#there is nothing of me that cannot be replicated

[youremyheaven]

The Innate Duality of Jupiter: A Study of Clones

I have previously briefly explored how Jupiter natives channel their duality through alter egos and how they're often constantly at war with their "good" vs "evil" side. Lately, I have started noticing how a lot of films/shows/media that portray clones/cloning are either created by or enacted by Jupiter/Swati natives. I am including Swati because the themes of Swati nakshatra closely embodies the expansiveness of Jupiter's energy.

Never Let Me Go is a 2010 film based on the book by Kazuo Ishiguro (Vishaka Sun/Venus, Revati Moon), which is about (SPOILER ALERT) children who are cloned and raised for organ harvesting.

The movie stars Carey Mulligan, who has Venus in Revati atmakaraka and Saturn & Ketu in Vishaka, Andrew Garfield, Purvabhadrapada Rising and Keira Knightley, Mercury & Venus in Revati with Ketu in Vishaka

The Japanese film, The Promised Neverland which has a similar premise is directed by Yûichirô Hirakawa, who has Mars in Revati atmakaraka and potentially has Revati Moon

The 2005 film, The Island starring Ewan McGregor (Revati Sun), Scarlett Johansson (Vishaka Moon) also features a similar plot of people living in a compound as clones with their organs being harvested for the wealthy.

Now, I want to speak specifically about the themes present in these nakshatras, namely Revati, Vishaka and Swati, that connect them to duality. Revati falls entirely within Pisces Rashi (Pisces is ruled by Jupiter), so Revati can be said to possess some of those Jupiterean qualities. And Vishaka is Jupiter ruled.

Vishaka nakshatra's symbol is a triumphal arch or forked branch, which directly represents a split path, dual purpose, or two conflicting desires.

This duality is innate in ALL Jupiter nakshatras.

Revati is symbolised by a fish swimming in the water, whereas the symbol of Pisces is two fish swimming in opposite directions

Swati is symbolised by a young sprout swaying in the wind, and the deity of Swati is Vayu, the wind god; wind can be everywhere and nowhere, which evokes multiplicity or replication

Aldous Huxley, Mercury in Punarvasu & Mars in Revati atmakaraka alluded to human cloning in his book Brave New World. In fact, I think the dystopian genre features Jupiter & Revati natives prominently. Written in 1931, this is one of the earliest fictional depictions of cloning.

Ira Levin whose book The Boys from Brazil deals with Hitler being cloned has Venus in Punarvasu and Ketu in Vishaka

Josef Mengele, the real-life Nazi doctor who is featured in the novel as a character and who conducted unethical experiments on twins during the holocaust has Purvabhadrapada Sun & Mercury (he's also Hasta Moon, furthering my theory that Lunar men are lowkey evil) and Venus in Revati atmakaraka and Ketu in Swati

Woody Allen, Ketu in Punarvasu co-wrote, directed and starred in Sleeper (1973) as a man who is cryogenically frozen and wakes up in the future.

There is a very famous conspiracy theory that Avril Lavigne, Swati Moon was replaced by a clone/body double named Melissa.

I know these are just a few examples of clones in the media but I thought it was interesting how a few naks were repetitively found in the charts of individuals associated with cloning.

To clone is to resurrect from nothing, a likeness of an already existing individual. It is "of" them but it is not technically them. If somebody were to take your cells and your DNA and create an identical copy of you in a lab, is that version you? Or is that merely someone who looks like you?

One can say that what makes us uniquely "us" is our soul, which cannot be replicated. Everything else represents the scientific possibility that there may be many different versions of "us".

Jupiter's ever-expansive nature makes its natives extremely naturally optimistic because, innately, they can sense that their "present" reality, no matter how difficult or severe, is not "final"; they can subconsciously tap into a universe of possibilities where life is vastly different. They can also struggle with indecision because they feel as though sooooo many different possibilities exist that picking one over the others feels impossible. This is further amplified by Jupiter naks falling into dual rashis (Gemini-Cancer for Punarvasu, Libra-Scorpio for Vishaka, Aquarius-Pisces for Purvabhadrapada).

I had previously mentioned how Jupiter naks internally battle between "good" and "evil" and often have alter egos to channel their "darker" side.

Now I want to go into why so many Jupiter natives seem to develop alter egos or use aliases/develop distinct personas and identities etc

One thing I have observed with MANY Jupiterean individuals is that they all seem to have had difficult childhood experiences.

In psychology, Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), previously known as multiple personality disorder, is primarily believed to be caused by severe and repeated trauma experienced during childhood. This trauma can include physical, sexual, or emotional abuse, neglect, or other overwhelming experiences. The disorder is a coping mechanism where the mind fragments into different identities to deal with these traumatic experiences. 

Due to their expansiveness, they are aware of many different realities being possible; however, their trauma often has them "split" their identity into a different one where good things are possible. Many Jupiter natives have these grand and expansive visions, and they create an alter ego to actualise them because, as they are in their present self, they do not feel "capable" of achieving them.

In these examples, the clones are often "used" and "exploited" in a dystopian setting. This is another major Jupiter nak theme, due to their overgiving nature, they tend to be used (and in these cases, literally) by others. Unless Jupiter natives learns discernment and impose boundaries, they will be exploited by others.

Swati is the only Rahu-ruled deva gana nakshatra, so even though Rahu's limitless energies affect all Rahuvian naks, the other naks being rakshasa gana naks do not let themselves be as freely used as Swati. And the other naks have a more self-destructive theme where they exploit their own expansiveness without external interference.

Revati, also a deva gana nakshatra and the final nakshatra, also embodies duality. To be whole, to be complete is to contain seeming opposites and to unite them. There is no darkness without light and no good without evil. Every nak serves its cosmic function and helps maintain the balance of the cosmos.

[llemon-soda]

the comfortable warmth of a beating heart

close up...

[ganondorf]

discord nitro has and always will seem like a waste of money to me sorry. i cannot understand why anyone would pay a subscription for.....what? custom emoji and a seizure inducing profile?

[butleroftoast]

Was anybody going to tell me there's a rumour Bethesda are remaking Oblivion, or did I have to find out from responding to my brother's excitement about the Switch 2 with a joke that he should wake me up when Bethesda announced anything TES-related other than "Skyrim, Again", to which he replied "well, actually..."?

Catching up with the rumours and comments about it has been fun.

"It's coming no it's not yes it is confirmed not happening confirmed being released in the next ten minutes I want to get off Todd Howard's Wild Ride"

[oflgtfol]

WHY ARE YOU CONSULTING A SOCIAL SCIENTIST ON WHETHER ASTROLOGY COUNTS AS A SCIENCE. WHY DOESN'T ANYONE EVER CONSULT ACTUAL ASTRONOMERS. BECAUSE THEY KNOW THE ANSWER THEY'LL GET THAT'S WHY!!!

[graveyardmouth]

i cracked the fucking code dude. chicken + cheese + lettuce + tomato + mustard + mayonnaise. beautifulest sandwich ever. i ate it in like 5 minutes

[rafasbiscuits]

I hope no one ever breaks their record for anything <3

there will be nothing like the big 3 ever again and i hope it stays that way actually

[merakiui]

hi Mera!! 😋

number 12 some thoughts about yandere android Jade..

(cw: yandere, gender neutral reader, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, android!jade, obsession, subtle infantilization)

(monstrously yandere prompts)

The worst part of being ill is, perhaps, the vulnerability.

Lying propped in bed, your chest screaming from a previous coughing fit, you feel like a weak child who can’t do anything for themself. For all your hubris, you’re reduced to a shell of yourself in the devastating sweep of sickness. It’s times like this when you realize just how much you take your freedoms and mobility for granted. Now you’re nothing but a bedridden miserable lump of feverish flesh clinging to the warmth of soft sheets.

