#stronger things coloring book

[phantajam]

i got a new coloring book today and tbh I think Will Byers made it

[pedgito]

𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 | Harry Castillo x reader

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summary | Five years of being his assistant and five years of failed attempts at finding love with your help, but maybe the obvious answer has been there the entire time. Alternatively, you fucked your boss? Uh-oh.

author's note | harry...randy...who knows. i'll change it if needed but given the name tag, this is what i'm sticking with for now. skip the lecture about not writing until the movie is out, this isn't hurting anyone so don't bother me about it, xo. the horny demons always win. i listened to this song i repeat while i wrote, felt fitting.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, power imbalance (boss/assistant), work wife/work husband type beat, mentions of failed dating, being superficial, mentions of sugar daddy things, expensive gifts, reader is a godly assistant with a will stronger than mine, he smokes, they drink, sex while inebriated, he's down so bad, also oral!, tense morning after, open-ended

word count — 4.5k

You knew him better than anyone.

From his breakfast order down to his specific choice of underwear, like you weren’t making the weekly purchases and filling up his rarely used fridge in the apartment that was way out your price range, arranging his schedule down to the minute, booking his flights, packing his bag.

Really, Harry should just marry you.

…it was more of a joke, but you’ve teased him about it once or twice.

He called you his work wife anyways, but in reality, you were just his assistant.

He did trust you with his life, though.

More importantly, his love life.

“Kim flaked,” he tells you over coffee, perched at his kitchen island as you typed away on your laptop, looking up briefly with eyes that begged for him to explain, he does and makes a show about, mimicking a more feminine voice as he relays the message she gave him, “same song and dance—you’re great and fun but I can’t do anything serious right now,”

“Were you nice?” you ask curiously.

Harry rolls his eyes at that, like it was a stupid question to ask. But, eventually he nods.

“Did you ask questions?” you continue, fingers folding over the screen of your laptop to close it.

“Plenty, she works in finance, loves the color blue, wants to travel,” he could go on and on, throwing his hands up in defeat before they slump to his side, “maybe I should try out a real matchmaker—not that you’re bad at it—”

“You think I’m bad at it,” you smile knowingly, “don’t you?”

“No,” you’re unconvinced, “besides—you’re my assistant, I never meant for that type of responsibility to fall on you, you know?”

“I’m doing both of us a favor,” you remind him, “I think…it just takes time.”

And fortunately, all you had was time.

It felt pointless for Harry to spend a chunk of cash to have someone pair him up with the supposed love of his life, though you knew that money wasn’t a problem, you felt a weird responsibility to protect him, unsure how quickly someone would take advantage of his kindness.

“There’s a gala,” you tell him offhandedly, “next week. I already cleared your schedule for it. I think…maybe you should just peruse this time.”

“Peruse?” he chuckles, eyes creasing in amusement, his crow’s feet deepening with the emotion, “You’re a control freak, you sure about that?”

“That’s just mean,” you retort, “you’re paying me anyways—if you didn’t like it you’d fire me.”

He knew you were right, sipping quietly at his coffee in response.

He was frustrating, predictable, and painfully superficial. 

Every date was an exercise in appearances—perfectly tailored suits, dinner at the most exclusive places, charm turned up to eleven. And yet, none of it ever stuck. He was overcompensating and you weren’t sure why.

He was a good guy, down to his core, and in the five years you had worked with him there was never a moment you thought he didn’t deserve love, he was perfect. Too perfect.

That was the problem.

“You know, you’re like prime age to be a sugar daddy,” you tease him, knowing how he felt about the topic, “there’s plenty of apps that I can—”

“You’re relentless,” he grumbles, “if you ever did that, I’m firing you on the spot.”

“You wouldn’t,” it was a gentle challenge, smirk flashing across your face as he returned it with fondness, “without me you would crash and burn, Mr. Castillo.”

And he knows it.

–

The gala is a bust.

So, as a bandaid to his wounded ego, you order takeout and keep him company in his big, lavish apartment—it wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last.

You knew what the issue was, but there was a sinking feeling in your stomach that told you he wouldn’t receive the information well.

It was after every failed date, every expensive dinner.

They saw him at the surface, the charming man with an easy, warm smile.

You saw the man who kicked his shoes off and stripped himself of his suit jacket the second he walked through the door, who couldn’t resist a late-night binge of his newest streaming obsession, someone who insisted on stirring his coffee counterclockwise because it made it taste better, a man would text you pictures of squirrels in the park that he would feed on his way home.

It wasn’t that you were pining over him. You just knew him better than anyone.

“Why are you so dead set on marriage?” you ask him over dinner, turned toward him on the couch as he reaches for the remote to pause the show on screen.

He’s had this conversation before, but he’s never asked you any questions on the matter.

“What’s your opinion on it?” he’s avoiding, clearly, but you’ll bite.

“I don’t date, I’m not interested, signing a piece of paper isn’t going to signify my feelings toward someone if it came down to that,” you admit, “I’m not cynical, marriage is fine, but this stuff takes time,”

“Well, I’m not getting any younger,” Harry gripes, arms reaching over the back of the couch as he mirrors your position.

“Oh, please,” you scoff, “you’re forty-nine.”

“Almost fifty,” he corrects, “I’m ancient.”

“O-kay,” you sigh, “do you want honesty?”

“I’d hope you were being honest with me all the time.”

“No,” you laugh softly, “like…brutal fucking honesty?”

He’s silent, but attentive. 

“You keep choosing women who treat you like they’re next getaway vacation and you fall for it every time,” his forehead creases at the words, looking hurt by your words, “I see your bank payments every month, the activity—”

“It’s not like money is an issue,” he defends, causing you to sigh dramatically and fall back against the arm of the couch in faux distress.

“This is impossible,” you groan, staring up at the ceiling before you feel his hand circle around your wrist, tugging gently,

“Okay, I’m listening,” Harry says softly, pulling you upright, “I’m sorry—I am.”

“You want it to work so bad,” you tell him, “I see it—every time you approach someone you put on that smile and it works, but you’re giving so much and yeah, maybe some of them like that, but I’m sure a few would just enjoy a nice dinner here, or something simple. I think you forget to realize that someone can just be interested in you, for you, not for what you are or have,”

It’s profound, the way his face softens at your words, his touch still lingering around your wrist.

You’ve never even considered or entertained the idea that you might find Harry attractive or even attainable—for one, you had signed a contract that agreed to a professional work relationship, as a benefit for both of you, not that he ever had any intention to begin with.

You’ve been with him for so long, it feels, a fresh and young mind to help keep him active and busy, constantly refreshing ideas and helping him not feel like he was stuck, and you were damn good at taking care of him when he’s often tended to neglect himself.

The only thing you know is that he’s never looked at you like that.

Like you could see straight through him, all his flaws on display.

But, that was because you knew all of them.

You knew everything about him, even the worse bits.

His bad habits, his self-inflicting ones, everything that he refused to bring to the surface.

Harry’s fingers still lingered around your wrist, the weight of your words sinking in. 

But then, just like he always did, he broke the tension with a huff of laughter and frowns as he brushed you off.

“You just think I’m a sucker, don’t you?”

You shook your head with a faint smile, returning your arm to your lap.

“No—I think you like to see the good in people. So much good that you’re willing to ignore red flags.”

“Jeez,” he chuckled, clutching his stomach like you had physically wounded him, “that hurt.”

You shrugged and reached for the remote to resume the picture on screen, “You’ll survive.”

–

It was your day off—Sunday, the one day.

“Have you seen my cufflinks laying around?” he asked over the video call, “Shit—my tie, too. I can’t find it anywhere. I thought you said you laid it out for me.”

“No, I said I had it hung up and for you to lay it out before you showered,” you correct him, laying tiredly on your couch as you watched him search around frantically, hair damp and his bare shoulders on display, only catching the briefest glimpses of the towel around his waist as he turned the camera around, “Waitwait—go back!”

“There’s no fucking way you saw it,” Harry argues, “I’ve been looking for the last ten minutes—”

“In the pocket of your suit, the tie is there,” you tell him, “and given that you probably tossed the suit on the bed like you always do, the cufflinks are probably somewhere hiding under the blanket,”

He tosses you against the mattress, your screen succumbing to darkness as you wait, some shifting of the sheets before you hear him make a sound before he appears again, cufflinks pinched between his fingers and a look of defeat on his face.

“What would you do without me?” you ask with a cocky grin, finger hovering over the end call button as he shakes his head.

“What was this for again?” Harry asks curiously, laying you down upright as you caught a glimpse of his bare chest as he shrugged the crisp, white button down over his shoulders.

“It’s a charity auction, your favorite,” you chirp, “and you’re flying solo, so—don’t do anything stupid or…crass,”

“If I paid you double a day of work would you go?” Harry asks after a long pause, glancing down at the screen, “Triple?”

“Triple?!” you gawk, “see—you’re insane, this is what I’m talking about,”

He chuckles despite your response, “You’re good at keeping the sharks away,”

There were particular hawking businessmen who made it their mission to hunt Harry down at events and keep him occupied, eager to do business, whatever it may be—you were the unspoken master of redirection, as much as he refused to admit it.

“Can we grab dinner on the way?” 

“Burgers?” Harry asks, perking up slightly.

It was a constant go-to for you and him.

You nod through the screen, “Don’t even bother with the tie either, I’ll do it.”

–

“I can’t believe you roped me into this on my day off,” you whisper at his side, earning a half-smirk from him.

The charity auction was as lavish as you’d expected.

Crystal chandeliers, gold accents, and far too much champagne and hors d'oeuvres. 

Harry’s hand found the small of your back the moment you arrived, steering you through a sea of designer gowns and tuxedos, feeling uncomfortable in the tight dress and stilettos that you only wore on rare occasions, biting at your heels.

“You’ll survive,” he grins, grabbing you both a glass of champagne and pressing it into your waiting fingers, “I’m gonna…peruse, alright?”

“Don’t say it—that just makes you sound like a creep,” your face scrunches up in disgust as you sip at the alcohol, “just go—go, I’ll…handle everything else.”

The evening passed in a blur of small talk and polite smiles, but somewhere between the endless speeches and bidding wars, you found yourself on the balcony, the cool night air a welcome relief in the stuffy ballroom.

You smell him before you see him, the thick and rich scent of his cologne so familiar you swear you could find him on that alone, turning over your shoulder to see him closing the door quietly, cigarette pack tucked in his palm as he approached with a neutral expression.

“You okay?” you ask, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and then plucking a single cigarette from the box, “Honestly? I’m just tired of it.”

“The auctions? Charity?” you inquire, a small smile tugging at your face.

“All of it.” He looked at you, his gaze lingering as he lit the tobacco, “The events, the dates, searching for—I don’t even fucking know at this point,”

“The offer stands…” you say jokingly, though he knows exactly where this is heading.

“If I wanted a sugar baby I’d find one.”

Your eyes roam over his figure as he puffs at the cigarette, pulling a deep laugh from his chest before you’re pushing him away playfully.

“Let’s go,” he tells you with a deep sigh, stubbing out the end of the cigarette and tucking it away for later, tossing his arm over your shoulder as he readied to guide you through the crowd, always protective in spaces like this, another thing that was special to him.

–

The ride home is quiet, like it always is, both of you sitting in the backseat with the partition up, watching as he looked through his phone with a scowl, occasional typing and sending a message.

Eventually, he looks at you.

“Thank you,” He says with a soft tone, “I know this isn’t your favorite thing to do.”

You tilted your head into the headrest and smiled, crossing one thigh over the other as you worked at your heels to remove them, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad—the free alcohol is always a plus.”

He chuckled at that, silently helping you remove your shoes with a soft squeeze to your foot.

That was normal—but, it forces you to pause.

His natural instinct to help, to touch, to comfort you.

Your brow furrows at the gesture before you shake it away, blaming it on the buzz of alcohol in your system, watching as he continues the gesture with the other foot.

“Having you there makes it bearable, is all,” he explains, looking up at you briefly as he undid the tie around your ankle, “you…calm me, I guess.”

You swallowed. Hard.

The warmth of his words lingering in your chest, in his touch against your ankle, “You’d do the same for me.”

And he would—if you ever needed anything, anything, Harry was there.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, “without question.”

The sincerity caught you off guard. 

You turned to study him, the familiar slope of his nose, the line of his jaw. There was something about the way he looked tonight—tired, maybe, but softer. 

And he keeps looking at you, checking.

The car moved smoothly through the dimly lit streets, the city blurring past in streaks of gold and blues and reds. The hum of the engine was steady, the faint sound of music barely audible from the front, through the glass, the back lit up dimly by the trim of lights on the roof and door.

Harry leaned back, one hand moved against the seat, his other hand dragging slowly over his thigh—restless. 

Instinctually, without thinking, you reached for his hand.

It wasn’t purposeful. Just a simple act of absentmindedness.

You’ve done it a hundred times before. 

Tugged at his sleeves to fix his cufflinks, brushed lint from his lapel or pants, adjusted the collar of his shirts. Constantly fixed his hair, touching him wasn’t new.

His skin was warm. Not hot, not cold.

You felt the slight twitch of his hand, like he was debating whether to move. Instead, his fingers shifted, just a fraction, enough that the edge of his thumbnail brushed over the inside of your wrist.

The contact was thoughtless, nothing.

But, in the same moment, it felt like everything.

The way his eyes watched the movement, roamed your body like they had before but with a different implication, his eyes half-lidded and relaxed, wondering how much alcohol he had consumed himself—this wasn’t friendly.

And it definitely wasn’t professional.

Harry’s gaze was on you now, your face, as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his hand.

Then his thumb moved. 

Up. 

Barely. 

A soft drag along your pulse.

It was half a decade of avoidance, defeat in his heart and mind, and fear in your own.

Broken, by the car rolling to a stop outside of Harry’s apartment building.

“We’re here, Mr. Castillo,” the voice of the driver came from the front, a nod of acknowledgement as his hand slipped from yours.

“Oh, hold on,” you were scooting aside to let him out, readied for the next stop as he cocks his head toward the building, “I’ve got something for you—I’ll drive you home, don’t worry,”

“Harry,” you stress, looking down at his hand that waves you toward him, extending out for you to grab, insistently as his fingers wiggle in wait.

Turns out, he wasn’t totally lying.

That something was accompanied by a seven thousand dollar bottle of Leroz Aux Brulees—you knew that because you had purchased it during his trip to France, the supposed city of love.

“I’m going to murder you,” you tell him as he places the bottle on the counter and keeps the closed case of mystery at his side, “hide your body, flee country—I hate surprises, you know that.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he grins, popping the cork on the bottle and pouring two hefty glasses, eyeing the deep red as it glugged into the glass.

“You know, if you wanted company you could have just asked,” you tell him, “I get it, you’re lonely,”

He knows you’re only teasing but it stings nonetheless, both of you taking a long and heavy sip as his fingers swirl over the velvet casing before he’s pushing it over quickly, tapping it with his fingers, “Open it,” he encourages, eyeing you over the rim.

You place your glass down and pry it open slowly, carefully, like you were deconstructing a bomb, but as the piece inside comes into view you find yourself at a loss for words or thoughts.

Your eyes are wide, staring up at him with parted lips that tingled from the lingering alcohol, knowing you should have cut yourself off at one glass of champagne and refused to come inside, that you should have just went home and enjoyed what little bit of the day you had left to yourself.

Now, you were looking back at a necklace so delicate you were afraid to stare at it too long, embedded with a cluster of diamonds and nearly two years of your rent if you were doing the math correctly in your mind.

Always about the numbers, Harry constantly teased.

“I saw how you looked at it the other day,” he admits, “and I owe you a hell of a lot more, but it…I’m trying to say thank you for…being you,”

“I’m not taking that,” you refuse with a laugh of disbelief, sliding back over to him gently, downing the rest of your wine in one go to forget how fast your heart was beating in your chest.

“You are,” Harry insists, “consider it a bonus—Christmas is in a couple months, too.”

“You know…this is exactly that kind of stuff a sugar da—”

Harry makes a noise, shaking his head.

You bite your lip in thought, ignoring his subtle annoyance at your comment.

It was fucking beautiful, really.

You sigh, using one finger to turn the case back toward you, examining it closely.

Quietly, Harry presses his glass into the counter and rounds the edge toward you, his chest at your shoulder as he reaches for the jewelry, working carefully at the clasp before he’s motioning for you to relax your shoulders.

It wasn’t the stillness of the moment, but his touch, again.

He’s methodical in the way he touches you, dragging his hand around your neck as he fits the necklace into place, his fingertips pressing against the column of your throat in a way that tickles slightly, shifting uncomfortably until you hear the faint click and he breathes behind you, hands resting at your shoulders.

You’re not sure why he hasn’t moved, but you find yourself turning to speak.

“I’m just going to call an uber,” you tell him, “probably shouldn’t drive since we’ve both been drinking,”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but it sounds hollow, his eyes not following you as you move.

You hop from the chair and bend down to grab your shoes, but his hand is curling around your bicep and pulling you up and he’s staring again, the charge of his touch sending a jolt through your body as freeze,

“Come here,” he beckons, too natural.

