#the texture? her EYES? I'm swooning

[whatsagirltoblogabout]

Teresa Lisbon - Episode 2.19

i'm so in love godsdamn. she is everything to me.

[rambleonwithrosie]

I genuinely believe the live action Cinderella is not only the best live action Disney has made but also it's one of the best films of the last 20 years period!

Gif credit: @omniavincitamor

Now there's many reasons for this but on my latest rewatch I was struck by how perfectly it balances between being a children's movie for little girls to watch at their pajama parties with friends and being the kind of movie like Pride and Prejudice that grown women sit together and drink wine while they watch and swoon over the hero and the dresses and cry at the emotional parts.

It is simultaneously a film any adult can appreciate while still capturing all of that wholesome childhood joy and Innocence. And Ella perfectly captured those two things too. She keeps her child's heart that believes in goodness and magic but also she's growing up. Lily played the part perfectly, all those little moments where she's kinda astonished by her proximity to the prince and what that's making her feel. She calls herself "just a girl" but she's also feeling woman feelings and her portrayal of growing up is really beautiful because it doesn't make it seem like a bad thing. So much media makes the end of childhood seem sad but Ella brings the best of childhood with her into her unfolding adulthood as we watch her grow up.

Also the foley artists/sound editing also did a MAGNIFICENT job with the sound effects. Because while they could have just had the sweeping score for the waltz with none of the ambient sound, instead you get all those swishes of the skirt and caught breaths which adds so much texture and intimacy to the dance. Like the sexual tension between Ella and Kit is at 11 in all the scenes at the ball and afterwards (Richard's blue eyes doing 80% of the work there) but it's still innocent. This isn't a children's film trying to "get away" with mature themes. It's the kind of film you could use to explain adult feelings to children coming up on puberty in a way that wouldn't make them feel shameful or dirty. It's Wholesome Sexual Tension. Which is something there is far too little of in modern cinema.

It's both a film for grown ups and a film for children and it didn't cut corners to accomplish both. It's equally both and they didn't kiddie-ify the adult parts like the abuse or the grown-up feelings Ella and Kit have for each other but nor did they try to make it an adult themed film. It is still a princess movie but it's one for grown ups as much or more than it is for little girls and that's beautiful. I for one find it deeply healing for my inner child and my adult self and I feel I'm not the only one.

Also the costuming is immaculate even on background characters with no speaking roles. Literally could not get better costumes. I could talk about this movie forever but I'll stop now and probably make more posts about it in future

[prettyiwa]

DO NOT MENTION MY WORKS ON TIKTOK.

Relationship: Drummer!Levi Ackerman x Bassist!F!Reader Rating: Explicit 18+ Content Warnings: Band!AU, Modern!AU, Fucking Your Ex, Unhealthy Relationship, Unhealthy Coping, Shameless Smut, Slight Voyeurism, Slight Exhibitionism, Semi-Public Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, Vaginal Fingering, Degradation Kink, Choking, Hair-Pulling*, Spanking, Creampie, Blood, Mentions of Addiction, Allusions to Addiction Summary: You used to be his girl and he'd remind you of that fact ever chance he got. Then came an offer too good to pass up, even with all the strings attached. Now you're left without your band, without him. But hell, you can remedy that first part, right? And what's a little not hate sex between exes? Word Count: 3,215

A/N: Posting this for the ???th time cause I'm missing Levi on my blog. *Reader has hair texture that you can run your fingers through.

You were his girl.

He would tell you this when he would press you up against the wall after a show. He would tell you this between rushed kisses trailed down your neck, between the feel of his teeth sinking into the supple skin of your tit. He would tell you this as he buried himself deep within you, making you both see stars, making you cry out for him and only him.

He would tell you this in stolen moments between rehearsals. He would tell you this the rare times you would stay the night with him, when you would fuck so tenderly it could be confused with making love, when you would wake up with him in the morning. He would tell you this when the two of you would stargaze, contemplate making it big, breaking out of the monotony, away from the assholes who tell you both you’ll never achieve your dreams.

He told you this after the accident that broke your hand two days before the biggest show your band had managed to grab. He tucked it in a promise, warm, hopeful, enough to keep you going when your world was crashing down all around you.

And then your ex was the one to sign them. And then your ex, the petty fucking bastard that he is, told Levi that if he chose you, any part of you, his career would amount to nothing. Your ex told Levi that he would personally guarantee it, which was saying a lot considering your ex was the head of one of the biggest record labels in the country. And then Levi’s lifelong dream was on the line and he made a choice.

You couldn’t fault him for it except that you could and you did. The two of you weren’t official, exclusive, defined. The two of you weren’t anything more than stolen moments of passion and lust and adrenaline. You couldn’t fault him for it.

It’s been a year and you’re getting back into the swing of things. You had met these girls, Amy, a decent guitarist, and Emily, a phenomenal drummer though, still not as good as Levi. The three of you practiced a bit, talked about playing together until any of you were recruited for a larger band.

