#...and actually that's pretty much it lol

[monstermonger]

bit of a silly question here but have you ever gotten afraid to draw in a journal like the one you recently shared? like the idea of using the pages "incorrectly" or "wasting" them (or running out right before you get inspiration that might have been "better" than what you'd jotted down)? your art is INCREDIBLE and I know the best way to improve is to do it, all the time, but I struggle getting started for those sorts of fears, and I want to know if you have tips for overcoming that ^^

I don't think it's a silly question, in fact I think it's one of the Ultimate Art Questions haha

Yes I 100% struggled with that in the past; i'm happy to try my best, sharing some personal tips in journaling, specifically! :D

TECHNICAL SIDE:

>> Small simple sketchbook = less intimidating to fill the pages. (Also, easy to carry around)

5x7in Moleskin, and a pilot pen

>> My journal ISN'T a place to prove that I can make pretty pictures. I have separate sketchbooks for that. I use journals to jot down ideas and notes of things I like. (yes i shared a few pages that happened to look nice, but there were 100+ other pages after all d: )

Spontaneous observation is messy and imprecise. But not in a bad way.

Rather than seeing the messiness as "bad/unworthy imperfection," try to see it as a miraculous insight to how you, a unique human being with your unique thoughts and art experience, sees the things you like

My journal process (in general): doodle a pretty cake I ate, a funny bird I saw, some weird dialogue I overheard, stickers, stamps, a character in a book that I want to draw as a dragon,......... scatter them all over the page, then look at the random blocks of empty paper remaining. Fill those up next with another lil quote, or words about the week, or some pretty vines/flowers :) etc. It's like making a collage.

Draw what you actually LIKE + what actually sounds FUN to draw. u can always take photos/save pics of other stuff if it's overwhelming.

>> Find your comfort tools. I love ink. how it looks, feels, etc; I hardly ever use pencil. A sketch that I need to ink over is usually too much work for my journal. I'm just trying to get down ideas before I get bored or get inspired by another thing LOL

[But yeah: pencils can be the perfect tool for someone else. Regular pencils, colored pencils, watercolor pencils... play around with a bunch of basic tools to find your fav.]

EMOTIONAL SIDE:

I highly recommend Lynda Barry's book "Making Comics." She has some lovely, and deeply empathetic things to say about overcoming fear of making "bad" art.

My journal scribblings/therapeutic studies --- someone with 10x the skill could do it better, sure, but they probs wouldn't focus on the same details, or be interested in the same monsters, or be thinking the same thoughts as me.

They won't have the same things to say about their day, won't see the same spindly tree growing from a crumbling brick wall on their walk. etc!

Also! imo this POV isn't an excuse to feel like I don't need to improve my technical skill, but it keeps me happy, fulfilled, and motivated as I'm on that road of improvement. AND it makes me appreciate others' incredible art as their own reflection of the things they love/their own experiences, rather than view it competitively/jealously.

"Drawing is so much more than Good or Bad. It is a language from another part of you." - Lynda Barry

[technicallyastar]

Survivors, Killers, and Debauchery

Basically, who’s willing to get freaky outside of a relationship. I was actually a little torn about making this. Like, I think it would be a bit less common to hookup with these people due to a lot of factors… but also everyone is kinda stuck in a pocket dimension for eternity, so, ya know....

Banner by Snaileek_@the_floops on Instagram

DTF

Chance. He’s got a pretty high libido and has no problem separating feelings from sex. As long as he doesn’t hate you, and there’s mutual attraction, he’s down to clown.

John Doe. He’d take a bit to build some trust first, but after that he’s down for a quicky. He understands that hormones run high sometimes, and it doesn’t have to mean anything beyond needing to get off, this is especially true for him after a match adrenaline pumping through his veins and warm blood caked on his body he definitely pops a boner. I don’t recommend a hate-fuck, but hey if that’s what you’re into.

Guest 1337. He’s of the opinion that this unconventional situation calls for taking your comforts where you can get them. He’s also pretty good at keeping sex and feelings separate, but requires a base-line trust level like John Doe. He can’t be watching his back when his dick is out. He understands craving intimacy, so he’s willing to be sensual even for one-off hookups.

Noli. As long as you’re into the crude types, he’s alright for some fun between the sheets. he can keep feelings and sex separate as long as he can isolate from you for a few days after the fact. Gotta cancel out that post-sex dopamine.

Shedletsky. He’s fun, friendly, and lived life constantly on the move! He’s fine with flings, but would prefer something like FWB, if not an actual relationship. He trusts friends to communicate with him more, which takes more stress off his shoulders and keeps things lighthearted.

Guest 666. As long as they're attracted to you and you get along, they're down. Frankly, they're always been a bit impatient and has trouble waiting for the things they want. (Your body included.) Who needs those drawn-out foreplay rituals when they've got a perfectly good floor beneath them?

iTrapped. If he finds you interesting, he’s probably willing. He doesn't even really need to like you--he's another willing to hate-fuck. His libido is lower than others, though, and he’s busy, so hookups won’t happen as often as with others. Also a little more likely to develop feelings for his bedroom partner…though they may be based more in possessiveness than romantic interest.

1x1x1x1. Don’t know if I recommend this…but you know what, you do you. Definitely hate-fucks. It's... Rough too put it lightly. Good luck...(They hate pretty much everyone, so there you have it.)

In Certain Conditions/ It’s Complicated

Bright Eyes. The circumstances are a bit dubious, but she finds sex to be a good distraction. Another one of those bad coping habits she leans on when she’s a bit desperate. Deep down, she’d rather sleep with someone she’s exclusive with.

007n7. He would strongly prefer to be in a relationship first, but if you have some reasonable apprehension about commitment, he’s understanding…and can be seduced.

Taph. If he sleeps with you, he’s been pining for a while. You don’t have to be exclusive yet for him to break, though.

Dusekkar. You don’t have to be exclusive yet, but if dusekkar is taking you to bed then you should know he is, in fact, courting you with the intention of being exclusive later.

Only With a Romantic Partner

King. Literally if you’re not dating he doesn’t even like you. (Though, there’s a chance you might have a “hook up” before you know you’re in a relationship with him lol.)

Noob. They dont trust anyone but a partner to touch or see them like that.

Azure. Like Noob, he doesn’t trust anyone enough for that. Even a romantic partner will be waiting a while for him.

Builderman. he’s busy with other things, and frankly doesn’t even notice his own physical desires unless he has a partner he can spend extensive periods of alone time with.

Jane Doe. First of all she's married, and seems to be quite committed... Safe to say she's not popping pussy anytime soon. (Her skank ass husband, who given... has lost his memories will sling dick like it's on sale, Excuse my crude language)

(I should probably make a masterlist huh...)

[yuikomorii]

What's the actual relationship between Karlheinz and Ayato's like? Did Ayato always hated his dad? Did he forgive his dad?

(Hi admin~ Hope you're doing well 💌)

// Hey, I am! I hope you’re doing well too! 💕

As for your questions… Ayato might truly have the most complicated relationship with Karlheinz.

