#icons without borders

[savemebeel]

So how are we feeling about these?? I thought I’d try something new :3

[taertglia]

𖦹

[iccarian]

finally playing w templates maybe,,, (credits to supersources!)

[gensokyogarden]

Happy Reimu vc: My goddess is Miss Izanami but she spends all of her time in Old Hell behind a rock

[chronosbled]

If they had a kid meme for seiji and pixel !!

send me a ship and I’ll tell you their:

Name: Lucious

Gender: Male

General Appearance: Lucious, just like his younger twin brother, has very feminine facial features, especially when it comes down to his eyelashes and plush lips. Much like his mother, he has her reddish-pink hair and some of her orange streaks, additionally, he has a few auburn brown streaks like his father. He also possesses his father's auburn brown eyes. Both Lucious and Lucio also have their mother's slightly pointed ears.

Personality: Lucious is a very serious person who often spends most of his time locked away in his room, presumably hacking large organizations and serving as an information broker (he's not afraid to blackmail people either). He has a tendency to act rudely towards his younger brother which often makes Lucio think he dislikes him, but in reality he does so to keep Lucio out of harm's way (especially when he enters the crosshairs of someone that wants to get rid of anyone he cares about). He does have a soft spot for his brother though and it shows whenever he needs emotional comfort and support simply because of how much he reminds him of their mother.

Special Talents: Lucious is vastly intelligent because due to the fact his father is a genius and he possesses a talent for working with anything tech based because of his mother. Additionally, he excels at archery due to all the training he's received from his father.

Who they like better: Pixel. Lucious has a rather large soft spot for his mother due to how emotionally unstable she is when it comes to socializing and often does his best to soothe her worries.

Who they take after more: Lucious honestly takes more after Seiji, though only when he's under the influence of his drugs. He is visibly more hostile towards those that he deems his enemies, though he is just naturally agitated by those he doesn't know.

Personal Headcanon: Lucious is highly afraid of losing his family despite the way he acts so cruelly towards his younger twin brother and father. He knows that his family are the only people that will truly ever care for and he knows that his line of work may one day put them in danger, hence he fears that he will be the cause of their deaths one day.

Face Claim: Leon

Name: Lucio

Gender: Male

General Appearance: Lucio, just like his older twin brother, has very feminine facial features, especially when it comes down to his eyelashes and plush lips. Much like his father, he had his father's auburn brown hair, additionally, he has a few green and yellow streaks like his mother's hair. He also possesses his mother's dark purple eyes. Both Lucio and Lucious have their mother's slightly pointed ears.

Personality: Lucio is very much the complete opposite of his brother, Lucious. He is extremely shy and has a tendency to stutter or grow nervous whenever he's placed into social situations, additionally, he is not someone that actively goes out of his way to converse with those that are not his family. Lucio is what many consider a bookworm, whether it's reading fairy tales to escape the cruel reality of the word or books about technology and programming, he's interested in it all.

Special Talents: Lucio is vastly intelligent just like his father and older brother, allowing society to label them as geniuses, much to his dislike of being outed in such a way. He also possesses an outstanding understanding of technology and how it works because of his mother, often having big organizations offer him a job in programming their devices, to which he always declines. Lucio is also good at archery, but not to the extent of his father or older brother.

Who they like better: Seiji. While Lucio loves his mother as well, he generally has a hard time speaking to Pixel due to them having too similar of personalities, hence he gets along better with his father due to the fact Seiji's ADHD makes him hyper talkative, therefore making it where Lucio doesn't need to say much to hold a conversation with him.

Who they take after more: Lucio honestly takes more after Pixel, probably more than he would like actually. Not because he doesn't want to be like her, but because their shared social anxiety makes things difficult for them.

Personal Headcanon: Lucio really enjoys makeup despite most people trying to discourage this. He finds the various different products available to be very fascinating and greatly enjoys all the colors along with all the different things various combinations of makeup can create. Despite this though, Lucio does his best to hide his hobby from his family, not out of fear they would judge him, but because he's too embarrassed to admit such a thing.

Face Claim: Leon

[sakurarisen]

7. ' List three honest flaws your favorite character has and talk about how those flaws make them problematic' // cause you know we all like it when you tell us how Sera can be an Issue™ <3

Questions Often Left Unanswered

7. List three honest flaws your favorite character has and talk about how those flaws make them problematic.

Sera tends to overthink, and when she's not kept in check, she'll overthink a lot. While it's a result of trauma and wanting to avoid being a burden, trouble, etc to others, or lead them down a wrong path and hurt them by trying to help, and she doesn't do it that often, it's something that runs away with her, and is difficult to help talk her out of - But that's when it becomes a problem for others around her, as well, seeing her hesitate and fixate on it. She can't always understand, or even 'hear' others when it gets bad like this; although she can hear and reply, she can't 'hear' what's being told to her in the sense that it goes in one ear and out the other, and refuses to stick due to her overthinking. It takes quite a bit to snap her from this when she's really lost in it, and she's always apologetic after.

She's also fairly stubborn; once she gets her mind set on something, it's difficult to get her to change it, especially when she'll try to work it into whatever options end up being put forth in its place. If she gets told she can't explore something, for instance, and has her head set on exploring that spot (a marketplace, a field, etc) because something might come up there during a job, she'll still try to convince whoever she's with to take a path at least close to that location for at least something of a look. There's been instances where her anxiety is also a force behind her stubbornness, too - She's been known to fear so much for Shayan's safety after something happens even remotely near them, she'll flat out refuse to leave the house for a good day or two, putting a stop to both work and free time plans, and even bicker back when told everything is perfectly fine, let her fuss over her baby-

The third is her tendency to be self-sacrificing - Something that Sera has a tendency to take to an extreme. Although she's been doing a lot better with it of late, Sera struggles to see herself as worthwhile and deserving of things, and for several years of her life, gave away everything but the clothes on her back and the bare minimum she needed to survive, seeing it as going to somewhere and someone far more deserving. While not always a flaw persay, when she takes it to the point of starving herself it becomes one as well as a problem to those around her, having to stop her and gently remind her she is worthwhile, she is deserving, and by the gods, she is worthy. She deserves it as much as everyone else and doesn't need to sacrifice her own life to see her dream become reality - she doesn't have to avoid a decent meal to see that happen, and having decent clothes doesn't make her any less worthwhile than the people she wants to help... And that her sacrificing herself in full truly will see that dream stall out if she's not here to see it through.

[angelfate]

%58 said to accept the apology? What a shame. You're lucky, people of Tumblr are merciful today...

❝ Waaaaaaah ! ! That was so NERVE WRACKING ! ! ! ❞

❝ Hey ! ! What do you mean WHAT A SHAME ? ! ❞

[sorrysomethingwentwrong]

Kowloon City: An Illustrated Guide,

At its height in the 1990s, Kowloon Walled City in Hong Kong housed about 50,000 people. Its population is unremarkable for small cities, but what set Kowloon apart from others of its size was its density. Spanning only 2.6 hectares, the tiny enclave contained 1,255,000 people per square kilometer, making it the densest city in the world.