You made a passing mention of your old band, successful now, and they swooned over the men you used to play with. You didn’t see red when Amy told you she would do anything to put Levi’s dick in her mouth. You didn’t.

But here you are, in a small venue performing for a battle of the bands, fucking killing it, thriving off of the attention, the adoration of the crowd, the adulation. The reminder that you’re the fucking best. They can’t get enough of your voice, can’t get enough of the way you tie together the sound of Amy and Emily, provide the core of the fucking music.

You’re fucking loving it, rocking it, and then you see him.

Steel-blue eyes attached to that fucking face, watching you like he’s both terrified to be caught here and like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time. And, hell, if it doesn’t spurn you on to play harder, to let seduction seep into your voice. Hell, if the crowd doesn’t love the change, if your eyes can’t leave him.

You want to scream at him, tell him to fuck off, tell him you’re fine without him, that you're thriving—and why wouldn’t you be? You two were only an amalgamation of stolen moments and steamy touches. You want to pull him on stage, have everyone see what your music does to him, what it has always done to him. You want to drag him to the bathroom, fuck him quick and dirty, remind him that you’re the only one who can get him to handle you like this, fuck you in somewhere as filthy as a public restroom.

At the end of the show, you walk away with the prize money thanks, in part, to Levi’s unexpected appearance, to the extra performance you put on.

Sweat causes your hair to stick to your face while your top is completely drenched but fuck if you’ve never felt more desirable. A couple of people approach you, give you their numbers, ignoring the way your eyes are glued to the man who lives rent-free in your mind, ignoring the way you’re about to make him fucking pay up.

Walking past him, you relish in the way he stiffens at the proximity, the minuscule hope that you’ll say something, anything. You make the barest of eye contact, pretend that he caught you checking him out, licking your lips, before slipping into the back to change.

He’ll come—you know this for a fact. After all, you were his girl. You know his tics, his idiosyncrasies, his modus operandi. His favorite drugs are you and music—have been for years. Combine the two? Well…

It takes no time for you to strip, no time for you to imagine they’re his hands touching you in this dressing room, that it’s his touch trailing down your chest, pinching your nipples. The door opens and a wicked smile appears on your face as his eyes darken on you, bare, exposed, wanting.

He watches you for a moment, second-guessing this, but he can’t move. Never could resist you like this.

“Well? Are you going to come here and fuck me, or will I have to do it myself?” you coo, fingers teasing your entrance. The moan that leaves you is breathy, desperate, enticing.

He locks the door behind him before crossing the room in three strides, grabbing your face with both hands and crushing his lips to yours. One of his hands tangles in the wet mess of your hair, grips tight, pulls—how it’s like no time has passed.

But it has. It has and you’re angry and you’re horny and you’re a vindictive fucking bitch. Your tongue plays with his bottom lip, drawing a small gasp from him, before your teeth tease it and—

“Bitch,” he curses, low, releasing you so that his hand can assess the damage. Pulling his hand away, he sees the red drop of blood before his eyes focus on you again, dark, daring.

“Tell me something I don’t already know,” you taunt, eyes catching the way his tongue darts out to lick the blood away.

He steps forward, one hand wrapping around your neck as the other grabs your tit, massages, squeezes, pinches. He kisses you, stealing what little breath you have left, swallowing the throaty sound that rises from deep within. The taste of copper flavors the kiss, but you don’t fucking care. His hand trails down your body, touching you as though he’s not certain that you’re real, as though you’re going to phase out of reality if he doesn’t keep his hands on you—hell, you just might.

You were his girl, but you’re not anymore.

He pulls away, watching your expressions as his fingers find your dripping core. It’s delightful to see how your reactions hit him, your soft moans, your whines and whimpers, the way your body shudders as his deft fingers work you. It’s delicious, the shiver that you’re able to pull from him at the gentle keen that leaves you, a direct contradiction to the scene you’re involved in.

Your mind's hazy from the way he’s circling your clit, the way his fingers are rocking against that bundle of nerves within, the way he’s in control of the flow of blood, the flow of oxygen. This—fuck, you’ve missed this so fucking much!

Just sex. You’ve missed the sex, the feeling of him against you, the look he’s giving you now—nothing but lust. Not him. You haven’t missed him, the affection that’s buried deep, the gentleness with which he holds you. No.

You’re not his girl.

It’s just an addiction, a relapse, sure, but an addiction nonetheless. You can kick the habit.

Levi chuckles darkly at the wanton gasps that leave you, the way you shamelessly grind against his hand, the silent plea that dances in your eyes. You start to tremble, coil about to snap, pleasure about to overtake you and he pulls his hand away. He brings his fingers to his mouth, licking the taste of you clean from his skin. His grip around your throat disappears so that he can release himself from the confines of his pants.

