#i know this is not at all the intent but it feels so often like they're telling me 'you should just give up now and get a boring job'

[tristansfreezingtheirbrain]

Actually let me talk about this for a second because I have been doing a self prompted character study on Sherlock based on the fact I DO NOT FOR A SECOND BELIEVE HE IS A SOCIOPATH.

And I think the writers of the show know this. It wasn’t an accident on their part, I think it’s very intentional.

Sociopaths are described as having little to no care about other people or their lives, sometimes even not caring about their own, but I don’t think it’s true in Sherlock’s case.

Yes he is antisocial and doesn’t appear to care who lives or dies, but we all know he does care.

What he does, is intentionally dissociates to save peoples lives.

He is right, feelings do get in the way of investigations, the reason he’s so good at what he does, is he’s able to separate himself from what’s going on, which leads me to my point…

I am by no means an expert but I pride myself on my intense love of phycology, and it’s that love that started me on this tangent that currently has its own 3 page essay in a notebook on my shelf.

I think Sherlock Holmes has a kind of dissociative disorder. My evidence:

- mind palace. A thing some people do but, I should point out, is not often seen in neurotypical people, and is also not often seen in sociopaths. The ‘mind palace’ as the show calls it, is often a place someone goes to in their own head to escape situations in which they are stressed or feel in danger. This is not technically how Sherlock uses it, but I’ll explain the connection in a minute.

- when put in situations where he needs to be at the hight of his productiveness, he disconnects all feelings he may have about a case in order to be more efficient.

Both of these things lead me to believe that stress triggers a disassociative state in Holmes.

He also ( SPOILERS!!! MASSASIIIVVE SPOILERS IF YOU HAVENT SEEN THE LAST EPISODE )

Engaged in Confabulation, which is when someone’s brain changes memories in order to protect itself from further stress, which would have been caused by traumatic events.

This is another thing that you see often in people with a dissociative disorder.

I think he has a subset of depersonalization/derealization disorder, which is the closest real diagnosis to what he seems to have.

I’ve also entertained the notion of him being on the autism spectrum, but I’m always careful with that because I have autism and I have a tendency to project so that could just be me relating to him in some ways. And, it’s very well known that autism and dissociative disorders kind of go hand in hand, so sometimes it can be hard to tell if someone has autism, or just a symptom of it, which is what dissociative disorder falls under in that context.

But if I was to say he is on the spectrum, this is why.

-often considered sociopathic ( is not, as I just explained )

- often considered narcissistic ( is not, and if you think he is you seriously overestimate how much he cares about himself and what happens to him. He does care about other people, it’s just hard to focus on things he can’t see immediately in front of him. )

- lack of understanding of feelings

-under/over stimulation

-very in depth knowledge on some things, complete oblivion in others ( unless he deems them important ) ( aka, hyper fixation )

-unable to focus on things he doesn’t care about

-disconnects in stressful situations

-often makes decisions people deem childish ( ex: not helping Mycroft solve a case because of a sibling fued )

AGAIN I AM BY NOOOOO MEANS AN EXPERT- AND I AM NOT CLAIMING TO BE- I JUST FIND THINGS LIKE THESE REALLY INTERESTING!!!

Anyways.

Thanks for coming to my red talk 🙌

He doesn’t feel things that way… I don’t think.

[bosbas]

Chapter 4: uh oh, I'm fallin' in love

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!daphne's best friend!reader WC: 2.3k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love, anthony being a big softie, mostly fluff, i still ship y/n and daphne tbh

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

June 16, 1812 - “How’s Mr Norwood?” you asked Daphne, sitting on the couch next to her in the Bridgertons’ tea room, her legs on your lap as the rain steadily poured outside.

Your best friend and her hopefully-husband-to-be had been looking particularly cozy as of late, and you knew that you had played no small part in making that happen. Unfortunately, Daphne’s happiness was often overshadowed by the small pang of guilt you felt every time you had a particularly lovely afternoon with her oldest brother.

“Oh, he’s lovely. I do think he’ll propose in the next few weeks,” she said excitedly, her legs dancing excitedly on your lap.

You squealed in response, absolutely elated at the prospect of seeing your best friend in a wedding gown before the end of the season. It’s practically all she’d dreamed about, and you couldn’t believe the time was so close.

“Where will you live? After you marry, I mean,” you asked, twirling a lock of your hair around your index finger. “If I have to travel to another country to see you, I’ll riot.”

Daphne paused, unsure. “We haven’t particularly discussed it. I think his family has a home a few hours away, but surely his older brother will inherit that…”

You sat up straight, realizing this was a sensitive subject. “That’s quite alright, I’m sure your dowry will be more than enough for a simple estate somewhere nearby,” you reassured, patting her legs comfortingly.

If they were truly in love, it wouldn’t matter how small or large their home was. But Daphne only hummed in response, looking out distractedly at the raindrops hitting the window.

Deciding not to press your best friend and potentially cause her more distress, you changed the subject.

Playing with the hem of Daphne’s dress, you said nonchalantly, “I suppose I’ll end things with Anthony right before Phillip proposes. There’s no real point in continuing the façade if Phillip has to ask Anthony for your hand anyway, so it’s not like we can keep going longer than that.”

Daphne narrowed her eyes at you, smiling slightly. “Really? I thought you two were having a lovely time during your courtship.”

You paused, your hand going still for a moment. “Well, of course. We get along quite well. But it’s not real, Daphne. I don’t really have feelings for him and he doesn’t really have any intention of marrying me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” you laughed at the absurdity of your best friend’s suggestion, sounding a bit panicked. “I couldn’t truly be interested in him!”

Just then, you heard the front door open and heavy footsteps coming down the hallway.

Recognizing her brother’s footfalls, Daphne called out, “Anthony, I didn’t know you’d gone out riding. It’s absolutely pouring outside!”

“I can’t believe it actually rained,” he groaned, his voice carrying across the hall. “I thought Colin just said that to be a nuisance.”

He peeked his head into the tea room, looking completely disheveled from what you could only assume was a hectic horse ride. His hair was soaking and stuck to his forehead, his sleeves were dripping water onto the carpet, and he was shivering slightly from the cold. And yet, you thought to yourself, he still looked more handsome than any other man in the ton.

“Y/N!” he yelped as his eyes fell on you, sitting comfortably on his couch as Daphne had her legs propped on your lap. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I’m sorry, I would’ve looked more… presentable. Or at least dry.”

It was the oddest thing, he suddenly seemed impossibly shy. You only laughed and shook your head, waving off his apology.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” you smiled, recalling how reckless young Anthony was when it came to riding.

Anthony crinkled his nose, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s different now, though,” he insisted, still sounding out of sorts. “I can head upstairs quickly to make myself presentable and greet you properly.”

“No, that’s quite alright,” you insisted, finding Anthony entirely too endearing at the moment. “I should probably head home anyway; I’ve been here the better part of the afternoon.”

“Let me walk you home at least,” pleaded the positively soaking man at the entrance of the room. “Or even just call a carriage.”

Your home was only a few minutes’ walk away, and you were usually happy to do it on your own. However, looking out the window you realized it probably wasn’t the best idea to head home in this weather.

“Very well then,” you conceded, finding it impossible to say no to Anthony.

“Alright, give me five minutes, then. Just let me change out of these clothes and I’ll be back,” he yelled over his shoulder, already out the door and rushing upstairs.

“So it's all just pretend, then?” asked Daphne smugly once Anthony was gone.

“Oh, shush,” you grumbled, shoving her legs off you.

But Daphne only laughed gleefully, a knowing twinkle in her eye.

---

June 19, 1812 - Anthony had gone into town on a fine Friday afternoon in search of a new pair of hunting boots when he spotted you some distance away. You were accompanied by your lady’s maid, and you seemed to be leaving the modiste.

Apart from noticing how stunning you looked, even in a simple day dress, Anthony realized a few things.

First, you were far enough away from him and positioned in such a manner that there was no chance that you would see him. He could easily just go on with his day, quickly find the pair of hunting boots he came for, and make his way home.

However, the second thing he took note of is that a gentleman such as himself would always go out of his way to greet the lady he was courting. Perhaps it was time to shift away from the tiring rake act he so often put on and act like a Bridgerton.

And finally, he noted that, in reality, he could come back for a pair of hunting boots at any time. However, he couldn’t unexpectedly run into you every day.

So, with all this in mind, Anthony determinedly shouted your name. When you didn’t hear him and kept walking, he yelled your lady’s maid’s name, who turned around to look at who had called for her. Spotting Anthony through the crowd of summer shoppers, your lady’s maid tugged at your sleeve, turning you around so you could see him.

“Oh, Anthony, what a surprise!” you called, unable to help the bright smile that lit up your face.

How gentlemanly, you thought, for Anthony to go out of his way to say hello. Perhaps he had left behind his rakish ways.

“It’s rather hot today, isn’t it?” said Anthony as he reached you, leaning down to kiss your hand in greeting. “What do you say about going across the street and enjoying some tea?”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. Greeting you unexpectedly and asking to spend time together? This was quite unusual indeed.

“Is there something you wanted to talk about?” you said, somewhat nervously. Had Daphne somehow let her plan slip? “We were due to see each other this evening at the Featherington ball."

Anthony laughed, enjoying your confusion. It felt quite good to be a gentleman, he thought. “Not at all, I just thought I’d take advantage of the fact that I saw you. I’m not particularly keen on depriving myself of the company of a wonderful lady such as yourself.”

You felt your face growing hot, completely floored by how lovely Anthony was being. It was like his usual charm turned up by a factor of ten.

Looking over at your lady’s maid, you raised your eyebrows to ask if it was alright with her if your plans were derailed.

“Nowhere else to be,” she shrugged her shoulders.

“Perfect, then, let’s go,” you smiled at Anthony.

Hooking your hand into the crook of his arm, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your stomach. Bit by bit, you were realizing you were in far over your head. So far you couldn’t even see the ground anymore. Anthony was turning out to be completely unexpected.

And though you were practically giddy every time you saw him now, you were also fighting to bury the uncomfortable thought that you might have made a grave mistake trying to mastermind your courtship with him.

---

June 23, 1812 - “Well, I suppose I should get going,” Anthony said to Colin, getting up from his chair as he looked at his watch. “Y/N will surely be expecting me, seeing as how we went to a ball yesterday evening.”

Upon hearing Colin snickering in response, the eldest Bridgerton shot his younger brother an annoyed look.

“Do you think this is funny? Wait a few years and you’ll be doing this, too,” Anthony scoffed.

“It’s not that,” said Colin, still chuckling to himself. “It’s just that she’s been here since this morning. I ran into her and Daphne a few hours ago.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” asked Anthony in disbelief.

Colin shrugged. “I thought you’d surely seen her. You’re the one courting her, after all.”

“Why didn’t she ask for me?” grumbled Anthony, mostly to himself. “Well, even more reason to go see her now. Goodbye, Colin. I would say it was a pleasure speaking with you but based on the last two minutes I don’t particularly think it was.”

In response, Colin half-heartedly crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it at his brother. “Say hello to your wife for me,” he teased, knowing Anthony’s aversion to marriage.

But his jab was only met with a slammed door. Anthony was too focused on finding you.

How on earth had he not noticed your presence in his home the whole day? To be fair, before you started courting, you spent copious amounts of time at the Bridgerton residence, with or without Daphne, and he wasn’t always aware until after the fact.

You had practically already been a part of the family, but it felt different now. He felt panicked that he hadn’t already greeted you, and he was worried you would hold it against him.

Rushing down the stairs, he ran into Daphne, who was shuffling through a stack of letters in the foyer.

“Who are you expecting correspondence from? A suitor?” he questioned suspiciously.

“She’s in the sitting room,” answered Daphne curtly.

Without a second thought, Anthony dashed across the hall, bursting into the sitting room.

There, he found you and Hyacinth sitting next to each other on the pianoforte bench. Your hands were on hers as you guided her nine-year-old fingers over the keys to form a melody. Startled, you dropped Hyacinth’s hands and turned to look over at the doorway.

“Is something the matter, dear?” asked Violet calmly from the other side of the room, quite used to the antics of her eight children.

“No, no- not at all,” gulped Anthony, not expecting to have seen you with his youngest sister. “I just heard Y/N had stopped by, is all.”

“That’s kind of you,” you said, smiling softly at the man you were courting. “Hyacinth seems to be a natural at the pianoforte.”

“Better than Gregory anyway,” said Hyacinth haughtily, eliciting a hearty laugh from you.

“Well, run along, then, Hyacinth,” urged Anthony. “I believe I should like to speak with Y/N.”

Hyacinth groaned, “She’s not yours Anthony. I believe I should like to stay," she said petulantly. "I was having such a lovely time with Y/N before you interrupted.”

She hugged you tight, lest Anthony tried to make her leave by force. Laughing, you hugged her back, patting her head soothingly.

“No one’s making you leave, Hyacinth,” you shot Anthony a playful glare. “I apologize for not finding you earlier, Gregory has just learned how to play chess and wanted to play a match. And then Hyacinth came in and thought it quite unfair that I had spent such a long time with Gregory and not her. And then, well, you know how they are…” you explained, your voice full of fondness for the youngest Bridgertons.

“Oh, do I,” said Anthony, walking over to ruffle Hyacinth’s hair affectionately. “Who won the chess match?”

Resigning himself to the fact that his little sister wouldn’t leave, Anthony made himself comfortable on the couch closest to you. And though he was hoping to spend some time alone– well, chaperoned– with you, he couldn’t deny that his heart was doing all sorts of gymnastics in his chest at the thought of the care you had for his siblings.

“We each won one and the third was a stalemate,” you responded, winking at Anthony and running your fingers through Hyacinth’s hair. “He’s quite good.”

