your hands, replaying the moment repeatedly, wishing you’d had the courage to just tell him the truth.

Meanwhile, Logan was storming down the hallway, his mind a tangled mess of frustration, confusion, and something he couldn’t quite name. He wasn’t one for feelings—hell, he’d spent most of his life trying to bury them—but this? This hit him differently. The thought of you having a crush on Scott had thrown him, and for his life, he couldn’t figure out why. What the hell did you see in the guy?

His footsteps echoed through the mansion as he made a beeline for the training room, where he knew Scott would be. When he pushed through the door, the room was mostly empty, save for Scott, who was busy adjusting one of the control panels near the Danger Room entrance.

"Summers," Logan growled, his voice low and sharp as he approached.

Scott turned, eyebrows raised beneath his visor, clearly not expecting Logan to barge in like this. "Logan," he said, keeping his voice neutral. "What’s going on?"

Logan stalked closer, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Did you know she had a crush on you?" he demanded, his voice rough with barely contained frustration.

Scott blinked, clearly confused. "Know about what?"

"Her," Logan snapped. "She’s got a crush on you. You knew about that?"

Scott looked completely taken aback, his mouth slightly agape before quickly composing himself. "Wait, who are we talking about?" he asked, genuinely bewildered. "Are you talking about... her?"

Logan clenched his jaw, the muscle ticking beneath his stubble. "Yeah, her. She told me she’s been into you, and now I’m tryin’ to figure out what the hell’s goin’ on."

Scott’s confusion deepened, and he shook his head. "I had no idea," he admitted, sounding as baffled as Logan felt. "I thought she had a thing for Kurt."

Logan's scowl deepened. "Kurt?" he repeated, the name coming out like a low growl. "You’re sayin’ she’s into Nightcrawler?"

Scott shrugged. "That’s what I thought. I’ve seen them talk a few times, and she seemed... I don’t know, shy around him. Figured she liked him."

Logan’s frustration flared even higher, his temper fraying as the conversation spiraled further away from what he thought he knew. First, he’d thought you were into Scott, and now Scott was telling him you might have a crush on Kurt? None of it was making any sense, and the knot in Logan’s chest tightened.

"Thanks for nothin’, Summers," Logan grumbled, already turning on his heel and heading for the door.

Scott held up his hands, his visor catching the light. "Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just telling you what I saw."

Logan grunted in response, barely acknowledging Scott as he stormed out of the training room, his mind racing. If Scott didn’t know, and if you weren’t into him... then maybe Kurt had the answer. Logan’s jaw clenched at the thought, a surge of jealousy he hadn’t expected twisting in his gut. He needed to get to the bottom of this, one way or another.

Logan found Kurt in the garden, perched on a stone bench, lost in thought. The air around him was peaceful, the soft sound of birds chirping and the rustling of leaves in the wind providing a calm backdrop to the scene. But Logan wasn’t here for calm.

"Kurt," Logan called, his voice cutting through the serenity like a blade.

Kurt looked up, his yellow eyes widening slightly as Logan approached, clearly sensing the tension rolling off him. "Logan," he greeted cautiously, his tail twitching nervously. "Is something wrong?"

Logan stopped a few feet away from him, crossing his arms over his chest. "You and her," he said bluntly. "There somethin’ goin’ on there?"

Kurt’s brows furrowed in confusion, his tail curling around the leg of the bench as he tilted his head. "Her?" he echoed, trying to follow Logan’s line of thought. "Who are you talking about?"

Logan huffed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. "The girl," he growled. "You’ve been talkin’ to her. Scott thinks she’s into you. Is that true?"

Kurt blinked, completely thrown off by the accusation. "Into me?" He shook his head quickly, standing up from the bench. "No, Logan, that’s not true. We’ve spoken, yes, but nothing like that. She’s... well, she seems reserved around everyone."

Logan’s jaw tightened. "So you’re tellin’ me you haven’t noticed her actin’ strange around you?"

Kurt smiled gently, trying to diffuse the situation. "Everyone acts strange around me at first, Logan. But no, I don’t believe she has feelings for me. I think you might be mistaken."

Logan let out a frustrated sigh, feeling no closer to an answer than when he’d started this ridiculous search. "Great," he muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "First Scott, now you... I don’t know what the hell’s goin’ on."

Kurt watched him for a moment, his expression softening with understanding. "Perhaps," he began carefully, "you’re looking for answers in the wrong place. If you want to know who she cares about... maybe you should ask Ororo."

“Why would I ask her?” Logan growled, more to himself than anyone else. “What’s she got to do with this?”

Kurt, ever patient, tilted his head and gave Logan a knowing smile. “Because she and Ororo are friends. I’ve seen them spend a lot of time together. If anyone knows what’s going on, it’s her.”

Logan grunted, rolling his shoulders, his tension palpable. He didn’t want to involve Ororo—didn’t want to turn this into more of a thing than it already was. But if Kurt was right, and Ororo knew something… well, he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Thanks,” Logan muttered, already turning to leave.

Kurt nodded, watching Logan go, but his yellow eyes were filled with something more than amusement—something that hinted at the truth Logan was too stubborn to see for himself just yet.