At first, Ayato disliked Karlheinz for personal reasons: being a neglectful father and husband. As a child longing for love and attention, Ayato’s pain ran deep, though it hadn’t yet turned to hate. But as he grew older and uncovered the full extent of Karl’s actions, his resentment became hatred. This is so important because Ayato, despite his arrogant exterior, is profoundly empathetic. He’s willing to forgive those who wrong him, as he's already done more than once, likely because he's learned to carry his own pain and move on. But when someone ruins other people without feeling any sort of remorse, that crosses a line he can’t overlook. (first pic)

Ayato is pretty much the only one who can call Karlheinz out in a way that actually hits him. In his MB good ending, when Ayato tells him “I pity you for being unable to realize the joy that comes from having someone love you to death,” Karlheinz is left speechless. That moment isn’t loud or dramatic, but it’s powerful, since for the first time, Karlheinz is really forced to face what he’s lost. And most likely, he envies Ayato for having something he’ll never get back. The wild part is that Karlheinz doesn’t try to brush it off or chuckle about it, he just... accepts it. He even tells Ayato not to make the same mistake. There’s a quiet kind of respect there, maybe even a touch of pride buried under all that regret. That moment feels different because Karlheinz finally looks at someone (Ayato) not just as another piece in his chess set. Out of all his sons, Ayato is the one Karlheinz sees as a glimpse of what he could’ve been, if he’d chosen love over his plans. (second and third pics)

In LE, after Ayato dies, it’s kind of surprising that he still wants to see Karlheinz, but at the same time, it makes a lot of sense. He’s still traumatized about what happened to him and needs someone to vent to. Ayato’s always been someone who needs interactions. Whether he's teasing someone, protecting them, or showing love in his own way, those relationships make him love life. But now that Ayato’s lonely, even the worst connection feels better than no connection at all. He’s always been afraid of being left truly alone, so with nothing left, he’s reaching for the only thing he remembers still being there: his father. (fourth pic)

In the CL bad ending, after Ayato fails to escape the miniature garden, we finally see something new on Karl’s face: regret. Usually, in bad endings, Karl either punishes those who fail or shows disappointment before rewinding time. But here, just by looking at his expression, you can tell there’s something different. It’s like a part of him actually feels sorry and perhaps he’s realizing it wasn’t entirely Ayato’s fault that things ended the way they did. (fifth pic)

Credit to: dialovers-translations and kyouxa

We know that, to Karlheinz, Ayato is the ideal Adam candidate, as shown here, but what really gets to me is that Ayato is the only Sakamaki who can rewind time even after death, just like Karlheinz himself. And that ability is basically Karl’s signature trait. It honestly feels like Rejet was pushing the “He’s the most like his father” narrative, which is pretty unsettling, especially when you think about everything Karl put him through in YB and throughout the franchise in general. Yet, I suppose it can’t be helped, given that Rejet is known for making everything messed up, lol.

[eloquentornot]

Hi yes I was a coward two years ago most of the "Hermitgang"s are actually "Hermitgay" other than that I think this transcript is pretty much accurate lol

i am always on a quest to make new horrible audio experience.s heres hermitgang sung by a poorly trained xisuma based diff-svc AI.

[leafyln4]

"Can you keep a secret? I hope not."

warnings: sub!reader, dom!lando, switch!oscar, threesome, p n v, unprotected sex (wrap your willy, silly), blowjob, lando x oscar, lots of lando x oscar, reader gets fucked silly, carlos's mentions, dirty talking, degradation, praises, the smut is actually really short lol. angst if you squint. tell me if i forgot to add anything.

author's note: this is part of an au i'm working in. reader is way too dumb and naive for her own good. also, my first time writing a threesome and its not proofread... hope you guys enjoy!

Lando was bored out of his mind. He didn't feel in the mood to go club hopping, he didn't feel like playing videogames and he wasn't in the mood to get his creative thoughts out of his head. But he was bored. And a bored Lando is a rather dangerous Lando.

His phone was thrown across the room, his right arm wrapped around the sleeping girl besides him. He let out a deep sigh, looking down at her. She was sweet, cute, an easy fuck, but she wasn't his. No. Everyone knew who her owner was.

And that pissed Lando off so damn much. Fucking Carlos Sainz. It was almost ironic how a guy he hated so much got his hands in the only person that Lando ever really cared about. Well, besides him, of course. Ha. How ironic.

She was so pretty. An angel, even. Her naive, yet innocent, behaviors, how she worshipped the ground he walked. God, he didn't deserve her. But neither did Carlos.

Lando didn't really know why he hated Carlos so much. Maybe it was the fact he had it easier than him, maybe not. But one thing was for sure: he wanted Carlos's girl all for himself. Okay. Maybe he could share with a guy or two. At the same time, mind you.

He kept caressing your hair with his left hand, his hold on you tightening ever so slightly. He didn't want to wake you up, but something inside of him was stirring, bubbling up. He felt like he wanted to explode. Or explode someone. He didn't care.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his mind. Carlos really made sure to tell everyone how you were his, right? What if he proved you weren't? So, while you were still fast asleep, he texted Oscar, his dearest friend, the one who understood all too well what Lando was feeling.

mate, you up?

lando, it's way past midnight???

i have a crazy idea lol

what if we shut carlos up?

i'm hearing.

come to my place and i'll tell you everything

He felt like he was going crazy with the wait. Oscar was taking soooo damn long to get to his house, he was afraid of you waking up with his absence on the bed. He was louging on the couch, almost biting his nails off in that anxious habit of his.

The bell ringing was a reassurance, really. He was by the door in seconds, opening it so the aussie could enter his apartment. They both sit on the couch, silence hanging heavy on the living room as Lando pondered how to word his idea.

"She's here?" Oscar's voice was low, almost as if he was considering his words before he said them. He knew Lando was a dangerous path, one he fell for too many times to count. "Or is she with him?"

"Fast asleep. My bed. Wouldn't allow her to go straight to him after a day with me." It was a matter of dignity. Lando would probably die if you spent so long with him but ran to Carlos as soon as you could.

The baker shakes his head, not fully grasping what Lando's wonderful idea was. Not that he said it was wonderful, but it was in the air. Lando was arrogant, of course everything he did was the most wonderful thing in the world... To him.

The DJ seems to feel Oscar's confusion, opening and closing his mouth for a few times before talking, his voice low yet charged with something similar to determination, "Carlos should learn a lesson. She is not his property. I'm done with this shit."

"Oh, yeah? And what are you planning to do? Go fist to fist with one of the most influential guys on the world? Lando, this is a terrible idea and--"

But Lando cuts him off, that devilish grin on his face.

"Not fist to fist. No. I won't even touch him." He paused, waiting for Oscar's reaction. Noticing the younger still seemed rather confused, his grin widened. "Her. She's already fucking wipped. Gonna fuck him out of her mind. And you are going to help me, Osc, won't you?"

Lando's voice was low, seductive, manipulative. He knew the effect he had on Oscar, he knew how to make the younger baker do whatever he asked of him. It was endearing and so fucking hot, in a twisted way. Lando loved how easily he was able to break and fold Oscar.

"I don't know, Lan... It's-- It's Carlos, he could try to take my bakery off of me if he found out I helped." Oscar was clearly hesitating, his whole body tensed up. His bakery was his most important thing and Lando knew that. He would never allow anyone to take Oscar's bakery out of him, for sure.

The brit's left hand rests on the aussie's right thigh, his thumb running up and down the so familiar place. Oscar shivered, Lando smirked. He didn't care if it was risky for Oscar this time, though. He wouldn't allow Carlos to take his bakery out of him.

He wanted Oscar to know that.

Lando leans closer to Oscar's ear, whispering softly. "No one has to know. We're going to fuck her, like many times before. I will fucking mark her up, claim that pussy mine and she will go to Carlos's with our marks all over her. Imagine his face, hm? Don't you want to make him shut his mouth, too?"

At this point, Oscar was too far gone to even refuse anything. So he agreed to the plan, making Lando smirk as he knelt down in front of him, wanting to make sure Oscar knew how proud Lando was of him.

You wake up earlier than you should, stirring into the bed, heavy eyelids opening slowly. The other side of the bed, where Lando should've been, was cold, making a small whine leave your lips. You were rather clingy after waking up, so the fact Lando wasn't there was really bothering you.

So you get up on your feet, knowing it would be useless to just stay in bed and sulk. Not even bothering to put on your slippers or checking the time, you head straight for the living room. You didn't expect to see Oscar there, your half-asleep state immediately dropping on Lando's lap.

Good, Lando thought, he didn't even have to do anything go get you exactly where he wanted. His arms wrap around your frame, his mouth planting small kisses along your cheek and then up to your ear. He whispers some sweet words, some compliments, but you're not awake enough to do that.

"Hm... Hello, pretty girl. Won't you talk to Osc? Thought I fucked that attitude out of you, hm?" Your sleepy state, eager to please Lando, turns t Oscar and mutters a really quick 'hi'. The aussie only giggles, used to the way you acted. He had his few experiences with you, too, after all.