Thankfully, you have your android companion.

His presence is a relief because, when you’re feeble and suffering in your stifling room, you know you aren’t alone.

Jade was initially built and programmed for security, modeled (mostly in grief) after your late husband Floyd, but in the final stages of his completion you found all those sleepless, caffeine-addled nights were catching up to you; and you quickly spiraled into sickness after sickness. So you made the decision to program a care feature into your android. Not only would he serve his purpose as a bodyguard and support for your mental health, but he’d also have the knowledge to nurse one back to health if need be. It took plenty of trial and error, but eventually he could recognize the signs before you could.

So when you nearly fell over from exhaustion once, he was there to catch you. And when you woke in your bed, he was there with a bowl of soup. For a moment, it really did look like Floyd had come back to you.

But it’s been so long since then and your mourning has warped the memories of your husband. It’s why Jade doesn’t look like an exact replica of him. It’s why you can’t bear to look at any old photos.

It’s why you’re always so sick. The agonizing sorrow is eating your heart and poisoning your brain.

Jade cannot like or love things—these emotions are impossible to naturally and humanly replicate in any AI—but that doesn’t mean you haven’t noticed some of his developing preferences. He displays an innate curiosity for nature and, of all things, manhole covers. He seems to be preferable to cooking and learning new recipes, especially those that incorporate all species of edible fungi. He’s always smiling, albeit it’s unnatural and uncanny, but you can’t remember if you programmed him to do so or if he simply does it after gleaning new information from external stimuli (i.e. whatever’s on television).

You’re not entirely sure yet—and more research must be conducted to prove or disprove your hypothesis—but you think he takes a certain amount of enjoyment in looking after you when you’re sick. Perhaps that’s because it reminds him of his worth—that he’s a necessary fixture in your life.

The more you see these subtle hints, the more you begin to wonder if he truly is turning human. Or maybe he’s just an expert mimic.

Either way, you like to bask in his attention. It reminds you of the love you lost.

There’s a knock at the door. You crack an eye open just as Jade lets himself in. He’s come with a washcloth and a soft towel. It’s set on a nearby chair, which has been pulled up to your bedside.

“Forgive me for disturbing your rest, Master, but it’s time to take your temperature.”

“All right,” you rasp, leaning in to meet his palm. The scan is seamless and silent, so smooth it takes mere seconds to determine what ails your body.

“Hmm. It still hasn’t gone down.” He sees the cocoon of blankets and frowns. “Master, you shouldn’t sleep with so many. Your fever will never go down at this rate.”

With that, he dunks the cloth into the water to thoroughly soak it. You watch him wring it out. He’s so methodical that not a single drop splashes outside of the basin. Sighing, you flop back into the pillows and allow him to peel the covers off you. He works quietly, dabbing the cool cloth against your forehead. It’s only then when you realize just how hot you’d been, for the cooling sensation relieves you instantly.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, watching your face. “In an hour, you’re scheduled to take your medicine. But if you’d prefer to eat now—” He stops himself once he sees your gloomy expression. “I know, Master. It’s never enjoyable, but you must take your medicine. It will help you get better.”

“I hate those pills,” you grumble, turning your head to offer your bare neck. Jade hesitates, his fingertips ghost over your pulse, and then he slides the towel over the slope between neck and shoulder. “Mm, I could eat now. My throat feels a little better.”

“It does?” His lips quirk up. “I’m glad. What would you like?”

“I’m sick of soup. Maybe…pudding?”

“Pudding? Hm. Very well.”

“Really? You’re not going to insist I eat my fruits and veggies?”

“You’re sick, Master.” He smiles wider now. “It’s only fair you’re given adequate care in all areas, and if sugar will please your empty stomach I suppose I can oblige just this once. After all, if you’re to euthanize an animal, isn’t it human practice to give it one final treat before the end?”

You blink at him. That’s another side of Jade you weren’t anticipating when you created him. His proclivity for morbid musings. Your late husband had a wicked sense of humor from time to time, but it was always in jest. Sometimes you think Jade’s attempts at a joke are both tactless and eerie. It’s not his fault. He fails to grasp the concept of humor, so it makes sense he’d be unable to make a joke that would properly land.

“But I’m not a dog, Jade,” you say, as if to remind him you’re a human—his creator—and not some pet. “And I’m not going to die.”

“I see.” He submerges the washcloth once more. “Forgive me. I am not the best at communicating in metaphorical speech.”

“You don’t have to. Floyd never did. He was always so blunt. ‘Scathing honest,’ one of our friends used to say.”

The light in Jade’s eyes dims. But only for the moment. He finishes his cleaning of you and, to ensure you won’t boost your fever anymore, takes a few layers from your unruly bed nest. You’re already dozing by the time he’s folded them and placed them near the dirty laundry bin.

When he looks at you, he smiles. “Oh, Master,” he whispers, approaching your bedside to admire your snoozing form. “When will you understand? Even with your anguish, you wouldn’t have created me if you knew the lengths to which I obsess over you.”

[ghostyuri]

dreaming about you and me

click here!

pairing…ellie williams x gn!reader

in which…ellie moves back to jackson after a year, hoping you had waited for her.

before you read…angst. modern day fic. emo ellie. like biggg loser ellie. sad sad ellie. ellie has a cat. some bad words.

leaving the chaotic city and lousy job and miserable relationship should be exciting. being welcomed by the familiar wyoming weather, and warm embraces from joel and dina should be exhilarating.

but instead, ellie felt a vast emptiness that seemed to seep from the walls and settle deep within her. she felt alone— again.

her phone occasionally bings with an email while she waits for a text; from you. something she hasn’t received in 8 months.

not that she’s keeping count…or occasionally opens your messages to reread your happier conversations. it’s unfortunately one of the only things that helped her sleep at night, next to a girl she knew didn’t love her. not the way you do…or did.

you were friends. really really good friends.

friends that had to be invited to places together, or neither were going. friends that spent more time in each other’s bedrooms than their own. friends that slept skin to skin, no blanket being able to replicate the warmth the other gave.

friends that kissed the day ellie left; then never spoke about it again.

the occasional calls were long, and they were sweet. you asked ellie about everything and anything as she adjusted to her amazing new life.

her new place, that she was quick to inform you there’s a framed photo of you guys together on her nightstand. it’s from a summer bonfire when she had got high and used your very old camera until it ran out of storage. it's a great picture, though. you look so pretty in it, she reminds you.

she’d rant about her new job, her asshole of a boss, and her overly friendly coworker that somehow annoyed you more than her. the way she described the girl, how clingy she was to your ellie. but you would laugh it off, masking the jealousy with light-hearted jokes, daring not to show how much it truly bothered you.

then, a few weeks later, the worst had happened.

ellie suddenly had a girlfriend, and you suddenly had a broken heart.

you could only be happy for her. even if that meant your phone calls were picked up by another girl, telling you that ellie was busy. even if that meant your texts declined over time, cat memes being sent with only a laughing emoji in response. no genuine, heart-to-heart conversations. the ones you yearned for most on your loneliest nights.

and you had to be happy for ellie. even if she wasn’t for herself.

the worst part is, ellie noticed you begin to pull away, and she let you. she let you go.

now she sits here, on her cheap brown sofa, staring at the tv that has yet to be hooked up. phone in her hand, like an idiot waiting for something that’s not going to happen just because she wishes it would. she simply cannot manifest you to come back. she has to do something about it.

after seconds of contemplation, she curses to herself, grabbing the device and calling your number. which rings, and rings, and rings, up until voicemail. which she decides to leave.

