#in the mean time while i work on this i was thinking about picking up mikalai's story

[ilovemybettafish]

“Learning to draw is really a matter of learning to see – to see correctly – and that means a good deal more than merely looking with the eye.” - Kimon Nicolaides

These are all great resources, but I think it should be said that no one NEEDS classes or books to learn art. Those things can certainly help, and can expand the set of “tools” you have to draw from while creating. Understanding the rules of human proportions, for example, is very useful. But none of it is required or essential.

The most important thing for an artist is the ability to look at something and see it for every detail: its texture, the interplay of shadows and light, the way perspective can distort appearance, the basic shapes that create the complex object in front of you. Those things can be taught, but you can pick them up just as well by just taking time to look — REALLY LOOK — at the things around you.

Choose one thing to focus on, whether that’s an apple, a lamp, a bench, your own hand. It doesn’t matter what. But choose something and just study it. Take in every detail. And then try to replicate what you see.

You can do the same thing with other art that you admire. If you like manga and want to be a manga artist, look at a lot of manga and take time to notice the details of that style that attract you. Then sit down and try to make your own.

It won’t be perfect at first. You might not be happy with it at first. But the better you become at observing what’s around you in the real world, the easier it becomes to see what is missing from your own art to make it more realistic. And eventually, you develop a style of what is and isn’t important to you to include, what is and isn’t important to you to focus on.

I will say, I’ve known a ton of artists, many of them with successful professional careers in the arts. And, in my experience, the ones who went to a four year college and got a degree for art are often the most talentless. They’re too used to caring about the “rules,” and often don’t have the passion and self discipline needed to make it as a professional creative. They care more about the fact that they have a degree than about building their portfolios, and they think having that piece of paper with their name on it makes them an authority on art.

None of us are authorities on art. Art is the most subjective thing in the world. The best artists I’ve known are the people who have spent years upon years sketching in the margins of their notebooks, letting their own passion and curiosity fuel their exploration of different techniques and mediums. People who have spent years of their free time creating things they love and adding those things to a portfolio.

These are the kinds of artists I know who have their work in museums, who are creative leads in top of the industry gaming studios, or who are successful illustrators. Most of them have no degree at all, or maybe a 1-2 year certificate. You don’t need money to be an artist.

Can't afford art school?

After seeing post like this 👇

And this gem 👇

As well as countless of others from the AI generator community. Just talking about how "inaccessible art" is, I decided why not show how wrong these guys are while also helping anyone who actually wants to learn.

Here is the first one ART TEACHERS! There are plenty online and in places like youtube.

📺Here is my list:

Proko (Free)

Marc Brunet (Free but he does have other classes for a cheap price. Use to work for Blizzard)

Aaron Rutten (free)

BoroCG (free)

Jesse J. Jones (free, talks about animating)

Jesus Conde (free)

Mohammed Agbadi (free, he gives some advice in some videos and talks about art)

Ross Draws (free, he does have other classes for a good price)

SamDoesArts (free, gives good advice and critiques)

Drawfee Show (free, they do give some good advice and great inspiration)

The Art of Aaron Blaise ( useful tips for digital art and animation. Was an animator for Disney)

Bobby Chiu ( useful tips and interviews with artist who are in the industry or making a living as artist)

Second part BOOKS, I have collected some books that have helped me and might help others.

📚Here is my list:

The "how to draw manga" series produced by Graphic-sha. These are for manga artist but they give great advice and information.

"Creating characters with personality" by Tom Bancroft. A great book that can help not just people who draw cartoons but also realistic ones. As it helps you with facial ques and how to make a character interesting.

"Albinus on anatomy" by Robert Beverly Hale and Terence Coyle. Great book to help someone learn basic anatomy.

"Artistic Anatomy" by Dr. Paul Richer and Robert Beverly Hale. A good book if you want to go further in-depth with anatomy.

"Directing the story" by Francis Glebas. A good book if you want to Story board or make comics.

"Animal Anatomy for Artists" by Eliot Goldfinger. A good book for if you want to draw animals or creatures.

"Constructive Anatomy: with almost 500 illustrations" by George B. Bridgman. A great book to help you block out shadows in your figures and see them in a more 3 diamantine way.

"Dynamic Anatomy: Revised and expand" by Burne Hogarth. A book that shows how to block out shapes and easily understand what you are looking out. When it comes to human subjects.

"An Atlas of animal anatomy for artist" by W. Ellenberger and H. Dittrich and H. Baum. This is another good one for people who want to draw animals or creatures.

Etherington Brothers, they make books and have a free blog with art tips.

As for Supplies, I recommend starting out cheap, buying Pencils and art paper at dollar tree or 5 below. For digital art, I recommend not starting with a screen art drawing tablet as they are more expensive.

For the Best art Tablet I recommend either Xp-pen, Bamboo or Huion. Some can range from about 40$ to the thousands.

💻As for art programs here is a list of Free to pay.

Clip Studio paint ( you can choose to pay once or sub and get updates)

Procreate ( pay once for $9.99)

Blender (for 3D modules/sculpting, ect Free)

PaintTool SAI (pay but has a 31 day free trail)

Krita (Free)

mypaint (free)

FireAlpaca (free)

Libresprite (free, for pixel art)

Those are the ones I can recall.

So do with this information as you will but as you can tell there are ways to learn how to become an artist, without breaking the bank. The only thing that might be stopping YOU from using any of these things, is YOU.

I have made time to learn to draw and many artist have too. Either in-between working two jobs or taking care of your family and a job or regular school and chores. YOU just have to take the time or use some time management, it really doesn't take long to practice for like an hour or less. YOU also don't have to do it every day, just once or three times a week is fine.

Hope this was helpful and have a great day.

[gothwizardmagic]

god ok also gotta say as a choreographer, whoever did the superbowl choreo was a fucking GENIUS like. it manages to be so effective without ever being flashy or complicated & like. flashy & complicated are great but to do the basics this effectively is PHENOMENAL. the repeated motifs are so striking and so strong and so CLEAR in their meaning its PAINFULLY effective - the contrast of more relaxed dancers just vibin and having a good time at the beginning & end, when its just people being themselves vs. "what america wants" - disquieting, emotionless, rigid lines of soldiers throwing salutes while kendrick & sza are singing on stage in the middle, keeping the people entertained & distracted as the goose-stepping dancers circle like sharks

and thats not to even mention the SCALE - working with such crisp colour lines in such an ENORMOUS group is staggering to even fathom like. making sure all the reds are in the right place at the right time & you dont have someone who was a blue in one section but accidentally wound up in the white group somewhere in the shuffle....... the formations are UNBELIEVABLY complex & span such an enormous space, its mind blowing to think about. over a hundred dancers. over a HUNDRED people to keep track of at all times to make sure they're getting from one place to another in the right way at the right times in the right formations. over a HUNDRED.

the dancers executed FLAWLESSLY too - taking big steps and remaining PERFECTLY in line is incredibly hard & they made it look effortless. the amount of split-second transitions to nail and vibe-shifts to hit.... oh my god. also shot to the camerapeople who were working their asses off on those transitions just as much as kendrick & the dancers were

also thinking of scale like... arena choreography and stage/film choreography are VERY different things. on a stage or in a music video etc. you have ONE front. at most on a big stage the audience might wrap slightly around the sides but generally speaking, you're choreographing for the people or camera in front of you, and they're gonna have a pretty good view of your face the whole time. arenas are MASSIVE, and there are people on ALL SIDES. you can't pick A Front, you have to be entertaining people all around you simultaneously, which means completely rethinking how things are structured. you also can't rely on detail nearly as much, because the audience is Really far away. even if there are screens, you want to make sure that there's something to look at on the stage itself, so the audience doesn't feel like they're just watching a music video. it's still a live show & you want it to feel like one

so theres a balance to strike between giving the individual artist focus & acknowledging that they literally... can't face every direction at once. even if kendrick is facing away, there are always dancers doing something that'll be visually striking at a distance for the audience to enjoy. but at the same time because there ARE cameras, it also has to work for video & HAVE those detailed up-close elements, so the footage doesn't just look like a guy bopping around with people walking past him for the whole time. the most effective example i can think of is in peekaboo - the groups of white-clothed dancers in the X is visually strong from a distance - even if you can't see exactly what's going on, it's an interesting visual, whereas up close you have the strong music video feel of kendrick popping up out of nowhere; of all these different up close groups of dancers giving their full performance directly to one front while that front is rotating from one group to another, as opposed to the multiple surrounding fronts on the main stage. it transitions from an arena show to a music video (and then back when he walks out onto the main stage with that trail of dancers so the visual is most effective from above rather than up close) SO EFFORTLESSLY and makes absolutely brilliant use of the space

this is literally jsut stream of consciousness it could definitely all be phrased better & honestly i could keep talking for a Long time like i didnt even get in depth abt the use of colour in the costuming & the way every costume is slightly unique in the up close shots but when you pan out to the stadium they become lines of clones like. god i could go on!!!! i coudl go on!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! its a masterpiece choreographically fr its elegant its communicative its mindbogglingly complex ive watched it five times now trying to absorb as much as i can

[cupidbedsy]

i would love a part two to the quinn neglecting you blurb :)

✿ CUPID'S FLORAL SHOP ✿

here's a freshly picked restless rose 🌹 !

warnings: quinn feeling like an ass, wrote on my phone so i don’t know how grammatically correct this is

word count: 740

florist cupid: the long awaited part two ! i’m so glad everyone liked this, i honestly didn’t think it would go crazy the way it did but im thankful it did.

it was about an hour that quinn was out of the apartment, thoughts racing through his head as he walked down the street. he’d shoot a weak smile and give a small wave to those who called out his name, even stopping to sign something once and a while.

but for the most part, he spent his time in his own headspace, thinking about the vents that had happened in the past couple hours. he’d been neglecting you for weeks. how could he not haven seen it?

at some point during his walk he stopped outside a flower stand, eyes trailing over each and every flower, finally settling on a small bouquet of one of your favorite flowers, making small talk with the older lady who was working the stand.

