#i will be thinking about you even at the ends of the world

[flwrstqr]

( する ) : ETERNAL SUNSHINE ⟡​ ASKING FOR ANOTHER KISS

── 𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬 ⸝⸝ 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌

‎ ‎ ✶ 𝐀𝐂𝐓‎ ‎𝐈 : enhypen + fem!r 1OOOwc ⟡​ fluff oneshots headcanons ࿁ them being bad down for you, skinship, petnames. && 【 VOGUE 】

다니 : hehe i love bad down enhypen.. it always make me giggle TT

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚 “please, baby,” he whines, his voice barely above a whisper, fingers tugging gently at the hem of your sweater like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. his big, doe-like eyes—those bambi eyes—are locked onto yours, wide and glossy with desperation, as if the world might end if you don’t give in. “just one kiss. one, yeah? promise i won’t ask for more.” but he’s lying—you know he is—because his gaze keeps flickering to your lips, and the way his hand slips to your waist betrays him completely. “you’re so mean,” he murmurs, his lips curling into the softest pout. “how can you look this pretty and still torture me like this? c’mon, angel. please, love, just one. i'll do anything,” the second your lips brush his, he melts—actually melts. his grip on your waist tightens, and a muffled, satisfied hum escapes him.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚 “angel, just one kiss,” jay pleads, his voice soft, eyes shimmering as he pushes a pile of shopping bags toward you. “here, all the dresses you glanced at when we went on our mall trip. i’ve been saving them for you.” you blink at the heap—every color, every fabric, exactly what you admired or some that you just glanced at for a split second. “baby, you didn’t have to get all this… just for one kiss,” you murmur. he leans closer, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. “but i’d do anything for you, you know that.” you don’t know if he’s trying to spoil you or if he just really wanted a kiss from you. with a small laugh, you lean in, pressing a kiss to his lips. jay beams, smug but smitten, as if he’s won the world.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡 jake’s arm is draped lazily over your waist as he pulls you closer, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your back. the quiet hum of the tv fills the room, but he’s barely paying attention, his focus entirely on you. “you’re comfy,” he mumbles. he adds, “i think i like this spot.” you glance at him, and he’s already looking at you, a tiny smirk playing on his lips. before you can ask what he means, he leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss. he pulls back just enough to see your wide-eyed expression, his grin growing as he teases, “what? you looked like you wanted one.”

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡 sunghoon’s sitting across from you, chin propped on his hand, nodding occasionally as you ramble on about your day. at first, you think he’s being attentive, but something feels off, his responses short and quiet. when you finally glance at him, he’s not even meeting your eyes. his gaze is fixed on your lips, unwavering and far too obvious to ignore. your words falter, and the room falls silent, but he doesn’t look away. “were you even listening to me?” you ask, crossing your arms. he blinks, finally dragging his eyes back up to yours, but there’s no apology in them. you sigh, leaning forward, and he meets you halfway, his lips brushing yours like he’s been waiting forever. when he pulls back, his smirk says it all: it was worth the wait.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢 sunoo sits beside you, arms crossed and lips slightly pursed, clearly unimpressed by how long you’re making him wait. “just give me a kiss already,” he says, no hesitation, his voice laced with playful impatience. you bite back a grin, deciding to tease him, because how could you not? “hmm, where do you want it? the cheek? the nose-” you ask. his eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think he’s going to give in to your teasing, but instead, he moves faster than you expect, closing the gap and pressing his lips to yours. he pulls back. “there,” he says with a satisfied smile, leaning back smugly. “exactly where i wanted it.” mission accomplished.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡 jungwon is folding laundry beside you. you glance at him, his focused expression almost too cute, and the words slip out before you can stop them. “kiss me.” he pauses mid-fold, looking at you like you’ve just handed him the most important task of his life. “okay,” he says simply, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. but then he doesn’t stop. another kiss lands on the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then your forehead. giggles bubble out of you as he peppers your face with kisses, completely forgetting about the laundry. “jungwon!” you laugh, trying to push him away, but he just grins, pulling you closer. “you said kiss me,” he teases, planting one last kiss on your lips. “i’m just being thorough.”

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜 you’re sitting across from riki when he starts tapping his fingers on the table, his eyes darting to your lips every five seconds. “what’s taking you so long?” he mutters. you raise a brow, amused. “taking me so long for what?" “nothing,” he grumbles, looking away. but then his impatience gets the best of him. “you’re so slow, y’know that? maybe if you weren’t so distracted, someone could be happy right now.” the teasing lilt in his voice only makes you laugh. “oh, so you want a kiss?” you ask, leaning closer. he scoffs, eyes narrowing. “who said i wanted one?” his ego crumbles when you press a quick kiss to his cheek. his ears turn red, but he smirks anyway. “finally. took you long enough.”

[sylusdarling]

I Do

Sylus x reader

✧ The day that he’s been waiting for has finally arrived

Content: Sylus x fem!reader, fluff, marriage, emotional sylus

A/N: Saw a post on twitter saying Sylus would be a misty eyed groom and I cried. So here we are. There will also be a part 2 with the honeymoon ofc! Also not proofread because I need to get ready for school !

The feeling in Sylus’ chest was unlike something he’s experienced before, it was indescribable.

Though his life has always been filled with chaos and riches, it felt bland whenever he would think back to the past before he met you. His world was unexpectedly dull before you had made an appearance. The dreary days bled into each other and the somber red of the N109 zone mocked him on the daily.

There was a gap in his life that only you could fill. Once you appeared it felt as if a brush with vibrant water colours has painted over his life. The days no longer bled into each other, instead he woke up every day with a purpose. To talk to you. The moon of the N109 zone became a saturated vermillion whenever you were around and he was able to find joy even the small things in life. He no longer cared about the material riches because to him, you were his proudest treasure.

Truly, he never thought a day like this would come. The powerful boss of Onychinus standing at an alter dressed in a white suit waiting for his beloved at the other end of the isle. At the end of the isle you stood in all of your glory. The way the white dress fabric was draped over your body made you look like the most beautiful greek sculpture that anyone could ever create.

The bouquet of roses that you held in your hands stood out against the backdrop of your white dress. You had stated how much you adored roses because they matched the ruby colour of his eyes. You were walking down the aisle with a part of him in your hands.

The organists fingers moved and the notes of ‘Here comes the bride’ began to fill the room. Step after step you approached your soon to be husband at the other side of the aisle way. He couldn’t stop starring, it was as if you were the only other person in the world at this very moment. The room full of people being completely drowned out by your shining beauty.

Sylus was not an emotional person by any means, many people believed he simply didn’t possess any emotions at all and sometimes he believed that was true. But that thought was put to an end the moment his eyes became misty as you approached him.

There you both stood across from eachother at the alter. Your smile was radiant as you stood across from him. He’s never seen something like it. If only he could capture this moment in his eyes forever.

The officiant began to speak as you both stood at the front hand in hand. The rings were presented to you both.

“Do you take this woman to be your wedded wife?” Asked the officiant.

“I do.” Responded Sylus.

“And do you take the man to be your wedded husband?”

“I do.” You stated with the most glorious smile on your face.

At the same time you both slipped the rings on each others fingers. Each ring consisted of half a red jewel. Together you both completed the jewel. You were both two half’s of a whole, two souls being bound togehter.

And finally, finally, the words were said.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Cupping your face, Sylus leaned in for the kiss. Your lips connected and it felt as if a new spark was being born. You both could feel each other smile into the kiss. It was passionate and full of love. Pure, undying love.

“It is with great honor and delight that I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Qin.”

Sylus never knew that he could feel happier than when you said yes to his proposal. But here he was now hand in hand with his wife. Mrs Qin.

Forever you were his and he was yours.

His wife. His beloved.

[fear-is-truth]

BEING IN A POLY RELATIONSHIP WITH THANOS & NAM-GYU l headcanons

pairing — thanos x reader x nam-gyu warnings — (mild) s2 spoilers. smut author’s note — i wrote some corny lyrics for this lol

──⟢  fear-is-truth — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

thanos recruited you into his “team” because of his attraction to you. the rapper didn’t try to hide that he found you hot, and he made sure you knew it, throwing compliments your way. his flirting was over-the-top and shameless. he’d call you “senorita” or “babe” in a sing-song voice, leaning in close to make sure you couldn’t ignore him. his favourite move was to serenade you with cheesy raps that made everyone cringe.

one day, thanos sidles up to you, a wide, cocky-ass smirk plastered on his face. he’s got his hands on his hips, like he’s about to drop the hottest bars in the universe. “yo, senorita,” he starts, “you’re the queen of my world, can’t you see? ain’t no one gonna take my throne, you and me, together, baby, we’re destiny!” while nam-gyu, in the background, is rolling his eyes so hard he could probably see the back of his skull. but thanos keeps going, totally into it, “baby, we can rule the game, you and i, got them all thinking i’m the reason they’ll die. you’ll be my queen, i’ll be your king, together we’ll make this whole thing sing!” it’s a miracle you don’t combust from secondhand embarrassment.

nam-gyu, as thanos’s second-in-command, was pissed from the start. in the beginning, it seemed like he was just territorial—angry that you were disrupting the group dynamic. he’d throw side comments like, “oh, great, now we’ve got a distraction,” and give you cold, assessing looks. his irritation was obvious, especially when thanos started giving you preferential treatment, like sitting beside you during meals or casually throwing an arm over your shoulder during group talks.

he tried to act more “mature” than thanos (spoiler: he wasn’t). his idea of flirting was to act tough, which mostly involved bullying weaker players to look impressive. it was like watching a middle schooler try to flex for their crush. in reality, he just looks like an asshole, and you feel annoyed by his attempts to bully someone into submission to show off. he catches your disapproving glare and immediately tries to backtrack, but it just makes it worse.

