#personally I like them raw BECAUSE of the color

[blindtaleteller]

...I have this tendency to check notes... and while rarer, I'm still really surprised by the amount of people not aware (even if just through, you know, ..google?) that these not only exist? But yes, as a pepper.. they taste like peppers: not aubergines (eggplant:) and.. there's several breeds of purple pepper, both sweet and hot. 🤣

A purple bell pepper is possible . . . Reblog if you agree

[poisonlove]

The Addams curse | w.a

Pairing: Wednesday Addams X reader

A/N: Okay, I admit it. I read a story that inspired me so much that I "stole" the idea

Wednesday was painfully aware of the curse she inherited from her family: the Addams curse. It was a curse that had existed since the 5th century, binding an Addams to their soulmate. A curse that would drive one to madness if rejected by that person, a madness that would torment them even after death.

As alluring as that last thought sounded, Wednesday didn’t want to become a slave to another person.

And she especially had things to do.

Just the thought of her father's expression when he looked at Morticia sent a warm, nauseating sensation to her stomach, a warmth that was far from pleasant. It was a reminder that in her life she would encounter… her other half. She would prefer to skin herself alive than to fall into this trap.

Because love was, in fact, a trap.

Thanks to reading a book about her family's history, she learned that the curse activated with the first contact with the destined person. A touch that sent thousands of electric shocks coursing through the body, a bond capable of quenching the thirst of her cursed soul.

That’s why she was averse to any contact: no one, ever, would trigger that curse to drag her into madness. She categorically rejected the idea of succumbing to temptation; she was even willing to kill the destined person, fully aware that she would die immediately afterward.

there was another side effect: if your soulmate died, you would follow them incapable of living without them.

Wednesday pressed her lips into a thin line.

That moment had arrived the instant she crossed the gates of Nevermore Academy. A warmth spread through her body and an annoying itch kept her on edge. Wednesday mentally cursed herself for having attacked students at her old school: at least she wouldn’t have anticipated her end. Her parents watched her with curiosity as they approached her new room and Wednesday tried to maintain an unreadable expression, fully aware that chaos reigned inside her.

Where her mother stayed in the past: Ophelia Hall.

As soon as they opened the door the itch intensified and something indefinable vibrated in the air. She wasn’t sure if it was due to the curse or the fact that she had entered a painfully colorful room. A girl immediately sprang up from the bed, a smile stretching from ear to ear as her blonde hair with blue and pink streaks danced toward their direction. Another girl sat cross-legged on the bed to the girl to far too… enthusiastic.

There it was again, that annoying itch.

“Hi, roommate!” the blonde exclaimed excitedly.

Wednesday felt nauseated, a wave of discomfort tightening her stomach in a cold grip. It was a new sensation for her. She felt her throat constrict, the urge to vomit ready to explode but the lack of food ingested that morning left her with only a painful emptiness, like an abyss sucking her from within. With a shiver she realized that the nausea wasn’t caused by hunger but by the curse that poisoned her insides, slithering through her veins like a subtle venom.

Oh no.

The impression of tiny spiders weaving her stomach from the inside sent a chilling shiver through her, insinuating itself between her bones. Every thread of that imaginary web seemed to tighten around her, making every breath harder than the last. The sensation of being trapped, of losing control, terrified her in a way she would never admit to anyone. Wednesday found herself immobile; perhaps "paralyzed" was the best word.

“Are you okay? You look... pale,” the blonde said with concern.

Other eyes turned in her direction.

“Oh… Wednesday always looks half dead,” her father commented with an ironic smile.

Her mother’s hand rested on her shoulder, giving her a quick squeeze, a gesture that could have seemed comforting but for Wednesday was a reminder of the distance between them.

But inside, Wednesday felt a turmoil boiling in her chest. A raw, primitive energy surged through her like an electric current, making her muscles tremble. Paradoxically, it was the first time she felt so… alive. That pain, that sense of oppression and that devastating nausea had awakened an intensity she had never experienced before. It was as if the curse was showing her the limits of her humanity, forcing her to feel closer to life, precisely because she was on the brink of her annihilation.

If her mother hadn’t placed her hand on her shoulder, she probably would have fainted.

“I understand,” the blonde mumbled, a look of confusion on her face. “Anyway, I’m Enid, and that over there is my best friend Y/N,” she exclaimed enthusiastically.

Y/N timidly waved her hand as a greeting.

“I’m happy to meet you!” Enid exclaimed, filled with bubbly happiness, opening her arms and walking toward her.

Wednesday’s eyes widened and she quickly took a step back to avoid contact. The itch had appeared as soon as she entered this room and the gothic girl didn’t know if it was the blonde girl who was the possible cause. There was also the chance that it was the other girl, Y/N, but honestly she didn’t want to know in any case.

Enid slowed down and looked at her with disappointment.

“Oh… I see you’re not a hugging person,” she mumbled weakly, still wearing a big smile on her lips.

“Do you like the room?” she asked curiously, her eyes so bright it seemed like she had two stars instead of irises.

“No,” Wednesday replied venomously.

“Sorry… Wednesday… is allergic to colors,” her father justified and Enid raised her eyebrows in confusion.

“What does it do to you?” she asked weakly.

“My flesh is peeling off my bones,” Wednesday replied in a flat tone, her lips reduced to a thin line. She felt the itch slowly fade but the annoyance remained on her. A faint laugh reached her ears, forcing her to turn toward Enid’s best friend. “Sorry… that was funny,” the latter stammered trying to justify herself as her cheeks flushed.

Wednesday stared at her intensely, a visceral hatred bubbling within her.

“Well… I’ll go now,” Y/N mumbled weakly. The girl got up from the bed and Wednesday found herself analyzing her quickly: tall, slender, long y/c hair and eyes of the same color. A smile resided on her lips and the goth felt as if her own were about to rise in reflex

she held back.

“It was nice to meet you,” she mumbled timidly.

Y/N passed by her and the proximity was enough to awaken the unsettling sensation gripping her insides. But luckily for Wednesday, it lasted only a few seconds.

(...)

Nevermore turned out to be much more fascinating than Wednesday had imagined: gorgons, werewolves, sirens, vampires and all the other creatures that populated the world of outcasts. However, what intrigued her the most was the series of murders wreaking havoc in the quiet town of Jericho. A frenzy of curiosity filled her; she felt inspired.

She longed to discover the identity of the killer, continue her novel about Viper and investigate any mystery that could be connected to her ancestor Goody Addams.

She would think about escape later.

Regarding her curse, Wednesday had narrowed it down: Enid, Y/N, and Yoko. Tayler and Xavier had quickly been eliminated from her list. Tayler for covering her mouth during the excursion in the woods to avoid being discovered by Sheriff Galpin and Xavier for taking her to the infirmary when she fainted. In both cases, she hadn’t felt anything, a total absence of emotions.

But Y/N was different. She was almost 80% sure that you were her soulmate.

Every time they spoke, even if she could detect a note of sarcasm in your responses to her icy remarks, she felt a palpable energy between you two, an electric current that seemed to draw her closer to you. Her eyes couldn’t tear away from yours and an unbearable fire exploded in her chest. She found herself experiencing mental blackouts lost in your gaze and on more than one occasion she had even stammered. She hated the curse, hated herself, and above all, hated you.

But what got her into trouble were her thoughts crowding her mind like a chorus of impatient voices: Take her hand, kiss her, find out if you are her damn ruin. These thoughts didn’t manifest with Enid or Yoko. With Enid, there was a weak itch, a sense of comfort but not attraction, probably because they were roommates. And Yoko? Well, she was simply a friend of Enid and Y/N.

Wednesday blinked and directed her gaze back to her plate.

The goth found herself having lunch at a table with her roommate's group. Despite loving solitude, she found herself amidst Enid and Yoko, with Y/N sitting in front of her, a calm expression on her face.

The buzzing continued.

Wednesday was close to Enid, so close that their shoulders brushed against each other. Anxiety gripped her stomach but she needed to narrow down the list, she wanted to know: she bit her lower lip and decided to eliminate the distance by leaning her weight against Enid's shoulder.

Nothing.

“Oh, sorry,” Enid shifted.

Wednesday furrowed her brow. Why hadn’t anything happened? Maybe the contact needed to last longer? Should she hold her hand or something? The goth extended her hand and placed it on the blonde’s arm.

Nothing.

She quickly fell into a panic, the electricity increasing around her and decided to touch Yoko.

Absolutely nothing.

“Do you want to kill me? Did you touch garlic with those hands?” Yoko asked, panicking as she looked at Wednesday through her sunglasses.

“I don’t think so… You would have already burned,” Y/N commented playfully. Wednesday looked up and locked eyes with Y/N. This only meant one thing... Her suspicions were true.

It was you.

You were her soulmate.

Oh, fuck it.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

I Put A Spell On You.

‘Smoke’wants you back, and he’ll do whatever it takes.

(Part one maybe?)

I put a spell on you

Because you're mine

You better stop the things you do

I tell you, I ain't lying

I ain't lying…

Word got around that Smoke was back in town. You couldn’t miss him with his snazzy suit’s silhouette characterized by broad shoulders, a high waist, and wide-leg trousers. A quintessential element in a man’s wardrobe. The whispers traveled to many ears, but it was only one pair he was concerned with.

Rosetta Scott.

A dilly he’s obsessed with. His soft-spoken jazz singer. She ended their relationship when Smoke decided to up and leave New Orleans with his ill-tempered identical twin brother, but he promised he’d be back and to write him. After two years, he’s back and ready to stake his claim on his woman.

Smoke hopped out of his Cadillac 16 cylinder wearing round, small sunglasses with wired frames. He removed his 8-panel hat and shut the door behind him. Smoke took a long drag of his blunt while staring straight ahead with a lopsided grin.

The reflection within the circular lenses of his dark frames was one he’d missed for years. A living tapestry of culture, history, and an unmistakable passion for life. This place, with its rhythmic streetcars and the spicy aromas from its kitchens, isn't just alive; it breathes stories at every corner.

Stretching his long legs with a purposeful gait, his expensive gaiters picking up dirt, Smoke pushed open the withering, wooden, hinge doors leading into a lively establishment. The smell of fish fry, sweat, cheap cologne, weed, and sex titillating his nose caused a wide grin to spread across his thick lips. He slowly removed his sunglasses, revealing piercing, brandy-eyes and a primal desire.

There she was. Doing what she loved. He was joyful. Proud.

laidback with rhythmic flexibility.

That husky breathy tone.

Her vocals always had a very raw unedited feel which made her songs feel more real and personal. She also tends to use harmonies and layering which sometimes gives the song a drowning all consuming affect.

The silk of her flowing silver slip seemed to mold into her hourglass frame. The premium fur shawl she wore hung loosely from her glistening shoulders. Her lips the color of ox blood stained the mic in front of her. The swing and blues notes with complex chords blending with her sultry voice had everyone on that floor dirty dancing.

Smoke broke his eyes away reluctantly, taking off his suit jacket, placing it on the back of a chair. He ashed out his blunt and placed it in the front pocket of his crisp, white button down. Smoke made his way towards the bar, unbuttoning his sleeves and his shirt along the way.

“Yes, daddy! Play that saxophone!”

“Sing it Rose!”

“Let’s Jive!”

“Ooooweee! If it ain’t Mr. Smoke Stack himself! Come over here!”

Smoke chuckled deeply before dabbing up his uncle and the owner of the establishment; Buck. His liquor breath and gold teeth were two things you remembered about Big Buck. Or, how he’d like to call it ‘I’m Big Buck and I like to fuck’. And boy did he get his share of pussy. He had eight kids to prove it.

“Look at my nephew! Now hold on…where is your twin?” Buck’s yellowing eyes wandered around in search of him.

“He’s handlin’ business. No time to settle. You know how he get. I had to break away tho’ I got business to ‘tend to.”

Smoke accepted a glass of whiskey and took a long sip. It burned so good down his throat.

“Yeah, uh-huh. We know why’s you here! That gal. You know she’s seeing someone else, right?”

The corner of his upper lip fluttered with disdain at the thought of another man touching his bitch. Smoke wasn’t having it. One look into his eyes, she’d fall into his lap again. Wet puss and all. She wrote him often. Sent him pictures. He’d gotten them all. So, was she doing all that while messing with some squat-ass fool?

“Gimme the low down, Buck.” Smoke insisted impatiently.

“Aight, nephew. Another?”

Smoke raised his glass, “hold the hail. I don’t need no watered down shit. I’m tryna get swacked.”

Buck’s gut laugh filled the cramped space between them.

“You remember Phonzo?”

“Shid, not pussy ass Phonzo? C’mon now gal…”

“Damn straight. He wines and dines her. Buys her shit…”

“She using.” Smoke replied.

He turned his eyes on her again. She looked so damn fine. Mmm. That body was nice. He could smell her perfume on his mustache. That amber scented flesh. Smoke knocked the rest of his drink back and stood from his seat at the bar. She ended another song and received a standing ovation. Smoke pushed his way towards the front but before he could get there, a man reached out to help her down. Her joyous laugh made Smoke’s stomach churn.

“Put me down, baby! I had too much to drink!”

“it’s Smoke Stack!”

All eyes fell towards the handsome gangster. Smoke ignored all except those pretty, doe eyes that locked on him with utter shock. Short and stacked. The finest woman in all of Louisiana. Ain’t no way she’s giving all that to Phonzo. Smoke pressed forward, his penetrating eyes racking over Rosetta’s frame. It was easy to tell the twins apart because one had a noticeable scar on his face and the other didn’t.

“Well I’ll be,” Phonzo secured his arm around Rosetta’s waist tighter, “Smoke. What’s shaking, man?”

Smoke’s lips remained tightly sealed and his eyes never left his Rosey. Tension was thick in the air like the sound of the powerful double bass.

I love my moonshine whiskey

Better than I do my man

I love my moonshine whiskey

Better than I do my man

You got have your beer in your bottle

Give me my cool kind hands…

“Rosey…”

Rosetta parted her deep-red lips to speak.

“Smoke…”

That voice. He’d missed it.

Smoke Stack was seeing red.

“Get yo’ hands off my woman, Phonzo.”

“You think you can just show up? This ain’t your woman anymore, Smoke. You proved that when you left her for the taking. Go on somewhere now…”

Phonzo attempted to walk away with Rosetta in his grasp, but Smoke swiftly grabbed her hand, swinging her over towards him with an expert twirl of her beautiful frame. She collided with his sturdy chest, her eyes staring up at him.