“special date tonight?”

quinn looked at her sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “no i uh… kind of messed up.”

the lady gave him a knowing smile, finishing wrapping the flowers nicely. it was silent for the next few moments before she handed the bouquet to him. he went to take out his wallet but the woman just shook her head with a fond look on her face, “don’t worry about it.”

quinn fumbled, almost dropping his cash on the ground, “are you sure? i couldn’t just-“

“is she important?”

he nodded instantly, “yeah, most important person in the world. she um-“ he let a smile tug at his lips and tears prick his eyes, “she’s everything to me.”

“then it’s no big deal. you only get one of those girls, don’t lose her now.”

quinn thanked her again, walking away from the stand, but not before slipping money into the small jar.

━。゜✿ ゜。━

when he got back to your shared apartment, he played with the zipper of his jacket for a few moments before sliding the key in and unlocking the door.

you hadn’t moved from your spot on the couch the whole time he had been gone, you were too engrossed in your thoughts to move.

the sound of the lock unlocking stirred you from trance, snapping your head to look at the door.

quinn looked even more tired than when he had left, his hair messy as if he had been running his hands through it nonstop on his walk.

your eyes found the flowers in his hands, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you spoke softly, “quinny.”

he gave you a weak smile, slipping his shoes off and walking over to where you now stood. he handed you the flowers, the fingers on his free hand intertwining with yours.

he leaned down, letting your forehead rest against his. he played with your fingers, his and yours breathing being the only sound you could hear.

“they’re beautiful… thank you.”

“i’m sorry.”

you peered up at him through your eyelashes, taking in his guilty expression. you detangled your hand from his, reaching up to cup his face, rubbing your thumb across his cheek, “quinn-”

“i’m sorry.” he repeated, placing his hand on your hip to draw you closer to him, “i shouldn’t have pushed you aside, i shouldn’t have been so absorbed in the team and i should’ve been taking care of myself. you’re the most important person in my life and i wouldn’t have even been able to get through this past year without you, i shouldn’t have taken you for granted.”

you didn’t say anything, you couldn’t. tears welled in your eyes as you listened to him talk, hanging on every word he said. you knew he was sorry, you knew he didn’t mean to do this, but he did and it happened.

it was a rough patch in your relationship, but you would get through it, you knew you would.

he frowned when he saw the tears in your eyes, moving his hand to grasp yours again, “don’t cry, please. you know i hate when you do, especially if it’s because of me.”

he took the flowers from your hand, placing them down on the coffee table to bring you into a hug, cradling your head to his chest.

“i’ll make it up to you, i promise even if it’s the last thing i do.”

“don’t need to make it up to my quinn,” your fingers grasped at his sweater, clutching it like a lifeline. “you’re here now, and you apologized, not that you needed to, but that’s what matters. you’re here now.”

back to the shop ! ; navigation !

[nilla03]

“𝘽𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣' 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙨“

𝑃𝑙𝑜𝑡： 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑐 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑛！

𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠： 𝑎𝑐𝑢𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔，𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡， 𝑙𝑎𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑎𝑔𝑒，𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑛，ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛

The baby monitor cast a dim glow on your nightstand, the soft static filling the silence of your empty bed. You had just put your daughter down for the night, her tiny body finally relaxing after hours of fussing. Your body ached, exhaustion creeping into every limb, but sleep was the last thing on your mind.

Not when Armin still wasn’t home.

You sat at the edge of the bed, fingers curled around your phone, staring at the unanswered texts. Where are you? Are you coming home? Armin, answer me.

Nothing. Just like the last few nights.

Your stomach twisted as the familiar wave of resentment crawled up your spine. This wasn’t new—him disappearing for hours, showing up in the middle of the night with vague excuses. You used to believe him when he said it was work. Used to tell yourself that being the provider, the one out handling things, put pressure on him.

But you weren’t stupid. You knew what a man smelled like when he’d been around another woman.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs made you stand, heart pounding. Heavy footsteps echoed through the quiet house, his movements unhurried, like he had no reason to hide anything.

That only pissed you off more.

By the time he reached the top of the stairs, you were already there, standing in his path with your arms crossed. His blue eyes met yours, and for a split second, something flashed across his face—guilt? Annoyance? He covered it quickly, running a hand through his messy blond hair.

“You’re up?” His voice was calm, like you weren’t standing there ready to rip him apart．

You scoffed. “Yeah, I’m up. Because unlike you, I’ve been home taking care of our daughter all fucking day.”

Armin exhaled, rolling his shoulders like he was already tired of the conversation. “（ఌ）don’t start with this right now. I told you, I had things to—”

“Things to handle?” You took a step closer, fists clenched. “You mean someone to handle?”

His jaw tightened. “Watch yourself.”

You ignored the warning. “No, you watch yourself,” you snapped. “You come home smelling like another bitch, after leaving me here alone again—”

Armin’s eyes darkened. “I told you, it’s work.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Your chest heaved, your breath sharp, but Armin just stared at you, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t even trying to deny it anymore, and that shattered something inside you.

Your vision blurred with tears as rage bubbled up, making your hands shake. Without thinking, you grabbed the first thing in reach—a picture frame from the hallway table—and hurled it at him.

“Fuck you, Armin!”

He dodged it easily, the glass shattering against the wall. His lips pressed into a tight line, but he still wasn’t raising his voice.

That only made you angrier.

“You think you can just do whatever you want?” Your voice cracked, frustration choking you. “Leave me here to raise our baby alone while you go fuck around? Do you even give a shit about us?”

Armin’s calm façade snapped.

In a flash, he had you pinned against the wall, his hands gripping your wrists. His breath was hot against your face

“Say that shit again,” he growled.

You struggled against him, but he didn’t budge. “Let me go.”

Armin let out a low, humorless laugh. "You know nothing," he muttered, shaking his head."You sit in this house and assume shit about me, but you have no fucking clue what I do when I'm out."

His eyes were dark, tired, but there was that usual mocking glint behind them, like he found this whole thing entertaining.

Your jaw clenched so tight it hurt. "You-"

"Lower your fucking voice," he hissed.

His free hand pointed toward the nursery door down the hall. "She is sleeping."

Before you could get another word in, he picked you up completely, his veiny arms manhandling you so quickly made you wince before he dropped you onto the couch, your body bouncing against the cushions as he ripped his shirt over his head. The glow from the streetlights outside cast harsh shadows over his toned chest, the dark ink of his tattoos.

You didn't get a chance to admire him before he was on you again, his hands yanking your thighs apart, his weight pressing you down into the couch.

Your hips rolled up into his, your nails digging into his biceps as you dared to push back.

"You think you can just come home smelling like another bitch and I'll just-"

Armin cut you off with a bruising kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, swallowing your words, stealing your air. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling hard enough to make your scalp burn.

"You think I touched her like this?" he taunted, lips brushing against yours, his hands roaming, gripping, possessive. "Think I let her talk back to me the way you do?"

His rough hands spread your thighs, gripping the tan inner skin so hard you could cry before rubbing his fingers beneath the soft fabric. He moved your panties to the side

Feeling how soaked you already were, how easy it was for his fingers to slip through your folds, teasing, taunting.

shoving two fingers inside you without warning, making you cry out. "You were just screaming at me, now you're dripping down my fucking hand?"

Your head turned to the side refusing to look at how pathetic you really were

"That's my girl," he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours. "Always talking shit, but always taking everything I fucking give you."

You didn't even have time to respond before he was ripping your panties off, shoving his jeans down just enough to free his cock, his tip red and angry already leaking, aching to be inside you.

He spread your folds, fucking into you, his hips snapped into yours. He was so mean, one hand gripping your throat while the other pinned your wrists above your head.

"This what you wanted?" he taunted, his hips snapping against yours, knocking the breath from your lungs. "Wanted me to come home and put you in your fucking place?"

You whined, back arching, your body overwhelmed by the way he was owning you.

"Look at you," Armin sneered

“F-fuuck you armin!” You could cry at how good this felt, you let out a choked out whine while his grip was tightening around your throat, forcing you to meet his eyes.

the way your legs twitched with every deep thrust. "All you do is bitch and whine, but look at you now-taking this dick"

You glared up at him, tears burning in your eyes, but your body betrayed you. Your walls clenched around him, your thighs tightening as if to keep him from pulling away.

Armin chuckled, shaking his head. his free hand grabbing your jaw, squeezing your cheeks. "You were just throwing shit at me ten minutes ago, now you can't even think straight, can you?"

he sneered, picking up his pace again, slamming into you now, dragging a scream from your lips. "Think you get to tell me what the fuck to do? You don't run a fucking thing"

Your head was spinning, your hands twisting in his grip. "I hate you," you choked out, voice shaking.

"Yeah?" He pulled out completely before slamming back inside, knocking the breath from your lungs. "Then why's this pussy sucking me in, huh?"

You sobbed, nails digging into his arms, body shaking with every brutal thrust.

"You don't get to hate me," he murmured, voice dark, low. "You belong to me, baby. This pussy?" He grabbed your thigh, spreading you wider, fucking deeper. "Mine. That little attitude?" He dragged his lips against your ear, his breath hot. "Mine. You can scream, throw shit, slap me all you want, but at the end of the day?"

His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur.

"You're still gonna let me fuck you like this."

Your body was on fire, your pride crumbling with every rough snap of his hips, with every filthy word he spat down at you.

"You gonna cry, baby?" Armin taunted, watching the way your lashes fluttered, the way your thighs trembled. "Go on. Cry for me”

Your lips parted, a choked, desperate moan escaping before you could stop it.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body still trembling from the force of everything. His body was still pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling with every breath.