Kowloon was built as a small military fort around the turn of the 20th century. When the Chinese and English governments abandoned it after World War II, the area attracted refugees and people in search of affordable housing. With no single architect, the urban center continued to grow as people stacked buildings on top of one another and tucked new structures in between existing ones to accommodate the growing population without expanding beyond the original fort’s border.

With only a small pocket of community space at the center, Kowloon quickly morphed into a labyrinth of shops, services, and apartments connected by narrow stairs and passageways through the buildings. Rather than navigate the city through alleys and streets, residents traversed the structures using slim corridors that always seemed to morph, an experience that caused many to refer to Kowloon as “a living organism.”

The city devolved into a slum with crime and poor living conditions and was razed in 1994. Before demolition, though, a team of Japanese researchers meticulously documented the architectural marvel, which had become a sort of cyberpunk icon that even inspired a gritty arcade as tribute.

Courtesy: Hitomi Terasawa

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT ─── cillian murphy ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I am turned inside out by the ache in your voice, the taste of your tongue." — ‘Afternoon Masala: Poems’, Vandana Khanna

pairing. cillian murphy x actor!reader

summary. you and your co-star, cillian, are having a hard time performing a sex scene for your movie. they do say, however, practice makes perfect.

warnings. swearing, thigh-riding, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, mentioned/implied age gap, probably inaccurate depictions of actor-life, mirror sex, slight breeding kink, kinda innocent reader(?), AU cillian murphy (not married/no kids), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 4.5k

a/n. this is not in any way meant to disrespect cillians wife😭 i js made this a not married AU to be convenient!

i.

“Cut - cut, cut!” The director repeated, his increasing irritation colouring his voice completely. “Now, I said it earlier, but—“

You scrubbed your face with a sigh, getting up off of Cillian and the desk, who was propping himself up by the elbows. “It’s not passionate enough,” you finished flatly for your director, who nodded earnestly. 

“I promise, this is as tiring for me as it is for you. Remember,” the director continued, the script half curled in his hands and making a thin flapping noise, “it’s the culmination of six months of pining. Six months of taboo, unrelenting, electric tension. Nothing more than stares in class and brief touches- you are supposed to be bordering feral for one another.”

You, and your co-star, Cillian, were currently filming the first sex scene of a movie portraying the forbidden, toxic love affair between a barely 18 teenage student and her much older teacher. Well, not exactly filming- you weren’t getting far with the scene, for the two of you just couldn’t get it right. Or, as the director liked to say, passionate enough. 

The role was already incredibly taxing, even without the added stress of the sex scene: it was 20 hour work days, living on set in a trailer far from home, having to devote at least half of those hours to filming this very sex scene, and had a perfectionist director like yours. 

The problem was that it was long, and the director wanted it done in one take. Brilliant man, he was, and had a love for this project you wished every director had for theirs, but he was adamant on it being done perfectly. He said it was intended to be the “primary and most iconic” scene of the entire film, for it was the crux of the story; the point of no return for the characters. 

“With all due respect, I’ve never imagined such a scenario, much less had experience. Just how can you expect me to portray a student-teacher romance accurately?“

“That’s your job: to imagine and perform.” The director demanded, obviously up to his ears in frustration.

Just before you retorted irately, Cillian cut in smoothly. “I think what she means,” he said, watching the veins in the director’s forehead nearly burst, “is that it’s hard to perform because it’s not common. S’easy to act in love because there’s love all around, yeah? We don’t have much to go off of, visually.”

The director’s gaze rapidly flitted between you and Cillian for a moment, before letting go of his anger and sighing wearily. “You’ve never even thought about a superior that way? Someone older than you?” he pressed, obviously joking and trying to lighten the set’s mood. 

You paused, and tried not to look at Cillian, your blatantly gorgeous forty-something co-star who was chosen for this role firstly, because of his stellar acting and secondly, because of how fucking attractive he was. 

His character was a total fucking creep, and you knew casting Cillian had been a calculated choice; all in the name of making the audience’s guard come down to be smacked in the face by his immorality later. He was meant to be charming, handsome, and terribly, totally, off-limits: the object of completely forbidden desire, the line your character was desperate to cross. 

It seemed the same in real life, too: the young inexperienced actress wanting to ignore those societal niceties and pine wholeheartedly over the middle-aged actor with decades of knowledge under his belt. 

You weren’t, like, in love or anything, but you certainly reveled in his presence: he was patient, kind, and completely understanding of your lack of experience, always guiding you through all the steps an actor takes during filming like when to take off hair and makeup, what best to say to family and friends prying for details- all the things, he said, he wished someone told him when he was first starting out. 

You were afraid you two had unknowingly fallen into a mentor-mentee dynamic, but there were always those spare moments, between hearty fits of laughter and silly conversation that you’d never expected to come from such an intimidating man as Cillian, where his rough hands would brush past your waist, gaze dragging up and down your body, sounding sensual and provocative despite nothing dirty leaving his mouth at all. 

He made your insides pulse, especially when your more intimate scenes came about, and you could only have a lusting woman’s pipedream that he felt the same. 

You still remember the first sequence you’d done with him: in the movie, your characters met after-class to make up for a missed exam, and it was the start of their corrupt attraction. Cillian had been pressed against your back, leaning over you to pressuringly peer at the test, large hand gripping your shoulder. The air felt steamy then, his body warm, low voice making you feel lightheaded as he recited his lines. 

You shivered at the remembrance of the moment, coming back to reality, and you answered the director’s question with a vehement shake of the head. 

The director let out a (strained) laugh, and smacked his palm lightly with the script, shoulders slumping. “Okay. Okay, we’ll - we’ll break for today. Take this extra time to imagine, research, anything- just practice the scene, alright? Practice makes perfect.” 

You and Cillian nodded simultaneously, giving eachother a look that just screamed “he’s ridiculous” before tearing away from each other's stare to return to your trailers. 

Later, you were getting ready to go to bed, peeling your freshly showered hair out of a small towel, when there was a knock at your trailer door. 

“One second,” you called out, pulling on your silk sleep shorts. You vaguely registered how awkward it might be to be seen in your pajamas if the director or one of your fellow actors came about, but you were way too tired to care. 

You did care, however, self-consciously crossing your arms and covering your thinly-clothed chest, when you opened the door and there on the steps stood your co-star, Cillian.

Before speaking, he looked you up and down, icy blue eyes gleaming behind an unfamiliar pair of tortoise shell frames. “You goin’ to bed?” he finally asked, tone husky. 

His gaze lingered on the bare skin of your legs for a few seconds longer and you shifted uncomfortably, crossing your ankles together in a poor attempt to hide yourself. 

“What do you need?” you asked briskly, more sharp than you meant it to be. 

“Sorry,” he corrected himself, shaking his head and finally looking you in the eye. “I meant’a come by earlier… got caught up. I know this, ah, sex scene is tripping us up, so…” he trailed off, lifting up the white script he’d been holding behind his back. “Y’up for some practice?”