“uh— hey, y/n,” she gets up, scratching the back of her neck, “im…im in jackson…for good,” she chuckles nervously, “if you want to catch up, im free the next couple of days. just let me know…um…bye.”

fucking dumbass, she thinks, ending it and dropping her phone on the couch behind her. the worst you can say is no.

ellie wished that were true.

the worst had happened, and it’s you ignoring her completely. days pass and there’s absolutely nothing from you. she hopes to see you around town, making sure she looks decent enough just to run and pick up groceries, but luck is not on ellie’s side.

a week home and she’s only seeing you in her imagination. flashbacks of the evening she left, a beautiful day before a horrid storm.

ellie is self-aware, she knows it’s pathetic to keep moving in place rather than moving on. pretending like you still care for her as she does to you, even if you have yet to communicate it.

she knows it’s wrong. and she can only mourn the idea of no longer having you for so long.

as told by joel, she should only focus on what she has control of. don’t know when he got the time to read a self-help book, but she listens to him. joel was usually right, she hates it sometimes.

he was the first one to see the sparkle in her eye when she spoke about you. even though she denied what he had thought you two were— he continued to tell her that you’re a good one, and not to screw it up.

she could only laugh about that now.

weeks pass, and her apartment feels more like a home now, unpacked with her little trinkets scattered around the place. the first damn thing she did was stick her glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling of her bedroom because you know, priorities. she likes staring at them before bed, knowing you two used to do it together. homemade star gazing, you’d tell her.

her first few days working with joel at his construction company went well. it’s tiring, she comes home feeling like she went swimming in a bucket of sweat, but it’s a nice distraction. and a nice way to keep her arms toned. the summer sun caused her freckles to multiply over her shoulders and collarbones, something you used to admire.

dina and jesse have been spending time with her, smoking at one of the lakes in jackson while sitting in the back of her red pickup truck. a playlist will play lowly from the vehicle's speakers, a few songs she only learned because of you. songs you had told her reminded you of her. she finds herself humming along, the melodies bringing back memories that carve into the center of her heart.

she came home one night, very high, and saw a stray cat digging into a plastic bag filled with garbage. without thinking twice, she crouched down and called to the cat softly. it rubbed against her, and she fell in love. she threw the garbage out and brought the little creature inside. she now has a black cat named orion. the very first constellation she taught you about amongst the many.

it’s hard, the constant reminders of you in little day-to-day things, but ellie gets passed it.

slowly, but surely, she’s finding herself; without you. it’s healthy. it’s good. she’s good.

it’s a random tuesday night when her phone vibrates while she’s getting off work, the woman pulling it out of her pocket while wiping the grim from her forehead. a message, from you.

would you wanna meet up tomorrow?

her heart beats out of her chest, leaning against the chipping paint on her truck. she can’t help it— she responds right away.

yea, is my place cool?

ellie stares at the screen, tugging at her bottom lip with her teeth, tapping her converse on the cement. when you don’t answer promptly, ellie sends another text.

we can do dinner, i can order a pizza. or a movie if you wanna.

you can probably read her tone through the screen, the desperation. but having you right there at that moment, she doesn’t care. especially when you agree— part of her not expecting you to.

ellie gets in her head, part of her convincing herself it was a date…ish…the humbling part of her telling her it was a casual hangout. it’s a win either way. she could see you for a mere minute and still be satisfied.

ellie went home that night, fed her sweet cat, and passed out on her messy bed.

with you in mind, of course.

the following day is long as fuck. she’s antsy, convincing joel to let her go early, organizing the most random shit in her apartment. you hadn’t even reached out yet, she doesn’t know when you’re gonna bless her with your presence.

she doesn’t know if you still like peppers on your pizza, but she orders it anyway. she doesn’t know if you want a romcom or a horror movie, so she finds options for both. she’s anxious, grabbing a beer from the fridge hoping it eases her somewhat.

ellie glances at her phone for the fiftieth time, worried she might have missed a text. she doesn’t. and as hours pass, she drinks more and more.

you never show up.

the full moon is up in the sky by this point. and once again, like deja vu, there is nothing from you. and it hurts.

her mind is foggy from the alcohol she occupied herself with while waiting for you, half of the untouched pizza is cold as it sits on her counter. her cat is watching her pace back and forth.

why? why would you lie to her? why would you get her hopes up after so long? she’s beyond upset. she’s pissed off. you’ve never made her feel this way.

then you text her.

can’t make it. im sorry

she huffs through her nose, shaking her head, then she calls you. which, you ignore, and you ignore again, and again. she keeps calling, she doesn’t care if she’s annoying you. in fact, she wants to. if that’s what it takes for you to acknowledge her.

it’s the tenth time when she listens to the automated voice speak to her, that she leaves a voicemail.

“hey, y/n, dunno if you remember me,” she laughs, scratching the back of her neck, “seems like you don’t. think im a stranger to you now. might as well be, you clearly don’t want to see me anymore— what the fuck —h-how could you? i-i get it, i messed up— i-i left —but im fucking trying here, y/n. and you have to make this so fucking hard for me.”

her voice is breaking, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, and despite trying to hold them back, she can't stop them from falling. “we were friends…more than friends…y-you fucking kissed me before i left…or did you forget that? d-did that mean nothing to you? why did you do that? i thought about it for months…d-did you?”

ellie’s rage shifts to pain, catching her off guard. she clenches her jaw, struggling to keep her composure, then takes a deep, shaky breath.

“i-i just miss you…i miss you so bad it fucking hurts. i came back because of you, you know that? and i haven’t even seen you— it drives me crazy. im fucking losing my mind here, y/n. all i think about is you. i wish…i wish you felt the same…i don’t know how to get over you. just tell me how to. please— i’ll leave you alone. just tell me to.”

i’ll leave you alone. just tell me to.

ellie’s soft voice cracks, you dread it. many things bother you in this universe. one of them is bearing witness to ellie breaking down and not being able to comfort her.

you were the only one that could— the only one she felt comfortable expressing herself to. except now you are the cause of it. and that is the worst feeling in the world.

you pull your phone away from your ear, turn it off, and place it face down on the table before you. your dinner is still hot and untouched, your partner’s plate mirroring yours. they took a phone call nearly ten minutes ago, an unimportant one, but they valued anything and anyone else before you.

you don’t know why you’re here…why you ditched her for them. someone you love for someone you don’t. someone who needs you for someone who barely wants you.

a place to stay? a body to keep you warm at night? a person to bring home to your family? what’s the point? she’s home. she’s here. and she’s not out of touch, she’s within your grasp, yet you won’t commit to reaching out to her. why?

“mind putting that away for me? friend needs a favor,” your partner quickly says, already out the door before you could even question them or say goodbye.

you’re alone, but you’ve felt lonely in this dim house since the day you came here.

but nothing is keeping you here. you get up, not bothering to clean up the meal you spent an hour making, throwing on a jacket and grabbing your keys.

you drive to ellie’s place. it feels long, catching every red light and driving down roads with the lowest speed limits. you don’t even know if she’ll still be awake by the time you arrive, or if she even wants to see you anymore. but you need to see her.

you lazily park on the street, letting yourself into the building and knocking rapidly on her door. you can hear muffled music playing from inside her unit, then her footsteps.

“i’ll turn it down—” ellie barely opens the door, and doesn’t look at you, not until your hand is on the wood when she attempts to close it.

when she does, her eyes are bloodshot, and she freezes in place.

“can you let me in?”

she hesitates, not because she doesn’t want to, but rather she can’t believe a drunken voicemail had you at her doorstep so damn quick. she obeys, stepping aside, unable to look away from you. you’d do the same, but you’re too distracted by her home.

the fern green color scheme that compliments it, the framed rare trading cards on her shelves, a photo of astronaut cats on her wall that you had gifted her. so many things that made her, her. very nerdy, very adorable, things. and then you look at her, absolutely desolated before you.