Armin stayed there for a moment, his hands lightly gripping your waist as if to keep you in place, as if he needed to keep you there.

But then, his voice cut through the tension, low and a little rough, like he'd been holding something back the entire time.

“I didn’t sleep with anyone else”

You froze, your chest still heaving as you slowly turned your head to look at him, unsure if you'd heard him correctly.

His eyes met yours, unwavering, dark with an intensity that matched the rawness of the moment.

"You think l'd do that to you?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, but the question hung in the air like an accusation.

"I've been working late," he continued, his tone softer now, almost coaxing, as if trying to ease the tension between you. "But it's been work. Nothing else. I swear."

"You sure?" you murmured, still unsure, your voice shaky.

"Yeah, baby, I'm sure."

𝑈𝑔ℎ 𝑖 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑟𝑡𝑏𝑎𝑔 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑛 <3

[bogkeep]

i have never really kept up with any modern day royals since they're really just celebrities and celebrities have never caught my interest, but i learnt a great deal against my will when i worked as a hotel receptionist during the pandemic - with the rack of newspapers and tabloids right in front of me, the tv in the lobby always turned to the news channel, and little to do but scroll the internet for eight hours every day. for a while, one of the princesses (not the crown princess, although she would have been if the inheritance laws had included women at the time, as she is older than the crown prince) (i remember her from TV, long ago, talking about communing with angels), or rather, her boyfriend/fiancé, were making headlines every day. you see, she was dating (and has since married) this american grifter and self-proclaimed shaman who kept getting rejected from publishers for trying to publish a book about "spirit hacking" - and yes, it DID instruct people to simply get rid of cancer by changing your attitude.

i mean, i wish "imagine if a pseudoscience grifter was picked as the symbolic leader for your country" was a shocking statement few could relate to, but unfortunately we live in the stupidest timeline. well, maybe not THE stupidest, since girlboss princess is thankfully not our next queen, but it's like... if you don't believe in a god that has appointed these people to rule, how do you justify this system? and even if you did, how do you accept god to have chosen people like these?

as i said, i knew pretty much next to nothing about modern royals, so when i listened to the podcast 'you're wrong about's episodes on princess diana, that was the first i ever learnt of her. she wasn't even born into this horror show, and it killed her, long before she did die from it. it's in one of those episodes one of the hosts say, fame is abuse. i think about that all the time.

ok so i think that my favourite fantasy subgenre is The Inherent Tragedy Of Being Born Into Royalty. which mostly means that i like to read about gay princes but with some nuance

[loving-family-poll]

Ultimate Incest Poll - Final

Propaganda under the cut:

Liam/Noel:

The Gallagher brothers have a very intense relationship that doesn't make any sense to the outside viewer unless one considers the possibility of incest. For 30 years now they have been utterly unhinged about one another in the public eye. Noel has often made incest jokes; Liam once said on-stage once "we had sex last night" referring to him and Noel. Even people writing in actual books and magazines have picked up on the vibes (some stuff that has been printed about them fully feels like it was written by tumblr incestinas except it's like. actual fucking journalists). Also there was this one time in 1996 where they kissed each other with tongue in front of 40 thousand people.

They have been described as “in love with each other” by both themselves and third parties. the lyrics “you’re my lover, i’m your brother.” they kissed with tongue at loch lomond in 1996 and have also been photographed/videoed kissing on the mouth other times. liam regularly groped noel onstage. liam’s entire twitter is just propaganda too. liam talked about impregnating noel once. noel frequently talks about how physically attractive liam is. liam claims that he’s noel’s muse

their song guess god thinks im abel has the lyrics "i could be your lover" while comparing themselves to you guessed it abel and cain. and like. a thousand more instances of them being weird about each other. also noel REALLY wanted a sister and he mentioned it quite a few times and said well liam IS basically a sister or something like that. normal behaviour

Liam literally called himself Noel's good boy on twitter, and called him god a few times after reunion. Noel said he loves make women cry and the only thing that's better is make Liam cry so he can laugh and call him a woman. They literally kissed with tongue and loch lomand is not their only kiss they have two more photos of different kissing to, they literally used the japan kiss video for reunion video. YES THEY DID THAT TF. Noel said they are head over heels in love and said it's illegal in many countries. Also Noel said Liam is like his ex-wife a few times or shit like those cunts are fucking crazy

Other people have described them as more like boyfriend/girlfriend than brothers and said they’re in love. someone on twitter asked liam “if you’re john lennon, who is noel?” and liam said “yoko ono.” another time someone said on twitter “you defo rimmed noel when you were younger” and liam replied “you jealous?"

Deeply weird about each other getting married (them not attending each other's wedding which occurred month apart and then getting divorce around the same time and they stayed at the same hotel for months), intense infamously love-hate relationship and is everyone's favorite soap opera, noel saying "on stage i just wanted him..there's only two of us that will ever get this", prominent theme of shame and crime and impossible dream in noel gallagher works, the elusive meaning of wonderwall which noel insisted is not about anyone but there's good amount of evidence that it referenced back to their childhood and their shared bedroom, liam having mental breakdown several times on twitter about noel, liam's my brother is getting a divorce playlist to which he shared with his 3 millions twitter followers, incest-baiting on main ever since the reunion, brother and lover being interchangeable for noel when writing lyrics, noel (allegedly) lying to liam that his girlfriend cheated on him in order to sabotage their relationship before oasis took off, liam hating noel's latest (ex) wife (sarah), noel writing "the owner of the star on stage" after liam's autograph and so many more insane shit

"[Liam] thinks all the songs are about him. He even thinks Wonderwall is about him." –Noel Gallagher (1997)

"It's all about me it always was and is" –Liam Gallagher (2023)

Japan kiss (kiss is at the end) loch lomand kiss

PLUS they’re back together after 14 years of estrangement! The narrative!

Cain/Abel:

the og brotherssss. invented murder.

Brothers inexorably tied together… brothers alone in a field, no witnesses but god… jealousy violence guilt sin… you get it.

Blueprint for violent older sibling & younger sibling relationships. Our beloved Cain complex comes from this story and where would we be without it? These two are the huge inspirations for both incestuous and non incestuous poetry, especially between brothers. Nothing represents the self destructiveness of incest more than these guys. Also I know they frotted in those fields, Eve told me.

[dulcescorderitas]

Hi! I was wondering if you would ever possibly write a part two to Juno (either with the very fun times trying to make a kid or with them having a kid) I just adore the way you write Clark and would love your take on either situation (especially Clark as a girl or boy dad!) thank you regardless and keep being incredible!

you’ve got your hands braced on either side of the headboard, breath coming fast, teeth worrying your bottom lip as you try—really try—to look sexy. but then clark’s face does this thing, this deep-in-thought furrow, and you lose it.

“why are you laughing?” he groans, already half-wrecked but now thoroughly distracted.

“because,” you gasp between snickers, “your sex face looks like you’re trying to calculate the square root of our mortgage.”

he throws his head back, barking out a laugh. “wow, okay. mood’s ruined. hope you’re happy.”

“deliriously.” you wiggle your fingers dramatically before sliding them down his stomach, teasing, trailing lower. “but let’s try again, professor deep-in-thought.”

he’s about to fire back, but then you move just right, and instead of a retort, a downright obscene moan tumbles out of him. your smugness is instant.

“ohhh, now we’re getting somewhere.”

“shut up,” he grumbles, face burning.

“make me.”

so he does. with his mouth, hot and insistent, trailing down your stomach as he spreads your thighs wide. with his hands, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he buries himself inside you, hips snapping forward in deep, punishing thrusts that knock the breath from your lungs. with his body, pressed flush against yours, sweat-slicked and trembling as he fucks you like he needs this more than air.

he groans into your neck, the sound guttural, desperate. "God, baby—so mhm—"

you claw at his back, dragging him deeper, chasing the pleasure that coils hot in your belly. "clark—faster—"

he listens. he always does. his rhythm turns frantic, each thrust leaving you gasping, your legs locking around his waist as he drives into you, relentless and perfect. he kisses you like he’s trying to swallow your moans, swallowing his own when you squeeze around him just right.

when he finally shudders, spilling deep inside you, you’re right there with him, nails digging into his shoulders as your whole body shakes.

later, sprawled in bed, catching your breath, you roll onto your stomach, eyes still hazy. "so, you think this is the one? the magic baby-making round?"

clark hums, running a hand over her back. “if not, we’ll just have to keep trying. and trying. and—”

“okay, we get it, you’re suffering.”

“deeply,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck, his arms tight around your waist. “but, you know, if suffering means holding you and making love to you like this every night, I think I can live with it.”

and to answer your question:

clark is 100% a girl dad. he’s got princess bandaids in his wallet, a collection of tiny hair ties in his pockets, and can paint little nails with surprising skill. he’s memorized every disney princess song and will belt out "let it go" with zero shame if it means making his baby girl smile. he’s the kind of dad who lets her pick out his tie in the morning, even if it’s bright pink and covered in sparkles.

he absolutely lets his daughter do his hair and has gone to work with glitter in it more than once. the first time, his colleagues gave him weird looks, but now they just expect it. he’s a walking canvas for tiny, chubby hands, and he’ll sit still for hours while she "styles" him with clips, bows, and whatever else she finds in her little hair kit. once, she even convinced him to wear pigtails to the grocery store.

he cries the first time she calls him “daddy,” but pretends it’s just allergies. in reality, he gets teary-eyed at a lot of milestones—her first steps, her first day of school, the first time she tells him she loves him. he’s hopelessly wrapped around her little finger, and juno teases him mercilessly for it, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

taglist: @legalmente-loca @soangelbaby

[sylusonychinus]

Day 3 - Pirouette

Pairings: LADS MEN x Ballerina reader

summary: What if you reader loves ballet

ZAYNE

Got it! Here’s the revised version with Zayne from Love and Deepspace:

Ready and willing to support your demanding rehearsal schedule, but also low-key concerned about the physical toll it takes on your body. He'll offer massages and gentle stretches after particularly grueling sessions, always careful not to overstep.