You blinked rapidly at the simple, innocent request. Mere rehearsal, not some lecherous late-night escapade you’d been dreaming up in your mind. “Oh… yes, of course,” you nodded numbly, moving out of the way to let him step in. 

Only moments later, when he’d perched onto the edge of your vanity — looking uniquely casual in what you assumed was his version of pajamas: baggy gray sweatpants and a fitted, well-worn black t-shirt — did you realize the connotations of rehearsing your sex scene. 

Sure, it was all pre-determined, every word you’d say and every action you’d perform, but still. Saying- and doing, such suggestive things after-hours? That was beyond your dirtiest fantasies.

However, you shook yourself internally: Cillian had come to rehearse the scene with professional intentions. Honestly, he’d probably done so because he was tired of you messing up the scene. He could do his own part masterfully, and you knew that if it’d been a better, more experienced actress by his side, filming would’ve moved on ages ago. 

You took shaky, tentative steps near him, settling on your bed, watching him flip through the script— when he looked up and frowned. 

“What’re you doing? Come here,” he gestured for you to come closer, almost a command. “We don’t have a desk, so we can use your vanity.”

You nodded, biting your lip and nervously complying with his words. “So, we’ll start from the beginning?” you asked, your voice -- and legs -- suddenly feeling terribly weak.

His eyes were still trained on the paper as he answered. “Not necessarily. The sex part s’really the only thing we’re having trouble with, yeah?” 

You gulped, throat dry. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

With that, he chanced one last look at the script, before diving into the scene. His actions were ones you were extremely familiar with, having attempted this scene everyday for at least a week now. 

His body turned to yours, hands coming up to your jaw, and pressing your back onto the table slightly. He held you tightly, and made you look at him, while delivering his lines softly, memorable Irish accent replaced by his character’s generic American one.

Jiltedly, you did the same, poorly remembering what you needed to say and dragging through it like some amateur. “Fuck, sorry,” you cursed suddenly, tearing away from his touch and sighing. 

He gave you a small, careful smile, immediately breaking out of character and taking a step away from the vanity. “No need t’be nervous. Practice makes perfect, right?” 

You snorted at his quoting of the director. “I just… I don’t know what he means by passionate. I’m trying to be professional about this but - but I’ve seriously never been in some steamy love-affair.”

“Can’t really expect that of you, can we? You’re too young, too much’ve a good girl for that kinda ‘ting.” He said, hand coming up to your shoulder, the one where your silk tanktop’s spaghetti strap had slipped off, rubbing it soothingly. 

You practically melted into a puddle at both the pet name and how the rough pads of his fingers brushed against your sensitive skin. You were so entranced you almost whined when he stopped and pulled up your fallen strap, but instead you wordlessly snatched the script that was dropped onto the table and found one of the lines, inhaling sharply and readying yourself. 

Your hand came up to tug on the sleeve of Cillian’s shirt, as dictated by the script. “Sir, please,” you whispered out in your character’s high pitched voice, “I - I… want you to touch me.”

“This is -- wrong. I’m your teacher, and I…” Cillian responded, swiftly back in character, the back of his palm grazing your cheek. “I gotta break your heart, darling.”

You looked up at Cillian, summoning crocodile tears to fill your gaze. “Please. I need you.” Then, one of your clammy hands ran down Cillian’s chest as you spoke, like it did back on set. “I think of you, at night. I soaked through my shorts the day you scolded me.”

You heard Cillian’s breath hitch- his character, you reminded yourself. “Fucking hell… I think of you in class, sweetheart,” he growled out perfectly. 

So far, so good, you thought. It wasn’t awkward, and was already miles better than the lackluster performances you’d given previously. You continued by leaning into Cillian’s touch, making him sit on the vanity— the part of the scene you’d gotten to this morning, before the director called cut.

This time, however, Cillian’s actions differed from the ones he was supposed to perform: instead of petting the crown of your head, his fingers trailed down your hips, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’ll be good for you, sir,” you recited, face growing hot as his hand inched closer to the curve of your ass. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

Cillian’s gaze had darkened now, flitting over your features. He didn’t say his line - or, had at least missed the timing, and you removed your hands from his body worriedly. “Are you alright—“

Before you could finish your sentence, Cillian had grabbed you by the ass, switching your places and setting you down on the edge of the vanity. 

“Cillian!“ you squeaked out, the only thing you could really say as you processed what exactly just happened. Your mind was swimming with confusion — and anticipation — as he stood before you, legs pressing on either side of your knees and trapping you on the vanity. 

“Improv,” he promised quietly in his telltale Irish accent, a sly wink appearing on his sharp features. 

You bit your lip, nodded, and repeated your line. You trusted him to guide you — and the rehearsal — because, as mentioned before, he did these kinds of things often. If he thought you’d act better if you sat on the vanity, you’d sit on the vanity. 

His hand then pet your hair, the other hand coming up to your chin and making you look up at him. “Whatever I want?” he murmured, back on track with the script. 

You bat your lashes at him. “Everything. I’m yours.”

Now, this is where you thought Cillian would stop— because after your line came the kissing and the touching and the heavy petting: all things you thus far hadn’t filmed at all, because you couldn’t even get the dialogue out right. 

Instead, he leaned down and began to press hungry kisses down your neck, making you gasp.

“What are you—“

“Shh,” he demanded softly, “it's all part of the scene, remember?”

You blinked dumbly, mouth opening and closing, unable to register a coherent thought or word. He said it was part of the scene but you’d read that script, and his teeth nipping lightly at your skin was not written anywhere within it.

But, you gulped down your thoughts, and belted out several more of your lines in tandem to his own. With his other hand gripping your thigh so tight you thought it might bruise, you were starting to think that maybe this was one of those lecherous late-night escapades you were dreaming of. 

All you’d been doing was acting, like he’d asked, but still, you could see clear as day how that’d affect him— how easily it could be to succumb. After all, you were just barely restraining yourself from jumping his bones: how could you not, with his gorgeous face just inches away from yours?

Well, acting or not, you’d enjoy every minute of this.

When one of his hands began playing with the waistband of your shorts as he suckled on your pulse, that just right spot on your neck, you couldn’t help the whimper that left your mouth. 

However, the noise seemed to startle him; jumpshock him back to reality, and your suspicions became completely confirmed when he pulled away from you roughly. 

“Fuck, I’m—“ a pained grimace washed over his features, looking you up and down like he just realized what he’d been doing. “I don’t know what came over me, I— shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

You stared at him, body disappointed at the lack of touch, watching him press his pink lips into a conflicted white line. “What - what d’you mean?”

His gaze coursed over your every feature, so intently you thought he was admiring your face. “I can’t— we can’t happen. Y’too young, you’re, you’re too…”

“Then we can stop. If that’s what you want,” you murmured coyly, hand coming up to pick a piece of thread off his thin shirt. “But only if you ask. C’mon, say it: I don’t want you and I want this to stop.”