Rosetta was still trying to pick her jaw up from the floor. She couldn’t believe Smoke was back. The familiar warmth of his much larger and more powerful frame sent images swirling through her mind of the times they’ve shared. She hadn’t received a letter from him in almost a year. Every single day she worried herself about him. However, Rosetta had entertained the thought of being with Phonzo. Tonight would have been the night that she would have given Phonzo a taste of what Smoke Stack dicked down. It was an act of desperation.

“Rose! Whatchu doin’ gal? Don’t let this fool back into your life!” Phonzo reached his hand out for her to take, “I won’t leave you like he did. Remember? I promised that trip to Chicago. We can pack up and catch a train!”

“I’ll take her to Chicago, to Trinidad, Paris, wherever my money goes, she goes. You had your fun tryna get what’s mine. I suggest you fade, Phonzo…”

Um, make me another two bit pint

Um, make me another two bit pint

'Cause I've got my habits down

I'm gonna wreck this joint…

“Let’s go,” Smoke had a strong grip on Rosetta’s hand as he placed her in front of him to walk away.

Rosetta finally gathered her thoughts. She halted her footsteps inches away from the bar.

“Hold on, Smoke,” She pointed a red nail at him sternly, “How dare you show up here like this?! I haven’t heard from you in over a year! You can’t just walk up in here and whisk me away like some night in shining armor! Who do you think you are?!”

“Says which? I’ve written you!” Smoke shouted back.

“I ain’t get one letter in a year!”

Smoke kisses his teeth, “That’s some bullshit and you know it. Maybe the letters got mixed up…none of that matters now, baby. I’m back. For good now…”

Buck and another bartender watched the two of them go back and forth with amusement.

“We’ll see how long that lasts!” Rosetta sassed.

A gun clicking had Smoke on high alert. He pushed Rosetta behind him and turned, staring down into the barrel of a pistol. Phonzo was sweating bullets. He had two of his lackeys behind him, posted up like they were ready to do damage. Rosetta clung onto the sticky bar top, peeking around to see what the ruckus was about.

“Time to knock you off that high horse. You and that brother of yours don’t run shit ‘round here no more. Give me back my bitch, and we can get back to jivin’.”

“Excuse me?!” Rosetta argued, “I got your bitch—”

“Rosey, relax, baby. Daddy got this.” Smoke looked from the pistol pointed at his chest, to Phonzo with a sinister smile, “You off the cob or something, Phonzo?”

“You tryna make me look pussy in front of my boys?!”

Smoke tilted his head to size up his ‘boys’.

“They shakin’ in they boots just like you. C‘mon now, Phonzo. We can do this the easy way…you put that steel down, and walk away. I came for my woman and that’s it. Pick yo’ self up and use those bony-ass pegs and leave.”

Laugher erupted around them. Patrons watched on like it was a live performance. Phonzo always hated being the laughingstock. No one took him seriously. People tolerated him because Smoke and his twin skipped town to handle business.

“I ain’t going nowhere!” Phonzo yelled.

He pressed his gun into Smoke’s chest hard.

“Nigga, you ain’t got shit—”

Smoke picked up a bottle of Jack Daniels and cracked it over Phonzo’s head. When Phonzo dropped to his knees with shards of glass embedded in his face, Smoke snatched his pistol up and pointed it at the two men that were once standing proud. They both shared a look with each other before bending over to pick Phonzo up.

Smoke placed the pistol in the waistband of his slacks and snatched a handkerchief out of his pocket to clean up the blood that seeped from a gash in the palm of his hand. People were used to violence ‘round here. Too drunk, high, and horny to care about Phonzo bleeding out onto the floor. Buck didn’t blink an eye as he shined a new glass before pouring a gentleman a glass of top shelf whiskey.

“Get ‘em out. Don’t come back, nigga. I’ll use your pistol to put a bullet in yo’ head fuckin’ wit’ me!”

Phonzo—delirious and bloody—was dragged out of the juke joint by his two loyal men. Smoke knew that as soon as Phonzo regained consciousness, he’ll be on the hunt for him. Smoke was ready.

Smoke took a seat at the bar and pulled Rosetta into him. Blunt between his lips, glass of whiskey in front of him, Rosetta gave him a light, watching her daddy with lust.

You know I can't stand it

You're running around

You know better, baby

I can't stand it 'cause you put me down

Oh, no…

“Smoke, Daddy…”

Rosetta took the blunt from between his lips and hit it. He watched her with low, hazy eyes. All he did was walk through those doors. She was at his mercy like he’d never left.

“You’ll really take me to Paris?”

Smoke accepted his blunt, “I’ll take you all over the world, baby…listen, I know I got some makin’ up to do, but don’t you ever do no shit like that again, hear me? I’m a always come back to you…”

“You right about that makin’ up,” Rosetta giggled, “We got all night though. Phonzo was my ride home…”

“Here, go grab my jacket and we can go.”

Smoke tapped Rosetta on her rump and pointed to where he placed his suit jacket. He paid his tab and promised to be back to catch up with his uncle. Rosetta returned and Smoke grabbed her by the hand, ushering her out of the juke joint and into the murky night.

_______________

Smooth leather seats, a pistol on the dash, windows rolled down.

Rosetta and her fur shawl sat elegantly next to a hunk of a gangster. She admired the stain of her lipstick on his cheek when she stole a quick kiss while he opened her door for her.

She missed her Smoke Daddy so damn bad. It hurt to the bone. Smoke could feel her pretty eyes on him and he glanced over to her, giving her a dimpled smirk filled with mischief. They were halfway there to her apartment above a boutique.

“I missed you, Rosey. So much.”

I put a spell on you

Because you're mine…

“Where did you go?”

Smoke took a moment to respond.

“…My brother had business in Texas. Then we picked up some jobs throughout the south. Made enough money to last us a lifetime…Made some bad choices, but I’m richer. Stronger. Ready to sweep you off yo’ feet. I want you to travel the world and sing to audiences bigger than that hole in the wall. Serious, gal.”

Rosetta blinked away tears.

“Don’t do none of that, baby. No crying…”

“I’m just glad ya ain’t dead somewhere in a ditch!”

Rosetta accepted a clean handkerchief from Smoke. She dabbed her eyes to avoid messing up her makeup.

“I made a promise to get back to you and I meant that.”

Rosetta exhales, “I know, daddy…I just…I’ve been so touch starved. I would’ve given Phonzo all of me if you hadn’t shown up…”

Smoke’s nostrils flared and he looked at her with those dark eyes that made her clench her thighs.

“Phonzo don’t know what to do wit’ all that. And you belong to me. All of you. You make that pussy cum while Daddy was away?”

“Yes…but it wasn’t enough. I miss the fuckin’ we used to do…”

Smoke’s Cadillac slowed to a stop in front of the boutique Rosetta’s mother owned. She worked there for extra money, but now that Smoke was back, she didn’t have to work. Smoke opened her door and helped her out. Shutting it, they walked towards the shop and Rosetta opened the door with a single gold key. Smoke observed his surroundings with a sharp eye before following her inside. It was dark, but the moonlight ignited a path for them leading towards a narrow staircase leading up to Rosetta’s apartment that she shared with her mother.

She had some privacy for now since her mother went away to visit family in Baton Rouge for a week. The boutique was closed until she returned. Rosetta opened the door and flicked on a light. It was exactly how Smoke had remembered it. Small and cozy and blessed by a woman that practiced root work. Rosetta walked into their small kitchen and opened the fridge to grab a pitcher of water. She poured a glass for Smoke and herself.

“You can stay for a few days until momma comes back. It don’t matter how grown I am, she don’t like men over…”

“I get it. I’ll have a place to stay. Then you can leave here and be wit’ me.”

“Smoke…”

Smoke finished his glass, sat it on the counter, and pulled Rosetta close. His hands caressed her back and dragged down to cuff her cheeks. Eyes locked on her face, he brought his plump lips to her own, pecking them with soft kisses. Rosetta whimpered and shifted, slightly raising one foot. Smoke hooked his strong arm around her trim waistline. His other hand squeezed the flesh of her plump ass.

“You always know just how to push my buttons, don’t you, Rose? Couldn’t wait for daddy to come back?”Smoke asked with his lips barely touching hers, “That’s alright, though…Im gon’ remind you just who you belong to...”

Suddenly, Smoke delivered a series of sharp smacks to her behind without warning. Rosetta gasped as she felt the sting of each slap. 

“Smoke, I’m sorry…I didn’t fuck him…I swear.” Rose pleaded.

“But you gave ‘em hope. If I hadn’t shown up…”

His wide hand lifted her silk dress over her ass and he went to town whacking each cheek—left, right, left—the pain increasing. Rosetta buried her face into his chest, her lipstick staining his shirt. Smoke palmed her cheeks hard, savoring the heft of that juicy flesh in his rough hands.

“Damn,” Smoke stared over her shoulder and down at her rump, “this big ass…mmm…mmm…mmm…I wanna look at that pussy, baby…I still have that picture of your pussy in my wallet…”

Rosetta set up a camera and took photos of herself nude before sending them off to whatever address Smoke told her to send it to. He’d beat his fat dick every night to all her photos. He stole a pair of her panties as a reminder of her scent. Anything to keep his sanity.

“You do?” Rosetta stared up at Smoke.

“Yeah,” Smoke retrieved his wallet from his pocket. He presented the photo to Rosetta. It had cracks in it from being folded, but her hairy mound, phat clit, and glistening folds stood out against the black and white, “She still nice and bushy?”

Smoke had a thing for hair. He hated whenever Rosetta would do a clean shave. Since he’d been gone, she’d started shaving again. Luckily, there was enough hair there to satisfy his desires.

“Not too much, daddy…”

“Mm,” Smoke flicked his tongue against her lips.

“I want you to do it to me, daddy…”

“Do it all night long, baby?”

“Do it to me, papa…”

Smoke’s dick jumped and stretched to proportions he couldn’t handle.

“I wanna suck on that pussy first…”

Rosetta’s clit twitched at the thought of Smoke slurping on her pussy cat until she was wrung dry. She had a lot for him to drank up. When she first laid eyes on him tonight, the wetness soaked through and created a slippery, sticky mess. Those big lips and that thick dick…

“Let me smell it,” Smoke picked Rosetta up and sat her down on the cramped counter space, “Spread your fuckin’ legs you sexy, bitch…”

Rosetta made quick work of her thighs spreading wide and limber. Smoke could see a big wet spot in the crotch of her cotton panties. He didn’t waste time stroking the outlines of her fat lips that strained against the fabric. Smoke chuckled before slipping her panties to the side. His fingertips graced coarse hair covered in slick and heat. Beyond that was a clit made to be suckled.

“Shit, she still get nice and wet for me,” Smoke admired the shine on his thick fingers before bringing it to his nose to take a whiff, “fuccck,” He pushed his fingers into his mouth and licked them clean, “Fresh pussy…taste so good…”

He was down on his knees with his fingers tangled in her panties to keep them out of his way. Rosetta brought one leg up and it opened her lips more for him to eat. The humidity of that kitchen had their brown skin glistening beneath the dim, yellow, lamp lights. Smoke spread her lips and stared into her pussy. Rosetta stroked his slick-back, begging him to put his face in it.

Smoke buried his nose in it first. He rubbed her clit with the tip of his nose before using his lips to encase her clit and suck. He sucked nice and slow to warm her up, but then he created a vortex so tight with his lips Rosetta almost fell from the counter. The sucking came at a rapid pace—precise and intense.

“Uhnnn,” Rosetta gasped and moaned, “Daddy!”

Rosetta stroked her pussy many times to one of her favorite raunchy tunes. Jump Steady Daddy by Lucille Bogan stayed on repeat whenever she rubbed on her clit to the thought of her Smoke Daddy. She missed when he would come to her late at night, sneak in her bed and eat her pussy. She loved it when he would be on his knees, holding her weight up and fucking into her.

Love me, daddy

Love me all the time

Love me, daddy

Love me all the time

And if you love me like I did

You'll be that jump steady man of mine…

“Yes, ooh, daddy, papa,” Rosetta’s thighs shook out of her control, “Ima cum…Ima cum…”

The thin straps of her silk slip dangled from her shoulders and perspiration trickled down her spine. She didn’t have time to prepare before she was creaming down Smoke’s chin. All he did was suck her clit. He came up for air, lips dripping wet and face glistening with cum.

Her nipples poked out through her slip, teasing Smoke’s eyes. He was as hard as stone, unable to bear the feeling anymore. Smoke stood and picked Rosetta up from the counter, carrying her towards her room. The door was ajar, so all he needed to do was nudge it and he was walking inside. He didn’t bother closing the door. Smoke placed Rosetta on her back, climbing on top of her and sticking his tongue in her mouth.

Rosetta smoothed his button down shirt over his shoulders and Smoke pulled his arms through. He had on a white beater that clung to his muscles like plaster. Smoke broke his lips away and trailed kisses down her neck until he was at the tops of her breasts. Rosetta arched up into his chest, soft moans music to his ears.

Smoke used his teeth to yank the rest of her slip down, revealing 34 C breasts with large nipples that reminded him of chocolate-covered gum drops. Rosetta dragged her nails through his hair, messing up the smoothness of it, revealing waves. Her updo had come undone, finger-waved hair falling into her eyes. The salty, sweet taste of her skin caused him to growl.

“Daddy…I wanna taste that dick…”

With a deep exhale, Smoke stood up. Rosetta sat up on her knees with her dress around her waist and went to work undoing his slacks. She pushed down his boxers and his pants in one motion, his dick bobbing out like a pendulum and hitting her on the chin. Rosetta admired how girthy and veiny her daddy’s dick is. She licked up the precum before it was wasted and with her eyes on him, she wrapped her lips around him and sucked.

“Ahhhh…There you go, baby…that’s how you welcome me home…suck this big boy…gobble it up…”

Her soft hair in his grasp, Smoke’s toned hips pumped her throat. He curled his top lip, revealing golds, grunting at the feel of her tight throat.

“Ugh, fuck, baby…the best dick suckin’ bird in N’awlins…”

Rosetta giggled in response. She prided herself in her skills. Sucking dick and riding dick was her specialty. Smoke licked his lips, eyes barely open as he watched her. He tilted his head and started drilling her mouth. Loud gagging noise started, Rosetta’s once pristine makeup now running down her face.

“You’re so beautiful wit’ my dick in your throat, baby…make daddy cum…so I can fuck that pussy…”

His girth increased, Rosetta’s jaws tightening. She grabbed hold of his balls and worked her neck like no other. Smoke chewed on his bottom lip and threw his head back.