thanos wasn’t subtle about his future plans for you. “after we win this thing, you’re coming with me,” he promised you confidently. “i’ll make you my official girl. the fans will eat it up—thanos and his queen.” he didn’t ask if you wanted that, just assumed you’d go along with it lol. nam-gyu, on the other hand, played dirtier. when thanos wasn’t around, he tried to plant seeds of doubt in your mind, leaning in to whisper confidentially. “he’s a scumbag, you know. all talk, no loyalty. don’t let him fool you,”

during meals, both of them insisted on sitting next to you, even if it meant practically wrestling each other to the ground. there were no tables, just groups eating near the bunk beds or stairs leading up to them, and you always ended up sandwiched between the two guys. thanos would slouch with his arm around your shoulders, smirking at anyone who looked your way. nam-gyu would mutter snide comments under his breath, low enough for you to hear, but not enough for thanos to notice.

then came the game “mingle,” where the players had to group up based on a random number announced over the PA system. when the voice said “two,” both thanos and nam-gyu grabbed your arm at the same time. “she’s going with me,” thanos barked, pulling you toward him. “what the fuck about me?” nam-gyu shot back, tugging you in the opposite direction. if it hadn’t been for se-mi, who quickly pulled you into a room with her (the two boys found a room next to you), the four of you would’ve fucking died.

the tension escalated at night. at first, both of them insisted on sleeping next to your bunk bed. but as time went on, they started fighting over who got to sleep in your bed. it started as bickering—“move, she doesn’t want you here,” nam-gyu would snap, trying to shove thanos aside. “speak for yourself, bro,” thanos would shoot back, climbing up anyway. it’s like a power struggle between two self-proclaimed alpha males, but it’s over you, which just feels awkward. each one tries to subtly imply their superiority by making the argument about who has the better “qualifications” to be your bunkmate. eventually, the rivalry reached its peak when they both tried to squeeze into your bed at the same time. you ended up stuck between them, neither willing to back down, and neither particularly caring how uncomfortable it made you.

despite the rivalry, the situation eventually settles into some sort of… equilibrium. neither thanos nor nam-gyu backed down completely, but they seemed to reach an unspoken agreement. the two of them started “sharing” you, like some fucked up custody arrangement.

you start to realise that maybe—just maybe—this unholy triangle might not be such a bad thing after all. meal time turned into a prelude for something else entirely. when everyone was distracted, one of them would catch your eye, silently signaling for you to follow. you’d find yourself slipping away to meet them in the bathroom stall.

thanos is all energy, and unable to shut up—being balls deep inside you, his dirty talk came easily, an endless stream of words that tumbled out in rapid succession, that had you equal parts flustered and irritated. especially with how careless he was. you’d have to kiss him just to silence him, pressing your lips to his until his words were replaced by muffled groans. whenever you grabbed his hair, his reaction was instant—a breathy whimper that only seemed to spur him on more. but almost as quickly as the sound left his lips, he was smirking, leaning in to tease you. “don’t mess it up, baby,” he’d warn, his voice playful yet smug. “this shit cost a lot to style.”

nam-gyu, in contrast, was rougher and far less interested in theatrics. he wasn’t one for words—far too focused to waste time on anything unnecessary. he had you pinned firmly against the partition wall, the cool surface digging into your back as beads of perspiration formed along his brow. the thin structure trembled violently under the sheer force of his movements, creaking with every thrust as though it might give way at any second. the silence between you was broken only by a few curses and grunts that escaped him.

[moonstruckme]

i was wondering if you could do a softdom!remus x fem!reader like drabble? and i wanted it to be something about driving bc i am really nervous when i drive (even at 22) and i was wondering how remus would help with that?

Ty

cw: driving anxiety, anxiety in general, Remus being a bit stern but he loves us I promise

soft dom!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 500 words

“Breathe,” Remus reminds you. 

You try, but it gets caught in your throat when the car in front of you brakes abruptly. “Shit,” you hiss over the hammering of rain on your windshield. “I can’t do this.” 

Traffic starts moving again. You hardly take your foot off the brake, trying to put distance between you and the car in front of you. In your rear view mirror, another set of headlights glares at you, insistently close. Remus’ hand covers your thigh.

“You can,” he says soothingly. “Take it at your own pace.” 

You take your lip between your teeth. You can hardly see twenty feet in front of you through the downpour, the brake lights ahead an indistinct smear of red. You’re terrified of hydroplaning. 

“Sweetheart.” Remus sounds almost amused. “Breathe.” 

You let your air out in a long whoosh. His thumb strokes just above your knee, but your entire body stays tensed nonetheless. 

“You can’t keep holding your breath like that,” he chides. “You’re alright.” 

“The guy behind me seems angry,” you worry. 

Remus turns around, noting the headlights pressing close to your car’s rear. He frowns. 

“If he’s really upset, he’ll go around,” he says. “You’re not doing anything wrong, dove. That’s our junction coming up anyway, J5.” 

You shrill. “What? I don’t have time to get over!”

“You do,” Remus says placidly, “but you don’t have to if you don’t think you can.” 

“Of course I have to.” You flip your signal on, checking your mirrors desperately for an opening as the junction approaches. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me until just now!”

“Oi.” Remus gives your thigh a warning squeeze. “Calm down. I didn’t think you’d need more time than this, but it’s fine.” 

“I don’t see a place to get over,” you fret, though you’re minding your tone a bit more carefully now. 

“That’s fine, dove. Take your time. It’s not the end of the world if we can’t make it.” 

“You mean we just miss it?” You’re still looking for a chance, though losing hope now. The flow of cars seems endless. 

“Yes,” he says sternly. “Take the next one. We’ll still get there.”  

“Oh.” You let out a breath, relaxing some. “Okay.” 

“There. You were doing it again, see?” Remus’ hand leaves your leg, coming instead to rub between your shoulder blades. “Stop holding your breath. Just take whatever time you need to make good decisions.” 

“Okay,” you say again. You lean back into Remus’ palm, and he huffs a laugh, rubbing more firmly. “Okay, yeah. Sorry I snapped at you.” 

A low hum. “You’re alright. We’ll call it extenuating circumstances, but just this once, yeah?” 

“Okay, thanks. Sorry.” 

“It’s forgiven, sweetheart.” 

Finally, there’s space to move into the next lane. You signal. “I can take this exit here?” 

“Mhm.” 

You slide into the opening seamlessly, loosing another breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your eyes slide to Remus guiltily. 

He laughs, rubbing between your shoulders. “That’s it. Keep going, dove.”

[theladyeclectic79]

That’s the fic I’m writing now!!! SolRook/DreadRook fic over on AO3, chapter four is now live!

So,” Varric said, pulling his boots off the table and leaning forward in his chair, “how goes your latest mission?”

“Figured you knew already: killed a couple gods, imprisoned another one, bing-bang-boom.” Rook waved an airy hand. “Saved the world from the blight to end all blights, all that jazz.”

Varric chuckled. “Nah, not that one, although good job with the whole world-saving thing.” He leaned forward almost conspiratorially. “I mean the one where you convince Solas not to destroy everything once he eventually does get out of his prison.”

A shiver went down Rook’s spine. “What makes you say that,” she asked, setting down her tankard carefully.

“C’mon kid.” Varric looked at her sadly. “You of all people know you just kicked the can down the road a bit. Solas insists on walking his din’an shir’al to its logical end; he’ll see the world burn because that’s the mission.”

“You seem to know a lot about what Solas is thinking,” Rook said softly, studying her old mentor.

“I dunno, maybe death just opened a lot of doors for me.” Varric finished the ale inside his tankard. “Funny story: Fen’Harel was never actually called the god of lies by the elves. God of rebellion, sure. Lord of Tricksters, He Who Hunts Alone, the list goes on. Guy’s got more nicknames than even I can count, not all of them good.”

Rook frowned. “But Solas himself told us he was the god of lies.”

“Wonder why he’d say that.” Varric hitched a shoulder. “The Solas I know is more a tell-them-half-truths-and-let-them-come-to-the-wrong-conclusions kinda guy, but outright lying? Not his style.”

“Now that,” Rook said, pointing across the table at Varric with her tankard hand, “sounds like something the god of lies would say.”

Varric chuckled ruefully. “Fair enough.”

fucked up hurt/comfort. the person who stabbed you tends to your wound. the person who killed your loved one helps you grieve.

[covenofagatha]

author, can you make agatha x reader, where agatha as the head chef at the high-end restaurant and us reader as the new worker in the kitchen?

Another one from November finally done 😅 also thank you so much for the picture GOD she looks good as a chef

I have also never worked in a restaurant and I know absolutely nothing about cooking/the culinary world so I apologize for any inaccuracies just roll with it lol

Under her knife

You finally get the job of your dreams working at Agatha Harkness's restaurant

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: spanking, fingering, Agatha is a mean boss, slight dub-con, praise kink, manipulative chef!Agatha

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly

It was a dream come true when you got the call that you were hired at Agatha Harkness’s restaurant, Nicky’s Steakhouse. 

She was a celebrity in the food world and getting an audience with her was near impossible. 

As luck would have it, she came into one of your classes at The Culinary Institute of America a few days before your graduation for a demonstration on how to make gateau saint honoré, a French pastry dessert and one of the most difficult to make. 

She had asked a question and you were the only one out of fifty students who raised your hand. Your voice shook as you answered and she looked surprised when you said the right thing. 

Throughout the rest of the assembly of the ingredients, she kept looking over at you, like she was making sure you were paying attention. After the lesson, she asked to speak with you in private. You had never been so nervous in your life and you would never forget the way her blue eyes burned into yours when she told you that she saw something special and wanted you to come in for an interview. 

At the high-end restaurant that she owned. 

Just because you answered a question correctly. 