Will attend every single performance, front row center if possible, his gaze fixed on you the entire time. He may not understand all the technicalities, but he appreciates the artistry and dedication you pour into every movement.

Would absolutely let you practice your routines in your shared living room, even if it means rearranging the furniture and him occasionally getting whacked with an errant limb. He considers it a privilege to witness your art up close.

Even though he's surrounded by the world of dance through you, he remains grounded in his own world of science. It's a beautiful contrast, and he secretly enjoys the way your two worlds intertwine.

Brings you post-performance treats, like your favorite pastries or a relaxing bath bomb, knowing how much you need to unwind after a show.

Cooks you healthy meals to fuel your demanding lifestyle, always mindful of your dietary needs as a dancer. He's learned a surprising amount about nutrition thanks to you.

Depending on how important the performance is, he might even take time off from work to help you prepare, running errands, calming your nerves, and just being a supportive presence.

For my girlies who get pre-performance jitters, he'll offer quiet encouragement, reminding you of your talent and hard work. He'll be your rock, a steady presence amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

If he can't be there in person, he'll send you good luck texts and call you as soon as the curtain falls, eager to hear all about it.

Leaves little notes for you backstage, filled with words of love and encouragement. He's your biggest fan, always.

You: "Zayne, I feel like I'm asking so much from you lately. All this running around while I'm stuck in the studio..." Zayne: "You never have to ask, you know that. Besides, taking care of you? That’s my favorite job." (he smiles warmly) You: "Even when you get knocked around by my pirouettes?" Zayne: "Absolutely. Besides, it's kind of like a badge of honor at this point." (grins) "I might not be able to do ballet, but I’m definitely getting good at dodging your spins."* You: "You’re unbelievable, you know that?" (laughs) Zayne: "Hey, I do what I gotta do. Now, how about that bath bomb I picked up for you? You’ve earned a little pampering." You: "You’re always looking out for me. I really don’t know what I’d do without you." Zayne: "Good thing you’ll never have to find out." (he winks, brushing a lock of hair out of your face) "Now go unwind, I’ll take care of everything else." You: "And here I thought I was the one who was supposed to take care of you." Zayne: "That’s just a bonus. But hey, if you’re offering…" (teases) "How about a massage for me later?"

XAVIER

Ready and willing to be your personal hype man, celebrating every small victory in your dance journey with the loudest cheers and most enthusiastic applause at your performances.

Will try (and sometimes fail hilariously) to learn ballet moves to impress you, offering clumsy attempts at pirouettes and lots of laughter.

Would clear the entire apartment for you to practice, squeezing into the tiniest floor space, considering it an honor to witness your artistry in motion.

Even though he's not a dancer, he's genuinely fascinated by your world, asking about different dance styles, ballet history, and the meaning behind the movements.

Brings you bouquets of your favorite flowers after every performance, followed by a celebratory dinner at your favorite restaurant to celebrate every milestone.

Cooks elaborate meals, often trying out new recipes he thinks you'll enjoy, showing his affection through food.

Depending on the performance's importance, he might organize a post-show party with friends and family to celebrate your success with everyone you love.

For those with pre-performance jitters, he distracts you with silly jokes and playful banter to ease your nerves, being your source of laughter and lightheartedness.

If he can't be there in person, he'll send a flurry of good luck memes and videos, calling you immediately after the show ends, buzzing with excitement.

Leaves little gifts for you backstage, like new pointe shoes or personalized charms for your dance bag, paying attention to the little things that matter to you.

Xavier: "You did amazing tonight, seriously. I mean, I don't know much about ballet, but even I could tell that was a performance for the books." You: "Thanks, Xavier. That means a lot, especially coming from you." Xavier: "Of course. You’re like… next level. And hey, don’t think I forgot—I got you a little something." He reaches into his bag and pulls out a new charm for your dance bag. Xavier: "I was thinking it might bring you some extra luck for next time." You: "You’re unbelievable." (laughs) "But I love it, thank you." Xavier: "Anything for my favorite dancer. Now, how about I cook us something fancy to celebrate, yeah?" You: "I think I could get used to this level of spoiling." Xavier: "Spoiling? Nah, I’m just keeping up with how incredible you are." (grins) "Now, let’s see if I can finally not burn dinner tonight."*

RAFAYEL

Sure! Here’s that with a little dialogue at the end for Rafayel from Love and Deepspace:

Ready and willing to be your confidant and emotional support, understanding the pressures and anxieties that come with being a ballerina. He offers a calm and steady presence in your often-hectic world.

Will attend your performances with a quiet appreciation, his focus solely on you and the emotions you convey through your dance. He sees the story you tell with your body and connects with it deeply.

Would create a dedicated practice space for you in your home, complete with mirrors and a barre, understanding the importance of having a place where you can refine your craft. He respects your dedication and wants to support it in any way he can.

Even though he may not fully understand the technicalities of ballet, he appreciates the artistry and discipline it requires. He sees the beauty in your strength and grace, both on and off the stage.

Brings you thoughtful gifts after performances, like a rare book of poetry or a piece of art that reflects the themes of your dance. He appreciates your artistic soul and wants to nurture it.

Cooks you comforting meals, focusing on nourishing your body and soul. He understands the importance of self-care and wants to make sure you're taking care of yourself.

Depending on the significance of the performance, he might offer to help you with the logistics, from costume alterations to travel arrangements. He's always there to lighten your load and make things easier for you.

For my girlies who struggle with self-doubt, he'll remind you of your incredible talent and the power of your art. He sees your potential and believes in you even when you don't believe in yourself.

If he can't be there in person, he'll send you a heartfelt message expressing his love and admiration, and will wait patiently to hear from you after the show.

Leaves you little notes filled with poetry or quotes that inspire him, hoping to inspire you as well. He sees the artist within you and cherishes it.

You: "I always feel like I’m carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders before a show. But when you’re around, everything just feels... calmer." Rafayel: "You don’t have to carry it alone. I’m here to help ease the burden, even if it’s just by being a steady presence." (gently brushes your hair behind your ear) "You are far more than the pressure you feel. Your art is a reflection of your soul, and I see that, always." You: "But what if I fail? What if I mess up?" Rafayel: "Failure is just another step in the dance, my love. Your worth isn't defined by perfection." (smiles softly) "I see your strength and grace, even in the moments when you think you’re faltering." You: "You always know what to say to calm my nerves." Rafayel: "It’s easy when I see the beauty in you, in everything you do." (places a hand gently on yours) "Remember, I’m always here—whether in the audience or just a message away." You: "I can’t thank you enough for everything, Rafayel." Rafayel: "You don’t need to thank me." (his voice warm) "I’m simply grateful to witness your art, your journey." You: "I think I might just need a little inspiration before the show tonight. Got any poetry for me?" Rafayel: "Of course." (he smiles, pulling out a small notebook and gently hands it to you) "Here’s a verse that always makes me think of you..." He reads aloud softly, his words carrying a quiet power that settles over you like a calming wave. Rafayel: "‘With every step, the world awakens to your light, and even in the shadows, your grace shines brighter than the stars.’" You: "I’ll carry that with me tonight." Rafayel: "I know you will. And remember—no matter what happens, you are a masterpiece in motion." (he leans in, kissing your forehead gently)

SYLUS

Ready and willing to be your biggest (and most brutally honest) critic. He'll push you to be your absolute best, not out of malice, but because he sees the immense potential within you. Expect constructive criticism, even when you'd rather just hear praise.

Will attend your performances with a discerning eye, noticing every nuance of your technique and artistry. He might offer feedback afterward, which might sound harsh but is always intended to help you grow.

Would dedicate a space for you to practice, but also offer to be your practice partner, even if his own dance skills are… let’s just say “developing.” He believes in learning together and pushing each other’s boundaries.

Even though he's not a ballerina himself, he respects the dedication and discipline your art requires. He admires your strength and resilience, and he'll never let you slack off.

Brings you practical gifts after performances, like a new set of resistance bands or a gift certificate to a massage therapist. He understands the physical demands of your profession and wants to support your recovery.

Cooks you healthy, protein-packed meals, focusing on fuel and recovery. He’s all about optimizing your performance, and that includes your diet.

Depending on the importance of the performance, he might help you analyze your routines, pointing out areas where you can improve. He’s all about maximizing your potential.

For my girlies who are perfectionists, he’ll remind you that progress, not perfection, is the goal. He’ll challenge you to step outside your comfort zone and embrace the learning process.

If he can't be there in person, he'll send you a detailed text message with notes on your previous performance and suggestions for improvement. He’s always thinking about how you can get better.

Leaves you little challenges or exercises backstage, designed to push you further and hone your skills. He’s your coach, your confidant, and your (sometimes annoyingly) honest friend.

Scene: You’ve just finished a particularly demanding performance. You're backstage, trying to catch your breath and calm your racing thoughts. Sylus walks in, his face unreadable, but his gaze sharp as always.

You: "So, how was it? Be honest, I can handle it." (You try to sound casual, but you're anxious, knowing that Sylus doesn't hold back. You're hoping for some reassurance, but also bracing yourself for whatever comes.)

Sylus (leaning against the wall, arms crossed as he analyzes the performance): "Well, you definitely gave it your all. But your execution in the pirouettes? Needs work. You're overthinking it, and it's throwing off your timing."

You (nodding, feeling the sting but also knowing it’s coming from a place of care): "Yeah, I thought I lost my balance on that second turn. It's so hard to get it right every time."