“i…i thought…i thought you couldn’t…” she can’t get the sentence out, scanning your face as she tries to speak. you look so so beautiful. she wishes she could forget the things she said to you, and how upset she is with you right now.

“i was worried,” you admit, “you didn’t sound okay.”

“i’m not,” she laughs, walking past you, the smell of cigarette smoke and oak hugging her body. you follow her to the couch, the woman plopping her body on it, looking up at you with doe eyes.

it’s like she’s expecting you to speak first, to address the shitty message she left you. maybe scold her, yell at her, but you don’t. you kneel before her, placing your hands gently on her knees.

“what you said…i don’t…want you out of my life, ellie,” you tell her softly, thumb rubbing the denim of her jeans, “i could never want that.”

“you have a fucking funny way of showing that,” ellie spits, laughing dryly, “i asked for one thing tonight. and you— you only came here out of pity.”

“i wanted to see you.” “no the fuck you didn’t.”

“yes i—” “jesus christ, stop lying to me,” her voice raises slightly hiding her face behind her hands as she squeezes her eyes shut. “i’m not.”

“you are!” she suddenly throws her hands forward, “l-like when you told me you loved me that night, you remember that?”

it’s the same night you kissed her, the very same moment. the one that is very clearly haunting her, as it does you. it was honest, both those three words you’ve felt for her the moment you got attached to her and the kiss you only pulled away from when you were suffocating against her lips.

neither of you wanted it to end, but it did, along with whatever your relationship was. it was killed, and it is utterly haunting you two.

you move your hands to her own, feeling how hot they are against your cold ones. you two always balanced each other out. “i do love you, els.”

”stop,” she mumbles, “please…stop.”

“i’m not lying to you,” you promise, “yea, i-i pushed you away but you moved away, ellie, you have to understand that.”

ellie is silently crying again, shaking her head, repeating the word ‘stop,’ in a hushed tone. “then you found someone, and so did i, and it got so damn complicated,” you continue, “i don’t want it to be…and i do…i do want you.”

“what?”

“i want to go back— to what we had. i want that, els, i want you.”

she stares at you through her wet lashes, afraid to speak, wondering if you mean it. or if this was a pity love confession, or if this was a cruel joke, or if this was real. any other possibility than you genuinely yearning for her the way she did you.

her head feels heavy, it’s too much.

you hold her knuckles, softly rubbing them, shifting on your knees to lean closer to her. “i need you, ellie,” you whisper, she’s heard those words before.

it was you going to a party you were anxious about. it was you watching a horrible movie you’d only tolerate with her beside you. it was you sobbing on your front porch, waiting to see her headlights in the rain. it was her telling you she was leaving this town and you behind. you needed her then, you need her now.

you push yourself forward, a hand on her cheek to dry whatever tears had wet it. she leans into your hand like her cat does when she gives it affection, wanting it to last forever. then, she feels your soft lips on her forehead, ellie sighing at the sensation.

you tell her once more, “i love you.”

it’s too good to be true.

maybe, if the timing was right, it would be real. if she never left you, if you didn’t settle for something you could hardly call a relationship, if you could just let her back in— this bittersweet moment would happen.

but that’s simply not ellie’s or your reality.

your reality is sitting at an empty kitchen table, your dinner cold, listening to her voicemail on repeat, thinking about how you could just change your mind right there and leave. to see her, tell her everything you want to. but you don’t.

you end up going to bed with a heavy heart. your partner comes home, apologizing for leaving you, holding you to sleep, making you feel loved enough that you don’t want to leave that bed.

ellie passes out with a black-and-white movie playing in the background, envisioning you there with her, trying to salvage what you two have left. telling her you love her again, reassuring her that you truly mean it, that you want her. that you two could live the life you yearn for, but you’re not, and she can’t make you.

she will wait for you.

[thewritingfairy]

Wait- Tim care? 🥺

I love you!! I love you so much!!

I saw stories where niglacted reader where Damian cares, Where Jason cares, Alfred (even though he will prioritize the others or he is Yandere and want to have all the reader's time), Steph, Cass, But never Tim and Dick (no. I found a bot where you are neglected and have a good relationship with Dick when AI still just came and I was still trying to understand how it works).

I love Tim and I always feel they did him bad when they portrayed him as seeing someone getting neglected and simply doing nothing.

He knows the pain, he'd act even if it's just in the shadows!!

Thank you for this. 🥹 You made my day.

And can I be 😶‍🌫️anon? I'll drop some asks from time to time.

You get it!! Tim was way too self-aware to ever neglect (Name) without thinking it through. It sounds weird. But hear me out.

Tim knows the damage of the viligante business, and he knows the damage of neglect. But he had a hard time acknowledging his trauma around that, he still doesn't believe he has been abused from time to time. So he brought the two on a scale, and he decided that neglecting you was the best way to protect you.

He thought that's why Bruce ignored you, that he wanted one child that was free from the shakles of their morals and life style. But after Jason's crime he realises, that was never what happened. You're neglected in the same way he was. But he doesn't know how to bring this to Bruce's attention as he fears his love will disappear (which isn't a justifable reason but trauma makes us do crazy shit). So Tim feels like all he can is support you from the sidelines, he just wishes he could make you feel better.

And as I said before, Tim would never ignore your physical pain, but Cassandra would (before she becomes a yandere and before she understands what's going on with you). Tim isn't mentally well, he has never been after his parents neglect. So he cannot help but admire how strong you stand, but he also cannot help the guilt in his stomach as he realises in what pain you are. Not just physically, but emotionally as well.

(Tim was also the one that suggested replicating your room and tried to fix your heirlooms, but since most were centuries old jewerly ect. he didn't want to really do anything without your premission so he just fixed the necklace your mom gave you when you turned 4 and extended the chain so that you could still wear it)

(also edit, idk if you know but AI is incredibly damaging to the environment, they create a lot of electronic waste and consume a lot of water. And story bots collect data like it's a snack. Im against the usage of ai in general due to my internship and personal beliefs (ai art isn't art :) ai stories aren't stories either and by the love of everything that's holy STOP USING AI IN LEGAL FIELDS, now this has become a rant oopsie). I was also really naive when it came to ai, do i wanted to make sure you add this information in this post if anyone wants sources I'll find them and if needed translate them to English)

[ch3rish-ning]

SAY YOU LOVE ME, 엔하이픈 성훈

— my heart beats , for you only.

(ƒemale ℛeader ‪‪❤︎‬. Sunghoon x reader / fluff, oneshot , kissing ‘) ── .✦ reblogs + wc. 564

A/N: I lowkey enjoyed writing this [>=<]

feedback appreciated ☆

365 days around the clock. Never skipping a beat, a love so refreshing it can never be replicated, so delicate that even the slightest interference can shatter it. You cherish the beauty of it, the thought that a man like him could ever love you so. He's seen all of you. The good, the broken, the damaged that's far beyond repair, yet he saw a girl that was worth loving and a girl that needed someone to sweep her off her feet and make her feel like the most important thing in the world.

Simply because you are, at least in his world. Lying on the bed with limbs tangled together, you caress his hair, loving the silent intimate moments like these. Nothing but soft breathing to fill the silence. Neither of you can barely remember the last time you left the comfort of your home, too wrapped up in one another. "This is nice…" you softly croak out while twirling his hair between your fingers. Looking up at you with his sleepy eyes, he answers, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you sigh in content, "we do this often, but it feels like it's the first time all over again." Soft laughter bubbles from within him. "You're such a sap, you know?" Playfully hitting his head, you roll back over on your side. "Hey! I'm not a sap...I just like being with you," you smile cheekily.