But you were disappointed when you went in for it and you were met with just the sous-chef. Part of you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Agatha and was hoping you’d get to see her again.  

She asked you questions, both about your experience and school, and how to make specific dishes. And then she put you in the kitchen and told you to make lobster thermidor. 

She watched you intensely the whole time and when you were done, she took one bite and told you that you would find out within the next week. 

A day later, you got a call from Agatha herself, who told you that she wanted you on board and that you start in a week. 

And the day is finally here.

The first day of the rest of your life. You take a deep breath in your car and count to ten to calm your nerves. Your stomach is twisting in knots and you’re not sure you’ve ever been more anxious in your life. 

But you’ve got this. 

You were put on the evening shift and the moment you walk through the door, your nose is hit with the most delicious of smells. The restaurant is packed, like you’ve heard it is every night. 

You’ve never actually eaten here before; it costs an arm and a leg and culinary school wasn’t cheap. 

Winding through the tables to the kitchen, you catch sight of some of the most delectable food you’ve ever seen and your mouth waters. 

You give yourself a tiny pinch just to make sure you aren’t dreaming, but it stings. This is real. This is happening. 

The kitchen door swings open and you’re immediately almost knocked to the ground by three waitresses bustling out of the kitchen, carrying steaming bowls of pasta and platters of meat and towers of croquembouche. You jump out of the way, muttering a quick “Sorry” before carefully entering and staying close to the wall as you look around for Agatha. 

It doesn’t take you long to see her, or rather, hear her. 

“Are you incompetent?” Her voice rings out over the clambering of pots and pans and line cooks shouting to each other and you see Agatha Harkness on the other side of the kitchen glowering over a cowering man, a waiter by the way he’s dressed. Her white uniform is form-fitting and her dark hair is neatly tucked in a bun under her chef toque, her blue eyes filled with a dangerous heat. She’s wearing little gold hoop earrings and her lips are painted slightly pink.

The man standing in front of her visibly trembles. Fear twists in your stomach even though you’re not the one in trouble. What did he do? “Chef Harkness, I’m sorry,” he stammers but she slams her hand down on the countertop to shut him up. 

“Oh, you’re sorry?” She scoffs and holds up a fork. The man gulps. “What kind of fork is this?” 

“A salad fork,” he answers immediately. 

Agatha drops the fork and it clangs on the floor. “So then why,” she hisses, leaning in closer, and you can feel the fear radiating off the man, “did you put it on the right side of the dinner fork in the corner booth? Did you forget that salad forks go on the left?” 

He shakes his head furiously. “It was a mistake, I’m sorry!” 

“I don’t have time for mistakes. Get out of my kitchen. You’re fired,” she barks and your jaw drops. 

What have you gotten yourself into? You didn’t realize how ruthless Agatha was going to be. What if you mess up tonight? 

Will she fire you just as quickly? 

The man, to his credit, doesn’t put up a fight. He takes off his name tag vest and hands it to her before stalking out of the kitchen, brushing past you on his way out. No one else has even looked up from what they’re doing. Is this just a standard routine?

You swallow roughly and turn back to Agatha and find, with a jolt, that she’s already looking at you, a throbbing vein prominent in her forehead. 

She beckons you forward, and as if in a trance, you make your way over to her, stopping every now and then to let someone with food slide past you. 

“There she is,” Agatha says when you get to her and she studies you like she’s judging if you know where a salad fork should go. 

You offer a shaky smile. “Hi, Chef Harkness, I just want to say thank you so much for this opportunity and I’m going to do my best with every single meal. I promise I won’t let you down.” 

Agatha snorts and thrusts the fired man’s name tag and vest into your hands. “Easy there, y/n,” and a thrill runs through you at her knowing your name, “Your uniform is in the backroom. Put it on and get to work.” 

Nodding, it becomes clear to you that she doesn’t want to talk anymore, so you rush back and find a double-breasted coat, checkered pants, apron, and toque neatly folded on a bench with your name printed on them. The uniform fits you perfectly which you’re a little surprised about. 

You’re not exactly sure what to do with the fired man’s stuff, so you just leave it there. 

Even though you’re a bit weary from the display you just saw, you can’t help but feel incredibly excited that you’re actually here. You have worked so hard, spent so many hours pouring over recipe books, gotten so many burns on your skin from boiling water, cried over dishes that didn’t turn out well no matter how hard you tried — it finally paid off. 

Emotion rushes through you but you tamp it down with a deep breath. You need to focus. You need to be at the top of your game and show Agatha that you do deserve to be here. 

It starts out easy enough. Roast prime rib au jus. Grilled yellowfin ahi. French onion soup. 

Every so often, Agatha comes over and stands over your shoulder, close enough that you can feel her hot breath on your neck. It gives you goosebumps and you have to remind yourself to keep working. 

“Good girl,” she says into your ear after you put a plate down of lobster bisque and that particularly makes a shiver run through you. 

You find yourself getting a little distracted after that, your eyes following her across the kitchen wherever she goes and hoping that she comes back over to give you some more praise. 

Agatha yells at someone else for using too much salt on a dish, dumping it off the plate into the trash and demanding the cook make a new plate, and you duck your head down when she looks over at you so she doesn’t see you watching. Too late.

You can almost feel her coming over to you, dread filling in your stomach as you wait. Is she going to get mad at you for not minding your own business? Everyone else here has seemed to learn how to. 

Her front brushes against your back. “You seem a little on edge,” she murmurs and your heart skips a beat. “Don’t worry, hon. I won’t punish you — unless you deserve it.” 

It makes your cheeks heat up and your hand shakes just as you’re carefully scooping a teaspoon of garlic salt out of the container. The spoonful drops onto the counter and Agatha chuckles from behind you before reaching around and swiping it onto the floor, effectively getting rid of the mess from your workspace. 

If it was anyone else, would she have gotten mad? Maybe she’s just taking it easy on you because it’s your first day. 

“No harm done,” she remarks and then she’s gone and you let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

It’s almost fascinating to watch her work, to watch her sweep through the kitchen and check out everyone’s dishes, sprinkling in some advice and ingredients every now and then. She doesn’t hesitate to make someone redo something because it’s not good enough, but it surprises you that no one complains. If anything, they agree. 

You suppose that’s the sign of a good Head Chef. They make you better. And when you’re blending all the ingredients of butternut squash soup together and Agatha comes over and wraps her arms around you, her hands on top of yours, to show you how to more effectively stir, you really do feel like you’ve learned something. 

“She’s being really nice to you,” one of the other line cooks says while you’re both waiting for new orders to come in. 

You shrug. “It’s my first day. Guess she’s just showing me the ropes.” The cook doesn’t look convinced, but there’s no time to think about it as you have to start making stuffed gnocchi. 

The next few hours pass quickly. You barely have a chance to think as you’re running back and forth, grabbing things and throwing them into a pan and making sure they’re perfect. You’ve worked up a sweat and you find a few seconds to wipe the beads from your brow before you’re back to work. 

But as the night stretches on, the orders come in less frequently as the rush dies down and soon you only have about twenty minutes left. Your final dish of the night is a raspberry walnut torte. 

Because it’s almost closing time, about half of the cooks finished their shifts a while ago so it’s an intimate setting, just you, Agatha, and four others, everyone quietly moving around and trying to finish up the food they have left. You are absolutely exhausted and you cannot wait to go back to your apartment. 

You’ve just finished your dessert and placed it on the rack at the window, finally feeling like you can relax. 

And then Agatha’s voice cuts through the relative silence. “Who just made this torte?”

Your stomach drops and you sheepishly raise your hand. What did you do wrong?

She grabs a fork and pokes the slice and the center sinks down almost in slow motion. Fuck. “What temperature did you cook it at?” She asks and you think you could just combust with embarrassment on the spot. 

“Three-sixty,” you rasp, and the moment you say it out loud, you realize your mistake. Tortes should be cooked at three-hundred and fifty degrees, and if they’re cooked too hot, the outside of it cooks faster than the inside. 

Leading to a cracked or sunken torte. 

“Chef, I’m sorry, it was a mistake,” you plead, panic and terror spiking through your blood. You were doing so good — now she was certainly going to fire you. 

Agatha sighs, closes her eyes, and pinches her nose like she’s trying to decide what to do with you. When she opens them, the steely blue frightens you. “Make another one,” she says. 

Your mouth drops open. “But it won’t be done in time,” you protest and she smirks. 

“I know. I’m going to go out there and tell them that there was a mishap and that we won’t be able to get them their raspberry walnut torte that they were so looking forward to,” she says and it makes you feel even worse. “It won’t be pretty. You’ve just lost yourself and your fellow line cooks their tip. So the least you could do is show me that you do in fact know how to make a torte and that I shouldn’t fire you on the spot right now.” 

She storms out of the kitchen and you make a tremendous effort to not look at any of the other cooks while you go back to your station and pull out the ingredients to make it again. 

By the time Agatha comes back into the kitchen, it’s time for everyone else to go home. Shame burns your cheeks as they leave without saying goodbye to you and Agatha quietly sits on a stool and watches you work to finish the torte. 

When you pull it out of the freezer where it’s been cooling for a few minutes, you feel like you could pass out on the kitchen floor right there. 

Agatha pokes it with a fork again and you almost sob with relief when it doesn’t crack or sink. But it’s not over yet. 

She takes her first bite and chews thoughtfully like she’s tasting for every single ingredient. “Adequate,” she says after she swallows. “But you’re still fired.” 

“What?” You gasp, your heart skipping a beat. “No, please, Chef, it was an accident, I can make it, look!” 

Agatha puts her fork down. “You fixed it this time. But how can I be sure it won’t happen again?” 

“I promise, please — I’ll do anything,” you say desperately. “I’ll be careful, I won’t mess up again!” 