Logan found Ororo in the greenhouse, tending to a row of plants that thrived under her careful touch. The humid air clung to him as he stepped inside, the smell of earth and rain filling the space. Ororo didn’t look up at first, her focus on the delicate leaves of a blooming flower, but she knew he was there. She always did.

“Logan,” she greeted calmly, her voice like the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. “What brings you here?”

Logan wasted no time, his frustration still simmering just below the surface. “I need to ask you somethin’,” he said, his tone gruff as usual.

Ororo finally looked up, her serene expression unwavering. “Go ahead.”

He hesitated for a second, feeling foolish now that he was standing in front of her. Ororo wasn’t the kind of person you grilled for answers, but he was desperate. “You and her,” he started, his eyes narrowing. “You two are close. Has she… said anythin’ to you about someone she’s into?”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “Why do you ask?”

Logan’s jaw clenched. He hated this dance, hated feeling like he was walking into a trap he couldn’t see. “Kurt said you’d know. I’m tryin’ to figure out if what I heard is true, that she’s got feelings for Scott.” The name came out like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Ororo tilted her head, her expression softening. “Logan, what exactly are you trying to figure out?”

Logan scowled, feeling the question cut too close to something he hadn’t fully confronted. “I just… need to know if she’s into someone. That’s all.” His words were clipped, defensive.

Ororo’s eyes sparkled with quiet understanding. She didn’t say anything for a long moment, just watched him with that unnerving calm that made him feel like she could see right through him.

When she finally spoke, her voice was gentle but firm. “Logan, if you’re so concerned about who she’s interested in, perhaps you should ask yourself why.”

Logan stiffened, his muscles coiled tight. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Ororo’s smile softened, but she didn’t back down. “You’re chasing answers about her feelings, but I think the real question is about yours.”

He blinked, thrown off by her words, but before he could snap back with his usual gruffness, something clicked—something that made his heart tighten in his chest. Jealousy.

Was that what this was? All this running around, demanding to know who you were interested in, snapping at the thought of you liking someone else… it wasn’t about figuring out the truth. It was about him. It was about the way his heart twisted at the thought of you being with anyone but him. The way he couldn’t shake the anger, the gnawing insecurity, because deep down, he wanted to be the one you were looking at, thinking about.

Ororo watched the realization settle over him, her gaze steady but compassionate. “You’ve been chasing the wrong answers, Logan,” she said softly. “If you want to know how she feels, ask her. But first, figure out how you feel.”

Logan stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, the weight of her words sinking in. He didn’t respond, didn’t know how to. Instead, he gave a curt nod, turning on his heel and stalking out of the greenhouse, his mind a mess of conflicting emotions.

The rest of the day, Logan couldn’t get Ororo’s words out of his head. Jealousy. He wasn’t the type to get jealous. He’d lived too long and seen too much to get caught up in feelings like that. But damn it, whenever he thought about you with someone else—Scott, Kurt, anyone—it made his blood boil in a way he couldn’t explain.

By the time night fell Logan had had enough. He needed answers. He needed to know the truth, not just about you, but about himself.

With a deep breath, he made his way to your room, his pulse thrumming with a mix of frustration, confusion, and something he wasn’t quite ready to name yet.

When he knocked on your door, he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps inside. A moment later, you opened the door, looking surprised to see him standing there. The expression on your face quickly turned to confusion when you saw the intensity in his eyes.

“Logan? What’s going on?”

He didn’t waste any time. “We need to talk.”

You frowned, your hand tightening on the doorknob. “About what?”

Logan stepped closer, his voice low and rough. “About you. Who the hell you’re really into?”

Your eyes widened, panic flashing across your face. “W-what are you talking about? I already told you—”

Logan cut you off with a growl, his frustration boiling over. “Don’t lie to me. I’ve been runnin’ around all day trying to figure this out—askin’ Scott, Kurt, even Ororo. And you know what? None of them know a damn thing. So I’m done with the guessin’. You’re gonna tell me the truth. Right now.”

Your heart pounded so hard you were sure Logan could hear it. The weight of his words, the raw frustration in his voice, wrapped around your chest like a vise. This was it—the moment you’d been running from, the one that made you feel exposed, vulnerable, and terrified.

You couldn’t run now. 

You swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “Logan... I don’t like Scott. Or Kurt. That was just—I panicked,” you confessed, the lie sitting heavy between you both, a truth finally dragging itself into the light. 

Logan’s eyes, usually so unreadable and guarded, were stormy with confusion and something sharper, something closer to hurt. He stared at you for a moment, trying to make sense of what you’d just said. “Why did you lie?” His voice was rough, almost accusing. “If you hate me, then just admit it.”

The way he said it—the bitterness in his tone—cut through you like a knife. Hate him? The idea was ridiculous, absurd, and yet it was clear Logan had convinced himself of it as if you avoiding him, your awkwardness, could only be explained by disgust.

“I don’t hate you!” you blurted, more forcefully than you intended. Your voice cracked with the weight of your own emotions, and you immediately took a step back, trying to gather yourself, but Logan wasn’t letting you go that easily.