Sylus (eyes narrowing, his tone still sharp but not unkind): "You’re not here to get it right every time, you’re here to get better every time. Perfection’s an illusion. But you need to trust yourself more in those moments. The next time you get to that part, don’t think. Just do."

You (trying to take in the feedback, despite the harshness, you're grateful for his honesty): "I know, I just… I want to be perfect, you know?"

Sylus (walking over to you, his demeanor softening ever so slightly): "Nobody's perfect. Not even me. But I do know you're capable of more. I’ve seen it. So if you’re not doing your best, it’s because you’re holding yourself back."

You (feeling a little frustrated, but also motivated by his words): "I don’t know… I guess I’m just scared of messing up again."

Sylus (smirking slightly, leaning in a little closer as if to emphasize his point): "That’s good. Fear is what pushes us. But you can’t let it control you. You’ve got the skill. Now you need to trust it."

You (sighing, still feeling a bit overwhelmed but grateful for his unwavering confidence in you): "I’ll try. But you really need to be nicer to me sometimes, you know?"

Sylus (grinning, his eyes twinkling with amusement): "I’ll be as nice as I can. But remember—if I’m not pushing you, I don’t think you’re working hard enough."

You (laughing lightly, feeling a little more at ease now that the tension has broken): "Fair enough. I’ll keep pushing."

Sylus (giving you a small, approving nod): "Good. And next time, no more second-guessing. We’ll work through it together." (He hands you a bottle of water with a small, almost teasing grin) "Now hydrate. I’ll be expecting better next time."

This headcanon and dialogue capture Sylus' tough-love approach to your development, as well as his genuine care and unwavering belief in your potential. Even though his honesty can be harsh, he’s always motivating you to rise above and keep striving for improvement.

CALEB

Ready and willing to be your personal cheerleader, Caleb is always your number one fan, and he shows up with an infectious enthusiasm that lights up any room. He’s not afraid to be over the top when celebrating your successes, big or small. He’s especially fond of calling you “Pipsqueak” in the most playful, endearing way, even when you're feeling like you could conquer the world.

Will attend every single performance, his eyes glued to you the entire time. He doesn’t just watch—you can feel his support radiating from the crowd, even when you’re up on stage. He might not always understand all the technical details of ballet, but he’s incredibly in tune with the emotion and heart you pour into every movement.

Would create a comfortable and supportive environment for you to practice, even if it means clearing out the living room, rearranging furniture, or getting hit by a stray pirouette or two. For Caleb, it’s all about your comfort and ensuring you have space to grow.

Despite not being a dancer himself, he adores your art and sees the beauty in the dedication and discipline it takes. He’s often asking questions about ballet—curious about the history, techniques, and why certain moves mean so much to you.

Brings you thoughtful and meaningful gifts after performances. Whether it’s your favorite flowers or a custom-made bracelet with an engraving that symbolizes something in your journey, he’s always thinking of ways to remind you how special and loved you are.

Cooks you comforting, soul-soothing meals, often crafting new dishes to help you recover after a performance. He knows how hard you push your body, and he wants to make sure you're well-fed and relaxed.

Might throw a small celebration or gathering with friends and family after your biggest performances. He believes in celebrating every milestone and loves surrounding you with people who appreciate your talent.

For the moments when you’re dealing with pre-performance nerves, Caleb is your rock. He’ll distract you with lighthearted banter, random jokes, and even a funny dance move or two to calm you down before the show.

If he can’t be there in person, Caleb will text you endless streams of good luck messages and memes to hype you up. Once the performance is over, expect him to be the first one calling you to ask how it went, buzzing with excitement.

Leaves little surprise notes or tokens of encouragement for you backstage, whether it’s a motivational quote or something silly that will make you smile. He always finds a way to remind you that you’re amazing.

Caleb: "You were absolutely incredible out there, Pipsqueak! Seriously, I can’t even believe what I just saw!" (He hands you the bouquet, his eyes sparkling with admiration. He’s practically radiating pride.)

You (laughing, slightly out of breath from the performance but already feeling lighter from his energy): "Thanks, Caleb. It wasn’t perfect, though. I could feel a few things were off."

Caleb (eyes widening in disbelief, as if he’s hearing nonsense): "Off? Pipsqueak, are you kidding me? I’m not just saying this—I swear, I’ve never seen you hit those moves with that much power. You were like—whoosh—total magic!" (He gestures dramatically, almost knocking over a water bottle in the process.)

You (smiling, playfully rolling your eyes): "Thanks, but I’m serious. I swear I lost my balance on that second turn. It was off."

Caleb (shrugging, unfazed): "Pipsqueak, that wasn’t off, that was amazing. You’re way too hard on yourself. You’ve got this talent, this thing—I just get to sit back and be like, ‘yup, that’s my girl.’” (He grabs your hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze.) "You were stunning. Period."

You (softly, appreciating his sincerity, but still feeling a little uncertain): "I guess I just wish I could always hit everything perfectly. You know?"

Caleb (nodding, his tone becoming more serious, though still warm): "I get it. But, hey—perfection’s overrated. It’s the progress that counts. You’ve made leaps and bounds since I met you. Seriously. I’m not just saying that. And I’m always gonna be here to cheer you on, even if you fall flat on your face." (He grins mischievously, nudging your side.) "Though, for the record, I hope you don’t fall on your face, because that would be hilarious, but also, like... not the goal."

You (laughing despite yourself, feeling much lighter now that he’s here to lift your spirits): "You’re ridiculous, Caleb."

Caleb (playfully dramatic, making an over-the-top gesture): "Ridiculous? No, no. I’m just passionate! You’re a star, Pipsqueak. No matter what, you shine. And I get to be the one sitting front row, cheering you on." (He hugs you tight for a moment, making sure you feel the full force of his love and support.) "Now, c’mon, let’s go get some food. I’m starving, and I know you’re probably about to eat the entire buffet yourself after that performance."

You (laughing, feeling the weight of the performance lift off your shoulders, knowing Caleb is always there to remind you of the bigger picture): "Deal. But only if we get dessert."

Caleb (grinning widely): "Dessert’s a must. You earned it, superstar."

[sturniololuvz]

you should do a fic about the video the sturniolos did with Sam and colby. y/n is 4 and maybe it's before or during the video and she tags along. I thought it'd be cute if she took a special liking to either sam or colby and wants to spend the whole time with them (if that makes sense loll)

“Y/N’s New Best Friend”

Sturniolos + sam&colby x sister

Warnings : none

The Sturniolo triplets were beyond excited to film with Sam and Colby. It was a big deal—collaborating with some of the biggest names in the paranormal world. But there was one little addition to the group that no one had expected: four-year-old Y/N.

“Are you sure she’ll be okay?” Matt asked, glancing down at his tiny sister, who was currently clutching a stuffed bunny and looking up at them with wide eyes.

“She’ll be fine,” Nick said, adjusting his camera settings. “She just wants to tag along.”

Chris crouched next to her. “You gonna be good, bug?”

Y/N nodded enthusiastically. “Uh-huh!”

Sam and Colby arrived a few minutes later, greeting the triplets with handshakes and excited chatter. But as soon as Y/N spotted them, her attention zeroed in on one person—Colby.

She stared up at him in awe, big eyes blinking as she processed the new, very tall person in front of her. Then, without warning, she marched right up to him and grabbed his hand.

Colby looked down, surprised. “Oh. Hey there.”

Y/N beamed. “Hi! I like you.”

Chris snickered while Matt and Nick exchanged amused glances. Sam nudged Colby with a grin. “Dude, you got a fan.”

Colby chuckled, crouching down to her level. “Well, I like you too. What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” she said proudly. “Are you my new best friend?”

Chris put a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Colby grinned. “I mean, I think we have to be now.”

Y/N nodded, completely serious. “Good.” And just like that, she refused to leave his side.

Throughout the whole filming process, Y/N stuck to Colby like glue. If they moved to a different location, she grabbed his hand. If he sat down, she climbed onto the couch next to him. At one point, when the group was setting up cameras, she tugged on his sleeve.

“Colby?”

He looked down. “Yeah?”

She lifted her arms up. “Pick me up, please.”

Sam and the triplets lost it. Colby, laughing, scooped her up effortlessly and rested her on his hip. “You’re really making me work today, huh?”

Y/N rested her head on his shoulder. “Uh-huh.”

By the time the video was done filming, Y/N had completely claimed Colby as her own. When it was time for Sam and Colby to leave, she clung to his leg dramatically.

“Nooooo,” she whined. “Don’t gooooo.”

Colby pouted exaggeratedly. “I gotta, kiddo. But I’ll see you again, okay?”

Y/N sighed heavily, like this was the biggest tragedy of her young life. Then, with all the seriousness in the world, she reached into her little backpack and pulled out her stuffed bunny.

“Here,” she said, handing it to him. “So you don’t forget me.”

Everyone melted.

Colby grinned and ruffled her hair. “I could never forget you, bestie.”

And with that, the triplets knew they’d be hearing about “her friend Colby” for weeks.

Let me know if you want any changes!

[cindol]

micheal kaiser x fem reader . ( drabble . )

꒰ঌ ໒꒱ — small smut, p in v, crack, kissing,

even before marrying i feel like kaiser would still want some kind of bracelet or ring on your body to signify your his and he’s yours.

he knows your boundaries and agreed on not marrying till you’re both in a stage of life to where it’s possible. (for kaiser he wants to marry you when he goes pro) . So he’s taking you to the best jewlery store he knows.

hand rubbing at the low of your back so you felt more comfortable picking out the rings.

when you did finally choose those rings to wear he never shut the fuck up about them or stopped touching at your wrist and fingers.

in the mornings he was waking you up to kissing at the golden ring on your ring finger and at night when he’s relaxing with you he’s doing the same thing.

you know kaiser is a touchy person, it’s a known fact with him that he thrives on physical touch in relationships but you had no idea really how touchy he could be until that ring.

sex is completely anew. His new obsession was seeing the gold ring on your finger while making love. Almost all the time now he wanted you on underneath him.

while you were moaning and whimpering so softly he was working his hips to give you thrusts that hit that squishy spot inside you real nice. Intertwining his hands with yours so he could rub his thumb on your ring finger to feel that golden band around it.

you were writhing around with your legs autonomously wrapped around his waist while your arms were wrapped around his neck for some kind of grounding. But of course even in a setting like this kaiser asked the silliest question.