“I want to learn how to play chess,” whined Hyacinth, detesting the fact that you and Gregory shared something she couldn’t join in on.

“I can teach you next time I stop by,” you promised, smiling fondly at her. “It’s quite a fun game, once you understand the rules.”

And at that very moment, Anthony knew he loved you. It had happened slowly, and then quite suddenly he was extremely aware of it. Much like you had made your way into the Bridgertons’ lives, you had made your way into his heart.

He knew he would be a fool not to see it. All he ever wanted was to take care of his family, and seeing you feel the same way was doing all sorts of things to his heart that he found impossible to ignore. You cared so deeply about his family, and it was difficult not to imagine the pair of you having a child of your own.

Anthony had decided. This was the first and last courtship he would ever have. He was falling faster than he could imagine, and he didn't particularly want to do anything to stop it. 

—

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[g4rvez-r3id]

Naughty Boy

Post Prison! Spencer Reid x Unit Chief! Fem Reader

Synopsis: You and Spencer are trying to have a little fun in secret until Emily walks in… Spencer decides to make it a little more interesting underneath your desk.

Category: Smut

Warnings: established relationship, power dynamics, reader and spencer keep their relationship private so it’s a bit of forbidden love trope, kissing, smut warnings: lowkey sub!spencer, and also lowkey perv!spencer, spencer has a boner, straddling, stroking, cunnilingus, getting caught, exhibitionist kink? fingering, cumming in pants, use of ‘sweet boy’, ‘good boy’ and ‘naughty boy’, spencer lowkey pathetic- idk that should cover it

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! lowkey this one kinda sucked but i wanted to write a smut oneshot 🤭 got this idea watching a sitcom lmao anyways post prison sub spencer supremacy 🛐 debating on writing a part two to this one where reader punishes spencer hehehe let me know! please enjoy this one!! <3

A lot of changes happened since you’d become unit chief of the BAU. It wasn’t your intention of becoming unit chief but Emily Prentiss believed otherwise. She passed down the tassel to you since you’d had so much experience on this team for years. And she also knew Hotch would’ve wanted it, too.

After Barnes tried to take the BAU down, Emily was given back her job and hiring authority. Feeling as if you’d earned the spot, she promoted you. Of course, you were a little anxious taking charge at first but Emily assured she’d stay every step of the way and even offered to take over when you felt the power to be a bit too much.

You and Spencer’s relationship had become more balanced since he got back from prison and you felt the need to keep your relationship under wraps for as long as possible. Nobody knew you two were together, you both were very careful when it came to your relationship. You’d only been dating for a year and a half since he got back from prison where he’d finally confessed his undying love for you and that he’d show you just how much he loved you when he got out.

You’d both been pining after each other for years before the fact. And since then every moment you’d shared together has been wonderful, despite keeping it hidden from your colleagues. It was for the better, especially now that you were a higher power. If it wasn’t strictly forbidden before, it definitely was now that you were unit chief.

You were lucky that you’d chosen someone that was usually good at keeping secrets. You both never arrived to work together, you both left work at separate times and only ever spoke in a professional manner to one another. Of course, nothing too far as to not speaking to each other entirely. You were surprised that no one had suspected a thing for the year and a half you’d been together.

Today, you were in your office, filing everyone’s paperwork and signing off on them one by one. You’d just finished JJ’s when there was a knock on your door. “Come in.” You spoke and behind the door had been your loving and doting boyfriend.

“This a bad time?” Spencer asked as he waited for your okay to come in. “No, no, not at all. Come in.” You smile and turn towards your already closed blinds. If you hadn’t already closed them, it definitely would’ve looked suspicious if you closed them now.

As soon as he shut your door, you stood up from your seat with a sly smirk and walk over to him. “So, what can I do you for?” You ask. “Oh, nothing, I just—” Spencer rests his hands on your hips. “I just missed you.”

You smile as you hold him close. It’d been a minute since you had a moment together. Cases were often disrupting already what little time you two had together.

“I missed you too, my love.” You say, looking into his eyes with a loving smile. “Why don’t we go out for dinner tonight? I’m working on the paperwork now so I won’t have to stay here too late tonight.” You suggest and he smile right back at you. “I’d like that. We could use a date night.”

You pull him closer to kiss you on your lips and as you pull him flush against your body, you feel it. It’s definitely unmistakable that he’s hard in his pants.

“Uh, baby?” You ask, pushing him a bit. “Yeah?” He asks as he leans his head down towards his collarbone. “Are you… hard just from a few kisses?” This wasn’t the first time he’d gotten an erection just from a few simple kisses from you. He pretty much gets turned on by anything you do. And you secretly love it.

“I can’t help it, Spencer admits into your neck. “You’re gorgeous.”

You blush at his words and smile, “Aw, thank you, my love.” His mouth stays on your neck, sucking on your pulse point. You pull him towards your chair and push him into it, getting on top of him and straddling him with a smirk etched on your face as you lean down and kiss him on his lips.

He tries to speak into the kiss, pushing you away for a brief moment. “Wait, wait, wait.” He says and you look down at him, your index finger tapping on his plump pink lips, staring down at them. You had a bit of an oral fixation when it came to Spencer Reid. Whether it was for yourself or for him.

“What’s wrong?” You ask. “I just don’t want us to get caught, that’s all.” Spencer stated and you smile, “I know, sweet boy. But you let me worry about that, okay? Right now, I just want to take care of my boy.”

You run your hand towards the front of his slacks and palm his hard cock through his pants. He moans a little too loud and you are quick to clasp your free hand over his mouth. “If we want to this to work, you’re gonna need to be a good boy and be quiet, okay?” He nods vehemently into your palm.

You stroke him a few more times through his pants and you check and see that your sweet boy’s eyes are rolling to the back of his head. You wonder how long you can keep him on the edge, how long you can make this until he’s shouting that he can’t take it anymore, how much he’ll—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You and Spencer look at each other in horror before you quickly usher him underneath your desk and fix yourself up to the best of your ability, sitting in your seat. Surely, you could’ve explained that Spencer was just in here for a moment but you acted quickly and couldn’t risk whoever was coming in to talk to you to see what you two were doing. You two didn’t exactly have the best poker faces in the world.

“Come in.” You say, attempting to sound as normal as you can. The door opens and in walks Emily. “Hey, Y/n. Care if we talk for a moment?”

“Of course, come right in.” Emily nods, shutting the door behind her and sitting in the chair in front of your desk.

As Emily begins to talk with you about your most recent case paperwork and begins on giving you pointers on how to handle it quickly, Spencer is crouched underneath your desk and he has a perfect view up your skirt.

You’re too distracted with Emily being in the room to feel how his hands — his gorgeous hands — glide up and down your calf and they begin to reach in a higher place and you flinch as his nimble fingers touch your underwear.

Your eyes widen as Emily furrows her brows at you and seems to notice you’ve flinched. “Are you alright?” She asks and you nod, “Oh, yeah, super. Just too fidgety today,” You hold up your mug. “Too much coffee.”

Emily continues her advice as you feel Spencer removing your underwear down your thighs. You don’t see how he stuffs them in his pocket. He bunches your skirt to the best of his ability and you look down just for a brief moment to see that he’s become in a trance as he gawks at your wet pussy.

You’re so lucky that your desk is too high up for Emily to see what you two are doing. This is so wrong. You should definitely try and stop him but the fact that he could be caught underneath your desk — it just turns you on even more. Who knew you were such an exhibitionist?

“Another thing that I recommend that you do is—” You hardly listen to Emily as you try your best to give your undivided attention to her but it’s really difficult when the man you love is underneath your table, lapping at your pussy with his useful tongue.

You feel everything as he begins to suck on your clit and sticks his fingers into your hole and you try your best to keep a straight face. You bite your lip and try and keep yourself as hunched over as you can to not draw suspicion.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Emily asks, once more. “Uh, yeah,” Your cheeks redden. “I’m… just not feeling very…” You feel as he rolls his tongue in a figure-eight on your bundle of nerves. “Well at the… the moment.”

“If you need to go home, I can take over the rest of the day.” Emily offers and you think about it. You definitely need the time to punish your sweet boy for being needy and impatient, so maybe going home would be a good idea.

“Uh, that’s probably a good idea.” You say. “Why don’t you let the rest of the team know?” Emily nods and leaves the room and you wait for the door to shut to finally gasp and whimper.

As Emily exits the room, she walks away from the door and shudders. Yeah, she knew what the hell was happening. The team pretty much knew you two were together already. You guys didn’t have the best poker faces in the world.

“Oh, you naughty boy.” You back your seat up a bit as you run your hands through his hair. He takes his mouth off of you for a second to breathe. “I like seeing you in an authoritative position. It’s sexy.” With that, he dives back in, running his tongue through your folds again.

You take your hand through his locks, pushing him impossibly deeper into your pussy. “Oh, my God!” You exclaim softly, eyes rolling back as he finishes you off. “Come on, cum for me. Please. Please. Baby, please.” He pleads in your pussy, moaning and sending vibrations through your body as he sticks his fingers back inside.

You bite your lip to contain your moans in your office and you feel yourself gush over his face and look at him, his eyes blown with lust and love. “Did I do good?” Spencer asks, wiping his mouth of your essence and you smirk.

“You did.” You admit. “Now, that Emily’s gone, maybe I should finish what we started.” Spencer looks down and shakes his head, “No, I, uh, actually don’t need help with that anymore.”

You furrow your brows, look down and sure enough, Spencer’s slacks are a shade darker near his crotch. You should’ve expected this, he’d cum at the slightest touch.

“Somebody definitely wants to get punished tonight.” You tease, dragging a finger to his chin and he holds his arms up in surrender. “Hey, sorry I wanted to look good for my boss.”

You shake your head with a chuckle. He can be so impossible sometimes.

So, you tell him to exit the office as discreetly as he can with his blazer over his crotch to hide the evidence and to call in for the rest of the day, making an excuse that there’s a bug going around so you can edge him for hours on end when he gets to your apartment.

[fatliberation]

Sorry for leaving this in your inbox, but I need to vent and ask for advice in a place where people won't mock me. What do you do when sex is super difficult because of your fat? I've recently gotten into my first relationship and. I thought I had a handle on my internalized fatphobia and self hate but this has made it worse than ever. We can't have satisfying penetrative sex (we've tried all the tips and workarounds. Nothing works. I'm larger than most of the FA community.), and recieving oral sex is also difficult for me. I also get tired and sweaty extremely quickly if I have to like hold up myself on mostly my arms or something, so he has to do most of the work. So sex is just. Mostly the one that works on repeat, and we don't have it very often because it isn't that fun for either of us, and it also makes me cry afterwards sometimes because of how disappointing it is & me beating myself up over it.

I'm genuinely worried my boyfriend is going to leave me for this. He's clearly very frustrated with the situation, even though he tries to be nice about it most of the time. Earlier today I tried to like be flirty and hint at stuff and he just. got a bit sad. and then said that clearly neither of us enjoy the sex we're having and that he has a lot of trouble staying hard.and that he doesn't see the point when we're both forcing it for no reason. I think he's going to break up with me soon. His ex is way lighter than me, so he's probably comparing the normal sex he had with her with whatever the fuck this abnormal shitshow is :/

All the work I've done on myself to be happy with being fat (including working up the courage to date, what a mistake that was lmao) is all gone. This has ruined my self-esteem so much. I feel like one of those fatphobic jokes but a person.

first and foremost, please try your best to remember this: your body is not the problem. one more time. your body is not the problem. I'm so very sorry you're concerned that your boyfriend would leave you over this. it sounds like he has a lot of preconceived ideas about how sex is supposed to go. I promise you that it doesn't have to be this way. if this is something that could really end the relationship, know that this person is not compatible or open to exploring your needs, rather than your needs being "too difficult." I promise it's him, not you. I know folks who are 600+ pounds who have excellent sex lives and partners who satisfy them and enjoy satisfying them. when someone starts treating your pleasure like a chore, that's just shitty. I know how much it hurts. it also does damage to your own openness to pleasure. when you're caught up in feeling like sex/your body is something that needs to be "fixed," nothing is going to feel sexy, because all that pressure puts stress on and takes you out of the mental state where you're able to experience pleasure. does that make sense? so many couples get stuck in this cycle.

there are so many ways to engage in pleasure without penetration or orgasm. there's a lot that goes into foreplay, setting a mood, making your partner feel appreciated and attractive. words and touch play a huge part in this. something as simple as exploring each other's bodies, not with the intention of reaching climax, but simply to be vulnerable and engage each others' senses. have your partner give you a massage. play with your hair. tickle your back with a feather. shower together. kiss you. compliment you. if either of you are into any kinks or dirty talk, that could be a great way to engage each other sexually without the pressure of "achieving" a goal. the goal here is just to feel good, close, and connected. societal messaging about sex has placed so much importance on orgasm instead of pleasure - when taking the time and space to relax and receive attention, is key.

feel free to check out my other posts on fat sex ed, there's lots of assistive toys that can make pleasure more accessible, but I think that should be a tool for later, since the biggest issue here is the pressure to perform. know that pleasurable sex can exist for you! but for now, I would recommend taking a break from sex altogether since it is not pleasurable for you right now. because pleasure is the whole point. forcing it is only going to feel worse. you do not owe it to your boyfriend, especially if it doesn't feel good and is taking an emotional toll. I hope you both are able to take a step back, reassess and communicate, and are able to reconnect and create a safe space to explore.

I understand why you're beating yourself up over this, I've been there too. but also know that it's just another societal standard that's been internalized (and it doesn't sound like your boyfriend is helping). like you said, you've done a lot to unlearn fatphobia. there's a lot of internalized beliefs we absorb from society surrounding sex, just like body image. I promise that there is nothing wrong with you. If your boyfriend takes his frustration out on you instead of making you feel safe to express your needs, then he's not a supportive partner. you deserve someone who takes delight in your pleasure and your body. believe me, we're out there.