“Hmmm….mmmmmm….”

His hips spasmed out of control. Rosetta almost choked on his thick cum. She had to spit his dick out just to swallow what she could. The rest painted her chest.

“Turn that ass over,” Smoke stepped out of his pants and with one hand on his long dick, he pumped it, “On your knees, gal.”

Rosetta brought that ass in the air and arched her back deep. Smoke stood behind her with a big dick swinging. Rosetta hadn’t felt it in two years. She was afraid. Shaking with fear. He had to open her up again.

“Use them big girl words and tell me what you want,” Smoke slapped her cheeks around, “Where you want this dick?”

“Daddy, fuck me!” Rosetta begged.

His dick aligned with her ass and with his big hands he tucked it higher. Smoke grunted and slapped her bouncy cheeks.

“Ouch! Papa…” Rosetta cried, more from surprise.

It hurt so good. With hands as large as his, he managed to cover a wide area of her ass, leaving behind a burning sting that only made her wiggle her ass against him. Smoke rubbed her down before digging his fingers into the flesh, spreading her wide, and thrusting into her.

“Oh, my! Smoke!”

Rosetta’s ass recoiled and bounced off of Smoke’s sturdy hips. He had her by the hair, keeping her back arched. That man was fucking her like he was fresh out of jail. His thick shaft gave her stretch and his length made her feel it in her stomach. The sound of her wet pussy matched the skin-slapping.

“Big dick on you! Fuck!”

Smoke let go of her hair and grabbed her hips. Rosetta looked back at him with her mouth agape and brows knitted together in disbelief. His hair had puffed up and some strands fell over his forehead. He looked wild and sexy. Muscles flexing, golds flashing, eyes unblinking.

“Keep fuckin’ me, papa! Fuck this wet pussy, daddy! Oh my goddddd—”

Rosetta fell forward and buried her face in the sheets.

“Uh-uh,” Smoke brought one leg up, leaned over her, and wrapped a hand around her throat, “You can take this dick. Get that shit you want so bad,” Smoke said.

Every cry or whimper that came out of her mouth, he responded with an evil chuckle or a groan of his own in her ear.

“Grip me up like that…good girl…that’s it baby…”

Rosetta felt hot liquid trickling down her thighs. Tears brimmed her eyes and her body seized up with her release. Smoke withdrew his hips and got down behind her to lick her up. He licked her thighs, then trailed his spit to her folds. He rolled her onto her back and scooted her towards the edge of the bed. Ass hanging off, legs thrown over his shoulders, Smoke put that dick in her pussy and pounded up into her with sharp thrusts that had her toes curling.

“Oh, shit!” Rosetta and her swinging titties couldn’t handle it, “Damnit, Smoke! I’m cumin’ !!!!!”

Scooting her onto the bed, he pile-drived her into the creaky mattress. Folded in half was an understatement. She stared down the valley of his impressive body at his dick.

“Big Daddy!” Rosetta pressed her feet into his chest, “Fuck me good! Take this pussy!”

“This my fuckin’ pussy…”

Smoke slammed into her before dropping down to kiss her soft lips again. His thrusts turned into modulated pumps that caused her to gasp. Each time his dick would enter her, she would gasp with surprise. Smoke nibbled on her pouty bottom lip and stared into her eyes longingly.

You know I love you

I love you

I love you

I love you anyhow

And I don't care

If you don't want me

I'm yours right now…

“Cum for me Smoke Daddy…”

His forehead furrowed and with one more sharp thrust, he erupted deep in her womb.

———————-

[marsprincess889]

VEDIC ASTRO OBSERVATIONS

Part 4

I thought, why not

Editing and finishing this as I have a face mask on

Bharanis are very sensitive, in a very misunderstood way. They're often either dangerously passive and stubborn or fiercely proactive, and this comes from the fact that they can read people well, and are sensitive to the energies around them. They know the importance of sticking to their own convictions/their way. Bharani is the place where you MUST NOT be fooled into submission and gaslighting, no matter who it comes from. It's where all kinds of forces try to enforce influence on you, right when you are so aware of your true calling/desire(s). That's why this nakshatra is so prominent in the charts of great philosophers and thinkers. They are defensive and secretive, but it all comes from the necessity to protect their truth, which is their life, and everything to them. Do not mistake their defensiveness as childish defiance. They know the pain of giving up and the strength it requires to stand up to themselves.

I said this multiple times, and I'm saying at again: ketu is VERY IMPORTANT. look at your ketu nakshatra and just take it in for a sec. Its infulence is on everything. Since you can rarely attribute that infulence on a specific thing in a person, it's often overlooked, but once you start looking at ketu in charts and apply it to the native/their life, you cannot unsee it. Also, when you are being natural, when life feels effortless and when you don't think a lot, oftentimes the appearance of your ketu will come to the surface, i mean, you'll be able to see it physically. Ik I don't look like my ketu nakshatra at first glance but boy do i see it when I look in the mirror, and I like it a lot. Oftentimes, as I've noticed, people love their ketu.

Your true essence, I think, is moon+ketu(very personal and mostly private but extremely important. They color the most of your inner world), then sun+ascendant(your way of dealing with the world, also very important) and atmakaraka+amatyakaraka(your path to yourself). Your chart ruler(ruling planet of your rising sign) is kind of separate but still visible, and it colors the whole chart, but unlike ketu, it's more on the surface and more visible in the native's behavior. I'm not saying you should disregard other placements, but this is how I see them.

Some nakshatras that I think are most prone to agitation/reactiveness(in order of their appearance from Ashwini to Revati, not ranked): Ardra, Ashlesha, Chitra, Vishakha, Purva Ashadha(?), Dhanishta.

In contrast, most stoic and hard to get a reaction out of: Pushya, Magha, Purva Phalguni, Uttara Phalguni, Uttara Ashadha, Shatabhisha, Uttara Bhadrapada.

Ketu in Ashlesha is dangerous like I know it personally(I don't have it tho). Ketu, unless exalted and/or developed by the native(conciously or subconciously) is mostly in a state of ignorance. Ashlesha is, dare I say, the most manipulative placement, but the tragedy is that Ashlesha natives kinda need it, that's what they know. It's the torturous place of attachments and distance and forced attachments and forced distance, of abuse and healing and alertness on a deeply nervous and emotional level. Ketu, the planet of raw, dangerously powerful stored energy and experience in a place like that can be horrible, for both the native and the people around them, especially if the native is unaware of their behavior.

Uttara Phalgunis can be taken for granted by others, especially people they're close to, but those people still refuse to let the U. Phalguni native go. They're so "Sunny" and supportive that some people refuse to take them seriously. The thing with Sun nakshatras though is that they have inner strength and are in no way naive, they just have trust because they trust themselves and know and are proud of their convictions. U. Phalgunis' convictions almost always include support and loyalty to people close to them/dear to their heart, but unfortunately, not everyone can appreciate that for what it is and pass it off as naivety. Mostly it comes from people who value manipulation, which Uttara Phalgunis hate. Uttara Phalguni women/girls especially can be seen as "good girls" at first glance, or as "vanilla", but in reality, it's based on their inner strength and trust in themselves. Ik this sounds biased, that's just because it's personal and I know many examples of it, mine and others. This one's for the "good" ones.

Interesting thing I've noticed: Krittikas, despite being a Sun nakshatra, have a reputation of being "aggressive"? I would not say they're aggressive, but they can be more reactive than other sun nakshatras. Krittika starts in Aries(ram), which is ruled by the active Mars. It's yoni animal is a sheep/goat/ram(sources vary). I mean, its essence is that of fire, and its meaning is "to cut", so, they're kind of aggressive about their individuality/selectivity/. They're aggressively stoic, if that makes sense.

To expand on the point above, a great way to understand nakshatras is to view their ruling planet as what is given/what we have, and the rashi(s) that it's in as what is done with it. So, for example, if Bharani is about protecting/defending(mars/aries) beauty, life and love(Venus), Mrigashira(the Taurus part) is about beautifying/enjoying(passive venus/taurus) pursuit/defiance(Mars). You can see how different those are, especially because a planet ruling a rashi is not the same as a planet ruling a nakshatra, they manifest slightly differently.

Another great way to understand nakshatras is to learn their mythology. I am very well aware that different sources say different things, and ik it's more tiring than rewarding to go from site to site but you can take little details that are consistent and stick to them. For example, Revati's god Pushan is known as the one who guides, who nourishes, but he's the nourishing form of a Sun god. So now you see that Revati is solar in nature, rather than Saturnian(its opposite). It's all about association and how different associations relate to each other. I think this kind of approach is better than relying on other people's opinions and observations.

So, this is all I guess?

Interact pleaseeeeeeeeee 😩💕 esp reblog and comment

[innerfare]

Shanks Relationship Headcanons 

Summary: A random collection of Shanks relationship headcanons

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

Shanks can’t stand you at first. You get under his skin without even trying. Worse still, you don’t take his bait- you don’t bicker with him, you don’t argue, but you also don’t laugh at his jokes, and it drives him absolutely insane. He’s never met anyone he couldn’t drag down to his level and he doesn’t know what to do about that. 

You also rebuff his advances initially, and he panics because nobody rebuffs his advances. He could bed Akainu if he wanted to, he’s certain of it, so why can’t he bed you? He becomes consumed by his desire to have you, not just in his bed but in his company more generally, eating at his table and sharing a drink and some gossip with him. 

He never shuts up about you, constantly complaining to Beckman, who realizes what is going on almost immediately. Beckman doesn’t bother trying to illuminate Shanks as to the annoying predicament that is love, just laughs to himself.  

Starts writing down and rehearsing his absolute best material before he sees you. When you don’t laugh, he becomes convinced you’re withholding your laughter just to be mean to him. He almost blows a gasket when Lucky Roux tells him, “you know, Captain, maybe your sense of humor just isn’t for everyone.” 

This eventually culminates in him blowing up and kissing you one night. To his utter surprise, you kiss him back. From that point forward, the two of you are going steady, which is uncharted territory for Shanks. 

When he does finally identify your sense of humor, it’s one of his proudest moments. He’s merciless from that point forward, drawing as many laughs from your lips as possible. He'll even resort to tickling you just to hear that musical sound.

To his surprise, you relationship quickly becomes his temple. You’re the person he’s actually serious with, the person with whom he shares his fears and ambitions, with whom he is raw and vulnerable. When he has nightmares, you’ll be the one to comfort him, and when he has doubts, you’ll be the one to reassure him. 

There’s much more to him than meets the eye. He isn’t just a drunken layabout or a prankster, but a complex man with great ambition, and the foundation of your relationship is your ability to unravel these complexities. 

That being said, if he does eventually make you a little less mature, a little more petty, a little more childish, he’ll view it as one of his greatest victories. 

So dramatic. Tells you things like, “I would cease to exist if we were parted,” and, “you fill in the cracks in my soul,” and he means them 100%. Naturally you don’t realize he means them 100% until you find yourself in a life-threatening situation and he drops literally everything to rescue you, apologizing profusely for allowing a hair on your head to be harmed. It’s in that moment you realize the gravity of receiving the affection of an Emperor. 

Brings you flowers, usually a bundle of cheap supermarket flowers with a lot of different colors (he can't actually identify any of the flowers but thought they were pretty). He’s the sort to throw rocks at your window and serenade you with a guitar (he’ll sing but he’s bad at it), but only after you’re in a relationship so it makes you laugh more than it makes you swoon. 

Will order Beckman to reroute the crew’s course so far out of their way it’s comical because he wants you to try a restaurant on an island he visited a decade ago because they served your favorite food in a unique and delicious way; naturally when you get there the restaurant has closed. Shanks makes it up to you with a bowl of ramen, though. 

Got you a massive stuffed strawberry from a carnival (he lost the game but stole the prize anyway when the carnie wasn’t looking, delinquent ass boyfriend), gets very upset if he walks into your room and it’s not on your bed. Now likes to call you strawberry. Other nicknames include red panda or just panda and even my sake cup. Also refers to you in conversation as the crown jewels. 

Tipsy walks down the beach at night, your fingers intertwined, that end with him chasing you through the shallows, catching you in his arms, and spinning you around. He loves a good came of chase, or even hide and seek. Also, strip poker. 

Would never admit it, but he’s often the little spoon. He’ll collapse on top of you after a night of drinking with the boys. Also, he can’t fall asleep without a fistful of something, and since the two of you became an item, that something is usually your hair or shirt (at least to keep it SFW 😉). 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[astrcmoni]

⁖✦ ˖ flicker of light ˖ ✦⁖

pairing: billie eilish x fem!reader

MASTERLIST

genre: angst

synopsis: Two years after a devastating breakup, you unexpectedly cross paths with Billie, the ex who shattered your heart, at a crowded party. As the night unravels, unresolved emotions, lingering tension, and unspoken truths collide, forcing you to confront the love and pain that still bind you.

wc: 3.8k

warnings: angst, smoking, slight cussing

authors note: hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it, let me know what you think.

You never thought you’d see her again, not after the way she left. she had always been a storm—unpredictable, consuming, leaving wreckage in her wake. You tried to hold on, but there’s only so much a person can give before they break. When she walked out, it felt like she took the last of your light with her.

You remember the way it felt to watch her walk away—her oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, her head low like she couldn’t bear to face you. She didn’t even slam the door; it just clicked shut, soft and final. You told yourself you were done with her, but that was easier said than lived.

It’s been two years since that night. Two years since her voice, soft but certain, said, “I can’t stay.” Two years since you swore you’d never let her back in. But tonight, under the illumination of the glowing party lights you see her again.

Standing across the room like a ghost made flesh. drowning in her own sea of bodies as people danced around you both causing a claustrophobic separation. Her hair’s a different color now, and her face looks a little older—sharper in some ways, softer in others—but it’s her. There’s no mistaking those eyes.

You caught sight of her first, squinting at the back of her frame, not fully realizing who it was until she turned towards you. then, those blue eyes locked with yours. and it feels like the ground drops out from beneath you, leaving you weightless and frozen, suspended in a moment you can’t escape.

Your chest tightens—not just in surprise, but in something deeper. It’s like all the feelings you thought you’d buried are clawing their way back to the surface, making your heart ache in a way that feels almost physical.

Your breath catches, the kind of catch that’s barely noticeable but feels like everything inside you is short-circuiting. Time slows down, or maybe it speeds up—you can’t tell because everything is a blur, a haze of indistinct shapes and muffled sounds. You don’t even register the people around you anymore; they’re just noise, fading into the background as your vision tunnels on them.