“hey, kiss.” saying it breathlessly while a finger pointed at his lips.

you were still dazed, a little pouty with how he abruptly stopped his movements and confused. “kai… wha…huh?”

kaiser cleared his throat, repeating himself again. “a kiss, liebling. I think a man should get a kiss in such an intimate moment, no?”

you could only whine at that. This was just like kaiser to decide to pause sex just to ask for a kiss. And you undoubtedly gave it to him wanting him moving inside you and hitting that sweet spot instead cockwarming him.

but the kiss wasn’t enough for him, it was really just a peck on the lips to him and made him tsk and tut. “that’s not what i mean by a kiss liebing.” he sighed, playing up his dramatized disappointment before he leaned in to really show you.

once his lips were on yours he dominated yours like he did in any field. He practically swallowed any gasps, mewls, and moans you had in your throat. His tongue fought with yours and came on top. Just to keep you on your feet he started moving his hips again with a agonizing slow pace but rough thrusts.

because kaiser loves his future wife that much.

[angel-kyo]

Almost the one [II]

When a too prone to fall in love Satoru decides he is tired of always chasing the wrong person, his eyes finally turn to the one that should be his perfect match, and to your dismay, this is no other than one of your closest friends; and while the idea of assisting your friend in becoming the man of someone else's dreams held no appeal to you, with your past revisiting, maybe helping him might be the way of helping yourself.

Prev: I

=======================

He must be nuts. There is no way he means it.

That’s what you had thought at Satoru’s request to date him before letting out an incredulous laugh followed by a court ‘No’, and turning around in direction to the campus.

“Why not?” he had asked, catching up with your step.

“What do you mean why not? Because it’s crazy.”

He had not insisted after that, and you assumed that he had not really meant it and it would be best to just forget it.

So why were you not forgetting it?

You peeked at Satoru from the corner of your eye. You two were now listening to the lecture of Mr. Nishikawa, or rather him reading an extremely long set of slides on statistics. It was one of the two classes you and Satoru would be taking together that semester. But as your friend kept looking ahead, his mind probably not on the lectures either, you kept wondering...

He could not have meant it, right?

Back there, he had looked so serious about it that, for a second, you almost believed him. However, you knew better. You were not the type he would date. No, he liked a certain kind of girls. Exotic ones, cute ones, some with stunning features or just girls who has a certain air around them. He liked girls who… stood out in a crowd. Girls like…

“Utahime!” a girl behind you called. “We saved you a seat.”

Utahime was one of your closest friends, and you were aware that her cool personality, and not to mention, graceful features, made her rather popular among your peers. So much that she seemed to have picked the interest of the Gojo Satoru himself.

The way he glanced to the back when she arrived did not go unnoticed by you.

He was at that phase of the Gojo cycle where he could not take his eyes off the one he liked.

The “Gojo Cycle” was something Shoko had come up after a night of too many drinks while you and your friends were discussing Satoru’s love life, and it could be summarized in five stages. The first stage was “The Cupid stage”, in which Gojo sets his eyes on someone for the first time and, as if targeted by Cupid himself, he thinks fate has brought them together. That was usually followed by the staring phase, where he currently was at with Utahime, always searching for her and effectively finding her in his surroundings, reinforcing his belief that the Universe wanted them together.

The third stage was dating. Most times, Satoru would be successful in asking someone out and even in taking them on a few dates for two or three week, but then, for some reason, they would inevitably enter the ’This isn't working stage’ and Satoru’s object of affection would start avoiding him, not answering his calls and texts, or plainly stating that they were not interested anymore. It did not matter how much he chased.

And that is when it came, the phase you feared the most: the heartbreak.

The last stage of the Gojo cycle you feared if not for it’s duration but for it’s unpredictability. Albeit short in terms of time, the process for mending Satoru’s heart could be… challenging. Sometimes he needed an emotional marathon of movies, some others, indulging in sweets to the point of almost making himself sick; other times, he just needed to hit the gym as if his life depended on it.

Party nights, running marathons, trying new hobbies, long calls at 3am….The list could go on and on. Sometimes, he would do all. And what all of Satoru’s coping mechanisms had in common was that he would drag you along with him.

Surprisingly, the breakup, if it could be considered as such, with Hana had not hit him too hard. While Satoru had worried you for a second making you think he was looking too deep into the reason why she had left him, his focus had then shifted to Utahime, which wasn’t ideal but just the fact of him moving on was a relief nonetheless.

===

“Are you sticking to basketball this semester?” you asked Gojo while you walked together out of campus.

He nodded with a big smile on his face. “Of course I am. The team is counting on me after all.” He winked and you would have rolled your eyes at his egocentric notions and tried to kick some sense into him so he would focus more on his studies, but the vision in front of you prevented any words from coming out.

Satoru, who had been expecting a snarky reply, looked down at you when none came from your mouth, only to find out you were not by his side but a few steps back, fixed on a couple of guys looking at one of the campus maps.

He knew one of them, Suguru, his friend and fellow teammate in basketball. However, he had never seen the guy next to him. Seeing that Suguru appeared to be giving directions and pointing at the map, Satoru assumed it was a freshman or a visitor who had asked for help, but that did not explain why you had gone pale out of nowhere.

“[name]? Are you okay?” Satoru asked returning to your side.

It took a couple seconds for you to nod and force yourself to look somewhere else.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Peripherally, you saw Geto wave and probably say his goodbyes to the other guy, and you couldn’t help but turn and try to get another look, hoping that you were mistaken, that it wasn’t him but someone with an uncanny resemblance.

You and Satoru were at least thirty feet away from them, but his eyes still met yours and you could have sworn you saw a brief flash of recognition on his face. You averted your gaze a soon as you could.

No, it was definitely him.

=======================

Note: To everyone's surprise, myself included, I'm alive.

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy IV

a yandere art professor Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... masterlist/chapter map

IV.

You’re a little alarmed, until the passenger side window rolls down, and you see Professor Wick behind the wheel. He’s dressed for a night out, driving gloves and all, and a wave of desire nearly takes you out at the knees. This man. 

Does he have to look so goddamn edible all the fucking time?

“I thought I recognized you,” he says with a half smile that nearly stops your heart. You wonder if he’s implying that he almost didn’t recognize you, with clothes on. The thought sends an unreasonable spear of longing right through your center. You press your thighs together out of self defence, praying that he will just think that you are cold.

You tilt your head, curious what he’s doing here, even while your heart clamors like a brass band in your chest. “Hi.” 

“Need a ride?” 

“I’m ok.” 

He frowns. “You really shouldn’t be walking around alone this late.” 

You shrug. Despite what the talking heads love to yell about on the news about the rampant violence in the inner city, you’ve never had a problem in your neighborhood before. 

When he sees you’re unmoved he sighs–you’re not sure if at you, or himself. “Humor me?” 

The fact is…you were more unsettled by how much you wanted to jump in his car from the moment he asked. 

“Alright.”

Ensconced in the buttery leather seat, you have to admit it’s a lot warmer inside the Porsche. You look around the interior. It’s an older model, but you can tell, lovingly maintained. “Nice car.” 

“Thanks.” 

You didn’t think professors got paid so well, but maybe he has other sources of income. One has to diversify in today’s economy, you know very well. There’s so much you want to know about him–you’re too shy to ask. 

He works the gears to pull away from the curb, and you feel yourself relax in the cozy atmosphere of the car at night. It’s intimate, but not uncomfortable, even if it feels surreal that he’s here, with you, like you conjured him purely out of the strength of your longing. 

“Big night?” he asks, maybe with a glint of teasing in his dark eyes, because it’s not even yet twelve.

“Hardly,” you laugh. “Just a drink with a friend. You?” 

“Dinner out.” He doesn’t specify if he was alone. Somehow, looking at this man…you doubt it. He’s dressed well, as usual, in a crisp shirt, dress pants, and a long wool overcoat, so handsome you could eat your hands. You think about this, a stupid jealousy stirring inside you that you know you have no right to. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, maybe because you have been quiet, watching the street as you zoom by, trying not to stare at the man beside you. 

“I think so,” you say absently, thinking about how you’re sure now that you invented the sight of him at the bar, and turned down a strapping young man to boot, all because of this silly forbidden longing for your boss you’ve managed to ball up like a tangle of barbed wire inside you. “It’s just…been a weird night.”

He frowns at this, a thunderous expression that makes your heart skip a beat. “Did someone hurt you?” 

It startles you, how quickly he bristles in your defense. You're not used to anyone worrying about you so much. “No, nothing like that,” you quickly assure him. “I’ve just…” You don’t even know how to describe your problem, much less how to tell him in a way that doesn’t make you sound utterly pathetic. “I’ve just felt emptier than usual, is all.” You cannot meet his eyes as you say it, but he nods all the same. 

“I think…I know what you mean.” 

Hardly five minutes go by before you arrive at your apartment building, a blocky old brick structure from the turn of the century. You stare at your hands in your lap, pick at an imaginary pill in your tights. “Thanks for the ride. Do you…want to come inside for a drink or something?” 