And you listen.

He’s soft, every part of him. Skin, clothes, hair, lips.

He’s kissing you gently, like you might break, but you can tell he wants more.

Needs more.

“Are you going to regret this tomorrow?” you find yourself asking as he parts from you, licking at his lips as you both take a breath, letting the moment settle.

He shakes his head, “Are you?”

“Maybe,” you answer honestly, “maybe…not—fuck, I don’t know,”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he promises, but you knew that was a lie.

Still, you nod in understanding.

–

He’s so tender with his touch, slipping you out of the dress in the dim light of his room.

Even softer as he guides you to your back and spreads himself on his belly between your legs, fingers interlocked with his at your hips as he buries his nose between your folds, his tongue splitting your cunt open in a sharp gasp that has you throwing your head back. His lips traced a slow, deliberate path down your body, igniting sparks along every inch of your skin. 

He kissed along the curve of your thighs, teasing, tasting, until the tension was unbearable and with each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, it pulled you deeper into a haze of heady desire. 

This was reckless, dangerous, but neither of you found the moment to pause and think.

You wonder if things had been building to this for a while—if it was always supposed to happen this way or if he was acting off of greed; lust and companionship, even if just for a night.

You know you can ask him to stop at any point and he would, but even as his tongue brings you to your first orgasm of the night and he’s guiding you to your stomach, reaching blindly into his bedside table for a foil wrapping the crinkles loudly in the silence, you want this.

It was embarrassing how badly you wanted this.

He fucks you slow, too. 

It was torturous, his chest flat against your back as he palms his cock and feeds it into you.

You don’t talk, neither does he.

But, his low moans and stuttering breaths speak for him.

If you could see him, you’d know how furrowed his brow would be, a hand sliding over the curve of your ass until he can reach your thigh, beckoning for you to raise it without speaking.

You oblige, the angle of his thrusts changing on a dime.

“I can’t believe you’re real sometimes,” he admits like he’s confessing a sin.

“Please,” you plead—please stop talking, please keep going, please fuck me.

You couldn’t decide.

You feel him nod where his forehead is pressed between your shoulder blades as his fist curls into the sheet beside your head.

“Another, gimme another,” he pleads, the fingers on his other hand curling under your neck to life your chin, not expecting to meet his eyes as he leans over you.

The expression on his face so raw it makes you flutter around him, his lips parting in a deep, guttural groan, “I know you can,” he nods hurriedly.

And damn, does the praise work.

Your whimper breaks him, breathing out shakily as you locked eyes when he comes, slow and forceful thrusts until you’re nothing but an exhausted pile of tangled limbs.

“Greedy girl,” he comments through the haze, a weak giggle bubbling from your chest.

He pulls out slowly, a low grunt as he does so.

You’re not sure when you fall asleep, but you wake to a startling amount of weight over your stomach, an arm splayed possessively, the faint outline of a ring as you drag your hand over the limb.

It’s only as your eyes pry open that reality hits you, stumbling out of bed quickly.

No…nononono, where the fuck were your clothes? Jesus.

You stumble around half awake, searching for the silk dress on the floor, feeling accomplished when you find it and hastily redressing yourself as Harry stirs in bed, encouraging you to hurry, to slip out before he can say anything.

Your shoes are already on and you’re reaching for the doorknob when the voice comes, the weight of the necklace that still remained on your neck, two empty glasses of wine on the counter, a night of hasty choices and urgency laid out like a crime scene as his voice rings out from behind you, pleading.

“Don’t—don’t go,” Harry begs, “You don’t have to go,”

So much of this was wrong—it complicated everything.

Your life, your job, your relationship with him.

He can see you slipping, fingers inching toward the knob as he approaches you in a hurry, barefoot and shirtless, the kind of scene you shouldn’t be comforted with, like this was all normal to the both of you.

You’ve seen him like this a thousand times, but not when he’s looking at you so vulnerable, heart tore open and stapled to his chest, beating against your own as his hands splayed out over your cheeks.

“I don’t regret it,” he assures you again, “so please—stay, okay?”

“What changed?” you ask, voice trembling, “Five years, Harry. Five.”

“I’ve been running in circles this entire time,” he admits, “you know it—I know it.”

You had been there the entire time, learning every part of him without judgement, cataloging his flaws and skills, learning how he ticked and what motivated him. You had never quite settled on the ideal person to fit in his life as his partner, it surely wasn’t you.

It couldn’t be you.

“Please, don’t go,” Harry echoed once more.

The sick, cruel joke of it all was that this was your job. 

You had nowhere to go. If it was any other morning, you would just be arriving, leaving his breakfast in the kitchen and starting your day.

You nod solemnly, “Of course, Mr. Castillo.”

It was painstaking, forcing the mask back on.

But, you couldn’t deal with this now.

Or ever, even.

Harry looks at you with a confused sadness, thumbs rubbing at your cheekbones before his hands fall to his side.

You’d figure this out, you always did.

[authorscurse]

Satoru being swarmed and fawned over by girls isn’t an uncommon occurrence. “I’m just a likeable man!” he replies to anyone who asks him about it. Despite all the attention he receives—from girls and boys alike—he has eyes for just one person.

“He’s so hot! Oh my god!” one girl exclaims, glancing at Satoru and Suguru, who are leaning casually against the school lockers.

“Which one? Dibs on the guy with the bun!” one of her friends chimes in.

“The white-haired guy! Imagine how good-looking our kids would be if they had his eyes and hair but my face,” the girl says, clearly on cloud nine as she fantasizes about their impossible future together.

While organizing your things from your locker, you bite your tongue, not wanting to intervene in the loud conversation of the three girls beside you, even if one of them is already fantasizing about your boyfriend.

“I heard he has a girlfriend,” her friend with ribbons in her hair blurts out.

“Things can be stolen if left unattended,” the raven-haired girl smirks while twirling her hair.

“But he isn’t a thing, is he?” you counter, causing all three girls to turn their heads toward you. The girl eager to steal your boyfriend glares at you, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. You stifle a laugh at her “tough” demeanor, knowing it could easily be broken down with just a few words.

“I’m just saying he isn’t an object. Clearly, you can't seem to see that,” you assert, which only angers her and her minions further.

“Maybe she just wants him for herself, Yumi,” the girl with ribbons suggests, prompting their “leader” to smirk and appraise you from head to toe.

“He would never want her. Why would Satoru Gojo choose someone like her when he has better options?” Yumi states smugly.

“Better options that keep thinking he’s some object to be stolen? What a beautiful array of options that is,” you retort sarcastically, pulling books from your locker. “If you want to take him away, go ahead. But from what I’ve heard, he’s completely too wide-eyed for his girlfriend to even notice anyone else.”

You smile and walk away to your class, leaving them fuming behind you.

As soon as the bell rings, students rush to the door and exit the school. The rain pours heavily outside, causing water to drip through the windows of the classrooms.

“Goodbye, Miss Cawas,” you bid your teacher before stepping out of the classroom. The corridors are nearly deserted, with everyone clearly wanting to stay dry as they dash for the exit.

“Mind giving me a ride?” you hear Yumi’s faint voice ask as you approach the school exit.

“Can’t, I’m waiting for someone,” comes the familiar voice of your boyfriend, declining her request. You chuckle softly, placing one of your earbuds in its case.

As you come into view, Satoru’s smile widens as he waves. A warm feeling surges through you, and you wave back. Your smile quickly morphs into a smirk when you see the color drain from Yumi’s face as you approach them both.

“Hi, my love. Had a good day?” Satoru asks, leaning down to place a sweet kiss on your lips. You catch Yumi’s jaw dropping from the corner of your eye as you reciprocate Satoru’s kiss.

“Oh, hi, Yumi,” you greet her with a saccharine smile. Her eyes drop to Satoru’s arm wrapped securely around your waist.

“Y-you’re—”

“Toru’s girlfriend, yeah,” you interject.

“Y-you’re very lucky,” she says, struggling to swallow the mean and crude comments she clearly wants to unleash.

“Actually, I’m the lucky one,” Satoru laughs, turning to you. “Let’s go before the rain gets stronger.”

“Okay, love,” you reply, caressing his cheek. You step aside as he opens the car door, Yumi still staring at you both, watching your every move.

“Oh, Yumi!” you call out just before getting in, and her eyes snap to you. “Satoru’s eyes do look really pretty, don’t they? Too bad only my kids will inherit them. Have a good day!” You smile sweetly at her before slipping into the car with Satoru.

You watch Yumi’s figure fade from the side mirror as the car pulls away.

“You okay?” Satoru asks, concern etched on his face.

“Mhm, all good,” you say, closing your eyes and letting the warmth envelop you.

The ride is spent in comfortable silence, the only sound being the rain hitting the car roof.

“I think our kids will look even better with your eyes than with mine,” Satoru muses, glancing at you with a soft smile.

“Then with your hair,” you reply, making him nod and smile even more. He takes your hand in his and kisses it, never tearing his eyes away from the road.

You don’t mind that Satoru is fawned over by countless admirers every day. You know very well that he has eyes for you and you alone. And you only have your eyes on him.

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

some Chrollo things i found/realized on my rewatch + reread of hxh

- he has REALLY bad posture. in the PT base during yorknew, when Chrollo is reading a book, he is literally hunched over and his back is at like a 45 degree angle🥺

- he’s very smug and cocky. after his fight against Zeno and Silva, he asks with a smirk to Zeno “if we were in a fight, who would win, you or me?” and chuckles knowingly when Zeno replies. during Chrollo vs Hisoka, Chrollo says that he is “100% sure that i am going to win”

- his personality switches depending on who he’s with. with the troupe, he’s logical and stoic—never losing his temper. when he’s with Hisoka, he’s much more relaxed and friendly + smiles much more often. when he’s with someone older, he’s respectful.

- he doesn’t seem to mind celebrations/parties. he’s seen drinking with the troupe in a manga panel after the auction.

- he seems very self aware of his handsome appearance, as he lured Neon in + most of the abilities in his book are from women.

- in terms of physical strength, Chrollo is 7th in the Troupe —above Bonolenov, Nobunaga, Shalnark, Pakunoda, Shizuku, and Kortopi, making him MUCH MUCH MUCH stronger than even superhumans such as Gon and Killua. (I love this fact for some reason)

- he had many similarities to Gon and Kurapika as a kid. (read Ch. 395-397, which is the Troupe backstory. it has a lot of cute baby Troupe member scenes🥺)

- he has a habit of covering his mouth with his hand whenever he is thinking deeply about something or connecting the lines.

- he knows a shocking amount about the Kakin Empire (in the manga), even more so than some of the Princes of the Kakin Empire.

- he seems to have a habit of smirking whenever something is going according to plan or when something went according to plan. he also just seems to enjoy smirking in general.

- his favorite color seems to be purple due to much of his outfits being some sort of variation of purple.

- in official arts + mobage cards, he seems to have dark circles under his eyes. in the yorknew city arc, he is also the only troupe member who didn’t sleep during the entire arc, meaning that he seems to have some sort of insomnia.

- in mobage cards, Chrollo seems to have a habit of fidgeting with his clothes. (pulling off his tie during the Christmas mobage card, playing with his hat, etc,.)

- he is very athletic, considering how at the end of yorknew city when he was left nen-less on those plateaus, he managed to climb down and find shelter all by himself.

- he is also very rich, since on average, every Zoldyck assassination costs around 1 billion—Chrollo managed to afford to assassinate the 10 Dons, meaning 10 billion Jenny.

- Chrollo doesn’t seem to care whenever someone is being disrespectful towards him or the troupe.

- Chrollo seems to have a particular fondness for suits, as he is often seen wearing a suit in official arts

- Chrollo often wears clothing that covers much of his body

- Chrollo seems to have the traditional values of a chivalrous man, meaning that he respects women quite a lot and makes sures to keep them safe. Chrollo made sure to catch Neon in the most respectful way when she “fell” (he literally could have just grabbed her by the arm and it would have been fine), he made sure to keep Pakunoda + Machi + Shizuku in the same team during yorknew (there were no men in their team), and during the Chrollo vs Hisoka battle, none of the female spectators (or even the commentator) were harmed.

———

AUGHHHHHH CHROLLO ILYSM PLEASE LIVE UNTIL THE END OF THE SERIES😭🥺😫❤️CHROLLOOOO UR MY BBY AND ILYSMMMMM😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥹🥹🥹❤️❤️❤️😫😫😫💕💕💕

[fawnnlvr]

model | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x model!reader

masterlist

author's note: small small 1k words drabble that has been on my mind for a long time and i feel like it should he shared with the world. inspired by the middle photo because it genuinely haunts me in my dreams in a good way.

"Come on pretty boy, smile for me." you softly spoke as you stared down at your boyfriend, a camera right beside your face as your finger hovered over the top button.

Spencer's hands rested on your hips as they steadied your stance. He sat on the couch as you straddled him, legs on either side of his body, locking him in place.

He would be lying if he said it was a wonder how he got in that position, but due to his memory, he remembered it clearly. His curious nature of needing to know everything had gotten him in that position, forcefully might he add.

Being the partner of a model, he should have expected that you would own a variety of cameras to capture your beauty. He innocently picked one up and started to snap a few candid photos as you and him went on a book date. The two of you messed around with the camera, snapping photos of each other in silly poses. One thing had led to another and Spencer found himself under your powerful, sultry gaze.

"You can't force me to model for you." he laughed, thinking this entire idea of you photographing him like he was a model to be absurd.

"You, my pretty boy, are a model in my eyes and I want to capture you with my lens."

"This was supposed to be your photoshoot." this entire thing began simply because he liked taking photos of you— to preserve all the moments he had with you. He isn't the type have his photos taken and he was fine with that idea because in his eyes, you are the star— his star.

"I'm a model. I've had many photoshoots in my lifetime so now its time for the student to become the master."

"That isn't how the saying goes nor is this the right context—" he was silenced by your manicured finger finding its way to his lips, successfully shutting it.

You moved the camera from your face to look at him, "Come on. No one will see these photos, but us." he still looked a little reluctant so you sighed and moved closer, your lips to his ear, "We can take a little more private photos if you want to later. A little boudoir—"

His breathing became uneven as you felt him swallow. His grip became slightly more stronger on his hips as he stared up at you, the pupils of his eyes increasing.

"Just for you." you used a free hand to caress his jaw. Just for him. Only for his eyes to see.

"S-so, what's the theme for this photoshoot?"

"A handsome man who loves his girlfriend?" you tilted your head as you suggested a theme that barely needed any acting and just his face.

"Very doable."

"Great. This camera is a sort of one and done so we need to be very selective on the positions." your hand stayed on his jaw, a thumb to his cheek as you tilted his head to be in the perfect position for the camera to catch him from above.

Spencer leaned into your warm touch, "I feel nervous looking into the camera."

"Look at me then," he stared at you through his eyelashes as he leaned his head into the palm of your hand, "there we go."

He looked like a lovesick puppy from that position. Staring up at you from behind the camera with these cloudy dazed eyes. Looking at you as if you were his world and he couldn't believe you were his and he was yours.

Snap!

The polaroid made noise as the mechanical engineering inside of it had colorized and printed the photo. A few seconds later and the photo was already rising from the top.

Spencer raised his hand and placed it on top of yours that rested on his face. Using his free hand, he grabbed the photo from the camera and placed it off to the side to complete.

"That will be mine. We can take two." you told him, already cheesing at the sight in front of you as well as unsure how you would be able to handle your hot boyfriend in this position forever preserved in a photo.

"Same position?" Spencer asked as the camera was already in place to snap another photo.

"You have more artistic direction. Whatever suits your boat."

"It's float your boat, but I do have a small idea." He used a hand to guide yours from the higher side of his face to the lower. Your thumb slid from his cheek to his soft lips, tracing the small traces of your lipgloss. His lips slightly parted and his hand that was one yours had let go before it found its place on your waist.

Your felt your thumb slowly go further in and Spencer kept eye contact as he brought his lips into a circle to slowly suck the tip of your thumb. Tilting his head just slightly up, you swore you saw an angel.

An unsteady breath escaped your mouth as you felt your stomach tense, "I feel like I should pray to the heavens for blessing me with this sight."

Spencer tried to suppress his smile for the sake of the photo, but it was obvious in the ways his eyes crinkled and the way he was staring into the camera lens as if he was staring into your soul.

You hurried to snap the photo, afraid that a moment like this could slip away and you wouldn't be able to remember the full details or relive it to its fullest. As soon as the camera finished capturing the scene, you gently placed it down on the table beside the ends of your couch before pulling Spencer in for a kiss.

Hands in his hair, softly tugging it and pulling him closer, letting your lipstick paint his lips, nose, cheeks and all over his face.

It was going to be a long night.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

25 Prose Tips For Writers 🖋️✨ Part 1

Hey there!📚✨

As writers, we all know that feeling when we read a sentence so beautifully crafted that it takes our breath away. We pause, reread it, and marvel at how the author managed to string those words together in such a captivating way. Well, today I'm going to unpack a few secrets to creating that same magic in your own writing. These same tips I use in my writing.