“Then why does your heart race every time you see me?” Logan pressed, his voice low but intense. He took a step toward you, the space between you growing smaller, the air thick with tension. “I must scare you, right? You must be terrified of me because you hate me.”

The words hit like a wave, your breath catching as his eyes bore into yours, a mix of frustration, vulnerability, and anger swirling in his gaze. He was waiting for you to confirm it, to say what he thought was the truth—that you couldn’t stand to be around him.

Your throat tightened, your pulse hammering in your ears as you struggled to find the right words. How could you explain what you felt when even you didn’t fully understand it? The confusion, the fear of rejection, the way being near him made you feel so exposed like he could see through every wall you’d ever put up. 

“You don’t scare me,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Logan, it’s not that.”

“Then what?” His voice was still rough, but there was a flicker of something softer underneath—like he was holding on to the hope that maybe there was more to this than he thought.

“I don’t hate you,” you said again, your voice steadier this time, though your chest still felt tight. “I just... I didn’t know how to act around you. Because every time I see you, every time you’re near me, I—”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. Logan didn’t move, his eyes still locked on yours, waiting, watching, almost daring you to finish.

“I feel something,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “And it scares me.”

Logan’s expression shifted, the anger fading as something else settled in—something that made your stomach twist in anticipation. His jaw clenched, his fists relaxing at his sides, and for a moment, he just looked at you, really looked at you, like he was seeing you for the first time.

“What’re you sayin’?” he asked quietly, almost hesitant like he didn’t trust himself to believe what he thought he was hearing.

Your breath hitched as his question hung between you, the truth teetering on the edge of your tongue. You had been running from this moment for so long, hiding behind your awkwardness and your fear. But now? Now you had to say it.

“I’m saying...” you began, your heart pounding as the words finally came, “that I could never hate you because I don’t know how to handle…you.”

Logan’s eyes softened, the frustration melting away as the truth hit him. He took another step closer, his presence almost overwhelming, but not in the way you feared. It was grounding, steady, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like running.

“I make your heart race because... you like me?” he asked, his voice low, the disbelief in it unmistakable.

You nodded, your chest tight with anticipation, your eyes locked on his. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I do.”

Logan exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it. He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again, softer, more open than you’d ever seen it.

“All this time,” he murmured, his voice rough and full of something raw, something you weren’t used to seeing in him. “You’ve been drivin’ me crazy, and I thought—” He stopped himself, his lips curving into a small, rueful smile. “I thought you couldn’t stand me.”

You felt a wave of relief crash over you, the weight of your unspoken feelings finally lifting. “I couldn’t stand being around you,” you admitted with a nervous laugh, “because every time I was, I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

Logan chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, like a quiet rumble from deep in his chest. He took another step closer, his hand reaching up, this time closing the distance and gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch was warm, his fingers rough but careful as they lingered there.

“Well, now I know why you kept avoiding me,” he muttered, his smirk softening into something more tender. “Guess I should’ve figured it out sooner.”

You smiled, feeling your heart flutter in your chest as you looked up at him, the tension between you shifting into something deeper, something that felt like it had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to come to light.

“So... what now?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s eyes darkened with something unreadable, but his smile stayed, slow and easy. “Now?” he murmured, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Now…I would really like to kiss you.”

He leaned down, his lips hovering just above yours for a heartbeat, waiting, giving you the chance to pull away—but you didn’t. Instead, you leaned in, your heart racing as his lips finally pressed against yours, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the moment he thought he’d never have.

The kiss was gentle at first, cautious, but it didn’t take long for the heat between you to build, the months of longing and tension finally breaking through. When you pulled away, your breath shaky, Logan’s forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“Should’ve told me sooner,” he muttered, his voice low, teasing but soft.

You laughed softly, still catching your breath. “Yeah, well... better late than never, right?”

Logan smirked, his fingers brushing through your hair. “Right.”

[theeternalwombtarot]

your persons intimate fantasies about you (18+)

Message: you guys over here on tumblr have the nsfw covers and the covers for TikTok and Instagram are sweeter because unfortunately TikTok is sensitive and so is Instagram 💀 anyways, we’re in Scorpio season and I felt like it was time for me to do another 18+ reading, I hardly ever do these, they all make nervous 🙄✋🏾but for you, I will do it because who doesn’t want the tea on what their persons fantasies are about them let’s literally be for real. Stop looking at me I’m embarrassed 😞. Let’s just hurry up and do it.

***

pile one: The first card out was the sun card upright pile one, I've got some channeled messages as well that I've pulled out this person just wants to make you happy, they just want to please you. You're the top priority in their fantasies about you, I get the imagery of someone working extra hard, doing everything in their power to make sure you cum first if not multiple times, it's almost like they wouldn't even care if they finished themselves. They think you'd look pretty during sex or that your faces and moans would further push them to fuck you with their best effort. This person also may feel like you're a tough one or have a strong energy outside of the bedroom in your day-to-day life this person wants you to melt in their hands and submit to them, I'm also hearing they want you to be completely exhausted afterward, out of breath, or they want to be put you straight to sleep. Some of these people are masculine energies and have really heavy dominant traits or tendencies, care for you, adore you, may want to protect you, or be protective of you.