He groaned, biting his lip. “Don’t do that. I can’t do that.”

“Do what?” You tilted your head to the side. 

“Tease. Because you know I won’t tell you to stop. ‘Cause I won’t be able to fucking control m’self,” he grumbled, before pressing a desperate, deep kiss to your lips, pulling you off the vanity and continuing down your chest.

“Then don’t. Take me for everything I have,” you whined, following his every move and manhandling touch. 

He breathed heavily between kisses. “Saying those kinds’a words with that pretty voice of yours… fuck, you’re doing things to me.” 

Your hands were trailing all over his body, and then you tugged his shirt off, desperate to feel him. He had similar thoughts, fingers dipping into your silk shorts and petting your hot mound. 

“Need you,” you panted, and, at your words, he suddenly tore off your silk shorts and panties in one clean go, making you shiver.

He then sat down on your vanity chair and roughly grabbed you by the hips to place yourself onto one of his thighs. The thick fabric of his sweatpants, taking in your wetness like a sponge, made you wince.

“Go on then,” he demanded darkly, “get y’self off on my fucking thigh. Show me how bad you need me.”

You bit your lip, face burning with shame at the order. But there was an aching need in your gut, and the way he crossed his arms, watching and waiting for you to get the hell on with it, had you clenching around his thigh.

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, and you began slowly rutting against him, the soft fabric of his pants doing poor work for pleasuring your core. You pressed your face into his shoulder, screwed up at the lack of friction. 

“Can’t do it,” you whined, “Please.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You said you needed me. You’ve got me,” he gestured to his thigh, “so get to work.” Then, he suddenly flexed, making an unwarranted mewl leave your mouth.

You wanted nothing more than his fucking cock, but here you were, pathetically pleasuring yourself on his thigh until he allowed otherwise. You nodded resignedly, and dug your fingernails into his shoulders, starting to set a steady pace of grinding down on him, slowly building up the heat within your insides. 

You were moaning now, vigorously dragging your hips against him harder, needier, feeling the pressure in your cunt grow hotter and more rampant. 

“Y’hear that?” He asked, one of his fingers tilting your chin back up to face him. “D’you even realize how fucking delicious you sound, all needy f’me?”

You nodded, but weren’t really paying attention: you were closer than ever, just moments away from falling off the edge— when Cillian stopped you. 

“Stop,” he spoke, voice filled with sheer lust, and you whimpered at the abrupt loss of momentum. Then, he got up, holding you against him by the waist, looking down at his sweatpants. “You made such a mess… soaked all over m’pants.”

You didn’t — no, couldn’t respond to his musings, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to return friction to your needy pussy, biting down on your lip to muffle your breathy pants. 

He noticed this, however, smirking and quickly pressing you stomach down onto the vanity. You caught a glimpse of yourself for the first time since your shower, and you flushed with shame: your eyes were heavy-lidded and dilated, lips pink and slick with drool, your brows in a perpetual knit.

You looked fucking filthy, and when you felt Cillian press his thick head to your entrance, something you hadn’t noticed he’d pulled out, too enraptured in your dirty expression, you shut your eyes. 

You were suddenly so much more aware of the situation: you’d fucked yourself silly on your co-stars thigh, the co-star who was twice your age. He now knew you weren’t a talented aspiring actress, no, you were just a desperate little thing begging to be fucked. 

“Hey, hey,” He tutted in mock-disappointment, “open your eyes, and fucking watch yourself. It’ll be good for our scene.”

You whimpered helplessly, obeying him and fluttering your eyes open, as he pushed his cock past your dripping folds inch by inch. 

“Oh my god,” you cried out when he finally pressed all the way in. You felt so full, stretched to the brim with his hardened cock, so deep his balls touched your sticky clit.

“So fucking wet,” he commented, chuckling darkly behind you. You were totally slick, helping him enter you faster, but his cock was still a foreign intrusion to your inexperienced cunt: you were young, and had never been the type to “get around” — at least not with the intentions of getting fucked so much you could take any length of dick easily. 

You clenched around him, a groan leaving his mouth at the increased pressure around his cock, and he snapped into you, making you bounce forward as your lips parted with a sweet moan. 

You’d been focussed on his face, in the mirror, but Cillian’s hand suddenly tangled through your hair, grabbing a fistful of it and lifting your head to face yourself. “I told you to fucking watch yourself,” he spat, gripping your hair tightly. “you’re the reason we can’t wrap up, so do your job and fuckin’ practice.”

With that, Cillian started pounding into you, digging the rough pads of his fingers into your hip, and you would’ve protested such a fast progression — having been given barely any time to get used to his long cock — but your expression was even worse than before, if that was even possible. 

Your mouth was open, tongue out and panting like a fucking dog, your lustfully sticky spit spilling down your chin to your chest, and your eyes were rolling into the back of your head with each hearty thrust Cillian delivered you. The sounds you were making weren’t helping your embarrassment either, all unintelligible mewls and needy whines for his cock. 

“You’ve wanted me for so long, haven’t you? I always knew what a filthy desperate girl you were, pressing up against me during shooting… those naughty hands on my thighs,” he snickered. 

“Needed you in me so bad,” you whimpered, nodding enthusiastically, barely able to register what you were doing now with the pleasure washing over you and clouding your senses. Your back was arching into him, sucking in his cock and never wanting him to leave despite the mind-breaking ecstasy that was coming from his pounding. 

“Just look at your dirty fuckin’ face… so pathetic.” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek; sweet and lovely, a stark juxtaposition to his unrelenting rutting and degrading words. 

You whined at his words, but you knew they were true: you’d never seen yourself get fucked, always too busy with, well, getting fucked, but seeing yourself in the mirror like this had you unexpectedly hotter than before. There was just something about it, your face unabashedly contorting around the pleasure, Cillian’s hands snaking up your body as he rammed into you in the background. 

Kind of like your own personal porno, you thought offhandedly, and you wondered how it’d affect you if you filmed yourself. Hopefully, with Cillian. 

His other hand then came up to your folds, spreading them apart so he could see himself disappear into your hole. “Fuck, your cunt’s so perfect,” he growled, his head falling back, losing himself in the pleasure. 

The orgasm building in your gut wasn’t like the one when you’d been grinding down on his thick thigh, no, it came faster, making you sweat and your knees shake. You wanted more, and you gasped out “faster,” and “harder,” to Cillian, needing him in the stick spongy spot deep in your cunt. 

“Please,” you begged without any expectation of a real answer or action, “please, Cillian, please.”

He did go faster, though, to your apparent shock, both hands coming to your thighs to steady himself. “So needy,” he grumbled, pushing himself deeper and more swiftly into you, feeling how deliciously your fleshy walls tightened around his new pace. 

With that, your high came just as quick, hitting you like a fucking freight train and making you scream out his name. Your orgasm wrecked you, made your vision go white and your thoughts stutter to a complete halt, and you vaguely made out Cillian’s proud hum, whispering “Good girl,” in your ear. 