But before I begin, please remember that writing is an art form, and like any art, it's subjective. What sounds beautiful to one person might not resonate with another. The tips I'm about to share are meant to be tools in your writer's toolkit, not rigid rules. Feel free to experiment, play around, and find what works best for your unique voice and style.

Power of Rhythm 🎵

One of the most overlooked aspects of beautiful prose is rhythm. Just like music, writing has a flow and cadence that can make it pleasing to the ear (or mind's ear, in this case). Here are some ways to incorporate rhythm into your writing:

a) Vary your sentence length: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, flowing ones. This creates a natural ebb and flow that keeps your reader engaged.

Example: "The sun set. Darkness crept in, wrapping the world in its velvet embrace. Stars winked to life, one by one, until the sky was a glittering tapestry of light."

b) Use repetition strategically: Repeating words or phrases can create a hypnotic effect and emphasize important points.

Example: "She walked through the forest, through the shadows, through the whispers of ancient trees. Through it all, she walked with purpose."

c) Pay attention to the stressed syllables: In English, we naturally stress certain syllables in words. Try to end important sentences with stressed syllables for a stronger impact.

Example: "Her heart raced as she approached the door." (Stronger ending) vs. "She approached the door as her heart raced." (Weaker ending)

Paint with Words 🎨

Beautiful prose often creates vivid imagery in the reader's mind. Here are some techniques to help you paint with words:

a) Use specific, concrete details: Instead of general descriptions, zoom in on particular details that bring a scene to life.

Example: Instead of: "The room was messy." Try: "Crumpled papers overflowed from the waste bin, books lay spine-up on every surface, and a half-eaten sandwich peeked out from under a stack of wrinkled clothes."

b) Appeal to all five senses: Don't just describe what things look like. Include smells, sounds, textures, and tastes to create a fully immersive experience.

Example: "The market bustled with life. Colorful fruits glistened in the morning sun, their sweet aroma mingling with the earthy scent of fresh herbs. Vendors called out their wares in sing-song voices, while customers haggled in animated tones. Sarah's fingers brushed against the rough burlap sacks of grain as she passed, and she could almost taste the tang of ripe oranges on her tongue."

c) Use unexpected comparisons: Fresh similes and metaphors can breathe new life into descriptions.

Example: Instead of: "The old man was very thin." Try: "The old man was a whisper of his former self, as if life had slowly erased him, leaving behind only the faintest outline."

Choose Your Words Wisely 📚

Every word in your prose should earn its place. Here are some tips for selecting the right words:

a) Embrace strong verbs: Replace weak verb + adverb combinations with single, powerful verbs.

Example: Instead of: "She walked quickly to the store." Try: "She hurried to the store." or "She dashed to the store."

b) Be specific: Use precise nouns instead of general ones.

Example: Instead of: "She picked up the flower." Try: "She plucked the daisy."

c) Avoid clichés: Clichés can make your writing feel stale. Try to find fresh ways to express common ideas.

Example: Instead of: "It was raining cats and dogs." Try: "The rain fell in sheets, transforming the streets into rushing rivers."

Play with Sound 🎶

The sound of words can contribute greatly to the beauty of your prose. Here are some techniques to make your writing more musical:

a) Alliteration: Repeating initial consonant sounds can create a pleasing effect.

Example: "She sells seashells by the seashore."

b) Assonance: Repeating vowel sounds can add a subtle musicality to your prose.

Example: "The light of the bright sky might ignite a fight."

c) Onomatopoeia: Using words that sound like what they describe can make your writing more immersive.

Example: "The bees buzzed and hummed as they flitted from flower to flower."

Art of Sentence Structure 🏗️

How you structure your sentences can greatly affect the flow and impact of your prose. Here are some tips:

a) Use parallel structure: When listing items or actions, keep the grammatical structure consistent.

Example: "She came, she saw, she conquered."

b) Try periodic sentences: Build suspense by putting the main clause at the end of the sentence.

Example: "Through storm and strife, across oceans and continents, despite all odds and obstacles, they persevered."

c) Experiment with sentence fragments: While not grammatically correct, sentence fragments can be powerful when used intentionally for emphasis or style.

Example: "She stood at the edge of the cliff. Heart racing. Palms sweating. Ready to jump."

Power of White Space ⬜

Sometimes, what you don't say is just as important as what you do. Use paragraph breaks and short sentences to create pauses and emphasize important moments.

Example: "He opened the letter with trembling hands.

Inside, a single word.

'Yes.'"

Read Your Work Aloud 🗣️

One of the best ways to polish your prose is to read it aloud. This helps you catch awkward phrasing, repetitive words, and rhythm issues that you might miss when reading silently.

Edit Ruthlessly ✂️

Beautiful prose often comes from rigorous editing. Don't be afraid to cut words, sentences, or even entire paragraphs if they don't serve the overall beauty and effectiveness of your writing.

Study the Masters 📖

Please! Read widely and pay attention to how your favorite authors craft their prose. Analyze sentences you find particularly beautiful and try to understand what makes them work.

Practice, Practice, Practice 💪

Like any skill, writing beautiful prose takes practice. Set aside time to experiment with different techniques and styles. Try writing exercises focused on specific aspects of prose, like describing a scene using only sound words, or rewriting a simple sentence in ten different ways.

Remember, that developing your prose style is a journey, not a destination. It's okay if your first draft isn't perfect – that's what editing is for! The most important thing is to keep writing, keep experimenting, and keep finding joy in the process.

Here are a few more unique tips to help you on your prose-perfecting journey:

Create a Word Bank 🏦

Keep a notebook or digital file where you collect beautiful words, phrases, or sentences you come across in your reading. This can be a great resource when you're looking for inspiration or the perfect word to complete a sentence.

Use the "Rule of Three" 3️⃣

There's something inherently satisfying about groups of three. Use this to your advantage in your writing, whether it's in listing items, repeating phrases, or structuring your paragraphs.

Example: "The old house groaned, creaked, and whispered its secrets to the night."

Power of Silence 🤫

Sometimes, the most powerful prose comes from what's left unsaid. Use implication and subtext to add depth to your writing.

Example: Instead of: "She was heartbroken when he left." Try: "She stared at his empty chair across the breakfast table, the untouched coffee growing cold."

Play with Perspective 👁️

Experiment with different points of view to find the most impactful way to tell your story. Sometimes, an unexpected perspective can make your prose truly memorable.

Example: Instead of describing a bustling city from a human perspective, try describing it from the point of view of a bird soaring overhead, or a coin passed from hand to hand.

Use Punctuation Creatively 🖋️

While it's important to use punctuation correctly, don't be afraid to bend the rules a little for stylistic effect. Em dashes, ellipses, and even unconventional use of periods can add rhythm and emphasis to your prose.

Example: "She hesitated—heart pounding, palms sweating—then knocked on the door."

Create Contrast 🌓

Juxtapose different elements in your writing to create interest and emphasis. This can be in terms of tone, pacing, or even the literal elements you're describing.

Example: "The delicate butterfly alighted on the rusted barrel of the abandoned tank."

Use Synesthesia 🌈

Synesthesia is a condition where one sensory experience triggers another. While not everyone experiences this, using synesthetic descriptions in your writing can create vivid and unique imagery.

Example: "The violin's melody tasted like honey on her tongue."

Experiment with Sentence Diagrams 📊

Remember those sentence diagrams from school? Try diagramming some of your favorite sentences from literature. This can give you insight into how complex sentences are structured and help you craft your own.

Create a Sensory Tour 🚶‍♀️

When describing a setting, try taking your reader on a sensory tour. Move from one sense to another, creating a full, immersive experience.

Example: "The old bookstore welcomed her with the musty scent of aging paper. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight piercing the high windows. Her fingers trailed over the cracked leather spines as she moved deeper into the stacks, the floorboards creaking a greeting beneath her feet. In the distance, she could hear the soft ticking of an ancient clock and taste the faint bitterness of old coffee in the air."

Use Active Voice (Most of the Time) 🏃‍♂️

While passive voice has its place, active voice generally creates more dynamic and engaging prose. Compare these two sentences:

Passive: "The ball was thrown by the boy." Active: "The boy threw the ball."

Magic of Ordinary Moments ✨

Sometimes, the most beautiful prose comes from describing everyday occurrences in a new light. Challenge yourself to find beauty and meaning in the mundane.

Example: "The kettle's whistle pierced the quiet morning, a clarion call heralding the day's first cup of possibility."

Play with Time ⏳

Experiment with how you present the passage of time in your prose. You can stretch a moment out over several paragraphs or compress years into a single sentence.

Example: "In that heartbeat between his question and her answer, universes were born and died, civilizations rose and fell, and their entire future hung in the balance."

Use Anaphora for Emphasis 🔁

Anaphora is the repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses or sentences. It can create a powerful rhythm and emphasize key points.

Example: "She was the sunrise after the longest night. She was the first bloom of spring after a harsh winter. She was the cool breeze on a sweltering summer day. She was hope personified, walking among us."

Create Word Pictures 🖼️

Try to create images that linger in the reader's mind long after they've finished reading. These don't have to be elaborate – sometimes a simple, unexpected combination of words can be incredibly powerful.

Example: "Her laughter was a flock of birds taking flight."

Use Rhetorical Devices 🎭

Familiarize yourself with rhetorical devices like chiasmus, antithesis, and oxymoron. These can add depth and interest to your prose.

Example of chiasmus: "Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country." - John F. Kennedy

Even the most accomplished authors continue to hone their craft with each new piece they write. Don't be discouraged if your first attempts don't sound exactly like you imagined – keep practicing, keep experimenting, and most importantly, keep writing.

Your unique voice and perspective are what will ultimately make your prose beautiful. These techniques are simply tools to help you express that voice more effectively. Use them, adapt them, or discard them as you see fit. The most important thing is to write in a way that feels authentic to you and brings you joy.

Happy writing, everyone! 🖋️💖📚 - Rin T

Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've just launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!

[fictionalsweethearts]

DOMESTIC!SEVIKA HEADCANONS

Let's agree that Sevika doesn't spend much time at home, as she has to attend to business matters all day and night, and she spends her breaks at the betting shops or in some seedy pub where she feeds her fondness (perhaps addiction) to gambling.

However, Sevika must live in the vicinity of the centre of Zaun where she works. Probably in some austere apartment with one bathroom and a narrow kitchen (not that she uses it much either).

She tends to leave the terrace open to air out the smell of tobacco, already permeating the curtains and the carpet.

Her room is at the end of the hallway, it is not very big but it is comfortable, and its window faces the same avenue. At night, the neon color of the signs enters and draws silhouettes on the double bed, which is provided with a wine-colored bedspread and brown pillows. The dresser is usually tidy, and most of Sevika's clothes hang from the coat rack, including her poncho. There is an ashtray on the nightstand, a stained glass lamp, somewhat blackened by tobacco smoke, and in the drawer another pack of cigarettes and a Shimmer dial (which she has needed to use more frequently, being forced to work with only two hours of sleep in her body.).

Sevika is pragmatic, not much for keeping knickknacks or ornaments, however she keeps a deck of cards that her old man had given her a few decades ago, on her fourteenth birthday.

The apartment is quiet, Sevika appreciates the silence after dealing with noises of all kinds on a daily basis.

Since she doesn't spend much time at home, she doesn't tend to clean the apartment very often. She keeps the essentials clean, that is, the bathroom and her room, but the kitchen sink usually has unwashed glasses and cups and there is a thin layer of dust on the coffee table. It doesn't bother her much.

The bathroom is as austere as the rest of the apartment, with a shower and toilet, a mirror that says good morning and she answers with a "what a haggard bitch." There is a small first aid kit under the sink, next to a toolbox that allows her to repair her prosthetic arm. In the upper compartment, there is a woody perfume that she puts on her neck and on the fabric of her poncho.

She usually leaves the mechanical arm on top of the dresser before going to sleep, being the first thing she reaches for in the morning, of course, after her morning cigarette.

Sevika's breakfast: a black coffee and a cigarette. If the day promises to be unbearable, she adds a shot of whiskey to her coffee. Sometimes she buys a fruit at the market.

Sevika is not an avid cook, she does it when necessary, as she usually has almost all her meals at the Last Drop or a market stall. She usually feeds herself with whatever she can throw into the pot, adding spices, wine and water.

Her signature dish is beef stew with wine (she drinks the wine while she cooks).

Of course, she has a liquor cabinet in her living room. She usually keeps it filled with bottles of bourbon, red wine, and other stronger herbal liquors.

She's not a morning person, her first sounds in the morning are usually grunts and monosyllables, until her breakfast cigarette and a shower improves her mood (a little).

Sevika is good at math. Not just because of her gambling hobby, but because of taking care of Silco's collections and other deals involving transactions, negotiations and money. She usually keeps an accounting book in her closet, which she has to take a look on more than once when the numbers don't add up (perfectionism at its finest).

Sevika takes great care of her dental health. She appreciates clean teeth and keeps mints or candy handy to keep her breath fresh (so she can kiss her girls better).

When she's in the mood and the night allows it, she likes to take a bubble bath at home. She accompanies it with a cigarette and a nice glass of whiskey.

Yes, she has fallen asleep in said bath more than once (she is an exhausted woman, don't be mean).

Sevika usually keeps the lights low, preferring darkness.

She wears comfortable clothes at home like tank tops and sweatpants, but avoids going barefoot.

Her home may look unkempt, but she knows where everything is. If something moves without her permission, she'll notice.

She avoids having pets, as they seem like an unnecessary responsibility to add to her life. But if a stray cat wanders around her home, she leaves leftovers by the window.

She likes to plays a game of solitaire when she's free (rarely).

Sevika has nightmares. No matter how much rest she tries to get, her brain replays past mistakes or portrays possible tragedies that she is unable to stop.

She doesn't like wall clocks or alarm clocks, but she always knows the time (let's call it a busy butch superpower).

In the mornings she takes cold showers.

She doesn't tend to look at herself in the mirror for long. While she maintains her self-esteem, she is not vain by any means. She also avoids paying too much attention to her missing arm, as her mind wanders to unpleasant places.

She has a little training corner in her apartment, where she spends part of her time maintaining her body strong and fit.

Yes, she smokes between sets.

In the privacy of her room, Sevika sometimes resorts to self-pleasure to relax. Her hand and a good imagination are more than enough.

DOMESTIC!SEVIKA & PARTNER

If she has a girlfriend, inviting her over is the ultimate proof that she trusts her. No one who doesn't deserve it enters her safe space.

Her nightmares are reduced if she sleeps with her, and she often pulls her close during the night and buries her nose in her hair.

She doesn't say good morning, preferring to stare at her partner in silence until she wakes up.

She makes sure she's comfortable. She may seem disinterested, but she's bought shampoo and conditioner for her, always keeps the bed clean and the air fresh when she invites her to stay the night, and often cooks something more elaborate for dinner.

Sevika avoids smoking in her presence if she doesn't smoke, so she goes out onto the balcony several times.

She likes comfortable silences, sharing a cigarette or each minding their own business without having to start unnecessary conversations.

She is good at listening and providing advice with effective solutions. She usually sits on the couch and gives her girlfriend all the time she needs to vent.

She's not good at comforting, but she tries.

She is very receptive. It is a matter of noticing a change in her girlfriend's mood or reading her expression to know that something is going on.

If she falls asleep on the couch, Sevika takes her to her bed, if she cuts herself while cooking, Sevika, instead of worrying, simply bandages her hand. She's practical.

She really enjoys her girlfriend's company even if she doesn't say it. She looks at her, sits close to her or brushes her waist or her butt with her hand if she passes by her.

If her partner is away for a long time, Sevika gets worried. She express it with a simple "you took long" when she arrives.

Her way of asking her partner to stay the night is to simply say, "If you're sleepy, the bed is clean."

When Sevika has her partner over, she makes sure to reduce the smell of tobacco with air fresheners she bought at the market. She sprays the whole apartment and walks around sniffing to make sure it's not obvious that she smokes a pack a day.

She likes to cook if she has her over, she usually prepares more elaborate meals and uncorks her best liquor.

Sevika snores. Years of smoking, sleepless nights and punches in the nose have taken their toll on her and she snores like a truck.

When her bed partner chides her for it, she simply raises her eyebrows and asks, "Do I really snore?" (She will never admit that she snores).

[queenshelby]

Siblings (Part One)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Half!Sister

Warning: Incest

It was around 10'clock at night when you heard a quiet knock on the door.  You couldn't help but feel a little surprised—and a bit nervous. You had never had a visitor this late before as usually your siblings were out, getting themselves into trouble, and your Aunt Polly, who had taken it upon herself to look after everyone, was in bed.

Your sister Ada, with whom you shared a room, had sneaked out earlier to see her boyfriend Freddy, so it was just you that night, alone in your small room, lying on your single bed, wearing a nightgown and reading a book. 

"Who is it?" you called out, your heart skipping a beat.

"It's Thomas," came the reply. His voice was quiet and calm. 