There's a lot of imagery of someone lying behind you or draping a heavy arm over you when you guys are finished or watching you sleep to admire their accomplishment or to make sure you're okay. I also pulled "acts of service (pleasure, aftercare, etc.) from my channeled messages so that kind of confirms the energy I'm getting from this person. They may be the type to run you a warm bath afterward, help you clean up, or make sure everything is to your liking afterward. This person is going to prioritize your needs every time, anything you do for them in the bedroom or sexually I heard "would be nice." but it's never their top priority. You may be really pretty or be someone who is really put together or would go into intimacy, makeup, and hair done, looking nice, I kind of almost get like an old school wifey vibe, the way beauty ritual for your husband/partner was a thing, like pampering yourself, putting on a little makeup, doing your hair, or putting on something your partner would like before they come home to you. This person imagines you looking good before sex with them and may even feel like you almost look your best but they fantasize about ruining all that, mascara streaming down your face, hair looking insane, lipstick swiped off, etc.

This person loves your face or your features either way though so you'll always be pretty to them or this person is really in awe of your physical appearance. Pulled "Cancerian features (soft bodies, curves, breast, soft features, etc.)" This person thinks your natural features are very sweet but also thinks that you're very sexy, you may have full hips, or a soft body shape, a nice waist or midriff, you may have big boobs or a soft or full butt too and this person is really obsessed with that, imagines themselves in between your thighs if you're a woman, imagines themselves caressing your skin or grabbing handfuls of your ass. I'm getting like doughy imagery, like a Greek goddess or even people who have similar body types to doja cat or someone with a south African body type or maybe even someone Somali. This person thinks your figure is the embodiment of a whole lot of woman. getting "this is a man's world, but not without a woman." This person is obsessed with you pile one, you're extremely desirable to them. I get a lot of pussy worship from this pile too, if you're a woman this person fantasizes about eating you out or lapping away at you or sticking their fingers in it.

Pulled "wet pussy." too, this person thinks you're hiding a slip in slide in between your legs and fantasizes about you being wet for them or fantasizes about what it would feel like to stick their hand in your panties or discover that you are aroused. which one of you are water signs, it's sticky in here. 😟. I haven't even gotten to the second row of cards in my spread, this person just has a lot on their mind, they dreams about you often, has wet dreams about you or fantasize about being intimate with you like clockwork, they should be getting paid for it due to all the time they devote to thinking of you. This person dreams of you desiring them though or being impressed with them, you being needy or them being the object of all your desires or someone you ache for or spend a lot of time fantasizing about. If this person is quiet about their desires or nonchalant about things like this, I hope you know they're pretending. This person fantasizes about you coming undone all over them, tearing up during orgasms or releasing high-pitched moans or making all types of outlandish vocalizations while they f*ck you. They want you all to themselves and if they're spiritual or are into spiritual thinking they fantasize about a soul-deep connection with you that makes your desire for them magnified and out of control.

I was just listening to "any time, any place" by Janet Jackson yesterday, and I had "my heart belongs to you" by Jodeci stuck in my head yesterday, I absolutely get 90s baby-making music vibes from this person. This person wants to worship you. This person wants to drag you around on the bed, pick you up and toss you around, or loves to be hands-on, this person likes to talk you through it, will tell you good job for squirting and creaming. LMAO nooo! the intro lyrics to "my heart belongs to you" being exactly how this person feels, go look at the lyrics immediately. This person also feels like you're a little shy about sex or are usually very quiet about your desires and like to keep them to yourself and this person thinks this is cute or this turns them on. I also pulled the king of cups but it landed sideways, this person is extremely sweet on you but the sideways position of the card leads me to believe this person is sweet on you and wants to cater to you romantically and be obsessed and cuddly with you but in bed sort of has a switch that they flip. This your man???? I don't know friend I had to stand up out of my seat and clap..

channeled messages I pulled:

"Relieving period cramps or menstrual pain through penetration"

"Favorite place? ; inside you."

"Cancerian features (soft bodies, curves, breast, soft features,,"

"wet p*ssy."

"exactly someone's type."

"finger f*cking (knuckles deep, rings on fingers,,)" yall need to be stopped.

"favorite positions/taking notes"

"eyes tearing up"/"coming undone."

special spots (g-spot,a-spot, erogenous zones on your body) this person knows what you like or will study you and wants to hit all the right spots repeatedly

"desire to please"

"wet dreams"

"sex after marriage or delayed gratification"

"acts of service (pleasure, after care, etc.")