[miange1]

I NEED MORE BRIAN MOSER AHHHH

Brian Moser, with a lover that's "too sweet"

male leaning reader, brian is a freak, being nervous more than shy, arguments, accidental guilt tripping, manipulation(at first), reader gives off innocence but they're not they're just a virgin, fake names, being overly touchy, blow jobs

note: had an idea so i just used this ask as an excuse to finally post it. also if you notice typos no you don't im not fixing them

— You were his first actual relationship in which didn't involve murder or trying to get closer to Dexter. Or so he remembers, he probably had that intention at first yet completely forgot about it due to his own feelings.

— Meeting you felt like a bunch of perfumes and flowers were thrown at his face— you were smiling and speaking with him like he was your long lost friend or your boyfriend, like you knew him since forever.

"Oh! Rudy!" He instantly felt his heart speed up, feeling more nervous than he's ever been in his entire life and you weren't even calling out his real name. He needs to calm down, seriously he's sweating way too much.

"I missed you so much, how have you been?" He felt your arms wrap around him tightly, yet ater the hug your hands took his and held them as if they were the most delicate things in the world, besides you.

The man could barely get his words out, stuttering every now and then and looking away from you often. Your thumb was swiping softly over the top of his knuckles, why were you looking at him like that.

— Getting with you was the most romantic thing he has ever thought of. Taking you out to a place where it was peaceful yet beautiful, and he could confess to you and actually mean it.

— It was the best place he could find, it was hot but lovely. When he confessed, you stayed quiet for far too long and he thought you didn't want him. You were just in so much shock, it's been a bit since someone was this genuine to you.

— Floating on air is what he felt like each time he was with you. When you were able to visit his work, you showed him with kisses each and every single time even after arguments which was something he would have a heavy weight on his shoulders about.

"Debra doesn't at all have a thing for me, what the hell are you talking about!" You were blinking back heavy tears trying to see his side as best as you could, yet everything just went a bit too far. From understanding to a plain bicker.

"It's obvious she does, and she's in your office more than I am!" He rolled his eyes, his fingers on his nose and pinching the bridge. He knew Debra had a thing for him, but what he didn't know was why he lied seeing you fight for him like this. He liked seeing you get jealous.

"Because it's her job." Yet you protested, "I understand that but.." you couldn't get the rest out, starting to cry and you instantly felt embarrassed. "Sorry— shit, I'm sorry.." His upset look rested, sighing as he went closer to you for an embrace.

"No, it's my fault." He admitted, his arms squeezing your frame in a comforting manner as you cried into his chest.

He was so turned on right now.

— Brian had a bunch in which you were a virgin, he just would have never guess he was actually right about it.

— All he wanted was a small make out for a bit, yet it had escalated and you were on your knees. God, you looked so pretty.

"Ah, ah, your teeth.. Good..that's it." He leaned his head back, the warmth of your mouth and tongue working at his girth. For your first time even giving head you were real good at following his directions. You did it just how he liked it. Tongue swirling, spit mixing with what leaked from him, it was heaven.

He jutted his hips forward a bit, catching you by surprise and giving you the urge to wanna pull back, which didn't happen due to Brian's fingers tangling in your hair— and pushing your head back forward. "Doing so well, fuck.." you practically weren't evenoving anymore, and if you were you had just been going ragdoll and moving along with Brian's pulls.

His dick twitched in your mouth as he heard a gargled moan, fuck he was gonna cum just from hearing that alone. Then he'd hear you whine, almost impatiently. "Hush you're fine, just keep on— God, yes.." eyes rolling back, feeling your nose poke at his pelvis the deeper he pushed you down when he came. Letting go of your hair, he let your head fall back a bit before he forced your mouth closed.

"Swallow."

— Sooner or later he would then wonder why you were a virgin in the first place, yet you did date people for long periods of time.

"I don't know, when I asked after break up they said they just couldn't."

— He got the hint for himself.

[harrycinnamonbun]

prince!carlos x noblewoman!reader au blurb 

as the daughter of a lord, you had a duty to your family to enter into an advantageous marriage. you had always been beautiful, attracting many suitors over the years, but none who had caught your specific interest. what you didn’t know was that you had caught the eye of the very handsome, and very eligible, prince of the kingdom. 

prince!carlos who sees you across the room at a ball, enraptured by your striking beauty. he is drawn to you magnetically, abandoning his conversation with his father, the king, to pursue you across the room. he pushes through the lords and ladies on the dance floor, craning his neck to pinpoint you in your baby blue dress. he is finally able to approach you, bowing his head to you respectfully. he asks for a dance and you graciously accept, too shocked to do anything else. 

prince!carlos who writes you letters after that night at the ball, inquiring more about your interests. he delights in receiving your replies, penned with swirly script and light strokes of ink. he sent gifts to your family home based on what you wrote in your letters. dozens upon dozens of bouquets of lilacs which you explained were your favorite, boxes of books to expand your personal library which you spent hours upon hours in, and a stunningly beautiful woven basket since you mentioned picnicking was how you spent your sunday afternoons. it was refreshing to receive this type of attention, as most previous suitors were only concerned with your beauty and the connections of your family. no one had ever tried this hard to capture your affection. 

prince!carlos who arrives at your estate to ask your father’s permission to court you, even though he technically doesn’t need it. he wanted to make sure he was obeying by all the rules of polite society, even though his status as the prince omitted him from many of these formalities. he respected you and your family, and didn’t want to make you feel lesser than. your father heartily gave his consent, pleased at the prince’s chivalry as well as his own luck. carlos hurried out to where you waited in the garden, capturing you in his warm embrace as you held each other happily. 

prince!carlos who took you horseback riding on the palace grounds for some bonding time. you both shared a love for animals, especially your horses. you raced through the trees on your mare, not minding how the branches ripped holes in your dress or how the whipping wind mussed your hair, looking back ever so often to see carlos chasing you with a grin. 

prince!carlos who eagerly introduced you formally to his parents, the king and queen, after a few weeks of courting. they were delighted to meet you and agreed with him, in secret, you would make a wonderful princess and future queen to the realm. they welcomed you with open arms to the family, making you feel like you truly belonged. he took you around on a tour of the castle, introducing you to all the staff you would sure be seeing again soon if things kept going the way they were. he walked you through the halls with his hand on the small of your back to guide you, respectful but intentional. 

a/n - carlos gives such chivalrous prince vibes i love him. part 2 will be more nsfw, but rn i'm obsessed with writing cute stuff!

have au ideas? send them in!

masterlist here

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy this, you can buy me a Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

TW: POSSIBLE SUICIDAL INTENT, gore metaphor, self harm (reader scratching herself as a coping mechanism), manipulation.

You remember that time.

You remember that time when Dad looked happy—a nearly foreign sight. For what felt like ages, he had been frowning, dark circles under his eyes, the visible crease on the side of his mouth ever since the constant fights between him and Mother.

But lately, he's been smiling; he's been humming the tune you thought he'd forgotten. You also remember plopping down next to him on the couch, cheeks puffed out, eager to know what had him in such a good mood. "Daddy, what are you smiling about?" you asked then, and yet-

And yet, the moment he heard that, something in his eyes abruptly dimmed, just like it always did whenever Mother walked into the room. You instantly regret speaking up, wishing you had just stayed silent and let him bask in his already rare moment of happiness.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” as Mom used to say. This time, your curiosity will kill Dad. So, you’re never curious again, never dared to ask again.

Dad has been coming home later and later, leaving barely any time for you to spend together. It’s like he’s always working, always busy. Gone are the days of sneaky trips to the ice cream shop or casual strolls through the park. Sometimes, you compare yourself to that old dog the Jenkins had—the one they stopped walking because they lost that love they had when he was still a cute little puppy.

It was as if the unhappiness that had held Dad back had somehow transferred over to Mother.

Lately, the fights between your parents had become increasingly frequent, leading you to shut yourself away in your bedroom and sing loudly just to drown out the noise. Mother would often sigh heavily, slamming the cupboards like she had some kind of grudge against them. The constant frowning had begun to etch deep wrinkles onto her face, and the dark circles under her eyes appeared to grow darker with each passing day. She was even losing her hair—the bathroom sink was a testament to that.

You started to notice strange behaviors from Mother as well. She would constantly check Dad’s phone whenever he was in the bathroom, rummaging through the trash for any stray pieces of paper or receipts, even asking you to check his clothes and bring them to her. Whenever Dad came home, she would confront him, demanding to know why he was home so late.

Everything feels weird. When you try to ask them, they will shut you down, telling you it is a “parents’ problem”—something a child like you shouldn’t know or have any business in.

But their “parents’ problem” quickly becomes yours when you always find yourself lying in bed, desperately trying to drown out another round of their arguing. You even start wishing you could spend more time at your friends' houses just to avoid being at home. Every night, you pray for it to stop.

For this to end. Until it does.

The “parents’ problem” that has been brewing for months finally rears its head when Dad stops coming home altogether. The silence you have grown accustomed to was quickly shattered by the sound of Mother’s hysterical crying, accompanied by the slamming of cabinets and the crashing of plates being thrown across the kitchen. You stop in your tracks, heart pounding as a silhouette emerges.

Mother. She walks toward you, her long hair plastered to her tear-streaked face, and-

And she smelled something like the alcohol Dad used to hide in the fridge. She grips your arms in a tight, almost bruising grip, leaning down to look you straight in the eye.

"I was right, sweetheart. Mommy was right," she whispered, her voice hoarse from all the shouting. "Mommy was right all along." She repeats the phrase over and over, as if you'd eventually grasp its meaning. After all, you were her daughter; you should understand.

But you didn’t. For goodness’ sake, you were just an eight-year-old girl—just enough brains to process why Dad didn’t come to your ballet recital despite his promise, just enough to try to understand why Mother was like this. What was she right about? Was Dad never coming home again? When is he coming back? So many questions, few to no answers. Not enough courage to let them swim to the surface because exactly what Mom said—“Curiosity killed the cat.”

Biting your lip, you ask in a small, fearful voice. “What are we talking about, Mommy?”

Mother took a shaky breath, her eyes so swollen and red from crying that you wondered if she might actually take her last breath right then and there. It makes you wonder if losing the supposed love of her life truly felt like a kind of living death.

“Your father…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Your father, he’s… He’s not coming back, baby.”

Something about her own words brought anger to her face. Mother’s visage contorted into unbridled rage, teeth bared and nose scrunched up. You cry out in pain as she grips your arms tighter.

“He’s not coming back! Your father is with another woman—a WHORE! So don’t you DARE go looking for him, because he’s not coming back!”

At that moment, you didn't know which was scarier—Dad not coming back or Mother's anger. Or the thought that this meant you would be living alone with her. Even so, your lips began to tremble and you began to cry.

The anger that mother had was long-lived. Sometimes, it seemed like it outlasted the love she had once held for your father. Or perhaps, in a twisted way, that anger was just an extension of that love. The wound that mother carried was as deep as her affection had been. Love. Seeing its manifestation through your parents' relationship, it appeared like a despicable thing meant for people on a dark path.

Mother never truly recovered from it.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, even year after year, the anger never left her—it simply transformed into a hollow, empty place where the light once resided. Did Dad take it with him when he went off with that woman—that "whore," as Mother had said?

Still, you suppose it was better than those times when Mother would go out for drinks and come back late or even fail to come fetch you from ballet class. More often than not, it was a friend's mother who ended up dropping you home. Some questions they asked about your mother: "Is she okay?" and “Are you okay?”

That, you never know how to answer. Sure, you're doing fine at school and in your ballet classes—your toes are a little sore sometimes, but your teacher says that’s expected. And it’s not like Dad’s gone forever or dead. He’s still out there, even if he wasn’t coming home. Mom is still here, even if sometimes it feels like she doesn’t really see you.

… What an odd thing to feel, an even weirder thing to complain about. When Mother wasn’t at work, she was always there when you came home. She was easy to find in her room except on nights when she went out drinking and came back late, drowning herself in tears.

And yet, it felt like she wasn’t there at all. Dad left, and Mother was gone.

So, when that question was asked, you would just smile and say you were doing fine, that everything was okay. Yes, it was strange, unsettling, but everything was okay.

At least before you hit your teenage years.

Where did this change come from? Where did this hatred come from? Someone flipped a switch, turning your hollow mother into a bitter, resentful woman even to her own daughter. Slowly but surely, you begin to notice the glares she throws at you—the same ones she sports when talking about other women, as she said, “Look at the way she dresses, like some cheap harlot.”

“Change.” One day, she said, her voice sharp and commanding.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “What? Change what?”

Mother's eyes narrowed, settling her gaze on your chest, then your stomach—you hold your breath from the burn of her glare. “I said, change. What, you don't see how you look?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “I don't know who gave you the confidence, but it's like you're asking for it.”

The sting of her words spread across your sternum, and you bite your inner cheek to keep yourself from crying. "But you said this looked good the other day."

“Then I said wrong, change.”

“But I like this top,” you protest, but you add a hollow chuckle for good measure, wanting to avoid coming off as defiant. “And it’s the only thing yellow in my closet.”

Mother’s lips thinned into a disapproving line. “You still have that yellow hoodie.”

“But it’s a birthday party! In the summer!”

“That’s too bad. Either you change, or you’re not going.”

Deciding the conversation is over, your mother walks past you. As you feared, she stops, sweeping her critical gaze over your face. The crease between her brows deepens; her lips curl into a sneer.

“And what’s with all that makeup? You’re trying too hard. Tone it down.”

You say nothing, fixating instead on the mild sting of your nails digging crescents into your palms. Don’t cry, don’t cry. Hasn’t this happened before? Why aren’t you used to this yet? The thing about you is that you cry over the same things over and over again, asking questions you already know you don't understand. “Why would Mom say that to me?” echoed in your mind, and yet, the answer remains elusive, so stop asking that!