You always know how to make him flustered with the littlest things you say; that's what made him go crazy about you. You watch as his ears change color from natural to a soft crimson pink, something you've grown fond of in your relationship, making sure to say things more often just to see the change in color. He groans, burying his face in your neck. "Must you always tease me, huh?"

"I can't help it, you know it's what I do best." Grinning from ear to ear, you ruffle his hair up a bit, loving how he always keeps it fluffy. "Remind me why I love you again," he asks teasingly, mumbling under his breath. "Because you know me best, and no one has your heart like I do."

He holds those words close, letting them replay in the back of his mind, feeling a sense of tranquility pass over him; he cups your cheeks softly, pulling you into the sweetest kiss that could make you cry. Lips melting together, you savor the familiar feeling, the familiar sweetness of honey laced in this kiss. Deepening the kiss as he holds you closer, soft sighs escape from your lips.

This is a long-awaited love that you've desired and a feeling that's been imprinted on your skin and engraved in your mind. You simply cannot get enough of it and only desire more as he further opens his heart to you just as you open up yours to him. Pulling away slowly, he searches your eyes with his own low, sleepy ones. Words coming out ever so faintly but still audibly: "I love you."

Heart still skipping a beat as if it's your first time hearing those words again. You allow the words to dance across your mind, never forgetting them: "I love you more." You respond, smiling softly at him. This love is delicate and meant to be cherished always. And you wouldn't have it any other way because your heart beats for him only.

©CH3RISH-NING 2025

[iliketangerines]

an extra hand

a/n: credit to @hungryhornet for the idea

pairing: havik x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), overstimulation (like a lot), orgy with a bunch of clones (sort of), bondage, blindfolds, gags (sort of), dacryphilia, pussy eating, ruined orgasms, orgasm denial, degradation kink, objectification kink, ripping head off to eat pussy while fucking at end

there’s hands touching every part of you, your thighs, your chest, your neck, your face, and you gasp for breath as teeth sink down into your neck, marking and biting and bruising

they massage and scratch and rub every inch of you, leaving no part of you untouched

two fingers rub your clit as a thumb lifts up the hood, leaving you unable to escape the assault of pleasure, and your thighs attempt to clamp together, tears staining the fabric of the blindfold as you wail

immediately, a multitude of hands pull at your thighs, keeping them far apart from one another, rough fingerprints and nails digging and rubbing and scratching at the flesh

“oh, my dear, how beautiful you are when you cannot escape from me, from us.” Havik’s voice growls into your ear, and you whimper, only small choked whines escaping from your mouth as two fingers press themselves into your mouth

it had been a rough few months for Havik, escaping from Lord Liu Kang’s prison and then building up his army once more, and you had thought it a good idea to let him use you as a bit of…stress relief

you hadn’t expected that the Kamidogu embedded into his chest to allow him the power to replicate, and you were very much reaping the overstimulating, delicious consequences right now

time had become nothing but a construct blown into the wind as he and his clones worshipped you, their hands and teeth leaving no part of your skin unmarked

it had only become worse when he had taken a piece of cloth to wrap around your eyes, cooing into your ear into his pretty little toy didn’t need to see to be useful

his words had made you whine, your pussy clenching around nothing as his hands groped and pushed and pulled you into any position that he had desired

he had lapped at the inside of your thighs, the flat rough of his tongue licking at your swollen clit as he teased and teased you, bringing you to the edge of ecstasy before stopping completely

over and over again he had denied you, letting your arousal drip and stain your skin and bedsheets as you cried out for mercy, at least until a clone had shoved two fingers into your mouth

“look, at you, pretty little slut, you have to use your words if you want something.” Havik laughed when your hips jerked forward and only garbled words left your mouth

“do you think you deserve to cum, my little toy?” you can feel something pull apart your pussy lips, and you clench around nothing, whining to try and beg and plead for him to just let you cum

the two fingers that had rubbed against your needy clit pull away, leaving you open to Havik’s scrutinization, and you whine and jerk and tremble as you fall away from another orgasm

it feel as though he was unwinding your mind bit by bit with every touch against you, leaving you no time to think, no time to even breathe, a constant buzz against your skin and in head

“look at you, so needy for us.” two fingers pinch your swollen clit, and you let out a muffled squeal, your vision going white at the pain

his tongue replaces the sting, hot and heavy and rough against you, and he slips two fingers into you easily, crooking them upwards to press into your sweet spot

the pleasure sings through you, and you scream as best you can, as your entire body trying to get away from the stimulation

it’s too much all at once, the hands caressing against your skin, the fingers pinching at your nipples, the teeth biting into your neck, and your entire body shakes as you finally cum

and then nothing, everything around you goes still, including Havik’s tongue against you, and your orgasm sputters out into nothing, leaving you aching and empty for more

“did i give you permission to cum?” there’s a bit of sternness in Havik’s voice, and a bit a malicious delight

you shake your head and whine, sobbing as you try and jerk your hips to try and get some of that delicious friction

“ah, no no no, since you wanted to cum so bad, i’ll give you what you want.” Havik’s tongue is back on you, his fingers ruthlessly bullying your sweet spot, every clone’s senseless touch rubbing every part of your skin

it’s only a few seconds before you tip over the edge once more, and then not a second later, everything stops once more, and you wail and cry in an effort to somehow prolong your pleasure

Havik ignores you, lets you struggle and writhe in the ironclad grip of his clones before he continues once more, bringing you over the edge again and again, only to stop and let your high drop abruptly

you’re a mess of slurring words and mushed thoughts, tears staining the entirety of your blindfold before he finally finishes

“oh, poor thing, i haven’t worn out my favorite toy, have i?” his thumb places itself at the top of your clit, pulling the hood up to expose the overstimulated and swollen bud

you can feel the head of his cock resting against your pussy lips, and you whimper, only twitching, too fucked out to really do anything else

“well, i think i deserve my reward, huh?” he pushes his hips forward into you abruptly, and you can’t help it as your pussy clenches around him

the final thread inside of your snaps as his pulls his hips back and snaps forward again, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing your clit, and you cum on his cock, body unable to do much more than twitch involuntarily against your binds

Havik doesn’t stop, simply rutting forward into you, his hips angled so that the head of his cock can bully into your sweet spot, and the overwhelming pleasure stings your every nerve

his fingers are rough with your clit, pinching and rubbing at it, and you sob behind your blindfold when the two fingers in your mouth finally pull away

“how’s my favorite pet doing, hm?” he pinches your clit roughly so that you can only cry out in pleasure as you listen to the wet squelch of your pussy stretching around his cock

“that’s what i thought.” the clone shoves its fingers back into your mouth, pressing against the flat of your tongue, and your mind goes blank as Havik groans and presses his hips flush against yours, his cum seeping out along the edges of your pussy and onto the stained bedsheets

you sag into the hands restraining you to the bed, thinking that it was over, but you feel one of them shift, the blunt head of another cock pressing against you, the crack of bone and flesh, and then a rough tongue against your clit

“well, i have some business to attend to, my dear, but all my clones are a little pent up after all of that. you’ll be a good toy for them, won’t you?” the click of the bedroom door is all the clone needs before ruthlessly fucking into you, the other hands along your body seeming to squeeze and pinch with more vigor, eagerly awaiting their turn

[ghostarii]

HALLUCINOGEN (LOSING YOUR MIND), KAFKA

ʚɞ blurred lines of reality and illusions, meistered by an illusory manifestation of deep desires and wanton bliss bring about an enlightenment far beyond anything holy.