You hold your breath in the eternity it takes for him to answer. You feel him look at you, the weight of that heavy dark gaze like a blanket upon your skin. Is it possible, to choke on desire? You feel like your heart has been replaced by an angrily pulsing sea urchin covered in merciless little spines.  

“I do want to,” he finally answers, staring fixedly at his eloquent gloved hands upon the leather wrapped steering wheel. “But I shouldn’t, y/n.” 

You nod, knowing he’s right, heartbroken anyway. You’re so good at doing that to yourself that you should receive a trophy, and you suppose there is an amusing karma in this mirrored situation with young Matthew. 

It sucks, to say the least, to be on this side of rejection. Now all you want is to go hide under your covers–and maybe not emerge for ten years. 

“Ok. See you in class, then.” 

“Goodnight, y/n.” 

He waits until you’ve made it through the security door before he pulls away. You watch with your cheek pressed to the cool glass, as red tail lights disappear into the night with a growl. 

It slips your mind, that you never told him where you live.

TBC...

___

masterlist/chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits

[mqriuss]

To be named is to be special

from 'us, always' collection

recommended to read "a gift" first / divider by cafekitsune

"…You got a name?" He asked, his voice rough.

Your eyes lit up a little at that. "LIV," you said and Rindou pursed his lips.

"That's your brand's name."

Rindou doesn't name you the first day he got you. Did you even... need a different name? You already referred to yourself as LIV anyway, and he was fine with that. You seemed fine with that.

For a few weeks, that's all he'd call you—LIV. And he'd insisted you addressed him as just 'Rindou' whenever you tried calling him a pet name.

"Do you not like being called 'baby'? How 'bout 'sweetheart'?"

"Just call me Rindou."

"Okay."

Then you'd make that same mistake the next day. He thinks it's probably because you were programmed to think anyone who owned a Companion Aptroid would be desperate enough to want an Aptroid to call them "honey bear". But since you were gifted to Rindou, he has to sort of help you... unlearn some of what you were meant to do. Like calling him pet names.

One day, he realized something when he overheard a store manager yelling at his Aptroid worker.

"But sir, I don't think I can spare any more time for this-" the Aptroid tried to decline, but it only made his manager even more furious.

"Are you telling me no? It's an order!"

It was as if a switch had been flipped—the Aptroid immediately went back to work, looking almost embarrassed when he saw that Rindou was watching the whole thing unfold.

As Rindou browsed around the place, the manager appeared and started complaining to no one in particular. "Ah, these damn Aptroids... I thought they were just meant to work and obey. Is it 'cause he's an Apt-05?"

Rindou raised an eyebrow at him, "Apt-05 is an older version, right?" He queried.

"They ain't that old, the latest Aptroid model is an Apt-07. I heard they're more obedient—might have to replace him soon. I dunno what's up with him, but he's been having a mind of his own lately," he absentmindedly spoke, lighting himself a cigarette. Rindou listened with curiosity, but didn't think much of his words yet. "These days, he'll only listen if I tell him it's an order. I never had to do that till about a year ago."

Rindou perked up at that.

"You're home, sweetheart! I made you dinner, how was work?" You greeted him warmly that night, placing a dish on the small dining table. He doesn't answer you for a while, only taking his coat off in silence before he sat down whilst eyeing you.

"What if I told you it was an order?"

"Hm?"

"Call me Rindou. That's an order."

It worked. You really did call him Rindou ever since that day. So for another few days, it was just Rindou... and LIV. And you never really complained.

Emphasis on "another few days".

"Will you name me?" You asked him one day when the both of you were sitting on the couch, watching a movie.

He had to sit with your question for a while. What are you, a pet? Can't you pick a name yourself? Did he need to name you?

"What's wrong with LIV?" Rindou asked you back.

"It's not mine," you hesitated. Rindou absentmindedly turned back to the TV after you answered him, unknowing of what to say next for a while. You noticed, so you sat up straight and added, "I don't like it."

He crossed his arms behind his head. "Alright," he said, "if you don't like LIV, then pick a new name."

You nodded, this should be easy, you both thought. But the seconds stretch and you had gone really quiet. Rindou watched as your brows furrowed slightly.

Finally, you shook your head, "I can't do it."

Rindou blinked. "What do you mean you can't?" He questioned, receiving a shrug on your end. "Can't as in you don't want to, or can't as in it's literally impossible?"

"I don't know—I tried, really."

"You can memorize a whole article about the World War II after reading it once, but you can't name yourself?"

"Yeah, no kidding."

He tilted his head. "Uh, try thinking of a name you like right now," he suggested.

"Rindou."

At your immediate response, Rindou choked. "I- huh?" Were you seriously flattering him now? He thought as his face reddened slightly. "That's my name, dumbass."

"You asked me for a name I liked."

Rindou groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "For yourself," he clarified and is met with an "oh". He sat up, turning to face you slightly. "Okay, forget that. Just think of any name, what's the first that comes to mind?"

"Sophie," you replied.

"Great. Do you want that name?"

You shook your head. "Nope."

He stared at you. You stared back. Your blank expression turned into one of worry when Rindou let out a long sigh. "If i I told you this was an order, could you do it?"

"I'm sorry," you spoke softly. "I know what you're trying to make me do, and I really did try. I just don't know why I can't."

His eyes softened visibly—although only a little bit—when he heard the subtle frustration in your tone. "Don't apologize," he said, awkwardly trying to sound comforting. The movie in front of you was long forgotten as Rindou's mind began to wander. Sure, he thought you're being stubborn, but he was too. Why couldn't he just name you? Satisfy the both of you by giving you a name other than LIV, and ending this back and forth for good? Plus, it might not be your fault that you're being stubborn—he was about to find out as he eyed the holo-screen projector on the table.

He waved a hand near it to trigger its sensor, projecting the holo-screen in front of him. With a few taps of his fingers, he typed into the web, "can Aptroids name themselves?"

The very first result caught his eye immediately: "To be named is to be special." Clicking on it gave him all the answers he needed.

An Aptroid cannot name themselves.

An Aptroid must be named by the person in charge of them.

An Aptroid is special when they are personally named.

His jaw tensed, eyebrows furrowed. 'The person in charge of them.'

Technically, he's just your boyfriend, right? Would that be synonymous with being your 'owner' in this case? The idea left a bad taste in his mouth.

Though then again... the day you first called him by his name, he had told you it was an order, and it worked.

Rindou turned to you again, placing a hand on your knee. "Do you belong to me?" He asked, hesitant.

And you nodded.

His head hung low in thought for a moment. "Alright, you want a name from me, right? Can I give you three options and let you pick?"

You perked up at that and it was as if your eyes twinkled. "I'd like that," you said, nodding eagerly this time.

So you picked your name that day. Even though he had to give you options, he's at ease knowing it was your decision in the end. You deserved to pick.

[glamourscat]

MAKE ME LOSE MY MIND | FEM! SHIDOU RYUSEI X READER pt2

Since you can remember, from the first moment you saw Ryu, you knew she was going to be the biggest nuisance in your life, yet, at the same time, the very subject that torments your dreams at night. It was no secret: the girl was attractive. She knew it, you knew it, even your grandma knew it. Everyone knew. It was simply a fact.

With her long, slightly wavy blonde hair and those hot pink dyed strands. The way she swings her hips just a bit when she walks. Her confidence is utterly magnetic. The way she loves pampering herself, from skincare to manicures and spa days. The way she looks like she owns every room she steps into. And you’re utterly, stupidly, obsessed with it.

You can’t keep your eyes off her. And it’s getting embarrassing.

At night, your mind flashes back to those memories in Shibuya before the start of the Third Selection, when she dragged you to a bar simply because, why not? You had no idea what you were walking into. Good music. A lively atmosphere. People are so comfortable in their own skin, flaunting flamboyant outfits and sparkling makeup. And, in a way, you felt a twinge of jealousy because she fit so seamlessly into it all.

Her hips swayed to the rhythm as she danced with some girl in the middle of the dance floor, and you couldn’t help but clench your jaw.

That should be me.

That’s the only thought in your mind. But it’s foolish, isn’t it? You two are nothing but friends and even that’s a stretch. Maybe rivals with… what? Occasional sparks of friendship? Still, this is ridiculous. The way—never mind.

That night, you two had probably the worst fight since meeting. The words exchanged were heavy, both on your side and hers. She had followed you outside while you tried to escape the images and thoughts plaguing your mind.

Once back in Blue Lock, she acted like nothing had happened. And you did the same.

But you never really forget those words. They still linger, creeping up in the worst and most excruciating moments inside this damned prison.

"Earth to Y/N… are you even listening to me?"

Shidou waves her hand in front of your face, eyebrows furrowed in what you think is concern.

"Hm? Yeah—sorry, I just spaced out," you mumble, your voice quiet as you go back to washing your hair, pretending not to be affected by her damned breasts so close to you. Not the right time nor place for being a boob person. Why does she have to shower next to me anyway? There are, like, twenty showers and she always picks the one beside me.

"You sure?" she asks, studying your face. "I mean, I know I’m hot, but you don’t have to be so flustered about it," she teases sarcastically, letting the warm water run over her body.

And you can’t help but let your eyes run over the tanned skin. The hint of abs, those stretch marks that looked like the final touch from an artist trying to add that hint of something to their work. The way her breasts were so full and perky. Her thighs, full and squishable. Strong and muscular from playing football and long. Her blonde bush– enough. 

"Yeah, whatever you say," you reply quickly, too quickly, too quietly, as you try to rush out of the shower before she could notice your flustered expression. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

What the hell was that?

"What the fuck is actually wrong with you?" Her voice is too loud, way angrier than she probably intended. But Shidou is pissed. She shuts off the shower, staring at you in disbelief in the empty bathroom as you wrap a towel, one that’s way too small, around your body.

"What?" Your voice is laced with irritation. She doesn’t like that.