You flinched as your mother suddenly swiped her fingers across your lips, smearing your carefully applied lipstick. Out of instinct, you quickly swatted her hand away.

“Mom, stop!”

“A lipstick on a pig is still a pig,” she spat, her hatred for you dripping—soaking into your skin and inciting your own blood to boil and burn you from the inside. “No matter how thick that makeup is, you’ll never be like those pretty girls. So stop trying.”

Your breath catches, your throat tightens. Mother finally walks past you, leaving you to “self-reflect,” expecting you to be on your right side of the brain after. To change your clothes, remove that makeup. “A lipstick on a pig is still a pig,” she says. Your lips quiver; the headache doubles.

Which one you loathe the most, you can't even say for sure. This tube top or the color. Your blush or your lipstick. You and your tendency to persist when you should stop—that you're ugly, a pig, and you'll never be those pretty girls.

You will never be those pretty girls.

You will never be...

Her.

Hayley. You couldn't help yourself from poring over the name on Facebook after hours of scouring for a hint of who she is and what's so special about her. And from what you can tell, she was everything you're not. With her big, bright blue eyes framed by dark, mascara-laden lashes, her light blonde hair, and that perfectly sun-kissed skin. Not to mention she has a figure that just fits right – a body a girl would die for. Hayley's life is balanced between her rising career and her enjoyment, as evidenced by several uploaded holiday photos in Southeast Asia, in places like Bali, Koh Rong, Phuket, Kuala Lumpur, Chiang Mai, and Singapore. She has a good relationship with her parents—both her biological ones and her stepparents. She has a golden retriever named Barney.

You knew enough to understand that she was the type of girl who frequented the clubs, not the quiet pubs where Simon and she met. The only reason she was even there was because of her dark-haired friend, who was now tipping her head back to finish another shot glass.

Are you stalking her? Yes, you suppose you are—there’s no point in denying it when you’re sitting at a bar, watching the social butterfly laugh with her equally beautiful friends. But you’re maintaining your distance, aren’t you? You’re not doing this because you’re a pervert (not that this justifies anything, you're aware)—you just need to know about her, to confirm something.

(Curiosity killed the cat.)

Hayley laughed again, her head thrown back, golden hair cascading down her back. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners, the way her glossy lips parted to reveal a perfect set of teeth. She and her group of friends looked like they were engaged in some kind of game, and as the loser, Hayley stood up and made her way to the bar. You looked up, pretending to sip at the drink you ordered earlier, appearing casual.

“Four Margaritas, love.” Hayley requested of the bartender, who responded with a nod to acknowledge her order over the din.

The man left his post to get something from the backroom. There wasn't much to do in the bar besides tapping her perfectly manicured nails on the shiny bar surface. Hayley swept a bored glance around: the strobe lights, the DJ booth and the drunk people dancing around it, the crowded booths at the ends of the room, and more drunk people.

Then, her eyes landed on you. Something ignited in those cerulean irises.

A confident smile played on her lips. “Hi there,” she said to you, voice sweet like honey. "Mind if I join you?"

For a moment, your brain stops thinking—completely caught off guard. Hayley doesn’t wait for your response, already sliding into the seat next to you. She widens her smile, the apples of her cheeks lifting fascinatingly. This was not how you envisioned this encounter going at all.

“I’m Hayley, by the way.” She gives you her name that you’ve known before she even knew you existed. You can’t help but wonder if she said the same thing to Simon that night, if he bore into her blue eyes like you do now.

You managed a small, nervous smile. In response, you provided your name, and Hayley tried it on her plump lips. Up close, she was even more stunning—her flawless skin, perfect makeup base, the way the low lighting cast shadows across her face. How was it possible that someone could be so effortlessly gorgeous? What's more, she didn't just seem kind; she also appeared humble and genuine—the type of beautiful girl who didn’t flaunt her good genes or think she was better than everyone else.

Still, despite all that, your dislike for her continues to grow. It’s almost unfair that she gives you nothing but kindness and you try to find her flaws, something that you hope will mar her perfection.

“Are you here all on your own?” Hayley asks again, to which you nod.

Despite already knowing she didn't come alone, you ask anyway, "You?"

“Me?” Hayley glance over her shoulder towards her table. “I’m here with a few friends. Say, love, why don’t you join us? It gets a bit boring sitting on your own, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, I’m… I’m kind of not used to such large groups,” you say, only to realize how lame it sounded. The poorly constructed excuse lays out the contradiction more clearly, like a lie written on a billboard. If you’re really the awkward, socially withdrawn weirdo you paint yourself to be, what are you even doing in one of the most crowded places in town?

Yet, Hayley didn't seem to judge you. The raised brow indicated that she thought it was strange, but her lips quirked up in a small smile, as if she found you… interesting.

“That's alright, darling. But you wouldn't mind a bit if I stayed here with you, would you?”

“Not at all.”

Hayley smiled, fishing her phone out of her purse. “Well, I was supposed to grab the next round for the girls, but I’ll just text them to grab the drinks. I reckon they can manage without me for a little while.” She opened her texting app, her manicured fingers making little tapping sounds as she typed.

Soon enough, a dark-haired woman approached the bar. Hayley greeted her friend, introducing her to you and you to her. The other woman smiled and nodded, but not wasting more time before saying goodbye to you and taking the drinks to their table. And just like that, you were alone with Hayley once again.

It makes you wonder why she even bothers to spend time with you—a complete stranger she just met. Is she always like this—always approaching and engaging with people she knows little about? Is that why she approached Simon the other day?

You grip your glass, soaking your fingers from the condensation around it. A temporary distraction from the memories that flash through your mind.

“Sooo, you seeing anyone at the moment?”

When that bold question came out of Hayley’s mouth, you came to a conclusion about her. It was clear that she was the type of woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. The type to pop the question out before dealing with the answer—and whatever it is, she actually has the guts to deal with it. What other people think or feel about her does not define her, and that speaks volumes about the kind of person she is.

It also speaks to the kind of person you are.

Inevitably your thoughts drift to Simon. Shaking your head, you answer her question. “No, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.”

Then, you take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “And what about you? You’re not married, are you?”

Hayley laughs at that, wiggling her ringless fingers. “No ring on.”

“Not with anyone?”

An amused smile was etched on her face. “Don’t you worry, love. I’m a free bird, through and through.” She said as she leaned closer to you, the intoxicating blend of floral and citrus notes entering your olfactory. “Why? Got somethin' fun on your mind?”

At this close proximity, you could almost feel the warmth of her breath upon your cupid's bow. Up close, her physical details came into sharper focus—the freckles that peppered her nose, her deep-set eyes, a small mole sitting above the rosy pink of her lips, and the way her lip gloss glistened under the dim, hazy club lights.

And her lips. The ones that touched Simon’s.

The agony coursed through you, pumping in sync with each beat of your heart, spreading into the farthest reaches of your body. Poison in your blood. Thoughts raced in a frenzied, feral way that defied logic and reason. You wondered what it must have felt like for Simon. Had her kisses been soft and sweet, the kind that made him melt? Or were they passionate and hungry, with him nibbling and biting at her flesh?

Memories of that night are recalled to your mind, the image of their bodies pressed together coming with absolute clarity. The way he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, the way she hooks her legs around him.

Before you can register what you’re doing, you close the remaining space between you and Hayley, crashing your lips against hers in a kiss that’s almost daring. But it’s desperation that fuels you—your desperation to find any trace of him in her mouth, across her palate, beneath her tongue. You wonder if she can taste it, the bitterness of you. But when she kisses you back, more roughly and greedily, you find the answer.

Around you, the deafening music continues to play, the flashing lights like a kaleidoscope that twists and turns. Your olfactory senses register the strong smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke, and tears well up in the corners of your eyes. It reminds you of him—everything reminds you of him. Simon is everywhere but here. Even as you kiss another, it’s him you expect instead. You can’t help but wonder if it was the same for him that night—did he think of you as he sank deep inside of her?

When the kiss was broken, Hayley was about to smile at you before something faded it. A fat tear ran down your cheek. She furrowed her brows in concern.

“Hey, are you alright?” She asked, her accent growing thicker with worry. “Did I do something wrong? Go too far, perhaps?”

Hayley’s soft hands reached up, wiping away the salty liquid from your cheeks. You bit your bottom lip to hold back the sobs that threatened to escape. “N-no, it’s nothing,” you stuttered, voice barely above a whisper as you erased your own tears with the back of your hand.

Swallowing hard, your vision blurs again. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I need to... I need to go.”

Without another word, you turned and fled, ignoring Hayley calling your name. Pushing your way through the throngs of people, you made a beeline for the exit. The air in your lungs seemingly thinning, and your throat tightening. You switched to breathing through your mouth, as it was becoming increasingly difficult. A taxi approached, slowing down when you waved at it.

Two hours had passed since you fled the club, two hours spent waiting in suspense until, finally, the vehicle's headlights flickered to life, followed by the beeping sound indicating someone unlocked it. You remained silent, hearing the footsteps getting louder before you slowly rose to your feet, turning to face the person who had emerged.

“Simon.”

The owner of the name stood frozen in his tracks. The dim lighting of the streetlights only added to your difficulty in obscuring whatever expression he was sporting, but you didn't miss the way his shoulders tensed, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.

For a solid two minutes, his name was the only word spoken between the two of you. It wasn't like you were generous enough to offer him time to fully process the situation—no, it was more because you wanted to see how Simon Riley would react, how Simon Riley would deal with the unexpected.

You caught the way his mask slightly shifted—he clenched his jaw. “How?”

Instead of answering, you take a stuttering breath, feeling invisible needles piercing through your chest. “I forgot something in your car.” You tell him.

Simon's frown deepened, his head tilting slightly as he seemed to contemplate your words. It was absurd—after all these weeks, here you are, standing in front of his apartment, having somehow discovered the address, and claiming to have forgotten something in his car.

But he doesn't say anything, just continues to make his way to the car. You follow closely behind him. He opens the door to the passenger seat, then steps aside to let you check the car. You stretch your hand under the passenger seat, blindly feeling for anything, brushing through the dust and small gravel collected there until you finally touch something cold and metallic.

Pulling it out, the phone you had planted there weeks earlier came into view. You knew this meant Simon had laid his eyes on it too. It wouldn’t take long for him to connect the dots and figure out you had been tracking him this whole time.

Fucking hell. Simon remembered what he had said about modern phones. He closed the car door with a sharp click, then turned to you.

“So you’ve been followin’ me, then?”

“You didn't return my texts,” you stated bluntly.

"I asked you a question." He growls, almost like he's threatening you.

You observed the anger brewing in the depths of his dark eyes, radiating from him like a hot flame. Good, you thought silently. At least there was something that riled him up; otherwise, you would be suffering alone while he goes to fuck any willing bodies he can get his hands on.

"Why didn't you call me?" You ask again. “Why does it say your number is no longer in service? Why didn't you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” he snap, voice dripping with venom. “You think I owe you an explanation?”

Your blurry vision missed a flicker of change in his expression. When the tears escaped and the world came into focus again, all you saw was Simon locking his jaw, irritation radiating from him. He turned and began to walk away.

You followed him, quickening your pace to catch up. “Simon! Simon, wait!”

Despite your best efforts, he continues to keep his back turned to you, refusing to even spare you a glance. He fixed his gaze straight ahead, seemingly hell-bent on creating a vast gulf between you. You called out his name once more, your voice echoing in the stillness of the night, but he kept right on walking.

“Yes, I deserve an explanation! I don’t know why you’re being like this. We were fine the last time we were together. What happened? Why did you just disappear on me?”

You reached out, your fingers brushing against the sleeve of his jacket to get him to stop and face you. He came to a halt. A jolt of electricity surged through you as he encircled your fingers with his own, but it soon faded as he let go of your grip on the leather. Something inside you dropped away, leaving a shameful hollow space inside.

Simon towers over you, his stature imposing and intimidating. He locks a hard glare on you. “I asked you a question, didn't I?” His voice fell to a dangerously low tone. “Why the fuck have you been following me?”

The dam holding back your tears broke, leaving you choking on your own sobs. How could he not know? All these tears, all these cries… how could he still fail to see that it was all for him? To be stripped bare only for him to overlook it. Should you skin yourself alive then? To tear your heart out, to hold the raw, bleeding organ in the palm of your trembling hand as an offering?

“Because I want to know where you are,” You settle for the simpler version, hyperventilating as you take a breath. “You know my place, my workplace... You even went to my cousin’s wedding. And yet, I know nothing about you, Simon. Nothing.”

“You think just ‘cause we fucked a few times, that gives you the right to pry into my life?”

A sharp pang of pain shot through your chest. The world was ruby-colored, either from your boiling anger or the hemorrhage from the sharpness of his words. Your jaw clenched, your gaze sharpened.

“Fuck you, Simon,” you spat. “You know we’re not just fucking.”

The clenched fists at your sides tremble, and you don’t know if it’s from anger or hurt or the weight of your own expectation to make him see it. Or perhaps it’s all three. How could he speak like this when there's a specific section in your dresser for the clothes he frequently brings and leaves, when he constantly returns and stays longer even as the morning has risen, when he drove you to the countryside and dances and twirls you around like those old couples do? Not when he embraces you until your tears subside, nor when each of his kisses offers that one thing you've chased your whole life.

There’s no way this isn’t love. He just needs to stop denying it.

Simon's eyes narrowed into slits. "Then you read it all wrong, darlin'."

The way he said it was cold, without a shred of sympathy—but nothing was colder than the way Simon continually turned his back to you as he continued to walk farther and farther away, as if all he wanted was to get as far away from you as possible. Disgusting woman in love. But you never got the hint, did you? You kept following him, running after him like a stupid little dog created solely to love, love, love, and never be loved back.