You lick your lips once he’s free—always did love the sight of him. One of the prettiest cocks you’ve ever had the pleasure of fucking, if you do say so yourself. He hisses when your hand wraps around him, grip nowhere near enough, but teasing, tempting, daring. Your thumb swipes along his slit, gathering up the leaking pre before you smooth it over his aching head.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Turn around.”

A command. A plea. Music to your ears.

You oblige, happy you’re in the changing room, happy for the mirror that’s to the left of you. His eyes follow your line of sight and you can see his smirk.

“You’re such a dirty fucking girl,” he growls, hand coming down on your ass. You lean forward, resting your hands on the lockers in front of you and he immediately grabs your hips, pulling you to him. Chuckling at his mild display of aggression, you shake your ass for him, waiting.

What you don’t expect is for him to drop to his knees, to part your ass, and drag his tongue along your sex. He laps you up, tongue relentless in tasting you, devouring you, making you squirm. You moan, writhe against him as he pulls back, fingers replacing his mouth, gathering your slick before standing, and whispering, “Your routine is still the same?”

“Uh-huh,” you answer dumbly, high on him. “Old habits die hard.”

“Good.”

You feel his tip poke your aching pussy before entering in a single thrust, punctuated by a string of curses that leave you both. It takes a moment before he moves, before his cock rubs against your walls, slowly, torturously, before his thumb circles the puckered ring of your asshole. He pushes, lightly, watching as your ass swallows him greedily. He starts thrusting again with a feverish pace, sending delirious ripples of pleasure through you at the feel of the extra pressure, the feel of him occupying both holes.

“Oh, fuck, Levi,” you whimper, letting your head drop while he fucks coherence from you, leaving you a whining, blubbering mess.

The way he fills you up, fits inside you—it’s intoxicating, exhilarating, the best fucking high. The way he lights every nerve on fire, setting your body ablaze, the way he clouds your mind, makes you forget about all else—all of it is so fucking r a p t u r o u s . He takes you and places you somewhere that isn’t even on this fucking planet anymore, and fucking hell if he doesn’t feel it, too.

The way he clings to you, how his fingers leave bruises on your hips, tangle in your hair, pull you up so his teeth can sink into your neck, your shoulder, so he can whisper nasty fucking things that make you clench around him tighter than either of you knew possible. His grunts, groans, subtle curses—a fucking symphony, a melody that you intend to commit to memory, to play on your bass so you can relive it when this is over.

The new angle ensures that he’s hitting everything deep inside so fucking perfectly you think you’re going to explode. It’s coming—your orgasm. Already you know it’ll be earth-shattering, reality-shaking, indescribable. You’ve yet to find another person who can make you come apart at the seams quite like this man.

He pulls his thumb from your ass, smiling into your neck when you whine at the loss, before his fingers wrap around your front, tapping your thrumming clit, begging for attention. You jolt forward, moaning low and needy, and his arm stiffens, keeping you in place. He sets a steady pace, circling your clit while assaulting your pussy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh, Levi, please don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—”

“That’s my girl,” he whispers. “Beg for me.”

It isn’t the husky quality of his voice, low, sexual, nor is it his hand working miracles on your clit. It’s that fucking phrase, that fucking—

my girl

It sends you tumbling, toppling from that tightrope you were balancing on. It sends you free-falling into open space, gasping for air, skin tingling, nerves firing. A year's worth of bad sex, inadequate masturbation, vibrator-induced orgasms—all of it washed away, dragged to sea as he leaves nothing but you, screaming, pulsing around him, begging for more because holy hell, you’re nowhere near done.

You’re a fucking addict and he’s your drug.

He prolongs your high, never relenting in his ministrations as he continues to fuck you, continues to chase his own end. Wave after wave, rolling orgasms so you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. It’s so intense, has you sobbing, crying, quivering beneath his touch, but you fucking love it. You shift your gaze, pulling his attention to the mirror, to where your bodies joined, to the trembling mess he holds in his grip, the wild look in his eye as he takes you like you’re his.

“Please fill me up," you say, mind clearing just enough to bring him to his climax.

His hips stutter against you, fingers leaving your clit so he can wrap his arm around you, hold you to him like you might float away—because you both know you have every intention of floating away after this. But for now? There’s nothing here but the two of you, fucking after a great goddamned show, getting high off of one another. Nothing else matters but you and Levi, here and now.

His grip in your hair and around your waist tightens as he rams into you once, twice more, filling you up, allowing a string of expletives to escape his mouth. He’s reluctant to let go, reluctant to pull out, and you’re not entirely certain your legs work enough to support yourself right now.

But you do. Because you’re not his girl anymore. No matter what he said just minutes ago.

He releases you, watching as you change into your post-show outfit, largely ignoring his presence. You tie your hair up and, though you shouldn’t, you lightweight revel in how fucking raunchy you feel with new bruises forming around your neck, your waist, your hips, Levi’s cum dribbling out of your stuffed pussy, hair still moist with the exertion of the show then of a good fuck.

Turning, you’re surprised to see him still there.