Her perfectly shaped eyebrow raises and a slow smirk spreads over face. “Anything?” She asks. 

You nod earnestly. “Anything!” 

Agatha stands up so quickly it makes you step back from where you’ve been standing next to her. She cups your cheek and then slides her hand down to tap under your chin. “How about…” she muses, eyes looking you up and down. She looks hungry. “I give you ten spanks.” 

“What?” Did you hear her wrong? Is she joking? She doesn’t look like she is. 

“One spank for each degree hotter you cooked the torte at. It’s the only way you’ll learn,” she explains like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Bend over on the counter.” 

Despite the sheer insanity at it, a heat rushes through your body. You wanted her attention earlier, didn’t you? 

Seems like you have it now. 

So you try to slow your racing heart and obey. Your forearms rest on the cool metal from where you pushed your sleeves up to work earlier and your head slightly hangs downward, waiting. There’s a little voice in the back of your head that says this is wrong, but you shut it down. You can’t get fired. 

She unties the apron and lets it fall to the floor at your feet and you let out a small gasp. 

“I’m a little disappointed in you, to be honest, hon,” she says as she pushes up your coat. It tears at your heart a little. “But I know that you’re going to make up for it. You’re about to take your punishment like a good girl and show me that you’re really committed to being here. Isn’t that right?” 

You nod and try to ignore the burning in your stomach. What is she doing to you? “Yes, Chef,” you answer hoarsely and let out a little whimper when she yanks down your pants. You curse yourself for deciding to wear a purple thong. “What—” 

“Shh,” she says and rubs your now-bare ass. You hate that you can feel your underwear sticking to you. Can she see it? “Count for me.” 

And then she spanks you and it makes you jump. For some reason, you thought she’d at least ease into it a little, but the impact reverberates through you and makes you gasp. 

“One,” you breathe and she chuckles. 

The next three follow in quick succession, with Agatha waiting only long enough to hear you count. 

After the fifth one, you’re squirming, head resting on your forearms to hide your tears, but the sting has ebbed into pleasure. You’re getting off on this. 

And when Agatha makes a surprised sound and cups your pussy through your underwear, making your hips rock forward instinctively, you know that she knows. Her hand disappears quickly and you let out a little whine. 

“All the best chefs like a little pain,” she remarks conversationally, spanking you again. You gasp out a “six” and she keeps talking. “It’s the only way to get better. To strive for greatness is to accept that it will hurt. I see your potential, I see how good you can be. Just keep working with me, honey, and I’ll get you there.” 

She spanks you again but you can hardly feel it with the fuzziness that has crept into your mind at her words. Agatha Harkness, the best chef in the world, believes in you. 

“Seven,” you remember to say after a moment and she tuts in your ear. 

Agatha soothes the red skin and you relax for a moment before she slaps your ass again. “You’re doing so well for well, honey. Keep going to these lengths to impress me and rectify your mistakes and you could be my sous-chef in no time.” 

The promise makes your head spin. “Eight,” you count when she slaps you again. 

“Such a good girl,” she coos and you are aching. You need her to touch you more than anything. 

Never in a million years did you imagine your first day would look like this. 

She spanks you again. “Nine,” you croak, the feeling spreading throughout your body almost unbearable. 

“Last one. And then I think you deserve a reward,” she purrs and slaps both your asscheeks at the same time, making you yelp. 

Agatha gives you a moment to recover before pulling you up by your coat collar and turning you around and you gasp at how flushed she is. Her cheeks have a red tint to them, her bottom lip swollen — she must’ve been biting it — and her eyes have a heat that you saw earlier, when she fired the waiter. 

But this is a different heat. 

You’re sure you look the exact same. 

She steps even closer to you and slides a hand into your underwear, making your jaw drop. 

“God, you’re wet,” she taunts and you can’t even argue. She wastes no time shoving a finger into you and rubbing at your clit with her thumb and your arms wind around her shoulders for leverage.

“So I’m not fired?” You ask, and obviously there were a million other times that would’ve been better for that question, but it seems fitting. 

Agatha laughs breathless and fits a second finger into you, making you moan. “You’re not fired, honey. We’re going to do great things together. Knew it the moment I saw you.” She curls her fingers roughly and you keen, tightening your grip around her. Your walls spasm around her and try to draw her in. 

Her fingers feel absolutely delicious inside you, filling you just the way you needed to, and you can already feel the tension building in your lower stomach. The spanking got you close, her praise got you closer, and now the great hands of Chef Agatha Harkness are going to finish you off. 

Your head falls back when she scissors her fingers, stretching you out and you hiss at the burn, and she chuckles while she takes in your thoroughly ruined state. 

“What temperature do you cook a torte at?” She asks and you almost don’t hear it over the wet sounds coming from your pussy every time she thrusts inside you. 

It takes you a moment to answer, but when you at last moan out “Three-fifty,” she smirks and bends down to nip at your neck over your collar. You tilt your head to the side to give her more access and she takes it all. She flicks her tongue against your clavicle and sucks, pulling another moan from your mouth. 

You’re so close, the pleasure almost overwhelming, and your breathing has gotten faster, your heart rate through the roof. 

The kitchen has been where you’ve felt most alive your whole life, nothing better than creating something from scratch and carefully curating it to make it into something new — is that what Agatha is doing with you? She plucked you out of your classmates from culinary school, gave a freshly graduated chef a job at her high end restaurant, turned up the heat, and is promising that under her, you’ll turn into a great chef. 

Agatha twists her fingers and you moan, babbling something incoherently, and she rubs your clit harder. 

“Cum for me,” she growls into your ear and thrusts her fingers inside you as far as they can go and you do — a whine falling from your lips as your pussy walls clench uncontrollably around her, tension exploding through your body. 

She keeps fucking you through your orgasm and doesn’t stop until your breathing has evened out and you start to squirm away because of how sensitive you’ve become. And yet, you still whine when she pulls her fingers out of you. 

Agatha lifts her fingers to her mouth and sucks on them, holding eye contact and moaning like she’s a world-class chef and you’re still the best thing she’s ever tasted. 

You awkwardly adjust your underwear, pull up your pants, and clear your throat. Should you thank her for the fact that you still have a job? Or that she just fingered you in her restaurant? 

“Well, guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Agatha says before you try to break the silence. “You’re not going to make any more mistakes?” Her tone is teasing — you smile and shake your head.

“No, I promise.” Your voice is still a little raspy and it makes her smirk.

She grabs her purse and wraps an arm around your shoulders to lead you out of the kitchen and to the entrance of the restaurant. Her head tilts down and her forehead presses against your temple. “Good, cause I’d hate to have to punish you again.” Except Agatha doesn’t sound like she means that at all and it sears through you. 

At least it seems like you have a little bit of job security, even though you don’t want to mess up any more. You’re going to prove to Agatha that you do deserve this job, that you can be as good of a chef as she thinks you can be. 

She stops at the bottom of the stairs at the entrance and takes her arm around you, immediately missing the warmth it brought you. 

“Good first day, honey,” she says with a wink and it makes your cheeks heat up. 

And then she’s walking away and you stumble to your car while trying to figure out what the hell you just got yourself into. 

[junhoswifey]

hii can you pls do head canons for dating dae ho??

kang dae-ho / player 388 bf head canons ˚⊱🎀⊰˚

pairing(s): kang dae-ho x female!reader

warnings: femme reader, modern day au, language, nsfw, kissing, mentions of sex/oral sex, fluff

-touchiest/clingiest person ever and he makes sure everyone knows it

-biggest gentleman ever!!! 💗💝💖💘💓💞💕

-steals your hair ties when he can’t find his own bc he knows you don’t mind

-will spoil you any chance he can especially for anniversaries/birthdays

-always complimenting you and reminding you how much he loves you

“you’re the most beautiful girl in the world” “i love you so much baby”

-has made playlists for you before and you listen to them religiously

-has a hard time going a couple days or even hours without you

“i’ve missed you so much!” you heard dae ho yell as you walked through the door. he engulfed you in a hug before you could even react. “it hasn’t even been a day baby…” you whisper in his ear. he smiles to himself before replying, “i know…” he looked down shyly almost like he was embarrassed. you picked his face up in your hands making him look at you. “it’s okay i missed you too dae… i wish we could spend every minute together.” his smile widened at your words holding on to you tighter like you were going to slip away any second.

-always sending you texts throughout the day to update you on what he’s doing

-loves physical touch (hugging, holding hands, cuddling)

-loves watching you do your makeup/hair just staring at you in awe of how he landed the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen

nsfw warning!!! (18+)

-def a switch idc!

-thinks about you while jerking off and likes to pretend it’s your hand instead of his

-loves cockwarming even if you’re just laying in bed together watching tv

-can’t help but get hard every time you’re even remotely close to him

-loves it when you take control and act more dominant

-he seems so innocent but i feel like he’s def saying the nastiest things during sex

“taking my cock so well babygirl” “you look so pretty like this”

-has a praise kink

-eating you out is his fav hobby and he can literally do it for hours on end

⇾ be sure to checkout my masterlist if you enjoyed! any type of interaction is appreciated :’)

⇾ dae-ho my beloved💋💋💋 i hope you guys enjoyed i may do a part two if yall want & keep sending requests i love writing for him!!! thank you for reading i love you all :)

[dyleeart]

bloody polites compilation

rant below:

The bandages drawing was loosely based on the headcanon that polites was a medic (please ignore any inaccuracies). Some use this hc as an explanation to why he stayed ‘innocent’ throughout the 10-year war, since he wouldn’t have had to fight or kill.