“Is that the reason, Simon?” You cried, voice cracking. “Is that why you fucked that woman—Hayley?”

“Who?”

“Hayley. The woman you fucked in the back of that pub alley! Was that why you left me?”

For the first time, Simon was lost for words, gears turning behind his brown eyes. He let out a frustrated sigh, jaw clenched tight. “You fucking stalked me?”

“I did,” you admitted, but this wasn’t an admission of guilt, nor an act of taking accountability. The words falling from your lips lacked the necessary remorse for either of those things. “I know it’s wrong, but—”

“Wrong?” Simon scoffed. “Christ, you’re bloody mental if you think that’s just wrong.”

You try to draw a deep breath through your mouth, your shoulders stuttering with the effort. The pain and the anguish are written all over your face, reddening your skin. But then, something shifts—and when you open your eyes, you are someone new.

Simon watched a thin smile spread across your swollen lips. “Do you think she's a good kisser?”

The question slipped out of you in a voice that was just barely above a whisper, but in the stillness of the night, Simon heard it, caught your quiet words. There was no faltering in your voice, no quaver, no stutter. He felt your pupils searing his skin hotter than the mansion’s fire.

“What?” He asked again, making sure he hadn’t misheard.

You were more than happy to repeat. “Do you think Hayley is a good kisser? Because I know she is—I kissed her. How did she taste? Did you enjoy it?”

“Fucking hell, you’re a fuckin’ psycho.”

“Did she moan when you kissed her, Simon? Did she wrap her arms around you, pull you in closer? Did you run your fingers through her hair—her body? Did she moan your name the way I do when we’re—”

You cut yourself off, your breath hitching again. The numbing agent has worn off, and now you're paying the withdrawal tenfold. Like your own personal hell, the memory of your intimate moments together replays, leaving nothing but a bitter taste and more hot, salty tears streaming down your face.

 “Did she feel as good as I do when you’re buried deep inside me?”

Simon didn't respond, remaining silent. Or perhaps this very silence was his answer. He was always a man of few words, preferring to act instead. Right now, his actions spoke louder than anything.

“Or was she better?” You hissed. “ANSWER ME!”

Nothing. Even when you scream in his face, he keeps giving you nothing. This is the man you love—only able to take, take, and take until there is nothing left to fill the cavern he leaves behind.

You take a step towards him, hands trembling by your side. “Can she love you like I do?”

The confession hung in the air, heavy with the weight of your love and pain. You caught the way Simon’s eyes widened in surprise, but they quickly returned to their stoic stare, and the mask—that damn mask—hid too much for you to make any conclusions about him. The unfairness was palpable: you were tearing your heart out, vulnerable and all exposed for him—while he was hiding behind a mesh of polypropylene.

Always guarded, always unreachable.

Simon’s shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath, gazing up at the sky before turning back to you. “You need to go home.”

“What?”

Before you could really process his words, Simon had already turned and was walking briskly to his car, his broad back starting to move away from you. Hurriedly, you ran after him, your hands outstretched to grab anything of his. Stop. Stop walking away. Stop trying to leave me.

“Simon!” You called out—God, how you hated how weak and pleading it sounded. “Simon, wait! Listen to me!”

Simon reaches his car, already grasping for the handle. Panic rises in your throat. He yanks the door open, ready to get in. Your mind is gripped with desperation, scrambling to find something—anything—to keep him here with you, and yet the only thing that can act fast enough is your voice.

“”Go home,” That’s your response, Simon? After everything I just confessed to you? I just laid my heart bare—I told you that I love you, and your answer is to tell me to go home?!”

You flinch at the sudden slam of the car door. Simon whirls around to face you, chin held high, imprisoning you under his angry gaze. “YES, I'm tellin' you to fucking go home!” He roars, his booming voice quickening your pulse. “I don't want this sappy shit you're tryin' to dump on me. Go home an' leave me the fuck alone!”

“NO!” You shouted, voice cracking as you dangled on the edge of control—on the verge of crumbling. “I won't go home! I-I love you! I don't want to go home!"

You stepped forward, your hands gripping the front of his shirt. "Is it because of me?" you questioned, as if this was the only possible explanation. “Because if it is, I can fix it! I can be whatever you want me to be—I don't care! You don't even have to love me back! Just please, don't leave. If you want, you can always use me—just keep using me. Just don't go, Simon. Please, please, don't leave me."

Because there will always be a really bad part of you that ruins everything. No matter how deeply you love or how faithful your devotion is, it will taint it. At the end of the day, it will be worth nothing. So, if your body is the only thing that would satisfy him—distracting him from your inability to make him love you—then so be it. You were always the cheap and vulgar daughter, after all.

“Fucking hell,” he cursed under his breath. “Stop. Fuckin' stop sayin' shit like that 'bout yerself.”

Despite all your pleading, Simon remains the same man he always was. A rotten one, selfish—a stray dog who loves to wander. He hasn’t changed—his dead heart has no room for your love, for you. The more you try to hold him, the more he eludes your grasp. Perhaps he has grown so accustomed to sadistic things that a woman tearing out her heart for him doesn't faze him anymore.

Or worse: he loves things like this.

A raw, throbbing heart—the soft feast of organs for a home-fashioned dinner. The beautiful swan—you, heart enlarged and sweet from your consumption of his deceit. His prized delicacy, just the way he likes it.

You felt Simon’s hands wrap around your wrist, prying your fingers off him. “No, please! Don’t go, don’t leave!”

But he was unyielding, his mind pinpointed on one goal: to get away from you. He pushed you back. You watched as he turned and opened the car door, sliding inside. Hastily, you tried to wrench the car door open—he had locked it from the inside. You slam your hands against the window.

“Simon! Simon, please!”

The glass vibrated under the force of your blows; your palms stinging with the impact. Tears streamed down your face as you continuously hit the window. Simon turned on the ignition.

“GET OUT!! I’ll die if you leave! I’LL DIE IF YOU LEAVE!”

The car lurched forward; Simon's face remained obscured from view. Your hand slides off the glass as the vehicle speeds away. The sound of the engine faded into the distance, taking with it the last piece of your shattered heart.

You stood there, frozen, alone on the empty street. He was gone.

The bitter realization hits you like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs. You sank to your knees, hands clutching at the fabric of your coat as uncontrollable sobs wracked your body. He was gone, and your last memory of him was his dark eyes staring at you as you begged to mean something to him.

But would it make a difference if the last recollection of him stayed on that sunny day in the countryside? Would everything have been better if you hadn't come here?

You dig your fingernails into the back of your hand, hoping the sting will distract you like it did before. Yet, even after collecting your own skin beneath your nails, the long-awaited numbness never comes. Or is it because no amount of bodily harm can relieve the agony?

(It feels like a kind of living death, doesn’t it?)

Sometimes, you get jealous of euthanized dogs.

@strawberrygato @aprosiacperson @chipsbuttercream @arrozyfrijoles23 @pastel-devil-06 @rroseskull @olives10 @cricricorner

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[miumura]

YUJIN HAVING YOU AS A CHILDHOOD CRUSH!

( 제로베이스원 한유진 ) ﹕what it's like for yujin to have you as his childhood crush

𝓹airing yujin x childhood crush gn!reader ⟡ 𝓰enre pining (yujin) ∿ fluff ⟡ 𝔀arnings none in particular, yujin is just cute Realness!!!! wc ( 0.5-0.7k+ ) ⟡ 𝓼oph’s 𝓷otes ⟡ thank you so much for requesting !! i had a lot of fun writing this one so i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed the writing process for yujin >3< !!

CHILDHOOD FRIEND YUJIN who never knew what was it was to like someone romantically until the moment you ran up to him with that radiant smile, extending your hand and said, “i’m y/n, what’s your name?” from that day on, he felt like now he just finally knew.

CHILDHOOD FRIEND YUJIN who found his eyes brightening every time someone brought up your name. his attention would always seem to increase as he actively listened to others talk about how wonderful you were, leaving him nodding in agreement too. it always made him happy to know that others saw in you what he had seen all along.

CHILDHOOD FRIEND YUJIN who would often ask you if you could be partners with him in everything—from games to projects—simply because he wants to spend him with you. he’d pout and argue that, out of everyone, he knew you the longest—so of course, he had the right to choose you first.

CHILDHOOD FRIEND YUJIN who covered for you whenever he felt like you were about to get in trouble. if they don’t buy his explanation, he’d fully take the blame by creating a good explanation (that’s hard to refute) or say he was apart of it, just so you wouldn’t feel alone if you were punished.

CHILDHOOD FRIEND YUJIN who found himself trying to indulge in whatever interested you, just so he could bring it up once and have you ramble on about it. he loves listening to you talk, so you can bet he’d be listening intently, knowing that he gets to hear you while understanding it all.

CHILDHOOD FRIEND YUJIN who often sneaks glances at you whenever he could. he does it just to make sure that you were feeling alright, or simply, just because he wants to.

CHILDHOOD FRIEND YUJIN who finds himself sulk quietly to himself when something or someone gets your attention rather than him. even despite how he’s feeling, he just simply lets it happen, knowing he can’t keep you to himself.

CHILDHOOD FRIEND YUJIN who attempts to make these jokes to make you smile, but only makes himself a fool with his slip ups and him getting embarrassed midway through. regardless, if he still heard you laugh, then his mistakes were suddenly all worth it.

CHILDHOOD FRIEND YUJIN who finally works up the courage to ask you out with the help of his friends. he spends hours rehearsing his confession, pacing back and forth as he mumbles the words under his breath. even with him forgetting his lines and going off on a nervous tangent for too much of his liking, he’s determined to get it just right—because you’re worth every second of his preparation.

CHILDHOOD FRIEND YUJIN who went to your house with a teddy bear and chocolate, his ears turning redder by the minute as he rambled—completely forgetting what he had rehearsed a month prior.

CHILDHOOD FRIEND YUJIN who felt overjoyed when you accepted his confession, finding himself grinning on the way home. that day, all he could think about was your words and especially the kiss he managed to get with the boldness he never knew he had.

CHILDHOOD FRIEND YUJIN who always knew and wanted you to be the one and only for him.

💬 — i don’t know why i didn’t work on this sooner,, this request was soooo 😞🫶

ZB1 PERM TAGLIST ( OPEN ) @dwcljh @ilovewonyo @jiawji @tzyuki @kpoprhia @flamiricky @misokei @lluvjjun @zzzhoonie @margoteboo-blog @lakoya @haolovre

[specific-dreamer]

my baby, my baby (you’re my baby)

Summary: darry visits his dad and rants. he also cries. </3

Darrel loves each of his kids (and stray kids) equally. No matter how hard Steve tries to pry it out of him, he does not have a favorite.

He loved when Johnny came over for dinner and he’s able to convince the kid to spend the night, he loves when Soda and Steve came home with new stories about their day at the rodeo, he loved when he came home from work and Ponyboy would rush to tell him about the book he’d just finished, he loved attending Ace’s recitals, and he loved when Dally comes over just to sit in their company when he could’ve been causing a ruckus around town instead.

He is, however, a little more partial to his first born than the others. No hard feelings, he still loves his other kids, but Darrel Junior was his first child; the reason he’s the father he was a father, so he’s always going to have a soft spot for him no matter what he does.

Besides, it doesn’t hurt that Junior is the only one who visits him and Karen on a normal basis. Darrel huffs to himself has he sits on top of his grave. Since dying, he’s somehow gained an internal watch, so he knows it’s 3:47pm exactly; when Junior visits it’s usually around 4pm.

Junior’s early today though, Darrel thinks to himself hearing footsteps approaching. There’s not much else he can do but wait for Darry who bends in front of Karen’s grave and leaves her a flower first. If he were alive, Darrel’s heart might’ve clenched. Karen’ll be sorry he missed Darry, but she’s watching over the other boys right now; it’s alright though, Darrel will fill her in when she gets back.

Darry’s head was bent too low for him to get a good look at first, but now that he’s turned towards Darrel’s grave he can see the tears streaming down his face. If he still needed oxygen, he’s sure his breath would’ve caught.

“Hi, Dad,” Darry’s says taking a seat on the ground. Darrel can’t help but notice he’s got his knees pulled to him like he’s trying to protect himself.

He frowns and pulls himself to join Darry on the ground. Hey, kiddo. What’s the matter? He knows Darry can’t hear him, he learnt that the hard way a while ago now, it still brings him a little bit of comfort though.

Darry sniffs. “I don’t know how you and Mama did it.”

Did what?

Darry gestures in the air, “This parenting shit- stuff, I meant stuff, sorry.” Darrel laughs a little; his baby’s twenty years old and still apologizing for cussing.

If he’s honest, Darrel isn’t even sure how he did it. It was in large part thanks to Karen, of course, she kept him steady whenever he floundered. Junior also helped too, though. He doesn’t like to throw the word around, but for all intent and purposes, Darry was a perfect first child.

“The other night,” Darry continues. “I guess Ponyboy had a nightmare or something, I don’t know, but I heard him asking Soda why I hated him.” His voice breaks at the end and Darrel is forced to watch as Junior sobs into his arms.

It’s futile he knows, but after a moment of watching he hugs Darry anyway. Almost as if he could actually feel the hug, Darry stiffens before looking up and staring straight through Darrel. Spooky, he thinks.

“I don’t hate him, I promise.”

I know you don’t.

“I love him a lot, but it’s like he purposely grates my nerves. He knows I’m stretched thin and it’s like he’s trying to see how long until I snap. And that’s not fair! I don’t know how to be a parent, I don’t how to raise a fourteen year old!”

Darrel isn’t sure when it happened, but a flip was switched as Junior started to rant angrily. He doesn’t leave the cemetery too often, but when he did he noticed the two often riled each other up; it was never one sided. He can’t exactly correct Darry though so he hums instead.