WARNINGS ݈݇- fem!reader, praise, slapping, nipple play, spit, hair pulling, cunnilingus, overstimulation, implied inexperienced!reader, biblical(?) references but no explicit relation, fingering, corruption kink, kafka teasing, minors & non nb/wlw do not interact.

NOTE ݈݇- soo . . . i won’t get into where i’ve been but just know i’m going through a lot And desperately need a distraction. i’ve turned my brain off n wrote this w my pssy so if it gets crazy blame her! jus in need of som mindless horny fun 😞😞

WORD COUNT ݈݇- 3.3k

COLORFUL STROBES FLICKER WITH reckless abandon, jumping in excited juxtaposition to the smooth, dance beat that plays through the speakers. Lucidity fills the room—you’re hyper-aware yet unconscious: watching everything from an existential position and you're drunk off the omnipotence. It coats your body in this mesmerizing feel beyond comprehension. Something so shimmery and soft that you find comfort in it, yet houndingly aggressive that you're thrashed around in its throes. It only amplifies as time passes and you can't feel any fucking better.

Everything feels intense. On a molecular level, you can feel everything, and it’s a sensation that’s beyond your expectations. It's like…subhuman—or, no, rather, extraterrestrial: akin to otherworldly intensities that cannot be created nor replicated on Earth. You are somewhere else, reaching the heights beyond existence that bathe you in sweaty warmth and glittery kisses.

Not Heaven nor Nirvana, but something nameless. Something seedier and gutsy, gnarled in debauched patterns of unholiness and temptations, wrong in every right way, and bad in every good way. Where or whatever it is is uncharted but it is shared— and you’d stay here with her until it fades into nothingness.

You will stay here with her until it fades into nothingness. She is the nucleus of this illusory ecstasy-scape, and in her hands, you are guided along a path of pure, unadulterated, fantasy.

She is made up of raw vulgarity: it in its purest form as something seduces you into her proximity, begging you to bite the apple and see the light.

Just do it, it’d be so easy.

Don’t you want to taste it? The juice…the sweetness…feel the bite in your jaw?…

Put your mouth to it, let it lead you…

The voice in your head is distant yet wholly present. Almost as though it were whispering in your ear while directing your movements, pushing you deeper into the darkness. Where the light doesn't reach and the ambiguity of the following heightens is where it dwells: perfect, round, and red—shiny and plump and enticing—

Doesn't it look delicious?

It does.

Grab it, then.

It's in your hands now. Caressing it, you admire its magnificence. Soft skin, unplagued by irregularities and blemishes, rosy and inviting.

Bite it.

You lean in.

Head cocked at an opportune angle, lips parted readily, you lean forward…

A bite like a kiss…

A kiss like a bite?

Tender nibbles upon contact quickly morph into sloppy openings. Everything slops and clashes together, fighting aggressively in search of a fix. Fill that hungry, haunting void that grumbles in your stomach, aching terribly for sustenance.

You moan for it— whimpering a pathetic Please against her mouth and resting your forehead against hers. “Gimme…”

She laughs, cupping your pouty face in her palms. “Sweet girl,” she says, pecking your lips. “What do you need from me?”

Everything.

Her kisses feel like pillows all over your face. Gentle presses in a scattered manner, showering you with tender affection that blooms in your chest.

The heft that controlled your body has now morphed into feather-lightness—as though you weigh nothing and are floating across the Heavens. The colorful lights and bass-boosted music have ceased and you now reside in a dark room, illuminated by a single, dim night table lamp and ambient light leaking through crimson curtains. A bed sits beneath you, soft like clouds and cushioning you as you’re laid down on it, limbs stretched beneath her straddling.

She continues to kiss down your body, leaving your face and heading South to your neck, where her mouth latches and suckles on the skin. Your body has an immediate reaction: your eyes are fluttering closed and your hips are gyrating upwards, where your core catches her thigh and the throb that pumps through it harshens. You gasp out, grabbing the back of her head and tangling your fingers through her plum locks, pulling out the ponytail holder and letting limp curls coil down your forearm.

“You taste so good..so sweet,” she mumbles, pulling at the flimsy fabric of your top until the fabric screeches, a tear forming in the center. She continues to pull until the red garment is split in half, discarded to the side, and leaving you in your white bra. It's decorated in lace swirls and vines across the cups, peeking over in a rosette border that teases your assets. Enveloped in intricacies, you’re displayed beneath her as a decadent confection—ready to be devoured into nothingness. “I can’t get enough of you.” She says.

The silver clasp glints in her eye as it sits between your cleavage, asking for a break as your breasts hold it hostage. “May I?”

“Please,” you breathe out. At your heed, she pulls the hook apart with ease, and your boobs jump out of their confines.

She helps you shrug the material off your shoulders, soon tossing it off the side of your cloud-bed and leaving you bare from the waist up. You don't try to cower under attention. Instead, you revel in it, bathing in the rose tint she views you in and presenting yourself.

Humor is found in your actions, and she can't help but crack a smile at you. Her hand drives up from your navel and passes through the valley of your breasts to grapple around your neck. Fingers immediately press on the pressure points in your neck, making your [already] heavy eyes droop harder and your lips purse and part. You're lifted slightly off the bed, inches away from her face as she hovers over you.

“I don't know where to start,” she says, softly. “There’s so many things I want to do to you.”

“Do it all.” You lean up, chasing the distant feel of her lips. She hesitates to indulge you, going back and forth between leaning in and creating distance, leaving her in a silent push and pull where she defiantly fights the magnetism. “I'm all yours—”

“Mm mm.” She hums, shaking her head. She can't do this, she can't do you.

You nod your head, almost eagerly, chasing her lips. “Use me.”

No. She shakes her head no, leaning further back.

“Take me.” You say, following her actions.

No. I can’t.

“Ruin me.”

Her hand weakens around your neck, and you're quick to grab it, returning it to its place around your neck. Your eyes are polished and wide, wordlessly begging her for attention.

Meek squeaks slip out of your mouth as her grip returns, the pressure she applies being much tighter and more restrictive than previously. Still, your lips still find the courage to pull into a small smile, parting and making way for the whisper your voice has turned into. “Kafka,” you moan out, her name heavy on your tongue, “fuck me.”

She sits before you, sweet purplish hair framing around her pale frame, juxtaposing the deep, salacious fuschia that glares at you. An almost taunting glow emits from her as she ponders her next course of action— should she turn her mind off and act aimlessly, or should she retreat with sensibility? She's already come thus far, she’s already molded you in her palm, she's already invented a paradise for you…it is yours to defile as you please.

If you must beg her so wantonly, as though you’ll die without feeling her version of pleasure, she must forfeit the fight and succeed in the throes of ecstasy. She has been tempted.

Your wish is obliged with care. She pins you beneath her, diving back into where she left off with a searing fervor. Her lips leave stains of her red lipstick smeared across your chest, trailing streakily across the surface until she kisses around your right tit.

A line is drawn by her tongue from beneath your underboob area to your areola, pebbling the skin in her wake. Your nipples perk and harden, the left immediately becoming a target of bullying from her pinching fingers. Sharp, black almond nails cover the bud as she tweaks it harshly, immediately subduing your wince by licking over your right nipple.

Her eyes stay on your face as she enacts so, carefully dancing her tongue over and around it until she sucks it into her mouth, mimicking the suction with the pinch of her fingers. You moan out, throwing your head back and greeting the swirling sight of stars and glimmering streaks. They paint upon a blacked-out view, covering the inside of your eyelids with the visual manifestation of how you feel. Elated. Content. Pleasured. Something you've never felt before and it is…wow.