Carlos's personal slut being passed around through everyone they knew, kind of ironic. Especially considering how possessive Carlos was of you. But you just couldn't help. They were all so attractive. It was not your fault your poor cunt got wet only by seeing them.

You couldn't help but let them taste you. Not when so many of them said it was good for your health! Not when so many of them were so nice to you! Especially Lando and Oscar. And Carlos, of course. But there was something special about the first two. You just couldn't tell what.

Lando tsks, clicking his tongue as he shifts you around in his lap. His hands mess with the waistband of your sleeping shorts. Oh, how much of a slut you were, wearing those slutty little shorts and the tiniest tops to sleep.

Oscar was very obviously staring at your ass, hypnotized by how tight the shorts were. He could already feel his cock getting hard at the thought of you rubbing against him, desperately grinding on him. He could never degrade you like Lando, but he couldn't disagree on how desperate you were.

Always begging, always pleading. So, so sweet for them. He was so hard, it was almost painful. Lando wasn't that different. The thought of claiming you over Carlos's was hotter than it should be. So he slowly starts to tease you, not letting you fall asleep yet.

You can feel your whole body shiver, his touches getting closer and closer to your pussy. When his hands finally get into your shorts, under your panties, you're already breathless and so wet. Lando groans, it never failed to amuse him how wet you always got at the smallest touches. Such a good girl.

He signals for Oscar to come closer, the two of them sandwiching you on the couch. Lando's left hand was on your chin, making you look him in the eye, while his right one messed with your clit, rubbing tight circles on it. Oscar was holding your waist with both hands, trailing kisses up your neck.

He makes eye contact with Lando, silently communicating with the brit. Then, he sucks a deep purple mark right on your neck, in a place anyone could see.

Your mind was dizzy, your body fully awake and burning up. Little gasps and moans leaving your lips, Lando's eyes admiring how much of a good girl you were for him. You felt like you were going to explode.

One of his fingers enter your tight cunt, a groan leaving his mouth as he feels just how tight you are. You shift around in his lap, wanting more, needing more. He pumps that finger in and out before adding a second and a third one at the same time. He knew you could take it, you were his good girl. His.

Meanwhile, Oscar kept marking you up, your top now long forgotten at a random corner of the living room. You feel Lando's fingers leaving your cunt, just so he could take your bottoms off and turn you around, making you face Oscar.

The younger man settles between your thighs, assaulting your breasts like it's his last meal. Lando's fingers go back to your sweet cunt, making you throw your head back in pleasure.

"You like this, don't you? Getting used by the two of us like the slut you are. So pretty. So ours. Who you belong to, hm?" He wanted to hear you say this. He needed this like he needed air to breathe.

"You! Ah, you! Lan--" His fingers keep pumping in and out, his other hand toying with your clit. You could feel your orgasm building up, your tight walls clenching around his fingers. Oscar's hands hold your waist, to make you stop squirming around.

Soon enough, you cum all over Lando's fingers, a loud moan leaving your lips of both of their names. Oh, but they weren't done with you at all.

Lando makes you stay on all fours on the couch, taking off his pants and boxers in a swift motion. He positions himself with your entrance, Oscar mimicking his actions and positioning himself in front of your pretty lips. "Such a dumb girl, already fucked out of her mind. Gonna use you like the whore you are."

Lando was mean, his words making you blush. But it didn't bother you at all, it only made you clench around nothing. In one move, he thrusts his cock into you, a groan leaving his lips and a loud moan leaving yours. Oscar takes advantage of this and, gently, inserts his cock in your mouth.

You felt on Heaven. Your mind too fucked out to even think about the scene, to even think about anyone other than the two of them. Lando's thrusts are hard, rough, fast, making you gag around Oscar's cock at each of them.

The younger was gasping, his eyes filled with small tears of pleasure, just like yours, as Lando talked you both through this. His two pretty sluts. You cum for a second time, your liquids gushing down the couch.

This only fuels the fire in Lando, making him fuck you even harder. You were sobbing on Oscar, the sight of you so pretty like that making him come down your throat, a whine leaving his own.

But Lando doesn't stop. Not until he has you trembling. He holds your body up, one of his hands on your waist while the other fidgeted with your nipples. He wanted you to cum again. "Come on, baby, I know you can. Just one more."

Oscar, still hard, jerks himself off by the sight of you two. His hand pumps his cock up and down, his eyes never leaving the sinful view in front of him.

Finally, you come for the third time, triggering Lando's own release. He cums deep inside of you, Oscar cumming on your stomach and couch. You were all breathless.

Lando makes you lay down, admiring your body. You were all marked up. Hickeys, hand prints, everything. So fucking hot. So fucking his. His. His. His. His. His. His girl. Well, his and Oscar's, that is.

They clean you up, Oscar taking his sweet time to soothe your shaking body before dressing you. Lando took pictures of you, knowing his memory wouldn't do this justice.

You didn't have a clue of how many hickeys and marks there were on your body. And Lando would make sure that it stayed like that. He wanted Carlos to see. Carlos wouldn't see if you covered it with makeup.

But it didn't matter, you soon went back to sleep. Oscar was also fast asleep, both of you naked, even though he didn't see when Oscar undressed.

So he decided he should sleep, too. And sleep he did, cuddling you and Oscar.

The next morning comes fast, both boys with waking up before you. You tried to stand on your feet, but your legs were obbly and your body was sore. But you do your best, nonetheless! And manage to stand up and walk to the kitchen, your mouth feeling dry.

A pair of hands hugs your waist, Lando's head resting on your shoulder. "Good morning, baby. Slept well?" He murmurs against your ear, pressing his hardness against your ass. God, that would be the death of you!!

"Lan... Please..." So needy. Just woke up and was already begging for him. So he sat you up on the counter and spread your legs. You were already naked, so it was really easy to slide into your cunt.

He fucks you slow, deep. Each thrust gaining a moan from you. Your legs wrap around his waist, your hands stay on his shoulder, nails digging into his skin. It just felt so good, poor you. Clueless about his real intentions.

"So tight f'me. Fuck, baby... D'you want me to cum inside, hm? Make you full with my cum? You're just a cumdump, aren't you? Good girl, yeah."

You couldn't form a coherent sentence, your pussy clenching around his cock. You were milking him, coming around his cock as soon as he came inside of you. Your eyes roll, your head thrown back as he still kept moving, overstimulatating the both of you.

He comes inside of you a second time, wanting to make sure you took all in. Maybe if he fucked his baby into you, you wouldn't leave him for Carlos, right? Poor Lando.

After you're done, he helps you down, a mixture of his cum with your own juices dripping down your thighs. And you wore it like a fucking slut, you didn't care about it. Such a dumb girl, that must be why you let everyone into your pussy. Dirty girl.

Oscar comes into the kitchen not long after, murmuring you a soft "morning" before planting a small kiss on your cheek. He ignores Lando's cum dripping down your thighs.

When you go back to Carlos', saying the older called you for "important matters", Lando has the biggest smile on his face.

He would love to see Carlos face after he saw you.

[papayainsectorone]

teach me about feelings

════════════════════════

summary: Unresolved feelings, a rain-soaked night and an unspoken longing lead you and Oscar to finally choose closeness over fear.

content: angst, fluff, second-chance tension, mutual pining, unresolved feelings, physical closeness, gentle longing, rekindled connection, emotional honesty, bittersweet hope

word count: 3 k

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

a thought: i appreciate you all so much — we just hit 500 followers (!!) and there’s even a post with over 1000 mentions and i’m honestly over the moon.

this series came (is still coming) so easily and i’m genuinely so glad i decided to start posting again after (not an exaggeration) literally ten years of not writing or sharing anything.

coming back to this space felt scary at first, but you’ve made it feel exciting and safe like something i actually missed without knowing it. (how fanfiction-y of me lol)

thank you again. truly. and since i’ve got a little stockpile of prewritten chaos, it looks like i can keep the updates coming pretty smoothly

also sorry in advance, i do not take responsibility for any feelings haha

teach me series

════════════════════════

You didn’t even want to come.