And then there’s the sting, sharp and raw, a rush of memories slamming into you all at once. The sound of her laugh, the way she used to look at you, all of the things that were left unsaid. It’s like your mind is running a reel of every mistake, every moment, and you can’t stop it no matter how much you want to. You feel too much and nothing at the same time—numb and overwhelmed, like your body and your emotions are completely out of sync.

Party forgotten all about and it feels as if the world narrows to just the two of you, that was the last thing you wanted right now. The more you two stare at each other the more the air around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing down on your chest, making it impossible to breathe. Every sound around you—voices, music, laughter, clinking glasses—starts to blur together, growing louder and louder until it’s just noise, grating and overwhelming. Your skin prickles with heat, the bodies around you seemingly too close for your comfort and it feels like the walls are closing in, each inch tighter than the last. There’s nowhere to focus, no solid ground to stand on, and your pulse pounds in your ears, drowning out everything else.

You feel an urgent need to move, to get away, to escape the suffocating weight of it all. Your eyes dart around, searching for an exit, anywhere you can break free from the crushing space around you. Shoving past the partygoers without even registering as so much of a face. Mind fixated on finding some fresh air, something open, and quiet.

Your mind raced, thoughts and questions zipping pass one another. What in the actual fuck was she doing here? This was supposed to be a small event but you should’ve known better. It was a album release party for a mutual friend, but with sightings of her becoming less and less your worry began to dissipate. But that all went out of the window tonight, just your luck.

Finally you found a door, pushing through it and being greeted by the cool air of the LA night sky. you inhale the air, gulping it as if you were abandoned at sea and it was your lifeline. Finding a small curb, you take a seat on it as your hands found their way to your knees, clutching yourself as you tried to steady your breathing, allowing you to be present once more. It’s not instant relief as your mind was still racing, chest still tight— but at least you’re out.

The crack of the earth beneath feet reaches your ears—a faint shuffle of footsteps against the pavement, growing louder with each step. Pace steady but hesitant, like they’re not trying to startle you but can’t decide if they should keep going. The click of shoes echoes quietly in the still night, a contrast to the muffled hum of music emerging from the party behind you.

You don’t turn around at first, every instinct inside telling you to stay still, like moving would somehow make it real. But the sound gets closer, the steps slowing as they near. There’s a pause—long enough for your breath to hitch—and then the faint crunch of gravel as they shift their weight. You can almost feel them standing there, their presence heavier than the silence between you. Your eyes flicked over to the shoes of the person that stood beside you and they confirmed your already strong suspicions.

“Can I sit?” Her voice is low, almost timid, and it throws you. Billie was never timid. She was loud, unpredictable, and bold. Always the one who burned brightest in any room you were in together.

Could she sit? tuh. The question lingered in the air between you, heavy and unwanted. After all the pain and bullshit she caused you, after the nights spent choking on tears you’d promised yourself were the last, the instinct was to scream a hard, unshakable hell no. How does she get to just show up, and ask something of you? You wanted to tell her to leave, to walk away as easily as she had all those years ago. It would’ve been so simple—just a few words, and she’d be gone again.

But your heart—that damned, stubborn heart of yours—betrayed you. Beneath the layers of anger and resentment, beneath the memories of slammed doors and empty spaces she used to fill, there was still a soft, desperate ache. A quiet part of you, buried under years of resolve, that wanted to hear her voice again, to feel her presence even if it hurt.

So you hesitated. The silence stretched, sharp as glass, and for a moment, she almost looked ready to walk away without an answer. But then you tilted your head ever so slightly, a gesture so small it almost felt insignificant, and her eyes flickered with something you couldn’t place—relief? Guilt? Hope? She moved quickly, like she thought you might change your mind, lowering herself into the spot on your left.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. She sat with her hands clasped tightly together, her shoulders hunched, as though she could make herself smaller, less imposing. And you just stared ahead, watching the glow of the streetlights dance against the asphalt, trying not to think about how close she was, how her scent—something faintly familiar, like lavender and rain—drifted toward you in the cool night air.

You wanted to ask her why she came back. You wanted to tell her to leave again. But most of all, you just wanted to feel something other than the confusing swirl of anger and longing twisting in your chest. And so, for the first time in years, you sat together in the quiet, the unspoken words between you louder than anything either of you could say.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” she says quietly, her voice cracking just enough to remind you why it mattered so much in the first place.

“yea…didn’t think I’d see you,” you reply. And you hadn’t. You’d spent months—years—working to get over her, scrubbing her out of your mind like a stubborn stain. Some days you thought you’d succeeded. But now that she’s here, all it takes is one look at her for the memories to pour back in.

The way she used to smile at you in the dark, like you were her entire world. The way her hand used to linger on yours, warm and grounding. The way she kissed you, like she was terrified you’d disappear if she didn’t hold you close enough.

And then the way she left.

The way you watched as her back disappeared the more steps she took, the way your heart shattered into what felt like millions of pieces and how you were left to pick up every single shard.

“So… how are you?”

Her voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and unwelcome. It lingered in the air, raw and exposed, forcing you to confront a question you hadn’t asked yourself in a long time.

How were you?

The truth was, you didn’t know. You’d spent the years since her absence piecing yourself back together, brick by brick, like a fragile tower of Lego blocks. Some days, the pieces fit; other days, they crumbled under the weight of the memories she left behind. You tried new things—picked up hobbies, traveled to places you thought might cleanse you of her ghost. You even let yourself fall into the arms of others on occasion, hoping someone else might finally feel right. But none of it stuck. None of it filled the void she carved into your chest.

Still, you couldn’t tell her that. She didn’t deserve the truth, didn’t deserve to know about the nights you stayed up convincing yourself you were better off, or the mornings when you woke to find her name lingering on your lips like a bitter aftertaste.

So instead, you told her the easiest lie. “I’m fine,” you said, your voice smooth, practiced. You didn’t dare look at her when you said it, afraid your eyes might betray the cracks still mending beneath the surface.

She nodded, a faint, almost imperceptible gesture, and for a moment, you thought she might believe you. But the way her gaze lingered—searching, gentle, and entirely too familiar—made you wonder if she could see through the facade, if she still knew you in ways no one else did.

You turned your eyes back to the streetlights, refusing to give her anything more. Fine was all she needed to know. Fine was all she was getting.

“I—” Billie stops herself, looks down. She does that thing where she chews her bottom lip when she’s anxious, and you hate that you remember it so clearly. “I’m sorry,” she finally says, her voice breaking on the words. “For the way I left. For… all of it.”

You scoff before you can stop yourself. “That’s it? You’re sorry?”

She flinches, and for a split second, you feel guilty. But then you remember the nights you spent crying over her, the days you spent forcing yourself to get out of bed, to move on. She doesn’t get to come back and expect it to be easy.

“I thought I was doing what was best for you,” she says quietly. “I thought if I stayed, I’d just keep messing you up.”

Your eyes roll so hard they could fall into orbit, a scoff bubbling from your chest at her words. The sentiment is tired, hollow, the same recycled bullshit excuse you’ve heard from past ex’s—but Billie? No, this was a new wound entirely. Of course, two years apart, and she’s already sinking her claws in, pricking at your nerves.

You fish into the pocket of your jacket, fingers brushing the familiar papered edge of a joint you rolled earlier, your lifeline in case the night went sideways—which, apparently, it had. With a soft click of your tongue, you press it between your lips, muttering a dry “tuh.” Seriously? This? Now?

But when you reach back into your jacket for a lighter, your brows knit together. Your hands shift to your sides, patting pockets with increasing urgency, fingers fumbling over fabric.

“The fuck?” you mutter under your breath, shuffling and searching as your irritation simmers into something hotter, more desperate. Something in Billie’s gaze says she knows exactly where it is.

“Oh, here,” she says.

The sound is sharp and intimate, slicing through the quiet like a whispered secret. A metallic click, clean and deliberate, breaks the stillness, followed by the soft scrape of the flint wheel turning. Then comes the bloom of the flame—a faint whoosh that carries a warmth you can almost feel. It’s steady, alive, crackling faintly as it dances in the dark, casting flickering shadows against the night. The scent of singed butane drifts into the air, sharp and chemical, grounding you in the moment. It’s such a small sound, but next to you, it feels impossibly loud, like a heartbeat outside your own.

She never indulged in your smoking habits, never shared in the way you leaned into the soft haze to escape reality. But she always carried a lighter. Always. For you. Because somehow, no matter how many times you bought one, you had a way of losing them, and she had a way of knowing.

Your heart ached at the thought. Even after everything, she still carried that lighter—still kept this tiny piece of you with her, like muscle memory she couldn’t unlearn.

She held the flame steady, her hand shielding it from the wind with practiced ease. You didn’t move, your hand hovering near her but never quite closing the gap. Instead, you watched as the fire danced, the golden glow illuminating her face in the dim light. The wind teased the flame, threatening to snuff it out, but she guarded it instinctively, her other hand cupping the lighter as if it were precious, fragile.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away, trapped in the flicker of light and shadow, as if the fire itself held some kind of spell over you. Or maybe it wasn’t the flame at all. Maybe it was her—the quiet familiarity of her gestures, the way she still did this for you, even now, even after the years and the pain.

To anyone else, it might seem like nothing. An ex lighting her ex-girlfriend’s blunt, an act so casual it hardly deserved a second thought. But to you, it was so much more. It was a thread connecting the past and the present, a bridge over the chasm of two long, lonely years.

It was intimacy. A kind you hadn’t felt in so long it almost scared you. The kind that knew your rhythms and your faults, that carried lighters for your bad habits and lit them without judgment.

Your mind screamed at you to pull away, to extinguish the fire before it burned you again. But your heart—foolish, stubborn thing that it was—ached for this moment, for this tiny act of care. So you stayed still, watching the flame dance as your heart and mind waged their quiet war. She watched and waited to see what you would do, and without thinking your body leaned forward, towards that bright ember of a flame. And when she finally lit the blunt for you, her fingers brushed yours for just a second too long, it felt less like a habit and more like a confession.

You watched as the flame stretched toward the blunt’s tip, small but fierce, its edges flickering and alive. It kisses the paper, and for a moment, it clings there, glowing brighter as it bites into the wrap. The paper darkens and crinkles, curling inward as the flame consumes it, leaving a thin line of blackened ash in its wake.

Your eyes meet hers, still in your crouched position, and for a moment, everything stills. The laughter and music fade into the background, muffled by the weight of her gaze. It’s so quiet in this bubble that it feels like you could stay here forever, wrapped in the soft, strange serenity between you.

But you don’t. You blink, the spell breaking as reality creeps back in. This moment isn’t yours to keep, no matter how much you wish it was.

A wisp of smoke rises, twisting lazily into the air, carrying with it the faint scent of burning paper and the earthy undertone of the tobacco or herb inside. The ember glows softly, pulsing like a heartbeat as it takes hold, the flame retreating once its job is done. What’s left behind is a smoldering edge, fragile and jagged, the beginnings of something that burns slow and steady.

Leaning back, you withdraw the joint from your lips, letting the smoke roll slowly from your mouth. You blow it to your right, away from her, the exhalation curling into the night air like a phantom. You’ve always been careful, always mindful, because you know how much she hated it.

You remember the first time you sparked up around her, the way the cloud drifted lazily in her direction and enveloped her. She coughed, sharp and sudden, her face twisting in discomfort as her hand shot up to wave it away. Later, she told you how it made her feel—the way the smoke clung to her throat, thick and choking, leaving a sour taste at the back of her tongue that wouldn’t go away. How it wove itself into her hair and clothes, lingering like an unwelcome ghost she couldn’t shake.

“I don’t mind you smoking,” she’d said back then, her voice soft, almost apologetic, “but just… not near me. It feels like I can’t breathe.”

Her words had stuck with you, burrowed deep into your memory, because they weren’t an attack—just honesty, delivered with that quiet gentleness she used to wield so well. Since then, you’ve been careful. Always turning your head, always blowing the smoke away, no matter where you were or how distracted you might be.

Even now, with her sitting beside you after years apart, it’s instinctive. The smoke twists and curls into the night, a hazy ribbon that never touches her. You glance at her from the corner of your eye, watching as she sits unaffected, her gaze somewhere far off, and feel the smallest tug of relief.

It’s such a small thing—redirecting the smoke, sparing her the discomfort—but it feels like an unspoken promise. A habit born out of care, out of knowing her in ways no one else did. And even after everything, you can’t seem to stop yourself from caring.

You laugh bitterly, picking back up on your conversation . “And leaving didn’t?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she looks at you with those ocean-deep eyes that always seemed to pull you under. “I didn’t stop thinking about you,” she says, so softly you almost don’t hear it.

And there it is. The part of you that still aches for her, that still wants to believe in her despite everything, starts to flicker back to life. But it’s just a flicker, nothing more.

“Why now, Billie?” you ask, your voice sharper than you mean it to be. You leaned your head on your right hand as its elbow rested on your knee. Spliff burning in between your middle and your index fingers as you slightly began swaying in thought. “Why come back?”

She hesitates, and for a moment, you see the storm inside her—the guilt, the hope, the fear. “Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t need you,” she says.

“So, you’re apologizing because you need something. Not because you’re genuinely sorry.”

The words leave your mouth, calm and measured, though they sting with the weight of years. You don’t look at her, not yet, but you can feel her gaze, warm and searching, on your face. You take a breath, letting the silence between you stretch. It’s the first time in a long while that you’ve allowed yourself to speak with this much clarity, this much honesty. And it feels both liberating and painful at once.

She’s silent for a moment, and when she speaks again, her voice is softer, quieter. “That’s not true. I am sorry. For everything.”

You nod slowly, processing her words. She’s sincere, you can hear it in the tremor of her voice, but that doesn’t make the past go away. The years of waiting, the nights spent wondering why she left, wondering if you were ever enough for her.

She hasn’t moved since she sat down, but the space between you feels vast now, like an ocean that neither of you can quite cross.

“But you hurt me,” you say, your voice quieter now, tinged with something raw that you haven’t let surface in so long. “I loved you, Billie. I loved you so much, and you just left me. No explanation. No call. Hell, you didn’t even leave me a damn text.”

You finally look at her. Her eyes are wide, full of regret, and for a split second, you almost forget all the reasons you’ve been angry with her. Almost. But the hurt is still there, simmering beneath the surface, and you can’t let it go. Not yet.

“I know,” she whispers, her voice breaking just slightly, the words thick with remorse. “And I am truly sorry. I’ll never stop apologizing for what I did.” Her gaze drops to her lap, and she takes a deep breath before she looks at you again, her eyes pleading. “But I love you. I do.”