However, I like this hc for another reason. While I still think it makes a good baseline for his mindset, but implies it can be more of a coping mechanism. Being a war medic does not mean one does not have to witness bloodshed; rather, they would have to see blood and injuries on the daily while keeping a level head and make hard decisions when choosing which patient to treat first even when multiple are in obvious pain. This role would have been a huge responsibility for him, and given his personality he would have tried his best to be the emotional support / morale for the patients. 

The war ends, and it seems like there’s no need to worry about getting hurt or killed, but every other soldier is tired and traumatized. It makes sense he would try to step into the role of healer again, this time mostly emotionally/mentally (especially for his best friend who looks very guilty of something he doesn’t want to talk about). So comes Open Arms. He knows it’s not always possible but wants himself and his friends to have hope for the world after everything. 

Plus it’s nice rpg game logic in a literal and symbolic way — kill the healer first and the rest of the team will slowly fall apart one way or another.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk

[theminecraftbee]

After he's done listening to the Archeologist's story, the Sheriff frowns.

"Well, that's not fair, is it?" Jimmy says.

"Fair?" Pix responds.

"Yeah, fair. It's not--it's not fair at all! You can't just end it with--they try to be friends for, for the first time ever. And the Codfather gets respect and the Count gets more mature. And they shake hands and, and share magic and stuff. But it turns out them being friends causes the end of the world? That's not fair! That's not a good story at all!" Jimmy says.

Pixlriffs shrugs. "I didn't make it up. It's what's been passed down, and the Ancient Capitol corroborates it to some extent. The Rapture was a very real event in the geological record, and what historical records survive from the Twelve Kingdoms era suggests at the very least some kind of symbolic rivalry between cod and salmon. Maybe a religious one? It's really all quite fascinating."

"Well, yes, but it's not really literal, that religion stuff, right?" Jimmy says. "I mean, uh, I don't know much about all this stuff, but it's like--don't tell Sausage, but Santa Pearla, she's not literal, right? She's like, the idea of the cycle of death and life and all that, but--"

"Recent excavations actually suggest that Empress Pearl was a real historical figure," Pixlriffs says excitedly. "I mean, it seems rather unlikely she caused all the fields in the Twelve Kingdoms to remain fertile until the Rapture on her own, but the number of statues and records we've found even today suggest that she was still a real person!"

Jimmy is silent. He crosses his arms and stares at Pixlriffs until, finally, Pix stops talking.

"It's still not fair," Jimmy says.

"It's not about being fair, it's about what actually happened," Pix says.

"Because the story as I told it went that they made friends to try to make the best of the rapture. And though all the rivers had dried up, the Codfather and the Count laid seeds in the desert, until one day we could go and build our towns there safe, because their seeds made a pond. And, er, that's not all literal either, you know? None of this is really--sorta like Joel is not literally a god, that'd be stupid," Jimmy says.

"Right," Pixlriffs says, nodding. "But we don't tell him that."

"But we don't tell him that," Jimmy agrees. "And I'm just saying that--it's not fair, saying that making up their differences is what made the world end. That's like, like if the moral was that we shouldn't bother even trying."

"I think you'll make yourself sad, looking for a moral in ruins," Pixlriffs says.

Jimmy swallows.

"That's stupid," he says. "That's stupid."

"That's life."

"And it's stupid. I'm going to go bother Joel."

"Good luck with that."

The Sheriff rides away. The Archeologist watches after him for a long time before sighing.

"...and good luck ending this one differently," he says, and he goes back to his dig.

[umamaki]

THE SWEETHEART GRIP

one way soldiers kept their loved ones close during battle was by inserting a photo of them under a clear grip of either plexiglass or acrylic on their pistols. this is known as the sweetheart grip.

l&ds sylus x reader

me finding out about anything: how can i make this about love and deepspace... and yes i am american. yes i still don't respect anyone involved in or supporting the military leave me alone.

divider

So... Sylus definitely has a sweetheart grip of you. On all of his guns, actually. And you're not even aware of it.

They're all his favorite photos of you. Pictures of you on dates, selfies you've posted on social media, polaroids he's taken of you after sex.

He's insanely adept at weapons assembly so of coursee all his stuff is custom. Takes them apart, adds tributes of you, puts them back together.

You know he STAYS strapped. Always has a gun on him, always has a piece of you with him. As if your souls are not literally bound together. Whatever. He needs a physical reminder I guess. Can't go anywhere without some sort of keepsake. Keeps him sane.

Likes keeping his weapons clean; never lets your image get bloody, wet, scratched, foggy. Carries around a cloth to wipe away at any imperfections. Would never ruin your picture like that. Spends a modest chunk of his day making sure they're clean to his liking. It's so canon, have you seen this man during the in-game study and work feature even??!

Looks at your pretty picture all the time. Whips out his gun as if it’s his phone. Professional meetings, philanthropy galas, you name it. Intimidates everyone around him in doing so, thinking he's gonna shoot them—not that they would say that to his face—but no. He simply misses your cute face. Just wants a reminder of who's waiting at home for him.

Looks at your picture while he aims his gun at someone's head. Asks himself if this is what you would want. Shoots them anyways lol. Uses his palm to cover your photo as he pulls the trigger, careful to not taint your darling image with his enemy's blood.

You're bound to find out. He doesn't hide the fact from you, doesn't flaunt it either, so it's a while before you do end up finding your face staring back at you whilst looking through his armory.

"Sylus, what is this?" You ask, holding up the pistol so he can see.

"It's you, do you like it?"

"Well yes, I can see that it's me. Why is my face on your gun? And why am I naked in this one?"

"Technically your face is on all of my guns, sweetheart. That one's just my favorite." As if it's the most obvious fact in the world.

"... You did this yourself?"

"Absolutely. Do you not like it?"

"It's not that, but..." he waits, then the last thing he would expect you to say comes from your mouth, "...can you do this to my guns?"

He laughs, booming and robust, "why? You want my nudes on your guns? You must like me a lot, huh?"

It's enough for you to give him a slap on his bicep. "Fine. Nevermind. Don't know why I even asked."

He's still laughing as he pulls you into his body. He tickles your stomach, turning your pout into your own set of giggles, "I'm teasing, sweetheart. You can use as many nudes of me as you want. Shall we begin now?"

He jolts his hips up to your body, catching you off guard. He's noticeably hard now, tent in his pants evident. You get the hint.

“Why wait when we’re already here?”

“That’s the spirit, sweetheart.”

[russellsppttemplates]

Bridging the Gap (Lando Norris)

A look into the Norris family summer vacation

Note: english is not my first language. It's been some time since I posted one of these, hopefully I still know how to do it 🥲 A lot of changes have been going on at my job and I've been trying to adjust to all of it without loosing my sanity! For those who are here and have stayed, thank you for being so patient and for staying - I hope this is good enough ✨️

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm not taking requests right now, so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to send them in but know that I don't know when I'll be able to get to them!

my masterlist

Cw: reader is 4 years older than Lando, media scrutiny

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3 @sltwins

The low hum of the television filled the cozy apartment as you and Lando sat on the sofa, nestled comfortably under a soft blanket as his hands absentmindedly traced patterns on your thigh. Lately, it was one of your favorite pastimes - catching up on a show after a long week and simply enjoying each other's presence without having the world around you.

Life with Lando was unexpectedly delightful. His infectious laughter and zest for life were contagious, and even the most mundane days seemed brighter with him around, no matter how many clients you had that day or how much reading you had to do before their next sessions. At the beginning, you couldn't wrap your head around how the way your routines still laced together despite the seemingly different responsibilities, but you cherished the balance you shared.

"Do you have a busy day tomorrow?", your boyfriend asked.

"I have 8 clients, as two of them already cancelled because they're sick, but I managed to adjust the schedule and hopefully I have some time to go to the bank and see about my mortgage payments", you said.

"And in that rearranged schedule, is there a possibility of you spending the night here so we can wake up together before you go be a boss lady?", he wondered as he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck, softly kissing the skin there.

"I have to be in the office at before 10 am, Lan, I can't have a lie in", you reasoned.

"I have to be up at 7 am to go on a run with Jon, so neither can I", he smirked, knowing he had all the reasons to convince you to stay, "we can have some breakfast together before you leave me".

"I guess I have time to pop home, change and get to work on time", you reasoned, agreeing with his plans.

"I'm glad you think that because my next step was going to kidnap you for the night - I'm talking locking the doors and throwing away the keys", Lando spoke.

Your laughs rubbled as Lando squeezed you tighter against him, basking in the warm feeling on his chest of having you for the rest of the night.

.

A few weeks later, Lando told you Max and Pietra would be in Monaco for a week since they hadn't spent some time together in a while.

"Do you know how your week is going to be? In terms of your schedule I mean", Lando mused, holding your waist as you stirred the food in the pot.

"I had some people move around from their usual schedule, so the weekdays end late but I don't have many appointments on Friday and I have Saturday off", you spoke.

"That's good, means we can spend a nice long weekend together", Lando smiled, kissing your shoulder before resting his chin there, "I'm not sure of all the plans yet but it’ll be fun! And they’re eager to meet you", he grinned, optimism lighting up his face.

"I'm excited to meet them too", you spoke, despite the one looming shadow. The thought of meeting Lando’s close-knit circle always brought a tinge of anxiety with it. His friends were used to seeing him as the carefree poster child of single life - never missing a party or the chance to get a little drunk. Hell, the idea that Lando would rather stay in on a Friday night, watching his girlfriend cook them dinner after spending the afternoon waiting for her to finish her online sessions would baffle Max and all of his friends.

And though Lando never seemed to mind, the idea of them questioning your relationship because of your age gnawed at your insecurity. Even when you were younger, the party scene wasn't your thing and as the years passed, it certainly didn't become it. You were fine with Lando enjoying himself whenever he wanted to and never once objected to that, but feared that his friends would question it.

"There's something on your mind, I can tell that", Lando spoke softly, "would you like to share it with me?".