"worship of eachothers divinity / divine feminine worship/ divine masculine worship"

"having sex in public , "any time any place"" (this person likes the idea of car sex with you, you being needy, or not being able to wait until you get home to sleep with them)

"obsessed with your physique"

"first to break celibacy or take virginity"

channeled music:

"any time, any place" -Janet Jackson (miss freak-a-leak supreme)

"Feenin'" -Jodeci

"My heart belongs to you" -Jodeci

"Just the two of us" - Bill Withers

"It's a man's world" - James Brown

"At Last" -Etta James

extras:

this person has sloppy or big handwriting

this person is a quick thinker, is witty, or pays close attention

this person has calloused hands or does a lot of work with their hands

"I will survive" - Gloria Gaynor (this song came on auto-play and was really distracting to me, I almost got up and did a back flip and put on an entire performance, you may remind this person of this song or something like it, I'm channeling a lot of 70s energy or 70s feminine energy, this person may think of you that way or you give them 70s sex symbol energy, think Pam Grier, big breasted and natural, supple skin, big hair, glamour, etc. )

beauty competitions or pageants or feminine displays of beauty like burlesque is the energy you give this person

Etta James or Beyonce in Cadillac Records (you really remind this person of vintage women in history or if you're a man vintage male figures in history, there's something this person picks up when they think of you that's very vintage, classic, romanticized or antique and valuable)

you remind this person of classic recipes or like angel food cake, classic vanilla recipes, homemade things or nostalgia specific to fragrance, touch, and auditory stimuli like music or melodies.

this person likes to eat, they're an eater and you might be as well, is a fan of fine dining but also is a fan of oral sex and likes it done to them as well, is a big fan of how you suck dick if you do oral is big in this connection. if you've never gotten good oral, this persons about to change your life or thinks of doing so, mouth wide open, chin dripping type of people.

blankets or bed being a mess, or like pillow feathers being all over the place

*****

pile two: there's a lot going on in this pile two but I feel like this reading is about to change your life or give you some huge take away, if this person is someone you're romantically invested with this is more than just a telltale on what they want to do to you. I immediately pulled the three of cups card and I was like ??? but there's a message here about this person's sexuality and sexual experiences being connected to their love lives or romance, this person has very heavy Scorpio energy, they're obsessive and possessive and heavily devoted in love but they want to make people fight for their love or fight for their commitment and devotion. This person may have third parties or like to keep their options open or may like a lot of attention and get a lot of attention but they fantasize about everything about you captivating them and making them change their ways, put their walls down, and commit/marry you.

They fantasize about you going out of their way to earn their love and devotion and then they fantasize about how they're gonna fuck and make love to you after you earn it as a reward. I pulled "best you've ever had" from the channeled messages too. This person is taken up by you and sort of admires your beauty and admires you like you're this persons "little love" I heard but they're about to turn you every which way but loose if you devote yourselves to them and prove that you truly love and care for them. This person is afraid of abandonment or has trouble with commitment but they don't really on the inside on an internal scale. this person has layers or is a complex individual but you're the one who understands them or you understand the interworking's of their mind.

This person fantasizes about exploring sex and intimacy with you or exploring each other's bodies. This person may need trust and emotional intimacy and connection to get it up for people or to even consider having sex. This person is used to being desired or people lusting over them but that is a surface level idea and they understand it's temporary unless it's built on the right foundation. They may be a virgin or be saving themselves but most people would assume the opposite. This person fantasizes of driving you wild or making you needy and crave sex with them or crave their touch, I'm channeling the energy of that scene in 40 days and 40 nights when he finally gets the girl and they don't have penetrative sex but he brings her to an orgasm with just a flower alone, like this person wants you to want them that bad. Tugging on their belt loops when you hug them, wanting to smell them, not being able to get enough of their embrace, like that!! I'm also channeling the song "Summertime" by Ella Fitzgerald and how gorgeous her voice is in that song and how in flow she is with the male harmonizer on the record. They're trying to fuse souls with you, they want to make music with you, the music being you moaning loudly.

This person imagines that you have really high-pitched moans or orgasms or they try to imagine what you'd sound like during sex by the tone or frequency of your voice, they love your voice. Thinking of you moaning drives them insane as well, one of their fantasies is to make you yell or have you be really loud to the point where other people can hear you but they don't care or aren't ashamed. If you're the type of person to cover your mouth or try to be quiet they're going to hold your hands back when they know you're close. This person is like a hopeless romantic at heart like they're badly hoping you'll love them through their setbacks or their issues to the point in which they grow, heal, and leave all that behind. You may be someone whose a little prone to loving unconditionally or loving people through rough times in their lives and you'll get your happily ever after through that energy of being exactly who you are.

this person knows how sweet you are or picks up on it when you have a hard time when they're away even if you try to put up facades or pretend, and they really like that you want them, that you crave their attention and quality time. If you're crazy and needy they love that about you. This person needs to be loved unconditionally within this lifetime. You're their person. This person is really into the idea of you guys both equally giving and receiving romantically but also sexually. This person fantasizes that you'd do anything to please them and they you. This person fantasizes about fucking you dizzy and making you forget about anyone else you've ever liked or cared for or ever wanted to be with. They see the whole nine yards with you too, the house, the marriage, the kids, the wealth!! PUT IT ON EM' MAKE EM' WANNA MARRY ME!!!