I love you.

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, the world feels like it’s holding its breath. You want to respond, want to say something sharp and dismissive, to keep the walls between you up and firm. But instead you take another drag of the joint in your hand, as your heart—damned thing that it is—pounds in your chest, betraying you in the quiet of the night.

You swallow, the lump in your throat too tight to speak, and for the first time in a long while, you wonder if the distance between you could ever truly disappear.

You know what letting her back in could mean. You know the pain she’s capable of causing. But you also know the way she made you feel when things were good—the way she made you feel alive.

And as you sit there, staring at her in the glow of the streetlights, you realize you have a choice. You can let her back in and risk it all, or you can walk away and finally put her behind you.

Your heart races as you weigh the options, the silence stretching unbearably between you. And for the first time in years, you’re not sure what to do.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 9 part 1

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

wow this is another difficult one to go through. okay. okay.

it's been 57 years since we saw agatha kill her mother and the salemites - agatha should now be around 74, 75. how many of those years has she spent with rio? even if they met right away, that is a comparatively short time considering their long lives (rio's especially) and the almost 300 years they stayed separated afterwards.

the first thing we notice about the scene: just how damn green it is.

the forest and the river - rio, nature, is everywhere.

we're not told why agatha is running, but the obvious answer is that she is running from rio. she's in her shift, she was probably in their bed in the little cabin in the woods going through labor. and then rio told her that nicky was going to be stillborn and, in typical agatha fashion, she bolted, she tried to buy time, to bargain, to outrun the inevitable. but nature is all around, engulfing her. trying to escape is futile.

I so appreciate how bloody this scene is but I can't watch it, it's too much. she's run as far as she could, but the baby is coming now. she bites on a lemon and pushes. no family, no coven, no midwife. the one person in her corner, rio, has betrayed her.

that shot of rio so small between the trees, and yet the same exact color as the leaves? both one tiny person and the very essence of nature everywhere? I've got chills.

rio has brought her orchid so you know how serious the situation is. and I believe the costume department called this a shepherdess outfit? she chose this gentle look to guide nicky's little innocent soul to the other side.

you need to look at plaza's acting closely in this scene because while agatha's pain is on full display, raw and open, rio is keeping her pain close to her chest, she has no other choice. she swallows, she shakes her head ever so slightly. agatha is shaking her head too, completely and utterly devastated.

Rio walks closer, strong determined steps that don't match how difficult she's finding it to speak. her face contracts with pain before she smooths it back in a neutral expression. she shrugs a little, so small and apologetic. remember how formidable she was with alice, how clear she made it look that there was no escape? she can't quite bring herself to do that here.

you know by now what it means when agatha clutches her chest like that. you've seen her poor heart.

she licks her lips, she straighten up, vicious, ready to go into battle, ready to bite and hurt and beg and do everything, everything in her power to save nicky. we get this scene at the very end, when we know agatha and rio and their dynamic so intimately, and it's so easy to read what's happening. agatha will never go down with dignity, she'll fight till her last breath.

rio gives the tiniest of nods, she takes a deep breath. she knows agatha so well, she didn't expect anything less. while agatha is all over the place, rio is so still. her eyes are huge, and there's one stubborn tear that she's not allowing to fall. this has always been their dynamic - agatha's pain is too overwhelming, it engulfs all, there's no containing it. rio has to be strong and wise for the two of them.

this is rio losing her wife and child in one tragic swoop. this is rio being cast as the villain that took nicky's life.

this is futile. we can't fight Death.

oh, but she will try. she's been trying since we've known her. since she killed that poor dog to see if wanda could do something about it.

Death makes her decision.

not only does the grim reaper refuses to reap a soul. for the first time in all of history, she actively uses her magic to stop someone from dying. it goes against everything she stands for, and it's ultimately useless, because not even the power of the greatest Green Witch can heal nicky, she can only delay the inevitable. but she does it anyway, because she loves agatha too much. even if she knows perfectly well that she's just lost her forever.

rio is apparently impassible, but look closer: her nostrils are flaring, her jaw is trembling. if rio can't kill, by logic she can't generate life either. not that she's not able to - she's not allowed to, because she needs to be impartial. because if she lets herself fall in love with someone, it might just happen that their child will be stillborn in 18th century nowhere, massachusetts and Death might not be able to be selfless and impartial about it.

and then bye bye, sacred balance.

who the fuck came up with this story? and made it about lesbians, too? was it you, jac? I don't know if I want to kiss you or scream at you.

agatha doesn't recognize the world-shattering decision, the unprecedented sacrifice rio has just made for her. she can only think about nicky. how much time has she won? a day? a month? ten years? not knowing is torture.

and look, this is agatha, selfish to her very core. but can you blame her? can you feel anything but infinite pity and understanding for her at this moment? who is even to blame here? agatha, a mother begging for her child's life? rio going against every law and everything she believes in to give her beloveds one fleeting moment of reprieve?

there is no one to blame, not even nature - it has no concept of tragedy. (now that I think about it, agatha is the only person in history who could ever made nature feel.)

you did it, agatha, you made Death go away. you made your choice. it's you and nicky now.

oh god, kathryn, don't make that face. it's too much.

I spoke no spell, I said no incantation, you were made from scratch. the utter beauty that is agatha, the witch killer, the master of spells and craft, creating a baby (almost) the old fashioned way - the magic of life that no spell could ever improve.

this is agatha claiming nicky as hers. not rio's, only hers. she sought to have him for arguably selfish but deeply human reasons: because she needed to prove her mother wrong. because she wanted someone who would love her unquestioningly, unconditionally. because she was so, so lonely, and rio alone couldn't fill the chasm in her heart. she wanted her coven to grow from two to three, but looks like it's coven two again: her whole happiness is once again tied to only one person.

the little feetsies!

this shot, dear lord. green leaves and water taking over.

this entry was a lot. I need a hug.

go to episode 9 part 2

[tarotwithavi]

Your future lover : first meeting

How to choose a pile?

Close your eyes and take a deep breath and ask the angels to show you the right pile for you and open your eyes. The first pile that catches your attention is the right pile for you.

This is a general reading. Only take what resonates and leave the rest.

MASTERLIST

PAID SERVICES

I will be writing from their perspective as a scene.

Pile 1

As I sat in the room, fiddling with my phone, boredom settling heavy on my shoulders, the door creaked open. My eyes darted towards the sound, and there she was - the sister of my friend, the one I'd only heard about in passing. "Man you look like you haven't slept in a year" my friend said mockingly. "Sleep is not an option when you seek academic validation" She said sarcastically, her hair in disarray, clad in mismatched pajamas. But there was something captivating about her, a rawness that drew me in. I couldn't tear my gaze away as she clumsily made her way across the room, seemingly unaware of her disheveled appearance and my presence. Suddenly her eyes, tired yet filled with a spark of curiosity, met mine briefly before she looked away, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

In that moment, I realized that she was unlike anyone I'd ever met. There was an authenticity about her, a lack of pretense that intrigued me. Despite her unconventional appearance, or perhaps because of it, I found myself wanting to know more about her. And as she disappeared into the crowd, leaving me with a newfound sense of fascination, I knew that this encounter was just the beginning of something unexpected.

Random messages: popcorn, escapism, not paying attention, sleep deprived, games, cats, cup of coffee, sarcastic, fantasy, dark circles, hello kitty pajamas, Gemini, Pisces, cancer, S,G,Y,R and U.

I sense that you may meet this person when you will not be ready or let's say well dressed. They may be someone your family knows or you may meet them through family. I am also getting the message that you may not be paying attention. You may have just woken from a nap or there's something your hair being out of place. I see that this person will see you as someone who's a bit blunt but your quality will attract this person to you. I see that they may be an air sign or may be wearing black on the first meeting. There is an air of mystery surrounding this person. You may not know who this person is yet. This person will love the fact that you have a vision, a dream that you want to achieve.

Pile 2

I looked down at my glass of water standing in a room full of people, music playing in the background. My buddies, nudged me, pointing across the room with wide grins. "Gosh she's beautiful," my friend whispered, his voice barely audible over the lively ambiance. I followed their gaze and there she was, standing amidst the crowd like a beacon of light. She wore a stunning red dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, accentuating her beauty. Her smile was like sunshine, infectious and radiant, as she engaged in conversation with her friends. My breath caught in my throat as I watched her, feeling as though time stood still. It was as if destiny had orchestrated this moment, guiding me to her side when I had no intention of being here in the first place. In that instant, everything else faded into the background, and all I could see was her. My heart swelled with a newfound determination as I made a silent vow to myself. I wanted her to be a part of my life, to share moments and memories with her. With each step I took towards her, the anticipation and excitement bubbled within me, driving me forward.

As I finally stood before her, my pulse quickened with nervous anticipation. "Hi," I said, my voice slightly shaky but filled with sincerity. And as she turned to meet my gaze, her smile widened, filling me with a sense of warmth and possibility. In that moment, I knew that she was someone special, someone I wanted to get to know better. And so, with a hopeful heart and a newfound courage, I embarked on a journey that would change my life forever.

Random messages: mirror, rings, wedding, red, pink, blue colour, stork, gathering, fresh, bubbly personality, observing, Leo, Taurus, libra, nose ring, red hair, shoulder length hair, mole on/near nose, B,P,S and W.

I see that you may meet this person on a full moon or the moon could be significant. You may meet them in a social gathering and I see that communication will be involved in the first meeting. They will see you as someone who is outgoing and fun loving, they will love the fact that you can bring light to any situation. This person may have strong fire placements. They may have a tattoo somewhere on their body. I see that some of you may have in manifesting a meeting like this or you may have been dreaming of something related to this.

Pile 3

I walked into the café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee hitting me as I scanned the room. And then, I saw her. She was sitting by the window, her eyes lost in the rain tapping against the glass. I felt a tug in my chest, like something was pulling me towards her. As I approached her table, she looked up, her eyes meeting mine for the first time. There was a sadness in them, a pain that mirrored my own. We both carried the weight of past relationships gone wrong, wounds still fresh despite the passing of time. I pulled out the chair opposite her, and we exchanged tentative smiles. We didn't need words to understand each other's pain. It was there, written in the lines of our faces, in the way our shoulders sagged with the burden of heartbreak.We talked about trivial things at first, skirting around the edges of our pasts, afraid to delve too deep. But as the hours passed and the coffee cups emptied, we found ourselves opening up, sharing our stories, our fears, our dreams.

And in that moment, I felt a connection unlike anything I had ever experienced before. It was as if our hearts were speaking to each other, silently promising to be there for one another, to heal together. But we both knew we weren't ready for anything more than this fragile bond we had forged. We needed time to heal, to mend the broken pieces of ourselves before we could even think about being together. So we made a silent pact, an unspoken agreement to give each other the space and time we needed. And as we parted ways that evening, I couldn't help but feel hopeful for the first time in a long time. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for us to find happiness again, together.

Random messages: A, V, heart shaped things, cards, alarm clock, abandonment issues, zen, heart break, polar opposites but similar at the same time, 4, fall, halloween, healing, green, yellow.

I am getting the message that you may meet this person right after ending a relationship with someone or getting out of a toxic situation so you may not be keeping or focusing much on love or you may be trying to move on from your past or vice versa. There is a feeling of being a perfect match for Each other. I see that this person may view you as their perfect match or you maybe you them as your perfect match but I see that there is a sense of belongingness like you may feel as if you both belong with each other. Another message I'm getting is that this meeting may take some time however you may recall this reading when this happens with you.

[mintmatcha]

i second that other ask more of that sero x reader I beg

cw: depression, mentions of unhealthy weight loss

Kirishima hasn't seen you for days. When he knocks on your door, he can hear you moving around inside, but you never answer. The meals his mother makes sit on your welcome mat until they start to rot and he's forced to bring them back inside.

He knows it's because of Sero. He just doesn't know what to do about it.

It's one night that he manages to trap you by the apartment's garbage bin. You're carrying a box that's overfilled with things, wearing sweatpants and a dreadfully oversized top.

"Hey!" He tries to keep his voice friendly, unconcerned. "I've missed you!"

The roundness of your face is puffy and ruddy from crying. You shrug, eyes cast low. Your frame is thinner, but in a way that looks gaunt and unhealthy.

"Been busy."

"My mom wants you to come over for dinner soon," he tries. "She said she'll made whatever you want-- hey, are you throwing out your anime stuff?"

The box in your arms is stuffed with plastic pieces and ripped scraps of paper, most brightly colored, some back and white. It's the unmistakable hues of anime merch, carelessly jammed into a box and purposefully ruined.

"Yeah." With no preamble, you hoist the box into the garbage and let it fall with a thud. "I don't want it anymore."

Something doesn't feel right in his chest. It's raw, like an exposed nerve, begging for attention.

"What?" he tries to laugh. "That's crazy. Your apartment's gonna be so empty."

You don't react to that. All you do is scuff your slipper against the concrete, back and forth, as if you're just waiting for this to be over. You'd never been a social person, but this feels different. It's like you're not there anymore, gone behind the eyes.

"I'm sorry. About Sero being an asshole." Kirishima blurts out. "He shouldn't have-"

"Don't, Kirishima." You've never called him by his family name before. "It's my own fault."

You dip around him and his trash bag to go back inside, no goodbye, no eye contact. Just like that, you're gone, and he's left standing there, under the fluorescent street lamp with his quaking, horrible sickness brewing inside him.

It rocks in his stomach all night, so badly that he can't eat breakfast. By lunch, he's starving, but Sero has sat himself on Momo's desk and the memory of how dad you looked makes bile bite the back of his throat.

"You okay, buddy?" Fatgum asks that night during his internship work. Tamaki watches silently, but with an equally concerned look. Kirishima thinks that you two would have gotten along-- and that thought nearly makes him throw up. "You haven't eaten anything."

For once, Kirishima is aware of how young sixteen really is, how helpless youth can leave him. He's just a kid and he's dealing with too much.

"I think there's something wrong with my friend."

The next few weeks go quickly. One day, you're there. The next, the apartment is up for rent. Both Fatgum and his mom reassure him that you're okay, just back home with your parents for the time being. He asks if he can visit, and his mom just gives him that look she always does.

"Oh, Eijiro." his mother cups his cheek. "You're a sweet boy."

The next day, Sero is talking to some girl in class B. Kirishima'a stomach still goes sour.