“Daddy, you know when you first, um,” he winces. “left, Pony didn’t talk for a week. Okay, that’s fine, I can handle that, but he stopped eating too. I tell him, ‘Pony you have to eat something, you can only go so long without eating before you die from starvation.’ And I kid you not the only thing he says to me that entire week was ‘You’re not dad, Darrel, you can’t tell me what to do’. I never said I was! I just didn’t want him to die too, is that so bad?”

Darrel blinks. That was a lot, and he’s not really sure where to start processing it. He sighs airlessly, It’s not bad. You were worried about him and had his best interests at heart I get it. Is he eating now at least?

Just as fast as it came, the anger seems to leave Darry all once as he lies back on the grass with his hands over his face. “I don’t even know if he eating for real, yet. I’m not home enough to know; I eat my breakfast in the dark, go to work, come home when everyone’s asleep, eat dinner in the dark, go to bed, rinse and repeat.”

Darrel winces. Even he didn’t work those kind of hours and could’ve handled them. Darrel liked his solitude every now and then, but not Darry. No, not his Junior; his Junior is a people’s person through and through, there’s a reason he won boy of his year.

Rubbing Darry’s ankle he says, I know you’re working your ass off, but I’m real proud of you, baby. I know it don’t look it now, but it will all pay off.

There’s a pause, and if he wants he could trick himself into believing his boy heard him, before Darry says something so quietly Darrel has to strain to hear. “I know it’s wrong, and I try not to, but sometimes I wish I let them get taken. I love them, really I do! But Soda wants to drop out of school and Pony hates me and he thinks I hate him back, and don’t even get me started on Dallas— I don’t think there’s a been a weekend where we haven’t haven’t argued or he hasn’t been in jail. I’m trying my best, but I keep screwing up and that’s not fair on them.”

He breaks into sobs again, this time so strong his whole body shakes. Darrel can’t even do anything to comfort him, his stupid ghost body isn’t corporeal. The best thing he can do is stroke Darry’s hair and hope he knows his daddy is here for him. He hates seeing his kids cry and he’s never been more angry that he’s dead.

Between sobs Darry says, “I wanna leave. So I can’t mess anything else up.”

No, sir. You’ll get the hang of things soon enough, it’s a new adjustment and y’all’ve just gotta find your footing. I know it’s hard, but y’all will find it.

“I’m not gonna,” Darry protests. His baby is red in the face and breathing real hard, but Darrel is thankful is eyes are finally starting to dry. “I want to leave but I don’t want to leave them.”

So, what are you gonna do, Junior?

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I wish you were here, you’d know what to do.”

Darrel winces. Actually now-

“Well, never mind. You wouldn’t be dumb enough to get in this situation to begin with.”

Harsh, but he’s probably right. Darrel watches as the gears turn in Junior’s head. He loves all his kids equally, yes. But Darry’s always been his favorite to watch because when he isn’t focused he wears every emotion on his face. He can see exactly when Darrys made his mind up long before he stands up and dusts off his pants.

“You drive a hard bargain, but fine I’ll stay.” Darrel barks out a laugh as Darry checks his watch. It’s 6:29pm, he’s been here for nearly three hours. “Shit, I said I’d make dinner.” Somehow, when Darry looks up he’s staring Darrel in the eyes. “I’ve gotta run, but I’ll see you later.”

Alright, stay tough out there. I love you, kiddo.

Darry’s eyes widen a minuscule amount and he grins as he ducks his head. “Yeah, I love you too, daddy.”

[ainsi-soit-il]

Wanted to add a couple of things from my own experience as a Methodist who grew up Baptist on the fringes of the Bible Belt.

I've been in Protestant Churches Built From Circa 1970-2005 long enough to know that it's not an either-or between (Carpenter) Gothic Chapel and Megachurch Monstrosity. There's a lot of bizarre flavors going on for the following reasons.

In the 1970s-1980s, there was a trend of building churches with gymnasiums that could function as a fellowship hall. As an example, the church I attend now was built in the late 1970s and we have a gym that was clearly built with this in mind (There's a kitchen attached, there's an AV booth, etc.). In some cases, these gyms were built before the actual sanctuary, due to their multipurpose nature and capacity.

At least by the 2000s, this evolved into more multi-purpose sanctuaries in general, stuff that could double as a fellowship hall if need be. The church I grew up in didn't have a gym, but the sanctuary's seating was removable and the room could be divided into sections for smaller events if need be. (It was still recognizably a church, though. There was a choir loft and a baptistry and a giant wooden cross hanging on the back wall, and whatnot.

Once the sanctuary was built, the church building might be expanded on to meet the practical needs of the congregation. Most often you see additions for classroom space, for the sake of Bible studies, Sunday school classes, or Christian schools that might use the building.

These expansions might be made as the congregation is able to raise money for them, so things tend to be simpler in design, and there may not be a lot of clear rhyme or reason as to how things get placed, beyond There Was Room Here. (As you said, op, resources are a big factor here.)

As a result, there's a longstanding reality of reasonably-sized, theologically-orthodox Protestant churches with sprawling, eldritch architecture that defies reason because the building wasn't built all at once, and because the focus was upon how the building might also be used by the congregation outside of a Sunday morning.

None of that's to say I think church architecture shouldn't mean something. But for a certain genre of Hideous Protestant Church architecture, the value being communicated is serving others, or the need for church community in the Christian life, rather than strictly The Church Is A Product To Be Sold.

With that said, I feel like it's worth mentioning that by and large, these churches still have architectural features that say, This is a church, like steeples, crosses, windows, whatever. While they're weird-looking buildings, they're not afraid to signal to passersby what the primary intention for the building is.

Furthermore, the market research thing is very real. One of the points where the church I grew up in began to go downhill was when the new head pastor hired a marketing firm to "fix" the church and to give it more mass appeal... which inevitably involved getting rid of any architectural features that suggested this was a church. Looking at pictures of the inside of it now, it's basically unrecognizable as a place of worship. It looks more like a concert venue than anything else. And I think that, regardless of where you fall on how ornate a church should be, is cause for concern.

Setting aside issues like the practical needs for space, or the finances to afford constructing/renovating a building in the first place, why is there such apprehension about church buildings that suggest who we worship and why we gather? What does that say about how we might feel about Jesus?

Roman Catholics and Orthodox have got to knock it off with "Protestants have brutalist corporate churches". A particular modern strain of Protestantism has hideous modern churches. It's a depressingly common strain, and arguably the dominant one in America, but it's either ignorant or dishonest to pretend as though all Protestants have ugly churches.

Behold:

Clockwise from top left:

St. Peter's Church, Geneva, canton of Geneva, Switzerland (Swiss Reformed)

Barnes Methodist Church, London, England, UK (Methodist)

Dutch Reformed Church, Newbury, New York state, USA (Dutch Reformed)

St. Jude's Church, Glasgow, Scotland, UK (Presbyterian)

[techhiz]

Can I request es Bumblebee having a very physically affectionate human s/o that pampers him whenever they aren't busy?

-🦝 anon

Bee Loved.

Bumblebee had grown accustomed to the warmth of human companionship during his time with the Maltos. Their kindness and bond with the Terrans were like nothing he’d ever experienced. But you? You took it to a whole new level.

Every spare moment you had, you poured affection into the yellow mech. Whether it was resting against his alt mode, gently tracing the lines of his plating, or finding creative ways to pamper him, you made him feel like the most cherished bot on Earth.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm orange glow over the Maltos’ backyard. Bumblebee was sitting under the shade of a large tree, his frame relaxed but his optics bright as he watched you approach with a determined look and a bag slung over your shoulder.

"You look way too tense, Bee," you teased, setting the bag down beside him.

"Tense? Me?" He chuckled, shifting slightly to give you more space. "I’m as loose as a Cybertronian can be."

"Sure you are." You smirked, pulling out a soft, microfiber cloth. "Just let me take care of you."

Bumblebee’s optics flickered in amusement, but he leaned back to indulge you. "Alright, I’m all yours."

Carefully, you began wiping down his plating, removing specks of dust and grime from his most recent mission. Your movements were deliberate, your touch gentle as you polished his bright yellow armor until it gleamed.

"Y’know, you don’t have to do this," he said softly, though he didn’t make a move to stop you.

"I want to," you replied, your voice full of warmth. "You deserve to be taken care of, too, Bumblebee."

His spark hummed at your words, and he let out a contented sigh. "Well, when you put it that way..."

When Bumblebee transformed into his alt mode, you’d often hop into the driver’s seat, leaning forward to hug the steering wheel.

"You’re the best ride ever, Bee," you’d say, pressing a kiss to the dash.

"Flattery will get you everywhere," he’d tease through the radio, his voice full of fondness.

On quieter days, you’d bring snacks and sit beside him, chatting about your day while he listened intently. Sometimes, you’d even share music with him, creating playlists tailored to his tastes.

And then there were the cuddles.

Whenever he was in bot mode and you had time to spare, you’d climb up to sit on his shoulder or curl up against his chest. Bumblebee would wrap his arms around you protectively, his chassis vibrating softly with his low, comforting hum.

"You’re so warm," you’d murmur, resting your head against him.

"And you’re ridiculously sweet," he’d reply, his optics dimming slightly as he soaked in the moment.

As much as Bumblebee loved your affection, it also left him in awe. Cybertronians weren’t typically accustomed to such intimate, tactile gestures, but you made it seem so natural. It wasn’t just the physical touch—it was the way you looked at him, the way you always seemed to know when he needed a little extra care.

It made him feel... whole.

The two of you were lying in the grass, the stars twinkling above. Bumblebee had transformed into his alt mode, and you were stretched out on his hood, staring at the sky.

"You’re really something, y’know that?" he said, his voice soft through the radio.

You turned your head to face him, smiling. "So are you."

He hesitated for a moment before adding, "I mean it. I’ve been through a lot, but you... you make it all feel lighter. Like maybe, just maybe, things can really be okay."

Your heart swelled at his words. Sitting up, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his hood, your lips lingering against the warm metal.

"Bee, you deserve all the love in the world," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, Bumblebee was silent, his spark practically glowing. Then, his radio crackled softly.

"I think I already have it."

You laughed softly, lying back down and placing a hand against his smooth plating.

And for the rest of the night, you stayed like that—no words needed, just the quiet hum of his engine and the steady rhythm of your breathing. (I swear, bumblebee needs a hug-)

[severus-snaps]

i know we all enjoyed that screencap from hogwarts mystery where madam pomfrey lets slip that snape is needy when he gets a cold but like

maybe it's because he's feeling under the weather that his usual facade cracks. the illness is just a conduit, an excuse to be 'needy', because he finally has something he can blame for feeling bad - something specific that he can pinpoint, one he can share. without meaning to, without any intention or conscious awareness that it's what he's doing, he's seeking the comfort and sympathy he's always been starved for. what would it take to be considered needy, anyway? turning up repeatedly for potions from madam pomfrey, even though he could brew them himself? coughing/sniffing dramatically in the staffroom, sitting by the fire looking like death warmed up, and playing it up a little?

i'm not sure he'd get much, though. in the game, madam pomfrey tells people he's needy, which doesn't suggest sympathy and actually feels a bit mean, telling other people that. when he speaks to the students, he tells them to stop gawking at him with 'feigned pity', suggesting that's what he's used to:

getting back into 'canon' extrapolations from book characterisations, i expect that the other teachers would hardly be sympathetic... (i went on a bit of a ramble so have broken it down below)

mcgonagall mcgonagall is probably the professor suggested to be closest to snape, with their quidditch rivalry bordering a frenemy-style relationship - but she seems very old-school tough love/dismissal, the type to snap "just have a whisky/potion and get on with it"

dumbledore dumbledore might offer some kind words, but their relationship is... complicated. snape is, obviously, a brooding little bitch - he's not about to forget that dumbledore dismissed his wanting to die like it was nothing when lily died, so he's hardly going to think that dumbledore's sympathy is genuine

madam pomfrey i think madam pomfrey would be similarly no-nonsense to mcgonagall; she sees worse every day from kids' magic going wrong, the yearly disaster whenever harry is there, and quidditch injuries, and even when harry is injured i don't remember her being particularly comforting - she'd hardly have time for snape's theatrics.

hagrid weirdly, i think hagrid would be sympathetic - he always seems fairly nice about snape, probably because anyone dumbledore trusts is 1000% incredible in hagrid's book - but i doubt snape comes across hagrid that often outside of mealtimes (should they sit together) since hagrid lives outside the castle, unlike the rest of the staff (which seems a bit mean, on reflection - though maybe hagrid likes it because he prefers nature and his own space, and the freedom to do illegal activities like dragon rearing and breeding possibly illegal creatures, but i digress)

the others i doubt the other professors are close enough to snape to offer anything more than polite, surface-level sympathy for a coworker - and snape knows that.

if we want to get into little bit sad territory, imagine snape in the staffroom. there's a bug going around; everyone has had it at some stage. he leaves a tray of vials filled with pepperup/some other potion; people take them gratefully.

then he overhears sprout like "here filius, make a tea out of this and you'll be right as rain!", mcgonagall sharing her own whisky for a hot toddy with madame hooch when she gets a chesty cough, or the staff put together care packages to take down to hagrid's hut when he's ill.

snape isn't offered anything. the potions quickly run out.

he heads to the hospital wing to ask for another, because his brain fog and aching limbs and sinus pain mean he's firmly not in the mood to be bent over a cauldron to be making any more - and besides, he's made all of the potions for the hospital wing anyway - they're basically his to take. he made them especially for this bug going around. he's handed them out in the staffroom already. he's left them in the slytherin common room. he even took one to dumbledore's office.

but rather than offering anything, madam pomfrey shoos him away quickly, tells him to stop being such a bother - so he just traipses back to his own room, fully aware that nobody will gather leaves for a curative tea for him, he'll be receiving no care packages, no hot toddies, not even his own potions - and if he doesn't show at dinner, because he's tired and grumpy and aching and just wants to sleep, nobody will ask after him - because nobody cares

but yeah. snape, feeling under the weather and subconsciously seeking a little bit of care - and still not receiving any :(

[abyss-seer]

Pick A Card Read

Hey there! So as I said I will be reposting old reads. Another relationship read... But this time to heal from a previous one. I used AI to edit this reading's original transcript. So hope you won't mind it I was having a hard time with my English, still do... But I have grown a bit confident about it since then. Hope these old reads provide some insights to you guys

Channeled Song :

A revisit to the past:

What are you subconsciously holding on to from your previous connection that needs to be realized at this time?