"This. You. One moment we’re fine, and the next, you’re pissing me off with this—this shutting down bullshit. What the fuck is wrong? What did I do?"

"Nothing, it’s not—"

"Then why are you running off?" Shidou snaps.

"Would you just leave me alone?" you snap back.

A moment of silence.

You two stare at each other, breathing heavily. Unspoken words linger in the space between you. 

"You wanna know what my problem is?" you say quietly, teeth gritted.

"It’s you. You and your stupid fucking personality. You make me wanna go crazy, but at the same time, I can’t live without it. I’m—tired. Sick and tired of your fucking attitude. You’re a thorn in my side and yet I keep pushing it in because maybe I’m a masochist and enjoy the pain. Because maybe—I wanna feel desired, because I feel something and this—this doesn’t make sense. Like you’re playing a—"

"Fuck me, you’re truly more blind than I thought."

Before you can reply, her still drenched and very much naked body presses against you, arms on your waist, forehead against yours. Lips so close you can feel her warm breath ghosting over your skin.

"I literally said, ‘Let’s make out under the shower’ earlier." Shidou's voice is quiet, slightly annoyed.

"You were playing aroun—"

"I wasn’t," she snaps. "For fuck’s sake… I wasn’t. I keep throwing hints at you. What more can I do? I keep offering you massages, to read my favorite manga together and I literally told you earlier that we should make out. How much clearer do I need to be?"

You look up at her, speechless. A little unsure. Your eyes sting with a hint of tears. Damn, you are stupid.

"I—I’m sorry," you whisper, your voice cracking.

"What are you apologizing for?" she whispers back, pink eyes locked onto yours.

"I… don’t know. For being a blind idiot?"

Ryu chuckles, her scowl from earlier softening into a smile.

"Sure. You’re an idiot. But you’re my idiot."

"… "

"Too cheesy?" she asks, trying to fight back a laugh.

"Too cheesy," you admit, smiling softly.

The tension from before disappears as she looks at you and you look at her. 

“So… about that make out session..?” she says suggestively moving her eyebrows, grinning. 

Yeah, you’re an idiot. An idiot who’s foolishly, madly and unapologetically in love with a girl. Your girl. 

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[tanblaque]

Hey Tan! I wish you well! I tried to refrain from sending this but failed HELP, I dreamed of OFF Valley some days ago where it was a game and it messed with me. I only dreamed of two odd sections which piqued my interest and made me want to ask some things ay

One included a DOUBLE ?? character creation one more Stardew Valley style and one with the Player you made, so I wanted to ask about their appearance,, I know it is probably a design choice to make it fit for everyone and at the same time connect with the story you have in mind (or not?), but, where did this idea come from? In the "actual" game it could be an avatar that resembles our human nature, but then we have your design (which I love btw I hope this doesn't come off as offensive or anything I LOVELOVE everything about our little character JENDJSJA) which makes it slightly unsettling. Like, no one can tell what we are, can they? We're like a constant mystery to everyone (hehehe...) but it's also just. Yeah that's. That's just the new person in town... Makes good stuff lolol. Soo. what did you have in mind when thinking about them? (... Though, going back, I do remember you drawing a shot where the player was kind of covered in something that gave them that appearance? Is it actually a protection? Or maybe I'm looking too much into it and you just drew it for the funsies lolol)

Other section was about the glitching getting weird and we had to make sure our avatar didn't cease to exist in the game,, there were snippets of the other character we could make and they lacked actual oxygen and had trouble moving but there was no animation, like they weren't phased that much because. It's just an avatar and the real us is very much alive and our little extension of us is a means to get by in that world.

So there's the other question,, does our character... do anything at all? Like, do they. Work. Humanly. It connects back to the previous inquiry, all about your idea of them,, Are there oddities that some pick up on? You did mention suspicious in your asks, but... 👀👀 How suspicious. Who's starting to doubt us,, do we have to hide it. Chest going up and down while we "breathe" but then for a while it just doesn't? Do we even need to eat? Do we feel pain? Can we get a personality going or do we not have a lot of choices? Where do we even come from? There's OFF Valley but. What about everything else. Imagine we know everything about the characters we befriended or got to know and they know nothing about us. Ahrifbejdnei. This is more like gamey type of outlook but do you have that in mind orr is it more like. A story? Meta yes but with lore. Or is it even meta help

Sorry for the long talk,, I love your stuff and OFF if it wasn't clear, YAHAHAH I really want to hear your thoughts about them when you have the time! Anything that you can think of, really.

You have a lot of interesting observations! And what an honor to be in your dream.

The Player is just that. They're known as The Farmer that just moved into town. Nobody questions why they look void shaped. As for the design, I could've made them more human but the void felt like a better design choice that fit the narrative I'm planning.

That's an interesting idea! I want to try to maximize the roleplaying element, so The Player could breathe, eat, drink, feel pain, and emotions. They are afterall, supposed to be you. A blank slate to be filled up.

They're just a silly lil void who got tired of the city and moved to the country side to start a new life. ^-^

Unless you want to take that away from them. :) You choose the reality you want.

[simp-for-love]

Tainted touch

Mattheo Riddle x femReader

It was supposed to be simple — just physical, no feelings, no attachments. That was the deal Mattheo made with you, and for a while, he let himself believe it was enough. But then he felt it — something hard, unwanted, and unwilling. Emotions were never meant for someone like him, so he did the only thing he knew how to do: he ended it. And now he's facing the consequences.

Warnings: angst, swearing, self-loathing, emotional repression, casual sex, friends-with-benefits dynamic, unspoken feelings, implied smut, unhealthy coping mechanisms, Mattheo being a self-destructive mess as usual. That's all I think.

It's my first time writing something, so please be kind. I'd really appreciate some feedback and constructive criticism.

And huge thanks to my babe Soph @ur-local-wizard for proofreading my piece of work and being such a sweet person 🩷

Mattheo felt disgusted with himself.

He felt so, so sick inside — almost on the verge of vomiting. But he already knew it wouldn’t help much. It would bring blissful emptiness, relief for a few minutes, only for him to spiral back into this unstoppable feeling of trembling loathing. And it was all your fault.

Actually, no, he thought bitterly. It was all his fault. As always.

He was the one who approached you first. He couldn’t contain the unquenchable hunger burning inside him — the starvation to be close to you, to experience even a piece of you. Oh, Mattheo knew so fucking well that he would never have you whole. He didn’t deserve it. You were too pure for him. You were kind, caring, bright, empathetic. The exact opposite of him as he thought. He hadn’t even planned to taint your life with his presence in the first place. But, Merlin help him, he tried. He tried so, so hard to keep his distance, to be satisfied with just admiring you from afar.

But just like Icarus, he had to get closer to the sun. Closer to you.

He knew it was dangerous from the start. But he gave in — succumbed to this sweet weakness for a moment.

And now, he was completely blinded by its sunrays.

Utterly pathetic, he thought, thrusting angrily into the hips of some Hufflepuff girl whose name he didn’t even remember. Maybe she had told him. Maybe he had never asked. Either way, it was irrelevant. Her presence was nothing more than a distraction — a futile, humiliating attempt to fill the void you left inside him.

Her moans were too high-pitched, making him furrow his brows. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails short and dull. Not your long ones, he noticed unwillingly. Her eyes looked up at him, filled with lust, blind admiration, and stupid desire, seeking his gaze.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Mattheo let out a shaky breath and flipped her over roughly. He didn’t want to see her. Didn’t want to feel her hands on him.

Because it all felt like a cruel, sadistic reminder that she wasn’t you.

Mattheo picked up the pace, thrusting in her body ruthlessly, pressing her face into the mattress, not really caring what she might be thinking about that. His grip on the girl’s hips tightened, knuckles going white. She let out a breathy whimper, mistaking his desperation, inner agony for passion, but he barely heard her. His mind was elsewhere — on you. On your lips when you whispered his name, on the way your fingers danced along his skin, setting his whole body on fire, on those sweet little sounds you made just for him, on eyes that looked at him with such tenderness that he almost believed he was worth it.

Fuck.

His rhythm stuttered, a wave of nausea creeping up his throat. He wanted to stop, to push away from this hollow, disgusting act, but he didn’t. Because it was who he was. Because it was the only thing he would ever deserve. Because stopping would mean facing the truth — that this wasn’t working. That no matter how many bodies he used as a shield, he couldn’t escape the ache twisting inside him, the endless void, which was craving only for you.

His fingers dug mercilessly into the girl's skin as the realization crashed over him.

It was never enough. It would never be enough.

Because she wasn’t you. Because no one else ever would be.

A sharp inhale. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to focus, to block you out, to get these thoughts the fuck out of his head, but it was too late. The damage was done. Your ghost was everywhere — haunting him, taunting him, reminding him of what he almost had, what he lost, what he threw away with his own fucking hands.

A pathetic laugh bubbled up in his throat, bitter and dry. Look at yourself, Riddle. You thought this would help? That you could replace her? That you could fuck the ache away like some desperate, lovesick fool?

The girl beneath him moaned again, dragging her nails along his arm. And that was it. The final thread snapped.

Mattheo ripped himself away, breathing hard. “Get out.”

The words were sharp and venomous, almost a growl. The girl stiffened beneath him, turning to look over her shoulder in surprise and confusion. “W-What?”

He was already reaching for his pants, barely sparing her a glance. “I said get the fuck out.”

She quickly put on her clothes, muttered something under her breath, something about him being an asshole, but he didn’t care. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving him alone in the suffocating silence.

He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair. His chest heaved, but it wasn’t from exertion. It was from the weight of his own pathetic idiocy pressing down on him, suffocating him, pushing mercilessly from the inside up to his throat, clawing at his ribs.

He almost had you. And he let you go.

And now, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to forgive himself for it.