“I was expecting you to be gone. What are you doing here?”

This club, this scene—he hates it. Too dirty, too gritty, too noisy.

“Eld’s out. We’re looking for a new bassist,” he states plainly.

You slam the locker shut, having stuffed everything into your bag, and he follows as you unlock the dressing room, stepping into the back. Amy and Emily are talking with the other musicians from earlier in the evening. Amy’s eyes immediately find Levi and widen with excitement.

It’s a conscious effort on your behalf to push aside the mounting jealousy, the possessiveness. You’re not his girl. He can fuck whoever the hell he wants. Not like you haven’t been desperately trying to forget about him in between the legs of almost anyone who’s interested.

“So you came here?”

“Zeke sent me. Said that tonight has a bunch of artists looking to be picked up.”

“Hmm. He’s telling the truth about that,” you say, kicking yourself for having told him the purpose of nights like these at this club eight years ago. “Any catch your eye?”

“What do you think?”

Amy starts to make her way over and you want to blanch. Lucky for you, two tall blondes walk into the back, eyes scanning the room. Their eyes catch on yours and you nod in acknowledgment.

“Hey, boys,” you croon as they come over. Levi stiffens at their presence, at the way they tower over you both. “Levi, these are some old friends of mine from college. They’re the founders of the Scouts Music Label. Erwin, Mike, this is Levi. What are you two doing on the east coast? I expected for you two to still be in the west.”

Erwin’s eyes flash in recognition, having received numerous drunk calls from you over the past year crying about this very man. His eyes glance at Amy as she sidles up between you and Levi, but he ultimately decides to ignore her.

“We’ve officially opened up offices over here. I saw your name as one of the artists performing tonight and knew I had to pay a visit.”

“Oh, really? That’s great news. See anyone you’re interested in representing?”

“I’m looking at her,” Erwin replies with an easy smile, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, eyes flickering to the way Levi bristles at the casual touch.

“What about you, Mike?”

“No one really impressed me, outside of you and your drummer.”

‘Your drummer.’ Levi is your drummer. Something that is achingly obvious to the both of you. The two of you play off of each other beautifully, providing the backbone to the music you create, the core. It’s fucking orgasmic to listen to, but Zeke wouldn’t hear it, wanting only to hurt you, wanting to eliminate his competition, as though there was a competition to be had.

“She’ll be glad to hear that, but you should know—we aren’t together. We can play well together, but it’s more a matter of convenience than a desire to create.” They won’t care. Both Erwin and Mike have always told you that they’d gladly sign you, give you everything you need to produce music, to get your sound out there. You hadn’t because you preferred the music scene here, but if they’re here now…

“I’m fine playing with whoever,” Amy pipes up, trying to bring attention to herself. “I’m not picky. I can even play bass.”

Erwin glosses over her, eyes having never left Levi. “So Levi. I hear you’re with Marleyan Music Group?”

Levi glances at you, discomfort evident, before clicking his tongue against his teeth. “I am.”

“How do you like Zeke Yeager?”

“He’s… fine.” He hates the bastard, but a year ago, Zeke had offered saving grace to your old band. Now they’re trapped under him, but after they all unceremoniously dropped you, you could give two shits.

“I see,” Erwin muses, tracing light circles into your shoulder, only ever doing this when one of you needs to make someone jealous or get rid of a persistent suitor. And who are you to tell him to stop after everything that you’ve been through the last year? “Say,” he says, “how about we go and grab dinner?”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“Early breakfast, then? Come back to my place—I’ll make omelets.”

“Why not, Smith? I wouldn’t mind hearing about your guys’ new offices,” you say, allowing him to turn you around and walk out. You look over your shoulder and shoot Levi a wink. “Good luck finding a new bassist.”

(next) | Attack on Titan Masterlist

[batzcrazy]

AND IF YOU ASKED, I'D PULL THE STARS DOWN FROM THE SKY FOR YOU

note: was thinking very hard about how much they deserved better and this appeared after i woke up. was listening to:

- stars in the sky (kid cudi), head over heels (tears for fears), good days (SZA), me and your mama (childish gambino)

pairings: anakin skywalker/padme amidala

warnings: sappy things, slight anakin bpd moments (subtle?), sad things, me wanting better for them

"Padme."

"Hm?"

"I had a dream last night," Anakin says, clumsily braiding her hair. "Where everything fell and went into ruin."

She inhales sharply when he tugs a little too hard, squeezing her pen between her fingers. The Naboo sun makes the black ink look a deep blue. Like Anakin's attire, She thinks fondly.

"Oh? That doesn't sound much like a dream."

Anakin huffs, biting his lip, "It wasn't really... But I saved you in it." His knuckles graze the back of her neck, pondering.

"And that makes it a dream?"

"Yes," He says, with a lovesick confidence she's only ever heard from him. "I saved the dream that is you."