This person also fantasizes about little bouts of intimacy between the two of you especially if you guys are waiting for sex till after you're married or till after you're ready whenever that may be. they fantasize about sloppy kisses with you, getting hot and heavy and almost getting carried away and they fantasize about fingering you and the sounds you'll make when they do, they also know and think about how wet you get for them or how tight you are just over two fingers. They're obsessed with your face and your eyes too, you may have big eyes or eyes that catch a sparkle or a lot of light, and they're obsessed with your eyes and lashes, they also fantasize about messing up your lipstick or your lip combo or being covered in kiss marks by you or covered in your lipstick. lol or like kind of comedic vibe like them coming out a closet with you in public covered in kiss marks and your lipstick, looking crazy. A connection between the two of you will be very passionate and hot and heavy to the point where your friends will be able to feel the desire radiating off the two of you and after you have sex for the first time it'll be even wilder. You may even have an anonymous or faceless blog of your own when you're a little older or some years into your relationship or start writing a book to share about your sex experiences or romance.

channeled messages I pulled:

"worship of each other's divinity, divine feminine worship/divine masculine worship"

"exactly someone's type."

"Cancerian features (soft bodies, curves, breasts, and soft features)" Your person really loves your boobs and your skin, they feel like your boobs fit perfectly in their hands or they love your nipples.

favorite positions/taking notes. Your person is gonna study the way your body reacts to things, the sounds you make, if your breath quickens, what makes you cum the fastest, etc. They're gonna make it their lives work to know exactly what you need

"desire to please"

"acts of service (pleasure, aftercare, etc.) this person is going to be extremely obsessed with you, I just heard "whatever you'd like my love."

"relieving period cramps through penetration" I'm getting the energy that this persons going to do whatever they can to make you feel happy and comfortable like I feel like in early stages of your relationship this person would want to cater to you when you're on your menstrual cycle if you're a woman, buying you gifts, buying flowers, buying you food or sending food to your house, getting you a heating pad or making sure your water cup is full and you have the medication you need or the sanitary products you need after ya'll are done waiting they'll def be doubling all that plus sex for added relief. I'm hearing this person doesn't care if you bleed all over their sheets either.

"having sex in public. "any time, any place."

"finger fucking (knuckles deep, rings on fingers, etc.)" I feel like this person is going to live to have their fingers in your twat in early years of your connection, like they genuinely enjoy hearing your reaction to their fingers, watching your face and feeling you cum all over their fingers. But they'll be really quiet and respectful about the things you do like not telling their friends or dodging questions intending to pry on your intimate lives but will encourage you or really like it when you tell your friends about what you guys do or brag about your intimate lives to your friends.

"best you've ever had." ("and the only.") I heard them add. EEOOWWW! 😛😋 that's like their favorite thing ever, they love that.

"spending money/spoiling" prepare for Cartier and Hermes!!

"wet dreams" bros waking up in a puddle-

"medicine for the soul." aww, this person feels like you make them all better like spending time with you replenishes them of energy and optimism

"wet pussy." hasn't even had it, they clearly just knows intuitively.

channeled music:

"Smooth operator" - Sade

Tennessee whiskey - Chris Stapleton (the lyrics on this one are incredibly resonate, listen or look this one up, especially the lyric: "but when you pulled out your heart I didn't waste it.")

"back to black" - amy winehouse

"you know I'm no good" - amy winehouse

"there is something on your mind" - Big Jay Mcneely

"I only have eyes for you" - The flamingos

"I'd rather go blind" - Etta James

"A Sunday kind of love" - Etta James

extras:

nonchalant-like behavior or pretending to be nonchalant in the beginning

sweetheart

true colors

true love/heart/personality

devotion

scorpio!!!! / being testy in love

amy winehouse in general and her energy or music

"earn it." "how bad do you want me."

Mr. Grey Type or Fifty Shades of Grey being really similar to the connection

Jazz

blues music

red lipstick/lip combos

blankets being a mess, pillow feathers being all over the room

the wedding sex scene in twilight, longing for it, waiting for it, not wanting to hurt you during sex, the bed breaking, getting pregnant right away or not having to try very hard to get pregnant

"brag about it. / "telling the groupchat"

legs being sore, trying to get out of bed and immediately falling/not being able to walk straight

hair being tangled the morning after

turning you every which way but loose

"someone tell that man to get off of her."

big wedding

well endowed/big d*ck/big surprise

pent up frustration, "waited for you,"

bedroom being a mess the morning after (clothes on the floor, bottles, decorations all over if there was any, blankets on the floor, etc.)

jealous women or men, people wondering what about you has your person wrapped around your finger

"wifey. wifey. wifey." (future song trend on tiktok)

mad you left them in bed by themselves, will come to find you, carry you back

handsy/touchy

likes your perfumes or colognes or your taste in fragrances

likes your hair/likes it long, will help you do or style your hair or will help you with your hair

likes your eyes and lashes

"pretty face man"

Etta James and Leonard chess and their relationship portrayed in Cadillac records (him being taken up with her despite third party, the scene where he caresses her face AND YOU CAN LITERALLY HEAR HOW SOFT IT IS UGH!!, buying her stuff/going out of his way to do stuff for her, caring for her or sympathizing with her past/inner child trauma when she's in vulnerable states)

pile three: I'm starting off the reading upright with the "Death" card. I feel like this person is someone from your past or someone that you've departed from or since left or aren't in communication with anymore. This person fantasizes about immense change or some sort of full-force transformation that results in them being married to you and having the full ten of cups energy, everything they've ever wanted, the kids, the dog, the house, the fish, the luxury mommy SUV. everything!!! this person fantasizes about being everything you want and giving everything you want, both in general and sexually. If this isn't a current connection I kind of get the vibe that there was a huge ending or tower moment that resulted in this relationship or connection closing out altogether but this person has not yet let you go whether they've seemingly moved on or whatever!!! You're on their mind a lot as well and they sort of feel like you're above them or like they don't deserve you (and they're probably right) but they're obsessed with you.