"It's just...", you tried, knowing he would be able to tell you were lying and knowing that sharing this with him could ease your fears.

"Doesn't have to sound pretty or polished, I just want to know what is on your head", he encouraged softly.

"Maybe they won't want to spend time with me? They're coming here to see you and spend time with you, and there's always the possibility that they might now want to spend time with me", you let it out.

"Why do you think that?", he continued softly.

"Because I'm not hard-core, adrenaline seeking fun!", you added.

"Lovie, the plans we have are just enough fun for everyone, I didn't to do anything too hard-core and they don't either, so we'll be good and have plenty of fun together, yeah?", Lando assured, turning you around and kissing your forehead.

"You are starting to have a way with words", you mumbled, enjoying the feeling of his lips on your skin in such a protective manner, like no harm in the world could get to you if he was near.

"I catch on a thing or two you say", your boyfriend mumbled, kissing your lips slowly.

"I have to take my lunch to the office tomorrow, I don't have time to come home", you mumbled more to yourself than anything, taking a tupperware box from the cupboards so you wouldn't end up without your packed lunch.

"Pack two of them and I'll meet you in the office", Lando said like it was nothing.

"Sorry, what?", you asked again, afraid you had misheard him.

"You can pack two of them to go and I'll meet you for lunch tomorrow so you don't eat lunch all alone", Lando suggested.

"You don't have to", you reasoned.

"I know I don't, but I want to", Lando smiled, "the next couple of days are going to be busy for me and I need to fill up on time with you so my heart won't miss you as much".

He was ever the charmer and you still blushed at his words, not used to this no matter how many times he did it.

"Fine, but you can't mess up the crayons this time! You left one of them on the floor and I saw my life flash before my eyes when I stepped on it and nearly fell! No funny business in my office!", you joked.

"Does that mean we can't play Jenga and talk about my feelings? How dare you do that to me, woman?", Lando dramatised.

.

The first night of the week Max and Pietra would be spending in Monaco arrived quickly, and while the full day of sessions certainly kept your mind away from all of it, you found yourself at the door of your boyfriend's apartment waiting for him to get it.

"Hello, beautiful", Lando greeted as soon as he saw you, kissing your lips before letting you in, "let me take these", he said as he grabbed your bag and your coat.

"Thank you, I'm sorry I'm a bit late but the last session ran a bit longer than I expexted", you apologised, smoothing over your jeans and checking how you looked in the mirror - after the day you had, you couldn't expect much but you were pleasantly surprised that your hair was still bouncy and forgoing makeup was probably a good idea because you would have smudged it by now.

"You look beautiful as always, Y/N", Lando grabbed your attention, "and don't worry, take out is late too so you don't need to feel bad", he assured, guiding you with him to the living room where the noise was coming from.

"Guys, this is Y/N", Lando announced as they both welcomed you warmly, quickly asking you questions and letting you join in, preparing a drink for you.

"I'm usually heavy handed, but this one is proper, Y/N", he offered you before you took a sip, "I can fix a different one though!".

"It's good, it's good - hits the spot very nicely", you smiled, taking another sip before engaging in conversation.

When the food arrived, Lando asked you to join him in the kitchen to help him plate everything up and bring it to the dining table, opting to use the door closest to it so it would be easier.

As you crossed rhe hallway, you overheard Max and Pietra talking.

“Do you think it works?”, Pietra asked, “I mean, they seem happy, but Lando’s… well, Lando".

Max shrugged, “He’s crazy about her. Age doesn’t matter, does it? But yeah, never thought he’d settle, at least not like this".

You felt a small knot form in your stomach, but before you could dwell on it, Lando appeared at your side, his familiar warmth instantly reassuring as he placed his hand on the small of your back, “You alright?” he asked, noticing the brief flicker of uncertainty in your eyes.

“Yeah", you smiled, deciding in that moment that the security you had together was worth navigating any doubts from others.

As the evening continued, you noticed Max and P exchanging skeptical glances across the table - they're were known for their protective nature over Lando, Max is his bestfriend, so they are particularly wary of anyone close to their beloved friend.

Over the clinking of silverware and hum of conversations, Max finally spoke up, his tone casual but inquisitive, "so, how’s it really going, being with a guy who practically lives on a racetrack?”.

You felt Lando's reassuring nudge beneath the table, prompting you to respond with honesty, "It's definitely something else. Racing is such a demanding world, but we find balance by making time for each other away from it all. So far, it has worked out well".

P leaned back, observing the dynamic between the you, "there must be a lot of pressure, especially with so many eyes watching your every move".

Lando chimed in before you could respond, "Y/N handles it like a champ. Honestly, she’s the calm in my storm", he said, his eyes filled with admiration for you. There wasn't a day that you didn't handle it gracefully, whether it was a fan wanting to take a photo or a reporter wanting to know more than you allowed.

Max and P exchanged another look, this time softer and less guarded - little by little, they began to see what Lando meant by his earlier assurance that you kept him grounded.

As dinner progressed, the conversation turned to shared stories, with Lando guiding the discussion to include moments from your relationship - your mutual love for travel, how you introduced him to the joy of quiet moments, and even shared a humorous tale of your early dates, laughter erupting when he recounted an incident involving mistaking your office with the one next to yours, Lando accidentally entering the lawyer's waiting room with a massive bouquet of flowers and passes to golf.

Max's initial skepticism gradually melted away as he watched you interact. Lando's attentiveness was unmistakable - how he would lean in to catch your words over the din of conversations, or how his eyes crinkled in genuine amusement at your stories. He noticed how effortless and natural your connection seemed, a seamless blend of companionship and partnership.

By the time dessert came around, Pietra seemed convinced, "Alright, alright. I can see what everyone’s been talking about. You both really seem to understand each other in a way that's rare".

"You say that like we don't!", Max complained.

"Shut it, Max, you know what I mean", she mumbled.

Feeling the warmth of acceptance flood the room, Lando laid his hand over yours on the table, grinning with relief and contentment, "Told you she was amazing,” he said, playfully raising his eyebrows.

Max chuckled, raising his glass, "Okay, I admit defeat, I'm not sure we are like this!".

It was in that moment that you realized, the whispers of doubt that had once lingered were no match for the clarity of Lando’s affection. Together, you were creating a narrative all your own, one that defied stereotypes and embraced your unique bond.

.

As the days passed after the gathering, the glow of being surrounded by Lando’s friends began to fade, replaced by the nagging unease that had settled in your mind. You found yourself replaying the conversations from that night, the laughter, the glances, and especially Max's comment, which you still couldn’t quite shake off despite the way the night ended.

One evening, after a long day at work, filled with sessions and schedule arrangements thanks to the flu season, you sat on the sofa, scrolling through social media.

Your heart sank as you stumbled upon a headline featuring Lando. The article speculated about his relationships and how he was often deemed the ultimate bachelor, writing that they believed he wasn't about to change his ways. The more you read, the harder it became to ignore your worries.

Later that night, Lando arrived from his photoshoot, his laughter echoing as he stepped through you door. He instantly brightened the room with his presence, but you struggled to muster so much as a smile.

“Hey! Long day?”, he asked, tilting his head slightly, concern etched across his features as he took a good look at you.

“Just tired", you replied with a half truth. As you settled down, you felt the weight of the unspoken words pressing on your chest, knowing that sooner or later they would find their way out.

“Is everything okay?”, Lando probed, sensing the shift in your mood. Even when you had a bad day, the reception he got wasn't like this.

You hesitated, your thoughts swirling, Do you ever think about what people say… about us?”.

Lando paused, confusion washing over his face, "What do you mean?”.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, looking down, "Like, the way the media talks about you. Or how your friends might see us. What if they don’t accept me? They might think I’m not right for you… for your image".

Lando’s expression shifted from confusion to concern, “Why would you think that?”.

“Because it’s true!”, you almost spat, frustration bubbling to the surface, "You’re this young, popular and successful Formula One driver, and I’m just… well, me. What if they think I’m just an older woman trying to latch onto your fame? What if they don’t see how happy we are?”.

“Stop it", he said gently, but firmly, “you’re not ‘just’ anything, or someone. You’re incredible, and I’m with you because I want to be. Age is just a number and it doesn’t define how meaningful our relationship is, not to me and it shouldn't be to anyone".

But your doubts resurfaced, relentless as you continued with your voice rising with each word, “But what if your family doesn’t feel the same? What if they think I’m not good enough for their sweet boy? I just… I can't help but overthink it. I love you, and I’m terrified of losing you".

Lando stepped closer, taking your hands in his and grounding you with his touch, something you explained to him early on that worked wonders for you, “I can’t control what others think, but my family will see how happy you make me. They care about my happiness, not just some number or date".

“But what if they don’t?”, you whispered, your voice trembling. Over the years, you could remember the times where you told patients exactly that, that their mind was looking for survival so that's where it took them.

“They will!", Lando stated, his grip tightening slightly, “Look, it’s not going to be like this forever. People talk, and yes, media can be ruthless, but what matters is how we feel about each other. And I feel lucky to have you in my life. Please trust that, my love".

You looked for reassurance in his eyes as slowly his words began to soothe the turmoil, but the fear was still there, lurking just beneath the surface.

“I just don’t want to complicate things for you", you said softly.

Lando brushed his fingers against your cheek, a gentle smile breaking through your anxiety, "you’re not complicating things. You’re adding to my life in a way I never knew I needed. Can we just take this one step at a time together?”.

Lando pulled you into a warm embrace, and for a moment, the weight on your heart lightened. Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself to stay in the moment and be there.

“I’ll try", you finally spoke against his shoulder, feeling comfort in his unwavering support.

“I promise I'm not going anywhere", he whispered back, wrapping you tighter in his arms, "we’re in this together".