He feels as though he owes her this, if he cannot save the rest of the universe from falling, then she can be the one thing sacred. He grows dizzy with the feeling in his chest. He wonders if she would allow him to pull her into the empty space in his chest and hold her there ― and vice versa. The tall grass around them sways gently. Padme's free hand taps the toe of his boot. He finds it a little pathetic, the way he swoons when she cranes her neck to look at him, beaming wide; His beaten and bashed in heart thumps wildly.

He's a little alarmed to find that he wouldn't mind much if everything fell as long as she was safe and here with him.

He rests his head on her shoulder, padawan braid tickling her ear. He's grown bored of braiding her hair now. His tired fingers graze hers where her free hand rests on the edge of her book. She pulls away, and for a moment he feels dejected, but instead she rests her book and pen on the grass and links their fingers together. He feels as though he's choked on syrup ― sweet and warm.

"And what of the universe?"

"And what of it?" He mumbles, feeling at ease.

"Did everything really go to ruin?"

"Yes," He answers, forgetting that part. He feels a little ashamed. "It did. Though, I don't remember all if it."

Padme hums, squeezing his hand gently, "I think you would've saved it."

Anakin makes a curious noise, tilting his head in her direction. Her fingers are soft and smooth, a stark contrast to the rough and hard texture of his. She finds that the inside of his palm still remains softer than the rest. She finds herself lamenting the day that changes. The inevitable, she supposes.

"Why? I am not yet all that powerful and I still remain a padawan."

If he sounds bitter, she doesn't comment on it.

"I suppose so," She starts, memorizing the grooves of his fingers for the days when he's gone. "But if the day ever should come, I fully believe you will be there to save what's left. You will figure it out, I'm sure. You always do."

He preens at her praise, drawing closer, but there's still a sense of unease.

"Maybe. But, what if that doesn't happen?" He murmurs, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles. "What if I am too weak? Powerless? What if the universe falls to ruin because of me?"

Padme curses those who put these thoughts in his head, wishing them nasty things only. It isn't fair to call him The Chosen One, then treat him nothing short of a cursed burden. The grass agrees with her.

"It will not. Even if it does, you will still be there to save it."

Anakin furrows his brows, frowning, "Why are you so sure?"

Padme turns to him, smiling softly, "Why are you so doubtful."

He tilts his head, and he gives her a look she's never seen before. It's blank, void of anything, no thoughts she could see behind him eyes. He looks at her like she might be crazy. Then, he smiles.

"Okay. I believe you." He doesn't.

"Good." She knows he doesn't, but this is okay for now.

A quarter of her heart is here, with her people and her duty. The rest is with Anakin Skywalker, a boy with a head too big for his shoulders and a heart too big for his chest. 10 years and there is still an unwavering powerful mystery to him. 10 years and she still doesn't fully understand his greatest pains. 10 years and she doesn't know what his favorite foods may be. 10 years and one thing she does know is that he doesn't like sand.

Anakin Skywalker, with his short, messy, dirty blonde that's beginning to grow a little past his ears. Anakin Skywalker, with his ever fluctuating moods and conflicted thoughts. Anakin Skywalker, who saves her from the world and she saves him from himself. Thoughts of the Jedi Council flash through her mind and she finds herself so angry she could cry. Anakin is already crying. She wipes his tears away with her thumbs. He kisses her fingers. Anakin Skywalker who is amazing and effortless with a lightsaber. The same one strapped to his hip. The same one that has saved her. The same one that perhaps may be there to save her again.

And she will thank him for it and hope he finally believe his worth.

The two of them lie down in the grass and dream of two things: Twins and an impending doom. For who? Doesn't matter because they are here now and in the near future. She's fallen asleep and her hair is a mess of unfinished and finished braids. He's fallen asleep and he's worried about his cloudy destiny. His fingers cramp.

Over the wind, she can faintly hear Obi-Wan's call for them. Padme wills the tall grass to hide them, if just for a moment longer. To have this now, if not ever again. Anakin tucks her closer to his chest and she knows that it is done. He gives himself to her because of course he does. He will now and forever.

The universe wails.

[goldiesugar]

Helloooooo, could do a breakdown of the feminine archetype Ingenue, I'm really fascinated by it !

The Ingenue

Your unexpected mix of girlish charm and womanly sensuality enthralls.

Your potential to captivate could  be the wiggle in your walk, the impish sparkle in your eye, or your rock and roll lifestyle. Whatever your signature trait may be, your natural, unaffected charm makes men swoon. With the magnetic lover as your dominant archetype, you possess an uninhibited sensuality. Your secondary archetype, the maiden, imparts a life long effervescence and receptive spirit. Together, the juxtaposition of womanly sex appeal and girlish innocence tantalizes your admirers.

Master captivation by activating magnetic inner lover, and your receptive inner maiden.

Consider Marilyn Monroe’s voluptuous curves and her signature walk, both a contrast to her breathy, baby doll voice and exaggerated naiveté. Or consider Rihanna’s brazen sex appeal, with her devil-may-care attitude. She resembles a rebellious teenage girl; dark, spontaneous, open and liable to do or say anything. In the art of seduction, such paradox is irresistible. Maiden women are tasked with evolving into the mature aspect of their archetype.