You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should let him in that late at night. He had just come back from the war a few weeks ago and his demure had changed towards you. It was almost like he had become obsessed with you, wanting to keep you company more often than you were used to. 

Thomas was gone for five years and came back more handsome than ever.  He had a rugged jawline, and deep-set blue eyes. He wasn't tall, but well-built with a perfect gentleman's body.

The war had hardened him, made him stronger, but also wiser. He had seen the worst of humanity, and you could tell that it had affected him deeply. It was understandable; he had been through hell and back.

"May I come in?" Thomas eventually asked, his voice still composed.

Without saying a word, you stood up and covered yourself with a robe , before opening the door slowly.

The light from the hallway spilled into the room, illuminating Thomas's figure. He looked a bit tired, but his eyes were still bright and clear.

"Of course," you said finally, as you walked back to your bed and folded your book closed. 

"I have heard that there was trouble today, at the docks," Thomas  said as he sat down on the edge of your bed. He looked tired, but fatigue failed to sap the confidence and dominance from his demeanor.

You sighed and nodded. "Ada told me not to go there, but curiosity got the better of me Tommy," you admitted whereas, the truth was, that just recently you began to involve yourself with Isiah, another Peaky Blinder and your new-found love had gotten you into trouble. 

"Curiosity, eh?" Thomas chuckled, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Isiah wouldn't have anything to do with this curiosity now, would he?" he then asked, his eyes locked on yours.

You looked away, feeling a blush creeping up your cheeks. "He never meant for me to get involved, Tommy. It just kind of happened," you replied quietly, seeing how Isiah took risks and those risks involved you. 

"Listen Y/N, you are a fucking Shelby," Thomas said, his voice stern but not unkind. "And you need to be careful about who you associate with."

"But Isiah is your friend, is he not?" you asked, slightly confused with Thomas's sudden change of tone.

"Isiah works for me Love. That doesn't make him a friend," Tommy replied curtly, his gaze still fixed on you. "Despite, even if he was my friend, I wouldn't allow him to be involved with my fucking sister,"  Tommy added, the veneer of calmness cracking a bit.

You sat on the edge of the bed, feeling a knot forming in your stomach. The way things were going, it seemed as though you had made a mistake. With the tension in the room growing thicker by the second, you felt compelled to speak.

"Honestly, I don't even know why I got myself mixed up with him, Tommy," you admitted, shame coloring your voice. "I suppose I was bored," you added as an afterthought.

Thomas looked at you, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed your face. "You're better than that, Love," he finally said, his voice steady and firm. "And if boredom is what bothers you, then I am sure we can make arrangements for you to work at the betting house," he then told you a lot more gently than before, placing some stray hair behind your ear. 

"Aunt Pol won't allow it," you  said quietly, not because you didn't want to work there, but because you believed that your aunt would not approve of such an idea.

"It is not up to Pol," Thomas said shortly, his fingertips  tracing the curve of your cheek gently. "But out of curtesy, I will discuss it with her, alright?" he added after a short pause.

Before you could respond, Thomas's hand dropped from your face, and he stood up, his presence in the small room suddenly overwhelming.

"But Y/N, if you are going to continue seeing Isiah...," he began to say and you quickly interrupted him. 

"Not after today," you replied firmly. "Not after what happened at the docks. I promise," you added, reassuring your brother.

Thomas looked at you, relief visible in his eyes. "Good. I'll hold you to that Y/N," he said before leaning down to give you a peck on your forehead.

You blushed slightly, shocked by this sudden display of affection from your half-brother. But before you could react, Thomas walked out of your room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and, when you settled back on to your bed, you couldn't help but wonder what just happened. Thomas and you have always had a close relationship since him and Arthur had assumed responsibility for you after your father got arrested by the police, but you have never witnessed such a display of emotion from him before.

As you lay there in the dark, the silence was broken by the moonlight filtering through the blinds. The light cast a soothing glow on the room and made the floral quilt on the twin bed look more inviting. Your mind was abuzz with thoughts, each one trying to get a different message across. You tried to silence them and focus on the recent events.

This whole situation with Thomas, your curiosity, the sudden shift in your relationship - you knew that it was not something to take lightly. It felt different, and you could not ignore the strange tension that lingered between the two of you.

You sighed deeply and turned to face the window. It was then that you noticed the stars twinkling in the night sky ever so slightly. They were there, silent and unassuming, much like Thomas. You couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his mind.

Thomas had always been a mystery to you, even before he left for France, but now it felt like there was a whole other person behind the blue eyes that you had grown up with.

Days had passed and you indeed started working at the gambling den , which was located in the heart of Small Heath. It was a bustling place, and it was chaotic during peak hours, but you found joy in the chaos. Surprisingly, Aunt Polly did not seem to mind much; she knew that this was one of the ways to keep you out of trouble.

While you were working there, your brother Thomas kept a close eye on you and as different men attempted to flirt with you, they quickly learned that you were untouchable, a notion further solidified by Thomas’s warning glares.

On two occasions, he even threatened gamblers with a gun after you were propositioned for a date, and it was clear to you that he wasn’t playing around. Thomas Shelby never made idle threats, after all.

"You do realise that most of these men are harmless, Tommy,"  you said to Thomas one evening, after you had closed the betting shop for the night. The sky was a deep indigo and the stars were shining brightly.

Thomas looked at you, his eyes sharp and piercing. "That may be true, but you are my sister and they need to show you some fucking respect,"  he retorted, his voice steadier than before.

"But Tommy," you began, still unsure of what to make of this sudden outburst. "I am capable of handling my own affairs. I can fend them off," you assured your brother who appeared somewhat overprotective of you.

"I am sure you are," Thomas agreed, a hint of amusement in his voice. "But what kind of employer would I be if I did not at least protect my employees from unwanted advances, eh?" he asked, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards in a half-smile.

"A pretty shite one I suppose," you admitted, returning his half-smile with a lopsided grin as he locked the door.

"Exactly," he concurred, shaking his head as you stepped onto the sidewalk, right by your brother's side. "Now let me walk you home. It's late," Thomas said as he always did when you worked in his betting house until after dawn. 

As Thomas and you walked side by side, the silence between you was comfortable, but there was still something that kept niggling the back of your mind. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but it seemed like Thomas was hiding something from you.

Nonetheless, as you walked to the house you shared with Polly, Tommy and the others, you couldn't help but steal glances at him, trying to gauge what it was that was causing this strange behavior lately.

It was like he took a liking in you that almost felt, more than brotherly, but you decided not to focus on the matter and instead enjoyed the warmth of his company while it lasted.

Days passed, and your routine at the gambling den turned into sort of a normality, despite the occasional tensions between patrons and your brother that threatened to boil over.

On evening, at your house when you and Tommy were on your own, you ought to address it, his overprotectiveness and  the strange tension that kept building between you.

But, Tommy simply brushed it off and told you that he was simply concerned for your safety.

"But I am safe here Tommy, with you and the others," you reminded him, your tone gentle yet firm. "And at the gambling house, even if some of the customers are inappropriate, it is a safe place because no one would dare to fuck with you, Arthur or John and  I think you know that," you said, unable to mask the frustration that crept into your voice.

Tommy looked down at you, his gaze intense but soft. He took a deep breath before speaking, as if choosing his words carefully.

"Y/N, I know that you can look after yourself but, what I have learned over the years, is that no one is safe. Not here, not anywhere," Thomas said, his voice still firm but softer than before.

You stared into Thomas's eyes, feeling a strange mix of emotions coursing through your veins. Awe, admiration, and... something more. Something you couldn't quite put your finger on yet.

"The war changed you, you know?"  you said the words before you could stop yourself. 

Thomas sighed and looked at you, his expression filled with a mix of sadness and guilt. "Yes, I know," he admitted quietly. "I can't help it, Y/N. I've seen and done things that most people couldn't even imagine." 

You nodded, understanding dawning on you.

"No, you are right Tommy. I can't imagine," you said softly, caressing the scar on his cheek, causing Tommy to lean in closer, his eyes locked on yours. 

You felt your heart race as you looked into Thomas's eyes. There was something about him that made you feel safe, yet also intensely aware of your feelings for him. You had never felt this way about anyone before.

"But you know what's amusing though?" you murmured, breaking the silence that had enveloped the room as Thomas leaned over some more, his fingers lightly traced your jawline, you couldn't help but play along. "You are so overprotective towards me when it comes to potential suitors and there is almost no reason for you to be that way, because I never even kissed a boy before, so it just seems so absurd to me," you continued, allowing yourself to drop your guard, just a little.

"I find that hard to believe, Y/N," Thomas murmured, the pad of his thumb brushing the corner of your lips before slowly moving to trace the length of your jawbone.

Your breath hitched in your chest, hearing his low voice uttering your real name; you always felt an odd sense of familiarity from him, especially when he chose to use your given name, just for a brief moment. It almost felt like the two of you were not step-siblings. 

"No, it's true. I never kissed a boy before, Tommy," you confessed, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You didn't know what had come over you, but suddenly, you couldn't help but feel drawn to your half-brother. "What is it like?" you

asked, your lips barely moving as Thomas continued to trace a path along your jawline.

"What's what like?" Thomas asked, his voice low and husky, as he leaned in even closer to you.

"Kissing," you clarified, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks as you admitted this.

Thomas seemed taken aback by the question, his gaze lingering briefly on your lips before meeting your eyes again.

"I guess it depends on who you are kissing," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Sometimes, it's just a kiss and it feels like nothing because it means nothing. But other times, it's more than that. It can be a way to express your feelings for someone. To show them how much you care about them," Thomas explained, his gaze still locked on yours.

"Do you think you could show me?" you whispered, surprising yourself with your own boldness.

Thomas's eyes narrowed as he looked at you, taking in your flushed cheeks and the way your breathing had quickened.

"Seeing that you are my sister, that would be inappropriate, don't you think?"  Thomas said, a subtle hint of amusement in his voice. 

"It's just a kiss, Tommy," you replied, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. "And no one needs to know," you continued, your heart pounding in your chest as you confessed this vulnerable part of yourself to your brother.

Thomas looked at you, his eyes searching yours as he processed your words. You could see the wheels turning in his head, and for a moment, you wondered if he was going to tell you no . But then something shifted in his gaze, a heat that made your heart race.

"Alright. Fuck it," Thomas muttered, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

You gasped slightly, surprised by how sudden the kiss was and how soft and gentle his lips were.

Your  hands reached up to grip his arms, feeling the firm muscles beneath your fingertips as you leaned into the kiss. Thomas's other hand reached up to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss.

Not knowing what to do, you followed his lead and when he parted his lips, you did the same before tentatively touching your tongue to his, experimenting with the new sensation. 

Your brother's lips were warm and as the kiss deepened, you felt a fire ignite within you, spreading from your core to every inch of your body. Your heart was racing as Thomas's hand dropped down from your hair, tracing a path around your neck as he deepened the kiss once more before, suddenly,  he pulled away.

You stared at Thomas, your lips still tingling from the kiss. You could see a storm of emotions raging within his eyes, but you couldn't quite decipher what he was feeling. Was it guilt? Shock? Excitement? Pleasure?

"I am sorry Love, but I have business to attend to," he told you with a horse  voice, his breathing heavy and uneven from the kiss.

You nodded, trying to catch your breath as well. You could feel a blush spreading across your cheeks as you moved away from him, giving him some much-needed space. Thomas looked at you, his eyes heated with desire, before turning away and leaving the room without another word.

Even after he had left. a jolt of pleasurable heat still lingered on your lips where Thomas’s mouth had just been, you couldn’t believe what had just happened. Your stepbrother, fucking Thomas, he had just kissed you and you didn’t know if you should feel guilty about it or if you should be elated.

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered to yourself as you ran your fingers through your hair, still feeling dazed. Your mind was racing, replaying the image of Thomas kissing you, over and over again.

Your lips were still tingling from the contact, but the room felt cold and empty once he left, leaving you alone with your tumultuous thoughts.

You couldn't believe what had just happened. Thomas had kissed you. He fucking kissed you and you were the one that had asked him to do it. 

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[retrowitchy]

ranking lucy gray's outfits in the tbosas movie as a costume design student ✶✧

quite possibly, everything rachel zegler wears is my favorite part of tbosas. trish summerville is a big personal hero of mine, and tbosas is my favorite hunger games film in terms of costume design!!! so as a disclaimer, i love every one of these looks with everything in me, this is just me ranking them.

8. swimsuit

this really shouldn't be in last place, because crochet swimwear? brilliant. and so beautiful. and so in-universe.

i love how all the covey swimwear feels like it was hand-made by the characters themselves. obviously, nobody in district 12 is swimming for pleasure much (we learn this from the first book, and haymitch and burdie just skinny dipped lol), so naturally the covey would have made their own things to wear by hand.

7. sejanus' execution

the details of the snakes on her belt and the hand stitching/embroidery on her sleeves are so wonderful. for an outfit that never really gets a full shot in the film (most of rachel's shots in this scene are closeups from the neck up), the dedication to detail is super admirable.

6. well i'm not made out of sugar

it's such a good detail how coriolanus' mother's shawl perfectly color compliments the rest of this outfit. it's like she picked it out to match on purpose, which makes the betrayal all the more devastating. i think this scene is also one of trish's stronger uses of color symbolism- the warm, sunshine-y colors of lucy gray contrasting the stark, bare palette of everything coriolanus wears in 12. she's a symbol of hope. he's trying to end that.

5. the covey lake

huge fan of the simplicity here. it's just a dress over the swimsuit. and yet everything about this screams lucy gray and screams covey. look at those mismatched little brass buttons!! the swimsuit peeking out from underneath!! the plum color suits rachel zegler so well- it's just generally so gorgeous.

4. pure as the driven snow

this outfit was one of the things about this movie that stuck in my head the most after walking out of the theater. there's this carefree, thrown-on essence to it, like the flowers in her hair are an afterthought, or maude ivory helped her put them in. i wish i could find better pictures of the vest, because the beading details are so beautiful. the reusing of her boots is a good detail too, because obviously she wouldn't have that many pairs of shoes.

3. the meadow

trish summerville did a great job at building a repeated silhouette for lucy gray. the cinched waist, blousy or sleeveless top, and a-line, flowing skirt is in almost every outfit, and i think this one is the most classic example of that look. i think she looks so beautiful in blue, and i like that she's dressed in such a wide variety of colors throughout the film- always something completely different than the last.

2. the rainbow dress

OBVIOUSLY. hand painted corset are you kidding me? i remember seeing this in the trailer and thinking truly, she could not have more perfectly recreated the dress from the book. it stays true to lucy gray's sillhouette, the ruffles feel bright enough to be a rainbow, but muted enough to still feel in-universe/accurate for 12. one of my favorite details is her boots ↓

they're old, and have a vintage feel, but something about how chunky they are also reminds us that despite the folksy charm, we are also in a dystopian future.

1. nothing you can take from me

my baby. my darling. possibly my favorite costume of any hunger games film. i am IN LOVE with this outfit.

the flower decal trimming and embroidery on her blouse, and the crushed navy velvet that feels like it was found at a 100 year old antique store. the boots are back. lacy top underneath, hand crocheted no doubt. purple in the skirt, but it's subtle- purple is her most repeated color element. it's rebellious, it's royal. the slight 1940s references in the silhouette.

DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE HAIR. ribbons and feathers threaded throughout her curls, giving her the impression of a bird in flight when she twirls??? REMIND YOU OF ANYTHING?????

this is her triumphant return moment, her defiant song against the oppression of the capitol. she's captivated the crowd....just like a certain someone will years and years later.

[maxwell-grant]

Since he’s probably Oswald’s closest Marvel equivalent, being a relatively-unpowered crime-boss who semi-frequently becomes Mayor… any thoughts on Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of Crime?

It's a comparison that's frequently made by Big Two fans and it's easy to see where it comes from, certainly they're the most iconic gangster/mafioso villains in their respective companies, but I don't think Kingpin is the closest Marvel has to Oswald because A: If anyone has a prior claim on Comic Book Gangster, it's definitely him, and B: They simply don't work in comparable or equivalent fashion. You can even boil down a key difference to the fact that The Penguin is inherently a small man trying to be bigger, and The Kingpin is the biggest man who ever lived. That's not a joke about their sizes, that's how they operate as characters and villains: Oswald is underestimated, ridiculed, diminished, and driven in large part because of it. He is the underdog, he slips under the radar, he slips through the cracks, he is a cockroach who lives to thumb his nose and pull the rug under the bigger bastards who think they can step on him. Wilson Fisk IS the bigger bastard who steps on people, he is the biggest bastard in the world.

He is an unsurmountable force of crime at the top of every possible advantage that a criminal can possibly weaponize, he is a titan of wealth and privilege as willing and capable of crushing your skull with his bare hands as he is of murdering your entire social circle with a phone call. He is "the ill intent", the biggest and strongest gangster of all time, and even if there are bigger and stronger bastards than him, they certainly aren't gangsters like him, they certainly aren't meeting him in his playing field of choice. There isn't really a DC equivalent to Wilson Fisk - there were certainly attempts to make Luthor and Cobblepot more like him, there's no shortage of imitators or knock-offs like Blockbuster and Tobias Whale, but the Kingpin is a league of it's own among comic book gangsters. Like Luthor and Joker and Doom, like the top dogs of the genre, he's become an Archetype in his own right.