How to choose and find your pile

Meditate on the question given and choose whichever image you feel the most drawn to then read for the pile you like the most. You can feel drawn to anything, including the signs and symbols in the images.🌸🧘🏻‍♀️😌

Warning ⚠️: I got some energy not wanting me to post this read. So here you go.

🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿

May all the evil intentions, thoughts actions, prayers sent towards me or my way be returned back to its sender. I banish any negative energy sent towards me.

🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿

____________________

Pile 1

____________________

Pile 2

____________________

Pile 3

________________________

Pile 4

________________________

Trigger Warning ⚠️

This reading has focused on your subconscious patterns from past connections, aiming to be a healing experience rather than a reminder of past hurts. If you're not ready to confront these aspects, but you appreciate the concept of this reading, feel free to save it for later.

Remember, this is a general reading, so take only the messages that resonate with you and leave the rest. A tarot reading offers insight or answers to your subconscious questions. It's important not to force yourself into any interpretation that doesn't feel right; readings are meant to be more about entertainment and reflection than precision.

Be mindful of not taking things personally. This is a collective reading, and while some aspects might resonate with you, others may resonate with someone else. My readings tend to be comprehensive and detailed, which some may find lengthy or time-consuming. Please take your time with this reading. These messages are intended to awaken and provide insights, so I hope you find value in them. Enjoy the journey through these reads..

Pile 1

"My fabulous pile 1, it's time to shine a light on those sneaky subconscious patterns! Feeling like you're carrying the weight alone? Or that your close ones are more dissonance than harmony? Stop right there. You, with your radiant energy, shouldn't dim your sparkle to make others comfy. The reversed 10 of Pentacles and upright World card are clear: you deserve harmony, not discord. Some in your inner circle might envy your success, throwing shade instead of support. Enough is enough! Don't let their negativity cloud your brilliance. Whether family or friends, if they can't cheer for you, it's time to reassess.. These could particularly be family members or some close-knit friends whom you might often jeer at you behind your back

You're a beacon of hope, often boosting others up. But remember, your worth doesn't diminish by lifting others. If your gut senses bad vibes, listen up – it's your internal alarm! There could be wolves disguised as sheep among your pack. Trust your instincts; they know who's genuine.

Sometimes, stepping back from these connections is necessary to regain clarity. Test the waters before diving in again. After all, your journey to greatness shouldn't include carrying others' negativity on your back. You're destined for a horizon full of light and new beginnings!"

Ever heard the word 'trenches' whispered through the grapevine? It might sound innocent, but it carries weight. Perhaps it's a clue that someone with a French connection – maybe even a Parisian – is stirring things up. You could also be a Parisian as well. Watch out, though; this person seems all ears but is really a gossipmonger! You might've learned this the hard way through a past connection. Despite your once-friendly encouragements, they're still at it. Now, some of you might find yourselves unconsciously adopting their snarky attitude, maybe as payback for old wounds. Picture someone, perhaps you, discovering this so-called confidant mocking you behind your back – devastating, right? If that's your story, I'm truly sorry. Sending heaps of love and healing your way. Remember, it's not just about feeling disrespected; betrayal stings deep. Your hurt is valid, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Don't brush off those feelings or blame yourself for holding onto them. Acknowledge, feel, and release. You deserve that peace."

Hey there, Pile 1! Buckle up because it sounds like you've been riding a rollercoaster of drama and emotional turbulence lately. You know those folks who've been tossing around the "petty" label like confetti at a party? Yeah, those ones. Well, guess what? You're not feeling petty—you're just in serious need of a breather from all the betrayal and hurt feelings they've been serving up.

Now, normally I'd be like, "Sayonara, drama llama!" But hey, being a tarot aficionado, I know better than to dish out generic advice. If you're stuck dealing with these characters at work or in your daily grind, it's time to lay down some ground rules. Set those boundaries like a pro and watch them try to push past 'em. And hey, YouTube is your new best friend for mastering the art of professionalism with a side of self-care. Trust me, you can do both and still keep your sanity intact.

Now, about those culinary quirks—whether you're all about those egg yolks or have a taste that others don't quite get, own it. Let them giggle in their cultural ignorance while you savor every bite. Some of you could be from east asian lineage.

Onto the tarot vibes: Ace of Swords, 2 of Swords reversed, and 9 of Wands are in the spotlight. Feeling like you're stuck in a mental maze, overthinking every move? Been there, felt that. But wait, there's hope! Even with the Hermit and 5 of Pentacles reversed lurking in the shadows, there's a roadmap out of this rut. Tap into those resources you've been neglecting and watch your luck turn.

You're not trapped in a predetermined game—you're the player. So, take a deep breath, reassess your game plan, and strut ahead with confidence. Life's too short for petty squabbles and feeling stuck. You've got the cards in your favor—time to play 'em like a pro!

Cheers to breaking free and living your best, drama-free life, Pile 1. You've totally got this!

Hey there, Pile 1! Ready to dive into the cosmic advice pool? Strap in, because we're about to decode some serious life battles and emotional rollercoasters.

So, here's the deal: not every battlefield is yours to conquer. Sometimes, it's about learning from the defeats and guiding others through their own journey. Winning doesn't define your worth, and losing doesn't make you any less of a superhero in this crazy game of life.

Feeling stuck in a rut, huh? Like your mind's trapped in a maze with no exit sign? It happens to the best of us. But guess what? This feeling of emptiness and misery—it's actually a nudge from the universe to start fresh. Time to unlock those emotions you've been hiding away. Yup, it's okay to scream, cry, paint, write—whatever floats your emotional boat. Your feelings are meant to be seen and heard, not locked away in some mental vault. "I intuitively got someone screaming noooo" You might not like this change pile 1 but your body, your vessel needs to pour those emotions whether through artistry or words.

Now, I get it—you might not be thrilled about this change. But trust me, nurturing those emotions is like feeding your soul cosmic vitamins. It builds your intuition, boosts your confidence, and sets you free to speak your truth. And hey, once you start setting boundaries and saying "no" to misery, you'll feel like a boss adult navigating life's twists and turns.

Remember, Pile 1, this journey isn't about instant wins. It's about growth, resilience, and embracing your unique path. Whether you're from Andhra or Timbuktu, this message rings true: you've got what it takes to persevere and thrive. West African counties, Timbuktu in Mali, Andhra Pradesh in India,, Northwest Africa, and Southeast India could be significant. Maybe your previous connection was with someone who came from the opposite side of the world. Both of you could have had very different cultures. This could be a current connection as well. But I am getting a past connection for most of you.

Thanks for hanging out and letting me drop some cosmic wisdom. Have an awesome day ahead, and until next time—stay epic, stay true to you! 🌟🌈

Pile 2

Hey hey, Pile 2! Get ready to unravel the cosmic mysteries of your tarot cards with a twist of magic and a dash of insight. Let's dive into the mystical realm and see what the cards have in store for you.

First up, meet the Page of Wands—a whimsical soul with a mind as colorful as a rainbow. This kiddo's all about imagination on steroids, soaking up inspiration from every nook and cranny of existence. They're like that friend who starts a dozen projects before breakfast, fueled by a burning desire to master their creative energy. Grounding plans? Nah, they'd rather leap into the next big idea and see where it takes them!

Now, entering the arena is the Knight of Swords—cue the dramatic entrance music! This knight is pure strategy on turbo mode, zeroing in on goals like a heat-seeking missile. Impatient? Oh yeah, this speed demon wants results yesterday. Watch out for the occasional crash—speed limits exist for a reason! But hey, when this knight sets their sights on something, there's no stopping them (well, ideally with a sprinkle of rationality).

Next up, the Judgement card sounds the cosmic wake-up call. It's like the universe shouting from the mountaintops, signaling a time of awakening and liberation. Those who've played by the cosmic rules are leveling up, while others might find themselves stuck in a soul-sized traffic jam. The 10 of Wands chimes in with a lesson: freedom comes when you stop playing pack mule for everyone else's problems. It's about taking charge and learning to say "NO" to what weighs you down.

And hey, amidst all this cosmic drama, who knew Purble Place tile flipping could be secret therapy for some of you? Sometimes, the universe speaks through nostalgic computer games!

Overall, Pile 2, it looks like you're tuning into how your past connections have shaped your approach to life. Maybe you started with a spark of passion or a creative itch, and now you're turning it into something strategic and structured. Whether it's diving deep into academia, crafting compelling stories, or mastering new languages, you're on a quest for growth and mastery.

So keep riding those waves of inspiration, Pile 2. Embrace your inner childlike wonder and knightly ambition.

It seems like you once navigated life with fiery enthusiasm, but now you tread a more strategically planned path. The people around you, or a significant person, have subtly helped you ascend to this new mindset. You were once overwhelmed by taking on too much at once, leading to a harsh awakening or realization that transformed your approach from impulsive pursuits to careful planning. The song "Heartbreak Anniversary" might resonate with you—perhaps this shift was triggered by heartbreak. I’m sorry you had to endure that. The number 6 could be significant; maybe someone was born in June or July, or has strong Leo placements. Fire signs (Leo, Aries, Sagittarius) and Aquarius are also notable—these could be prominent in your natal chart. The next cards, Chariot and Death in reverse, suggest someone with significant 6th house placements.

Even with opposition, you’ve resolutely pursued your goals, driven by a passion that brought you immense joy. There was a particularly happy moment in your life that you still cling to, despite a major change. In this new beginning, you chose not to engage emotionally, protecting your heart space. It seems you felt attacked, leading to an inner death and a fear of vulnerability. I envisioned a scene from the movie "3," starring Indian actor Dhanush, where his character becomes numb to his emotions, unable to move away from an apple all night due to profound despair. I'm deeply sorry if you've experienced similar emotions, feeling paralyzed by suppressed feelings. I recommend exploring tapping videos and somatic exercises for healing.

When we feel deeply, our emotions often take up residence in our bodies. Listen, pile 2, I understand—grief and remorse can be so heavy that even moving feels impossible. If you’re grieving a loss, take the time to heal. It took me years of crying, shouting, and screaming to let it all out. It's not easy, but please find your support system. These feelings are too much to handle alone. If this resonates, please take your time to heal. For some, this loss might be a loved one or even a cherished pet. I'm truly sorry you had to go through that. Take all the time you need to recover. May you find peace and healing.

When we feel deeply, our emotions often take up residence in our bodies. Listen, pile 2, I understand—grief and remorse can be so heavy that even moving feels impossible. If you’re grieving a loss, take the time to heal. It took me years of crying, shouting, and screaming to let it all out. It's not easy, but please find your support system. These feelings are too much to handle alone. If this resonates, please take your time to heal. For some, this loss might be a loved one or even a cherished pet. I'm truly sorry you had to go through that. Take all the time you need to recover. May you find peace and healing.

The last two cards are the Page of Swords and the Two of Pentacles reversed. Many of you might have learned valuable lessons from past connections about balancing curiosity and passion. Your previous relationships taught you the importance of not getting overly excited once you reach your destination but maintaining a diplomatic, pragmatic approach. This balance is crucial, pile 2. Sometimes, you might not see the results you expect and could develop a habit of withdrawing from society as a coping mechanism. Some of you may have faced bullying and tend to mask your emotions, perhaps turning to addictions like alcohol to soothe yourself. Remember, it's essential to maintain a healthy balance and seek support when needed.

Dear pile 2, it seems you might be grieving the heavy loss of a partner. Perhaps you're beginning to realize what they gave you that makes their absence so unbearable. They may have profoundly influenced your approach to life, goals, and dreams, making it incredibly hard to let go. I'm truly sorry you're experiencing this. I hope my words help you see things more clearly.

The song "Kaha Hum, Kaha Tum" from an Indian serial comes to mind—you might find it resonates. There might have been a power dynamic imbalance with your person that left one of you feeling insignificant. I’m sending so much healing energy to both of you. May you both emerge from this phase stronger and better. All my love and healing to you. Have a great day ahead, pile 2. Take all the time you need to heal. 🙏💙🫶

Pile 3

A lot of ungrounded energy is swirling around, mixed with a hint of skepticism. The cards—9 of Pentacles, 4 of Pentacles reversed, Page of Cups reversed, and Page of Swords at the back of the deck—paint an interesting picture.

Whether or not a wish is coming true, someone is determined to do whatever it takes to succeed. There’s a strong protective energy here, a bit of hoarding, as if you're guarding your achievements and accomplishments closely. This isn't necessarily a bad thing; it shows you're keeping unnecessary burdens and interactions at bay. In your past connections, you might have subconsciously developed a habit of keeping things to yourself, staying in your head, and not sharing your resources to prevent others from taking advantage of you.

Perhaps you've been demeaned in the past, leading you to become secretive and hoard everything you've earned to avoid others getting it. This has likely made you skeptical of those around you. It seems this skepticism has seeped into your life, preventing you from aligning with others for higher purposes, goals, and enlightenment. You might have grown distrustful of the universe itself and the gifts it brings. Struggling with self-forgiveness, you may beat yourself up over many things, finding it hard to accept appreciation or good things in your life, feeling undeserving.