You appeal to a man’s procreative and paternal instincts, stimulating both his libido and his inner protector. You also give men the emotional spice and unpredictability they crave.

You are endearing, delicate, and refreshing. Your energy exudes an open, impish quality with a strong yin overcurrent and a yang undercurrent. When you dress, you draw toward flouncy dresses, soft textures, frills, and delicate accessories. You move through life with a girlish charm, reminiscent of the prototypical ingenue. People lower their guards when they’re around you. You embody a blissful world full of hope and an escape to a carefree time that is uncomplicated by worries.

Your anti-seductive qualities:

In their child or core state, women influenced by the “maiden” archetypecan be so receptive that they can be malleable, and prone to co-dependent relationships. With maturity, they learn to assert their identity and desires, and their receptiveness evolves into higher levels of intuition, emotional depth and creativity. This feminine journey will play out again and again in the lives of maiden women until they evolve–though some never do.

In their queen state, they can be mercurial, mystical, and deeply connected to their emotions. Consider Marilyn’s darker side, the private anguish and depression that haunted her off screen. Ironically, that touch of madness added to her allure. She never fully learned to cope with her dark side, but most maidens, as they mature, reconcile both aspects of their personality, a breakthrough that usually follows a significant physical or psychological loss.

Until you evolve, your frank sexuality and receptive energy will be a blessing and a curse. Men will be drawn to your vulnerability and authenticity. Your lack of defenses will put them at ease, but you may be attracted to dark, emotionally unavailable, or even abusive men (consider Rihanna’s relationship with Chris Brown) and you will struggle with boundaries. Love addiction and codependent behavior is also common with this combination. Regardless of where you are in your journey, your natural sensuality is the essence ofyour charm.

The dark side of this archetype is defensiveness, unsophistication, and people-pleasing. If you haven’t mastered the art of leveraging your Ingenue energy, you may find it challenging to let go and harbor porous personal boundaries.

Basically, the ingenue archetype represents the unique way that YOU captivate. It is the sizzling interaction of your naturally magnetic dominant feminine archetype, the 'lover',  with  the receptive energy of your second archetype, the 'maiden'.  When you are aligned with both of these energies, you feel good, and you attract without effort. Develop your natural charisma, by fully activating your inner maiden, and your inner lover together.

To your success, ~ Bleuet 💸💖

[camileeon]

First of all, congrats for the 200 girl!

Just found out your blog, really liked it :) I wanna ask a short fic with that B10 dialogue, with Isabela and a really clumsy reader s/o, that reminds her of her father, if you don't mind ^^

Have a nice day!

HER CLUMSY CORAZON

🍵- She fell for them with no regrets.

🦋- GN!Reader (they/them) x Isabela (she/her)

🍊- THE FIRST ISABELA FICCCCC AAAAAAAA HOPE YALL ENJOY!!!!

[•••]

It was a lovely spring day out for the lively magical town of encanto, various plants along with other flowers blossomed and bloomed happily as their eye catching colors showed so.

Most were over at Casita's, lending out a helping hand to the family along with other town's people on springtime festival preparations. Everyone was all busy organizing, placing decorations in it's proper places, cooking with tia julieta even. Wanting it to be flawless even if the family long overlooked that term, but still.

thing is.. they weren't very well versed in the perfect part.

Y/n was very clumsy and didn't have much finesse through their actions, often times they were stumbling over their own two feet, constantly toppling something over or just spilling something and causing a mere mess for them to clean up after.

They pleaded to themselves as soon as they walk in to look for the walking floral bliss which most suitors swooned for as well as being the same girl that never failed to strum a harmonious melody using their heart strings even from a glance far away, ambling towards her as soon their eyes met. Seeing how her eyes lit up almost instantly, pulling them into a warm embrace while squealing a bit from excitement

“Ah alas my lovely rose! You made it! Come help me with the potted plants!”

Gesturing her hand swiftly to make some of their favorite florals into a flower crown and sat it on their head, before pulling out of the embrace to tug them by the wrist towards the open porch which filled with delicate handmade vases and containers.

“I can't decide on which one to put out, it's a dilemma between these ones i made..” She hummed as she brought her finger up to her lips, pondering about all it's different hues and textures.

“ they all look beautiful either one you choose mi amor.” responding to her before looking through them with her and eyed which one would've suited the supposed color theme for the fiesta, letting out a few thoughts and words about it in the process.

“ Maybe we should go for these cacti and marigolds, I heard mama and Tia liked how they looked together.” She remarks before seeing them nod in agreement with her, they now both started to move the pots and vases towards the entrance.