The group chat had been relentless all morning — heart emojis, guilt trips, caffeine bribes. You resisted until the guilt won.

Now you sit on a chipped metal chair outside a street cafe, letting the sunlight warm your hands, trying to pretend the ache in your chest is just leftover sleep. The coffee is decent. The company is easy. You almost forget you’re trying to forget.

After a part of the group had already left, you stayed behind talking and enjoying the last rays of sun, with clouds already nearing on the horizon.

But then your friend freezes mid-sip. “Oh my god. Is that—”

You follow her gaze and everything inside you stops.

Oscar.

Hood up, shoulders hunched, head down like he’s just walking, not expecting anything.

Your friend calls out before you can stop her. And suddenly, he’s crossing the street, like something inevitable.

He reaches your table. “Hey,” he says, his voice low. His eyes barely skim yours.

Your friend beams. “Oscar! Sit with us.”

He hesitates. Looks at you.

You don’t say yes. But you don’t say no.

He sits.

The conversation drifts, polite and surface-level. You stay mostly quiet, your fingers tight around the cup in your hands.

Then your friend checks her phone and stands with a flurry of apologies about trains and schedules. Just like that, she’s gone.

You and Oscar are alone.

He shifts, his thumb tapping against his knee. “You look…” he starts, then trails off.

You raise an eyebrow.

His mouth twitches. “Like you’ve been laughing.”

You glance down. “You look like you haven’t.”

He huffs softly. “Fair.”

The quiet that follows isn’t awkward. Just heavy. Familiar.

“I’ve been trying not to text you,” he says eventually.

“Have you?”

“Every night.”

You say nothing. But your heart thuds like it remembers exactly how that used to feel.

“I figured,” he adds, “if you wanted to talk, you’d have answered.”

“I wanted to.” You finally meet his eyes. “I just didn’t know if I’d be able to stop once I started.”

His breath catches.

“Do you want to start now?” he asks.

You swallow. “I don’t know what I’d say.”

He leans in just a little. “Then let’s walk.”

You fall into step beside him, but not quite in sync. His hands are in his pockets. Yours fidget with the edge of your shirt, like the fabric might anchor you.

The street is quiet — golden with late sun, washed in a kind of hazy stillness that feels like the world is holding its breath. You can hear the scrape of your shoes against the sidewalk. The whisper of wind tugging through your clothes. The soft, unspoken weight of everything neither of you has said.

You glance sideways at him, barely.

He’s not looking at you. But you can feel him.

His shoulder brushes yours once, then again — not enough to be intentional, but enough to make your chest tighten. Every brush feels like a question he’s too scared to ask.

You want to say something. Anything. But the words curl on your tongue, sharp and uncertain. So you just walk.

You turn a corner. Then another.

Still no talking.

His hands itch to reach for yours, but his heart is louder. What if you pull away?

He slows near a small shop window. You pause too. Not to look. Just to breathe.

He exhales next to you. The sound is low, like it costs him something.

And suddenly, you know. He’s thinking the same thing you are — if he speaks first, it might break. If you speak first, it might be too much.

So you both stay silent.

But his shoulder stays close.

So close.

A breeze cuts through the space between buildings. Not sharp, but sudden and it slips under your clothes. You shiver without meaning to.

He notices.

Doesn’t say anything. Just stops, shrugs off his hoodie, and holds it out to you.

You hesitate for half a second — not because you don’t want it, but because accepting it feels like something bigger. Like saying yes to something you're not ready to name.

But your fingers close around it anyway.

You pull it on. It’s warm from his body, sleeves too long, the collar faintly smelling like him, like soap and skin and the faded ghost of the cologne you liked too much.

He looks at you.

Only for a second.

Then walks again.

You follow.

Your steps are slower now. Not dragging — just measured. Like you’re both waiting for the other to speak first, and neither of you will. There’s tension in it. Not anger. Just... care. Held tightly. Unspoken.

Another gust of wind and you curl your arms into the sleeves, burrowing deeper into the hoodie. You shiver again, smaller this time, but not unnoticed.

Then, the sky shifts.

A sudden scatter of cold raindrops. One, then three, then a soft, steady patter that darkens the concrete at your feet. The storm didn’t wait.

You look up.

So does he.

There’s no question in his voice when he turns toward you — just a quiet offering. A way out. A way in.

“My place is just up the block,” he says. “If you want.”

You nod before you even think.

His apartment is dim when you step in, the kind of quiet that feels intentional. Like he left it this way in case something like this ever happened.

You toe off your shoes by the door, water still dotting your shoulders. The hoodie clings slightly — it’s damp now — but you keep it on. It feels safer than anything else.

He disappears for a moment, comes back with a towel and wordlessly hands it to you. His fingers brush yours.

Neither of you speaks.

You dry your face and let the silence settle again. Not awkward. Not cold. Just full — thick with things that want to be said and haven’t been yet.

He gestures to the couch. You sit. Your knees nearly touch.

Rain taps at the windows, soft and rhythmic. Streetlights glow faintly outside, golden through the glass.

He disappears again, returns with two mugs and passes one to you. Your fingers brush again. You don’t pull away this time.

The cup is warm in your hands.

Still, you don’t speak.

He sits beside you, but not too close. Like he’s giving you the space to decide what this will be. What you want this to be.

You watch the steam rise from your mug. Let your eyes flicker to him and then away again.

He’s doing the same.

Breathing carefully. Shoulders tight. Like he’s afraid if he moves too much, it’ll scare you off. Like he’s still holding that version of you from months ago — the one who left before anything real could happen.

And maybe you’re still holding that version of him too — the one who was always a little too open, too ready to fall, too easy to want.

Your knees brush again. Neither of you moves.

He looks over at you, finally. Just looks. And this time, you don’t look away.

Still no words.

The question burns in your throat before it ever touches air. It’s the only thing you can think to ask. The one thing you promised yourself you wouldn’t.

But then it slips out.

“How was she?”

It lands harder than you expected. He doesn’t move at first—just stares. Like the words didn’t register.

You don’t look at him. Just tighten your grip around the warm ceramic in your hands. You add, voice low, bitter:

“The girl. In the picture I sent. Was she good? Did you like her?”

His body stiffens. You watch the flush crawl up his neck.

“Oh… uh…”

He hesitates, like he’s sifting through every possible version of the truth. Then his mouth twitches downward, jaw clenching.

“It was…” He shifts. “I couldn’t even—”

A sigh rips out of him. Frustrated. Honest.

You glance sideways. “Couldn’t what?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

You set your cup down slowly.

“Tell me.”

His throat works before his voice finds shape.

“I couldn’t even come. Not until I imagined it was you.”

Silence follows. Heavy and close. The air crackles.

You don’t flinch. Just breathe in.

And in that breath, something inside you shakes loose — a piece of pride, maybe, or guilt, or longing. Maybe all three.

He leans back suddenly, dragging both hands through his hair. The sleeves of his hoodie fall back, exposing his forearms.

“I remember everything,” he says, eyes flicking toward you. “Your lips. The way you kissed me. How your fingers curled into my shirt. The sound you made when I—”

He stops. A soft, broken noise escapes his chest.

“I still hear it. I still feel it.”

The silence that follows feels like a heartbeat.

Then, quieter:

“The smell of your skin,” he says. “Your voice. Your mouth on my—”

He stops again, pressing his lips together, trying not to say too much.

But it’s already too much.

And still not enough.

He leans forward again, elbows on his knees, rubbing his palms together slowly. You can see how tightly he’s wound. How hard he’s trying to hold himself back.

Your breath is shallow. You sit still, but inside, everything shifts. The weight of his confession presses against the hollow ache that’s lived in your chest for weeks.

Your voice comes out quieter than you expect.

“No one was like you.”

His head lifts, eyes locking with yours instantly.

“I tried to forget,” he says, words trembling with truth. “I really did. I think they liked it. I know they did. But it never felt the same. Not like… with you.”

He doesn’t move—but his body leans in, almost unconsciously. Pulled by the gravity of your words. Of you.