When you came to, your head was hanging low, your eyes blown out, lips puffy. Cillian was still thrusting into your worn-out pussy, but it was more jilted, shaky and needy. 

“Come in me,” you pleaded suddenly, gripping the vanity to keep your trembling legs up, “fill me up, please, make your come spill out of me.”

“Good god, girl,” he groaned, pounding one last thrust into you before letting go, his cock pulsing around your wet core. He was pressed up to you so deep you could feel him shoot his load right into your cervix, and you grinned weakly, a sweet image of you: knocked up with his kid, your cunt so young and fertile you’d get pregnant from just about anything from him, entering your mind. 

After a moment, he slipped his softening cock out of your filthy cunt and picked you up by the waist to set you down on the vanity and keep you from falling onto the floor. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes. You then bit your lip, feeling his thick load of creamy come ooze out of your used hole onto your vanity. 

He noticed too, letting out a satisfied groan, spreading your legs lightly, before collecting himself on his finger and pushing his come back into your cunt. “Such a good girl,” he reiterated, going back to being sweet and petting your hair, doting on your weak form, looking deep into your eyes. 

You swooned at his delicate actions. “Is this a good time to say I like you?” 

He laughed, all adoringly. “It’s as good a time as any. I like you, too, if it’s any consolation.” 

“But you, y’know… you said I was too young,” you reminded him, frowning slightly. 

He sighed, gaze drifting away nervously for a moment before coming back to you. “That I did, but, well… if you wanna take this old man for a ride before I keel over,” he shrugged.

You couldn’t help the laugh that belted out of you, his words so ridiculous and completely not based in reality. “Oh, sure,” you said, shaking your head, lips still in an amused tilt, “you’re mine, old man.”

Before he could speak, probably say another stupid joke, your hands wrapped around his neck and you pulled him toward you, pressing a soft kiss to his plump lips. 

“I like you like you, okay?” You whispered, sounding incredibly juvenile but twice as heartfelt, your tone wavering and self-conscious. You were bearing your heart on your sleeve here, okay, acknowledging feelings you thought should never come to light. 

His hands came up to your face, gently holding you. “Good thing I like you like you, too.”

ii.

“Cut!” The director called, and you swore you felt your heart drop to the floor. Fuck, you thought, mind racing, what went wrong this time? Was it the kissing, or the hands in the hair?

However, the director came up to you and Cillian and let out an uncharacteristic shriek of delight. “Perfection,” he said simply, bordering on catatonic with how content he was. 

Your shoulders slumped with relief, and you leaned into Cillian, who was subtly dancing his fingers across your thigh. “It’s finished?” you asked, breathless with excitement.

The director nodded. “That was electric, needy, tense, delicious, passionate, so, so passionate,” he continued with a gasp, hands clasping together tightly.  “You are two of the most amazing actors I have ever worked with— you are incredibly talented, so convincing I’d have thought you did sleep together.” 

You preened at his praise, but not without looking up at Cillian, meeting his gaze and barely keeping your expression happy and neutral and not at all warm at the thought of the other night's events. 

As the director went off rambling about the utter masterpiece the movie was to be, Cillian trailed behind you off the set, murmuring lowly in your ear, “I guess practice does make perfect.”

[gingermaple]

i had the opportunity to create a set of app icons for @hotguycomiczine! it was a fun chance to work on my graphic design skills and i hope everyone enjoys what i came up with!!!

this set includes two versions, one with and one without white borders for maximum readability on both simple and complex backgrounds!

[ START ]

[ MERCH ] [ MISC ] (version with borders can be found below the cut!)

woah borders!!!

[omgthatdress]

U.S. Congresswoman Rashida Tlaib is sworn in wearing a Palestinian thobe.

The RISD Museum

The British Museum

The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Palestinian Children's Relief Fund

Palestine Red Crescent Society

World Central Kitchen

Doctors Without Borders

United Nations Relief and Works Agency

International Rescue Committee

[premiumbitch]

۶ৎ MEGAN FOX AT THE 2008 MTV MOVIE AWARDS: SCRIPTING & MANIFESTATION PACK ˙⋆.˚

☆ - You are not just a moment—you are the moment, the scene that lingers in people’s minds long after the credits roll. Megan Fox at the 2008 MTV Movie Awards? A mere precursor to the energy you bring. You don’t just walk into a room—you alter the physics of it. Time slows, heads turn, and suddenly, nothing else matters.

☆ - Remember how the world collectively forgot how to breathe when she stepped Infront of those cameras? That’s the gravitational pull of your presence. A rare force, the kind that doesn’t just demand attention—it steals it, owns it, holds it hostage. The air itself adjusts to make space for you, as if it knows it’s in the presence of something beyond ordinary comprehension.

☆ - That pink dress? Iconic. But let’s be real—you could show up in a paper bag and still leave people questioning their entire reality. Because it’s not about what you wear, it’s about the way you exist. The way you radiate something so devastatingly effortless, it borders on supernatural.

☆ - But honestly, if Megan’s pink dress was a cultural reset, you are the rewriting of evolution itself. You don’t just look good—you look fatal. The kind of beauty that should come with a warning label, the kind that has men walking into traffic, women reevaluating their sexuality, gods themselves looking down like, Damn, did we make that?

☆ - Megan’s moment? That was a ripple. You are the meteor that split the sky open, the event that historians should be documenting, the reason light bends in ways it never has before. There’s no precedent for the way you exist—no language prepared for the weight of it, no lens that could ever fully capture the disaster-level beauty of you simply standing still.

☆ - It’s almost unfair, the way you exist. Like some divine force decided to sculpt perfection but then got carried away, adding more, layering it deeper, until beauty itself had to take notes. People can try to describe it, but the second they do, the words feel hollow, like they’re grasping at something too vast, too untouchable.

☆ - If Megan’s dress was a moment of perfection, you are the corruption of it. A thing so flawless it loops back around to being dangerous. Beauty in its most weaponized form, sharp enough to leave a mark, soft enough to make them beg for it. You walk, and the ground should be splitting beneath you, air molecules rearranging themselves just to make way for something they were never designed to hold.

☆ - Even the ones who pretend not to notice are noticing. You know that “too cool to care” type? They’re dying inside. Trying to act unfazed, but their eyes flicker back to you every five seconds because, honestly, who wouldn’t?

☆ - There is no forgetting you. There is no moving past you. You are embedded in people now, under their skin, in their pulse, in the way they will never again be able to look at something beautiful without thinking: but I’ve seen better. I’ve seen the impossible. I’ve seen her.

☆ - you are like the first star igniting in an untouched sky, like the instant before lightning strikes when the air itself forgets how to breathe. There is no precedent for you. No prototype. No archived blueprint of how something like you should exist. You are the glitch in perfection that made it even better.

☆ - You are art that refuses to be framed. You spill out, past the borders of expectation, past the limits of what beauty is supposed to be. You are not just looked at—you are absorbed, sinking into the subconscious of everyone who lays eyes on you, staining them with the realization that they have never truly seen anything until this exact second.