[ozarkthedog]

𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

summary: it's been years since Dieter last saw you, his childhood friend and the unrequited love of his life. still, he doesn’t blame you for leaving.

pairing: Dieter Bravo x gn!childhood friend!reader

warnings: angst but with a happy ending! mentions of drug use and alcohol but nothing graphic. w.c: 1.0k

an: for @punkshort AU August writing challenge, I was given the prompt, “childhood friend with Dieter Bravo” thank you so much for hosting! huge thanks to @ghotifishreads for letting me talk your ear off about this little idea that took on a life of it's own and for reading this over. ilu!

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⋅ 𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Dieter rubs a hand over his face as he steps from the SUV into a throng of flashing lights and frantic screaming. It was the premiere of his first directorial and writing debut; a lot was riding on this.

Sure, he'd won an Oscar and various other award nominations, but this was an entirely different beast. This movie was special to him. It was the first script he wrote after getting "clean." He always scoffed at that word. Clean. Was he pure and holy now simply because he kicked hard drugs to the curb?

He takes a deep, slow breath, adjusts his velvet purple suitcoat, and moves down the red carpet. He autographs cards and pictures, takes selfies, and banters with a few fans before moving on to the press.

It doesn't feel right being here alone, he thinks, his left side feeling raw and exposed like a wound that never healed. 

After rewriting the script several times, he has his assistant mail it to a few studio execs before having them print out one last copy. He wrote down your name and told them to send you the script. He wanted to deliver it to you in person; it felt like the right thing to do, but he couldn't be sure you ever wanted to see him again after what he put you through.

He's stronger these days. Mentally and physically healthier. He's lost a bit of weight now that he's no longer downing pills and chasing them with alcohol. It took him a while to get used to feeling again. Sitting with the uncomfortable thoughts and not letting them take control. He's proud of himself. He thinks you would be, too. 

You.

Seeing a large open field littered with red flowers while driving home from rehab for the second time kicked him square in the gut. Flashes of his youth came back in vivid, blinding colors.

Chasing his dog, Dali, around the yard. Playing with you in the field of wildflowers behind your house. His throat tightens.

You.

You were his reason. The sun he revolved around—inseparable childhood friends.

When you first met Dieter, he was covered in chalk dust, drawing funky, green aliens with big eyes on the sidewalk in front of his childhood home. You'd just moved in next door, and your Mother told you to go make friends. He looked at you in awe as you stood before him, the sun creating a golden crown around your head. "Wanna be friends?" you blurted before kneeling and pestering him about his chalk alien.

From that moment on, you were forever linked. Dieter never wanted anyone else.

From scabbed knees and hide & seek to strange body changes and long school days. Consoling Dieter after he's pushed into a locker, copying each other's homework, watching Dieter shine on the theater stage, and spending almost every minute together that you could.

He wondered if you ever felt the love he held for you—the love that surpassed sibling bonds and grew stronger every time he laid eyes on you. The love that made him self-conscious and shy away from speaking his truth despite years of yearning. He couldn't convince himself to jeopardize the friendship or that you might possibly feel the same.

Cut to Dieter asking you to move to LA with him to be his assistant once his star power steadily rose. 

To the elaborate movie sets and lavish premieres, to the long nights and unspoken feelings. 

To find Dieter on the floor with vomit spilling from his lips to the empty bottles of pills and booze splayed around his Hollywood Hills home. 

The bickering, the raging parties, and the friendship that was slowly dying. 

The shell of a man he used to be. 

You were never around when he needed you the most after he drowned himself in booze and pills. He never blamed you. He was often inebriated, covered in a mess of sweat and other fluids. You could only stand to see him self-medicate for so long. 

"I can't keep doing this," he remembers you saying as tears welled in your eyes and your bottom lip trembled while he sat in a crumpled heap at the foot of his unmade bed with that usual glazed look. "I can't keep trying to save you."

He remembers wanting to argue, to save whatever piece was left. He tried to chase after you, but his brain and body were still under the haze from the night before, limbs heavy as lead weights, and they no longer listened to his commands. 

How your face twisted with a devastating sadness made his heart shatter. He never meant this to happen, for it to get this bad.

Had Dieter known the repercussions, that the last image he'd have of you would be wiping fallen tears that he caused from your cheeks, he would've gotten clean eons before. He would've let this version of himself die without a second thought. He wanted to be the man you counted on, with your best interests at heart. 

The man you knew him to be.

—

Just as he's about to step into the theater, he hears a voice call his name—a voice that would wake him from the dead. 

You.

His heart aches; it bursts with unnerving energy as he watches you approach. His gaze never leaves you as you glide across the room to where he stands, frozen. Could he be hallucinating?

"Hi D," his nickname sounds like heaven as it leaves your lips. He never wants it to end; he wants to hear it forever. "I'm sorry I didn't reach out sooner. I needed to make sure I was in a good headspace to see you again." You nervously wring your fingers, and Dieter can't stop himself from reaching out and locking your hands together, calming your combined anxious energy.

"It's okay," he whispers, throat tight, holding back elated tears, "I'm glad you're here."

A smile tugs at your lips, eyes shiny with your own tears. "Me too."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[deiitsukki]

Situationship | Suna R.

Synopsis: “In a relationship built on unspoken words and fleeting moments, Y/N falls hard for the enigmatic Suna Rintarō, hoping for something deeper beneath his casual demeanor. Their connection grows complicated during a road trip, culminating in a bittersweet romance that promises everything but permanence. When Suna’s family embraces Y/N as one of their own, their bond is tested, exposing their contrasting hopes and fears. In the end, Suna’s unwillingness to commit leaves Y/N in painful realization—she was just a chapter in his story, one he would inevitably turn the page on.”

A/n:( Angst & Smut fic! Cunnilingus in the car, Fingering, Bathroom sex, Mirror sex, Based on chappell roan's song “Casual” if you wanna read diff and sfw ver of this check it out on my other tumblr account it's @namicakes )

The sun dips low as you and Suna Rintarō drive down the winding road, the car filled with the soft lull of tires against asphalt and the fading hum of the radio. 

Outside, the world rushes by in a blur of trees, and the sky blushes into twilight hues—muted colors that match the mood that’s slowly settled between the two of you.

It had started so casually between you and Suna. A fleeting touch, lingering glances, an easy conversation one night that stretched into early morning. Casual, just like that. But the truth was, nothing had been casual about it for you since the beginning. You’d fallen into his quiet allure, the pull of his indifference that somehow always seemed to tilt towards you.

You’d spent weekends together, some late nights, maybe a holiday or two. But now, as his mother had asked you to join them at their beach cottage—another invitation you hadn’t expected—it felt different. Real. Like there were strings attached, and you weren’t sure if either of you wanted to acknowledge it.

“Hey,” you murmur, glancing over at him. He doesn’t look away from the road, fingers tapping idly against the steering wheel. But he hums in response, a low acknowledgment that he’s listening.

“So… us. What is this?” You try to keep it light, but your voice wavers, betraying the tension inside you.

He sighs, glancing at you for a brief second before his eyes return to the road. “Why does it have to be anything?”

Your heart sinks a little at his words, a leaden weight settling in your chest. It’s always been like this with him—a series of contradictions. The way he looks at you, sometimes like you’re the only person in the room. And yet, his words, they always pull you back, hold you at arm’s length.

“I just… I don’t know,” you say, struggling to find the right words. “Sometimes it feels like… more, you know? Like we’re not just… casual.”

“Does it matter?” he asks quietly, but there’s something in his voice—a crack in his usual guarded tone that catches you off-guard.

You laugh, but it’s hollow. “It does, to me.” You look away, the passing landscape blurring into streaks of color through the window. “I just wish I knew what I was to you, Rintarō.”

There’s a beat of silence before he responds, his tone softer than usual, almost contemplative. “You’re… something to me.” He clears his throat, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens. “But I don’t know if I can be what you need.”

The words sting more than you expected. There’s something about the way he says it—like a wound that never quite healed, a place in him he’s never let anyone touch. And suddenly, you’re angry. Angry at his distance, angry at his hesitation.

“Then why am I here, Rintarō? Why do you keep pulling me in if you’re just going to keep pushing me away?”

The car slows as he pulls over, cutting the engine. He turns to you, his gaze intense, something dark and raw lingering in his eyes. “Because I don’t know how to let you go.”

And then his lips are on yours, desperate, almost feverish, like he’s searching for something he can’t name. Your anger dissolves in the heat of the moment, replaced by a yearning that you can’t ignore, a need to be closer, even if it hurts.

He broke the kiss and without anymore words he fixed your seat so you were slightly laying, He then unbuckled his seat belt, and before you could ask him what is he going to do, he was already on his knees infront of your seat.

You yelped as he suddenly put his cold hands inside your dress skirt, in a swift moment he already removed your panties, He smirked as he saw you were wearing the laced pink panty he really loved.

“R-rin” you muttered shyly as you look down on him “We're in the middle of the road we can't-” you said warning him but he shushes you as he lifts your dress skirt “Shh be quiet then.” he said sternly before ravishing your pussy

You squirm at the sudden contact, you put your right hand to your mouth to muffle your moans and your left hand on his hair, you gripped his hair tightly as he eats you out like a hungry animal.

“Rin~” you whisper-moaned trying not to make a loud noise but the way he eats you makes you wanna moan his name. You threw your head back as you felt yourself closer into orgasm, he felt it too so he put his long thick fingers inside of your pussy, and your eyes rolled back as the pleasure you were feeling grew more intense.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, fingering you while licking your clit, he continued doing this until you couldn't hold back anymore

“F-fuck Rin Fuck I'm gonna cum” you cried out in pleasure, hearing your cries he deepens his fingers, he hums looking up on you his face burried in your pussy.

You felt the vibration of his hum and that was the last straw, you felt yourself reach your climax and came in his fingers.

The days pass in a blur after that, the memories of his touch and his words haunting you, lingering in every quiet moment. You find yourself at his family’s beach cottage soon after, where his mother welcomes you with open arms, her warmth something unfamiliar and almost painful. It’s as if she’s seeing you as something permanent in his life—an idea that fills you with both hope and dread.

And then, weeks later, there’s the dinner at his family’s house, the night where everything unravels.

Suna’s mother watches the two of you as you sit side by side, her gaze soft and knowing. She smiles, her words gentle, but they cut deeper than she could ever know. “You two look lovely together,” she says, her tone warm and inviting.

The weight of her words sinks into you, heavy and suffocating. Lovely together. Lovely, as if you were a real couple, as if this wasn’t just some half-spoken promise that neither of you fully acknowledged. You feel the walls closing in, the words catching in your throat, and suddenly you need to escape.

You mumble an excuse, pushing away from the table and stumbling into the bathroom. Locking the door behind you, you let out a shaky breath, your chest tight as you sink down against the wall. The tears come before you can stop them, hot and silent, slipping down your cheeks as the ache of wanting something you can’t have crashes over you.

It’s only when you hear the soft click of the door that you realize you’re not alone. Suna stands there, his expression unreadable as he watches you. He doesn’t say anything, just steps closer, his gaze dark and searching.

You expect him to comfort you, to say something, anything, to break the silence. But instead, he kneels in front of you, his hand reaching out to brush a tear from your cheek. And then he’s kissing you, a slow, deliberate kiss that drowns out the pain, the questions, everything. His touch is gentle, as if he’s afraid you might break, but there’s a desperation there too—a silent plea, a need that neither of you can put into words

The world blurs around you, the line between what’s real and what’s fleeting slipping away. It’s intoxicating and heartbreaking, and you lose yourself in him, knowing that this moment is all you’ll ever have.

He took your hands and guide you in the mirror infront of the bathroom sink,He then make you face the mirror, he was behind you, he then swept your hair to the side kissing your shoulder, you whimpered as him left a wet kiss in the side of your neck.

His hands slowly tracing your body, from you shoulders to your hands and finally his hands finding it's way to your waist, he holds your waist in a gently way as if he's afraid you're gonna break, Then all of a sudden he made you bend down.

His other hand lifted your dress and his other was on the back of your neck, He then unzip his pants, letting out his painfully hard cock. He lined himself in your entrance and without any warning he slammed his thick cock in your wet pussy.

You Moaned and your hands instinctively went to your mouth to prevent yourself from being heard, you remembered that his family was downstairs having a happy dinner and you can not help but feel ashamed because this was their house and you were just a guest but here you were letting their son ruined your insides.

Suna Fucks you into oblivion, his thrust were slow and sloppy but you feel good because he was hitting the spots that made you see stars, His hands grabhed a fist of your hair, he yanked your head up to make you look at yourself in the mirror.

And oh god, you were so ashamed of how your face shows that you were having good, you were in deep pleasure, and he knew it, suna knew it too, you take a look on his face in the mirrpr infront of you, he smirks at you, His pace picking up as he felt himself close.

he bend down too, his chest on your back and both of his hands pinned your hands down onto bathroom sink, his face in the crook of your neck, his cock going deep inside you, he felt your walls squeeze him and he groaned in your neck muttering “Fuck don't squeeze me like that”

You bit your lip so hard to stop yourself from screaming from how good he fucks you, you can feel him burries his thick cock inside your pussy.

“Suna gonna cum” you muttered quietly “Cum on my dick then” he chuckles in your neck, his hot breath tickling you

Just as he said, you groaned as you came in his cock, your back arching against his broad chest as you heaved on heavy breaths trying not to make any loud sound to disturb the family dinner downstairs.

Suna's pace became sloppier as he felt himself cumming inside of you, with a quiet moan he shoot his loads inside of your kissing your back as he emptied his cum in your pussy.

While catching his breat, suna  slowly pulled his dick outside of you. As he cleaned himself he notice you weren't moving, he saw you staring at yourself in the mirror with a blank expression then he sighs. 

“Come here” he spoke ushering you “Let's shower together” he said still in his usual deadpan expression and cold tone, you were shocked to say the least. 

“W-what about your mother? she mght think-” you asked nervously “don't worry about her, I told her you were in my bedroom resting” he cuts her off

He didn't know if you heard him but you were in a daze as if you were drowning in a deep ocean of unsaid thoughts, he sighed again, you've been spacing out a lot since the small fight you had in the car.

He didn't know what made you like this, but what he said in the car, he means it. he didn't want to lose but he doesn't know if he wanted more of you, he keeps you closebut never too close. 

To pull you out of your thoughts, he snaked one of his hands in your waist and pulled you towards him, kissing you in a deep and passionate, his other hand cupping your face.

‘Was it casual when you kissed me passionately trying to pull me out from drowning over my miserable thoughts?’

When you finally pull away, the silence between you is thick with unspoken words. He looks at you, his gaze soft, almost tender. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You manage a weak smile, your heart heavy with the truth you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. “Don’t be. I knew what this was from the start.”