Nearly whispering you say “I missed the way you looked at me. Like I was worth seeing.”

You’re not sure which of you reaches out first, but your hands find each other in the middle. Quietly. Like a promise too scared to say itself out loud.

His thumb brushes your knuckles.

“You were the only one who ever really listened,” you murmur. “Even when I didn’t say anything.”

His brows twitch—almost a wince.

“I tried to forget, ” he says. “I kept trying to… replace you. Make it easier. But it just made it worse.”

Silence settles between you again, but softer now. Shared.

There’s something new in the air. Not the storm, not the memory—just this moment.

And then, thunder rolls in the distance.

You both flinch at the same time.

You glance at the window. The rain now heavier. Fast. Cold.

“I should probably go,” you say, but even you don’t sound convinced.

He looks up quickly. “No. I mean—just wait until it passes. It’s not safe like this.”

You raise an eyebrow. “A little rain never hurt anyone.”

But he’s already standing.

“You can take my bed,” he says. “I’ll sleep out here. I swear.”

You glance up, startled by the way he’s already fussing—pulling pillows, finding a blanket.

And then his voice softens, breaking through the hum of rain:

“It’s not about the bed.”

You look at him.

He’s standing there, eyes shining with something you recognize and fear all at once.

“It’s not just the physical stuff,” he adds. “It’s you. Your laugh. Your silence. The way you knew when I was falling apart. You taught me how to be seen. That’s what I really miss.”

You feel that pull again. The warmth that isn’t memory.

“I’d give anything to feel that again,” he says. “Not just your body. You.”

You want to argue. But you can’t.

Because the storm has settled in.

And so have you.

You nod, quiet.

“I know it’s not like that for you,” he says. His voice is soft, almost too careful. “I know you don’t feel the same. And I’ve made peace with that.”

You flinch, barely—but he sees it.

“I just…” he runs a hand over his mouth, exhales. “If this is only physical for you, that’s okay. I’ll take it. Whatever you’re willing to give.”

Your fingers tighten around the hem of the hoodie. You can't look at him.

He hesitates. Then you ask, gentler, “Is that why you think I stopped?”

You finally meet his eyes. Something in your chest lurches, sharp and scared.

You open your mouth again. But nothing comes out.

He nods like that’s the answer.

The silence thickens. Fragile. Breakable.

Then he shifts, clearing his throat.

“I’ll get the bed ready for you.”

Later, you lie in his bed, changed into his clothes. His hoodie hangs off your shoulders like memory. Water waits on the nightstand beside a carefully folded blanket—his, not yours.

You hear faint movement from the couch. The door is cracked open, maybe on purpose.

His scent is in the sheets. Your thoughts won’t stop.

You lie still, curled into the silence.

From the other side of the wall, you can almost hear him breathe.

You turn onto your side, staring at the open door.

“Osc?”

A pause. Then, from the other side of the wall, his voice:

“Yeah?”

“Are you still awake?”

Another pause. Softer this time. “Yes.”

You wait, letting the quiet settle again. The storm has dulled into a steady hum, like the world is holding its breath with you.

You sit up a little. “That night... in the club. It was a mess.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. You can tell he’s sitting up too.

You can’t see his face, but you can hear the breath he takes. “Did I—did I cross a line?” he mumbles.

“I don’t know. I think we both did. Or maybe we didn’t.”

He nods, even if you can’t see it. “It felt like everything and nothing all at once.”

There’s a small sound from the other room. Maybe a laugh. Maybe a sigh.

“It wasn’t just the alcohol,” you say.

“No,” he whispers. “It wasn’t.”

More silence. Not cold, but weighty.

“I left because it felt too close,” you murmur. “Like if I stayed, I’d never leave again.”

It’s quiet for a long time.

Then, you hear footsteps. Soft.

He pushes the door open and leans against the doorway, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms. His hair is mussed. His expression unreadable.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, but there’s no sharpness in it. Just quiet confusion.

You sit up fully, blanket sliding down your arms. Your heart is beating way too fast.

“Oscar.” His name cracks as it leaves you. “I didn’t want it to be serious because I didn’t want to need you.”

He doesn’t move. Just watches.

“I thought I could walk away before it got too hard,” you whisper. “But I couldn’t. Not really.”

He takes one slow step into the room. Then another.

“I couldn’t make myself stay,” you say, “because I’d have to admit...”

His breath catches.

“Admit what?”

“Admit how I felt about you.”

For a second, he just stands there.

Then: “What are you saying?”

You finally look at him.

And everything in you aches.

He crosses the room like he’s afraid to scare you off. Careful steps. Bare feet on wooden floor. Like if he moves too fast, this will vanish.

He stops at the edge of the bed, searching your face. “Can I sit?”

You nod.

He lowers himself onto the mattress, close enough to touch but still giving you space. The air between you hums with everything unspoken.

For a long moment, neither of you says a word.

Then, softly: “You didn’t answer me before.”

You glance at him. “About what?”

He holds your gaze, changing the question “What if you stayed now?”

His voice is so tentative it sounds like a bruise. He blinks down at his hands, fidgeting with a loose thread on the blanket.

You swallow. “Do you want me to?”

His laugh is almost silent. “More than anything.”

You shift, inching just a little closer. His breath hitches.

“Would you still want me to” you ask.

He lifts his head, eyes wide. “It was never just physical. Not for me. So yes”

You hold that for a beat, your breath trembling.

Then, gently, your fingers graze his.

And he takes them.

His hand wraps around yours like it’s instinct. Like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense.

“I-I think.... I love you,” he says. Not a confession. A truth. Simple. Solid.

You stare at him. Everything inside you is soft and full and terrified.

But when you speak, it’s steady.

“I love you too.”

A pause. A quiet, shattered breath.

And then you lean in.

The kiss is slow—reverent. It tastes like memory, like longing, like home.

He moves closer, lips warm, hands framing your jaw like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. It isn’t desperate. It’s sacred.

Like he’s kissing you back together.

It doesn’t rush.

Your mouths stay close, breaths mingling in the hush. His fingers brush along your cheek, then trail behind your ear, slow and careful like he’s learning the shape of you all over again.

You shift, just enough for your thighs to touch. He draws in a breath, low and shaky.

Your hand slips beneath the hem of his hoodie—not out of hunger, but familiarity. Comfort. And when your fingertips find his skin, warm and tense beneath them, his eyes flutter closed.

Still no words. Just feeling.

He kisses you again, deeper this time. Still not fast, not demanding. Just more. His tongue slides gently over yours, like he’s asking permission for something he already has.

You nod into it—subtle, instinctive.

He moves, easing you back against the pillows, his body following yours. The weight of him settles over you like warmth, like gravity.

Your fingers curl in his shirt. He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, your throat. The path is slow, reverent. Like each inch of your skin means something.

He whispers your name once, like he’s anchoring himself.

Then he stills.

A breath. A muttered, “Fuck.”

You blink up at him. His eyes are closed, forehead resting gently against yours. Like it hurts to stop. But hurts more not to.

“I don’t want to just have sex again,” he murmurs, voice rough. “I don’t want to rush this.”

Your heart kicks. Not from surprise but recognition.

You lift your hand, fingers brushing his jaw.

He looks down at you, like there’s too much in his chest to hold.

“I—I really want this to work,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I need it to.”

You nod. Slow. Honest. “Me too.”

Something releases in him at that. His body softens, not in disappointment, but relief.

So you just lay there, skin to skin, his head slipping down to rest half on your chest. His arm drapes over your waist, possessive but gentle, like muscle memory.

You feel the weight of him, steady and warm, blanketing you.

The storm still hums outside, but in here, it's quiet.

Safe.

You breathe together in sync. One beat. One rhythm.