Luisa wasn't around due to being busy with her own errands before going back to them but they fortunately managed somehow, y/n lifted the last pot of cacti towards the entrance but before they could've stepped on to the tiled floor, they weren't looking forward and bumped into someone and felt their grasp on the pot drift away just for it to shatter on the ground in pieces as a shard from the porcelain pot cuting their palm in the process. Hearing the shatter, nothing but worry and concern filled Isabela's mind and quickly got to y/n who sat on the floor quietly hissing in pain due to the wound

“Y/n are you okay-” but before isabela could finish her sentence they started to ramble

“Isa I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking where i was going and bumped into someone- Your favorite pot! And your cacti- and- agh im just a klutz-”

Isa's eyes softened at how they spoke, listening to their overwhelmed breaking voice, reaching her hands out to their shoulders to calm and help them compose themselves. “Alright alright, calm down, breathe in and breathe out y/n.” rubbing and tracing circles on their back as they slowly inhaled and exhaled, following her instructions carefully.

They leaned into her embrace as soon Isabela wrapped her arms around them comfortingly, then cupping their cheeks in the palm of her hands

“Well done, see? You're okay, mi corazon.” she assured as she began to admire their features while their face was in her hands, the way their smile showed again once more after all that had happen just minutes ago, the way their face glistened by the sheen light of the spring sun.

“Hm, You're lucky you're cute.” she added in a joking tone, giving them affectionate kisses on their cheeks. Y/n couldn't help but retort at what she said

“wait- you're not mad at all?” tilting their head to the side as they walked to the booth of food that Julieta put up, just in case a situation like theirs would occur or someone was just simply needing an arepa to fill themselves up.

“Well, usually I would be.. but i realized just getting angry at something simple won't really fix anything.. ” Isabela admitted, handing them an arepa from the wheaved basket on the table. Y/n took a bite out of it and good as new, their cut healed as if it wasn't even there to begin with, getting a hold of their hand as she continues to speak.

“Besides I can grow so much more cacti as I please, along with making better pottery for them. Though again, sometimes it can depend on who did it too..” Isabela rarely had the heart to get frustrated with them in the first place and it really shows how much she adores them, usually just getting irritated when it's her younger hermanas, primos and prima, still learning how to keep it at a minimum.

“Amor let me, let me make it up to you just say the wor-”

“i said it's fiiineee, and I don't care if you're clumsy, it's adorable. You remind me a lot of my dad.” it was true, both very accident prone and even the slightest wrong move from them can result to a domino effect, affecting other people in the vicinity.

It was something they always found as a flaw and a big insecurity to themselves especially because of how embarassing it was for them, though Isa could care less on how they were and the flaws that they had sticking out for anyone else to see. They admired them because they're how they truly are, every imperfection is embraced by her. The euphoric moment they walked into her life made her realize she's so much more than what she already was, learning and determined to finally be herself with nobody stopping her.

[xmyshya]

Shoved it: chapter I - Grind

summary: You don’t like skaters. They’re unruly, misbehaved and rude. But this one encounter just might change your view. genre: fluff warnings: tooth-rotting fluff (seriously, make a dentist appointment), slow burn, mutual pining betas: @vanille–kiss​ as always I'm eternally grateful to you, I love you lots a/n: Written for ANILYSIUM (former HQHQ) Server Collab with the prompt “Meet Ugly”. Check the event’s masterlist here! series navi: masterlist | next wc: 1.4k

Books. You love everything about them - the scent of the ink, the feeling and texture of paper under the pads of your fingers, the sound of pages being turned, the way how 26 letters bloom as a whole new world in your mind.

It’s a beautiful spring day, one that carries the warmth of sunshine and scent of freshly revived greenery in the air. Birds are chirping sweet love songs, you’re wearing your favourite flowy dress, gentle breeze makes the short stray strands that slipped from your bun tickle your nape.

On a day like this, it’s extra hard not to bury your nose in the tome you carry around these days. Technically, you know you should pay attention to your surroundings, especially when you’re walking and not sitting on the bench, but it’s just getting to the good part, where the thief prince is about to steal a kiss (and a heart) of the princess and -

Huh?

It’s a beautiful spring day, the sun is finally out, no sight of rain clouds, no school today, absolute freedom. Which is why Suna Rintarou is rushing to the park, using his worn skateboard for the first time this year. He surely hopes he hasn’t gotten rusty with the break, but damn does it feel good.

The wind is ruffling his bangs that stick out from underneath his beanie, and it makes him want to go faster, faster, and maybe, just maybe, he might be able to fly. Or at least jump really well. So he pushes again and again, despite moving at a decent speed already.

There are stairs nearby, and Rin feels today is the day he beats his record at how far he can land. He’s approaching it fast, the top is right there, he can see it, so he pops the board and then shoves it, his ankle at a perfect angle, and shit, if it ain’t the perfect pop shuvit, and fuck, he’s middle air and knows he’s gonna fuck it up.

Because at the bottom, right where he predicts he’ll land, there’s you. A cute girl, with her hair and dress flowing with the wind, eyes trained on a book in her hands, and she doesn’t even see him.