He nods, a shadow of sadness flickering in his eyes. “I wish… I wish I could be more for you.”

You close your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle over you. And in that moment, you realize that he won’t ever be the person you need. He’s too afraid of letting you in, too afraid of what he might lose if he does.

And so, you let go.

The silence stretches between you and Suna long after that night. You drift apart like waves receding from shore, a slow and inevitable separation. The calls become less frequent, the messages shorter, until they stop altogether, leaving only an empty inbox and a quiet ache you carry like a scar. 

It’s been weeks since you last saw him, the memories still sharp and vivid, refusing to fade. You keep replaying that night at his family’s house, his mother’s warm smile, his silence in the car, the way he pulled you close only to push you away again.

And now, as you sit alone in your room, you realize you were right all along: he was always just passing through, slipping out of your life as easily as he slipped in. You find yourself scrolling through old photos, looking for remnants of moments that feel like they were never real. It’s as if he left nothing behind, no trace except for the hollow ache inside you.

One evening, you’re drawn to the beach, the same stretch of sand where you’d spent that warm afternoon with his family. The waves lap at the shore in the fading twilight, mirroring the last of the light in your heart. You pull your jacket tighter around you, trying to block out the cold, but it seeps in anyway, a biting reminder of everything you’d tried to hold onto but lost.

There’s no message, no goodbye, only an absence that weighs heavier with each passing day. You realize he’s already gone, moved on like you were just another moment he’d let slip through his fingers. And yet, part of you still waits, still hopes that he might come back. But he doesn’t.

One night, months later, you hear from a friend that he’s been seen with someone else. She’s smiling in the photos, leaning into him, her gaze full of a warmth that’s achingly familiar. You can’t help but wonder if he looks at her the way he once looked at you, or if she’s just another fleeting thing he’ll one day forget.

As you close the album on your phone, the realization hits you fully: you were always just a passing chapter, a story he never meant to keep. And even though you knew this was how it would end, the pain of it feels like a wound that will never truly heal.

You look out at the ocean, letting the waves carry away the last of your hopes. And in that quiet, lonely space, you finally let him go.

[moonbaetarot]

Pick a pile

What your future spouse loves about you

1. 2. 3.

Pile 1

Your future spouse loves the way you express yourself you’re not shy to show the world the real you. You make this person feel special your future spouse may have not always got that feeling in the past but you make them feel really special. They enjoy laughing and making jokes with you. They love that they can be themselves and comfortable around you. Your future spouse loves that You’re not afraid to follow your dreams if you wanna do something you will do it no matter if a million people are telling you it’s a bad idea. I feel like you’re blunt you don’t sugar coat things and this person loves that because you’re real and raw with them. you take care of yourself, your body, mind your work I feel like everything you have is well taken care of. You may love going to the spa getting a glass of wine or campaign Doing face mask getting your hair done you like being pampered and this person loves that they love seeming you enjoy yourself. this person is going to love the memories you make together. someone here could love to journal, keep a picture book, like printed out pictures or older looking pictures. they love the smell of your hair you may have a good smelling shampoo or conditioner or have like a hair perfume. this is funny but I feel like someone could ask your future spouse what do you love most about them and they are like “yes” and the other person says no but like what is it about them and they say “yes” lol. Your future spouse just really loves being around you they love how you understand them. Your person could also love your smile and when you wear lipstick or lip gloss. They see you as they only fish in the sea. this person could love to say like cheesy cringy things to you. someone here could love butterflies, fairy’s or the color purple.

Thank you for reading loves! 🤍

Pile 2

you always have something up your sleeve for your future spouse like your always planning something or buying something for this person your love languages could be gift giving but like you go to this person and your like “here I got this for you”. I feel like your person really loves your joyful energy you light up your future spouses world. I feel like you bring a lot of good to there life you teach this person to be happy and smile when there having a bad moment you know we all have ups and downs but when this person isn’t feeling the best you know just how to make them happy again. Your future spouse loves listening to music in the car with you or just listening to music in general I feel like you and this person share the same music taste and watch the same shows and movies.This person loves and appreciates that you’re very trusting and honest with them. you know what’s right and wrong this person loves that you can stand up for yourself. This person loves that your an empathetic person like if you see a someone struggling or stray animals your always willing to help them out of the kindness of your heart. you bring a lot of good news and blessings into this persons life. you and your future spouse could be doing nothing together and still be happy and content they just love being around you. I’m getting a lot of the same messages for pile 1 and 2 so you could be reading both. Someone here could love wearing jewelry or a lot of bracelets someone could also have a peice of jewelry that was a passed down from a loved one. You may like wearing bows or their hair in pink tails. your future spouse could also be a bit older.

Thank you for reading loves! 🤍

pile 3

Your future spouse loves Your love for animals you and this person could have a animal together or you could already have one and this person loves the way you take care of them I feel like you treat them like your baby and this is shows them how good your going to be with your future babies. you don’t let nothing get between you nothing in life could break you two up. this person loves how funny and goofy your are you may like to just pop out of nowhere and start singing random lyrics or parts of a movie and there just laughing like babe I’m trying to work or I’m trying to do sleep lol. you could have a golden retriever or want one or this is the pet you and future spouse are going to have. someone’s pet could be named daisy or the name daisy could be Significant. Your future spouse loves when you wear dresses if you like to wear them. This person loves your out look on life I feel like you don’t take things to seriously you love to just go with the flow. Your person loves how you look when you sleep they think you look adorable. Your future spouse loves your food they love when you cook for them. Someone here really loves flowers and this person is going to buy you flowers all the time. Your person also really likes your body no matter the shape, size, figure you are they love it all. someone here could love ladybugs or see them often.

Thank you for reading loves! 🤍

[the-borgias]

hi sole! your sharpening is always so soft and pretty, i was wondering if you would be open to share it? hope you are having a wonderful november so far <3

Hi, Anon! Thank you so much <3 Yeah, sure, tutorial under the cut:

What you'll need:

Photoshop (I use Photoshop 2023)

Basic knowledge on how to make gifs

Camera Raw filter installed

Okay so, first of all, I use two different methods depending on the size of the gif. Let's start with the one I use for most of my gifsets which are big gifs (examples: x x x x.)

METHOD #1: Smart Sharpen + Camera Raw

I started using the Camera Raw filter last year and let me tell you, I'm obsessed! It completely changes the game of sharpening. I use this method for all gifs with a 540px width.

We're going to work on timeline so get your gif ready and convert it for smart filters. I'm using this scene from my last set as a base:

Here's the gif after I color it (I usually sharpen my gifs before I color them but for the sake of the tutorial I'm showing you this so you guys can see the difference):

(1) Smart Sharpen Layer: Let's start by adding a Smart Sharpen layer (Filter > Sharpen > Smart Sharpen) with these settings:

Disclaimer: I didn't come up with these settings myself I got them from these sharpening actions forever ago so I don't know which one it is :/. I also wasn't able to find that person's new blog (if they even have one since they've been inactive since 2021) so if anyone knows please let me know and I'll give them proper credit!

Now we're going to go to the 'Layers' panel and click on this little thingy:

This window will pop up and we are going to change the Opacity to 50%.

(2) Camera Raw Filter: Here's where the fun begins. Go to Filter and click on Camera Raw Filter (you'll need to have the plugin installed for it to show up.) I don't know how the Camera Raw window will look like the first time you open it but good thing you only need to change a couple of things!

If it isn't opened yet click on 'Effects' and we're going to change the Texture and Clarity:

Depending on the scene/show/film I'm giffing, or if I want a stronger or softer sharpening, I'll use two different settings, but 99% of the time they are these:

First setting: Texture (+20) Clarity (+10)

Second setting: Texture (+40) Clarity (+20)

As you can see the difference isn't huge but the first setting gives a "softer" look. As I said I'll use one or the other depending on how I see the scene (it's almost always about the vibes yk.)

Feel free to experiment with these two and see what works best for you (although I wouldn't go higher than 40 on texture because the sharpening will look too fake imo.)

Also this filter is soooo good at making low quality videos look 1080p! Every time I've had to use 720p videos the Camera Raw filter has saved me 🫡

METHOD #2: Smart Sharpen

I use this method for smaller gifs. For example, 8 gifs of 268px x 180px sets (like these) or small-ish gifs in complex sets (like the second gifs in this set.)

This process is much simpler since it's the one I explained before but without adding the Camera Raw filter. That's it that's the method. Just a Smart Sharpen layer with the Opacity turned down to 50%.

As I said this method looks best on smaller gifs but to be honest it looks good on big gifs too? Depends on what you like most!

Anyway I hope this was easy to follow and if anyone has any questions please feel free to dm me or send an ask! ♡

[anotherdescentintomadness]

Rainbow Wang YiBos: The Thread You Didn’t Know You Needed — Part 3 🌈💚

And of course, a little something for Xiao Zhan stans 🌈❤️

Still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever made 💀

A Collection of Rainbow Wang YiBos to Bless Your Timeline 🌈💚

Happy Pride!

And a little treat for XZ fans 🌈❤️

This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever made.

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

[twi-liight]

Sooo. You just posted Petty Jealousy 20 mins ago and I just wanted to say that I loveeee itttt. Can we please have more? Like Astarion and the other companions subtly do somethings to the person they’re jealous of to turn them away from Tav.

Tav’s companions are just sooo cutee when they’re jealous. Wyll and perhaps, Halsin being the only sensible ones.

Thank you!

Red With Envy ❣

The YA love heptagon of the century: Tavrem. ❥ Astarion/Tav, Gale/Tav, Lae'zel/Tav, Companions/Tav. It's Gale/Astarion if you squint. ❥ They/them pronouns for Tav. ❥ Tav is the nickname for the reader/oc insert. Their real name is up to you! ❥ PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Astarion would never beseech himself to touch a member of the working class, but things change. People change. And here he is draping an arm around Gale’s shoulders to boldly declare his presence upon the rickety, wooden table. 

“Oh.” Blink blink. Gale gawks with round eyes, then not-so-discreetly glances away from Astarion’s heavy gaze to the only present company at the table: salted bread with thick slices of white cheese, anchovies, and sop for the bread. This sorry excuse of a presentation must be breakfast, which begs the question- Is Gale’s blood so blue that he cannot skip a meal or is he trying to make a favorable impression? 

Astarion would much prefer the former. It means he does not need to scrub his hands raw from the filth of peasants after this interaction.

“Uh, good morning, Astarion.” 

“Mm?” He flashes his fangs to grin. “A good morning indeed, my friend. How lovely the dawn breaks over the horizon, but with no one to share the scenery with! I pitied you, and out of the kindness of my heart, opted to join you.” 

Alright, enough touching. Astarion draws his arm back to poise a curled hand beneath his chin, glancing over Gale’s face in a vain attempt to study him. “Well-combed hair. Your posture,” he raises his hand to gesture at the wizard, “is much cleaner than yesterday. You’re practically glowing with morning dew, and…”

Here, he leans forward, just enough so that his nose lingers on the curve of Gale’s neck, just so his hot breath hits his skin as he murmurs, “You smell like Tav.” 

This greedy bastard slept in their tent last night because he caught some sickness from meandering about gaseous spores, and Tav cannot ignore the needy. Would that Gale be some beggar on the road and not an accomplished wizard with a higher emotional maturity than he.  

Astarion would be more comforted if he was a one night stand, a quick romp for the leader of their party to take the edge off. But anything beyond that is sabotage for his best-laid plans. 

Astarion’s smirk curls as deep, roiling darkness tug at his mind. He leans back slowly, never breaking eye contact. “They let you sleep in their tent. What a darling.” While they slept by the fire, ash and dirt swirling in their hair, Gale was embraced in Tav’s blankets and scarves. The lingering scent of something floral sticks on his skin, and Astarion recognizes it as the oleander Shadowheart presented Tav a fortnight ago. 

Gale smells something else: rusty and metallic, like the smell of a storm brewing. Has Astarion’s eyes deepened in color, like wine? His tongue feels heavy in his mouth all of a sudden. “Yes,” he agrees, thinking of Tav for some semblance of comfort. “I was sick, and they offered their tent for the night. More blankets, they said. Easier to be warm in - look, Astarion, do you have a problem with my friendship with Tav?” 

The laugh that pushes its way forcibly out of his sneering lips is sharp and mocking. Something burns in his chest, and it feels like seething anger. “My, that’s a strong word. I would say acquaintance is more befitting of your,” Astarion gestures to Gale once more, fighting back a scowl, “station. You’ve known Tav for barely a few months - they’re not quick to brand just anyone as a friend.” 

“Is that right?” Gale’s brown eyes spark with challenge. What a doll. Finally got his spine. “I ought to wonder how you befriended them, then. Anyone with half a mind knows your shenanigans are acts of desperation; you want them to like you so you can manipulate them. I know your type, Astarion.” 

“And you… You, what, you are not? You’re using Tav just as much as I am, darling. Otherwise, what are you here for? Companionship? Ha!” Astarion does not know why, but his entire being is alight. As if the sun’s rays are scorching him. He can barely contain his temper, barking out between sharp teeth, “Get a grip.” 

Gale is hardly fazed. “You’re delusional. Whatever threat you think I present to you?” He lifts his chin, eyes alight with power and rage. “Confront it. Dig your grave. Lie in it. While you’re busy lurking in the shadows, waiting for the opportune moment to dance them around your little games, guess where I will be?” 

Silent, seething anger. It burns. Astarion’s eyes are blown wide with rage as he gazes into Gale’s eyes, digging his nails into his palm as his fingers wrap around the hilt of his dagger. 

“There to catch them when they realize everything you’ve done is just an act.” Gale leans forward this time, a warning blazing in his brown eyes. “Think whatever you wish of me, Astarion, but never in your life think I would never fight for those I cherish.” 

Cherish. Astarion almost sinks his teeth in his throat to shut him up. “Good,” he purrs, fighting every urge not to massacre Gale where he sits with his dingy little breakfast. “I would be sorely disappointed if you succumbed too easily to me.” 

This would be so much easier if Astarion didn’t care about losing Gale, either. If he must concede, Astarion can admit to himself and the Devil alone that Gale is beyond useful in battle. Herald of the Weave, Mystra’s little boytoy? He would be endeared to watch Gale’s story end. Whether it be in smithereens or in the bosom of his former goddess, it will be fun to watch. 

Something in the back of his mind gnaws at his anxiety that Gale will be the one to turn Tav against him. This pretty little fool never wanted him in the party, wary of him, which is the smart thing to do. Tav was not. Tav was too easy to trust him. To easy to ply around his fingers until he had them even offer up their blood. 