And somewhere in the dark, between heartbeats and everything that was said, you both finally fall asleep.

v smol taglist

@sealife-for-life @notgirlsummerr @koalalafications @urmomsgirlfriend1 @wadupppp @elle-28 @saudianna @18lovers @kaworusgf @random-movie @lilasthoughtss @maiyaholics @theskinofakillerbella

[luvescore]

Heyyy girl!! I’ve seen you post and I wanted to request something like riize reaction to y/n and them getting caught making love I understand if it’s a bit to much but it’s kinda fun to read it doesn’t have to be really explicit maybe as an example a member heard them or something like that feel free to do whatever you think sounds good :)

RIIZE! ୨ৎ GETTING CAUGHT IN THE ACT

── .✦ boyfriend riize x fem. reader

synopsis. how does the riize members react when.. getting caught in the act? read now to find out!

smut! | some angst, mild dirty talk, & sweetness.

a/n: hi cutie! I’m happy to take this request and no it’s not too much at all. I actually love reading these as well because it’s funny, cute, and.. well sexy all at once lol.

ANTON LEE.

“baby.” you heard his soft voice. always did but it was harder than ever to react how you normally would and he sensed that. anton’s thrusts were painfully slow, taking everything in you not to whine for him to go faster needing him rougher, deeper, and harder. he had gotten tired of calling for you so instead he grabbed ahold of your jaw in a gentle manner and forced you to look up at him. “let me hear you. please?” it was weird with the others just in the next room. all you could do was shake your head and bite down on your lip and just as you were about to let out the smallest most faint sound the door swung open and in came sohee like the dumb boy he was. “sohee!” anton screamed and you were instantly covered by his larger body and blanket. “o-oh.. my god. how gross. what the hell anton!” sohee’s voice cracked which only embarrassed him even more and he hurried out of the room as fast as he could running back to wherever it was he came from. at this point anton’s thrusts had stilled completely and his body still hovered over yours, cock going soft now. “what a way to fucking ruin the mood..” he sighed.

SHOTARO OSAKI.

“oh fuck.” shotaro’s whimper in your ear sent shivers down your spine, loving how vocal he always was during sex. his large hands gripped at your waist in such a harsh manner you knew there’d be bruising tomorrow. your hands stayed put on his shoulders as you rode him slowly, just how he liked and wanted it. his adam’s apple bobbing up and down with each swallow as sweat dripped down the side of his face and down his neck leaving him looking so fucking perfect. “feels good taro?” his plump lips tugged up into a pretty smile and just as he was about to say something back the sound of the door opening startled you both, sungchan walking in the room. “oh wow!” shotaro moved as fast as he could to cover you not wanting sungchan to see his girl in such a intimate manner. “get the fuck out of here!” shotaro’s voice was loud and deep something you didn’t hear quite often. sungchan slowly backed out of the room but not before giving you a teasing wink. “what a moron..I’m so sorry baby, are you okay?” you nodded, embarrassed.

EUNSEOK SONG.

“I’ve waited all damn day for this. missed you so much doll. missed your scent, your pretty face, these thighs I love so much. fuck. need you so bad.” with just a few more clothing pieces taken off and thrown to the side, eunseok had you beneath him, shaking and crying from how well he took care of you. “taking my cock so good baby. perfect little cock sleeve aren’t you, hm?” his hand lifted giving you a little smack here and there just the way you liked it and his hands fell down to your breasts, giving them a harsh slap each before his hands kept still at your hips. “tell dada how much you love his cock, little girl.” but.. you couldn’t. not when wonbin opened the door. “piece of shit..” eunseok turned to glare at the man as he stood there in complete shock not able to look away or turn back to leave. so.. eunseok continued fucking you just like he had been before. “why don’t you show our little guest how much you love my cock.” a sob left your swollen lips.

SUNGCHAN JUNG.

“you’re so small. so small and I’m so big. fuck look baby, look at the bulge in your tummy. oh god.” your hands shook and slowly you lifted your head to look at what he had been bragging about for a few minutes, not listening at first since this had been about the third time he’s made you cum in less than two minutes. at this point it was all too much for you and he knew that but loved it so much. “I love you and this pussy.” he was rough but sweet and caring at the same time which was an odd combination. he pushed your legs open further if that was even possible and grabbed ahold of the top of your thighs, pushing himself deeper into you which made you squirt all over him and yourself. “fuck princess! making such a mess..” warm tears ran down your hot cheeks, vision blurred, and your hearing was just slightly off because you didn’t even notice anton walking in.. he covered his eyes immediately and apologized at least twenty times before leaving. sungchan was laid on top of you shielding you from the door and whoever else may walk in. he wasn’t mad. a gentle chuckle left his lips.

WONBIN PARK.

“bin stop!” he’d been teasing you for the longest time now and your cute bin stop this and bin stop that had turned into your head against the soft cushion of his bed and him fucking you from behind, large hands slapping at your ass or reaching forward to play with your clit wanting to push you over the edge and he did, making you cum twice already before he even could. “gonna cum inside your little pussy baby.” you whimpered a bit too loudly and you had just remembered that the others were just down the hall, now hiding your face in the pillow that smelled just like your wonbin. “uh..” that voice. wait a second.. that voice. you lifted your head in a quick motion, eyes locking with seunghan as he stood there with his mouth wide open. “so so sorry guys..” he turned and walked out slamming the door behind him. wonbin let out a soft sigh and pulled you close to him, his face now laying on your back. “this was so embarrassing.”

SOHEE LEE.

“do you think they’ll know?” sohee smirked. oh god was he just so adorable but hot at the same time. within a few minutes you ended up in his lap, arms wrapping around his neck and his hips thrusting up hitting all of the spots that you desperately needed to be hit. “sohee.. fuck feels so good.” he whimpered and panted and whined at how good your pussy felt around his cock, leaning forward to wrap his lips around your nipple and sucking as if it was a bottle. “don’t stop. right there. gonna make me cum!” and he didn’t stop. never did. not when you sounded so sweet like this. as you were cumming the sound of the door made you both stop, legs started to shake from the orgasm that was hitting you and you cried out not even caring who was at the door. eunseok. he covered his mouth and slowly backed out of the room immediately running to tell the others what he just saw. “d-did he see you? oh fuck I’m so sorry baby.” sohee’s face was redder than a tomato at this point and it was the cutest thing.

SEUNGHAN HONG.

it had been a few days since you and seunghan had last seen each other. he was so busy during their newest comeback and your own schedule didn’t align with his so when you both were free on the same day he took advantage of it.. even if it meant the rest of the guys had to be near. seunghan had you pushed against his bedroom wall lips finding your own and hands ripping off the annoying clothes in the way, wrapping your legs around his waist and taking you right there against the wall. “fuck. sorry sweet girl. I can’t wait any longer.. missed you so fucking much.” he whined against your lips before attacking your neck making sure to leave as many marks as he could. seunghan was always like this, just so possessive and didn’t want anyone in his way of spending his time with you. “you know–” he was cut off by shotaro and you both froze when he walked into the room, dropping the snack bag he had brought in to show seunghan. “you know this is my time with my girl. get out.” you almost felt bad for shotaro but seunghan couldn’t and wouldn’t be bothered.

[kentojiis]

bestfriend!gojo x reader

PART TWO.

content; no actual smut but gojo is so horny for u LOL, ur bf/ex-bf(?) sucks and ur crying bc of him to satoru, erm strong language (cock, shitty, tits, etc.), no curses AU bc i choose to be happy, they're just like college kids in this. so like 20 - 22? idk im not making a decision abt that rn.

author; i feel like this needs to be a fic bc i have another draft that would line up so well w this. idk but my creative juices r FLOWING rn. might get high and get even flow-y-er *smile*

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚⊹♡. ⋆｡𖦹°‧₊˚⊹♡. ⋆｡𖦹°‧ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꪆৎ ˚

bestfriend!gojo who never had ulterior motives in being your friend. when he befriended you at 12, the only reason he had was because you had digimon stickers on your DS that you were always playing on during your walk to school. totally innocent. at least, until right now, when you looked so so pretty crying in his car.

of course he felt guilty, you're his best friend, you're hurting and all he can think about is how good your tits look in the low cut top you're wearing right now. and about how good you would look under him, crying about how good his cock feel inside you instead of the stupid asshole that had hurt your feelings one too many times for gojo's liking.