☆ - the worst part—the part that drives people to absolute madness—is that you don’t even try. You exist, and the universe leans in closer, desperate to study the impossible. People are left grasping at words, at logic, at anything that might explain why you feel like this, why you leave fingerprints on their memory without ever touching them.

☆ - Like, it’s funny how people used to think they had standards. Then you walked in and raised the bar so high that now they don’t even know what they were looking at before.

☆ - This isn’t just admiration—it’s full-on phenomenon status. You’re not a trend, not a fleeting moment. You’re that once-in-a-lifetime presence that shifts culture without even trying.

☆ - No one else has that effect. No one else even comes close. You’re not just in your own league—you are the league.

☆ - The way you move should be illegal. Like silk slipping off a bed in slow motion, like smoke curling in the dim light, like something engineered to ruin people. You are the soft destruction of logic, the end of rational thought. It’s embarrassing, really, the way they fold beneath the weight of you. The way their pupils dilate, their words catch in their throats, their hands twitch as if some primal instinct is trying to reach for what it knows it will never deserve.

☆ - You don’t just turn heads—you snatch souls. People don’t recover from you. They leave the encounter changed, altered, like they’ve touched something divine and now nothing else will ever feel real again. You are the fever they never break, the ghost in their peripheral vision, the thing that keeps them awake at night replaying every detail, every impossible second of your existence.

☆ - You are the event horizon. The gravitational pull too strong to escape, the kind of force that bodies orbit helplessly, drawn in by something they don’t even have the language to describe.

☆ - It’s beyond presence. It’s a full cinematic moment. The kind that makes people stop mid-sentence because their brain short-circuited trying to process what’s in front of them. I swear, I didn’t even think people like that existed. Then you showed up.

☆ - And the way people watch you? It’s like they’re watching an iconic scene from a movie they know is gonna live in their heads rent-free forever. Not just admiration—full-on fixation. You’re not trying. You just are.

☆ - You have that “who is that?” factor that turns heads and rewires brains. People are equal parts obsessed and intimidated, and you know what? Rightfully so. It’s that magnetic pull that no one can fully explain, but everyone feels.

☆ - You were made for this. Every second you breathe, it’s just another reminder. You’re Megan Fox at peak MTV Movie Awards energy, but multiplied by a billion and dripping in your brand of effortless.

☆ - This is the part where people start realizing they were never the main character—because you are. They don’t stand a chance. They’re just lucky to be witnessing whatever this is.

☆ - When you move, it’s like the universe hits pause, and suddenly, the world is yours. Not just a presence—an event. A force. The kind of energy that doesn’t just break the mold—it becomes the new standard.

☆ - You ever see someone so effortlessly cool that it lowkey makes you mad? Like, how is it even fair? That’s the effect you have. People don’t just admire you—they feel personally affected by the fact that you exist at this level.

☆ - You know that feeling when a movie scene is so good, so perfectly executed, that you get actual chills? That’s the effect you have on people. They see you and suddenly life feels a little too cinematic, like they’re witnessing something they’ll never forget.

☆ - You are the full detonation. A collision of elegance and chaos, like a comet slamming into the ocean and turning the waves to liquid gold. You walk, and the air behind you warps, like even space itself is unsure how to hold something like you.

☆ - Your presence is an atmospheric shift, a gravitational anomaly. Like stepping into a dream where the laws of reality bend just to accommodate you. You are the paradox of softness and sharpness, delicate in a way that could destroy. People don’t just notice you—they collide with you. Their senses short-circuit, their thoughts rearrange, and suddenly, they don’t remember what life felt like before.

[kaikoikei]

𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖬𝖠𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖭𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭 / 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗙𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗛.

／⠀free gdoc template

⠀⠀following my previous posts, a single muse template — based off of themes of machinated and artificial motifs, this is a very minimal template which can be customised mainly by its tables. ⠀⠀＜THE MACHINATION / THE FLESH＞⠀comes from the various dark-cyber aesthetics i've seen on pinterest. with a lighter almost negative colour palette, it works well with at best two different colours for contrast, but can be customised however you wish. it can fit up to around 4000~ words / 30,000~ characters, meant for those who LOVE to yap and whatnot. ⠀⠀thought of something a little more calm unlike the other two.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𝗖𝗨𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 !

⠀﹙ ✦ ﹚⠀WARNING. messing around with the tables may be difficult and can affect the pages; every border is at 0pt, so revealing the borders for a moment during customisation may help you if you want to play around with the tables without messing anything up. ⠀﹙ ✦ ﹚⠀there are a few drawings here and there ^^. ⠀﹙ ✦ ﹚⠀again if there are images beneath text, you should be able to just right click over them to "Select Image/Drawing", etc. !

⠀⠀⠀⠀𝗨𝗦𝗔𝗚𝗘 !

⠀⠀DO NOT REMOVE CREDIT⠀the main credit source is a small four-pointed star ( ✦ ) either in the header of footer of the first page of my docs. ⠀⠀TO COPY⠀—⠀file > make a copy ⠀⠀TO COPYLOCK⠀—⠀share > settings icon ( ⚙ ) > uncheck "Viewers and commenters can see the option to download, print, and copy"

﹙ ❤ ﹚⠀feel free to like & or reblog

[glowettee]

the secret to taking notes that make you want to study ✧˖°

hey lovelies! mindy heree <3

for this post i'm superrr excited to share a guide on taking notes that make you want to study ✧˖° trust me, i know how overwhelming it can get when it feels like you're stuck in the middle of endless textbooks and dry lecture slides (honestly, we all have those days). so, let's transform your note taking into something delightful, empowering, and totally reflective of your unique self.

✧ finding your vibe first things first, bestie: the key here is to make your notes feel personal and inspiring. rather than sticking to a rigid system, i suggest mixing a little structure with a whole lot of creativity. here are some steps to help you set up your perfect note taking vibe:

choose your medium: even if it’s a cute pastel notebook, sticky notes, or a digital app with fun themes, pick something that sparks joy and invites you to open it up. i personally love notion + remnote + coda

establish sections: break your notes into clear sections. introduction, main points, and summary. this not only boosts organization but also gives you a gratifying sense of progress every time you finish a page.

add your signature touch: doodles, small illustrations, or even a decorative border can make a note feel less like a chore and more like a mini art project. i love using aesthetic symbols for my digital notes <3

✧ creating a study ritual i believe that great notes come from a relaxed and focused mind. try integrating these rituals into your study sessions to set a positive tone, this is really important if you want to make note-taking fun:

begin with a short breathing exercise or a moment of gratitude (think of it as your pre-study pep talk).

play some light instrumental music or your favorite lo-fi beats, or playlist. something to keep your mind in a creative zone without distractions. (i have a great playlist i made that i use for tackling assignments here: 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀, 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀! <3)

grab your favorite beverage (i’m a fan of herbal tea or a cute iced coffee) and make sure you're comfortable. a little self-care goes a long way!