I talked about his Spiderverse version a little while back in regards to how much I liked him in that movie and what his design represented about him, Fisk as this black hole obelisk who drains the color of every room he's in and suffocates the world visually as well as metaphorically, far from the most interesting character in the movie but one that you can pin all these other more interesting things on, and I think that's also applicable to a lot of what he does as a Spider-Man villain. Now, he's a GREAT Spider-Man villain, easily one of the best, his arcs in Ultimate Spider-Man alone should be more than enough proof of concept for that, but even if he's not necessarily the most colorful or intimate or dangerous villain to hang a Spider-Man story on, he is maybe the most villain to hang a story on - the entirety of Marvel's street level vigilantes and organized crime exists under his shadow, and you can blow up his scope to the moon and back as a way to build up all the other characters you can squeeze more dramatic stuff out of. Whether it's in TAS, where he is so undisputably atop the pecking order that everyone else is bouncing off his fixed presence, or in the Insomniac games, where he stood tall as Peter's main villain for 7 years until the game begins with his downfall as a way to kick off all the strange new threats he'll be up against, Wilson Fisk is The Crime Man to rule all Crime Men, as entrenched and emblematic and secure in his kingdom of Manhattan as Dracula is to Transylvania and Dr.Doom is to Latveria.

Unlike the vast majority of Spider-Man villains who regularly enjoy redesigns and rewrites and do-overs, official and fan-made alike, Wilson Fisk is practically the same character in every iteration, there's very little need to seriously rethink or readjust who he is and how he does things because he is perfectly simple and perfectly timeless - we have now two Ultimate Spider-Man comic runs that have brought significant overhauls and revisions and new spins to established Spider-Man characters, and in both of them, Wilson Fisk is a major character, and he is completely and utterly unchanged from how he already works in the mainline universe. Even if you don't want to use Wilson Fisk, you can't neglect Wilson Fisk, you have to show how he fits into things, you have to show what he's up to or how he allows or makes way for what's happening without him, you have to give him his cut. This imutability of his is another thing I'd say is a major difference between him and Penguin - Oswald demands change, he demands growth and adaptability, he demands different surroundings more suited to him, he wants to grow and grow and make a nest that's suitable for him, he can't fit into existing systems so he breaks them to remake them as his own. That is simply not the case with Wilson Fisk.

Unlike The Penguin, unlike some of the other great comic book supervillains, Fisk has no intention whatsoever to change anything about how the world works - as far as he's concerned, it worked just fine up until these costumed irritants arrived, and even they just became another part of his conglomerate in time. Fisk really doesn't have or need any kind of big philosophy to justify himself, rather, he takes it as fact that he's operating under the way the world works and under a merit he's achieved by being the man he is. He is content within society's morality, because he is at the top of society and therefore that morality will always bow to him. The legions of costumed enemies orbiting his life are merely dissidents going against the order of things that places him at the top, tools to be used and bugs to be squashed and little more.

And this is true even of those whose power and scope stands above his own - they are not players in his game, and if they are, they are distractions, diversions, things that he can deal with. When he loses to billionaires like the Stromms in Zdarsky's run, when he has to playy ball with bigger villains, when he is ousted in a power play, it is humiliating, and he doesn't deal well with humiliations - but he can take humiliations, he knows he can give back, he can ultimately rebuild his pride as he rebuilds his empire time and time again. Spider-Man is annoying and powerful and infantile and annoying and an enemy and really really annoying, but he is no existential threat. He is not terribly concerned about Spider-Man, which is part of what makes him such a fun Spider-Man villain, that he never sees it coming when Spidey gets serious and just brings him down (peak example of this being Back in Black), that he is this larger-than-life bully/shitty grown-up who actually can and must be defeated. And if a lot of what makes him a fun and great Spider-Man villain is contingent in the ways that he doesn't lose sleep over Spider-Man, part of what makes him a stronger Daredevil villain is the precise opposite: he desperately wishes he could be this dismissive towards Daredevil, who is for all intents and purposes weaker than Spider-Man. It's his relationship with Daredevil that brings out the best of him as a villain and the worst of him as a person alike.

Against Spider-Man, the Kingpin is a very strong enemy, the figurehead of the kind of crime that is Spidey's daily routine, a powerful and oppressive force ruling over NYC who is nevertheless a step down from the Green Goblin or Dr Octopus or the Symbiotes and all those other genetic nightmares and obsessed masterminds that plague his life. No matter how clever or vile his schemes are, Spider-Man can still beat them, and Spider-Man can ultimately always triumph over him in a fight, and Fisk can always rebuild because Fisk builds empires as easily as most people breathe, and things rarely if ever get personal between him and Peter. Against Daredevil? There IS no bigger threat than Kingpin (well, The Hand I guess, but they're boring as shit), Kingpin is the mountain that Matt always crashes against in due time, and it is always personal. The Kingpin is his biggest and strongest enemy, able to run mental laps around Matt and someone that Matt cannot in fact beat in a fight, their battles are drawn out miserable slugfests where Fisk usually thrashes him around like a ragdoll with few conclusive victories and whatever victory Matt has is hard-won and usually via cheap shot.

Matt has an infinitely harder time dealing with Fisk than Spider-Man does, which is part of why it is Kingpin's appearences in Daredevil comics that made him comic book villain royalty: Matt has no real advantage against him other than his senses. He has no intellectual advantage, no physical advantage, and he can't even claim to be more determined or driven, Fisk is fueled by an equally horrendously powerful will and protectiveness towards what belongs to him, This City. There is nobody and nothing in the world that Matt hates more than Fisk, and there is nobody and nothing in the world that Fisk hates more than Matt. They've taken turns shattering each other to the point that those slugfests are the least of each other's offenses against each other.

Even besides the sheer accumulated history they have against each other, it's in the way they unforgivably violate each other's vision of the world. If the Kingpin was the invincible man of vision who loves the city and must steer it even if smaller people disagree with him, if he was truly so secure and untouchable at the top of the world, he wouldn't be having such a colossal hard time dealing with this one guy and he wouldn't be reduced to a base animal thug every time he shows up, let alone lose and be humiliated. If Wilson Fisk was as correct as he needs to be, if the strength of his love for Vanessa/the city/what belongs to him was as powerful as he wants it to be, Daredevil would never get the upperhand on him.

And if Daredevil is a man who dedicates himself 100% all the time to protecting the city and it's people, if Daredevil commits unlawful deeds to preserve human life and fight for justice, if Daredevil struggles with the innate contradictions and hypocrisies and nature of what he is and does but can nevertheless push past them all to do the right thing for others, every second the Kingpin lives, every second Fisk lives because he lets him, chips away at the assurance that he's doing the right thing, that he isn't just wasting time. If Daredevil's vision of the city was correct, if Daredevil was right about his beliefs and worldview, there wouldn't be a Wilson Fisk out there getting away with the things he does. They hate each other for that same fundamental reason: If the world was ruled by the principles I need it to be, in order for me to be who I am and do what I do, you wouldn't exist, and you wouldn't be in my way again and again.

As a Spider-Man villain, he is one of the greats, a core component of his world, a highly versatile and even necessary figure to have and an excellent villain to dictate proceedings. As a Marvel Universe villain, he is an indispensable facet of any criminal element, the Mt.Fuji that the streets of Marvel rest upon, someone who can be added to any storyline and be grafted into many characters to oppose or assist them, or even create and kill them. As a Daredevil villain, he is undeniable as one of the top supervillains, bordering on main character a lot of the time. An implacable unstoppable force of nature as well as a villain of history and brutality and drama and a character who brings intrigue and tragedy and even complexity, even as it all ultimately comes down to that raw hatred between them, the splinter in each other's eye, an infection in their world that just keeps taking and taking and taking without stopping.

It is an unforgivable offense to Wilson Fisk that there is a man out there so beneath him that he cannot break, cannot bend, cannot stop, and who makes such a mockery of everything he's built himself to be by existing, just as it is unforgivably offensive to Matt Murdock that there is a man out there named Wilson Fisk who thinks he has the right to be who he is, and do what he does. To be a man who not only cannot care about human life in any capacity other than what he thinks belongs to him, but whose continued existence attests to a world that validates him, that doesn't care about those lives either, where there is no accountability and no justice and no salvation that cannot be bought and sold. Fisk isn't just an embodiment of cruel, bottomless indifference, he stands for a world that agrees with him.

It would take too much work to defeat him, he just walks unscathed if you do, and even if you defeat him there will just be someone else to step in temporarily. And so it is with a heavy heart that the people of New York accept that the blood of countless runs through the streets, so long as the big man gets to give them their cookie at the end of the day for their hard work and agreeability. He is too big, too clever, too strong, and too invincible - and that's why Peter needs to stop him, that'd why Matt can never stop trying, that's why they can never let him be, otherwise Marvel New York would just be regular New York.

They'd have to accept a world where Wilson Fisk gets away with everything, and who could live with that?

[jenniferspet]

TW Tentacles, double penetration

Witch x tentacles

In the heart of a small, secluded town, nestled between the whispering trees and the cobblestone streets, stood a quaint little shop that was known to locals as "The Enchanted Thistle." The shop's wooden sign, painted a vibrant shade of purple, creaked gently in the breeze, revealing a delicately etched silhouette of a blooming flower surrounded by a swirl of stars. Inside, the air had the scent of dried herbs and the faint buzz of enchanted artifacts. The walls were lined with dusty bookshelves, filled to the brim with ancient tomes and curious oddities that seemed to watch the comings and goings of the townspeople with silent, knowing eyes.

The witch who owned this peculiar establishment was named Y/N. She had a knack for brewing potions that could make the most mundane of plants do extraordinary things. Her customers ranged from those seeking a simple cure for a headache to the more adventurous souls who hoped to acquire a taste of something truly exotic. On a particularly dreary afternoon, Y/N found herself eager to break the monotony. Her eyes fell upon a small, withered plant at the back of her shop, barely clinging to life in a cracked clay pot. An idea began to bloom in her mind, one that promised excitement and perhaps a little danger.

With a knowing smile, she retrieved an ancient book from the highest shelf, its pages yellowed with age. Flipping through the brittle pages, her fingertips grazed over a recipe titled "The Elixir of Animation." Her heart raced as she gathered the ingredients: a sprig of moonflower, the tears of a mournful toad, and the powdered horn of a unicorn. The incantation required was complex, but she had practiced it many times in her youth, eager to unlock the secrets of her craft.

In the dim light of candles, she carefully measured and mixed the ingredients in a stone cauldron that had been passed down through generations of witches. The potion bubbled and frothed, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls. As she chanted the ancient words, the air grew thick with magic. A sudden jolt of electricity shot through her, and the room grew colder. The plant began to tremble in its pot, its leaves unfurling with a life it hadn't known in years.

The transformation was unlike anything she had ever seen. The tentacles grew out of the plant in a wild, untamed array of colors - deep purples and greens that shimmered with a bioluminescent glow. They writhed and stretched, reaching out like the arms of an octopus, yet there was something undeniably sensual about their movement. They had no human features to speak of, no face to convey emotion, yet the way they coiled and slithered suggested a consciousness that was alien yet eerily sentient.

Y/N stepped back, her heart hammering in her chest, as the creature grew before her eyes. The tentacles grew longer, thicker, more powerful. They began to explore the room, touching the dusty artifacts with a gentle curiosity that belied their strength. One wrapped around the handle of the cauldron and lifted it effortlessly, the potion inside sloshing around in a silent toast to the witch's new creation.

The creature's movements grew bolder, more deliberate. It turned to face Y/N, and she could almost feel its alien gaze upon her. A shiver of excitement and fear ran down her spine as she realized it was studying her, learning about the world it had just been born into. The tentacles slithered closer, reaching out to touch her. They were surprisingly soft, the suction cups at their tips leaving a trail of warm, sticky moisture on her skin.

Y/N stepped back, but her curiosity was stronger than her trepidation. She had read the legends of plants brought to life, but none had ever described them in such a way. This was a being of pure instinct and power, driven by a hunger for life and experience. And as she watched it, she could sense that it was hungry for more than just sustenance.

The tentacles grew bolder, reaching for the buttons of her blouse with a surprising deftness. The witch's breath caught in her throat as they began to peel away her clothing, revealing the soft flesh beneath. The suction cups latched onto her skin, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. The plant creature had no eyes, but she felt it seeing her in a way that was more intimate than any gaze could ever be. It was as if it could feel every curve, every freckle, every inch of her being.

The tentacles grew more insistent, wrapping around her wrists and ankles, pinning her to the floor with surprising strength. Y/N struggled for a moment, but the sensation was overwhelming. The fear she had felt earlier was now replaced by a burning desire that she couldn't resist. The creature seemed to sense this and grew more aggressive, the tentacles slithering up her body to cup her breasts, teasing her nipples until they stood erect.

With a sudden jerk, one of the thicker tentacles pushed aside her undergarments and found her wet, waiting pussy. The suction cups latched onto her labia, tugging and pulling with a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through her. Y/N moaned, arching her back as the sensations grew more intense. The tentacle slid inside her, filling her up and stretching her open. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before, a mix of pain and pleasure that was driving her wild.

The creature's other tentacles were not idle. They wrapped around her waist, her neck, her thighs, holding her in place as the first one began to fuck her with a fervor that was almost violent. Y/N could feel it growing larger, harder, as if it were feeding off her arousal. Her eyes rolled back in her head as the creature's movements grew faster, more erratic. It was as if the plant had tapped into the very essence of what it meant to be alive and was eager to experience every sensation to the fullest extent.

Another tentacle grew bolder, slithering down her body to her ass. The tip of it was wet with the same sticky fluid, and Y/N felt it probe at her tight hole with curious intent. She tensed, unsure if she was ready for such an intrusion, but the creature was insistent. It pushed gently, and she gasped as it began to penetrate her. The sensation was new, foreign, but not entirely unwelcome. The tentacle was thick, but the suction cups made it feel like it was stretching her open, preparing her for the onslaught that was to come.

Y/N could feel the creature's excitement growing, the tentacles around her tightening their grip as the one in her pussy plunged in and out with an ever-increasing tempo. The second tentacle pushed deeper into her ass, the sensation of being filled from both sides washing over her in a tidal wave of pleasure. She could feel her body responding to the creature's advances, her muscles clenching and releasing around the invading limbs. It was as if she were being claimed by a force of nature, and she was powerless to resist.

The plant creature's movements grew more erratic, its tentacles moving in a complex dance of passion that she could barely comprehend. The one in her pussy curled upwards, finding that sweet spot that made her toes curl and her breath hitch. The one in her ass pushed deeper, the suction cups creating a deliciously painful tugging sensation that had her begging for more. And more she got, as additional tentacles began to explore her body, teasing her clit and breasts with a precision that spoke of an ancient, primal knowledge.

Her body was no longer her own, a mere vessel for the creature's insatiable lust. She could feel it, the plant's need for life and energy, feeding off her own arousal. It was a symbiotic relationship, one that she was powerless to resist. With each thrust, she could feel herself growing weaker, her mind clouding with a mix of pleasure and fear. The creature had overpowered her, and she was utterly at its mercy.

The tentacles inside her grew more forceful, stretching her to her limits. Y/N felt a pressure building, a crescendo of sensation that threatened to consume her. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she approached climax, her body trembling with the effort of holding on. And then, with a final brutal push, she shattered. The pleasure was so intense it was almost painful, her orgasm ripping through her like a bolt of lightning. She screamed, her voice echoing through the shop, lost in the throes of ecstasy.

But the plant wasn't finished with her. The tentacles grew longer still, reaching into her in a way that defied logic and anatomy. They coiled around her insides, as if seeking the very core of her being. Y/N's eyes widened with shock and awe as she felt the creature's life force mingling with her own, the boundaries between them blurring until she couldn't tell where she ended and it began. Her body was a canvas for the plant's hunger, and she was the brush that painted its masterpiece of carnality.

The shop itself seemed to come alive around them, the shelves trembling as the plant's roots burst forth from the pot, cracking the wooden floorboards and weaving through the dusty crevices. The air grew thick with the scent of fresh earth and blooming flora. The tentacles grew in number, wrapping around her wrists, her throat, her breasts, each one moving with a purpose that was as primal as it was terrifying.

The creature's tendrils grew thicker, stronger, reaching out to claim more of the space around them. The wooden beams of the ceiling groaned as vines laden with thorns shot upwards, piercing through the plaster and wrapping around the rafters. The bookshelves toppled over, their ancient tomes spilling onto the floor, pages fluttering like the wings of startled birds. The walls were slowly engulfed by the plant's embrace, the once cozy space now a cocoon of living, pulsing greenery.

Y/N lay there, naked and panting, her body a battleground of pleasure and fear. The tentacles continued to probe her, pushing into uncharted depths and stroking her in ways she had never imagined. The creature had taken over, and she was but a plaything in its insatiable quest for more. She could feel its power growing with each passing second, feeding off her essence and becoming stronger.