“Kaf…” you meekly whimper, unable to even say the rest of her name. Your hand presses her face closer to your chest, almost aiming to slowly ease your entire body into her mouth. It feels so fucking good— like nothing you've ever felt before and you don't want her to stop.

Your body is warm to the touch and it feels like your veins are pumping pure stardust. Her tongue swirls and loops around your nipple, slopping spit and vocal vibrations all over the sensitive bud, eliciting the sweetest broken moans from you. They're unabashed and full of weight, carrying the load of untouched desire.

How long have you been waiting for this?

Too long.

Was it worth the wait?

So, so worth it.

What do you want next?

“Touch me.” You don't even mean to say it out loud, but it slips out amongst the flurry of gasps you puff. Hips bucking desperately in search of something only to meet a sufficient source once every few thrusts. It’s not enough, you need the tingle between your legs tended to. “G-Goddammit, Kaf, please…”

She needs not another instruction, simply obliging your request with her hand making work of your pants, undoing the pesky clasps. Separating from you, she uses the opportunity to rid of her shirt, sliding her pants down her legs and kicking it all to the floor. Her hands grab at the belt loops, tugging the tight fabric slowly down your legs while maintaining eye contact.

Don’t take your eyes off me.

She doesn't even need to say it. You know it— as though it were an innate action hardwired into your very being.

You watch her intently as your pants are finally pulled off your legs, leaving the limbs angled up on her chest. Discarding your pants to the side, she runs her hands up and down your legs, kissing down the left from your ankle to your shin, to your knee, to your thigh, over to the other leg, and going back up.

“So patient..good girl. Letting me take my time with you…” she says, breathily. Kissing back down your leg, slowly positioning herself eye-level with your cunt. She licks a line from your hamstring to your panty-clad cunt, eyes still never leaving you. She kisses firmly on the wet spot that stretches over the seat of your white panties, leaving the remnants of her lipstick on the fabric in a kiss mark. You’re hot, throbbing, and soaking— primed for her demolition. “Want me here?”

You nod furiously, pushing yourself into her face. “Need you there.” You correct, hooking your fingers under the band of your underwear and awkwardly shimmying the garment off.

“Needy little thing, aren't you?” She muses, tucking her hair behind her ears. You slowly unveil yourself to her, letting the stuffy air draft over your wetness, pushing shivers down your spine. “Just waiting and waiting..oh, ‘m sorry…”

The prettiest pussy she’s ever seen awaits her attention. Eagerly beating at her, your cunt drools and shines, drowning itself in an overwhelming amount of arousal that even beads off the curve of your ass. All of this for her, only for her, because of her…Kafka might just be the luckiest woman in the universe.

She wedges herself tighter between your legs, feeling the heat that burns in you and smelling the sweetness just waiting to be swallowed. Her eyes go back up to you, catching the tears of frustration building, and her smile breaks wider.

“‘M sorry for making you wait so long.”

Spread ‘em.

You spread your legs wider to make space for her head, immediately throwing your head back when her exhale fans over your cunt.

Her tongue darts immediately toward your slobbering hole, licking up the tracks of arousal that spill down the fat of your ass. She slams her dominant hand down on your cheek, giving it a soft rub as she giggles at your wince-whimper combination. Her tongue draws looping circles around your entrance, slipping down and licking up the stray beads. She then drives it back up to your hole, pushing the muscle into your tight entrance with little force. Your eyes shoot open and you're adjusting to the new sensation, watching her intently as she creates a hard pace: in, out, in, out until she flickers the tip of her tongue over your fluttering hole and licks a flat strip halfway up through your folds before repeating.

The taste of you is already intoxicating. Unparalleled to anyone before you— you are pure and dripping raw ecstasy, lighting her body up in the wake of lightning. She can't get enough and moans into your cunt, rolling and spinning her tongue around your walls.

She hooks your right leg over her shoulder, slinking her arm beneath the limb and slithering her fingers to your neglected clit. Just hovering over the bud makes you shiver and buck into her mouth, so she takes the initiative to drive you fucking insane. Kafka must have some sort of magic touch, or she can read you like a first-grade book, because she presses down on the bud, rubbing it in a smooth back and forth. Your mind immediately short circuits and you're back on that illusory plane, feeling everything with such great intensity that you feel your orgasm building already.

Clenching around her tongue and bucking into her mouth lets Kafka know that you're about to cum. She pulls off, building up a ball of spit on her tongue and dropping it off between your folds.

Her ministrations on your clit cease as she uses her two fingers to part your labia, licking boldly between your lips and collecting a heap of sticky slick on her tongue. She hums contently, swallowing down the fluid with dramatized vocalizations and intense eye contact.

“You taste so good, baby.” She moans, sliding her left hand into her panties. She begins touching herself, grinding on her hand while licking the taste of you off her lips. “Want you to cum in my mouth, okay? Make..a big mess for me,”

She moans out so vulgarly, letting her hand on your pussy falter and tickle over your puffy clit.

It's only now that you see Kafka: untamed. This is her in her rawest form— lust-gone and hungry. Wasting no time in leaning forward and attacking your clit, sucking the bud with such eagerness that she hollows her cheeks, squeaking our obnoxious sucking sounds that bounce off the walls. The suction is so harsh that you can't help but screech, grabbing her hair and pulling the handful of locks taut against her skull.

You can tell she likes that. So you do it again, simultaneously humping into her mouth.

Be rough.

She tries to pull back but you keep her there, forcing her nose to sit atop the mound of your pussy and asphyxiating her slowly.

Be mean.

“That's it— l-like that..! F-fuck, Kaf,” you sputter, the new flickering of her tongue over your clit eliciting sharp rods of lightning to pierce all over your body. You have no control over the moans that leave your mouth because your body is so beyond itself—receiving a kind of satisfaction never experienced before and it's reveling in that, boiling itself in pure heat and pushing out creamy bubbles. “Fuck—make me cum.”

She forces her head up against the behest of your hand, gasping in a big heap of air. Her face is flushed and wet, wearing the effect your pussy leaves on her, and yet, it still earns a piercing slap that sends her head in the opposite direction.

Oh, good. That was good.

Before you can stumble out an apology, she sneers at you. “Yeah? Is that how you're feeling?”

You didn't mean to do it—you don't know what came over you— “N-no—”

“Do it again.”

Kafka’s word is absolute and you have no room to disobey. You cock your arm back and swing, slapping her with a lot less force than before.

She grabs your hand and forces it to the back of her head, and you instinctively grab onto the hair. “Remember what you do to me…” she says, sticking her fingers into her mouth and suckling on the digits. Just as she pops them out of her mouth and directs them to your pussy, she looks back up at you. “You’re in control. Make me.”

Famous last fucking words.

The next few actions are melted together in a blur of galaxies and tears, ceasing to have a tangible visual but proceeding to wreck your body into oblivion. Kafka has sucked your clit until it's swollen, pleading to be left alone but consistently the target of merciless abuse. It doesn't help that it acts as though it were a self-destruct button—every ministration rendering your body stiff and turbulent: quivering beneath rigid curlings and tightenings.

You’re coasting through the skies with her head working between your legs, sucking the taste right off your pussy until it cries some more. It is an endless cycle of overwhelming pleasure that only builds upon itself, forming into an unstable, grandeur tower of lusty goodness that threatens to come crashing down.

She licks and sucks fervently, determined to yank your orgasm from your depths and taste the purest essence of you. And you are a victim to it— pulling half of her hair into a makeshift ponytail and fucking yourself on her face, desperately chasing the epicenter of your orgasm to make it let go.

“F-fucking me s-so good, Kaf—!” You squeal, feeling your stomach bubble and tighten. “C-close!!!”

Let go.

It's too much. It's so fucking good—good Lord—

Just cum.