He resents Gale for making space in their heart. It could have been his. 

“The dawn rises as I do: strong, and watching over two bread boys exchanging heated words like knives.” Lae’zel’s voice, sleek and smooth, startles them. Gale visibly jolts away from his proximity to Astarion’s face, brown eyes widening as Lae’zel approaches the table. She takes one gander at the spread, grabs a fistful of anchovies, and shoves it down her mouth without care. 

“You,” Gale stammers. “That was for–” 

“Silence. Githyanki must feed well to prepare for the new day. I will not hear your incoherent mumbling, wizard.” Lae’zel at least has the decency to chew with her mouth closed. She gulps the food, grips her fingers around Gale’s mug of watered down wine, and downs it with a tilt of her head. 

Astarion pouts. “We were having a moment, dearest Lae’zel. Now, I love to tease Gale as much as you, but it is my turn to press on Gale’s pretty little nerves until he explodes. He does not need to be,” he flares a hand out to Lae’zel, who is still downing the disgusting concoction with impressive concentration, “hounded.”

Gale looks confused. Astarion thinks that is not a state he often experiences. “Thank you?” 

And now he’s grateful? Astarion regrets his string of words in the last five seconds. They should go back to fighting.

Lae’zel slams the mug down on the table, perishing the rest of Astarion’s train of thought. She wipes the drink from her lips with her arm, thinks for a second, then nods, resilience plain in her expression. “I must warn you: distractions outside of our goal will be our end. I will not fail to cut either of you down if you produce disappointing results. However.”

There’s a ‘however’? Gale and Astarion exchange a glance, the animosity between them gone, replaced with more confusion. “I think you may be misunderstanding,” Gale begins. “Astarion and I-” 

“You two are lovers,” Lae’zel says with the confidence of a thousand burning suns. Astarion has never wished for that to be more true. He wants to be eviscerated where he sits right now because he cannot pick up his jaw from the ground. 

Gale looks like he just swallowed a rat. Like he is seconds away from throwing up. He needs a moment, experiencing vicious whiplash from wanting to kill Astarion to now, wanting to kill Lae’zel. “You— huh.”

“I support this companionship,” nods the githyanki sagely. 

“You are a bloody fool.” 

“No. I am efficient. Two of my enemies have been wiped off the playing field, which means there is less competition.” Hands on her hips, Lae’zel looks at the campgrounds proudly. “Make love to each other loudly.” She jerks her head over her shoulder, a sneer twisting her sharp features as she looks at them. “Try to drown out my name from Tav’s lips tonight, for I will be taking their hand and heart.” 

No fucking way. An oversight on his part. How could he have been so blind? Of course Tav is desired, not just by him or Gale, but by everyone else in the damn camp! This is much more troublesome than he realized. Fine, then. He should prioritize the rational thinkers like Wyll, Gale, Shadowheart and– oh, Karlach. Not darling Karlach. She would never turn Tav against him, would he? 

Fine. Halsin and Lae’zel can go first. 

“Momentary truce?” Gale offers. 

“You read my mind, handsome. Lae’zel, darling! Come back over here - we just want to talk.” 

❥ Additional links: kofi | ao3

[chaos0pikachu]

4 Minutes and the Cinematography of Nipples

I said before that I thought 4 Minutes was pretty instantaneously the best looking BL on the market for 2024 after one episode. Which, not gonna lie, is a pretty big fucking claim. There’s been a lot of BL that’s come out that’s looked good, and I do think there’s been a steady improvement overall in the market in the last few years. Personally I think Japanese and Korean BL have a stronger production quality over a majority of Thai BL but like, if that’s a hot take I guess I prefer my food spicy. 

The point being~ if I’m gonna make such a hyperbolic statement, well I better back it up right? 

So I’m gonna break down a few scenes from the first episode, what I liked about them, why they worked for me, and why on a technical level I think 4 Minutes has just got it going on.

For better readability you can also check out this essay here.

Sidenote: my google docs kept trying to autocorrect “Bible” to “the Bible” and idk how to teach google I mean the hot Thai actor and not the book of Jesus. 

To start, I’m going to break down this scene featuring Great and his nepo baby cat: 

I thought starting with this scene would be good because it’s such a low-key scene and honestly making these simplistic scenes visually interesting is very difficult! But if you have the basics down, the foundations of cinematography and film making, these simpler scenes can be really memorable. 

Like yeah we’re all gonna remember this scene because shirtless Bible and oh my god Akira!? - I have only recently learned who Akira is; why is this cat getting a bigger bag than me? - but beyond that, what makes it cool to watch? What makes it interesting? What information does it showcase to the audience? 

One thing I added to the video was a grid for the rule of thirds. 

Rule of thirds is a shot composition technique applied to both film and photography. It’s the grid you see if you film a homevideo and helps a Director and Cinematographer figure out where to place the subject or subjects of the shot. The idea is the gridlines show you where you “should” place the subject(s) of said shot. 

Like everything, the rule of thirds is a guideline in filmmaking, not a hard and fast unbreakable rule. Filmmakers like Wes Anderson like to play more with central composition shots, rather than ROT. 

Anyway on to the opening shot, right after our credits and we’re moving into the shot. 

To start, the first thing I notice is the scene’s color grading. Color grading in film is the manipulation of raw film footage to create specific color tones throughout a project. Sometimes this grading is more pointed and obvious, think The Matrix, while in other films it’s not as obvious but still very prominent, think Killers of the Flower Moon. 

It’s not that the before credits scene looks entirely, jarringly different from the opening scene, but the hospital scene is surrounded by whites and blue tones, it’s darker, and only a single source of light exists. It gives the entire scene a much more frantic, uneasy aesthetic but it’s not so far off from the darker muted tones of the next scene that it feels jarring or out of place. 

The second big thing I noticed in the episode is the use of aspect ratio. I’m not 100% sure what aspect ratio the production used exactly, but the use of widescreen as opposed to full screen in my opinion, gives the episode a more cinematic feel to it in comparison to other Thai BLs. 

Example, if you look at Century of Love (2024) it appears to be filmed in the standard full screen - which I believe is 16:9? - while 4 Minutes is widescreen (thus the black bars at the top and bottom). Widescreen can give a show a more “movie like” quality to it which is part of the vibes I get from 4 Minutes. 

(source)

Onto Great’s actual introduction scene.

We’re not starting the shot with static movement, but with a camera panning right. I’ve talked about camera panning and such in BL before and it’s something I’ve found doesn’t happen as often as it should. Which is a shame! It’s such a simple technique but it adds so much. 

Imagine if we entered the frame with a static center shot, and then a cut to Great sleeping and turning off his alarm clock, and then another cut to above the bed. Think about how much more boring that could be visually. 

Instead, we enter the scene with movement, panning over and creating some interesting visual framing. 

So here’s our opening shot, do you notice anything interesting? To start, what I like about this shot other than the panning movement in, is that we don’t see Great’s face yet. In fact we don’t see his face in full until about 30 seconds into the scene. This builds anticipation, yeah we all know what Bible looks like, but for the audience who doesn’t this helps build anticipation. 

Who is this character? What does he look like? What’s his deal? 

It also engages the audience more, if you notice part of the composition of the shot has Great in the mid-ground slightly blurred out, while the foreground emphasizes the things on his desk. He’s distant from us, the audience, sleeping off his hangover not yet ready to “join” the world yet. 

Here’s another two more things I like about this shot:

Lines. 

Using lines and shapes can make a scene more visually interesting and invoke different feelings to the viewer. In this shot, I get a sense of symmetry, the camera panning right, lightly drags across the screen alongside the lines below and above Great, almost creating a frame within a frame effect. As if Great is boxed into a clock in and of itself. 

You can also see the use of balance in the scene as well, connecting back to that visual theme of symmetry as well as blocking our view of Great’s face. The lava lamb and champagne bottle are almost the same height, which helps create balance in the shot. The champagne bottle informs us Great has been drinking or does drink since it’s positioned so close to his bed, whilst also continuing to hide his face away from the viewer. 

I also like that the lava lamp is a bright spot of color. The tone of the scene is mostly muted greens, and gray, but the bright orange lava lamp and even the pink champagne bottle draw our attention but don’t overwhelm us either. It provides the scene with some warmth but doesn’t offset the overall tone of the color grading. 

And then, the last bit of this shot:

We have Great knocking over the champagne bottom, and turning off his alarm clock. Notice that the alarm clock and the champagne bottle hit those ROT dots almost exactly. There’s also the use of lines by the length of Great’s arm - I just forgot to add a line I’m a failure, a fake, fml - we see him knock over the bottle, and then we follow the line of his arm directly to the alarm clock which is also a shape, a circle. 

I like that they used a clock with a specific notable shape, since by the end of this scene the clock is relevant to the story as a whole. Using a shape makes the clock more visually noticeable and memorable to the audience. 

So in the next cut we’re above Great - just like Great’s gonna be above Tyme, fuckin hell I’m corny - in a medium-full shot and there’s a couple things I really like here. 

I really like the use of lines here with the bed going in one direction but Great’s body going another. It’s disconcerting, and off kilter a bit. 

The use of patterns plus the opposing symmetry, whereas in the previous shot the lava lamp and champagne bottle were providing balance, here one side of the bed is patterned, while the other isn’t. This creates a sense of imbalance and makes the shot more visually interesting.

This medium-full shot at a high angle makes Great smaller, and continues to showcase his dishevelment, keeping him distant from the world itself. Also notice the lack of color here as well. 

What could this say about Great as a character? Or his story? 

So this next cut is the one that actually inspired me to write this essay to begin with and know what I’ma eat some crow here. I originally said it was a great ROT shot but I was wrooooooong. It’s definitely a center composition shot. 

Notice as well, the bed itself is its own shape - rectangle - center in the frame, and yet the shot almost looks unbalanced again because of that singular patterned rug. It’s the only pattern in the entire shot, not even Great’s pillows have noticeable patterns on them. 

The above view camera angle in a full shot creates almost an omnipresent feel, as if the audience - or something else? - were looking down upon Great. Whose face we still haven’t seen! It makes him smaller, less powerful, and almost vulnerable. Shots like this are often used in horror films like James Wan’s Malignant (2021) where the horror spector will be looking down above the would-be victim. 

Another thing I like about this scene though is we have Great moving. It would be simpler and easier to have his phone just by his alarm clock, or under his pillow, but think about how much more visually interesting it is that he has to move down the bed and reach for his phone. It creates action in an actionless low stakes scene. 

And now, 30 whole seconds in and we’ve finally seen Great’s face! 

Fun fact, with the ROT grid the gridlines fall right across Bible’s nipples. That’s not a film analysis, just something I noticed entirely intentionally. Thanks Madam Director Ning Bhanbhassa Dhubthien.

The actual shot is in center composition again, as Great rolls over and reveals his face the camera begins to zoom in. 

This creates movement in the scene instead of leaving the camera to statically observe it’s now, finally, inviting the audience to meet Great. Pulling us in towards him whereas before we were kept at a distance. Great’s awake and, well as ready to meet the world as somebody with a raging hangover can be. 

I also like how Bible is moving constantly in this scene; he rubs his eyes and nose, he twitches his fingers, titles his head back and forth, etc it’s nothing revolutionary but it’s appreciated. 

When the scene cuts, we get this shot: 

I didn’t put the red dot on his nipple, it just landed there. This is all Madam Director Ning chepie. 

But you can see how Great’s body is landing on all those gridlines pretty solidly. Also in the background we see his alarm clock again, a bright blurred circle in the distance. I also like the angle of this shot, as it creates depth in the frame, with Great’s head being in the foreground his lower body in the mid-ground and the background blurred out. 

What follows is Akira appearing in frame. Which was really difficult to capture so I don’t have a screenshot. But what I really like is Akira entering the frame out of focus. They could have just cut to Akira, but instead they opted for Akira to enter the frame which is more interesting. 

When we do cut, Akira is firmly on one of those dots so we don’t miss them in the frame. I think it’s also interesting that we’ve pulled out again, into a mid-full shot, hanging above Great, and we see that clear symmetry line again between the patterned rug and the regular carpet. 

I also really love that when we got to Great sweet-talking Akira and feeding them we’re not just doing a cut, we’re panning downwards which continues to add movement to the scene. And we get that moneyed sponsor shot! 

Durex can’t pay for everything okay?

So in the final bit of this scene we get focus on Great, who’s in focus, before he gets up and leaves the frame where the camera then focuses on the clock behind him. 

See how in the first frame the background is all blurred out, but once Great walks out of the frame - again, great that he walks out, movement!! Y’all don’t understand how boring 1000 Stars was for me to watch because of the lack of this stuff okay? - and then the focus shifts to the clock. Which is round. 

God I know that sounds so dumb, but imagine the clock without that ring light bit on it, it’s just a tiny little rectangle. Not as fun or interesting to look at right? Or as noticeable especially from a distance? 

This shift in focus also tells us “this is important” whatever “this” is. The subject of the shot goes from Great to the alarm clock but they are positioned as equally important. We’re meant to pay attention to this seemingly innocuous item, which we learn later in the episode is time. We’re meant to remember and note that time will be important to the story - I know with a title like 4 Minutes you’d fucking hope time would be important but have y’all ever read Youtube comments? It’s rough out there for visual comprehension okay? 

So all in all this scene is only 1 minute and 40 seconds give or take. It’s very short, but I don’t think it was boring at all. I think it’s a really solid introduction to a main character. Think, Korn didn’t get this much time to showcase his introduction, his scene is shorter - though also well done - which showcases which character is more of a story priority. 

This scene eases the audience into the story, inviting us to wake up into the world like Great is. It uses techniques like lines, shapes, symmetry, color and focus to make what could be a very boring scene into an interesting one. 

There’s so so much I probably and certainly missed, I’m far from an expert, but I hope I was able to articulate what I liked about this scene, and why I think it looks good. 

Stay tuned for more if I can manage to focus long enough to breakdown more scenes lol

Also red dots on Bible’s nipples are just funny to me it be what it be. 

Further Reading: 

Composition in Cinematography / THE LAST OF US

Center-Framing vs Chaos-Cinema: Mad Max vs Transformers

Camera Framing: Shot Composition & Cinematography Techniques Explained [The Shot List, Ep 2]

The Ultimate Guide to Camera Shots (50+ Types of Shots and Angles in Film)

Color Grading 101 - Everything You Need to Know

Mixing Film And Digital Footage: Killers Of The Flower Moon

In Praise of Subtle Cinematography