"Thank you", you mumbled, pecking his lips softly.

"You don't ever need to thank me, not for stuff like this or anything else, we're in this together, lovie", Lando kissed your forehead, "besides, if you ever dump me, I'll have to find a good psychologist to help me through it and you're the best one, so that's another valid point for us to stay together", he chuckled, wanting to get a giggle out of you.

Smiling when he succeeded, Lando squeezed you tighter against him, "never doubt that we were meant to be, Y/N, never".

[discourselover3000]

I think the misconception stems from the fact that medical transition requires changing your body in such a way it no longer fits into a binary ideal of sex.

While the cause is different, the end result is often pretty similar. A perisex trans man taking hrt may have a very similar body and sexual characteristics to an intersex woman with naturally high testosterone levels (such as pcos). An intersex man with naturally high estrogen may have a very similar body and sexual characteristics to a trans woman on hrt. Gynecomastia surgery and top surgery are the same thing (and in an ideal world would be done for the same reasons). At the end of the day, regardless of cause, both trans people who medically transition and intersex people have bodies that fall outside the idealised binary sex, and are oppressed for it.

This is why there's a huge overlap in transphobia and intersexism. To the point where you could even argue that they're two words for the same axis of oppression.

Even the medical mistreatment of trans and intersex people is very similar, even if it doesn't seem it at first. Trans people are denied access to the same treatments that are forced on intersex people against their will for the same reason: any deviation from a binary sex is wrong and bad and punished by society. If your body does it naturally you have to do whatever you can to stop it, and even if you do it'll never be enough. If your body doesn't do it naturally, you're insane because you changed something about your body and made it harder to place you into one of the binary sexes. Bodily autonomy for both trans and intersex individuals is placed below the importance of an idealised binary sex by the medical community, and by society as a whole.

While it's absolutely true that medically transitioning is not the same thing as being intersex, there's a surprising amount of overlap in oppression and experience. And there's a time and a place where it's important to acknowledge that. Though, talking about terminology and intersexist slurs probably isn't it.

In case anyone needs a reminder…

Being transgender does not make you intersex.

Going through HRT does not make you intersex. Surgery cannot make you intersex.

Intersex people are born with atypical variations of physical, biological sex characteristics. That is what makes someone intersex.

Perisex trans people (especially on Reddit) have been recently insisting that just being transgender makes you intersex, and therefore able to speak over intersex people on issues that specifically affect us, especially when it comes to dangerous and offensive terminology. This is not true.

Also the idea that you can somehow “make yourself intersex” is untrue. You can make your body more androgynous through things like hormone treatment and surgery, but that does not make you intersex.

Falsely claiming intersex identity based on these things isn’t *always* malicious (though it is often done to speak over us) but it is always harmful.

[punkpandapatrixk]

🌟Blessings Rolling In throughout 2025 ♦︎ Timeless Pick A Card

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

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

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

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

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

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

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

Rupert: Is that so?

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

Edna: But now that system is breaking down.

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

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

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

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

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

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

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

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

mind barricade: Apocalyptic Survivor Subliminal by DrVirtual7

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

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

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

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – Prosperity Abound, Beauty All Around

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

direction of sounds – V The Hierophant

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

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

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

lights of intent – III The Empress

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

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

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

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

Highest Intended Action – 7 of Pentacles

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

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

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

PROMISES FROM THE UNIVERSE🔻❤️

catching the Future Express – Green Magus (John Dee)

on my way to Destiny – Priestess of Contemplation

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

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

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

direction of sounds – Ace of Pentacles

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

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

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

lights of intent – XV The Devil

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

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

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

Highest Intended Action – 6 of Cups Rx

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

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

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

PROMISES FROM THE UNIVERSE🔻💚

catching the Future Express – Gold Physician (Hippocrates)

on my way to Destiny – Priestess of Ritual

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

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

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

direction of sounds – XIX The Sun

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

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

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

lights of intent – King of Wands Rx

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

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

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

Highest Intended Action – 10 of Cups Rx

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

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

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

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

PROMISES FROM THE UNIVERSE🔻💙

catching the Future Express – Green Astronomer (Nicolaus Copernicus)

on my way to Destiny – Priestess of Prosperity

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

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

[telephoniii]

Malleus copes with you leaving.

Malleus knows this is best for you.

It was your decision to make and yours alone. Lilia sat him down and thoroughly lectured him on it. He couldn't hold you back from happiness. Yet the heartache he felt only grew.

What was the point of all the late nights spent with you? The secrets whispered in the winds? The kisses shared past midnight?

Why would you provide him with such memories only to leave?

The second you stepped through that mirror, disappearing from his sight, Malleus felt sick. His whole world had been changed. He foolishly placed all his love and more onto you. Now that you’re gone, he’s directionless.

Malleus feels Lilia pat him on the shoulder. His voice isn't as playful as it usually is but still carries a chipper tone. “You’ve got centuries to find another!… Learn to let go.”

Let go?

Was this how relationships worked? You put in your all just to inevitably let go? How cruel.

He secluded himself from all of Diasomnia for a week, including his bodyguards and Lilia.

Malleus felt your absence everywhere. The starry nights are more silent than ever. Ramshackle reverted to an old, dusty dorm. He wonders what happened to your cat companion once you left.

The Gargoyle Research Club is canceled until further notice. Not that anyone else attended. Without your smile to invade the room, Malleus felt no desire to ramble about the complex history of his favorite subject.

Everything felt dull. And he despised it.

One night, he made his way into the abandoned dorm of Ramshackle.

He found your old room, your old mirror. Malleus thinks he’s going crazy. He swears he saw your reflection in the dinky glass.

It's amusing in a way. How one human had impacted his life so much.

Malleus wonders how you’re doing without him. Is it better? Living in a world where you could never see his face again?

He remembers you talking to him about your real family, reminiscing on bad and good memories. That was the first time he felt compelled to hold you. To comfort you. To make all the pain go away.

He would've never guessed you would soon be the source of his pain.

Malleus resents how easy it was to lose you; how easy it was for you to let him go. But another, louder part of himself knows that he could never hate you. When you left, you took a part of him permanently.

He longs to see you again.

For you to prance by his side at his club. For you to text him silly messages throughout the day on his tiny device. For you to come to him asking for help in finding Grim.

Malleus is unbearably lonely without you.

Then he hears a thud. It seems as though the wind had knocked an item in your room over. A journal. Malleus can’t help but observe the little notebook.

Your name was written on the cover. He immediately opens to page one.

The date at the top was the exact day he remembers first meeting you. You write about a handsome stranger you met at night. Based on your words, you felt as though you had intruded on his space.

Malleus soon finds himself spiraling, reading page after page of you describing your time at NRC; the people you met, the memories you created, and the fae you fell in love with.

He feels a surge of disappointment as he quickly reads through it all, soon reaching the end. His eyes widen as he turns to the last page. A mere two sentences were written in ink.

“You’ll always be my love. Even if we’re dimensions apart, Tsunotaro.”

Malleus’s grip on the leather cover tightened. You knew he’d find this. He’s partly amused. You are always full of surprises.

He rips out that last page addressed to him, letting the notebook fall to the floor as he does.

Malleus transforms the torn paper into a delicate, green rose. That flower will now always hold a piece of his magic.

The fae places it in front of the mirror in which he stares at his reflection.

~

“I, Malleus Draconia, vow to never love another like I did you, my dearest child of man.”

[gangstalkerbarbie]

i wish i could internalise this but you see the problem is that the fandoms are all american and so is much of the source material and there are just things that... don't translate across cultural contexts that would be essential to doing this? when I try to write my little guys being like me, people think they're overbearing and intimidating because there is a completely, completely different script for how to be a woman in the west, especially among non-jewish people

and that doesn't go away just because everyone wants it to, it's a subconsciously irk that i have to actively mitigate by playing so nice, the most nicest, nicest in the world. i hate playing nice so much it's hardly conceivable

having ocs is about community to share them with and if the community doesn't really want to bother to think about that there are un-American realities where people think and are motivated very differently, then where you end up is that can only play true representations of yourself when they are literal aliens :") literal grey aliens in my case

Anyway this likely sounds like I'm mad at you which I'm not, so below the cut here's some actionable ways to support your friends when they want to introduce you to ocs dealing with their cultural identity:

1. Be normal about it, we're all just blokes here, treat them the same way you'd treat any other person's little player character

2. Ask questions and engage with all their silly little fanon that explains how they're like that in a world where xyz is not textually real

3. When you're close enough people fucking love it when you want to play their ocs family, they don't care about the cultural distance, people marry people from different cultures all the time, they will coach you about how to do this, you will learn so much

4. Thru interaction with them you will gradually realize we're all just blokes and your friend can explain any difference in mentality that could matter

5. There will be such differences and they will be narratively significant but it's possible to be normal and encouraging about it and engage like a normal human with the challenging themes that can come from foreign upbringings

6. There will almost definitely be challenging themes because American imperialism has a very wide reach, and beyond that other imperialism exists. The night is dark and full of terrors out there past the core. Things you can brush aside as too political with your American friends are just part of life in some places, and that's not your fault but it feels pretty surreal to have to elide it for your comfort

This is just like a fact and the sooner you stop being guilty about it as if its your fault the sooner you'll be able to appreciate the poignancy of your friend's oc, the world's dumbest coyote

7. You're allowed to check your foreign friends for getting heavy on you out of nowhere, they're not made of porcelain. You're also allowed to joke.