Which is why he crashes with you, having enough mind clarity to push his board in another direction and cover the back of your head with his hand, before he falls on top of you on the pavement. You blink at him with a confusion clear in your gaze, almost as if you don’t know where you are. He smirks at you lazily, and in his most seductive voice lets out a,

“Hi.”

You still look at him with those huge doe eyes, like a little lost lamb, and he would love to sink his teeth in your flesh like a big bad fox. The boy opts for helping you up, instead. He can do that other thing some other time. As you shake off the dirt from your dress, he opens his mouth to say something more, but he’s met with

“What the hell?! That was dangerous! You could have hurt somebody! Have you thought about it? This is a public place, you… you… you punk!”

He’s staring at you dumbfounded, surprised at your sudden outburst. Definitely not what he expected after protecting you from the impact, and definitely not after presenting you his best smirk, the one that has every girl swooning. Suna shakes off his haze when you reach the top of the stairs, and mumbles at the sudden realisation.

“But… I’m not a punk?”

-----------------------------------

You’re running. Your feet hurt, lungs burn, and you don’t really see where you are or where you’re headed, but it’s better than getting caught by palace watchmen. The hand around your wrist has a tight grip, as you’re dragged through narrow dark alleys. Suddenly, the man in front pulls you behind a corner, his arm wrapped around your waist, both your chests heaving against each other.

“Are you okay, Princess?” He asks, voice still a little breathy from the exercise, and you nod. “I think the guards are gone now.”

“Are you the Prince of the Thieves?” His smirk grows wide in the shadows.

“I did steal you from the palace, did I not?” His face is coming dangerously close, olive eyes boring into yours. “If you’re not careful, I might steal your heart as well.”

His breath is fanning over your lips as he whispers the last sentence, you part your mouth…

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Shit.

Wait, why did the Prince have the face of that punk?

***

Luckily the bus you take to school isn’t crowded. You squeezed yourself into a window seat with earphones completely sealing you off from the surroundings. Hopefully upbeat music will be enough of the distraction from the weird dream. Hopefully.

Relaxed, you close your eyes and sing along in your mind, tapping the rhythm on your thigh. You let your mind wander, as you imagine yourself dancing to the song, feeling the endorphins pump through your veins.

Until an image of those greyish-yellow eyes glinting in the darkness flash in your head.

Well, shit.

***

If there was any hope of relief from being haunted by that intense gaze at school, it’s gone now. As a top student you were always focused on lessons, always ready with an answer for any question; but today it’s completely the opposite.

First, you somehow managed to forget a basic algebraic formula. While solving a problem on the board. The class was shocked, the teacher was not impressed, you were embarrassed… Still feeling the heat of shame hours later.

Then you completely spaced out, forcing the English teacher to repeat your name over and over, telling you to continue reading a text. And you didn’t even know which part you should continue from.

After that came chemistry, and you nearly blew up the lab after messing up the proportions of ingredients. Why were you so affected by some punk you didn’t even know? Why were you seeing those damn eyes everywhere? Even in the cafeteria, at the table across from yours, that boy also has those eyes.

Wait, no. Oh no.

You’re staring at him unabashedly, silently praying to be wrong, waiting for something, anything, to prove that it’s not the person from the park. It doesn’t come, but the heavens curse you instead.

In a slow motion you observe how his eyes meet yours, and as if it wasn’t bad enough, he smirks. You make off the cafeteria so quickly, that you nearly trip over your own two feet. Seriously, what did you even do to deserve this punishment?

It’s Monday again, and Suna would rather stay at home and sleep. But he has to show up to class, so he reluctantly crawls out of the bed, throws on his uniform, and after brushing his teeth leaves the house. It’s such a drag, honestly. Nothing interesting ever happens.

Rintarou nearly dozes off on the bus, the steady hum of the engine and gentle rocking serving as a lullaby. But he can’t sleep, he can’t miss the stop and be late again. So he forces himself to watch the monotonous scenery on the other side of the window.

As predicted, the day goes by slowly. There’s nothing amusing about listening to those old peoples’ rambling on subjects nobody even cares for. Like hell he’s gonna need inorganic chemistry or classical Japanese. So Rin is sitting at his desk, chin in the palm, thinking how it’s a waste of perfectly fine weather for skating.

Finally, the lunch break comes and he drags his feet behind Miya twins to the cafeteria. It’s not his favourite place, it’s crowded and loud, but his buddies fighting over food makes it worth the hassle. They’re doing this right now, Osamu trying to steal his brother’s onigiri, while Atsumu attempts to poke the other boy’s hands with chopsticks.

Suddenly Rin feels somebody’s intense gaze. It’s not like he’s not used to it, girls usually stare at them lovingly, but this feels different. Curious, he glances in the direction he thinks it comes from and sees… you; barely aware of the smirk curling his lips. But then you run off, probably flushed. That must be it, right?

Suna feels like he hit a jackpot.