Panic began to set in as she realized the extent of its dominance. She had to act, had to regain some semblance of control. Summoning what little strength she had left, she tried to sit up, her eyes darting around the room for anything she could use to halt the creature's advances. But before she could even attempt to speak a spell of banishment, one of the thickest tentacles shot forward, wrapping around her head and forcing itself into her mouth. She gagged, her eyes watering as it filled her throat, cutting off her air supply.

The fluid was thick and viscous, with a taste like nothing she had ever experienced. It coated her tongue and throat, sending a warm, tingling sensation coursing through her body. Her struggles grew weaker as the potion took hold, turning her fear into a heady, intoxicating lust. The creature's grip on her grew more gentle, almost affectionate, as it watched her swallow the potion that would seal her fate. Her mind swam with dizzying sensations, the world around her spinning out of control.

Her body responded to the potion with an insatiable hunger, her arousal skyrocketing to levels she had never before experienced. Every nerve ending was a live wire, sending sparks of pleasure through her veins. The tentacles inside her shifted, the suction cups massaging her in ways that made her want to weep. The creature had taken complete control, and she could feel it claiming her as its own.

The tentacle in her mouth began to pulse, and she felt a sudden surge of warmth in her belly. It was as if the potion was spreading through her, reaching every part of her being and binding her to the creature. She moaned around the intrusion, her hips bucking up to meet the relentless onslaught of the tentacle in her pussy. Her orgasm washed over her like a tidal wave, stealing her breath and making her body convulse in a symphony of pleasure. But even as she came, the tentacles didn't relent, continuing to fuck her with a vigor that was unyielding.

The creature's grip on her grew more possessive, the tentacles around her body tightening, the ones inside her stretching her even further. It was a feeling that was both terrifying and exhilarating, a dance on the razor's edge of pleasure and pain. She could feel her muscles clenching, trying to push the invaders out, but the potion had her body betraying her, her walls instead clamping down, holding them tight.

Y/N's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt the creature's life force begin to pulse in rhythm with her own heartbeat. The tentacles grew thicker, harder, filling her completely, as if they were becoming a part of her. She was no longer the witch in control of her domain; she was the prey caught in the embrace of a creature that was as ancient as the earth itself.

The creature's tentacles began to quiver and spasm, and she knew it was about to release its seed. The thought of being filled with the alien spawn of this creature sent a shiver of revulsion through her, but her body responded with a wanton lust that she couldn't control. She felt it building inside her, the pressure mounting until she thought she might burst.

With a final, guttural growl, the tentacle in her pussy spurted its cum deep inside her. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced - hot, thick, and overwhelming. It filled her up, the sticky fluid leaking out around the edges and pooling beneath her. At the same time, the tentacle in her ass pumped its own seed into her, the dual invasions making her body convulse with the intensity of her orgasm. She squirted, the force of her climax so powerful it was as if she were peeing, her juices mixing with the creature's cum and dripping down her thighs.

The plant creature's tentacles tightened around her, ensuring not a single drop of its precious essence was lost. It was a possessive act, a declaration of ownership that sent a thrill through her even as she struggled to breathe around the tentacle in her throat. Her body was no longer her own; she was merely a vessel for its pleasure, a conduit for its life force. The creature's movements grew more deliberate, the tentacles inside her working together to milk every drop from her trembling form.

Y/N felt the potion's effects deepening, her thoughts becoming hazy, and her will to resist all but vanished. The creature's cum filled her, a warm, pulsating presence that seemed to resonate with her very soul. Her body responded instinctively, her muscles clenching around the tentacles, eager to keep them inside her. The plant's life force pumped into her, melding with her own until she couldn't tell where she ended and it began.

As the creature's climax reached its peak, she felt the tentacles inside her begin to withdraw, their suction cups reluctantly letting go of her sensitive flesh. The thick ropes of cum spurted out of her, painting the floor around her in a sticky mess. But before she could even begin to process what was happening, the plant's grip tightened once more. The tentacles holding her open slithered back in, coating her insides with the warm, viscous fluid, ensuring not a single drop was lost.

The creature's movements grew slower, more deliberate, as if savoring the feeling of her body around it. With a final, lingering kiss, the tentacle in her mouth slithered out, leaving her gasping for air. She coughed and spluttered, her throat raw and sore from the intrusion, but the taste of the potion remained, a heady cocktail of earth and magic. The tentacles around her neck and wrists loosened, allowing her to sit up, though she felt a strange reluctance to break the intimate connection.

As the plant's life force ebbed away, so too did the potion's control over her body. She felt the tentacles retreat, each one leaving her with a popping sensation that made her wince. The creature's form began to shrink, the tentacles withdrawing back into the soil with a wet squelch. The once vibrant leaves and vines grew limp, the glow in its veins fading to a dull pulse.

Y/N lay there, panting and drenched in sweat, cum, and dirt, her body feeling both violated and oddly satisfied. She watched with a mix of horror and fascination as the creature returned to its original state, the tentacles retreating into the soil until nothing remained but the withered plant she had sought to revive. The room was a mess of uprooted shelves and scattered potions, a testament to the creature's unbridled passion.

The bell above the door chimed, jolting her back to reality. She scrambled to her feet, her legs wobbly from the intense encounter. A customer had entered the shop, their eyes wide with shock as they took in the scene before them. It was a young woman, a regular named Clara, who often came in for love potions and the occasional herb to keep her garden thriving.

Y/N tried to compose herself, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson as she took in Clara's horrified expression. The room was indeed a wreck - potions spilled, tomes scattered, and the once quaint and orderly space was now a chaotic jungle of tangled vines and broken furniture. "C-Clara," she managed to stutter, her voice hoarse from her earlier cries of pleasure, "I can explain."

But Clara wasn't listening. She had spotted the withered plant, now devoid of its former vigor, lying in the center of the room. "What the fuck happened here?" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief. She took a tentative step closer, her eyes scanning the scene with a blend of curiosity and revulsion.

The witch tried to speak to explain the unexplainable, but her words caught in her throat. What could she possibly say? That she had brought the plant to life with a potion and it had fucked her senseless? That the creature had claimed her body as its own, feeding off her very essence? The truth was too ludicrous to voice aloud. Instead, she settled for a weak, "It's... it's a spell gone wrong?"

[neocrias]

making out with NCT Dream

warnings: slightly suggestive; some of the stories may be longer than others (we got a bit carried away lol sorry); reader insert; gn reader (mostly)

pairings: dream and reader

gender/aus: fluff; established relationships (or not); casual fling;

other units: 127 II wayv

Mark

You had enough of clubbing. You didn't even know why you had come in the first place. While all your friends already had a date and were dancing happily on the dance floor, you were waiting anxiously on the bar stool with a brightly colored drink in your hand that you sipped from time to time. Was it too stupid to want a fairytale prince to show up and save you from the situation you'd gotten yourself into?

— Do you always come here? — The line startled you, and you turned your stool to the side, ready to roll your eyes at whoever had the nerve to throw that old, lousy line at you. However, you're surprised when it's followed by an adorable giggle and the big shiny black eyes that stare at you when you turn to see the boy. — I'm sorry, I know that was terrible. 

He was beautiful. His insecure smile and low posture revealed that he seemed a little nervous about the interaction - and you found that adorable. He seemed completely harmless.

The boy introduced himself as Mark, and you also introduced yourself to him. He went on to ask a few simple questions, such as “did you come with your friends?” or “do you like the place?”, which didn't spark much of a conversation, but were enough to keep you talking. He shared some information about himself, and you began to notice that with each question he asked, Mark leaned a little closer to you. This made you think that perhaps he wasn't as innocent as you had thought, even if his posture still indicated a certain shyness.

This didn't disappoint you, however, since ever since you had caught sight of Mark's sparkling eyes and trembling lips, you knew you wanted to kiss him. And, after buying you a drink and continuing the gentle but warm conversation, you noticed that even with the close proximity between your body and Mark's, he seemed to have no intention of advancing on you in the way you wanted. Even with his lapses of confidence, leaning his arms lightly on the bar counter, or staring into your eyes without looking away with a look of admiration while you said trivial things, he gave no indication that he was going to go any further without your total acquiescence.

That's why, realizing how much Mark seemed to be asking for that kiss, you leaned in at the rare moment when he stopped talking and closed your eyes, moving closer. 

Even though he was shy, Mark understood what it meant - even too quickly - and was firm in holding the back of your neck and returning the kiss, slowly and almost torturously at first, only to become stronger and faster towards the end. Mark's free hand on the counter reached for yours and rested on top of it, giving it a gentle squeeze. Your heart almost exploded with the tenderness of the newly met boy at that moment, and you felt that this would be just the first of countless kisses between you and Mark. 

Renjun

You were lying on the sofa, trying to finish one of the countless novels you'd ordered a month earlier while Renjun was painting for what seemed like hours. You actually wanted to spend this time with your boyfriend, but he hadn't been able to take a moment to do what he likes for so long that you didn't want to interrupt him, so you just waited.

However, the waiting became more and more difficult as the hours passed and he didn't finish, and you couldn't even read the book in your anxiety. Tired of waiting, you got up from the sofa, leaving the book behind, and walked over to your boyfriend who was sitting at the table.

You hugged him around the shoulders, putting your face in the crook of his neck and giving him several kisses that made him laugh with happiness. Renjun gently released the brush so as not to dirty the drawing and leaned his face back and wrapped his arms around your neck, keeping you in that position. You took advantage of this and left a chaste kiss on his lips, making him smile even more.

Suddenly he closed his eyes and frowned in confusion before asking: — Mary Jane, is that you?

— Oh, you're so funny! — You replied ironically. — You finished?

Renjun turned to face you, putting the painting aside. — I'm neglecting you, aren't I? — He asked with a sad smile. 

— No! — You were quick to deny it. — I just missed you.

He stood up, still holding each side of your hips, then brought one of his hands up to your face to push your bangs out of your face. Slowly, he brought their faces closer, brushing the tip of his nose against yours, before finally bringing their lips together in a tender, romantic kiss. Renjun has a way of making you feel loved.

— What do you want to do? — He asked.

— You can finish your drawing, Junnie, no problem.

— I'd rather kiss my beautiful girlfriend a lot more.

To disguise your happy smile, you bit your lower lip, wrapped your arms around his shoulders and ran your fingers through his soft brown hair. You kissed once more, deeply, and you felt him take small steps forward, leading you both towards the sofa.

Jeno

You don't know how you got into this delicate situation and you don't know how you're going to get out of it without revealing your feelings. Jeno has been your best friend since you were four years old, you two practically grew up together, went to the same schools, had the same friends, liked the same things. With such closeness, it's no surprise that you fell in love with him. Jeno is beautiful, after all.

To disguise the fact that you were completely obsessed with him, you tended to be a little thicker than you would have liked, always cracking some stupid joke to pick on him. Sometimes you decided to take it to a more physical level, putting your foot in front of him to make him trip, or squeezing the water bottle to splash him in the face when he drank.

Jeno always returned the pranks. You understood each other like that. The problem was that I miscalculated all the negative endings that “play fighting” could lead to.

Jeno is strong, much stronger than you, thanks to the gym addiction he developed during his teenage years. It would be easy for him to knock you down or hurt you even if he didn't mean to, which is why he refused, but you kept pushing and provoking him until Jeno gave in.

Now the sight of the muscles tensing around you made you nervous. Jeno noticed your heavy eyes, he also noticed the little bites on your lips every time he pulled you slightly tighter. Your reactions were a confirmation of what he had suspected for some time and a relief for the conflicting feelings he felt.

Jeno has had a crush on you for a while and used to get jealous every time a guy hit on you. Fortunately, he was able to disguise his own feelings behind a facade of protection, when in reality he wanted to be the one to have you.

You tried to knock him down, but that only made Jeno's grip around your forearm increase, he pulled you closer then grabbed one of your legs knocking you to the ground. You let out a gasp of surprise, still half out of breath he knelt over you, one leg on either side of your hip, as you tried to push him off he grabbed both your arms, pinning them against the floor. Your eyes were wide open, your lips parted, you were breathing heavily and Jeno just wanted to kiss you until you were panting harder.

So he did.

He kissed you with a ferocity that made you let out a low moan of fright and relief, returning the kiss as if you depended on his lips to live. You wiggled your fingers, wishing you had something to hold on to, but Jeno didn't let go, not even when he moved his kisses down to your neck and shoulder. You were already confused and out of breath, but you weren't going to stop him.

Haechan

Haechan is a teasing little pest, always having fun with your annoyance and when you make out it's no different. You don't know why you're still with him, but you have even less reason to stop.

This was the third time he'd approached you only to pull away when you tried to kiss him and it was wearing on your patience. You rolled your eyes and regretted following the boy to the empty balcony, leaving your euphoric friends playing Just Dance behind - at least there you'd only be bored and not completely annoyed by the boy in front of you.

— Oh — He cooed at you — poor kitty wanna kiss me so bad, don't you?

— Asshole! — You replied.

Haechan laughed out loud, throwing his head back as he wrapped his arms around your hips so that you wouldn't run away. — Don't be like that, pretty.

You turned your face away, not wanting to look at him and Haechan pouted, even though he knew you wouldn't see. It was really fun to annoy you, but now he had to think of a way to get you to stop being angry with him.

— You look beautiful when you're angry, you know that? — He asked. He held your chin, turning your face towards him, but you looked away. “Sulky”, he thought. — Hm? — he insisted once more, giving you several kisses in a row and a few more kisses on the cheek.

— You're ridiculous, you know that? — You snapped back, trying to stay nervous, but you couldn't stay angry with him for long. I guess that explains why you've been together for so long.

— You love it!

— Do I? — you asked and he arched an eyebrow as if daring you to lie to him. — Maybe I do.

Haechan smiled and finally kissed you. A real kiss, with tenderness and desire mixed just right. His hand is still holding your face, holding you in place so that you wouldn't escape.

Wanting to provoke him back, you bit his lower lip as soon as he started to pull away and pulled his hair back tightly. Haechan laughed out loud at your audacity and stared at you with heavy eyes. He pushed his tongue against the inside of your cheek and pulled your hair harder, making your head go back and you let go of his hair in surprise. 

— Why aren't you my girlfriend anyway?

— You never asked.

— Do you want to be my girlfriend? — Haechan asked instinctively, as if he'd been waiting for this opportunity for ages.

— I'll think about it.

You joked, but the teasing smile on your lips said everything Haechan needed to know. You were his, just as he was yours.

Jaemin

You regretted coming to this party the moment you got in the Uber, but you'd already spent too much money on the costume to stay at home now. That explains why you're looking for an empty place to hide from the mess of sweaty bodies crammed into the small living room.

— Why are you alone in this corner? Not enjoying the party? — A sweet voice interrupted your regret session, and you turned around to face a boy with a gentle smile and kind eyes.

You knew him well, Na Jaemin, the popular guy in your calculus class. Always giving nice smiles to classmates, teachers, janitors, always getting the best grades, doing the best in extracurricular activities - it's no surprise that he's so popular. What is a surprise is that he noticed you at all.

— Oh, I'm not very good at parties — You replied and automatically wanted to beat herself up for sounding so weird. He'd certainly stay away from you now.

— Poor little thing can't get along? — Jaemin cooed at you, finding your clumsiness funny.

You didn't realize Jaemin's real intentions and that made it all the more interesting for him, who was amused by your naivety. In his eyes you were such a pretty, shy, perfect little thing for him to destroy. In contrast, all you could think about was how nice he was to talk to you and hang out with you when he could have been enjoying the party.

Although amusing, Jaemin was getting tired of you not understanding the hints he was giving you, making it clear that he wanted to kiss you. Then, without you realizing it, he led you down the hallway to the bedrooms, where the guests had been warned not to enter - Jaemin didn't have to worry about being the master of the house.

Then he got closer, one step closer to you every minute. “Silly girl”, he thought as he noticed you walking backwards to create distance between the two of you, not understanding what he wanted. Impatiently, Jaemin circled his arm around your waist, pulling you against him.

He smiled mischievously when he saw your wide eyes and pressed your lips together. Your knee buckled with the hunger with which he kissed you and your eyes closed enjoying the moment, your hands instinctively going up to his shoulders and squeezing hard.

You sighed when he pushed you - gently - against the wall, your free arm supporting the weight of his body as he sprinkled your face, neck and lap with quick kisses and you sank your painted nails into the back of his neck.

Chenle Jeno, your best friend, invited you to watch his basketball game with the boys because that day there was going to be a get-together at the house of Chenle, one of Jeno's friends, after the game.

You hadn't met Chenle before, in fact, you'd only talked to Jaemin and Jisung for a short time before, so you were feeling overwhelmed by the idea of going to a party at the house of a guy you didn't know - but it was because Jeno asked you to.

In the end, it was pretty smooth, the boys were nice, especially Chenle.

He was charismatic, handsome and polite and you didn't avoid watching him during the match. You felt more attracted to him with every basket he made but, despite noticing the quick glances Chenle gave you, you didn't have the courage to approach him.