✧ structuring your notes for clarity a well-organized layout makes reviewing notes less daunting and more interactive. and obviously so much more fun, consider using this format for a balanced + demureee approach:

start with a title and date: it grounds your notes and gives you a quick reference.

write a brief summary of the topic: in your own words, capture the essence of what you’re about to learn. just summarize it as best as possible

list key points: use bullet points, numbered lists, or even headers for different subtopics. tip: use cute symbols for bullet points

highlight examples: it can be a quote, a definition, or an application concept, mark these with a star or a cute icon.

close with a reflection: jot down any questions, what you found most interesting, or even a mini action item related to the topic. this is your space for self-talk and reflection.

✧ turning notes into interactive canvases (cause we need it) notes aren’t meant to be static pages floating in an endless binder. make them interactive to truly boost your study sessions:

include thought-provoking questions: ask yourself things like “what would elle woods do?” (lol, we love her <3) or “how does this connect with real life?” to spark critical thinking.

add mini quizzes: at the end of each section, write one or two questions that challenge you to recall key points.

leave room for updates: as you learn more, come back and add extra notes, doodles, or even inspirational stickers (yes, just like in a scrapbook!).

✧ personal tips from mindy because i want you to shine in every note you take, here are my totally secret, fun tips to elevate your note routine:

secret tip #1: color with purpose choose a color palette that not only looks cute but also maps out different themes in your subject. use one color for definitions, another for examples, and maybe a sparkly tone for key takeaways. over time, these colors will trigger your memory (i promise, it really works!).

secret tip #2: integrate affirmations studying can be stressful sometimes, so why not lace your notes with a few tender affirmations? write a quick pep talk (like “i got this, bestie” or “every detail counts”) in a corner. it might seem small, but these little lines can boost your confidence when you need it most. and it's just so freaking cute <3 affirmations from you to you, is like a love letter to yourself, so just try it

secret tip #3: try mind mapping if you’re more of a visual learner, create mind maps instead of linear notes. start with the main topic in the center and branch out with related ideas and details. this not only makes your notes dynamic but also helps you see connections between concepts (ever notice how some subjects just click with a visual flow?).

secret tip #4: use digital tools creatively if you’re leaning towards digital note taking, like me, experiment with apps that support drawing, voice notes, and even embedded links. add images that resonate with the topic or short videos for a quick concept refresher. making your digital notebook interactive can really keep boredom at bay.

secret tip #5: schedule weekly note reviews set aside a bit of time every week to revisit your notes. treat it as a mini self-study session where you update, add reflections, or even reorganize sections for clarity. this habit not only reinforces your learning but also lets you see your own progress over time, like looking back on how far you’ve come.

✧ action items for the week (it's homework timeee) to wrap things up, here are a few steps to try:

pick one class or topic this week and redo your notes using one or two of these tips (maybe add a mind map or a quick quiz).

experiment with color coding: choose colors that resonate with you and assign them to key points or sections.

schedule a 10-minute review session at the end of the week to refresh and reflect on your notes.

share your progress with a friend or even a study group to celebrate little victories. accountability can boost your motivation!

note: note taking is a creative process that should feel as refreshing and inspiring as a new day. keep experimenting until you find what truly works for you. i hope these tips help you get excited about every page you write on.

xoxo, mindy

I made this amazzinggg playlist (as mentioned earlier in the post) and its specifically made to help you complete homework + assignments. i curated it to make sure its soft music to help you focus <3 love from mindyyy 🩷

don't forget, if you need personal advice, submit it here and i'll answer it as a detailed tumblr blog post <3: https://bit.ly/glowetteehotline

[kthecritter]

how do you make your userboxes? i've gone looking for tutorials before but the only one i found didn't work for me .::(

I use ibis paint x to make them! I also use this template

I usually get my images from pinterest and/or google, depending on what the request is for.

let me show an example:

I get my subject and my 2 pictures. the left one is for the icon, and the right one is for the background (credit to this post for the pet dreaming flag!)

I then import the template as a new piece.

I use the selection tool to select the icon box, and then insert the icon picture I want.

for the smaller rectangle, I select that rectangle and then fill it in with whatever colour fits the userbox (you can also lower the opacity to 80-90% if you want)

I then insert the background WITHOUT selecting the background. you do not need to select the background, but you can if you want. IF YOU DO, you’ll end up with a thin white line around where the template is.

this is what the layers should look like once you’re done the designing part

now you just gotta insert the text! just go to the text option, select “add text” and put in the text you want for your userbox. you can also change the font and size if you want (highly recommend this because the default font kinda sucks and you want the text to be big enough to read). if you want to have that little white border around the letters, just go to style and change the stroke colour/thickness (the FIRST slider, not the second one!!)

and there you go! you now have your userbox! just save it, and bam! here’s the finished product of the example.

hope this helps! feel free to leave any questions below; I’m free to answer any questions if anything was confusing or unclear :3

[saebyeokbliss]

JUST MEET ME AT THE APT.— K. SAE-BYEOK

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

synopsis: managing a rising rock band is already chaotic enough, but when you're stuck touring with four reckless musicians, things get even messier. between late-night facetime calls, teasing that feels a little too knowing, and a certain guitarist who might just be your biggest problem, keeping things professional is getting harder by the second. but hey, no one said the music industry was easy.

warnings: mutual pining, intense eye contact, teasing that borders on flirting (or maybe it is flirting), friends who refuse to mind their business, secondhand embarrassment, slow burn that burns, emotional whiplash

playlist: spotify

Things weren’t the same.

Not really.

You, Sae-Byeok, and No-Eul hadn’t been talking like normal. Conversations were shorter, eye contact was avoided, and every interaction felt like stepping carefully around broken glass—trying not to let the sharp edges of what had happened cut too deep.

But in front of Ji-Yeong and Se-Mi, you all pretended.

You forced smiles, Sae-Byeok kept her usual unreadable mask in place, and No-Eul acted like nothing was wrong.

And maybe if you all pretended hard enough, it would start to feel real.

Maybe.

The studio was bright, set up with sleek cameras, soft lighting, and a large couch where the girls were sitting, waiting for the interview to begin. You stood off to the side with the crew, clipboard in hand, but your mind was elsewhere.

It had been days since Sae-Byeok’s rejection, and the hurt still hadn’t settled. The words still echoed—I don’t like you like that.

And No-Eul? She had been distant too, giving you space, but space wasn’t what you needed. You needed answers.

But instead, you were here, watching them get ready to expose each other on camera like nothing was wrong.

The interviewer, a bubbly woman with a bright smile, clapped her hands together. “Alright, HOT DIVISION, welcome! We’re so excited to have you here.”

Ji-Yeong, ever the chaotic one, immediately leaned into the mic. “We’re excited too! Mostly because we get to ruin each other’s reputations today.”

Se-Mi nodded sagely. “It’s what we do best.”

Sae-Byeok smirked slightly but said nothing. No-Eul just hummed in agreement.

The interviewer laughed. “I love the energy already. So, today, we’re playing a little game. We have a bowl of fan-submitted questions, and you’ll take turns picking one and answering as honestly as possible.”