"Cheri Cheri Lady, going through emotions, love is where you find it, listen to your heart." This song could be significant to you. You might have trouble listening to your heart, relying too much on logic to understand your subconscious patterns and emotions without truly delving into why those emotions are there. It seems like a half-baked effort, as you intellectualize your emotions and seek rational solutions without understanding the root of your skepticism towards others. Take time to explore your feelings deeply and understand where this skepticism originated.

The next pull reveals the King of Swords in reverse, the Fool in reverse, and the Hanged Man at the back of the deck. This unprocessed rebellion from your previous connections seems to be holding you back. Instead of moving forward, you’ve chosen to logically rebel against your emotions, possibly by beating yourself up for feeling a certain way. Before diving into the next chapter of your life, it's crucial to take a break and shift your perspective on how you're handling these emotions. You need to balance your emotional spheres, develop emotional self-control (not suppression), and learn to manage that inner turmoil.

The Hindi song "Lutt putt Gaya" comes to mind, which might have messages for you. Someone here could be a fan of SRK.

Interestingly, the last pull includes the Six of Cups and the King of Cups. Pile 3, have you been my client before? The synchronicity in this pile is striking, and your reading has exceeded expectations with a 6-card spread, my usual go-to.

You might be attending a reunion, reminiscent of the song "Deewangi Deewangi" from Om Shanti Om. The Six of Cups urges you to enjoy this reunion without any animosity. Don’t question your emotions; humble yourself and make amends with past connections, especially an ex if possible. If you can't reconcile, at least control your temper regarding previous relationships.

Now is the time to stop intellectualizing your feelings and allow yourself to truly feel them. For some of you, the Philippines might hold significance. Embrace this journey with an open heart and a balanced mind.

For some of you, be cautious of someone who might be plotting against you. If your ex is the type to scheme, keep your emotions in check. You could be a Taurus, Leo, Sagittarius, Aquarius, or Scorpio. Avoid lashing out emotionally, as you might regret it later. With Mars in Taurus and the South Node in Libra (in Western astrology at the time of this reading), don't let others force or emotionally blackmail you. Maintain a diplomatic stance and keep your emotions balanced.

You might be subconsciously rebelling against your achievements, holding onto past wounds and grudges that prevent you from embracing new beginnings. Dear pile 3, you're being called to adopt the Emperor role in your life and take control of your emotions. Some of you might have a habit of side-eyeing people; try to manage your impulses and ego hurts. Learn from your lessons, feel your emotions, and channel them properly. Avoid provoking situations that could lead to regretful outbursts. Expressing anger is okay, but don’t let yourself be easily provoked.

Thank you, pile 3. I hope you enjoyed your reading. Byeee 🩵🩵. Be mindful of envious people 🧿🩵. If you're dealing with emotional challenges, may you be protected and blessed. Don’t feel bad about your success, dear pile 3. Remember, you are unique and will overcome your hardships. I hope this reading brought you clarity, encouragement, and help. Have a great day, pile 3. Feel free to explore other piles if they boost your day or provide helpful insights. 🩵🩵🧿🧿🩵🩵

Pile 4

Pile 4, you’re basking in a confident energy, manifesting your dreams, desires, and goals into reality with the Magician and the Star, supported by the King of Pentacles. You think it, your subconscious knows it, and you make it happen. Your biggest lesson from past connections is this incredible ability to turn thoughts into reality.

The next pull—King of Wands reversed, Hanged Man reversed, and 8 of Wands with 10 of Wands at the back—indicates a parent-child dynamic or similar connection. Someone was pushed to chase blessings, despite carrying heavy burdens, in a tough-love scenario. They were forced into a lightning-speed race to reach a destination, their head overwhelmed. This is a strong family connection for some of you. Pisces, Aries, and the February-April season could be significant. For others, it might be a love connection or a platonic friendship where you were advised to take the hard route to success. You might be realizing this about your family, like a fish circling its intuition to create a happy place. Some of you have large families and stay in touch with many relatives.

The final pull—Empress and King of Cups reversed—reveals you recognizing your power as a creator, letting your creative side flourish. However, you might be choosing your head over your heart, avoiding emotions due to a lack of rest or an inability to calm yourself. This could lead to nightmares or sleeplessness because you feel unaccomplished. Fishes, often symbolic of emotionless and follower-type behavior, represent your struggle to confront your emotions.

Pile 4, your journey is about balancing your immense manifesting power with emotional self-awareness. Embrace your creative side and confront your emotions to achieve true fulfillment.

Pile 4, what you might be realizing about the things you were subconsciously holding onto is a creator's angst, stemming from sacrificing yourself for others' dreams, wishes, and desires. It seems you’ve finally started listening to your calling and are swiftly moving toward your goals and dreams. Just make sure not to burn yourself out with immense passion, craze, excitement, or recklessness, especially if you have sleeping problems. Check your sleep schedule and avoid overdoing things.

You are entering an era of manifesting everything you’ve thought of into your present reality, bringing justice to yourself and balancing the scales of needs and wants in your life. All the best for your new journey, Pile 4. Some of you might have come here from Pile 2. May God bless you on your journey ahead. ✌️ Pave a good future for yourself. Byee 🩵🩵🩵

[prettyboykatsuki]

The divide is I think Oliver would openly flirt but Sae, you’re left a little confused for a while because it seems like he never even so much as looks at you, reading the paper or a novel or doing some paperwork. You only catch him watching out of the corner of his eye ONCE, he’s very good at hiding it.

GODDDD YEAH. reference to this

oliver is tastefully flirty when he hires u. being a topless maid is a very specific kind of service so u get customers who ogle pretty often, and for the most dont entirely mind some flirtation but you rarely entertain it yourself nor do you want too. but oliver is in his late fourties, entering his fifties and he's... fun.

he is both flirty and ogling but you can also tell he has no real intention to fuck or seduce you - and you get the feeling that it's not because he couldn't. the comments are subtle and fun, but he's also an exellent conversationalist in general. he listens to your happenings no matter how small and u often find yourself talking with him more than other clients.

and you have . such strict rules about not fucking clients. you really really do. youve never fucked even one, because a lot of very attractive rich men hire you oten. its part of the gig. but god the way oliver makes u want to bend those rules.

with sae you're SO right in that he's the total opposite. you've had a couple of... shy client before but none like sae itoshi. because you can tell for sure he's not shy at all. he makes full blown eye contact and conversation with you when you come over - usually just about what needs clean and where to go should you need something.

he also asks about your schedule outside of work and generally he checks in on you. i think sae is a lot younger in this instance, like i picture him late twenties, early thirties. but aside from your very brief conversations at the beginning and end of your work - you rarely can gauge any sort of reaction to him. you work topless, yes - but you also wear pretty skimp clothes to do the work. part of the gig.

but sae just. does not react to any of it at all. you wonder if maybe this was something he's gifted to him as a gag but from what u can tell all the money comes from his check.

again, you never fuck your clients. you dont want to do that. but saes like.... total indifference and composure is just so sexy. it makes the whole situation feel so much more erotic? somehow?? because he's not paying you any mind at all and some strange, strangled part of you would really like him too.

you make an attempt once, a proper one to ... seduce him a little. you wear a shorter skirt, skimpier panties, sheerer tights. and its the one and only time you catch him giving any kind of look at all. you purposely go in front of him to dust off one of his shelves, get up on your tiptoes for it and when you turn your head - he gives you the most subtle glance ever. it makes you shiver.

worse? he gives you a glance too, a proper but brief look in the eye as if he knows your game and just. keeps on with his work. lit makes u crazy.

[teaandjumpers]

Obi-Wan (Anakin's Version) – Chapter Update!

“I knew you'd be like this,” hissed Obi-Wan. He was whispering even though there was no one else nearby. “You can't control yourself.”

“You're the one who kissed me, remember?” said Anakin, pressing in even closer, Obi-Wan letting him.

“You can't—” started Anakin. He felt overwhelmed. He was so mad. So, so mad at Obi-Wan, but he was also just grateful to have him close. To not be pushed away. “You can't just do something like that and then take it away. You can't—”

He whimpered. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t. He was angry. Obi-Wan deserved his anger. He deserved it.  

But Obi-Wan, it seemed, could only take so much of his anguish. “Oh, Padawan,” he said, drawing Anakin into his arms. “I'm sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and Anakin felt his body sag against his Master’s. He didn’t cry, but it was close. He swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat.

“I'm usually better at controlling myself,” said Obi-Wan as he drew soothing circles across Anakin’s back. “I don't know what came over me.”

“Usually?” repeated Anakin, pulling back a little and clearing his throat. 

“Usually,” he said again, calmer, more determined, realizing the full meaning of Obi-Wan’s words.

He wondered if Obi-Wan meant these last months since he had grown younger, but no, that didn’t make sense.

He thought back to when his Master was older and all the times he stood close, his beard tickling Anakin’s ear. He thought about the way his face lit up when he met him outside the Council Chambers, the way the back of his hand often skirted against his, the way he looked at him with singular intent, making Anakin feel like he was the only person in the room who mattered.

“How often have you felt that way? he asked, the threat of tears entirely gone. “About me.”

“That's not what I meant,” said Obi-Wan, quickly.

“I think you did,” said Anakin, and he didn’t bother checking to see if anyone was around before he slotted a knee between his Master’s thighs.

Obi-Wan hissed, and he let his head fall back against the pillar behind him.

“You’re insufferable,” his Master said.

“And you’re a fucking tease, Obi-Wan,” said Anakin, before capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

Read the rest on AO3!

[k1ng-ej]

RZ!Michael myers x GN!reader

Requests open!

Michael observed you from a shadowy corner as you danced in your kitchen, humming to the music that was playing over your speakers. You spent quite a while gathering and measuring ingredients, then mixing them in a bowl. While he couldn't tell what you were making, the aroma from the oven was delicious.

You twirled gracefully in the kitchen, completely oblivious to Michael standing ominously in the doorway. Frustration simmered within him as you remained unaware of his presence. Slowly, he advanced into the room, a knife clenched tightly in his hand, his knuckles turning pale with tension.

You let out a startled gasp as you crashed into his chest, stumbling slightly before quickly turning around to identify the person you had run into.

“Oh, Michael!” you exclaimed, a wave of relief washing over you as you placed a hand over your racing heart. You noticed the knife in his hand, but ignored it knowing he wouldn’t hurt you. “I had no idea you were here; you startled me!”

Michael tilts his head at you. You had barely given him attention all morning, and he would never ask for it directly, he just bugs you until you finally figure it out.

“What’s up? Hungry?” 

He shook his head.

“Do you need something?” You furrowed your brows, trying to think of why your murderous friend was suddenly bothering you. 

Michael stepped closer, causing you to instinctively retreat. This back-and-forth continued until you found yourself against the counter, where he seized the moment to corner you, placing his hands on either side of you. You looked up at him, bewildered, your hands pressed against his chest to create some distance. It was clear that Michael had no concept of personal space.

Michael bent down to your level, locking eyes with you. You could just barely hear the sound of his breaths escaping behind the mask. Confusion washed over you; you had no clue what his intentions were or what he wanted from you.

He was frustrated that you hadn't yet grasped his needs, especially considering you were the one person who could effortlessly read him, a skill honed from your countless moments together. Despite his attempts to mask his emotions, you always seemed to understand his feelings. Michael knew that his body language often betrayed him—clenching his fists when rage bubbled beneath the surface or tugging at the fabric of his coveralls in moments of discomfort or embarrassment. So why was it different now? Why couldn't you decipher what he was yearning for?

The delicious smell of brownies caught your attention. “Did you want brownies? Is that why you’re being like this?”

Michael blinked at you, then shook his head.

“You have to tell me what you want! I’m not a mind reader.” You groaned, lightly hitting his chest.

A muffled huff escaped from behind the mask, and from the corner of your eye, you noticed him pulling one hand back from the counter.

Michael reached behind him, pulled a strand of dirty blonde hair forward, and let it slip through his fingers.

Oh.

“You want me to brush your hair?”

A nod.

With a soft sigh, you gently pushed against Michael’s chest, freeing yourself from the confines between him and the counter. He trailed closely behind as you strolled into the living room, leaving his knife on the counter. You sank onto the couch, stretching your legs across the cushions, and beckoned Michael over. He eagerly complied, settling comfortably between your legs and reclining against you, his head resting on your chest.

A smile crept across your face as your fingertips grazed the edge of his mask. It was a rare privilege for Michael to allow you to remove it. With a gentle motion, you lifted the mask away from his face and placed it on the coffee table. Michael tensed at the sudden exposure; he despised being without his mask. Yet, he found solace in your soothing fingers running through his hair, making the moment bearable.

The moment you began to run your fingers through Michael's long hair, you could feel him instantly relax. As you gently untangled his hair and occasionally massaged his scalp, you couldn't help but think about how incredibly soft his hair could be if he paid it a bit more attention. Despite your efforts to help him with his hygiene and grooming, getting him to sit still was like pulling teeth. He often got up in the middle of your care, wandering off while your calls for him to return went unnoticed.

Minutes slipped by as you ran your fingers through Michael’s hair, the air filled only with his soft breaths and the faint beeping of the timer you set for the brownies. Lightly tapping his shoulder, you drew his attention, signaling that it was time for you to get up.

He grumbled, earning a chuckle from you.

Reluctantly, he rose from his seat, reaching for his mask on the table and pulling it over his face. The sudden absence of his warmth sent a shiver through you; you definitely missed it. Standing up, you headed towards the kitchen, where you opened the oven door and were greeted by the enticing aroma of freshly baked brownies. Donning oven mitts, you carefully removed the pan and began slicing generous portions for both you and Michael.