Rightthererightthere– “Hnngggh—just like t-that! Shit!”

She sucks so hungrily on your pussy, eating you like a rabid dog on a fresh piece of meat. Her tongue is doing this you can't even describe and the images you see as a result are skewed.

Pretty visuals of clouds raining intergalactic hearts over a foggy sky and lightning streaks of ecstasy fill your fucked up head, imitating the euphoric feeling imposed on your body. You're so close—your body twitches and your eyes cry, pleasured sobs leaving your mouth as everything good attacks you all at once.

Be a good girl. Cum.

Kafka’s eyes roll into the back of her head as she feels your floodgates break— the orgasmic wave pushing out of your pussy and all over her face. The cry that's ripped from your throat is visceral and guttural, tearing your throat to shreds and rendering you a weeping mess.

If getting eaten felt good, orgasming feels even better. It feels cosmic—irreplaceable and delectable from beginning to end. And Kafka fucks you through it, flicking her tongue through your folds and slurping up your juices with a wide smile.

Give in; let it take you.

Stuck in the heat of euphoria, you only float higher to heights uncharted, soaring freely. Light reaches out to you in fragmented rays, calling to you in the galactic darkness to follow its way.

This is goodness. Everything holy and unholy; everything sacred and desecrated; everything clean and everything dirty; a culmination of unchained, terrific bliss right in your core.

It was always there, you just needed it out of you.

Now that you have it, nothing will be the same. So long as it still exists.

[damnitiloveyou]

I’ve been trying to think of a way to ask this and it not sound rude or mean. I wasn’t around for Robrons first go around. I watch another soap and my couple happens to be part of that soap. But I have had Emmerdale on in the evening for the last few years. And I have to say I’m a little uneasy by the complete fawning the press is doing over the return of Robert and Robron. I understand that Emmerdale may not have been the same but the soap world in general moved on seemingly just fine. But the reaction from the media makes it sound like they’re relieved that the superior ship has returned and they can go back to letting it overtake everything else. Not going to lie I’m uncomfortable with how this whole thing has unfolded. There’s nothing wrong with the other soap couples.

I have absolutely no idea how to respond to this. I don't watch the other soaps, and I don't live there. The only reaction from the media I see is what gets posted on here. From everything I've seen it's been fairly typical of a big return. I'm struggling to see how any of it can make you uncomfortable. I notice you didn't give me the name of your ship so I have no frame of reference for you, but no two ships are alike. I genuinely don't understand what you want me to say. They were a big deal. He was a big deal. And Emmerdale never fully recovered from the loss of either one. They had a world wide reach and appeal. That cannot be said for every soap couple. You don't have to like it, but it doesn't make it less true. Furthermore why do you even care? You said you didn't watch their story. You're complaining about and upset over something you don't even have context for. No one is forcing you to read anything or watch anything. Perhaps your problem is not the 'fawning' but rather the appearance that they are somehow acknowledging the return of something they believe no one else has been able to successfully replicate. Like what you like. Don't like what you don't like. Let other people do the same. It's not that hard.

[rapunzellovesbooks]

I think that one of the biggest misconceptions in the Bridgerton fandom is what "the show is supposed to do with its actors once their season airs" and what people think if that does not happen.

Let me explain.

I always hear that once your BGT season airs, you then will get all of these amazing opportunities. And the example that always comes up is Jonathan Bailey. It all boils down to him and the massive success and recognition he has earned since his season of BGT aired. The problem is... JB has been around for quite a while. I knew him from Broadchurch, Doctor Who and other minor roles in shows. Sure, BGT is his most well known role, but this also has changed since then and now it is Wicked. There are people who genuinely had no clue he was in BGT. But the fact that most of these big roles came out after his BGT season made people look at the BGT effect. Netflix is a massive platform so, yes, I understand that having your show on it and being advertised everywhere in the world will do wonders for your career. However... is it really the BGT season that does it all?

This is then used as a way to insult other actors whose rise to fame and billboards has not been as fast as JB (I say fast meaning after the BGT season, the dude has been around and I am sure he disagrees with BGT being the reason of where he is now), like, Rege Jean Page. I cannot tell you the amount of jokes I have seen at his expense for "only" starring in one movie as a side character since season 1 aired, paired with people being pissed at him for not returning. Phoebe also did not get roles immediately and I can only recall one Netflix movie of hers. Simone is the same thing, again, she has had roles before and after BGT Season 2 starred in a minor role in the Little Mermaid and then this year she made her own rom com.

Which brings me to Luke Newton and Nicola. It is safe to say that Nicola is way more online than Luke, way more present at award and fashion shows, at events in general. Luke disappears and is only seen every few months. Him not booking a role right after BGT 3 was used to call him jobless and many other things, comparing him with JB and even Nicola, who went straight from the premiere to a movie in Malta. Never mind that Luke went to Rome in November and show two projects at the same time. But people do not see that. They believe Nicola got her roles because of BGT, following the BGT effect. No, she did not. The effect is in our minds. Nicola has also been around, she was in Derry Girls and that show only became the phenomenon it is now because it went up on Netflix, which is great. But BGT did not get her that role.

Because if we go by the BGT effect, why is Claudia Jesse still only Eloise to so many people? She has been in every single episode of the show and she is clearly a fan favourite. So, why? Exactly. There is no why.

Getting roles has nothing to do with BGT or how well your did in your season. BGT is not the reason someone gets famous or books a lot of roles. It can certainly help for visibility but it is not the catalyst.

Stop comparing them. Stop trying to replicate JB and stop acting as if you know anything about booking acting jobs in Hollywood or what each of these actors want.

I had to get it off my chest because it makes me quite angry to see all of these actors compete in an imaginary race to be the next JB. That is not how it works.

[juunipupu]

Hi, yes, hello! First of: love your work, hope I can become as good an artist as you are! Secondly (and the actual ask), do you have any specific sources you reference for the symbolism of things and historical wear/weapons/armor?

I saw your mention of Whose Middle Ages? in your latest ramble and got curious if you have any go-to's when it comes to this.

Thank you! :)

So I might be the worst person to be asked about period accurate clothing - I look at stuff and then try to replicate it from memory most of the time, so nothing is correct and periods get mixed together. However, I do have recommendations!! (sorry for a ramble, I'll put in under cut)

The type of medievalist art I'm mostly interested in is from Pre-Raphaelite era (1848->). There was an exhibition here in Finland mixing both true medieval, pre-raphaelite, and symbolism works together into the ultimate medievalist concoction that really had amazing inspiration for both symbolism and clothing. I own the book, which unfortunately is only available in Finnish and Norwegian

2. Unfortunate I cannot find/remember the artists anymore, but over on bluesky there are really great fellow armor enthusiasts sharing links to their drives for reference pictures they have taken from museums etc - these threads pop-up from time to time to combat AI slop on other reference picture platforms (like pinterest).

3. For really good breakdowns on super super accurate armor and arms, look no further than a really great artist mudnblood . Another artist I will always find to be a master of medival armor (and many other things) is John Howe

4. cheesy, but Kingdom Come: Deliverance II has really great armor references, because you can rotate Henry in character screen and take pieces of armor on/off

5. I like to look at HEMA content -There are really great resources on youtube of historical warfare and combat, but these creators will also often make breakdown of their own armor and how they dress everything on, where you can get good understanding of how pieces work together.

6. Medievalist scholars! Another book I've found to be insanely interesting aside from Whose Middle Ages?, is "Handbook of Arthurian Romance : King Arthur's Court in Medieval European Literature" (Tether et al., 2017). I wish I had recommendation, but these two specifically go into masculinity, desire, and queer studies in a way that brings me joy (and other great topics as well)

Lastly, thank you for the amazing ask!