The reading started with Creep by Radiohead on shuffle too! This person may have communicated with you a lot through music when ya'll were invested and connected or there were several songs that you resonated with or that they resonated with regarding their connection. This person may fantasize about making love to you to one of you guy's old playlists made about your relationship. Tennessee Whiskey could've been significant to you in this connection as well. ALL THE LYRICS!! This person may like to drink too or like whiskey themselves, be a smoker or be a person with bad habits and bad vices. I think this person fantasizes about your heart still being in this connection and your body too. Like they wonder and fantasize about you up late at night losing it over them both emotionally and sexually. they fantasize about you not being able to get off with anyone else or you thinking about their sex when you're with other people. They fantasize about you not wanting anyone but them or having a hard time dealing with the fact that they're away and can't have them. This person feels exactly like this over you and has a hard time getting aroused or getting it up for other people unless they think about you.

This person misses the way it feels the way it feels to fuck you, if they're a man they may like being deep inside you and watching you struggle to take it all or they like the sound you make when they put it in. Or they like when you rub on them or tug on them when you guys fuck. This person's hands may have been extremely attractive to you or something about hands and fingers are significant. I like hear them saying they didn't touch you enough or savor the feeling of your skin enough or your body or they didn't finger you enough. I don't know what's up with the collective and fingering today.. anyways, whoever you're with or whatever you're doing this person feels like they have a lot of competition or a lot of options or they've been watching you and you look really good and they're literally craving your touch and sex with you. This person really likes what your vagina smells like their idea of a good day is putting their face in between your legs and leaving it there. disregard that if you don't own a vagina but I don't know either way your smell both natural and fragrance choices turn this person on or they miss it.

this person is really is really turned on by your confidence and your magnetism they fantasize about being your man or your woman or your lifelong partner and people noticing how hot you are and being upset that they're the ones who get to fuck you every day or wake up next to you. Like this person wants to be the boyfriend mentioned in "teenage dirtbag" by Wheatus who has the hot girl, drives the hot girl and doesn't give a fuck about the people who eye their person because they're irrelevant to them. This person also feels nobody fucks you like they do or like you and them know how good they make you feel or they fantasize about you having that sort of mindset. they also feel like you were designed for them or made for them like they feel like they like the way you wrap around them or how your inner walls feel or flip that to resonate with you if necessary.

I'm totally getting "complicated" by Avril, this person absolutely feels like you spending time away from them is you acting like you don't care. they're so stuck on you. They miss your mouth too, whatever you do, whatever type of oral you give is like their greatest weakness, they reminisce about the way they feel in your hands or the way your fingers feel. This person is obsessed with everything about you and it drives them completely insane.

channeled messages I pulled:

"releasing period cramps through penetration" if you're a feminine energy this person may have knowledge of you having heavy intolerable cramps and fantasizes about being the one to take care of that for you or make you feel better. it's weird because it's like this person after whatever you guys have been through now wants to be the most considerate, the most sugary sweet, the most giving, etc.

"Cancerian features (soft bodies, curves, breasts, soft features)" I've pulled this for every pile but there's a lot of energy in this one, they envy whoever gets to feel you in their hands, their obsessed with the way your skin feels or the way your body or waist fits in their hands, you may have a smaller frame or be shorter, they miss the way your ass feels, they've always loved that about you, and they miss your breasts, they love to put your nipples in their mouth or want to motorboat you really bad lol!

"mocking/playfullness" this person may fantasize about making fun of your moans or this is something they used to do

"worship of your divinity/ divine feminine worship" you have a lot of divine feminine energy or this person feels like you're an earth angel or you're extremely magical and they want to tell you all about that while they're fucking you, I just picture someone talking to you, affirming you, talking you through it during the act

"sex after marriage or delayed gratification" I get the energy that this person really wants to marry you but that they're also in a constant energy of longing or craving you/feeling like they have to earn sex with you and your time and attention

"eyes tearing up/coming undone" this person fantasizes about giving their all to you and fucking you until you lose it and can't handle it anymore

"medicine for the soul" this person really feels like you make them feel extremely good/make them feel better like if they're feeling upset you always fix it or if they're feeling low they know exactly who to go to. or they feel like you have a healing/magic touch.

"acts of service (pleasure, after care, etc.)” this person really desires to give back to you or give you everything you’ve wanted or did want. I get the vibe that you guys relationship the first time around had a lot of you being the type of person to pour into this person and they feel like they owe you. They want to give back to you sexually and emotionally and prove to you that they care for you I feel like

“Oral sex (sloppy head or pussy eating)” this one is sort of confirmation I feel like this person is obsessed with your mouth or your oral skills and the way you go down on them and they miss it. I feel like they’re tired of going through life with people don’t know how to suck dick or eat pussy it annoys them lol

“Period sex” this person may have done some spiritual research or has educated themselves on soul ties or even just if women enjoy period sex or not and I feel like this person wants to try that with you or see how you’ll behave when your/their senses are heightened like that, they like they idea of fucking you year around, no pauses, not for anything not even blood

“Nobody fucks you like I do.” LMFAO yes!!! This person swears by this..