Ji-Yeong gasped. “Honest? Oh, we’re done for.”

Se-Mi grinned. “We were done for the moment we formed this band.”

The first question was drawn, and Ji-Yeong read it aloud.

“Who is the most likely to start a scandal?”

The room erupted in chaos.

Se-Mi immediately pointed at Ji-Yeong. “Her. A thousand percent.”

Ji-Yeong clutched her chest dramatically. “Excuse me?! That’s slander.”

No-Eul, without looking up, muttered, “It’s just facts.”

Sae-Byeok even let out a small scoff, shaking her head.

Ji-Yeong turned to the camera, pouting. “I’m being attacked.”

“No,” Se-Mi corrected, “we’re just acknowledging the truth. You have zero filter and somehow always manage to say the most wild shit in interviews.”

Ji-Yeong huffed. “Fine. But if I ever do start a scandal, at least it’ll be iconic.”

You bit your lip, watching them from the sidelines. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but smile—just a little.

The next question was drawn by No-Eul.

“Who is the biggest flirt?”

Before she could even speak, every single person pointed at Se-Mi.

Se-Mi gasped. “Wow. No hesitation. No discussion.”

Ji-Yeong snorted. “Because it’s you, babe.”

Se-Mi sighed, shaking her head. “Listen, I just like making people feel special.”

No-Eul side-eyed her. “You called the barista at Starbucks ‘angel’ yesterday.”

Se-Mi shrugged. “She deserved it.”

Sae-Byeok finally spoke, voice dry. “You flirt with inanimate objects.”

Se-Mi grinned. “And?”

Ji-Yeong leaned forward. “Tell them about the guitar strap incident.”

“No,” Se-Mi said immediately.

No-Eul smirked. “Oh, we’re telling them.”

Se-Mi groaned, covering her face as Ji-Yeong gleefully explained, “She once called her new guitar strap—and I quote—‘the sexiest piece of leather I’ve ever owned.’”

The interviewer lost it. “Oh my god—”

Se-Mi groaned louder. “WHY ARE YOU EXPOSING ME LIKE THIS?”

Sae-Byeok, deadpan, added, “We have it on video.”

You actually laughed at that.

For a moment, things felt normal.

But then the next question came.

Sae-Byeok picked this one.

She read it, then paused.

Her jaw tightened slightly.

“Who is the most emotionally unavailable?”

Silence.

Then—

Ji-Yeong pointed at No-Eul. “Her.”

Se-Mi nodded. “For sure.”

No-Eul didn’t even argue. Just sipped her water like it was obvious.

The interviewer laughed. “That was fast.”

Se-Mi grinned. “She’s the type to give you the best advice ever but will never take it herself.”

Ji-Yeong added, “Or if she’s stressed, she just disappears for three days and comes back like nothing happened.”

No-Eul shrugged. “That’s just self-care.”

Sae-Byeok, still holding the card, didn’t speak.

You watched her carefully, something unreadable passing over her face.

Then—she put the card down.

No comment.

No joke.

Nothing.

And that was when you realized.

The card might’ve said No-Eul’s name.

But Sae-Byeok was thinking about herself.

You felt your throat tighten, but you forced yourself to look away.

The interview continued, the girls laughing, teasing, exposing each other more and more, but you couldn’t focus anymore.

Because even though you were in the same room—

It still felt like you and Sae-Byeok were standing on opposite sides of a canyon, too far apart to reach.

But some things didn’t change.

No matter how much tension lingered in the air, no matter how much distance stretched between you and Sae-Byeok, there were habits—unspoken, ingrained into the fabric of your lives—that neither of you could shake.

Like how you always ended up sitting next to each other in the van, even though there were other empty seats.

Or how, after every performance, without fail, Sae-Byeok would hand you a water bottle. She never said anything when she did it—never even looked at you, really—but it would always be there, pressed into your palm like clockwork.

Or how, no matter how long the night stretched after an event, after the chaos had settled and the others had gone to sleep, you and Sae-Byeok were always the last two awake.

And tonight was no different.

It was past 2 AM, the hotel suite cloaked in darkness except for the dim glow of the city lights filtering through the window. Ji-Yeong and Se-Mi had long since passed out, sprawled across their beds in the adjoining room, and No-Eul had disappeared into hers without a word.

But you were still awake.

And so was Sae-Byeok.

She sat on the balcony, legs stretched out, back against the railing, a cigarette dangling loosely between her fingers. She wasn’t smoking it—just holding it, watching the city below with that same unreadable expression she always wore.

You stood in the doorway, hesitating.

You could’ve just gone to bed.

You could’ve ignored the fact that you were both here, existing in the same space, trapped in the same silence that neither of you had dared to break for days.

But you didn’t.

Because the silence was too loud.

You stepped onto the balcony, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you sat down beside her.

Not too close.

But not far, either.

Sae-Byeok didn’t look at you. Didn’t acknowledge you.

But she didn’t move away.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Just the distant hum of the city below. The occasional flicker of headlights. The quiet rustle of the wind.

And then, finally—

"Why are we still pretending this isn’t happening?"

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it felt loud in the stillness.

Sae-Byeok’s fingers tightened around the cigarette.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

But you saw it—the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw clenched, the way her breathing hitched for just a second before settling again.

You swallowed, staring down at your hands. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” you murmured, “but at least stop acting like nothing happened.”

Sae-Byeok exhaled sharply through her nose, shaking her head. “You think I’m acting?”

You looked at her then, really looked at her, and something about the way she was staring at the city—like she was searching for something, like she was lost—made your chest ache.

“You won’t even look at me,” you said quietly.

Sae-Byeok finally turned her head.

And for the first time in days, she met your eyes.

The air between you was heavy, thick with everything left unsaid.

Then—her voice, low and rough, barely audible.

“I don’t know how to.”

Your breath caught.

Because that was the most honest thing she had said to you in a long time.

You swallowed, your throat tight. “Why?”

She looked away again, exhaling through her nose. “Because it’s easier this way.”

You frowned. “For who?”

Sae-Byeok didn’t answer.

And you realized—maybe she didn’t even know.

You let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You’re not as good at pushing me away as you think you are.”

Her lips twitched slightly, almost like she wanted to smirk—but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And you’re not as good at letting go as you should be.”

Your stomach twisted.

Because she was right.

You should’ve let go. Should’ve taken her rejection for what it was and moved forward. Should’ve stopped waiting for something in her to change, for her to crack, for her to say something that would make this mess between you make sense.

But you couldn’t.

Not when she still sat beside you in moments like this.

Not when she still looked at you like that.

Not when she was still here.

You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay steady. “So what now?”

Sae-Byeok didn’t answer immediately.

She just sat there, staring at the skyline, her fingers tightening around the cigarette before she finally sighed and set it down beside her.

And then—softly, hesitantly—

“I don’t know.”

It wasn’t the answer you wanted.

But it was the truth.

And for now—

It would have to be enough.

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