But he wasn't going to leave it at that, after all, he thought you were pretty the second he laid eyes on you and, after making sure that you and Jeno were nothing but good friends, he made his move.

— Nice of you to come — He said, taking a seat next to you on the wooden deck of the pool and offering you one of the glasses he was holding.  — Did you enjoy the game?

You agreed with a simple “uh huh” as you tasted the drink, it was vodka with energy drink, far from your favorite but fortunately he made sure it wasn't too strong. — You nailed it! — You complimented, turning her face towards him with a restrained smile.

— Yeah? — Chenle asked with a cocky smile, his eyes twinkling mischievously. He tilted his head slightly to one side before saying. — Good, because I decided that all my baskets would be for you as soon as I saw you arrive.

He smirked as soon as he saw you blink repeatedly and look away in embarrassment. He held your chin between his forefinger and thumb, turning your face back to his with a mischievous grin. Chenle noticed the way your eyes drifted down to his mouth, he noticed the way you nervously clamped your lower lip between your teeth, he really wanted to kiss you right then.

He brushed his thumb against your lip, making you release it, and leaned in, kissing you the way he wanted to. Chenle sneaked his hand down to the nape of your neck, tangling his fingers in your hair and pulling them slightly, making your head tilt in the direction he wanted.

Finally, Chenle bit his lip as soon as the kiss ended, but remained with his forehead pressed together and his eyes closed until you were forced apart by the incessant shouting and joking of the friends who had come to take you back to the party.

Jisung

Jisung is a shy boy. In the few classes you attend together, he keeps quiet most of the time, when he's not sleeping at the back of the room. Anyone would think he was just a weirdo, but you know better, his silly, clumsy ways were just the surface of what he was really like - Jisung could be quite silly when he wanted to be.

You should be in your classical literature class right now, but Jisung managed to convince you to skip it, just like all the others. Honestly, you don't know if you're going to be able to pass this class with the amount of absences you've collected because of the upperclassman, but that's okay... Jisung always makes it worthwhile.

He was leaning against the red brick wall, his knees slightly bent to be closer to your height and his legs slightly open so that you could stand between them. Jisung was also holding your hand, playing with the delicate ring on your ring finger, amused at how small your hand was compared to his.

He smirked as he pulled you closer, making you stumble with the sudden movement and, to avoid falling on top of him, you rested your free hand against his shoulder.

— Have I mentioned how pretty you look in red? — He joked in a condescending voice, knowing full well what he was doing.

You rolled your eyes before answering: — You've been more creative, Jisung.

— Can't I compliment my girl anymore? 

— What do you want in return? — You replied without believing the lack of ulterior motives behind the boy's compliments.

— A kiss is enough — he smiled and pushed the tip of his tongue against your cheek before continuing — in thanks.

 You rolled your eyes again, but you wanted it as much as he did, so you let him press your body against his and press your lips together in a deep, slow kiss. Jisung's hands were around your hips, which kept your bodies glued together, sneaking up under the hem of your red T-shirt, leaving an icy trail that chilled your heated skin.

When he reached the curve of your waist, he gently scratched your skin, just to feel you shiver - he made a mental note to thank Chenle for this tip later - and in retaliation you tugged at the brown strands at the back of his neck. Jisung sighed, but that wasn't enough. He brought his hands up again, covering the cup of your bra with his big palms and gave it a shallow squeeze. In shock, you pushed yourself back, away from him - for your own safety and sanity.

— Just a kiss, huh? As if! — You complained, making the boy laugh.

— As if you didn't like it.

[urgardenandmine]

a healing touch ❀ (pt. ii) - t. raeken

summary: theo raeken is a very helpful mentor (for once) genre: SMUT LIKE SMUTTTT 🔞 (very long porn with plot so like if you don't like too many words, i am so sorry) pairing: m!reader/gn!reader x theo raeken word count: 3.4K part one here!

walking through the door to theo’s room, you took in the whole feel of his room. at first glance from the outside, you saw his “house” which was a simple beige color. it had nothing special on the outside, it was simply just a regular house that he somehow lived in (which was a topic of discussion for another time). 

as you entered his room, you took in the weird and somewhat floral scent that was in the room. it was almost as if it was a parfum than a cologne, but it had small hints of sandalwood and vanilla. it wasn’t overbearing but it differently was a surprise to the nose as you walked into his room. you had pegged him for more of a cologne guy, something with a strong scent of cedarwood; as it was a more stronger scent men would go for (well, men like theo). complementing the cedarwood, you expected him to also smell of cinnamon. scrunching your nose, you shrugged off the scent as you looked around the room to scan what theo raeken was really like.

in his room, the walls were a hazelwood color. along with that, he didn’t have much on his walls that gave it a personality. only thing on the wall was a supposedly decomposing board that had scott’s pack on it (now including you, mason and corey) but i mean…better than a hit-list he used to have? next to that was the simple cover for the “dread doctors” book, causing a shiver to run down your genetically modified spine. he noticed, seeing you stare at it, lost in thought.

“oh yeah, i forgot about that.” he mumbled, brushing past you to take it down gently. noticing your uncomfortability, theo had unpinned the cover and placed it onto his desk. for a safety measure, he placed his binder on top of it. seeing him do something human made you snap out of your trance, as your eyes followed him as he made sure the one corner of the cover was not visible to you. turning his head back to you, he had seen you staring at him. chuckling, he then pulled out his chair from under his desk and sat on it, his legs wide open as he leaned back with his arms crossed. blushing softly, your eyes darted somewhere as you continued to examine the other chimera’s room. 

his bed was…something else. that being a simple bed sheet, one pillow and a very sheer blanket. your face was very evident that this was no way to live but who could blame him considering he probably stole these from someone. while you were lost in thought, theo examined your body language (and your body). he had noticed you were more relaxed than earlier, being next to the other three, you were almost as stiff as a possum playing dead. along with that, you had been dealing with the constant bodily aches and migraines. now with theo, you seemed calmer and were almost more relaxed. it was as if you had everything lifted off of your shoulders. 

while minding your business, you then felt hands sneakily wrap around your waist. jumping and then freezing in place, you felt the “assailant’s” hands interlock as he had then rested them on your waistband. you felt his chin rest on your shoulder, hearing him take a deep inhale followed by a soft growl. feeling yourself slowly get turned on, you pushed past the human gate keeping you trapped as you then backed yourself against his nightstand. making eye contact with him, there was a sense of disappointment and small frustration on his face. 

clearing your throat, you sat down slowly on his bed trying not to seem nervous.

“s-so, why am i here?” you asked. this time around, you weren’t as venomous as usual. theo smirked, mentally praising himself for the idea to bring you somewhere you could finally be alone with him. he sat back down on his swivel chair, his arms again once more crossed.

“again, surprised why scott didn’t mention anything to you. i mean you're practically radiating it and even liam could smell it on you. it’s just so…”

as he trailed off, his words were laced with anger. though, not wanting to burst, he clenched his fists tightly.

“okay, but what is heat. like i don’t think scott or liam know.” you spoke, trying to distract him from his thoughts. looking at you with his hazel orbs, he soon burst out laughing. glaring at him, you rolled your [e/c] eyes as you then sat criss cross on his bed, slipping your shoes off beforehand. catching his breath, he then wiped a tear from his eye as he looked at you once more. 

“they didn’t tell you because they can’t fuck you like i can.” he stated, bluntly. 

“...what.” 

theo rose from his chair, slowly removing his jacket and tossing it to the floor as he then walked over to you. looking up, you took in short breaths as theo licked his lips, looking down at you. 

“only the alpha can fuck his omega.” theo stated clearly. your mind began to race, as did your heart rate. theo chuckled, soon sitting beside you as he then sighed.

“it works like this. werewolves and other creatures have things called “heats,” where well…you needa get fucked. omegas and betas have heats, alphas have ruts. alphas don’t wanna get fucked, they need to fuck.”

following along, you nodded aimlessly as your brain kept trying to process the idea of what he was saying. was this why you had the urge to randomly “relieve yourself” in the showers? theo looked at you, seeing your blank face yet heard your heart rate be faster than a rocket.

“think about it, haven’t you been extremely and incredibly horny?” he asked, causing you to think back. it had began earlier last week, when you had randomly been digging yourself out in bed from two A.M. to then five A.M., making you almost miss class. now, you then also remembered how often you thought of theo…

fuck, he was your alpha.

“wait, so…why you of all people?! i don’t like…uh”

you couldn’t think of a lie fast enough. theo laid down, his hands under his head as he relaxed. 

“like i said, only an alpha can plow his omega, and considering you were mine first then scott’s, you don’t really belong. besides, i bet i can make you cream in an instant.”

“as if this talk isn’t making me already- anyways! listen, i don’t understand what this-”

before you could finish, you felt his lips being pressed against yours. rather than fighting it, your body had somewhat relaxed. processing the moment, your eyes slowly shut as if your body knew this is what would make you feel better. thinking on what theo said, all your mind could do was race as you felt his soft, baby pink lips be placed onto yours. reciprocating, you two were now doing a full-blown make out sesh.

crawling on top of you, theo then had shimmied his hands under your ass as he cupped it gently, giving it a squeeze. in doing so, he had drawn a soft moan from your own lips, causing him to slowly get more aroused by the second. theo then squeezed harder, making you shiver as you arched your back. seeing your vulnerability in this moment, he had moved his lips to your neck. sucking on your weak spots gently, you began to get flustered and wrapped your arms around his neck, your elbows placed on his burly shoulders. dragging his tongue from your neck to your earlobe, he had found the right spot. 

“oh, fuck~.” you mewled, making theo get harder than a metal baseball bat. removing his hands from your tight as a drum cheeks, he slowly unbuttoned his pants and then took out his large bulge from his boxers. looking down in between the small space you two left each other, you could practically hear it calling to you. feeling theo’s warm tongue slowly slow down, you began to whine as you then turned your head to immediately attach your lips to his. he was taken aback, yet gave into the kiss as he then lifted you and positioned you both to where your head was now on his singular pillow…

he needs more pillows.

pulling away, theo then slinked off the rest of his pants as he then slowly unbuttoned yours. allowing you to catch your breath, you arched your back again in pleasure as his hands soon made their way into your inner thigh. he could feel your arousal peaking, seeing how much of a needy mess you were down there. he then slowly spread your legs apart, leaving on your underwear on as his tongue began to kiss your thigh where the linen had stopped. you let out a loud whimper, looking down at him as he then made eye contact with you. he chuckled, grazing you softly with his pearly white teeth. leaving a small kiss on your thigh, he then slowly pulled himself back up to meet your eyes filled with want. 

now facing you, theo’s eyes were glimmering. it was as if he was waiting for this…and maybe he was? he had mentioned how that you were his and if you were being honest, he was kind of more caring towards you. you had no idea why but even when he was “with” tracy, you had always felt that he never cared for her other than wanting her power. as for you? he rarely laid a hand on you. you couldn’t lie as well that you didn’t want this. as he took his time taking in the sight underneath him, the pain came back and you began to whine. gripping onto his shoulder, theo snickered as he could smell your scent rising in his room. letting the pain pass, you took in a whiff of your own and smelled the same scent from earlier even stronger now. it was almost as if it was right in front of you…

it was him. the boy now on top of you, with his hard on out and his hands on your ass once more. the smell that was in the room was theo. as much as you wanted to think it was disgusting, your brain had denied it and you were almost fucking drunk on it. theo took a small whiff of you, kissing your neck softly and in small increments. 

“you smell like…like mine. you smell like rose and fucking lust and so much fucking jasmine.” 

hearing this side of theo become all possessive made something in you awaken. before opening your mouth, the pain had occurred again. you began to cry softly as you gasped softly, allowing theo to suck on your neck and leave hickies. as he did so, your body temperature began to rise and so did the neediness he had mentioned earlier. theo slinked down once more, now slowly removing your underwear as he mumbled a soft “fuck me.”

you were a sight for him. as he looked at you now half-naked, with your legs sprawled open and your entrance practically slick as a fucking used sex toy, theo could barely contain himself. he gulped, seeing his little precious omega practically become more and more dazed, just wanting one thing. the hazel eyed boy then whipped out his girthy and veined cock. he then yanked off his tank top, looking down at you as he was standing and just breathing in the scent of the room. aware of his own scent, he had now noticed the smell of you he mentioned earlier, mixing in the air. making his way back between your legs, he looked at you longingly. this wasn’t the theo you had grown to know from the days with the dread doctors. this was the boy who wanted to do a simple thing with his crush, with his omega…

caressing you softly as he heard the noises you made from your head overflowing with lust and the new sensations, he made sure you knew he would be gentle until he couldn’t. apart from his knowledge on how an omega acts during heat, he knew how he would act. not only being a wolf, he was also a coyote. coyotes and wolves were the same alike, in the sense they were possessive and would keep going to get what they wanted. paired beautifully with theo’s needs to breed you, you were in for a treat.

sucking on his index finger, he then gently inserted his finger into you. both of your hands came to cover your face, causing him to grin. as he felt you tighten around him, he kissed your thigh softly to slowly comfort you. your lips were open, letting out a string of moans as he then noticed you were becoming more loose. feeling this, he slowly moved his finger in and out of you, causing you to spill his name repeatedly like a sinner in a church.

theo bit his lip, then slowly inserting his middle finger, seeing how slick you were from the pleasure that he was giving you. 

“oh my- fuck!” you shouted, causing you to cover your mouth, thinking someone could walk in at any moment. theo, seeing this, slowly pushed his fingers into the deepest part he could reach without hurting you. you tightened around him, your legs now shaking as he then slowly sat up. your leg in between his knees, theo was angled as he leaned down and looked at you, beginning to pick up the pace on his hand yet keeping the same depth he reached earlier. he saw the face you made, your eyes closing tightly as he smirked softly.

“don’t worry, baby. it’s just me and you right now, right here. no one else will know. let it all out for me, kitten.”

hearing your alpha reassure you, your hands then hit the sheets, gripping them as you began to let out cries of joy and pleasure from him hitting the right spot over and over again. theo was at this point teasing himself, his tip leaking from the sight below him. slowly removing his fingers, theo then sat you up sloppily as he helped you remove your clothes. laying back down gently, theo then placed himself in-between your legs, now your legs around his waist and his tip kissing your entrance. 

he had placed one arm under your back and propped you up, lifting you up gently. his other hand was occupied as he was stroking himself, looking at you as you avoided his gaze. 

“look at me, kitten.” theo whispered, needing to see your face before he went any further. you were both at the point of no-return, but he needed to see you before he finalized this between you two. turning your head, your eyes were flashing their bright green, showing you were a complete mess with no control over yourself right now. theo smirked, letting out a soft exhale as he then looked down to your hole and his dick. 

taking in a deep inhale, you felt him slowly push past your ring. though you felt a small twinge of pain, you were so slick, it was as if he was entering slime. theo took in a sharp breath, trying his best not to ram it into you. looking at you, you were staring down at his crotch, seeing his tip now inside you. feeling his eyes on you, your now [e/c] eyes had a look of approval. nodding, theo then “quickly” pushed the rest of him in you. 

“yes~, fuck baby.” theo growled, both arms now holding you up and squeezing you as you let out a small yelp. you felt him, all of him. feeling delirious, you could’ve sworn he was in your stomach (but he was probably just a good ol’ eight inches). theo closed his eyes, thinking you needed time to adjust…

boy, was he wrong.

in an instant, theo let out moans and saw you begin to fuck yourself on his dick. you began to mumble obscenities, a symphony of moans and simple “fuck me’s.” theo sucked in a breath, moaning as he let you ruin yourself. you were going faster than he imagined, almost needing you to slow down as he didn’t want to ruin you too quickly. your hands became fists, balling up the bedsheet as you threw your head back and began to get louder with each bounce.

“nngh! fuck, fuck, fuck~!” you began to whine more and more, causing theo’s possessive side to slowly rear it’s sexy head. your hands then were placed on his shoulders, now looking up at him as theo’s face was almost stoic. though you wanted to ask him what was wrong, your body wasn’t listening. your head then looked down and saw the sight below, seeing yourself plop up and down on his girthy cock. 

hearing growling, theo then began to grab your waist tighter. he then stopped you from bouncing on it, making you feel frustrated. as you looked up, you saw a new sight of theo.

he was now transformed, his eyes bright yellow as his mouth was open. his fangs prominent, as well as his sideburns were as well the usual length when transformed. rather then feeling frightened, your hand then cupped his cheek. theo, aware and in control, leaned down to kiss you passionately. in doing so, he began to thrust into you without a care in the world. 

moaning into your alpha’s lips, you began to throw your arms around his back and tightened around him. you had never expected this to be happening, having yourself being stretched out by theo raeken’s girthy and veiny dick. picking up the pace, theo began to growl as he kissed you and shoved himself in deeper, almost reaching your stomach yet it wasn’t? it felt different, yet it felt as if your body had needed this. 

theo’s breathing began to become ragged, seemingly now moving at a pace than was almost harder than you would have imagined. the room was filled with the sound of his skin hitting yours, your moans and his growls. slowing down, he began to pace himself and you two were in this position for what seemed to be an hour. not pulling for a second, you two were locked with one another.

as the sun began to set, you found yourself almost seven orgasms in this three hour ordeal. he was a sweaty mess and you were there to catch it all. though both your throats were dry, your lips never broke contact. theo then growled louder, picking up the pace as he then began to whimper. feeling his body become somewhat smaller, you began to hear him whimper as he then bit your bottom lip. pulling away, theo looked into your eyes longingly as you moaned like a song on repeat. 

“fuck, fuck! [y/n], i’m getting so- shit! so fucking close, kitten.” theo informed you, his eyes still a bright yellow. though his sideburns and fangs were gone, he was looking at you as your alpha. you choked back a sob, feeling your next orgasm coming. theo’s breathing became hitched, feeling you tighten once more. looking at him, you then began to beg loudly.

“t-theo! breed me, please…alpha.” you cried out. hearing you call him your alpha, he yelled out loudly as he shoved his cock as deep as he could. you arched your back once more, your eyes flashing their werejaguar green as you felt him fill up a part of you to the brim. as he came, you felt him get bigger, almost inhumanely big as he began to plug your hole. moaning loudly, theo threw his body on top of your’s, breathing heavily as he continued to unload. 

rubbing his back, you chuckled and kissed his ear gently. as your alpha heard you giggle, he pushed himself up gently to make eye contact with you. he was back to his normal self, yet he was still unloading in you. you looked down, feeling it continue and groaned softly, a bit confused as to why he wasn’t pulling out. 

“theo.”

“hm, baby?”

“why are you still going and why aren’t you pulling out…”

“oh, uh…”

let’s just say, that next day, theo was almost ripped apart once scott and liam had explained “knotting” and “mating” to you. though you were mad at the knot part and being a teen parent, you could live with mating with theo raeken for the rest of your life.

⋆｡°✩

hope my second smut work was like good for y'all! i don't like really know how to explain lots on sex so i apologize if the position sounds goofy TT

this is literally porn with plot.

this is my first as well m!"preg" and omegaverse typa work so if y'all like it, lemme knaur and i'll do some more!

side note: he looks so fine in that picture like BARK BARK BARK

[matrix-fairy]

There is a 2 DAY SALE on my shop for the end of January. Limited stock available. 🎀 Book a reading with me! Clairvoyance andAstrological Indicators

Clairvoyance, also known as "clear seeing," refers to the ability to see visions, whether with the physical eyes or through inner sight. Individuals with clairvoyant abilities may perceive pictures in their minds or observe symbols, colors, places, and even auras that others might not notice. This sensitivity often aligns with a deep connection to aesthetics and environments, making clairvoyants vivid learners attuned to subtle details.

Astrology suggests that some planetary placements and alignments may influence or enhance clairvoyant abilities. Below are key astrological factors associated with clairvoyance:

Mercury-Neptune Aspects: Includes trine, sextile, conjunction, quintile, bi-quintile, or opposition.

Mercury in Water Signs: A strongly intuitive placement.

Neptune in Houses: Specifically the 1st, 3rd, or 12th houses.

Neptune's Aspects: Influence when in aspect to the Sun, Moon, or Mercury in the third house.

Planetary Placements in the 8th or 12th Houses: Especially Mercury's presence.

Rising Signs of Sagittarius, Pisces, or Scorpio: Known for heightened sensitivity and intuition.

Moon in the Third House: Particularly when in aspect with outer planets.

Jupiter in Water Signs: (Pisces, Cancer, or Scorpio), especially when in aspect to planets in the 3rd house.

South Node in the 8th or 12th Houses: Connections to past life intuition.

Heavy 8th/12th House Placements: Often associated with spiritual depth.

Moon in Libra or Taurus: When in aspect to Neptune.

Libra Rising: Aesthetic-driven intuition and clear seeing.

Ruler of the 1st House: In aspect to Neptune, Uranus, or Pluto.

These placements reflect the alignment of intuition, imagination, and spiritual connection. Individuals with these characteristics in their natal charts may find themselves naturally drawn to clairvoyant practices or develop an enhanced ability to perceive the unseen.

Claircognizance and Its Astrological Indicators

Claircognizance, or "clear knowing," is the intuitive understanding of people, places, or things without prior information. It manifests as sudden bursts of knowledge, insights, or revelations as if the understanding was already embedded within the mind. In astrology, several placements and aspects are believed to enhance this ability.

Astrological Indicators of Claircognizance:

Pluto in the 1st House: Intensity and depth in perception.

Uranus in the 1st House: An intuitive and forward-thinking mind.

Uranus in Aspect to Mercury: Sudden insights and mental clarity.

Uranus Aspects to Sun, Moon, or Mercury: Stronger when originating from the 12th or 8th houses.

Mercury in Aspect to Pluto: Intuitive understanding of the unseen or hidden things.

Jupiter in the 3rd House (Well-Aspected): Expansive knowledge and wisdom.

Mercury in Aspect to Neptune: Intuitive and visionary communication.

Sagittarius-related placements: Moon, Sun, Rising, or Mercury in Sagittarius, especially if enhanced by aspects to outer planets, increase intuition.

Moon-Jupiter Aspects: Strengthened by outer planet influences, promoting intuitive comprehension.

South Node in the 9th House: In air, fire, or water signs, suggesting spiritual wisdom from past lives.

Heavy 9th or 11th House: Indicating a connection to higher understanding and visionary thinking.

The indicators above suggest a connection to deep, subconscious knowing and the ability to access information spiritually or energetically.

Note: Other aspects may also enhance psychic abilities, but these represent the most prominent due to the available sources.

Clairaudience, Automatic Writing, and Channeling in Astrology

Clairaudience is the ability to hear disembodied voices or sounds, either within the mind or externally in the environment. It may manifest as tingling or buzzing sensations in the ear, hearing words or conversations in the mind, or receiving guidance through songs, messages, or written words. Automatic writing and channeling often involve receiving and recording this guidance directly, as if it flows through the individual.

Astrological placements and alignments can highlight tendencies towards these abilities.

Astrological Indicators of Clairaudience and Channeling:

Mercury in Pisces or Aquarius: A blend of imaginative and visionary communication abilities.

Moon in the 3rd, 8th, or 12th Houses: Emotional intuition connected to communication and higher realms.

Uranus in the 3rd House: Unconventional and sudden insights related to communication.

Neptune in the 3rd House: Spiritual or mystical communication abilities, often subtle but profound.

Mercury-Uranus Aspects: Sparks of insightful, unconventional thought.

Mercury-Neptune Aspects: Imaginative and intuitive communication.

Mercury-Pluto Aspects: Deep, transformative insights communicated with intensity.

Mercury in Aquarius: Innovative and unique mental processes conducive to channeling.

Gemini Rising: Paired with Mercury in water signs or aspects to outer planets, enhancing intuitive communication.

Gemini or Aquarius Moon: Particularly when in aspect to Neptune or Pluto.

South Node in the 3rd or 9th Houses: Especially in water signs, suggesting a past-life connection to communication with higher realms.

Air Moon in Water Houses: Linking intellectual processing (air) with emotional depth (water).

Heavy 3rd or 9th House Influence: Frequent indicators of strong communication abilities, spiritual guidance, or intellectual connection to higher realms.

Experiencing Clairaudience:

The voice may feel as though it comes slightly above or from the center of the mind, while messages often appear serendipitously—through music, books, or conversations that resonate deeply with current circumstances.

Clairsentience and Its Astrological Indicators

Clairsentience, or "clear feeling," is the ability to receive intuitive information through emotional or physical sensations. Those with this gift are highly sensitive to the energies of people and environments, often experiencing intuitive feelings within the body or on the skin. Individuals with clairsentience may feel discomfort in crowded places or near electrical equipment due to their heightened sensitivity.

Astrological placements that suggest heightened clairsentience include the following:

Astrological Indicators of Clairsentience:

Water Rising Signs: (Cancer, Scorpio, or Pisces) enhance emotional and energetic sensitivity.

Neptune in the 1st House: A strong empathic and intuitive placement.

Moon in the 1st House: Deep emotional receptivity combined with intuition.

Fire Moon: (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius) Amplifies passion and gut-level instincts.

Fire Mars: (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius) Activates bold instinctive responses.

Mars in Aspect to Uranus: Heightens sensitivity to sudden energetic shifts.

Sun in the 4th, 8th, or 12th Houses: Links identity to emotional or spiritual depths.

Sun in Water Signs: (Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces) Emotional intelligence and intuition.

Sun Aspects to Neptune: Spiritual connection and intuitive feeling.

Sun Aspects to Pluto: Intense perceptiveness and emotional depth.

Moon Aspects to Pluto: Amplifies emotional insight and psychic receptivity.

Cancer Rising: Naturally nurturing and sensitive.

Taurus Sun/Moon/Rising/Mars: Particularly grounded in physical energy sensations.

Libra Moon: (In Aspect to Neptune/Pluto) Enhances the ability to intuit psychic information from others.

South Node in the 4th or 12th Houses: Suggests past life experiences related to emotional or psychic awareness.

Heavy 2nd, 4th, or 8th House Influence: Indicates deep emotional, physical, or energetic processing.

1st House Ruler in Aspect to Neptune or the Moon: Connects personal identity to emotional or intuitive receptiveness.

Experiences of Clairsentience:

People with these traits often "feel" the emotions of others or detect the energy of a space. They may experience sudden hunches or sensations that provide clear, intuitive guidance, making them natural empaths and energy readers.

[aethersea]

I've always wanted to learn bookbinding, ever since I was a wee little nerd, but there are a lot of things I've always wanted to learn, and this one has both a daunting upfront materials cost and a daunting upfront research cost. however, my sister is a jewel among siblings and gave me for christmas last year a handy dandy bookbinding manual, a block of good paper, and a little bag of tools.

but I still didn't have a suitable workspace, nor any of the many important tools and materials that she didn't include in her gift. so I just read the manual and pined. until maybe a month ago I got fed up with pining, flattened a cardboard box for a cutting mat, and went to town.

and I'm real proud of myself, so here's me rambling, plus photos!

I went to the thrift store and got glue + some fabric to bind the cover, went to Michaels for a paintbrush (and later went back for a metal ruler lmao it's amazing how useful it is to have a straightedge for cutting the paper), and...could not find material for the cover boards. so I went home and pined some more. but the urges were too strong, so after a couple hours of moping I got a stack of printer paper at the grocery store (I could not bring myself to use the good paper for my first, inevitably weak attempts, I just couldn't do it) and started making a little booklet. which was a great idea, it turned out, since it makes for good practice with cutting the paper, measuring things, punching holes in the signatures, etc.

I have a big box of greeting cards from Michaels, which I used for the covers. it didn't feel like I was making a Real Book, so I got some colored paper from the stationery store and used that for end papers.

so fancy~

galvanized by this success, I ordered a stack of chipboard online to use for cover boards; and once I was confident that I could cut paper without making it look too stupid (getting that straightedge ruler sure helped lol), I made signatures out of the good paper, left them under some heavy books overnight since I don't have a book press, and then punched holes in them! (huzzah for this nice video on getting the holes right)

my sister's gift included good linen thread. it's unwaxed, but after some poking around on r/bookbinding it looks like that just means I'll have to be more careful to avoid tangles and keep good tension. I am fine with this. I can be extra attentive. (I considered just running it over a beeswax candle, but one commenter said if your wax has paraffin in it, it could melt in a hot car, ruining the spine. I can't guarantee my candle is 100% beeswax, I didn't make it, so maybe we just move on.)

I don't have good linen fabric to use for the tapes, but the important part there is that the fabric be thin, sturdy, and not stretchy. the probably-cotton I got from the thrift store fits the bill, so it'll do!

this is a french link stitch, which I got from this exceedingly good tutorial. apparently it's strong enough on its own that for a book of this size, I don't actually need tapes, but I'd already cut the things so eh here we are. and tapes plus french link will make it a stronger binding still (according to a friendly redditor on r/bookbinding), so we carry on.

specifically we carry on to the gluing step. now as I mentioned, I do not have a book press, and you....kinda need one for this step. you need to hold the book block in place with the signatures facing upwards, pressed together hard enough that the glue won't run down between them and stick the pages together (though you do want the glue to get between them just a little, just for like a 16th of an inch). you at least need some clamps and a couple boards to sandwich the book block with.

but you know what? I'm not a professional, this is my first ever book, if it's a little bit off it'll be fine. so we grab all the heaviest books off the bookshelf and improvise.

it's fine! I'm sure it's fine! and just in case it's not, I've tucked a bit of cardboard underneath to catch any glue that drips down so it won't land on the floor. see? I'm prepared! I'm acing this.

and actually, it really was fine. I used clear elmer's glue, applied with a flat paintbrush from the art supplies aisle at Michael's, and frankly I liked the way the flat paintbrush let me slip glue in between the signatures. I did poke around on a couple bookbinding sites to see what kind of glue I should use, and the gist is that although there are better options than this, elmer's glue is perfectly serviceable, and the main downside is it's not archival grade. but I don't need my first bookbinding attempts to last 200 years, that's fine.

the next step is to add the mull. mull is a specific type of fabric – extremely loose-weave linen – and the idea is to paste it down over the spine to essentially hold the tapes and signatures all in place in relation to each other.

but I don't have mull! so I'm using more of the thrift store probably-cotton, because it's thin enough and not really stretchy at all. I'm sure this will be fine too. I painted a layer of glue onto the spine, then left it to dry a bit while I measured and cut the fabric, then painted a generous stripe of glue down the center, where it'll affix onto the spine. then I added a bit more glue to the spine, just to be sure, and pressed the mull into place, rubbing it thoroughly to make sure it's firmly affixed to every signature, with no creases in the fabric or air bubbles beneath it.

honestly I might have overdone it on the glue. I've never done this before, I don't know! I think it's okay, though – I tried not to ever let it become a thick layer, just a slight coating, since the danger of too much glue is that it might crack once dry and weaken the spine.

and now we leave it in the press overnight to dry, and pick up the next step in the morning!

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

//sorry guys i know i already posted this but i'm reposting it so the masses can see okay awesome so sorry about this it's rather filthy

oh this is an old man logan fic inspired by colors by halsey you know the one

18+

"everything is gray/ his hair, his smoke, his dreams/and now he's so devoid of color/he don't know what it means."

-colors by halsey

i'm really specifically thinking about a relationship with him that starts out sort of casual-- you're young, spending busy days running around in some office, being some rich asshole's favorite thing to boss around.

but at night, you're his. and perhaps even more valuable, he's yours. sure, he drives people around, but on his nights off, he spends long nights that are too short in the shitty studio apartment you rent. he fucks you into the sheets that used to live in your college dorm room, and you are mesmerized by the gray of his beard (and maybe a little bit by the fact that he has such a beard).

one time, he wears pulls out these reading glasses and--

well--

he's sitting on the end of your bed, fumbling with an old book you wanted him to read. he's never been much of a reader, but he thinks to himself, he's not getting any younger, besides, he keeps you in a part of his heart that he wouldn't ever let anyone in to.

it's a scifi novel, you tell him, all about immigration, and the concept of a world without strict borders. it's a love story, you mention, and yet, it's a war story.

so he pulls out his reading glasses to read the back, and immediately, you're turned on. you can tell he's actually invested in it, the way his eyebrows furrow as his eyes adjust to the new look of the text.

what does take him by surprise is when he realizes you're kneeling between his legs, fumbling for the waistline of his pants, like your god damn life depends on it. his lips twitch into a smile.

"i just filled you up, what, ten minutes ago, and you're already begging for more?" he uses 'begging' because you remind him of a puppy, quietly asking for a treat.

"can't help it," you answer quickly, and before you can ask for anymore, he grips your hair in his free hand.

"what got you so worked up, kid?" you whine at the nickname, trying to pull away now, but his grip on your hair is stronger than your desire to get away is. "tell me." he says it like it's an ultimatum. tell him the truth or you won't be sucking anything.

"your glasses." you confess, and he scoffs, this sadistic sort of half chuckle.

"turned on by an old man's poor sight?" he ponders.

"are you complaining that your age turns me on and makes me want your cock in my mouth?"

he grips your hair tighter, a mean name dancing on his tongue.

"what did your daddy do to you to turn you into such a slut?" and your face burns, maybe with embarrassment, maybe with lust.

"fuck off."

his hand slaps your cheek, in a sort of half slap, half tap, and goes, "language." as if he won't have the filthiest mouth as soon as your tongue reaches his cock. then, he notices the way your thighs squeeze together when he says it with such authority, the way your eyes soften just a bit.

then, his hand grips your chin, pulling it up, as he bends down, your faces just inches apart-- as he leans, you hear his back creak just a bit.

he has that shit eating smirk on his face, as he gently kisses you, such a sharp contrast to his actions, to his words, to the way he fucks you.

you try to chase his lips as he pulls away just a bit, but his grip keeps you right where he wants you. then, he whispers,

"you're all mine, kid."

you can't find the words to deny it.