"- and i just don't get why he would treat me this way? like what's so wrong with me that he would do that?"

he's only able to pull his thoughts away from marking up those gorgeous tits of yours to hear the very end of your sentence. but he jumps right into action - there's no way he can let you continue with this train of thinking. "oh baby no, there's nothing wrong with you."

"but-" your protest is quickly shut down by gojo.

"no buts. there is nothing that you have done to justify his treatment of you. you have given him so much, i know for a fact that you were to one to plan every single one of your dates, and so much of your time has been spent catering to his needs while ignoring your own. he's a shit boyfriend and an even shittier guy for having the audacity to ask even more out of you." gojo says this with so much sincerity, he sounds like he's about ready to start begging you to believe him. he's seen how much time and effort you've put into this guy, even when you're in uni and have a part-time job. always catering to what he likes to eat, what he likes to do and talk about. noting about you. he's also seen this guy give you absolutely nothing in return.

bestfriend!gojo might've just been thinking about fucking you in the backseat of his car, but that doesn't mean he's going to be a shitty friend and let you keep getting treated like garbage by a guy who's IQ like 1/16th of your own. and his name is mike. who the fuck is named mike nowadays?

bestfriend!gojo who knows everything about you, has memorized what your favourite snacks are, what time you like getting in to bed so that you can actually get enough sleep, knows exactly how much studying you can do before you feel like you want to cry (but what you really need is a cup of tea and a 30 minute break.)

bestfriend!gojo who is desperately hoping that you can't see the boner he has for you through his pants, because even if you feel like a mess, he thinks you look so gorgeous with your mascara running down your face, and he'd really like to make you a mess for a very, very, different reason than the one right now.

bestfriend!gojo who ignores everything he's feeling, and just focuses on you. because making you feel better right now is so much more important to him than anything else.

[irisintheafterglow]

lot of pretty boys, lot of funny business!

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ now playing: sabrina carpenter - "15 minutes"

summary: hired to be your bodyguard, lying that he's simply your driver. this job might be more complicated than sakusa expected.

wc: 4.3k

cw/tags: heiress!reader x mma fighter!sakusa, written with fem!reader in mind but gn pronouns used, brief peril, violence and blood, explicit language, angst/fluff with happy ending, miya twins cameo lol

note: welcome once again to iris is missing her grumpy jacked bf hours. i am well aware no one asked for this...but here it is anyway! enjoy hehe

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

— WORK LOG [K. SAKUSA]: 7:42 P.M. Week 10 of 15. Success: No more than an hour in the mall. Failure: Basically acted as a butler for an hour. 

“You’re out of your mind if you actually think you’re going out in that.”

“It’s a birthday party, Omi, not a funeral. I’ll dress in however many sparkles I want,” you state stubbornly, giving him a spin in your salaciously flattering outfit. From the bottom of the stairs, he’s overjoyed that you can’t see the shades of pink dusting his face. “Well? What do you think?” 

“I think that if your parents were still in the country, they’d beat my ass for letting you out of the house wearing those shoes,” he deadpans to hide every indication that he couldn’t stop staring. Your excited expression abruptly drops into a disappointed frown and you cross your arms. “Get a jacket and we’ll leave. The leather one with the lapels would look nice.”

“If you think I look ugly, just say that,” you huff, stamping back to your room. 

“That’s not what I–Nevermind.” He sighs, running a hand down his face and checking the time on his watch. The party was already underway, no doubt. Sakusa would never be caught dead at a house on the infamous ‘frat road,’ much less the one owned by Daishou Suguru’s family, but every heir to a fortune worth gossiping about were expected to attend the celebration of the slithering son himself. Like you, Daishou Suguru carried a reputation with him on-campus that lingered wherever he went, leaving the air reeking of rumpled cash and Versace cologne. Whether they admitted it or not, every family wanted a piece of the Daishou inheritance, and they were willing to use all of their charm to secure it. 

Everyone, it seemed, except you.

“Is it really that bad?” You ask quietly, fidgeting with a piece of thread undone at the hem of your oversized leather jacket. The drive to the Daishou estate was painfully silent, especially when he suggested you turn on music and you just shook your head. In spite of himself, Sakusa was ready to veer you both off the road if it meant you’d just put on your stupid bubblegum-pop-princess shit and stop moping. 

“What?” Sakusa’s single-word answer comes out harsher than he wanted it to. You deflate a little more in your seat and he swallows thickly. Your voice is even quieter than before.

“My outfit. Is it really hideous?” You glance at him and see his fingers white-knuckle gripping the steering wheel of one of your family’s many sports cars. It was a perk that came with the job, driving fancy cars and eating in places his friends couldn’t afford with a full year’s paycheck. Komori joked that he might as well marry you to stay in the family, for the benefits and all. Sakusa’d thrown an empty energy drink can at his cousin’s head, but silently agreed that the perks were more enjoyable than he thought. Spending time with you, the untouchable heiress to the second-most wealthy family in the city, also proved to be more bearable than he presumed. 

“No,” he manages to force out. “No, it’s…It’s fine. You’re fine.” Idiot! If he weren’t busy being a robotically perfect patron of the road—in spite of his usual tendency to burn rubber with the skill of an F1 driver—he would slap himself. To your amusement, his composure slips enough for you to notice the way his eyes squeeze tight in pure embarassment of what he just said. 

“Fine?” You suppress a smirk, feeling a little more invigorated again. “You think I’m fine?”

“I’d be fine if you stopped talking for the rest of the ride,” he retorts weakly and you finally crack a smile. “Stop grinning like that, weirdo.”

“C’mon, let me have a little fun,” you tease. “We barely spent an hour in the mall getting me this dress, and I didn’t get to check out any of the new blind box shipments.”

“Because people kept coming up to you asking if they could tag along for your little shopping trip,” he points out. “The group by the food court asked me if I was just there to hold your bags. And then asked if I could hold their bags.” 

“True, but you were there to hold my bags and give me feedback on clothes.” 

“Neither of which were in this job description,” he reiterates tiredly. The car approaches a backroad devoid of obstacles, sloping down and then climbing into an easy hill that would be perfect for him to slam the gas. He exhales through his nose, instead taking the road at a speed that would make the slowest drivers honk angrily. You watch him with an unreadable expression. 

“You drive like my grandmother,” you declare after the only sound in the car was the roaring engine waiting to be called upon. 

“She must be a very safe driver then,” he monotones.

“She’s dead, so don’t consider that a compliment,” you quip and he rolls his eyes. Your spunk wasn’t in the job description, either. “So, are you gonna speed up or not?”

“Hell no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I could get fired?” He replies in disbelief and you shrug like it wasn’t even a remote possibility. “And I need the money to pay for next semester.”

“If you need money, I could just give you some,” you say truthfully and he shakes his head, declining to answer like he always did. You look at him too softly, with too much care, and it bothers him like a punch to the solar plexus. He wasn’t used to having someone ask about his day, about if he’d eaten yet, about if his physics exam was truly as bad as he described. You were nothing like the prissy, spoiled brats that prowled about the university campus, and he couldn’t help but feeling guilty that he was getting paid to essentially be a close friend as well as a chauffeur. 

After what felt like an eternity, he was more than relieved to be pulling into the Daishou’s driveway. “I’m serious,” you continue when he doesn’t respond. “I have no idea where my dad found you, but I can always help pay for some of your stuff. It’s the least I can do since you’re always driving me around.” 

Right. You still thought he was just your driver. 

“I’m already getting paid by your dad,” he says, shutting off the car and taking a second to survey the swaths of people overflowing onto the front lawn. Every guest was wrapped in sickeningly bright shades of overconsumption, clutching red cups and swaying like palm trees in a strong wind. The Daishous’ valet approaches the vehicle and Sakusa steps out, crossing to open your door and offer his arm. “Really, don’t worry about it,” he assures you when you still have a skeptical pout. “Just have fun tonight and grab me if you need anything.”

— 11:16 P.M. Week 10 of 15. Success: Regulated drink count at Daishou’s party. Failure: Possible Miya presence (catastrophic).