8. Try to take this as an opportunity to read more widely. Read media from that country and reference it even — your foreign friends have to do it to fit in with you, why not make your ocs aware of the sources of their jokes and cultural memes? One of the most charming irl interactions I've had recently was with a random Michigan guy who knew who Verka Serduchka was

9. All of this applies to intercultural competence in general, armed with the ability to understand how to not make people feel weird and lesser for not being American you will do numbers on Xiaohongshu

Hey. You. If you're a second language English speaker. You should make more of your ocs your own nationality. They don't all need to have inexplicably English names. They don't all need to somehow conform to American cultural conventions. They should speak your first language also. Holds your shoulders and looks you deeply in the eyes. Okay? Okay.

[xxepherr]

.ೃ࿐JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY | FC43

summary — in which franco’s just been thrown into the glamorous world of formula 1, and as his slightly jealous partner, you don’t take all the people flirting with him too lightly

pairings — franco colapinto x princess!reader (established relationship)

pronouns — she/her

word count — 2090

note — i have another princess! reader thats been in the drafts for like two months but this one lowkey wins

YOU WEREN’T NECESSARILY THE jealous type. there were sprinkles of it growing up: jealous of those who had a normal life, jealous of the other kids who got to do whatever they wanted, and jealous of how no one seemed to want to hang out with you because you couldn’t really bring much to the table. 

you had a good life and a good upbringing, but you never really understood any of it until you were midway through your teenage years. that’s when the weight of being in a royal family hit. but even then, and still now, why did it matter so much when your older brother was the crown prince anyway? and how his eventual children would be in line for the throne before you? 

you weren’t jealous of that at least, despite only having turned twenty-one this year, you didn’t want the throne at all. you wanted to go do things, see things, not have more responsibilities held over your head. that was the life your brother wanted, a life he was already accepting; it certainly wasn’t for you.

meeting franco colapinto for the first time at thirteen was probably the reason your whole trajectory changed. he was so carefree, happy, free to do as he pleased — you couldn't do that. you couldn’t remember why you had ended up at some karting championship in copenhagen now, but you were glad you did. you met him there, talked to him there, and he embarrassed himself with not knowing how to greet you there. you’d giggled, telling him he didn’t actually have to greet you with a bow like how they do it in the movies, and that was that.

you’d met him again at fifteen, and he hadn’t exactly learnt from his past mistakes . . . not that you minded. uttering a “i did some research” with a cheeky wink and a kiss to the back of your hand, your face had flushed a pink so bright that it had your mother thinking you’d come down with a sudden fever. it was sweet, he’d slipped you his email on a small tear-off bit of paper that he had prepared ahead of time, and you’d replied with the number that directed to the landline beside your bedside table. six months later, you were dating. 

YOU considered that maybe there was a little bit of jealousy bubbling up in your stomach when franco got his seat in formula one. you were so excited that he had finally achieved his dream that you’d turned the cottage you lived in together into a mini celebration: you made breakfast with a side of wine, then hopped on a plane to buenos aires so that he could go see his family about it. 

the one thing you had not expected was just how much he would be loved in the sport . . . by teenage girls. and girls your age. and journalists. and literally anyone who thought he was attractive. he had personality and was so much fun to talk to, but oh my god you did not think that the whole of the internet would start livetweeting about how they wanted to fuck him. 

in all fairness, they didn’t know about the two of you. it was fairly easy to hide when they had such a secluded cottage on royal grounds. your relationship was coming into its seventh year soon, you’d gotten engaged in january, and somehow it was still a secret with how much you two were public figures. 

it had been a few races too many now, and if anything, it had only gotten worse. maybe you were jealous because you hadn’t seen franco since he left for singapore, and the mexican grand prix had just ended. the only thing stopping you from going to instagram and posting a shit ton of photos and videos of you and franco together was the fact that you had just landed in brazil to see him now that you weren’t busy. 

you’d gotten good at the whole lowkey thing after years laying low as a royal trying to go out on dates with franco. all you had to do was toss on one of franco’s hoodies, pull the hood up over your head, and make sure you walked inconspicuously on your own. the bodyguards you had to have with you all dressed super casually also and trailed behind and in front a reasonable distance away until you were outside the airport and loading your bags into the back of a range rover. 

you dropped the hood the second you hopped into the backseat of the car, immediately launching yourself at your fiancé before the door was shut. franco laughed as he peppered delicate kisses across your face, each one more frantic than the last like you would disappear if he were to let go. you vaguely heard the door shut with thanks to the bodyguard walking around to the front seat of the car, and you made a mental note to thank him the moment you were all caught up with franco. “i missed you,” his tone was heavily accented in that voice that you loved so much, that voice that sounded so much better in person than it did in terrible quality over the phone.

“missed you more,” you mumbled softly, breathing in the subtle note of vanilla from his soap underneath the familiar cologne he always wore. you knew that the sooner you fastened your seatbelt, the faster you’d be driven to the hotel, so you hastily clipped it across you and snuggled back into franco’s side. “we are having words when we get out of this car,” you mumbled.

franco’s eyebrows furrowed, “we are?” he asked, and he felt you nod against his side. “right, we are.”

IT WAS NICE TO feel normal again. being with franco equalled feeling like you were a completely other person. you kept him separate and would be until you were married — he obviously didn’t accompany you to family events or royal appearances because you’d worked a deal out with your parents years ago to keep things private just until you were absolutely sure you were spending your life with him. his first public appearance would be your january wedding under glittering snowflakes. 

you were ready to break normal. the feeling had been crawling under your skin for months now, ever since he was called overnight out to italy and kickstarted his new career in being an international heartthrob who everyone was convinced was a playboy bachelor. he was nothing of the sort when he was currently cuddling into your side in his hotel room, half-asleep and trailing his fingertips up and down your thigh. 

“i don’t like seeing what people say about you online, you know,” you dared to finally bring up, months of jealousy trying to break free in your tone. franco could hear remnants of it clear as day, even in his tired state. “i can’t even say anything.”

he knew you weren’t dependent on your phone, it was only ever when he was away that you constantly had it on you to call, text and check F1 updates on twitter. at this point, the whole reason you had a phone was for him. of course you were in tune with what people were saying about him online. did you enjoy watching the tiktok edits people made? yes. that did not help your case in the slightest, though. “aw, baby,” he hummed, “what would you say?”

“that you’re my fiancé,” the label was still so new, so warm across your tongue. franco’s smile was immediate at the sound of it. “not theirs.”

“aw,” he cooed, “is someone a little jealous?” you groaned instantly, moving to push away from him. franco quickly sprung like some kind of trap, suddenly so awake as he wrapped his strong arms around you to hold you in place. “you are!” he laughed. “you are jealous!”

“. . . maybe,” you admitted, caving a little quicker than you liked. “it is hard not to be, no? look at all the attention you get from everyone else while i sit at home and have to watch.”

it had always been a difficult situation, he experienced the same jealousy on occasion, too. whenever you’d go to events with your family and were greeted by other nobles close in age to you or you were overly polite at fundraisers and celebrations, he saw it all when he turned on the tv or simply went online. it was so simple: your relationship wasn’t public – really, it was your own collective fault.

“we won’t have to deal with this for much longer,” he mumbled, and you felt each exhale brush through your hair; a soothing lullaby for you only. “january isn’t too far—”

“i don’t want to wait,” the words tumbled from your lips before you could even think about them. “i know we talked about it . . . but what if we just— just, i don’t know,” you stuttered uncharacteristically, shyly. you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this way. “i don’t know.”

“you do,” franco kept his voice low, a gentle murmur that had you melting into his embrace impossibly further. “talk to me.”

your mouth fell open and then closed, then did it once more. you supposed it couldn’t be anymore embarrassing than that one time you had to admit that you liked him in front of four middle-aged bodyguards in a playground. that had been bad. this should be nothing. “i don’t want to hide anymore.” franco remained silent. “i want to hold your hand like . . . like how lily and alex get to,” it was the first example to come to mind, having seen them through lily’s account on instagram last grand prix. “but,” you quickly added, “if you don’t want to—”

“of course i want to,” franco chuckled to himself, “i wanted the privacy for you more than i wanted it for me.” he admitted it in a way that you knew wasn’t meant to make you feel guilty, but you couldn’t really help but feel your heart sink a little in your chest. 

franco could feel the sudden drop, your souls intertwined long ago. “. . . that sounded terrible, i know,” he poked his fingers into your side, pulling gasped giggles from you. “but you’re technically more famous than i am,” there was subtle tease in his tone among the seriousness, “i wanted what was best for you, you know that.”

“mhm,” you hummed in thought, tapping your fingers against his. “i just don’t think i can wait anymore. i want to watch you in person, especially while you are at williams now. i don’t want to miss it.” you were his second biggest fan behind his family, and who knows when he would get the chance to drive a formula one car again? if you missed this now, you’d never forgive yourself for it. 

“okay,” he nodded, very chill about the whole thing. it wasn’t surprising, you knew he didn’t mind in the slightest. exposing your relationship just meant that he got to show you off to the world as if he were the luckiest man alive. showing you off to his close friends and family wasn’t enough anymore, and here you were giving him the chance. “how do you want to do this?”

the one thing you sadly couldn’t do was just show up with him when he was at the track. you sadly had to have at least two people with you for protection as your parents wished, and so more arrangements would have to be made and it would be a whole bigger deal than it should be. 

“hm . . .” you thought, trailing off as your hand slowly inched towards where your phone was sitting on the bedside table. “i have an idea.”

“can you do it later?” franco asked with a tired smile, sitting up to pull the blankets over the two of you and settling his neck to rest against your neck. “i want your attention now.”

“mhm, my love,” you turned your head to press a gentle kiss to the top of his head, his soft curls tickling your lips. “get some sleep, i love you.”

“i love you more,” his voice reverberated against your skin, rumbling through into your chest. “so, so much more . . .” he trailed off into slow breathing, falling into an instantaneous sleep — the sleep he only managed to get when you were tucked safely into his side.

princessofdenmark: can u guys pls stop hitting on my fiancé now