“Spending money/spoiling” this person fantasizes a lot about taking you places or going places with you, buying you gifts or giving you gifts or feeling like they’re spoiling you or giving you everything you’ve wanted desire and deserve. They may even think about sex after romantic gestures

“Appreciation/affection” this person may have a love language of physical touch, is touchy, loves kissing you, holding you close, grabbing on you or showering you with love and affection. I feel like they’re tired fantasize about that in general but especially about kissing you all over your body, kissing your neck, kissing places they know make you aroused, they fantasize about worshiping your body with affection

“Studies you/pays close attention to body language” this person may have grown up with you or has known you for a long time, I’m getting a message here about it having watched you come into yourself, having learned the things you liked over the years, in general but also in the sexual sense once you guys started being sexually active. I think that’s where this person gets this idea from that they know your body like no other or nobody can fuck you like they do, this person knows what you like, what you want, where to kiss you, where to touch you..

channeled music:

"Girl I'm Gonna Miss You" -Milli Vanilli

"Killing Me Softly" - Fugees

"Can't Take My Eyes off of You" - Lauryn Hill

"Creep" - Radiohead

"Tennesse Whiskey" - Chris Stapleton

"Complicated" - Avril Lavigne

"Ain't No Sunshine" - Bill Withers

"Don't Know Why" - Norah Jones (and this lyric especially: something has to make you mine)

extras:

nostalgia or reminiscing

never-ending longing

"fucking someone else to the thought of you."

stalking your social media/looking at your posts over and over

[anantaru]

⚝ DAY 4 — BODY WORSHIP

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — xiao, heizou

— warnings. — fem! reader, oral (fem! receiving), they're obsessed with you, praising and pussy drunk men

⚝ — XIAO

xiao was never one for indulgence—yet, there he was, on top of you with his lips ghosting over your skin, murmuring ancient mantras underneath his breath.

you gasp, each kiss he pressed upon you was meant to "cleanse", that's what he told you, to purge the lingering traces of darkness that dared to cling to your beautiful being— although as his mouth traveled from your shoulder to the curve of your collarbone, his actions became more than just protective— they became slightly possessive.

xiao could feel your pulse quicken beneath his lips, especially when he lapped all the way down to your warmth but stopped right above your clit and fuck, it only spurred him on to do the next following, as much as sinful notion.

his hands, usually so disciplined, traced the delicate lines of your body with a searing touch as they settle on your thighs so he could leisurely place his head between your thighs.

every inch of you called to him, like a magnet for his affection, and he couldn’t stop, fuck he couldn't— just couldn't stop and seeing your cunt all sopping and wet of your own liquids made it hard to process all of this.

"i need to rid you of this," he whispered and you could swear you saw a slight smirk, in fact, it sounded like an excuse, his lips brushing over your folds as if he was addicted to the feeling, "you deserve to be free from harm."

before you could even moan at the way his words are impacting you, your arousal drips at his tongue and cheeks and leaves a mess for him to clean up. his mouth rotates between kissing your clit before his lips eagerly curve around the sensitive pearl as he sucks and nudges his tongue along the twitching spot.

you were the embodiment of purity in xiao's eyes and he couldn’t help but worship you for it.

it’s divine— your taste, and he licks at you, laps and slurps every droplet of your messy slick until your fingers relentlessly grabbed at his roots as your folds quiver, your hole clenching and fluttering around air.

xiao couldn’t stop. he didn’t want to. you were his sanctuary, and every caress, every kiss, every lick and taste only anchored him further to you.

⚝ — HEIZOU

heizou had always been a playful soul and you loved that about him— next to that, you were his favorite puzzle to solve.

leisurely, his fingers danced over your skin with the kind of dexterity that only a detective could have, exploring every inch with the curiosity of someone eager to learn and most importantly, please.

but it wasn’t an investigation driving him tonight— it was sheer delight.

"mm, what’s this?" he teases and furrows his brows, his lips quirking into a smile as he pressed his leaky tip against your slit, watching you squirm effortlessly under his sensual touch.

for some reason— which was actually pretty obvious as though why he was so good at it, heizou had an unparalleled knack for finding every sensitive spot, every place that made you gasp or sigh, most definitely cry out his name.

the detective adored seeing the way you reacted to him, to his cock nestling in your pussy and pulsing through your walls, wrecking havoc when he moves it in and out, slow at first, then rocks it harder and messier until you couldn’t help but arch your body and grind your hips back into him.

you were his to explore, and oh, he took his time, don't you worry about that one— heizou had no need to rush, he could tease you for hours because you see, you were his canvas, and he would paint you with every stroke of his movements and cum.

"you’re far too fun to resist," he smirks, lips ghosting along your collarbones before he buries his face into your neck, groaning like a mad man when he slowly pulls himself into your warmth so your walls could stroke him, welcome and squeeze at his shaft, twist around him until your liquids collide.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify