#success stories after failure

[familythings]

Celebrity Stories - The Cost of Fame: How Family Dynamics, Money, and Stardom Intertwine

This article is the first one in our new weekly rubric: Celebrity Stories. Each week we will share with you amazing stories of famous stars, how their successful career impacted their personal and family life. We will try to see the other side of success in order for our kids to learn from their empowerment stories what it takes to become successful and most importantly to keep success-fame-real…

[failtosucceedlife-blog]

How to Get Back Up Again: Rebuilding After Business Failure

Overcoming the Fear of Failure: Tips and Strategies ON Re-building after business failure Failure is an inevitable part of running a business. Every entrepreneur faces setbacks and challenges along the way, and it’s how they respond to these failures that truly define their success. In fact, failure can be seen as a valuable learning opportunity, providing insights into what went wrong and…

[velvetures]

Got Me Snoring

A/N: One of my favorite things inspired by all the Ghost/König cosplayer TikToks using that one, song audio. Summary: Ghost admits getting head is boring. Reader isn't happy with that idea and goes about changing his mind. T/W: NS/FW 18+ Only, blowjobs, deepthroating, size kink if you squint, spit?, cursing, aggressive tension?, taunting, not proofread, and it's been a long ass time since I've written full-on smut.

“All I’m sayin’ is that if she calls again, I’m not about to answer.” Soap’s voice carried from the living space of the hotel room to the kitchenette where you stood microwaving some rice from a convenience store down the street.

After-mission talk always leads to the most strange conversations. Maybe the adrenaline or the high of getting almost killed got everyone in a talking mood. However as the Captain slid behind you to go grab more ice outside in the hallway, you couldn’t help but shoot him a questioning look. They’d been talking about their previous accomplishments and failures in the bedroom for nearly twenty minutes, and thankfully they’d not roped you into the ridiculous conversation but with the Captain leaving out of the room, it drew their eyesight right to you standing patiently for your instant rice to finish cooking.

“What about you, huh?” Gaz was the one to poke a little. “Have any horror stories from the bedroom?” His eyebrows raised in mischievous curiosity as all three men sat staring at you with great intent.

“I’ve faked it plenty of times.” You reply offhandedly, waving a hand at them and going back to staring at the small plastic cup rotating around in the microwave.

You overheard the men pass through the moment of silence with low laughs, most noticeably, Ghost. Who’d apparently found something very funny and decided to grace everyone with the sound of deep and resounding chuckles. With a gloved hand, you take out your food and rejoin them in the room, finding a spot on the corner of one of the beds and crossing your legs to hold the bowl while you watch and listen to more of their recounted stories.

Soap complained more about the one night he’d met up with one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, and drank himself into oblivion to try and ease his nerves. The only problem was, that when he finally had enough liquid courage to make a move, he couldn’t get it up. Even watching him recount the tale now, you could see his embarrassment. You couldn’t imagine just how beautiful that woman had to be for Soap to give himself whiskey-dick so bad that to this day he regretted the memory and undoubtedly wished he could take it back. Gaz got pressured into retelling the story of the woman he met in Russia just for you since you’d never heard it; Detailing just how she’d been absolutely obsessed with him right from the get-go.

She couldn’t stop fawning over his accent and just how downright good-looking he was. Gaz on the other hand felt very embarrassed and never really tried to take things further on that trip. Fortunately for him, on a trip back a few months later for pleasure, he ran into the woman again and this time around she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Soap and Ghost laughed, poking fun at how utterly exhausted Garrick was when he met up with them in London. His shit-eating grin was more than enough for them to surmise that his little Russian vixen had taken him for a hell of a ride.

Then there was Ghost.

He didn’t have much to say in the way of his own successes, but did share one or two small comparisons with the other two as they kept pulling out detail after detail about the many people they’d met over the years and how they either felt they’d left their mark… or totally fucking missed it. All of it came to a very interesting topic that you suddenly became very interested in when Ghost uttered one single statement that left your mouth hanging open and staring at him almost in disbelief.

“I don’t like someone blowin’ my cock,” his voice sounded flat. Totally unbothered and nearly sleeping at the idea. “Never cared much for it when half doesn’t fit.”

You couldn’t help but insert yourself into the conversation after a long hour or so of sitting like a viewer at a movie. “Wait a second… You mean to tell me you don’t like getting head because you're too big?” The gasp in your tone was obvious, and even Soap and Gaz looked at him a little strangely as if they didn’t truly believe the idea either. It gave you a bit more reassurance in your belief that almost all men enjoyed it. Sure, there was the odd chance that Ghost just didn’t like it at all, but you really wanted to hear his explanation if he’d give you one.

The Lieutenant turned to look at you and nodded stiffly. “Yeah, ‘bout always puts me to sleep.”

It was at this point you felt the slightest urge to tell him he’d never had someone give him a legitimately good blowjob before. But before you could even say something to the contrary, a thought crossed your mind. Ghost didn’t seem like the kind of man who attracted ill-experienced women. Especially when he had already proven throughout the evening that his previous encounters were much more interesting and expansive than even that of yourself. Something a bit… jealous rose inside of you at the thought.

Imagining your Lieutenant laying on his back and hardly making any sort of sound while someone pulls out every single trick in their arsenal to make a blowjob somewhat entertaining or arousing. You didn’t necessarily profess yourself to have a crush on Ghost, due to just how grey the line between operators and anything felt when you spent so much time together under high-stress environments. There was bound to be some level of emotional attachment that devolved past… professional. And for whatever it was, knowing that Ghost had such a bad opinion on the receiving end of pleasure became a challenge you wanted to overcome.

About that time, Price returned with half-melted ice and a half-smoked cigar hanging between his lips.

“Finished talking about chasin’ tail yet?” He grumbled, walking past the group of you still sitting around each other like a bunch of kids getting caught staying up late by Dad at a sleepover. “Wanna go to fuckin’ sleep.”

He dropped the ice bucket down on the dresser with a little thud before settling himself down on the pull-out couch with his hat covering his eyes and both arms resting behind his head with that cigar still puffing smoke rings into the air. Ghost was the first to stand up, making his way out of the hotel room without as much as a comment about when he’d be back or where he was going. Your eyes trailed over his shoulders tapering into a slim waist before giving way again to thick and muscular thighs enhanced by all of gear still strapped to his body. His kit did leave a lot to the imagination. And god did your mind start to wander as both Soap and Gaz began winding down, settling themselves down to sleep for the night or at least lay somewhere quietly so the Captain didn’t lose any more of his patience and kick someone out or force them to pay for their own room. Not nearly tired enough with all of the questions and thoughts about Ghost now floating through your mind, you didn’t care the least bit about laying down or pretending not to care about the fact of the matter and headed out of the hotel room after the Lieutenant as Soap turned out the final lamp in the corner of the room.

The air was a bit cold outside without your jacket, breath materializing in front of you in light wisps of fog with every exhale as you looked down both ends of the hallway hoping to see some sign of where Ghost might’ve gone to. Down on the far left side, a larger cloud of smoke blew past the breezeway entrance and you knew right away that Ghost would be at the end of it. And when your eyes peeked around the corner, you weren’t the least bit surprised to see him with a shoulder resting up against the wall; his back to you with enough of his mask pulled up so that he could smoke a cigarette. The sweet vanilla and cherry smell hit you like a wall, reminding you that Ghost preferred rolling his own cigarettes and used pipe tobacco instead of buying packs of anything else.

Leaves no trace behind… He’d explained without prompting one night after noticing that you’d been watching him.

“Followin’ me now?” His voice heavy with smoke and unhindered by his mask landed directly on you, not even needing to turn around to know you were the one tailing after him.

“Couldn’t let you freeze to death alone.” You reply with a little smile, taking it as your chance to go ahead and walk -slowly- over to him giving him the privacy to smoke without needing to fuss with keeping his face covered.

By standing just at his back leaning against the wall, he knew right where you were, and it put the weight of conversation on him for the moment. He gave you a gruff sort of sound and took another drag off his cigarette before turning just far enough to offer it to you. You take it from his gloved fingers carefully, licking your lips a little in slight nervousness. This wasn’t the first time he’d offered you a hit, but it was the first time you’d ever actually taken him up on it. Seeing the damp rolling paper on the end made you shiver a little; Hopefully, the cold weather would be a good enough excuse to keep him from recognizing your sudden anxiety around him. Wrapping your lips around it and inhaling, you’re a little more than guilty for noticing the taste of Ghost instead of the vanilla and cherry. With a quick glance to your side, you saw his mask was pulled back down over his mouth and his dark eyes were focused right on you as you blew the smoke out of your mouth and back in through your nose. Attempting to hand it back, he just shakes his head.

“You didn’t come out here to be cold,” He finally broke the silence. “What’d you really want from me?”

No matter how long you spent around Ghost, you never got used to just how miserably direct Ghost could be. Like nothing was truly surprising to him or worth being the least bit delicate over. Even if it concerned someone -like yourself- at least attempting to be a little more discretionary. Yet you sighed and took another drag before tossing the rest of it down on the concrete, putting out the ember with the toe of your boot.

“Were you lying earlier?” Your question falls a little short of confident, giving Ghost the impression right away that you were nervous. For a split second, you thought you saw the phantom of a smile under the cover of his mask before it was quickly hidden back under late-night shadow and white paint. Ghost put his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and gave a sigh, making more fog swirl around and through the woven material around his mouth. Another thought of what his mouth looked like flashed through your failing mind.

“Why would it matter?”

You licked at your bottom lip, trying to figure out a way to word this without sounding desperate or downright shameless in front of your commanding officer… you shouldn't be thinking about doing this in the first place. So many more bad outcomes could come of this than the one good one. Even then, it was risky. Leaving you a bit dazed and staring at Ghost.

“Asked you a question. I’m expectin’ an answer.” He pressed forward, a slight swagger in his hips as he got closer to you, resting a hand on the wall and tilting his head a little to the side. Damn near mocking you for being so much smaller and easily intimidated. You look down at your boots for a moment, deciding to just put your money where your mouth is and take the hit no matter the outcome.

“If you weren’t lying…” You look up, internally screaming at how heavy his eyes look down on you. “I’d like to try and change your mind.”

A deep chuckle comes from the Lieutenant in response followed by his heavy hand resting on your shoulder, almost totally engulfing it.

“You’re jokin’,” His voice lowered with humor that made you almost shrivel up and die inside. “Why would I let you do that?” You give a frustrated sigh and take a step back away from Ghost. Mentally and physically distancing yourself from the slight Ghost had given you by accident or otherwise.

“Never mind.” You give a short nod and turn on your heel to head back to the hotel room and find somewhere to curl up on the floor or in a bed with someone and try to sleep off your damaged ego.

Yet five steps away from Ghost, you’re stopped short with his arm snaked around your waist tightly and his mouth resting against your ear with a heavy and hot breath fanning against your neck. His palm spreads over your stomach and squeezes almost aggressively at the soft flesh under your shirt. Tall and wide, Ghost yanks your back flush to his chest as a silent threat.

“Don’t fuckin’ walk away from me,” His low growl makes you shiver. “I’m not finished with ya.”

In an instant, you’re spun around and hauled aggressively with your back against the nearest wall with Ghost’s chest holding you from fighting back. His legs limit your ability to try and escape out from under his arms, and while one hand is flat against your chest, the other restricts both your wrists above your head. Breath evacuates your lungs with the sudden shock of your back against the wall, but your eyes are locked on Ghost’s as he glares at you harshly through the wavering mist of his breath in the cold air.

“Now I’ve got you pacified…” His smirk was clear in tone, outright mocking you by pressing those massive thighs tighter against yours. “Let’s continue shall we?” The gloved hand pressed against your heaving chest slides up to grasp firmly at your chin and jerk it up to look him in the eyes.

“Why don’t you be a good little thing and tell me why you think you could change my mind, and maybe… I won’t punish you for talkin’ shit to your superior officer.” He spat loudly, his face less than an inch from yours, eyes flaming with aggression.

“Sorry Lieutenant…” You mutter stiffly through the struggle of his hand against your jaw. “Thought I could do better.” You add a lot weaker, averting your eyes as far from Ghost as you can.

“What was that?” He made dark fun of you, terribly obvious, and downright happy with himself. “Say it again.”

You squirm in his grasp, only to get your wrists slid up higher on the wall and a thigh shoved between your own to lift your feet almost totally off the ground. Toes tapping the ground, Ghost holds you totally of his own power without the slightest effort needed to keep you held right where he wanted you to be.

“Thought I could do better.” You repeat yourself louder, and more clearly, feeling utterly stupid for enduring such pathetic treatment. Only you knew it was your fault for letting such a pipe dream of an idea come to reality by prodding Ghost about his sex life so confidently. The masked man hummed lowly, tilting his head as he inspected your face lighted only by a small sliver of moonlight creeping around the corner of the hallway.

“Better, huh?” Ghost chuckles darkly, this thumb tracing over the bottom curve of your lip carefully. “That’s a lot of confidence for someone so small.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Size has nothing to do with it.”

Ghost barks laughter, grumbling something under his breath before dropping his hand away from your jaw and releasing one of your hands to press against his groin. You can’t miss his meaning from the massive erection pressing back against your hand and twitching impatiently when your Lieutenant squeezes your hand around it tighter. A growl escapes his throat and he looks up at you with almost evil eyes.

“Still think size doesn’t matter, little one?” He questions, one eyebrow raising above the hemline of his mask.

Your mouth falls open in shock. Not only because of the sheer girth of Ghost’s cock pulsing in your hand but realizing that he was actually taking your proposal seriously no matter how aggressive his mockery of you was. It shouldn’t have been so damn surprising when taking into account just how large of a man Ghost is. Surely everything would be proportionate, and his erection was proof of it.

Your face is enough to make Ghost chuckle. “That’s what I thought…”

It’s enough of a dismissal that thaws your speechlessness and throws you right back into the present with enough of the guts to speak up for your own desires.

“I can do it,” You blurt breathlessly, fingers tracing along the curve of Ghost’s dick and earning a lusty growl from him. “I can make it good. I’ll make it fit.” You nod your head feverishly in an attempt to keep your chance open. Ghost’s eyes widen at your desperation and his cock twitches hard in your palm with the sound of your shallow breaths and pleading eyes.

“You want it, huh?” He questions, mask moving like he’s grinning under it.

“Then get on your fuckin’ knees.”

The moment his hands release you, you feel yourself sliding down the wall until your knees make a bruising thud against the concrete floor in front of Ghost. Your hands holding on his thighs without the slightest care that you were standing in the middle of a hotel breezeway where anyone could see you. A weight settled in your lower stomach with the idea of anyone coming out of their room and witnessing such a sight.

“My belt.” Ghost instructs a bit pinched, looking down at you with his chin almost touching his chest.

You’re frantic yet shaking as your hands slide up his thighs and begin pulling his belt loose, hearing that metallic clink as you pull the two sides apart with a watering mouth. No instruction is necessary for you to know where to go next, and as you unbutton his cargo pants, your free hand palms his cock as you pull down just enough of his waistband to expose him but not make him cold. Ghost’s hands help just a little, settling extra material where he prefers it, almost patiently holding up his own hoodie and t-shirt out of your way as you slid your hands under his boxers.

“Fuck…” Ghost mutters quietly, tensing when your fingers wrap around his base and free him from his underwear.

Your thumb smears over his swollen head soft enough to not make him jerk away with sensitivity, and you lick your lips at just how wet his cock already is from sheer anticipation. Hell, you were turned on too, practically dripping in your underwear at the sight of Ghost with nothing but a perfect dick exposed and ready for your mouth. The first lick is a teasing one. Flattening it over his head just because you couldn’t wait to taste him, gathering up his arousal, and making it a point to swallow with your eyes locked right on Ghost’s. You're certain it’s enough to affect him just by the way he grunts and rests both of his hands against the wall behind you to steady himself.

When your lips wrap around his tip and slide down towards his base slowly, you hollow your lips and suck hard. Almost mimicking drinking through a straw with both hands wrapped around his thick base to restrict blood flow, adding to his sensitivity. You feel his feet flex in his boots next to your thighs and another low grunt. It spurs you forward, sinking down further and massaging your tongue on the underside before raising back up to lick at his frenulum and repeating the process with quiet whines each time he’s unable to hold back some sound.

“Shit-” He hisses after no more than a couple of minutes, jerking his hips back away from you and moving your hands out of the way so he could tighten his own fist around his cock with a heaving chest.

He stays like that for a few moments, undoubtedly trying to stave off the pleasure you’d been giving before his eyes meet yours again and they’re downright hungry and raging with fury that you’d brought him so close without any extra fancy moves or those fake moans that porn always showed. With one quick movement, he stepped closer and tilted your head back until it gently rested against the wall behind you, his cock smearing your own spit and his arousal over your open and awaiting mouth.

“You look pretty like this…” He muttered, rubbing his length over your face and tapping it teasingly against your mouth. “You hungry for more?” You’re sticking out your tongue and nodding right away, earning you a tense chuckle and the feeling of Ghost’s dick sliding into your mouth while his hand cushions the back of your head from the wall.

“Let me feed it to ya,” He grunts. “Shove my fat cock in your mouth and fuck your throat..” He adds with a feral sort of sound mixing with an ever-thickening accent.

You moan around his length, feeling your jaw muscles begin to start aching when your nose just barely grazes his pubic bone and his tip touches the back of your throat. He’s thick enough to qualify as the largest you’ve ever experienced, but you’re not the slightest bit concerned about whether he’ll be able to fit. You know he’ll make it fit if nothing else.

And him utterly pounding your throat sounded so hot that you tried pushing further down on his shaft yourself. Eager to feel Ghost as deep in you as possible. Ghost obliges you, and rocks his hips forward slowly, easing his thick head past that ring of pressure at the back of your throat and cursing under his breath when a wet, gurgling sound vibrates around his shaft as you begin swallowing around him.

“Bloody, fuucckk yes…” His groans punch through the quiet air, far louder than he should be risking in such a public space. But he’s only getting started with this experience as your nose presses against his pubic bone, and his hand flattens against the wall.

“So tight… doggin’ me right where anyone can see.”

It’s the thought that had you so eager, and right away you felt just how much it turned Ghost on too. Because the second he said it, he pulled back just a fraction and pushed himself back down your throat, beginning tight and quick thrusts that made your eyes roll back. He kept a furious pace, growling and holding tight to the back of your head until you tapped at the back of his thigh a few times, and he pulled out with a loud grunt, giving you a moment to breathe. You panted, seeing a thick web of spit connecting your mouth and his tip before watching it break and drip down your shirt.

You’re about to tell Ghost… something. But you instantly lose thought of it when he’s bent down with his mask rucked up just far enough to smash his mouth to yours, shoving his tongue in your mouth and practically eating you from the inside out. You can still taste the salty edge of his skin, and it’s almost heady to have his mouth mingling with yours and sharing his arousal between soft moans and heavy breaths. The kiss is long and feverish, but not near long enough before he’s standing back up and stroking his fist up and down his cock right in front of you like an unreal kind of dream somehow coming to life.

“Please.” You mutter a bit hoarse from the rough treatment of your throat, totally unsure of what you really want most. Between his mouth, words, and dick there’s so much more than just one you desired, but at least one of them needed to be delivered to you to attempt satisfaction.

“Open up, little one…” Ghost whispers face re-masked already, and it makes you whine pathetically, having naively believed he’d allow you just one glimpse at the mouth you’d just tasted. “Need to have more of you.” You’re totally happy to resign by leaning your head back against the wall with your tongue wetting your lips in the cold air.

Ghost starts painfully slow, holding your head on both sides of your jaw and teasing his head against your tongue and the textured roof of your mouth; indiscernible words falling from his mouth and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. You would’ve thought it was nothing more than your Lieutenant just taking his pleasure as offered. But the way his thumbs brushed over your cheeks and his fingers would occasionally rub over the stretched muscles in your jaw gave you the feeling that he was well aware of what you were surrendering to him. As well as how thankful he was to have you on your knees, and looking so fucking angelic swallowing and spitting on his dick like a dirty little whore.

“Let me - Wanna…” His rising breaths and steady strokes begin to falter the longer he thrusts inside your mouth, meticulously avoiding forcing himself deeper in disappointment; resulting in your whining and muffled complaints and pleasure. Had his hands not been purposefully holding you back to prolong the session, Ghost probably wouldn’t have lasted this long.

“P-patience…” His stammer made your chest clench in satisfaction. “Don’t - don’t wanna finish in your mouth…”. That breathy comment nearly struck you stiff as concrete.

You couldn’t believe that after this entire ordeal, Ghost was actually trying to end a blowjob without you finishing it the way you honestly believed it should always end. With you swallowing every last fucking drop that the Lieutenant gave you; wearing a goddamn smile bigger than anyone has ever seen. If he hadn’t been lying and head never impressed him, there wasn’t a chance in Hell you were going to let him finish anywhere that wasn’t down your throat. In a split second, you were shaking your head no and pulling back off his cock with a slight gasp.

“No, finish.” It’s the most demanding and certain you’ve sounded all night. “Finish in my mouth, Ghost.”

His eyes say it all.

They’re wide with his pupils blown at impressive dimensions and his thick eyelashes flutter as his shocked expression forces him to blink over and over again to make sense of you. Mouth and chin covered in spit, on your knees, and literally begging him to come in your mouth.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking filthy…” He mutters aloud, watching intently as you slide back down over him one more time and begin doing what you wanted to from the very beginning.

Bring Ghost to his knees.

It’s a moment before you have him cursing and holding onto the wall with both hands again as you push deeper and deeper until you're teasing the tip of your nose against him yet again. Unwilling to let him pull you off this time or prolong this. Deserving this release was the bare minimum. Not only did you want to provide him ultimate pleasure where no one else had, but you enjoyed every single bit of it. You needed this as much -if not more- than Ghost.

Heavy and twitching in your mouth, Ghost was teetering on the edge of his orgasm with stuttering hips and one hand sliding down to rest on your head. Not pushing this time, just laying at the crown like your movements were too much to feel with only one part of his body. Short pants were cut short by unintelligible words and strained attempts to say what you already knew.

As if giving your final approval of the idea Ghost had found unacceptable, you push him as deep as you could one final time; Hearing his loud shout echo down the breezeway as both of his hands grabbed harshly onto the sides of your head. Pumping stream after stream of his hot release down your throat you moaned deeply, feeling him gently rock his hips against your face as he rode down his high on shaky legs. You gagged a little as he pulled out, feeling your throat begin to burn in an unfamiliar way that had never followed you sharing a moment like this with another man. Only one look at Ghost’s cock right in front of your face was more than enough to reassure you he’d just been the one who gave you enough of a delicious stretch to feel for days to come.

Your eyes met his and a small little shy smile crossed your sore lips, contrasting the absolutely deplorable -and punishable- act you’d ever committed with a superior officer. Wordlessly Ghost tucked himself back into his underwear and neglected to button his pants back up before dropping to a knee right in front of you and pulling up his mask again to brush his lips against yours.

“Want to taste,” He whispered ever-so-softly, hands holding your head gently.

“Need to taste me inside your mouth.” He added, licking your lips before closing the distance between you for a second time. This kiss was still intense. Ghost controlling the pace and just how much dominance you had, which nearly came to zero when he licked into your mouth, groaning shamelessly. He could taste his release coating your mouth as he utterly overwhelmed you with kisses, licks, bites, and more moans that fell like honey on your ears.

You were the first to pull back for a gasp of air you’d gone full minutes without, feeling your own mouth and body beginning to feel a little weak with exhaustion not typical of a well-conditioned soldier like yourself. Your Lieutenant took note right away and rested his head against yours reassuringly, his nose touching yours.

“You’re too cold to be out here like this.” He whispered, pulling your cheek affectionately and wrapping the other arm around you. “Not gonna let you freeze after that.” He chuckled a bit sluggishly, kissing you again long and chaste.

He pulled his mask back down and gave very little effort to pick you up off your knees and into his arms without question or hesitation. Leaving you feeling like a treasured prize he’d won and refused to let out of his sight for more than a moment. Safe and protected, you couldn’t care one bit about the cold nipping through your thin clothes and resting your head against Ghost’s shoulder as he carried you back to the hotel room the 141 had already retired for the night in.

Expertly avoiding Soap and Gaz laying on couch cushions on the floor and covered with extra bedsheets, sliding around Price’s bed without bumping it, all while carrying you Ghost sat you down on the edge of the bed he’d been keen to claim as his own right when you’d arrived. You were nearly asleep just sitting there when he unlaced your boots enough to tug them off, pulled your shirt off over your head, and replaced it with one of his hoodies. Finally, he takes off your pants and nods for you to move up to the top of the bed, acting just as he would normally. But as he climbed into the bed next to you and tugged you back against him tightly, you realized you’d gotten a lot more than you bargained for.

Sure you might’ve changed Ghost’s mind about getting head… but you weren’t finished yet. Because Ghost was curling his arm around your waist and burying his masked face in between your shoulder blades like cuddling with you at night was the usual way of things. His fingers innocently traced the waistband of your underwear, and he radiated body heat that melted away the fringe sensations of cold on your body easily.

“I’ve made a decision,” He whispers very quietly so as not to wake the others. And you wiggle back a little closer to him, nodding your head as a silent acknowledgment for him to go on. Expecting him to say that you did -in fact- change his mind about getting blown.

“You’re mine now.”

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated

[luckykiwiii101]

Hello, I am writing to you as a 22-year-old girl who managed to enter the void on the night of May 17 and changed her whole life.

I started my void  challenge in December 2021. It was very difficult for me both physically and psychologically. Because I had an environment that was abusive and violent. And my conditions were very terrible. I had an exam that I couldn't win for 3 years, an alcoholic father who beat me, and a mother who never let up on it. I have lost a lot of things in my life in 3 years, but I have never given up on emptiness. If there are people who are still struggling with the gap, I hope my success story will be a motivation for you.

One morning when I woke up with failure again, I was feeling extremely unhappy and hopeless. But an incident at home during the day made me say, ‘That's enough, I'm going to fuck everything up tonight and wake up in a void.

When I wasn't feeling very sleepy- or even sleepy at all- I lay down on the bed. Because I'm afraid to fall asleep. In order of;

15 min Holotropic breathwork

20 min Silva method

10 min Alpha State meditation

After lying motionless for about 45 minutes, the brown noise started playing. It is very natural that there is a desire to move, to be overwhelmed,to give up in this part. Please continue for your dreams. When the brown noise was playing, I used a single affirmation. 

‘I'm simply deciding that I'm in a void.’

I can't remember how many times I repeated it. After a while, everything became quiet and I felt so peaceful for the first time in my life. I had a 30-page document and I said that everything in there would be manifested.

A day ago, when I had nothing, I now have a house on the Mediterranean coast, a black bmw ix car, a Harvard math degree, an online job where I earn 25 thousand dollars per month by working only 4 hours a day 4 days a week (Dollars are very valuable in the country where I live, and my salary is multiplied by about 30.), I have a beautiful face, body and skin. I also showed that I can ride horses professionally and draw pictures. I confirmed that the apple products, books, cosmetics and skin products in my wishlist are also in my house. I have also declared the person I will meet about 1 year from now and who will become the man of my dreams.

THIS IS AMAZING!!!! I’m so happy that you’re now living your dream life 💗

This is such a good example of showing people that they can truly do anything. Thank you for taking your time to share this 💗

[plounce]

researching stuff for a post about misinformation regarding girl scout cookies and man this article (10/28/23) about this palestinian-american girl scout nearly made me burst into tears

In her short 17 years on earth, Amira Ismail had never been called a baby killer.

That’s what happened one Friday this month, Amira said, on New York City’s Q58 bus, which runs through central Queens.

“This lady looked at me, and she was like: ‘You’re disgusting. You’re a baby killer. You’re an antisemite,’” Amira told me. When she talked about this incident, her signature spunk faded. “I just kept saying, ‘That’s not true,’” she said. “I was just on my way to school. I was just wearing my hijab.”

Amira was born in Queens in the years after the Sept. 11 attacks. She remembers participating as a child in demonstrations at City Hall as part of a successful movement to make Eid al-Fitr and Eid al-Adha school holidays in New York City.

But since the Oct. 7 attack by Hamas, in which an estimated 1,400 Israelis were killed and some 200 others were kidnapped, Amira, who is Palestinian American, said she has experienced for the first time the full fury of Islamophobia and racism that her older relatives and friends have told stories about all her life. Throughout the city, in fact, there has been an increase in both anti-Muslim and antisemitic attacks.

In heavily Muslim parts of Queens, she said, police officers are suddenly everywhere, asking for identification and stopping and frisking Muslim men. (New York City has stepped up its police presence around both Muslim and Jewish neighborhoods and sites within the five boroughs.) Most painful though, she said, is the sense that she and her peers are getting that Palestinian lives do not matter, as they watch the United States staunchly back Israel as it heads into war.

“It can’t go unrecognized, the thousands of Palestinians that have been murdered in the past two weeks and even more the past 75 years,” Amira said. “There’s no way you can erase that.” That does not mean she is antisemitic, she said. “How can I denounce one system of oppression without denouncing another?” she asked me. The pain in her usually buoyant voice cut through me. I had no answer for her.

Many New York City kids have a worldliness about them, a certain telltale moxie. Amira, a joyful, sneaker-wearing, self-described “Queens kid,” can seem unstoppable.

When she was just 15, Amira helped topple a major mayoral campaign in America’s largest city, writing a letter accusing the ultraprogressive candidate Dianne Morales of having violated child labor laws while purporting to champion the working class in New York.

“My life and my extremely bright future as a 15-year-old activist will not be defined by the failures and harm enabled by Dianne Morales,” Amira wrote in the 2021 letter, which went viral and helped end Ms. Morales’s campaign. “I wrote my college essay about that,” Amira told me with a slightly mischievous smile.

In the past two years, Amira has become a veteran organizer. Last weekend, she joined an antiwar protest. First, though, she’ll have to work on earning her latest Girl Scout badge, this one for photography. That will mean satisfying her mother, Abier Rayan, who happens to be Troop 4179’s leader. “She’s tough,” Amira assured me.

At a meeting of the Muslim Girl Scouts of Astoria last week, a young woman bounded into the room, asking whether her fellow scouts had secured tickets to an Olivia Rodrigo concert. “She’s the Taylor Swift of our generation,” the scout turned to me to explain.

A group of younger girls recited the Girl Scout Law:

“I will do my best to be honest and fair, friendly and helpful, considerate and caring, courageous and strong, and responsible for what I say and do, and to respect myself and others, respect authority, use resources wisely, make the world a better place and be a sister to every Girl Scout.”

Amira’s mother carefully inspected the work of some of the younger scouts; she wore a blue Girl Scouts U.S.A. vest, filled with colorful badges, and a hot-pink hijab. “It’s no conflict at all,” Ms. Rayan told me of Islam and the Girl Scouts. “You want a strong Muslim American girl.”

At the Girl Scouts meeting, Amira and her friends discussed their plans to protest the war in Gaza. “Protests are where you let go of your anger,” Amira told me.

Amira’s mother was born in Egypt. In 1948, Ms. Rayan told me, her grandfather lost his home and land in Jaffa to the state of Israel. At the Girl Scout meeting, Ms. Rayan was still waiting for word that relatives in Gaza were safe.

“There’s been no communication,” she said. When I asked about Amira, Ms. Rayan’s eyes brightened. “I’m really proud of her,” she said. “You have to be strong. You don’t know where you’re going to be tomorrow.”

By Monday, word had reached Ms. Rayan that her relatives had been killed as Israel bombed Gaza City. When I asked whom she had lost, Ms. Rayan replied: “All of them. There’s no one left.” Thousands of Palestinians are estimated to have been killed by Israeli airstrikes in Gaza in recent weeks. ... Ms. Rayan said those killed in her family included six cousins and their children, who were as young as 2. Other relatives living abroad told her the cousins died beneath the rubble of their home.

As Ms. Rayan spoke, I saw Amira’s young face. I wondered how long this bright, spirited Queens kid could keep her fire for what I believe John Lewis would have called “good trouble” in a world that seems hellbent on snuffing it out. I worried about how she would finish her college applications.

“I have a lot of angry emotions at the ones in charge,” Amira told me days ago, speaking for so many human beings around the world in this dark time.

I thought about what I had seen over that weekend in Brooklyn, where thousands gathered in the Bay Ridge neighborhood, the home of many Arab Americans, to protest the war. In this part of the city, people of many backgrounds carried Palestinian flags through the street. Large groups of police officers gathered on every corner, watching them go by.

The crowd was large but quiet when Amira waded in, picked up her megaphone and called for Palestinian liberation. In an instant, thousands of New Yorkers repeated after her, filling the Brooklyn street with their voices. My prayer is that Amira’s generation of leaders will leave a better world than the one it has been given.

i believe she recently got her gold award (which, if youve never been in girl scouts, is really difficult - way more difficult than eagle scout awards), or is almost done with it. i hope she's doing okay.

this article (no paywall) about muslim and palestinian girl scout troops in socal also almost made me cry (it's like 2am). i really really hope all these kids are doing alright. god. they and their families all deserve so much better

[ambrosiagourmet]

In chapter 28, Marcille lays out why the journey she's been on has been worth the pain: because they were able to bring Falin back. The injuries, the indignity, and the mess of it all - they are tolerable primarily in context of destination she believes she's reached at this point.

In truth, of course, the story is far from finished. In fact, I would argue that this is actually where hers really starts. This scene holds the seed of the very thing the Winged Lion will exploit to lead Marcille to become the Lord of the Dungeon. After all, with a desire as far reaching and deeply held as Marcille's, if the only acceptable outcome is success, what other choice does she have but to bargain with the infinite?

So let's talk about this idea - where it leads her, how Laios' path intersects with it, and how they both help each other move forward in the face of failure.

First though, I want to step back and talk about something else: the shapeshifter chapters.

With these chapters recently covered by the anime, there has, of course, come plenty of fun discussions about which version of each character belongs which other character's perceptions, and what that means.

One thing I've seen pointed out a few times is the fact that both Laios and Marcille's impressions of each other are based around Falin. Marcille's version of Laios is larger and more masculine, because those are the traits that stuck out to her in contrast to Falin. Laios' version of Marcille was directly inspired by her appearance and demeanor when resurrecting Falin.

So why is this important to a discussion about Marcille being focused on success? Well, it shows us where Laios and Marcille's relationship starts: built primarily around their shared love for Falin. It's from that shared beginning that they begin to learn about each other on their own terms.

And this is true for the whole group, to be clear. They are united by circumstance - love for a lost companion, a sense of responsibility, a desire for freedom - but they all grow and help each other beyond that circumstance. They help Senshi bury the ghosts of his past and eat some Hippogriff stew. They help Izutsumi open up to mutual love and friendship. And they learn so much about each other: about Chilchuck's family and Laios' love of monsters and Marcille's desires to live life alongside others.

In the particular case of Marcille and Laios, understanding each other is what lets them save each other. It is not through Falin that Laios talks Marcille down from the edge the Lion has brought her to, nor is it through her that Marcille comforts Laios after the demon is defeated, when it is still unclear how everything will work out.

In fact, it is very specifically the unknown fate of Falin that Marcille comforts him about.

She is willing to accept the outcome - willing, now, to embrace the journey itself, rather than only accepting it as a means to an end.

This is a lesson she learns from Laios, and it's a lesson we watch Laios learn, too.

Just before making her deal with the Lion, Marcille recalls everything that led her to that moment. She lingers on the pain, recalling the worst of their journey:

She only pushes through by remembering her goals: saving Falin, and equalizing the lifespans of her friends to match her own.

And yet, 10 chapters later, when reflecting on why she actually wants to see her goals through, it is the good parts of that very same journey that shine through.

There's an inherent contradiction here, one which Marcille doesn't know how to face. How can the suffering that she tolerates also be the love that drives her forward? How can the loss that she's worked so hard to reverse also be the very circumstance that created a world she, now, cannot stand to give up?

And Laios confronts her with the truth. Because it just is.

Losing Falin forced him to open up to others in a way he never had. It forced him to choose what he cares about, and in making that choice, it gave him the opportunity to be seen. To connect with others.

He has already had to come to terms with the fact that Falin's death has given him something - he would not have been able to kill her again if he hadn't.

There is something here that is fundamental to Dungeon Meshi's understanding of what life even is. Like, I don't think it's a coincidence that part of Laios' speech to Marcille in chapter 85 is actually first seen in the chapter where they fight off ghosts.

In 'Sorbet,' while possessed , Laios thinks that it would have been better if the dragon had eaten him, instead of Falin. The ghosts make people lose their will to live - they are dragged away from life.

When he's pulled back from that brink, Laios realizes that he can't move forward without accepting that she is gone. He even compares the way he was holding on to her to being possessed: it pulled him away from life, from the present moment.

To carry on, he must accept what has been lost, and focus on protecting the life that they still have.

Like Marcille, he has to accept the contradictions of their journey. That life means eating, and eating requires death. That sometimes one must be selfish in order to be kind, and that selflessness can easily be twisted into to cruelty.

That loss will, inevitably, lead you to find happiness that you may not have found otherwise.

This is how he gets through to Marcille. And I think part of the reason he reaches her with these specific ideas is because those contradictions are baked so thoroughly into their relationship.

Marcille only met Falin after she had been left behind by Laios. Laios was able to reconnect with Falin because she left Marcille. They both met each other through Falin, and yet they only really got to know and care for one another after she died.

And of course, that's why Marcille uses the same ideas to comfort Laios, in the final chapter. It is because of Laios that she is able to accept the journey for itself, and not need the happy ending to justify its meaning to her.

Together, they help each other move forward, and accept that they may not be able to bring Falin back.

Which, if I'm being honest... I think this is the reason Falin can come back, narratively speaking, without the resurrection feeling like it takes away from the themes of the story.

After all, she doesn't do it for Marcille or Laios - she does it for her own sake. Her own hunger and her own desire to eat are the things that lead her back to life.

All three of them, together, end the story like this: not clinging to the things they are afraid to lose, but knowing they can choose to move forward together.

And, importantly, this happy ending is no longer the thing that gives the journey meaning. Rather, it is the privilege of the journey itself that is her happy ending: the chance to walk alongside others in the time they have, to get to know each other, and to eat well.

[writing-with-sophia]

Write a weak hero

Okay, first, what is weak? According to Oxford Dictionary, weak is lacking the power to perform physically demanding tasks; lacking physical strength and energy, or liable to break or give way under pressure; easily damaged.

That means, a weak hero is a character who isn't physically strong, mentally strong or even both.

So, how can we create a weak hero but do not make readers hate him/her? You will know after this post!

First, developing an effectively background

Unlike typical heroes who may have been born with incredible powers or had a dramatic origin story, the weak hero should come from a mundane background. They can be an ordinary person with nothing outstanding, a failure, etc. and suddenly have to shoulder the responsibility of "a hero" even though they don't want it.

Focus on their mundaneness and weakness. Describe the awkward situation where they are forced to become heroes. Why were they chosen to be heroes, when there are others who are more talented and powerful? What were the circumstances under which this happened? Make it as clear as possible.

Don't forget to describe their thoughts, feelings, and reactions. In their backstory, highlight times when the weak hero tried to be heroic or take on challenges, only to fall flat on their face. Was there a specific incident that shattered their self-esteem? Do they come from a family or environment that was overly critical? These past embarrassments and disappointments can inform their current self-doubts.

Use flashbacks strategically. Intersperse key backstory moments throughout the narrative to gradually reveal the hero's history and motivations, rather than dumping it all at once. This will help the reader better understand the character's journey and the reasons behind their reluctance to embrace the role of a hero.

Second, emphasizing their weakness

Focus on their mundane, everyday struggles. Rather than epic battles, the weak hero's conflicts should revolve around things like asking neighbors for help or failing to complete simple tasks.

You can also contrast them with stronger, more capable heroes. Have the weak hero regularly get overshadowed or overlooked by the more impressive feats of other characters.

The weak hero's ineptitude and frustrations can be a great source of comedy. So don't be afraid to poke fun at their failings :).

Third, slowly build towards small victories

If you want your weak hero to be liked by the readers, never let them be weak all the time. Drop subtle hints in the backstory that suggest the hero has untapped potential or unique talents that could one day be leveraged in unexpected ways, even if they don't realize it themselves.

Focus on the why. What made them become strong, or strive to become stronger? Is it a long-term motivation or a temporary one? Are they doing it for themselves or others? What will they do to overcome their weaknesses? Over time, the weak hero can learn to leverage their "useless" powers in clever ways and gain a little more confidence, even if they never become a heavy hitter.

And, remember to highlight their determination. Despite their shortcomings, the weak hero should possess an underlying stubbornness and refusal to give up. Showcase moments in their past where they persevered even when success seemed impossible.

Fourth, crafting challenges

When crafting challenges for a weak hero, you need to focus on obstacles that play to their specific limitations and insecurities. Here are some types of challenges a weak hero might face:

Outmatched in combat

The weak hero tries to take on a powerful villain, only to be easily overpowered by the villain's superior strength, speed, or abilities.

They get into a fight they can't win and have to rely on their wits or dumb luck to escape unscathed.

Inability to complete basic tasks

The weak hero struggles with simple everyday activities like opening a jar, fixing a leaky faucet, or assembling furniture.

These mundane challenges become major roadblocks that highlight their incompetence.

Social humiliation

The weak hero tries to interact with others, only to say the wrong thing and embarrass themselves.

They may attempt to flirt, negotiate, or simply make small talk, but end up flustered and socially awkward.

Lack of confidence

The weak hero doubts their abilities and has a hard time believing they can accomplish anything meaningful.

They may shrink away from opportunities to be heroic, worried they'll just mess things up.

Overbearing comparisons to stronger heroes

The weak hero is constantly overshadowed by the exploits of more powerful heroes, making them feel inadequate.

They may try to emulate the other heroes' successes, only to fail miserably.

Underestimation by villains

The villains dismiss the weak hero as harmless and ignore them, allowing the hero to stumble into accidentally foiling the villain's plans.

The villains may even make the mistake of toying with the weak hero, giving the hero a chance to catch them off guard.

The key is to create challenges that force the weak hero to rely on their limited abilities in creative ways. Gradually building their confidence through small wins can be a rewarding character arc.

Fifth, supportive relationships

The weak hero likely has friends, family members, or mentors who believe in them, even if the hero themselves does not. By including a support system of characters who see the weak hero's hidden potential, the narrative can strike a balance between the hero's self-doubt and the encouragement of those around them. These supporting characters can provide a counterpoint to the hero's negative self-perception, offering validation and pushing them to exceed their own expectations.

The interactions between the weak hero and their cheerleaders can also be a source of character development and emotional growth. As the hero gains confidence and finds ways to leverage their unique talents, the relationships with these supportive figures can evolve, deepening the overall narrative.

Supportive relationships can be of many types, but the most effective are:

A mentor figure who sees the hero's hidden strengths and pushes them to overcome their limitations.

A loyal friend who constantly encourages the hero and refuses to give up on them.

A capable sidekick or partner who can cover for the hero's weaknesses in battle.

A tech-savvy ally who develops gadgets or abilities to enhance the hero's limited powers.

A family member who provides unconditional love and acceptance, even when the hero doubts themselves.

A romantic interest who sees the hero's inner strength and brings out their best self.

A rival or adversary who recognizes the hero's true talents, forcing them to confront their own insecurities.

A renowned hero or role model who inspires the weak hero to strive for greatness, even if they don't believe they can achieve it.

It is not easy to create a weak hero. Crafting a compelling weak hero requires carefully balancing their flaws and insecurities with moments of growth and determination. You must find ways to make the character relatable and likable, despite their shortcomings, by highlighting their underlying potential and the support system that believes in them.

Hope you enjoy this. If you have any questions about writing, inbox me. I will answer as best as I can.

[synchodai]

HBO's Continued Insistence on Dumbing Down Westerosi Politics

So there have been countless thinkpieces already on how GOT simplified the feudalist politics of Westeros (by giving a lowborn sellsword lordship over The Reach, by having no consequences for destroying the Sept of Baelor, etc.), but I haven't seen a lot of people talking about that for House of the Dragon.

The worst being that the show presupposes that Rhaenyra is the lawful heir when the books showed there are plenty of lawful arguments why she wouldn't be.

Mind you that I've been enjoying the show a lot so far. This is just to vent out my frustration with the writers' failure to fully engage with the values and protocols of the Middle Age-inspired setting. The show seems uninterested in laws of the Realm in a story ostensibly about politics, save for when they're using it as an excuse to amplify depictions of sex and violence.

Blacks vs Greens wasn't a matter of misunderstanding of who each side thought Viserys wanted on the throne. It was the Targaryens' belief of their absolute authority clashing with the Realm's established traditions. Everyone always knew who Viserys chose as heir. In Fire and Blood, Grand Maester Orwyle said as much when he was parleying with Rhaenyra on behalf of the Greens.

Rhaenyra heard his terms in stony silence, then asked Orwyle if he remembered her father, King Viserys. "Of course, Your Grace," the maester answered. "Perhaps you can tell us who he named as his heir and successor," the queen said, her crown upon her head. "You, Your Grace," Orwyle replied. And Rhaenyra nodded and said, "With your own tongue you admit I am your lawful queen. Why do you serve my half-brother, the pretender?" Munkun tells us that Orwyle gave a long and erudite reply, citing the Andal law and the Great Council of 101. Mushroom claims he stammered and voided his bladder. Whichever is true, his answer did not satisfy Princess Rhaenyra.

(For non-F&B readers: Munkun is the Grand Maester who served Aegon III, the king who came after this civil war. Munkun's book, The Dance of the Dragons, A True Telling, is one of Fire and Blood's source texts. Mushroom is the King Landing court jester from Viserys I to Aegon III's reign. One is a source written with academic rigor but is secondhand at best. The other is a firsthand eyewitness account but is from a literal fool who will take every chance to make things more scandalous and sexual to please the crowd.)

In House of the Dragon, they replaced Orwyle with Otto and Orwyle's discussion of legal precedent with Otto handing Rhaenyra a book page from Alicent. It's quite evident here that the writers, much like Mushroom, thought a discussion on the actual laws of the Realm were negligible in this story about a succession war.

Even Alicent made no pretense that Viserys chose Rhaenyra over her children and I have no idea why the HBO writers decided to make her mistakenly think otherwise. Maybe they thought a queen regent pushing her son to take the throne over another woman made her appear unsympathetic as a character, but if anything, this only makes show!Alicent less politically savvy and more delusional than her book counterpart, fully believing an addled king's vague muttering on his deathbed was sufficient grounds to change heirs last minute.

Book!Alicent following Andal laws instead of her husband's wishes makes sense given her Andal upbringing, her devotion to the Faith of the Seven which enforces said laws, and her desire to protect her children from Rhaenyra given that Rhaenyra has shown she's not above murdering family (see: Laenor).

In the books, there was a long discussion between the former king's council on who should succeed Viserys.

Here are the arguments for Rhaenyra:

Rhaenyra was older than her brothers and had more Targaryen blood

the late king had chosen her as his successor, that he had repeatedly refused to alter the succession despite the pleadings of Queen Alicent and her greens

hundreds of lords and landed knights had done obeisance to the princess in 105 AC, and sworn solemn oaths to defend her rights.

Here are the arguments for Aegon II:

many of the lords who had sworn to defend the succession of Princess Rhaenyra were long dead [...]

Ironrod, the master of laws, cited the Great Council of 101 and the Old King’s choice of Baelon rather than Rhaenys in 92

the hallowed Andal tradition wherein the rights of a trueborn son always came before the rights of a mere daughter

Ser Otto reminded them that Rhaenyra’s husband was none other than Prince Daemon, and “we all know that one’s nature. Make no mistake, should Rhaenyra ever sit the Iron Throne, it will be Lord Flea Bottom who rules us, a king consort as cruel and unforgiving as Maegor ever was [...]”

Should the princess reign [...] Jacaerys Velaryon would rule after her. “Seven save this realm if we seat a bastard on the Iron Throne.”

Once again, the show chose to cut out this long political discussion. Instead, the council had already made up their mind and decided to stage a coup (when in their perspectives from the books, it would definitely not be a coup).

For all their marketing how two sides are equally grey, HotD is actively delegitimizing Aegon II. The strongest argument for him is how his claim follows the laws of the Realm, but the show doesn't seem to care about the laws of the Realm or the political need to maintain a more predictable/tested transfer of power.

Instead, the show focuses on Viserys's relationship with his daughter and the mysticism of the Targaryen bloodline. In doing so, they emphasize Rhaenyra's strongest arguments for succession — that she's more of a Targaryen than her half-brother and that her father prefered her.

And what for? Because in our modern-day, we don't have male-prefered inheritance and people can only imagine misogyny as the only injustice here? What about the injustice of a monarch exercising absolute control, thinking that his "superior" heritage makes him above the established laws of the native people?

This is not to say Aegon II is unquestionably the heir. But this is to say that the show removed the political nuance of why people are questioning in the first place. Precedence isn't the end-all-be-all of succession, but neither is "because daddy said so".

[etherealkissed88]

learn indifference ⋆˙✧⋆

indifference = “lack of interest, lack of concern”

since we already know the 3d is always neutral and has no original meaning, we know that as the operant power we are the ones that assign ‘circumstances’ and ‘negative’ thoughts meaning.

we should continue being indifferent to the 3d meaning we dont care how it looks because it never means anything. being indifferent means no giving the 3d power, energy, no entertaining thoughts that dont serve us, no holding our desires above the pedestal, no accepting and creating stories based on our current 3d and dwelling in them.

remember that we are not our thoughts, we are not our circumstances, we are not our emotions, doubts, states, or anxieties. our past experiences have no power over us until we decide it does.

how to be indifferent:

be internally fulfilled (satisfy your inner self w the desire which is now reality) so that you feel the knowing of already having your desire which means it will be easier to not give a fuck about the 3d

accept the end and only the end: know that the 3d could be changing in your favor for example, a lady was manifesting a better high paying job and she got fired from her current job for whatever reason. because she got fired, someone recommended her to a new job which was higher paying and she got that job (which was what she wanted). imagine if she accepted the 3d when she lost her job instead of only accepting the end goal. this is why nothing in the 3d matters and why the 3d cant be trusted. whatever you see, dont identify with “this isnt working” blah blah blah because you should be practicing indifference like that lady. she didnt gaf about the 3d and continued accepting she was already her desired self

trust the law: the law is always working and failure does not exist. you identify as a desired version of you and fulfill? ok now its done. theres nothing else to do but continue being that person. dont let anything in the 3d crash you down. dont even entertain the option of “failure”

know the 3d is a reflection of imagination: it has no mind of its own. the only thing it knows how to do is reflect self/imagination so know that at every moment, you always call the shots. this is all you so why care or validate the 3d when its only a reflection of you?

hold yourself higher on the pedestal: when you put yourself (inner self/imagination) first, you become attached to anything else. finding validation in yourself only instead of the 3d. when you want something, immediately fulfill yourself with in imagination instead of searching for fulfillment in the 3d

stop giving the 3d attention: have you ever heard of “whatever you focus on grows”? when you find yourself being aware of the 3d, just shift you attention elsewhere

“As the end is accepted, you become totally indifferent as to possible failure, for acceptance of the end wills the means to that end. When you emerge from the moment of prayer, it is as though you were shown the happy and successful end of a play although you were not shown how that end was achieved.” - ng

“The best denial is total indifference. Things wither and die through indifference. They are kept alive through attention. You do not deny a thing by saying it does not exist. Rather you put feeling into it by recognizing it, and what you recognize as true, is true to you, be it good, bad or indifferent.” - nd

before indifference: *allowing negative thoughts to consume you, accepting the 3d ‘negative circumstances’ as true, when you imagine something and look at the 3d you feel easily discouraged and start to be a victim to it, feeling like you have to ignore the 3d because youre scared of it, you feel the need to search for answers in the 3d all day because you see it as more important than it actually is, you are attached to the 3d and your mood changes when a single little thing looks “bad”*

after indifference: *nothing in the 3d shakes who you are being in imagination because you know who you are internally being is the only truth, you dont care about experiencing things in the 3d that are the opposite of your desire because you know you always call the shots, if you get discouraged you get your ass back up and know yourself to be the operant power, you arent attached to the 3d and searching for its validation*

so when you are indifferent to the 3d, you dont care about it, you arent afraid of it, you know it holds no importance or original meaning therefore you dont let it influence who you are being in imagination. think about when people pass by a homeless person on the street: they might think about it in the moment but most of them would go thro the rest of their day forgetting about it because they just didnt care. think about that one person who always knows they look good and their jealous friend tells them they look bad: that person would not care about outside voices because they know that they look good and they only accept internal validation

your only job is accepting the desire that the inner self experiences, as true while being indifferent to the experiences of the human self

kisses, jani ☆

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yandere Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

Warnings: 18+, Depictions of Smut, Implied Non-Con, Breeding, Kidnapping, Restraining, Yandere Miguel, Obsessive Miguel, Possessive Miguel, Implied Female Reader, Implied Gender-Neutral Reader, No Pronouns used for Reader Except ‘You’.

You took him in after you found him collapsed on the rooftop of your apartment, a thick, bleeding gouge along his side. And, initially, he was very suspicious of you, found your generosity – your eagerness to clean and dress his wound, to bring him a fresh change of clothes, to offer him a warm meal – a cause for alarm.

But, you made your intentions with him quite clear; that you only wished to help, to make sure he was fully-healed before he descended upon the world once more.

He did try to leave. Truly, he did. But your proclamations that he needed rest and the nice warm bed you’d offered him forced his body to succumb before his mind did.

As convincing as you may be, Miguel is still highly cautious of you. Tuning into his senses, trying to detect poison in his food or a hidden enemy in your apartment.

But, for the days he’s there, Miguel picks up nothing.

You tell him about yourself – anything and everything he’d like to know – often sitting by his side and answering every question he asks of you: your name, your job; the basics. And, eventually, he opens up to you. Marginally. Tells you a little bit about why he’s here.

He only tells you he - and his associates – are in pursuit of a highly dangerous target. Of course, he omits the part about the fate of the Multiverse hanging squarely on the success of this mission, and he just can’t seem to bring himself to as your eyes fill with wonder and curiosity, your attention solely on him.

And he can’t help but indulge you when you ask him if he has any stories about his time as a superhero.

He relents. Tells you of missions which bear little weight on the universe you reside in – nothing that could endanger you should you tell another soul. And you listen with an eagerness he wished his subordinates would display, even if only for theatrics’ sake.

You tell him how lucky the world is to have a hero like him – how lucky you are to even be talking to him, seeing as you’re just a civilian.

Your earnest nature makes something in him tick. Something he can’t place his finger on.

As the days fly by, he finds himself racking his brain for more stories to tell you, more tales to regale where he comes out on top, ever the hero he is.

It helps bury some of the guilt that lingers in his heart, fractals of a universe he’s shattered. Makes him feel as if he’s not entirely a failure.

Whenever you leave the apartment – for work or for shopping – Miguel wanders around, watches some TV, formulates his game plan for when he has to leave.

That last one brings him a little too much anxiety for his liking, so he often finds himself thinking of you instead to ease his nerves.

Something, initially, he’s somewhat shocked by. But the longer he does it, the more natural it feels. The more vivid his daydreams become.

He tries never to let them stray into lewd territory, but after he accidentally caught sight of you undressing, his mind has been urging him to visit some...unsavoury places.

He only permits brief trips there when you’re out of the house, and never for very long.

The two of you fall into a routine while he’s healing; you come home and prepare him dinner, he comes and helps you – even when you tell him he should be resting. Then, you eat together and watch a film.

One evening, close to his departure – Miguel knows he hasn’t long with you left – you fell asleep on him, your face resting on his shoulder.

He dared not move for fear of disturbing you, losing you.

Then, his heart…fluttered.

And, as you slept soundly on him, with all the trust in the world, he realised that nobody had been this close to him – physically – since…

Since he lost his universe.

The idea that someone could take this for granted, the simple act of trust, that they could take advantage of yours, shot through him, a bullet of realisation. And the pain only sears as he looks upon your face, oblivious to the thoughts racing through his mind, through the minds of others – criminals and low-lifes who would kill you for no reason.

He couldn’t leave you.

Not here, and not on your own.

He knows it’s selfish, but, in another vein, he believes he’s saving you. Being the hero you see him as.

The next day, he’s fully-healed. And he has a proposition for you.

“Go…with you ?” you say, eyebrow raised. “Miguel, I don’t underst-”

“You don’t need to,” he says. “But what you do need to know is that you’re not safe here.”

“What makes you think that ?” You cross your arms over your chest, as if to contain – hide – the suspicion growing there. Miguel brings a hand to the back of his neck, rubs it, tilts his head back.

“Listen, I just know things– things that make me qualified to tell you that you, on your own, in this universe, are not safe.”

Miguel knows he’s getting nowhere with you. Especially since he made no effort to explain his multiversal goings-ons to you when he first arrived. So, he shows you.

He takes you by the hand and, willingly, you go with him. To him, that’s confirmation – submission. Your compliance with his whims.

He brings you to a universe where everything is oddly…liminal. Like an early 2010’s Microsoft desktop wallpaper. Just green hills, a distant forest encircling the land, and a house. Big enough to fit a family of considerable size.

Made to fit you and Miguel.

By the time you realise anything’s wrong, out of the ordinary (aside from being shown inter-dimensional travel), Miguel’s dropping a bombshell on you.

“This is your new home,” he says, standing behind you. He’s so close you can feel his warmth against your back. He places a hand on your shoulder. Squeezes it. “Our new home.”

Any shock that overcomes you is overpowered with the sense of dread that you’ve walked right into Miguel’s trap. That, just as he’d warned you, someone had taken advantage of your kind, trusting nature.

You can fight as much as you want, but Miguel’s got his heart set on you. And your future here.

You see, while you were caring for Miguel, showing him the concern and attentiveness he’s been starved of for years, his mind had begun to wander. Wondered what you’d be like with him if you were always together. Wondered how you’d act if you were to care for a child. 

His child.

He’ll try to convince you of this ideal, that this is right and is what’s best for you, but if you keep resisting, you’ll see his possessive side emerge. His anger.

Red eyes, pinning you to the wall, nostrils flared; he is not losing you. And if he needs to frighten you into this new life, then so be it. Though, he wants you to adjust naturally, to want what he wants, to, dare he say, love him as he loves you.

And if you’re not going to submit to him willingly, he’ll take it by force.

If you’re capable of bearing children, he creates a strict regiment wherein he takes you, filling you with his load. At first, this was once a day – every two days if he was busy.

Initially, he’d string you up to the ceiling by your legs after finishing, “To make sure it takes,” he told you. And it doesn’t matter how hard you struggle; his webs are steadfast. Stubborn.

But, as he became more ravenous, more enemaoured by the prospect of keeping you, of breeding you, he became sloppy. Desperate. The thought of you swollen with his offspring hits him while he’s at work, during the downtime between missions.

At which point he just takes care of himself, panting your name in the bathroom stall before finishing and returning to work as normal.

Then it became more frequent, occurring while he’s on missions, during integral moments. At this point, he tries to suppress it, save it for later. After all, it’s not like he has a choice.

And that’s when he’d come and pay you a midnight visit, girthy and stiff and eyes red with the carnal need to fill you again and again until your stomach bulged.

That regime he’d set up unravelled, and now he takes you at every convenience, every chance he gets, pinning you to a web and making sure you can’t struggle if you’re particularly resistant.

At first, he did feel guilty about this; guilty that he was the one hurting you, causing you to cry, to beg for him not to finish inside you as you told him you weren’t ready to have a child.

And, during this period, he would wear his mask. He thought it would offer him some protection against your tear-streaked, anguished stare, your pleas for him to let you go, to return you home.

It didn’t.

He tries to comfort you, to tell you that you’ll “Love being a parent – just give it a chance,” as he pumps his hot load into you, holding you close to him.

Depending on his mood, he can be very gentle or very rough.

When he’s gentle, he whispers in your ear, tells you how much you mean to him, how he loves you more than you’ll ever know.

When he’s rough, he’s merciless. And gone is the tender love he’d subject you to, replaced with growls and claims that he needs you, that he won’t stop fucking you until you’re filled with his offspring.

He has a web created specifically for when he breeds you – where he attaches you to it upside down, making sure your chances of pregnancy are maximised. He fucks you here too, sometimes. And while blood is rushing to your head from being upside down, Miguel’s pounding the life out of you, panting, sweating, moaning your name.

He can go for many, many rounds. His superhuman stamina and strength make him unstoppable when it comes to you.

He’ll keep going long after you’ve finished or while you’re unconscious and exhausted from his barrage, never ceasing until he stuffs his cum into you, holding you to him, pressing kisses to your face as he tells you what a good job you’ve done, how well you’ve taken him.

If you do end up pregnant, Miguel is never letting you go.

You can say goodbye to any chances of getting back to your universe when he finds out you’re bearing his child.

And you can’t hide it from him, either. His hearing and perception tell him you’re expecting even before you’re aware of it.

By that point, the only thing you can do is just accept that this is your life now. Doing so early on will make your existence with Miguel little more than bearable. Because if you aren’t excited or tolerant of this child, Miguel will string you up in your bedroom.

“For your own good,” he tells you, his eyes flickering down to your stomach. His eyes soften, fill with warmth. “And the baby’s.”

If he suspects you’ll try to hurt yourself or the baby, he’ll take drastic measures to ensure neither of those things happen; restraining you, placing you into an induced sleep, cocooning you.

If you can’t have children, he’ll simply take one from another universe and tell you that the two of you will raise them together.

If he suspects anyone or anything else is going to try to hurt you or the baby, he’ll destroy it. No questions asked.

He’s indiscriminate, too.

Even if it were one of his associates – someone he’s worked alongside for years – they’re all superficial to him.

His only concern is you.

And he’ll make sure you’re loved and cared for forever.

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[aquickstart]

i need to talk to you guys about the colors of the Cattons (Felix specifically) and Oliver. the clothes they are wearing are telling the story of Oliver taking over and leaving his mark throughout the whole movie, with Oliver's failures and successes and a final triumph. holy shit. get in. this is long and ends in ancient greek culture trivia. let;s talk please.

disclaimer: am starting from Oliver's arrival at Saltburn. before that the outfits are also very intentional, but it's a lot more complicated and it has been discussed before. the world distorts once we are at Saltburn and the story gets truly gothic there, and every detail—including color!—is enhanced in meaning. also, special thanks to @kivlaro for doing this with me, the thoughts on this specifically and the Saltburn craze on the whole. pics and detailed analysis under the cut!

let's start from the beginning. here is Oliver at the door. simple, blue shirt.

the shirt is sort of its own character. logically it makes sense as Oliver's suitcase is small and he spends the whole summer there, of course he'll rewear stuff a bunch. but it is blue.

in contrast to Felix, in yellow. yellow is one of Felix's colors (he is the sun, which i've talked about here btw, so this makes sense).

same to Pamela, in blue. first time we see her, she is next to Elspeth, wearing the color that is Oliver's, taking the place that he takes right away, in this very scene. the only other time she is physically present on screen is at dinner, in black and white, and black and white are a blank slate. she is stripped of color and gone very fast.

a bit of crucial data for later: Oliver, in blue, and Felix in pink. pink is very important on Felix. this is their first morning together. they are separate and opposite, solid, contained.

where it starts to get good is the morning after the vampire strike.

Venetia is a Felix extension, just as everyone in the house is to Oliver. i will eventually rant about Saltburn as a whole entity and Cattons as aspects of one self, and Oliver as psychosis, but not here. so, yes, Venetia is a pink riot, a euphoria of self-containment because Oliver gave her a piece of something she felt she lacked to feel whole (validation, attention, care), not a piece of blue, of himself. Oliver is expectedly solid blue. Felix is incredibly interesting and something i didn't pay much attention to at first: predominantly blue, incredibly upset at Oliver for ditching him, with a tile of bright red (on the left! close to heart! over-reaching here but like still!), which still tracks. i mean, really, if i had so much foreign color bleed into me and then abandoned, i'd be pissed, too. nice little touch is sir James' beloved hydrangeas, behind Felix, also pink, very pink, always pink; i don't think i've seen them blue in the movie, although the sort exists.

Farleigh. sweet baby Farleigh i love you. I'm not dead-set on my interpretation of this specifically but i think multiple things are happening with Oliver and Farleigh here. like Rent, which is their song, blue is their color of outsiders and the triers to fit in. Farleigh points out the favoritism and preference of Oliver to him and his mother here, so it may also be appropriation of color to draw attention to Farleigh as almost (but never quite) Oliver. it may also be as simple as that Farleigh, as much as he denies and resists, still retains Oliver's influence, which bleeds into him very slowly.

a nice little moment of Felix wearing blue swim shorts with just tiny specks of a pink pattern. Oliver's shorts also have a bit of pink, but less than Felix's. Oliver is pretty good at remaining unaffected and uninfluenced overall.

and we're getting to where it all clicked and started for me. the Quick family house, the failed reconciliation, and the immediate aftermath. oh it's so good.

on the drive there, Oliver is blue, Felix has a pink polo shirt with a solid blue pullover over it. this is the most blue Felix has ever been (this is the most blue he will ever be!), this is trust. however shaky and toxic it is, Felix loves Oliver and accepts him into his world. as a side note, Oliver's parents are also very blue, mom more so than dad. nice!

and then it crashes. immediately after, it's the evening of the same day, but Felix is not wearing the blue pullover anymore. this is very, very important. this is rejection. it's the end for Oliver in Felix's world and with his trust. Felix, again, in solid pink, Oliver in solid blue. Felix successfully rips him out with the roots and everything. ouch.

daddy. sorry. is that highlighter? sweat? fuck. let me- daddy. SORRY

no i actually have a point about this.

the clothes are replaced by the lights, but we roll with it. Oliver basks in the blue-green light, while Felix is on the other side, in pink and purple and red. sure, blue shines through, and Oliver also walks through the slashes of pink, but it is mostly pretty separate, Oliver watching Felix's pink in his own blue from a distance.

the morning after palette is deep. the wine color that is so prominent in these scenes is fascinating to me. if i were to over-reach again i'd say it's the Oliver in Felix's attributes and in his place that requires the robe to be so dark, not usual definite pink, because deep blue has leaked into the color itself, mixed with it, made itself integral to the shade. but it's also just a nice color, and it is pink in its core. the flowers (with sir James in the background) i think are also this specific shade for the same reason. you look at what remains of Felix everywhere here, and it is his color.

and finally oh the lunch scene. the last supper. the judgement day. the who's afraid of virginia woolf madness.

i think we've established what's up with Oliver, but i also think it's important that he is his own color at lunch but in Felix's pink/wine right before and after. lunch is where he attacks, whereas before and after is where he grieves and enjoys. Farleigh is almost completely blue save for a strip of the same deep pink, and he is soon cast out, and Venetia is striped, blue and pink/salmon, affected deeply by Oliver yet still clinging on to the Catton pink with grief, probably, but also love for Felix.

and after all this, Oliver leaves himself.

no, like, actually, literally himself. sure, he'd got a taste of the Cattons and the pink, but he is a monolith, a solid blue when he leaves Saltburn. he has not been affected by the house, he has taken what he wanted but stayed true and whole. what a power move, honestly.

but it's an even bigger deal that 16 years later, Elspeth runs into Oliver wearing all white and a blue scarf. oh, she's not let this go, alright; it was a long time ago, "but not to me," she says. What Oliver has been up to in that time is a great question, without a doubt he's been keeping tabs on the remaining family as much as he could; but Elspeth has never moved on, either. She has held on to Oliver's blue and the pink is not important at all now. Oliver, of course, is invariably, unwaveringly blue. welcome back to his show.

and welcome back to his triumph.

the only color (except for, again, white and black) we see him wear in the flashback about Saltburn inheritance is the all-too familiar deep pink. wine. bright pink mixed with deep blue.

now i will take a liberty and step back, over-reach, over-interpret and go insane. here's a fun bit on ancient greek culture trivia for you.

this is an interesting and complicated historiographical and linguistic debate that i will not even attempt to relay here, but the essence of it is this: for us, the sea is conventionally deep blue. historically, one of the most prominent civilizations considered "deep wine" to be the descriptor for it (not necessarily the color but the property. highly rec to look this up it's so fascinating). what it gives me here is that Oliver has changed color, but not his self. he has integrated, mixed, but persisted, completely winning over, triumphing. long live the king!

in conclusion, i would just like to propose "colors" by halsey as the next cattonquick anthem. thank you for your attention, please let me know your thoughts. yours, yes, you. cheers. god. peace out

[flcwermimi]

❛ THE ICEBERG EFFECT IN THE VOID STATE ❜

Even after doing right things / following the right method / being persistant towards our desires sometimes we don't get the fruitful outcome and we all have asked ourselves WHAT AM I DOING WRONG?

According to the research our conscious mind which is aware of our feelings, thoughts and behaviour is like a tip of an ICEBERG visible above the water & on the other hand majority of the iceberg, representing the unconscious mind, lies hidden beneath the surface.The unconscious mind is thought to contain instincts, repressed memories, and other mental processes that we are not directly aware of, but which still influence our behavior and decision-making.

Hand to Hand same happens on our Void/Manifestation journey. The ICEBERG in the void state are :

— SUPPRESSED EMOTIONS - Not being able to confess what u actually feel & often ignoring the emotions overcome this by doing some action regarding when u actually feel happy or angry CONFESS IT ' I am happy/ angry '

— UNRESOLVED PAST TRAUMA/ ISSUE - Even u feel it doesn't effect at all but it does unconsciously the burden of UNRESOLVED THINGS or UNADRESSES ISSUE can lead to several mental issue and to overcome it once must overlook yourself, apologize if u are wrong,get help, share their feelings with someone

— SCARED OF THEIR DESIRE - Often someone DM 's me saying that they're scared of having their desire which is completely normal and I feel to restrict this feeling from their self once should just appreciate their self , hangout with good energy people and decrease their screen time

— SOMETHING HOLDING BACK : From my recent post I got many DM regarding how they feel what is holding them back and it's important to have knowledge on the rights things misinformation sometimes stick to ourselves very deeply

— SELF DOUBT : Many people doubts them regarding the how powerful they're, they often find validation to have their desire so it's very important to work on self-concepts and stop questioning " is it possible" or " can I have this or that?"

— NOT STICKING TO ONE THING : One individual when they're trying to enter void often keeps changing methods or finding something which can magically help them and it often leads them finding hard to believe in any methods. Even if u fail at one method at 3 - 4 times doesn't mean it's not effective it's all about mindsets u must stick to one thing and stop looking sources like ' enter the void instantly/ do this method to happen in second ' because u are not realising how powerful u are actually u don't need those things everything is on your command

— COMPLICATING THINGS : As I seen so many of people making a bunch of routine it irritates me cause They are listening subliminals also and on the side they are even doing robotic affirmation and also five minutes they are doing PSYCH -K and next they are also doing mediation and on the night they will put long bunch hypnosis and in the same night they are doing WBTB method trust me you don't need so much things u doing these all things result that u are putting the void on the pedestal Just question yourself this all is needed?doing so much u are exhausting yourself physically and mentally

— TIME : For those who really starts to panic when they don't enter void on the specific time it's ok time hasn't been wasted nothing is wrong when u didn't enter the void on your specific time the only thing u will be doing wrong in that time is making diffrent theories, underestimating yourself, finding different methods, saying yourself a failure

So these we're some things I wanted to list from the very starting I hope u all read it all through find what is actually stopping you and there is no guarantee this thing happens to each and everyone I have listed it down by over analysing the success stories, my experience

Further what u can do is listen to self concept subliminals, building confidence, don't overwork on your selves, stop finding validation and logic in everything , surrounding yourself with postive beliefs , patience is virtue so keep persisting , do something new daily as if meditate or write a journal or share your thoughts with others learn new skills

That's it all no iceberg effect is bigger than you so stop doubting yourself you can do this it's all easy peasy 🤍🫶

[salaciousdoll]

✩˚｡⋆ ⋆ ⋆ Reflection and invisibility ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡✩

･˳ . ⋆ Featuring Risotto Nero x La squadra!Fem!reader ･˳ . ⋆

୨⍣୧ ⁺⁎˚ ⋆━━ Be advised to the warnings of Risotto and Reader both being Assassins in Passione, Boss!Giorno, Au where everyone is alive and thriving, smut, hardcore fucking, katoptronophilia( fucking in front of mirror), body worship, reader is a stand user but it’s not used( none of their stands are except illuso, voyeurism, dirty talking, degradtion kink up 1000 in here, there’s praise here and there, dick drunk reader and pussy drunk Risotto, backshots, reader has a voice kink, Risotto cracks subliminal jokes here and there( he’s a little jokester when he was fighting doppio in the anime), pet names in Italian( I really tried here but pet names such as bunny, slut, beautiful, doll, Angel, etc.), your ex is Bruno, Risotto has dick piercings( frenum ladder), Risotto makes you count the amount of thrust he gives you, edging, and mention of somnophillia at the end. Oh and Dark content. Wc: 2.7k

Minors do not interact, 18+ Only!

ෆ ‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿ ෆ ̟ ̇ ┈•ﾟNote from Salaciousdoll: This is my first time writing for JJBA as a whole and my first time writing for Risotto as well… I really hope you all enjoy this fic even if you don’t watch jjba, hope I can convince you babies to watch it with this fic. If you know Italian please tell me if the words are wrong. ‘Grazii assai mia bellissima, bambola’= Thank you very much, my beautiful doll, ‘Angelo’ = Angel, ‘ coniglio’ = bunny, ‘Bambola’= doll, ‘sudicio’ = dirty , ‘troia’= slut

Salaciousber Masterlist

Risotto Nero was a man everyone either heard of or came into contact with. Both encounters could build up the emotion of fear and the feeling of danger, nothing else. The man could kill without a blink of an eye or a movement of cringe. To everyone else, he was a man who they feared just by either his tall stature or his black sclera eyes combining with the red pupils to compliment them.

Risotto was the scary man , your parents warned you about when you were younger, yet when they always told them stories, you never believed them. You had to see the boogeyman yourself in order to actually be scared. Those thoughts lead to your failures and success in the underground world. The failures of almost meeting your end and the success of getting to see Risotto— being able to keep him between your white manicured fingers. Risotto grew to be obsessed with you just because of your beauty and perspective of him. You didn’t judge him by one look of his eyes, not that he cares what other people think. He only cares when he thinks of the person as a colleague or more. You were more. His love, he adored since you came to his team after transferring from Bruno’s gang.

Bruno Buccirati was your first love but wasn’t your last. Risotto may be the last man you fall in love with, especially since you’ve been in a relationship with him for three years now . At first, you didnt talk with one another outside of missions and the missions he assigned. He wasn’t the one for small talk and you weren’t either, the lingering ghost of love you had for Bruno was in the air everywhere you walked and every mission you did. You couldn’t get him off your mind and the rest of La squadra were fed up with your closed off personality, so they complained to Risotto about you. In response to their concerns over the total of two months you were there, he had no choice but to make the first move.

It wasn’t easy for the both of you to talk to one another since he made it clear that you needed to get your shit together and perform your best on missions, otherwise he might as well start planning a funeral for you now. “ Do you want to die?”

You stared at him with wide eyes because that was the first thing coming out of his mouth after calling you in. You shook your head and looked away. He stared at you even more and under his dangerous but alluring eyes, you couldn’t help but to get a little aroused and nervous. A bad combination of feels to have, especially in front of your boss..

“ No, boss.”, You say to the wall and he didn’t like that one bit.

Risotto's deep voice said your name with malice in his tone, “ I didn’t know I was a wall.” You wanted to laugh because you didn’t think he had humor, yet he proved you wrong so maybe you’ll open up a bit more. When you didn’t look at him at all, he took it as disrespect. “ Look at me when I talk to you. You’re supposed to respect your superiors, did Bucciarati not teach you that. Maybe the perception of Bucciarati being painted as a noble man was another lie he shown everyone because no noble man would allow their colleagues to disrespect an su-”

“ Excuse me, Capo… I would rather not talk about Bruno right now. And I’m just nervous, so forgive me for disrespecting you. It’s not my intention to do this unforbidden action.”, You say to Risotto, who raised a pale blue eyebrow at you. You didn’t want to hear Risotto talking about Bruno like he doubted his existence or portrayal of his existence to the people who adored him— you being one of the people who adored him. The more Risotto stared at you, the more he could see that you were obedient and respectful after all. You two stared at each other a bit longer than usual taking in each other's features. You noticed his beautiful and unique eyes, his full lips, the creases under his eyes from the lack of sleep probably or just a result of getting older, his nose, a nose you see yourself riding any moment if you continued staring. He noticed the shape of your eyes, how your nose looked, eyebrows, big cheeks, and finally your lips. Your plush lips with the perfect shape to them. He loved how thick and full they were— always shiny with lipgloss he sees you apply every 2 minutes also. He wanted to bite them but that’ll have to wait now.

He cleared his throat, “ I asked that question because it seems your head is in another place on missions with your squad members, some of them voice their concerns and I’m here to let you know that you can’t slack off into dreamland unless you want to die. Your stand is powerful and you are powerful, so I need you to start showing me that you're powerful and useful as they say. Don’t let it happen again, understand?”

You nodded your head and he huffed before speaking, “ You’re dismissed and { reader’s last name}, you’re going on a mission with formaggio to shake up Riccolo— Boss orders. So get prepared to leave with him in 15.” You nodded your head and left the office.

You used to hate that Giorno moved you to the team you decided to save just because you knew formaggio from a one night stand. That night was fun especially since you just moved from your home country to Italy with your sister two weeks before. You were a foreigner and it was visible yet Formaggio didn’t care unlike half of Italy would. Bare minimum really but that’s not the reason you fucked the man. He charmed his way into your panties and you had him wrapped around your finger even before you gave him some, basically the first time he saw you He was a good fuck, but not as great as Bruno or your Capo now.

Now, though, you were on top of the moon from moving teams, even after four years, because you were too busy getting bent over in front of the mirror by your Capo. His rough hands were squeezing your stomach making some of your tummy melt in between his long, thick fingers, “ Give me one more, bambola. One more for me.”

You couldn’t hold on for dear life. Your left boob was massaged softly as he pounded into you from behind. The feeling of his red eyes was enough to make anyone fold and you were long gone. You folded as soon as he kissed your neck while you were standing in front of the mirror with your new bra and pantie set you got from your favorite lingerie store. “ I— I can’t, Ris’ pleaseuhhh.”

Your moans mixed with your cries of pleasure as he rolled his fat and long cock inside of you. His frenum ladder piercings were adding on to your pleasure because of the cold metals grinding against the walls of your dripping pussy. You felt every vein of his cock as he fucked into you like he’s never gonna see you again. He couldn’t help bending you over to pound inside of your sweet fat cunt because of how amazing you looked in that set. He loved worshiping and showing appreciation for you and your body. Your body was his favorite piece of art— he could stare at it for hours. Your a live painting that he could worship and fuck anytime he wanted.

“ Fuck, coniglio, you’re pussy is taking me so well. My perfect girl. Gonna squirt for me.”, Risotto grunt out his response as his hips snapped into your plump ass creating ripples, which was his favorite thing to watch. He loved watching any part of your body shake or jump. Fuck, you are his heaven. The heaven he will never get to see since his hands were tainted with hundreds of people’s blood.

The wetness of your pussy and the slaps of hips meeting was heard so loud in the room as your eyes rolled back into your head, “ You’re tearing me apart, Ris’ please slow down~” he loved how you stretched the word down out. It shows how brain dumb you are right now for him. Brain was filled with nothing, becoming nothing but mushiness. Just the way he liked you.

“ Slow down you say?” Risotto slowed his hips down and watched your expression in the mirror prior to turning himself invisible. “ Want you to look at yourself being stretched and fucked dumb on my cock in any pace. Whether it’s fast or slow, you still couldn’t, guhahh— you naughty little slut; You dare squeeze me that tight after I told you to loosen up for me.”

Risotto dropped his hands from holding you and bunched up the hairstyle you had in your hair before long stroking your pussy— deep and slow. He let out a wicked chuckle, “ Look at you… shaking all because of my cock, right my little angelo. Look closely in the mirror for me and then I want you to, shit! Your pussy is trapping me inside.” He couldn’t focus on what he was trying to say. Risotto was only this vocal with you. His deep voice was everything you needed to hear in your ear. Voice was sending a strike of thunder inside the blood in your body, allowing you to become even more turned on. His voice alone could get you off, so this act being an add on is what your dreams are made for. You brought his dirty talking and surge of pleasure out of him, none of his past hookups got an inch of words from him. Only moans and that’s if they pulled it out of him.

Risotto slapped your ass causing you to move forward into the mirror. Your fingerprints were imprinted in the big 48’ tall and 83’ wide mirror in your room. You were so glad you brought this mirror. You can use it for this exact reason. Risotto yanked your head back enough for you to see you and his invisibility in the mirror. It was like you were getting fucked by a ghost, spooky and freaky. Such a wonderful feeling.

“ Pay attention to the mirror, tesoro. Now choose a number, any number.”, his groans were heard right after he finished his sentence. You moaned when you saw his eyes staring at you through the mirror. You couldn’t even form words because of how slow and dragged his cock was going inside of your sobbing pussy.

Your fingers bunched up on the mirror and you knew you were close to squirting on this mirror. As his cock dragged in and out of you, you tried to form an answer to his questions. Nothing but moans and fumbling words in between were heard. You were really fucked out and he wanted to cherish the sounds forever.

Risotto continued fucking you with groans in your ear prior to biting your ear lob causing you to scream, “ Do you want me to ask the rest of your teammates? They’re watching, you know. Watching how you come apart on my cock, watching how your tits bounce back and forth as I fuck you like the sudicio little troia you are.” Your eyes widen at that information and his words. You finally took a deep look into the mirror and there stood every last member of La Squadra staring or smirking at you through the mirror, damn you illuso and your fucking stand. You shouldn’t have gotten turned on at being watched, but you couldn’t help it.

Risotto felt your pussy grab his cock like she never wanted to let him go. He hissed when he felt you squeezed tighter, stopping his movements all together. You whined and looked back at him to see his eyes looking at you with lust and anger. “ Number.” You tired to fuck back into him, but his finger nails dug into your hips causing you to bite your lip letting out a short muffled scream.

Your lips quivered as you answered him, “ 10! Ris’ please fuck me. I need to cum.” Risotto smirked at you, yet you couldn’t see it due to his invisibility. You only saw his eyes, which was more than enough for you. Risotto then dragged your back to leave a little space before the mirror.

He bent you over to a 90 degree angle and gripped your wide hips with his big hands, “ Count every thrust I give to your sweet pussy, 10 counts for two rounds. Two rounds because how much I’ve had to repeat myself with you.” Tears started to pour out of your pretty eyes as he grabbed your hair in his hands and snapped his hips forward causing a huge ripple on your ass.

“ Fuckkk! One.”, Your moan was so loud that you didn’t even care if someone delivering your packages for today heard you as you heard the house doorbell ring or was that ringing in your head from how hard he thrusted inside of you.

Risotto pulled out of you leaving the tip in, snapping his hips inside of you again, “ What’s the number? I seem to forgot already, bellissima. Help me remember.” You hated how he teased you as he rolled his hips around, mixing your juices inside of your pussy in the process. His piercings was a foreign feeling inside of you, no matter how many times you two fucked or made love, the metals felt so good inside of your pussy and you will always tell him that whenever you want sex or just wanted to compliment him to catch him off guard.

Risotto repeated this technique for two times in a row with the count of ten each time so it was twenty in total. He made you squirt on the first round at the number 5. He did nothing but chuckle at your pathetic display of shaking, “ So pathetic, can’t take this but was surely running your mouth the other day about how you can take me. You know what you are right now.”

He grabbed you up by your hair— your sweaty back was to his sweaty abs as his arms were now wrapped around your tummy. He whispered in your ear as his team looked on from a distance inside of the mirror at your pathetic attempt of holding on, “ A rookie. You know how much fun I like to poke at rookies.” He threw his head back at the feeling of your pussy and you wished you could see his facial expressions, “ Brace yourself.”

Risotto gripped your body like a mad man and fucked you like a caveman. Pussy was squirting non stop as he slammed into you over and over until he came inside of you with a loud groan.

“ Aughhh, good fucking girl. So good. Shit!l have to get you pregnant. Have our children run around our new house I buy for us, away on the, hahh!, countryside, away from everyone. Just you and me.” , He moaned as he snapped his hips inside of you three more times. His warm cum fills you up so gloriously. You couldn’t do anything but lay limp in his arms— still standing up with him. Your body did shake in his arms so I guess that was doing something. Risotto smirked and turned himself back to his visible self, kissing your head prior to looking at his teammates with his famous death glare. Basically telling them to fuck off and leave him and his lady alone. They obeyed his silent order all due to Prosciutto understanding what Risotto is saying.

“ Grazii assai mia bellissima, bambola”, Risotto whispers to your passed out figure in his arms. His dick always made you pass out from the length, piercings, and girth. He massaged your stomach as he walked to you to bed, carefully laying you down and going to get a towel to clean you off, can’t have you sticking in stickiness and wetness, otherwise he’ll fuck you in your sleep. You already granted him permission to perform somnophilia a few days ago too. Maybe he’ll try it out later.

ෆ ̟ ̇ ┈•ﾟTagging: @chosoist @honeybleed @simpingfor-wakasa @happygoluckyalexis @mastermindenoshimaalicia @angelshub @bxrbie1 @sylisan @lilvampirina @deftrow @uzxotic @tayler17-84

ﾟ•┈© all right reserved to salaciousdoll, she does not give permission to steal, plagiarize, and translate.

[xhoess]

Crossing Lines

Hugh jackman x fem bod reader

Masterlist wc: 7,3k

Summary , a 25-year-old journalist, develops an romantic connection with Hugh Jackman, a charismatic actor in his mid-50s, while writing his biography. Despite the age gap and professional boundaries, the attraction between you deepens, leading to a passionate affair.

Warnings: top!reader, bottom!Hugh, age gap (legal)

As you stride through the bustling city streets, your heart thrums with excitement, each step echoing the monumental opportunity ahead. Today is the day your editor finally gives you the assignment you’ve been dreaming of since you first sat down in a journalism class — writing the biography of Hugh Jackman. For a 25-year-old up-and-coming journalist, it feels surreal to have the chance to capture the essence of a man whose career you’ve followed closely, whose roles have shaped your understanding of storytelling and performance.

After weeks of anticipation, your meeting with Hugh is set for a cozy café nestled within the city's artsy district. You arrive early, your stomach fluttering with nerves as you order a coffee, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind. What could possibly attract such a famous star to a fresh-faced journalist like you? Yet, as you scan the café, contemplating that question, you spot him through the glass windows.

Hugh enters, casual yet charismatic in a fitted navy sweater and jeans. The minute he steps inside, the atmosphere seems to shift; even among the clusters of people, he somehow stands out. His smile, infectious and warm, instantly illuminates the room. As he walks toward you, your nerves evaporate under the heat of his genuine enthusiasm.

“Hey there! You must be the journalist I've been hearing about,” Hugh says, extending his hand with a friendly grin that showcases the dimples you’ve seen a thousand times on-screen.

Your handshake is firm but nervous, and you can’t help but chuckle at how at ease he makes you feel. “Yes, that’s me! I’m so thrilled to meet you. Thank you for taking the time.”

“Trust me, the pleasure’s all mine,” he replies, gesturing for you to take a seat at a small, sun-drenched table. You can’t help but notice how his charisma seems to put everyone around him at ease.

As you settle into conversation, the initial questions and answers tumble out easily. You revel in his anecdotes about the early days of his career, stories that whisk you away to a different time. He speaks candidly about his passion for acting, the challenges he faced during auditions when he was just starting out, and the fiercely competitive environment of the industry.

“What was your biggest failure?” you ask, genuinely curious, hoping to seek the deeper truths behind the Hollywood glimmer.

Hugh’s expression momentarily changes; he leans back slightly, his gaze shifting as if contemplating the weight of your question. “You know, the pressure to succeed can sometimes make you forget why you fell in love with the craft in the first place,” he admits, his tone turning reflective. “I remember losing a significant role to someone else, and it stung. But that's part of the journey, isn’t it? You grow from those moments. You realize that failure isn’t the opposite of success; it’s part of it.”

You nod, fascinated. The more he opens up, the more the boundaries of interviewer and celebrity blur, replaced by a genuine connection.

As the conversation flows, the age difference feels like a minor detail; your minds and interests align in ways that make the moment feel timeless. An hour passes, but it hardly feels like a standard interview. Instead, it feels as if you’ve stumbled into a rich tapestry of shared experiences and emotions.

“Tell me about yourself,” Hugh prompts, the genuine curiosity in his voice encouraging you to peel back layers of your own story. You share anecdotes—tracing your journey through journalism, your dreams and fears, and your admiration for genuine connection.

To your surprise, you find yourself sharing more than you had anticipated. Buoyed by his kindness, you talk about your childhood dreams, your competitive spirit, and the moments of doubt you’ve faced in your career.

“I found you incredibly brave,” Hugh says, leaning in slightly, a sincere warmth radiating from him. “Pursuing what you love despite the risks—that’s true courage.”

His gaze holds yours, and for a moment, the busy café fades away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in the shared energy. The atmosphere is charged. Maybe you’re projecting, but there’s something electric in the way his eyes linger on you, stirring a deep curiosity within.

Thus begins a journey that neither of you can predict. The casual café, once a mere backdrop, transforms into the starting point of something that ignites possibilities neither of you dared to fathom.

When the time comes to leave, Hugh stands and stretches, a motion that draws your attention to his commanding presence. “I look forward to our next meeting,” he says, a hint of promise laced in his tone. “I have so many stories left to share.”

As you walk out together, the lightness of the moment is heavy with implication. The sun casts a golden glow over the city, mirroring the warmth in your chest as the door closes behind you, sealing away the outside world. You both step into something new—an unspoken agreement lingers in the air, hinting at the shared curiosity that hangs between the two of you and the many stories yet to come.

You leave the café buzzing, awash in the thrill of possibility and the raw honesty of your conversation. The future feels bright, tinged with excitement and a flicker of something else—a connection, undeniable and fierce, that you can no longer ignore.

The weeks rolled by quickly and the rhythm of your days began to mold around your time with Hugh. Each interview revealed layers of the man you admired, peeling back the façade of the celebrated actor to uncover a genuine warmth that pulsed beneath. Those first moments of nervousness had faded, replaced by a sense of familiarity that felt both exhilarating and daunting.

You found yourself in a vibrant world—one that sparkled with excitement and challenges. Your first informal outing with Hugh was a trip to the set of his upcoming film. As you stood a safe distance from the lively chaos of crew members and actors, you watched Hugh shift effortlessly into his character. He embodied the role with such authenticity that it left you breathless. The way he interacted with the cast had an ease to it, commanding yet approachable. You couldn’t help but admire his professionalism, noting how he balanced being a star with being humble.

“Do you see what I mean?” Hugh called out, breaking character long enough to glance your way. He was engaging with the crew, tossing jokes back and forth—a lightness that was infectious. “There’s something amazing about creating something with other people.”

You nodded, but inside, your thoughts drifted to how effortlessly he made connections. Each word felt like a secret just between the two of you, drawing you in further.

As the days slipped into weeks, your coffee breaks became a treasured ritual. Sitting across from him, you found yourself laughing at tales from his childhood in Australia, almost forgetting the weight of his fame. He spoke earnestly about film roles that changed him, how the weight of expectation sometimes felt unbearable. On alternate days, you’d share your own small victories—a published article, a radio mention—gladly listened to by someone who understood the thrill of breaking news. The rapport deepened with every exchange, and by the time the afternoon sun filtered through the café windows, you found yourselves sharing thoughts on love, loss, and the uncharted territory of adulthood.

You could feel the attraction shimmering beneath your conversations—a vast ocean of proximity that threatened to pull you both in deeper. Each brush of your knees beneath the table, every lingering gaze, was a silent acknowledgment of the connection that stood between you. While you’d both made tacit agreements to keep things professional, the chemistry was undeniable. You saw it in the way his eyes sparked when yours met, how the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly when he noticed you studying him, lost in thought.

One rainy afternoon, after a particularly insightful interview, he invited you to see him rehearse for an upcoming theater production. Standing in the dim light of the rehearsal room, you felt the electricity in the air—the tension that came from passion thriving in a close space. Hugh’s presence was magnetic, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away as he breathed life into each line. The commitment he displayed, the raw emotion that embedded in his performance, left you in awe.

At the end of the rehearsal, he found you in the back, watching with rapt attention. “What did you think?” he asked, wiping the sweat from his brow, his voice low and intimate.

“It was incredible,” you replied honestly, caught in his gaze. “You made it real.”

“Thank you. That means a lot coming from you,” he replied, shrugging off the compliment. As he smiled, it was as if the whole world faded away, and the burgeoning feelings expanded into the space between you.

Afterward, you strolled through the bustling streets, the sky a bruised purple, filled with the anticipation of a coming storm. You shared thoughts about theater, passion, and life, and each word flowed easier than the last. Yet with each moment, the attraction loomed larger, an unspoken current that wrapped around you both, pulling you towards a precipice.

Hugh, sensing the shift in the air, brought the conversation to a softer, more personal tone. “I sometimes worry about being forgotten, about fading into the background,” he confessed, his voice almost a whisper. It startled you, this glimpse into his vulnerability.

You wanted to reach out, place a reassuring hand on his arm, share the burden of his fears, but something held you back. Instead, you shared your own doubts about your career, the uncertainty that often nipped at your heels. He listened intently, nodding and tilting his head, making you feel seen in a way you had never experienced before.

The boundaries you had both set began to blur, each emotional revelation feeling as intimate as a secret whispered in the dead of night. When your hands brushed against each other, igniting that familiar spark, you flinched slightly, heart racing.

As daylight faded and the streets glowed with the warmth of streetlights, you found yourselves standing outside a cozy little café you’d both passed.

“Do you want to grab a coffee?” Hugh asked, his voice light, but the tension still electric.

“Sure,” you replied, laughter spilling from your lips as you stepped inside, perhaps too easily forgetting all the boundaries you had meant to maintain.

The air between you felt charged. You settled into a corner booth, but the conversation had taken on a life of its own—lightly teasing yet profound. With each laugh, every shared glimmer of understanding, the invisible strings binding you pulled taut, almost fraying at the edges under the weight of unspoken desire.

But as the evening wore on and the laughter faded, an unnameable tension settled between you. Perhaps it was the age difference, perhaps a fear of complicating your career. But deep down, you both knew: something was brewing beneath the surface, begging to be acknowledged even as you danced around it.

As you left the café, the lingering touches and gazes could no longer be ignored. It felt daunting, the knowledge that you both could either step into uncharted territory or retreat to what had been your safe haven: a friendship grounded in admiration and professional respect. But one question loomed larger than the rest: were you willing to risk it all for a chance at something deliciously uncertain?

With each passing day, it became harder to imagine life without him, as unspoken words hung in the air like stars waiting to break through the dawn. Would you allow yourselves to feel it, to embrace the pull? That was the question that sparked a myriad of possibilities, eager to unravel at the slightest touch.

The day that Hugh invited you to dinner felt almost surreal. You had shared countless hours together, laughing and discussing his life, and now he was asking you to step outside the parameters of your professional relationship. The combination of excitement and apprehension danced in your stomach like butterflies eager to break free.

The restaurant was tucked away from the bustling streets, an upscale venue where elegance and intimacy intertwined flawlessly. Candles flickered on the tables, casting soft shadows that mingled with the warm glow of the overhead lights. As you walked in together, Hugh’s hand found the small of your back, an innocent gesture that sent shivers down your spine. The ambiance hinted at romance, and you could feel the anticipation in the air.

Over the course of the evening, you talked about everything from films to dreams. Hugh’s laughter was comforting, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. He spoke with such passion about his current project, the excitement in his eyes igniting something deep within you. The wine flowed, the atmosphere was electric, and with every shared anecdote, the line between professional and personal faded further away.

At times, his gaze lingered a little longer on you than necessary, and you reveled in the warmth of his attention. It felt thrilling, almost forbidden, but the connection was undeniable. As the courses came and went, the flirtation between you grew more pronounced, transforming the conversation from simple pleasantries into something that sent your heart racing.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to step away from everything?” Hugh asked, swirling his wine glass, his thoughtful expression betraying the weight of his words. “To just escape, be someone else for a while?”

You leaned forward, captivated, sensing the vulnerability beneath his confident demeanor. “I think we all crave authenticity,” you replied. “Sometimes the roles we play in life feel like they overshadow who we really are.”

Hugh nodded, his eyes piercing through you as if he were reading the lines of a story yet to be written. “Authenticity can be hard to find when you’re in the public eye. It’s a strange feeling, needing to connect but knowing there are walls built around you.”

“It must be lonely,” you said softly, the truth of his words resonating with your own experiences throughout your career.

He smiled, yet his expression weighed heavy with sincerity. “That’s why genuine connections are so important. They remind us that we’re not alone, that there’s still someone who sees us for who we are beneath all the layers.”

The evening wore on, and as Hugh filled your glass again, he leaned in closer. “You’re different,” he said, his voice low and measured. “I can talk to you in a way I haven’t felt in a long, long time.”

Your heart raced at his admission. You weren't just a journalist; you were the one person who understood the actor behind the fame, the man behind the roles. The air thickened with tension, and the magnetism pulling you both closer was impossible to resist.

After dinner, he suggested taking a walk along the nearby beach. The idea sent a rush of thrill through you, and you couldn’t say no. As you strolled beside each other, moonlight glistened off the waves, reflecting the quiet intensity of the moment. The rhythmic sound of the surf served as a perfect backdrop, calming yet charged with unspoken desire.

You found yourself brushing against him more often, your fingers grazing against each other almost purposefully. The spark each touch ignited was undeniable, and when you finally stopped to take in the view—the moon reflecting off the water—you turned to face him, your heartbeat quickening.

He looked at you, his brown eyes dark with emotion, and everything seemed to still. There was no going back. The tension hung thick between you, and without thinking, you closed the distance and leaned in. He met you halfway, and his lips captured yours in a kiss that started softly as a whisper. You melted into him, and the moment deepened, transforming into an awakening that sent shockwaves through your entire being.

Before you knew you were entering his apartment.

Hugh’s hands slipped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you surrendered to the passion that had been building since the first interview.  He looked at you, his brown eyes dark with emotion, and everything seemed to still. There was no going back. The tension hung thick between you, and without thinking, you closed the distance and leaned in. He met you halfway, and his lips captured yours in a kiss that started softly as a whisper. You melted into him, and the moment deepened, transforming into an awakening that sent shockwaves through your entire being.

You pulled away, breathless, and looked into his eyes. "I want you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, his eyes gleaming with desire. "I want you too," he replied, and he leaned in to kiss you again. This time, the kiss was hungry, desperate, as if he couldn't get enough of you

Your hands roamed over his body, feeling the muscles tense beneath your fingertips. You reached down and grabbed his ass, pulling him closer to you. He groaned and pressed himself against you, his hard cock rubbing against your thigh.

"Let's take this to the bedroom," you said, your voice husky with desire.

He nodded, and you led him to your bedroom. You pushed him down onto the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. You ground your pussy against his cock, feeling the heat building between you.

"Fuck, you feel good," he said, his hands grasping your hips.

"I haven't even started yet," you replied, and you leaned down to kiss him again. Your tongues danced together as your hands explored each other's bodies.

You broke the kiss and sat up, pulling your shirt over your head. He watched you, his eyes dark with desire. You unclasped your bra and let it fall away, revealing your breasts. He reached up and cupped them in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your nipples.

"You're so beautiful," he said, and he leaned up to take one of your nipples in his mouth. He sucked and bit gently, and you moaned with pleasure.

You reached down and undid his pants, freeing his cock. It was hard and thick, and you wrapped your hand around it, stroking it gently.

"I want to taste you," you said, and you leaned down to take him in your mouth. You swirled your tongue around the head of his cock, savoring the salty taste of him. He groaned and threaded his fingers through your hair, guiding you as you sucked him deeper into your mouth.

After a few minutes, you pulled away and climbed back on top of him. You positioned yourself over his cock and slowly lowered yourself down onto it. You moaned as he filled you up, stretching you in the most delicious way.

You started to ride him, your hips grinding against his. He reached up and cupped your breasts, his fingers teasing your nipples.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," he said, his voice strained.

"You too," you replied, and you leaned down to kiss him again.

You broke the kiss and sat up, your hips still moving in a steady rhythm. You reached down and started to play with your clit, rubbing small circles over it.

"Oh god, I'm close," you said, your voice breathless.

"Me too," he replied, and he grabbed your hips, thrusting up into you harder.

You both came at the same time, your orgasms washing over you like waves. You collapsed onto him, your bodies slick with sweat.

"That was amazing," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, it was," he replied, and he kissed you softly.

You lay there for a few minutes, your bodies entwined, before finally getting up and getting dressed. You walked back to the living room, hand in hand, feeling closer than you ever had before.

Time lost all meaning as you surrendered to the connection that had grown over weeks spent in Hugh’s presence. You discovered not just the contours of each other’s bodies, but the depths of emotions that had long been buried beneath layers of ambition and expectation. You shared moments that transcended mere physical intimacy—it was raw, it was genuine, and it was deeply, achingly beautiful.

You wake up to the soft glow of morning light filtering through the curtains, the remnants of last night’s passion still shimmering at the edges of your memory. As you stir, the warmth of Hugh’s body beside you is both comforting and anxiety-inducing. You slowly prop yourself up on one elbow, trying to take in the serene expression on his face. His hair, tousled and messy, makes him look utterly disarming. The memory of his lips on yours, the way his hands explored every inch of your skin, sends a jolt of warmth through you. But as the thrill of the night starts to fade, reality crashes over you like a tidal wave.

What have you done?

It’s a question you’ve been silently wrestling with since you slipped into his life. The weight of the previous night hangs heavily in the air, and as you glance over at Hugh, you find yourself questioning everything. The thrill of your connection now contrasts sharply with the doubts swirling around in your mind. You’re not just a young reporter; you’re a 25-year-old woman who just crossed a monumental line with a man who’s not only twice your age but also a global superstar. What would your colleagues think? How would it affect your career?

Hugh stirs and opens his eyes, the momentary bliss of sleep fading as he meets your gaze. For a moment, there’s a flicker of that undeniable connection—the warmth of intimacy still lingering between you. But just as quickly, you see a shift in his expression, mirroring your own internal conflict.

“Morning,” he says, his voice a gravelly whisper, as if he is still finding his way back from one world to another.

“Morning,” you reply, your voice steadier than you feel. You sit up, tugging the sheets around you, as if shielding your emotions. The room feels smaller, like the walls are closing in, and all of a sudden, it’s hard to breathe.

Hugh runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you recognize from the many times you’ve seen him in public. It’s a familiar but intimate act, one that draws you in all over again. “Last night was… unexpected,” he admits, his words heavy with unspoken questions.

“Yeah,” you manage, unable to mask the tremor in your voice. “I didn’t think… well, I didn’t plan for it to happen.”

He nods, his expression serious as he shifts to sit up next to you. “Neither did I. But it did. And now we need to talk about it.”

“Do we?” You bite your lip, avoiding his gaze as a whirlwind of emotions crashes over you—fear, regret, thrill, and an undeniable desire that you can’t seem to escape. “What do we say? We can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”

“No, we can’t.” He breathes out slowly, as if trying to steady himself. “But we also can’t ignore the implications. This isn’t just fun and games. You know that, right?”

Your heart sinks. You know he’s right; he’s always been right. “Yeah,” you whisper, a lump forming in your throat. “But… what if it wasn’t just a mistake? What if we… tried to make sense of this?”

Hugh looks at you, those warm brown eyes piercing through your doubts, challenging your fears. “What do you want?” he asks, his tone softening. “Do you want to walk away?”

The question hangs between you like a fragile thread, spinning out into the vast uncertainty of your feelings. You take a deep breath, heart pounding in your chest. The thought of leaving him sends a wave of pain coursing through you, yet the reality of your professional life looms larger than ever.

“I don’t know,” you admit finally, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. “It’s just… complicated. You’re Hugh Jackman. You’re a legend. And I’m just me. What happens when it all goes wrong?”

His expression softens, and he reaches for your hand, his touch grounding in the turmoil. “Every relationship has its risks. But isn’t that what makes it worth it? The chance to be with someone who makes you feel alive?”

You meet his gaze, only to find the depth of understanding wrapped in warmth and honesty. It’s a lifeline, and despite the fear flooding through you, something flickers within—an ember of hope that maybe this moment can turn into something lasting.

“Do you really think it’s worth it?” you push, still uncertain. “We’d be in the public eye. People will talk...”

“Let them talk,” he counters, the fierceness in his voice igniting something inside you. “I’ve spent my life worrying about what others think. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that living for the public can lead to a hollow existence. I don’t want to hide from what feels real.”

His words resonate within you, striking a chord you didn’t even know existed. The fear doesn’t disappear, but the possibility—the allure of a genuine connection—sets your heart racing. Once again, you are reminded of how he sees you not just as a journalist but as a woman, a person worthy of love and connection.

“I don’t want to walk away,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “I just don’t want to hurt you or jeopardize our lives.”

Hugh smiles softly, and for a moment, the tension lifts. “I won’t let you hurt me. But we have to be honest with ourselves. If we continue down this path, we have to be ready for the world to witness it.”

You swallow hard, the gravity of the situation settling over you like a heavy fog. “What if we take it slowly? Keep it under wraps until we figure things out?”

He considers your suggestion, the smile retreating slightly as he weighs the possibilities. “It might be the best approach. We can still pursue this connection, just… with some discretion.”

With a shared understanding, the path before you seems clearer, the feelings that have grown too immense to ignore now taking a tangible shape. As you lean into him, emotions swirling like a tempest within, you realize that you’re ready to risk it all for the chance to create a beautiful story with him. One that bends the rules but ultimately feels right.

The sun slowly dipped on the horizon, casting a warm golden hue through the large window of the café where you and Hugh had agreed to meet. This was meant to be just another interview session, yet you both knew the underlying current of tension had transformed each subsequent meeting into something decidedly more intimate—something that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

As you nestled into the cozy chair across from him, you couldn’t ignore the quiet thump of your heart echoing in your chest. The faint sounds of clinking cutlery and chatter melted into the background as you locked eyes with him; those deep, soulful orbs seemed to recognize the tumult of emotions swirling within you. Today was different.

Hugh’s casual approach veiled a seriousness beneath the surface. He was dressed simply in a navy shirt and jeans, his trademark charm effortlessly on display, but there was something in the set of his jaw that told you he was preparing to confront what had been left unaddressed since that fateful night.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he began, his voice low and steady. “About us. About that night.”

You felt a shiver run through you, a jolt of recollection. The memory of his lips on yours, the way everything around you faded away as you became encapsulated in the moment, sent adrenaline coursing through your veins. But with that thrill came a nagging sense of dread, the reality of what it meant for both of you hanging heavily over your heads.

“I don’t want to pretend like that didn’t happen,” he continued, his expression earnest. “And despite the complications, I don’t want to walk away from… whatever this is.”

“What if it complicates everything?” you countered, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in your stomach. “You’re Hugh Jackman, and I’m just—”

“—just a brilliant journalist who’s been shining a light on the world for years,” he interjected, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re someone who sees me for who I am, not just who I portray on-screen. You’ve become so much more than just a subject of my biography.”

His words wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, yet the underlying reality was indisputable. The age difference? The spotlight? The inevitability of hurt if things went sideways? Each point weighed heavily on your mind.

But there was a magnetic pull, a connection that felt undeniably unique. What the two of you had blossomed from shared experiences, laughter, and moments both profound and mundane was a rarity, one that would be foolish to dismiss without a fight.

“What are you saying?” you asked, your voice softer now, tinged with hope and uncertainty.

“I’m saying I don’t think I can walk away, and I’d rather risk the fallout than miss out on something real,” he confessed, the sincerity in his eyes making your heart flutter. “I want to see where this goes, if you do.”

Taking a deep breath, you weighed the implications: professional fallout, judgment from the public eye, the complexities of an age difference that loomed large in circumstances such as these. The questions danced on the tip of your tongue, begging to be vocalized. What would your editor say? What would your friends think? Would it jeopardize your burgeoning career? And then, lingering silently in the back of your mind—was it worth it?

But how could you ignore the way his laughter made your voice lift? The way your shoulders relaxed in his presence? Your gaze strayed down to his fingertips, grasped around the wine glass, elegant and assured, mirroring the strength you found within him.

“I don’t want to get hurt,” you said after a long silence, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m scared—what if we crash and burn?”

Hugh leaned back, his expression contemplative yet patient. “I get it; I've been through enough ups and downs in my life to understand the fear. But what if we soar? What if it’s exhilarating and meaningful?” His eyes sparkled with a glint of mischief. “They said I’d never be able to dance like I did in Moulin Rouge, and now look at me!”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, the tension breaking for a moment with his endearing humor. “You made it work, though. Would we even stand a chance?”

“I believe we would,” he said firmly, leaning closer once again. “But it takes that leap of faith. Look, let’s take it slow. Let’s keep growing our connection, exploring this—whatever it means—together. You don't have to give up your career or dreams for this, but I want you to know I’m here, and I’m willing to fight for you.”

As hope ignited in your chest, you felt a warmth radiate through you—a desire to plunge into the unknown with someone you had come to admire so deeply. You could feel the unyielding strength in his words; if he was willing to navigate the storm, perhaps you could, too.

And so, with a tremorous breath, the fear began to melt away, revealing a burgeoning excitement for what lay ahead. “Okay,” you finally said, your heart racing. “Let’s figure this out—together. But I want to take baby steps.”

Hugh’s smile could have illuminated the entire café as he nodded, visibly relieved. “That’s all I ask. And who knows? Maybe we’ll find something beautiful in the chaos.”

In that moment, surrounded by the soft hum of the café, you felt a sense of release—a weight lifted. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you had made a choice: to embrace the emotions that blossomed between you and Hugh Jackman, and to allow the journey to unfold in its own time.

As you both toasted to your new beginning, a delicious thrill coursed through you, igniting a spark of hope for what might blossom in the days to come.

OKAY THIS MAY BE MY FAV FIC I WRITE EVER OMG... part two maybe?? If yall think yes I want a part to COMMENT THAT OK???

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Yvonne De Carlo (Frontier Gal, The Ten Commandments, Casbah)— Although most famous for playing Lily Munster in The Munsters, Yvonne De Carlo had a successful movie career throughout the 1940s and 1950s, appearing in such films as “The Ten Commandments”, “Sea Devils” and two Munster movies later in life.

Setsuko Hara (Tokyo Story, Late Spring, The Idiot)— "'The only time I saw Susan Sontag cry,' a writer once told me, his voice hushed, 'was at a screening of a Setsuko film.' What Setsuko had wasn’t glamour—she was just too sensible for that—it was glow, one that ebbed away and left you concerned, involved. You got the sense that this glow, like that of dawn, couldn’t be bought. But her smiles were human and held minute-long acts, ones with important intermissions. When she looked away, she absented herself; you felt that she’d dimmed a fire and clapped a lid on something about to spill. Over the last decade, whenever anyone brought up her lips—'Setsuko’s eternal smile,' critics said, that day we learned that she’d died—I thought instead of the thing she made us feel when she let it fall." - Moeko Fujii

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Yvonne de Carlo:

The woman who brought Burt Lancaster to his knees.

Setsuko Hara:

One of the best Japanese actresses of all time; a symbol of the golden era of Japanese cinema of the 1950s After seeing a Setsuko Hara film, the novelist Shūsaku Endō wrote: "We would sigh or let out a great breath from the depths of our hearts, for what we felt was precisely this: Can it be possible that there is such a woman in this world?"

One of the greatest Japanese actresses of all time!! Best known for acting in many of Yasujiro Ozu's films of the 40s and 50s. Also she has a stunning smile and beautiful charm!

Linked gifset

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She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.

"No other actor has ever mastered the art of the smile to the same extent as Setsuko Hara (1920–2015), a celebrated star and highly regarded idol who was one of the outstanding actors of 40s and 50s Japanese cinema. Her radiant smile floods whole scenes and at times cautiously undermines the expectations made of her in coy, ironic fashion. Yet her smile's impressive range also encompasses its darker shades: Hara's delicate, dignified, melancholy smile with which she responds to disappointments, papers over the emotions churning under the surface, and flanks life's sobering realizations. Her smiles don't just function as a condensed version of her ever-precise, expressive, yet understated acting ability, they also allow the very essence of the films they appear in to shine through for a brief moment, often studies of the everyday, post-war dramas which revolve around the break-up of family structures or the failure of marriages. Her performances tread a fine line between social expectation and personal desire in post-war Japan, as Hara attempts to lay claim to the autonomy of the female characters she plays – frequently with a smile." [link]

Leading lady of classic Japanese cinema with a million dollar smile

Maybe the most iconic Japanese actress ever? She rose to fame making films with Yasujiro Ozu, becoming one of the most well-known and beloved actresses in Japan, working from the 30s through the 60s in over 100 hundred. She is still considered one of the greatest Japanese actresses ever, and in my opinion, just one of the greatest actresses of all time. And she was HOT! Satoshi Kon's film Millennium Actress was largely based on her life and her career.

[stxrvel]

the one where you came close! (2)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader. content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! curse words, we're still on the safe zone, angst if you squint, just silly writing! a/n. hi guys! finally second chapter is out! im blown away with your response!! thank u so much from the bottom of my heart! i loooooved reading your comments <33 pls remember updates are weekly or biweekly! and if you want to be tagged pls say so in the comments! see you next week ;)

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“This is unbelievable! We're going to be rich!!!” 

“What makes you think my sister is going to give you any of that money?” 

“I created that Instagram account that was tagged in Kim Taehyung's damn story, I deserve a raise!” 

“What makes you drones think my daughter is going to give you any of that money?”

“None of you are going to get anything out of that act of feigned innocence. Honey, are you all right?”

It seemed like a light had gone on in the room, four pairs of eyes landing on your still pale, surprised face. The night had been heavy after Yuna's call and you'd had so little sleep that you didn't know how you were functioning at the moment. Maybe that was the thing: you weren't functioning at all.

When you woke up, you thought it had all been a bad dream and that definitely the first exposure you'd had to the guys in years hadn't been because Taehyung came across your books at a convention you decided not to go to and uploaded them to his Instagram account with over eighty million followers. It was impossible, wasn't it? Too crazy. 

Maybe not as crazy as waking up to your parents banging on your bedroom door saying that over a hundred thousand orders had been placed overnight and they didn't have enough book production for that much demand. 

Be that as it may, Yuna and your mother took care of the communications on the account. You went from having twenty followers (including your family and friends —your father had created an account exclusively for that and only followed you—), to almost sixty thousand in at least twelve hours. The posts you had worked so hard to create and put together were finally getting the attention they deserved, but it had all happened so fast and suddenly that it was too strong to process calmly. 

Weighing which was stronger, whether Taehyung's acknowledgment of your existence after so many years of zero contact or that your book sales shot up so immeasurably that they couldn't even keep up with demand, even if a month went by, didn't make things any easier. 

“She's obviously still in shock,” Yuna replied to your mother at your lack of response from the living room, right across the dining room where you had been sitting since you had come down from your room. Your breakfast was still untouched on the table, but that seemed to be the least important thing in the room with all the more important news. 

“Have the printers answered yet?” your brother's voice through the speaker of your father's phone rang as you blinked, reality settling too slowly on your shoulders. You didn't even want to think about what it meant that Taehyung had done that. Maybe it was simply an altruistic act, wasn't it? Maybe he felt guilt and wanted to ameliorate it somehow. What better way than to do an act of charity?

“I'm on it,” your father was sitting across from you in the dining room, his laptop on the glass of the table as he moved his hands over the keyboard and stared through his glasses at the full tip of his nose. From the way his eyes narrowed, your mother snorted. 

“Why don't you get those glasses adjusted if you know you don't see well up close, let alone on electronic devices?” the woman reached over, dragging your father's glasses until they were almost glued to his eyebrows. Your father barely gave her a goofy grin as your mother started shaking her hands. “You better move. I'll do it. You write too slow; you're getting on our son's nerves.” 

“Nah, I'm fine. I don't know if y/n is tho.” 

Silence returned and you growled internally. Well, that was enough conjecture and assumptions without any information to substantiate them, it was time to get down to business. 

 “Do you think we should take over this business now?” Yuna completely ignored your stretch and you sent her a confused look. 

Your brother exclaimed from the phone in agreement. “I call dibs on the treasury!” 

“There's no way you can keep the accounts right! You're studying law.” 

“Seojun is good at numbers, Yuna.” 

 “Ha, with all due respect Mrs. I/n, he must only be good at counting sheep.”

 “Hey,” you tried to get attention, getting up from the chair. 

 “y/n, don't talk, you're still in shock. Can you believe he once called me from the supermarket to ask if he got his change right? He didn't even move from the checkout counter. There were people booing him.” 

 “Ow, my poor baby.” 

 “I told you not to say that to anyone!” 

 “I can't keep quiet if they're speaking lies about you!” 

 “This wasn't lies! This is about my pride!” 

 “Nonsense. I'll handle the treasury. I double majored in finance and international relations for a reason.” 

 “You can't run anything without starting bossing everyone around!” 

 “It's not my fault you're a good-for-nothing!” 

 God. It was going to be a long day. 

- 

Sorting out the whole printing issue and the number of orders was difficult, but with a couple of stories, interactions with new followers and express delivery of the few copies you'd already had at home for months, the waters calmed down a bit. Now, in the stifling silence of your room, you wanted to run. 

 “Are you going to stare at the ceiling all night?” 

 “Maybe.” 

Yuna watched you from the bed while all you could do was stare as notifications continued to pop up on your Instagram account and your mail because the requests simply wouldn't stop, even though you had made a thousand clarifications to all the new followers. You were trying to focus on the bright side of things, regardless of whatever reasons there may have been for everything to have happened that way, but with your friend's incessant gaze lying on your bed it made it a little difficult. You knew she wanted to pierce your skull from curiosity, but you wouldn't know how you would answer her questions. 

 “Is there anything you'd like to share with the class?” 

 The tension had become a little more latent during the last few minutes, when Yuna saw a specific notification on the account. Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin had followed you. To describe your look of shock might be an understatement, and all you did for the next half hour was run across the room and throughout the house vociferating that you were living a nightmare. 

 Yuna has known all along that you had never been a fan of the siamese or their clan of friends, but she never knew why exactly. You had to tell her that you weren't interested in fashion, that you didn't like the kind of music Jungkook made, that hip-hop was never your thing, that you weren't interested in dilfs and you weren't interested in dance either. You had to tell her that all the things you once did with them didn't matter to you because it was painful, even if it was hard to accept.

 You couldn't remember the times you would go shopping at the small mall in town to buy the trending clothes to put together different outfits with Taehyung and Jimin, then go try them all on at your house and invite the others and even your parents to do an impromptu runway show. You couldn't remember how the genre of music that Jungkook and you listened to all the time on his iPod and your MP3 player was the same one that his entire music career focuses on. You couldn't remember the nights when Yoongi would share his writings with you and you would help him compose a song or two on the piano when he felt brave enough. Or the times when you would accompany Hoseok to his workouts and then watch him create dance routines to his favorite songs while Jungkook sang in the background. You also didn't want to remember the times when Namjoon and Seokjin would sponsor their trips and give everyone gifts without expecting anything in return. 

You couldn't remember those things. It was too much to bear for such a weak heart. 

“What do you want to know?” you sighed, your body sliding on the chair as the notifications grew. 

“How did all this happen?” 

“Why do you think I have an answer for that?” 

Yuna clicked her tongue, sitting on the bed with the cell phone still in her hands, still staring at the notification that snapped her out of her sanity. 

“It's just… this is all unbelievable, magnificent and unreal. But how come you're not so excited about what happened?” Yuna slid across the sheets, to be right in front of you, but you refused to look away from the computer. Every time you thought you had overcome and grown around everything that happened so many years ago, something would pop up to remind you that you still had a long way to go. Maybe the nostalgia was strong, but so was the anger. “Regardless of how things turned out, because I know you're not as big a fan as me, this opens a million doors for you and I don't know why you're not celebrating it like we are.” 

 “It's…complicated.” 

 “I don't think so. Tell me.” 

Yuna was unstoppable when she wanted to get answers out, but besides the obvious, of course there was something else that bothered you and kept you from enjoying this boom so much. 

 “It's just that all of this doesn't feel like it was a product of my effort,” you began, letting your gaze wander over the desk. The copies of your books you kept for yourself, the first ones you'd ever printed several years ago, lay there, as tattered as your failed accomplishment. “It doesn't feel like an achievement that my work had exploded thanks to a celebrity whose fans would buy even the toilet paper he uses. A lot of those people won't even read the book. They will just buy it and take a picture of it to say that they have the same book that the great Kim Taehyung read. Many of those books will never have a life, they will just be dust collectors and be reminders that all this did not happen because of my effort.” 

“What the fuck are you blabbering about? Of course it's the fruit of your effort! Of course you deserve it!” Yuna got up from the bed and moved the chair around the back to leave you in front of her disgruntled and almost offended face. You could see the words drawn in her face. “You worked so many years to pull this off and after so many bumps you finally can! You deserve to have what you wanted so badly. This recognition will last just the same because many other people will read them and love them and they may not be many, but you will form a solid foundation as time goes on with people who will be truly unconditional and supportive and that will grow over time. Don't look at this so negatively, maybe you skipped a couple of steps, but you had every right to. It was what you deserved after all the effort and dedication you put into this project for so many years.” 

 Yuna didn't hesitate for a second. Her very serious expression sent a shiver down your spine and you could tell from her furrowed brow that she really was angry at your perception. Perhaps she was right, but without knowing the full background of this specific situation, you were only left to shake your head in assent and send her a grateful smile. 

“I guess you're right,” you lifted a shoulder, turning your gaze back to your mail notifications.

“Of course I am!” the smile returned to her face and it didn't take long for her to look back down at her phone with sparkling eyes. “Now that we got the emotional charge out of the way, would you mind telling me how you know Taehyung?” 

Your breathing stopped for a second and you cursed yourself because it sounded too loud as you almost choked on your own saliva. 

“Oh?” 

Play fucking dumb. 

“What, did you think I wasn't going to notice? He wrote it crystal clear.” 

Yuna wasn't even looking at you, too focused on running her finger over the row of notifications. Her nonchalant demeanor only caused you to panic more. It was as if she had caught you red-handed. 

One of the best writers I've ever met in my life, damn you Kim Taehyung. 

“Ah… I didn't… I didn't really know him so let's just say…”

“He couldn't have said that for nothing, don't you think? No celebrity would do that unless it was a person they hold in deep regard.” 

Yuna had just caught you totally off guard. Maybe you should've focused a lot more on what Taehyung had written before you blocked his user from your personal account and threw the phone in the bottom of your drawer the night before and tried hard not to think about the rest for the rest of the night and all that day. 

“It's just that… uhm… we studied at the same school. But for a short time actually. I don't even remember it well actually, ha, ha.” 

Your laugh came out too constrained under your friend's narrow-eyed stare. You knew you'd have a hard time convincing her because you were a lousy liar. 

“You know, it always struck me as odd that you weren't a fan. Taehyung and Jimin are like the two extremes of your ideal type.” 

“Whaaaat?”

“And Jungkook's music is literally the kind of music you listen to, you just don't listen to his. All the other artists in the same genre you do listen to.”

“That has nothing to do with…” 

“And even your parents don't claim to know Kim Seokjin when your mother was literally a nurse. She probably worked with him.” 

“What does that have to do…?”  

“And your brother is a hip-hop fan. How come he doesn't listen to Agust D? He's the best rapper of the last few decades and he's been trending for a long time.” 

“…” 

At what fucking moment? 

“And all of them, plus Hobi and Namjoon, they all went to the same school. They're all friends. And you say you went to school with Taehyung?” 

“Ahm… well, yes, but it's not like I would have met the others.” 

Yuna looked at you, really looked you straight in the eyes as if that way she could tell what it was you were hiding or as if that solved all her guesses. It was impossible for her not to figure it out if she had already tied up all the damn loose ends. 

Since the boys had left one by one, clearly your family was the first to realize how much their departures had affected you. In the beginning there was communication and all, but when Jungkook was the last to leave you lost any kind of link with them completely. You never knew exactly what happened because no matter how hard you tried to contact them you couldn't, not even your parents could talk to the boys' parents. Perhaps they had simply grown up, matured, completely forgetting about their ordinary life in that town. 

They seemed to have disappeared from the planet. 

Until your family moved to the capital. Jungkook was just starting out as an idol, but he had an amazing debut. He had captivated the entire audience and was too successful almost from the second one. It was a torment to watch them grow professionally little by little because, although you were happy for their achievements and all, you couldn't forget that they had basically abandoned you. And your parents and Seojun had noticed. They had noticed how much seeing them all over the place was bumming you out, so unreachable when at one point they were all in your living room eating your mother's delicious kimchi and listening to your father's anecdotes. Everyone was affected by their departures, but clearly no one as much as you. 

That's why, of course, your parents and brother had made a silent vow to keep all media about the boys away from you, because they didn't even talk about it by accident in the house, at least not when you were present. 

“It must be a huge coincidence…” Yuna continued and only at that moment did you realize how much you got into your head. Your vision slightly blurred. “I shouldn't accuse you of anything for things like that, should I? What nonsense.” 

You were probably as white as a sheet of paper. 

“Yeah, it would be too weird… ha, ha.” 

God, you had to stop letting out those giggles when you were nervous. 

“Anyway, should we order fried chicken for dinner?” 

“I think I heard mom say she was going to make japchae.” 

“Ohhhhhh, Mrs. l/n's japchae is delicious!” 

You let out a laugh watching your friend spring up from the bed and head for the door. She stopped halfway out and pointed her index finger at you. 

“Don't tell my mom I said that.” 

You made a gesture to zipper your mouth shut and Yuna finally left. 

The previous conversation had been so tense that you already felt tired and ready to sleep at seven o'clock at night. Really the whole day had been so heavy for everyone that you didn't know how the lights in the house were still on. For now, you couldn't do anything else, even if orders continued to come in, now everything depended on the printer and how fast the books would come out, so you would have to wait. 

Maybe you should rest. You had asked your boss for the day off, but tomorrow you would have to continue working hard. Regardless of the incredible growth you'd had, you couldn't let your work go to waste. 

Tomorrow would be a new day. A quieter one, preferably. 

-

a/n: i'll try to have ready part 3 for next week! see you on june 13 at 11:59 pm - GMT5 time!

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7 @kokoandkookie @midiplier @thunderg @lizzymizzy-blogg @ladymorrie @butnotmontana @lovelgirl22 @jjeonjjk7 @aurorathi @ot7stansthings @kunacat @borahaetelevision @mylovingstars @ghostlyworld @talyaaas-blog @slowlyshycomputer @jjk174 @maynina @saintomie @damn-u-min-yoongi @juju-227592