The party is unsurprisingly predictable. He stays within fifteen feet of you at all times, stalking from corner to corner with a stone-cold expression that deters any drunks looking for a quick hookup. Sakusa watches you flit from one pack of rich kids to another, showering people with compliments and asking them about their lives in that painfully sociable way of yours. He even finds himself smiling as he watches you spray punch from one nostril after laughing at a close friend’s story, until an unwanted voice makes his eye twitch. 

“You know, it was a lot easier to sneak into this place than I thought it’d be!”

“Atsumu,” he acknowledges dryly, eyeing his friend’s completely unbuttoned shirt and holographic party hat with obvious disdain. His hair, usually so obnoxious, was getting practically washed out in all the other neons of the party. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Lighten up, Omi-omi. Believe it or not, I was invited.”

“For what? As an entertainer?” 

“It was one time. One time, I said I could make it as a stripper,” he protests as he throws an arm around Sakusa’s shoulders too casually to indicate sobriety. “To answer your question, no! I am not here to take my clothes off. At least, not in front of everybody.” Slightly disgusted, Sakusa realizes that he’s lost you in the crowd and sets his jaw, trying to stifle the panic in his chest.

“Go away, Atsumu. I need to do my job,” he orders and attempts to shrug off the imposing arm, but it’s in vain. The lights were strobing in Atsumu’s mind but no one was home. 

“Your job is to kick the shit out of people, those people being me, and ‘Samu, and Kuroo, and Bokuto, and—” 

“Do you always need to be making this much noise?”

“It’s to fill in the silence of your constant brooding, my friend.” Eventually, he tunes out Atsumu’s rambling and wordlessly shoves his way through the huddles of students, intuition guiding him out the kitchen side door. 

The scene he enters outside makes his heart drop into his stomach.

“Omi?” His heartrate increases instantaneously, all the blood rushing to his limbs and fists. He could feel it growing, the fiery energy shooting through every vein and into his brain until he becomes nothing more than a feral, fighting machine. You’re backed into a corner by who he recognizes as some of Daishou’s goons, low-life guys the asshole pretends to be friends with until they worship the ground he pisses on. “Omi, just go. Please,” your voice wavers and he could break a tooth from how hard he was clenching his jaw. The jacket he’d forced you to wear was clutched in the grip of one of the goons, probably from an attempt to grab you that you’d slipped away from. “I’m fine. Please, go.”

“Ah, this is awkward, isn’t it? I’m Atsumu, by the way!” His buzzed friend greets politely from behind him and, if he weren’t busy assessing the guys in front of him, Sakusa would be knocking the lights out of the idiot behind him. “You know,” Atsumu continues, his hands somehow finding their way to Sakusa’s shoulders and shaking him as if to break him from a trance. “You and I could take these guys so easily.” Your eyes narrow and he can tell you want to say something, but he was too busy trying to stifle the red growing in his vision to give you any kind of reasonable explanation. 

“What do you want with them?” He grits out and the guys scoff. 

“Daishou’s got a matter to discuss with ‘em. Said to bring them to talk by whatever means necessary,” one of them replies and Sakusa could feel his blood boiling as he unconsciously opens and closes his fists. “Even if they ran,” he sneers. His dark eyes dart to you. 

His first instinct is to walk away, money be damned. It would be wiser for him to turn his back and let the rich sort themselves out. You would hate him, but maybe that was for the best, and he could go back to bruised fists and broken cartilage to pay for the rest of his life—

No.

“You wanna talk to him? To Daishou?”

“Omi, go,” you plead. “It’s fine, I can figure it out.”

“That wasn’t my question.” Your bite your lower lip and he swears he catches your eyes start to get glossy. He’d apologize for his bluntness later; for now, he needed to get you into the car and away from this party. “Do you want to talk to Daishou? Yes or no.”

You whisper a terrified “no” that’s almost too quiet to hear.

“This dickhead thinks he can just decide shit around here,” another one of the goons says with a snide grin. “If Daishou wants something, Daishou gets it. Your poor ass wouldn’t get it. It’s only for us classy folk that get what we want.” 

He brushes a curl from his face.

Atsumu’s knuckles crack from behind him. 

“Want me to get ‘Samu?” The blonde Miya asks lowly, suddenly sober. As another fighter who brawled just to fund his schooling, the verbal attack struck deep. “Suna should be around too.” Sakusa shakes his head; he didn’t have time to wonder why all his fighting acquaintances were at this stupid party.

“No,” he replies with a cold tone that made you shiver in the humid summer night. “You got a car outside, ‘Tsumu?”

“Down the drive, yeah.”

“Good. I’ll meet you at the gym,” he orders, stepping closer to the circle of opponents. They laugh and roll their shoulders back, anticipating a fun session with a willing punching bag. Sakusa doesn’t dare look you in the eyes, not ready to face the fact that he’d lied to you for months about why your father hired him. “Get them out and don’t let anyone stop you.”

“Why do you always get to have the fun?” 

“Atsumu,” he warns.

“Fine, fine, just don’t make a mess.” A flicker of a dangerously confident smirk tweaks the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t I always?”

He’s moving faster than anyone could react, pivoting and slamming the side of his shin into the back of the nearest goon’s knee. The guy falls to a knee and can’t even blink before he’s knocked out cold, the familiar warmth of blood and broken-nose crunch enveloping Sakusa’s senses. His body feels like it’s running at 150%, just as it always done when he’s fighting for his life in the ring. Without a doubt in his mind, he can attack, dodge, and think faster than everyone around him, at home as both the quiet eye and the flurrying hurricane.

Atsumu is at your side in an instant, laying his own quick combo on the guy holding your jacket. He gently takes your elbow, taking great care not to guide you in a way that would make Sakusa target him next as a threat, leading you down the dark side path of the house to a gate. The next moments flash in overwhelming blurs, Atsumu at your back to take out the goons attempting to pursue you out of the house, kicking off your shoes to better run down the driveway, a second figure that looks suspiciously like Atsumu with darker hair sprinting past you to take down a guard trying to prevent you from leaving. 

This is why we don’t get invited to shit, ‘Tsumu!

Less talking, more running, ‘Samu! 

Right when your calves begin to burn from sprinting away from the house with your apparent twin bodyguards, you spot red lights blink twice, parked against the curb. With Osamu holding the door and Atsumu jerking the ignition to life, you slip into the passenger seat and barely have time to ask what the fuck is going on before your driver slams the gas. 

— 11:30 P.M. Week 10 of 15. Success: Shut down arranged marriage negotiations. Failure: Got a bad cheap shot to the ribs. 

Osamu is waiting for him a few blocks down from the main entrance gate, leaning against the hood of his car like a disappointed father picking up his teen daughter from a sleepover gone wrong. The fire that fueled him as he fought his way out of the estate was slowly burning out, its embers glowing enough to give him the energy to slip away into the darkness as the Daishou family’s private security start to search the premises, no doubt from the orders of the only son. 

“You look like shit,” his getaway driver observes. There’s no malice in Osamu’s voice; there never was, only the unaltered truth and the occasional sarcastic comment. “They give you trouble?”

“No more than you or Kuroo do,” Sakusa answers tiredly. “Just a pain in my ass, at most.” His friend nods, his gaze narrowing on the item in his fist. Your jacket. Atsumu must have either dropped it on the way out or failed to pick it up at all.

“What’s that? Souvenir?” 

“No, just need to return it to its rightful owner.” Osamu’s mouth opens into an ah of understanding and he finally turns to climb into the car, Sakusa also clambering in with a pained groan. 

“Don’t tell me they actually got a hit on you,” Osamu says shrewdly as Sakusa leans his head back and closes his eyes. 

“I’m going to punch you.”

“Hmm, they did get a hit on you then.”

“I am going,” he repeats slowly. “To punch you.”

“Were you pulling your punches? You never pull your punches.”

“Drive,” he all but growls and Osamu’s dry chuckle is followed by the hum of the engine. 

“You really did all that, just for them?” Sakusa peels open one eye and takes in his friend’s blank expression, fixated on the road. 

“Yeah, guess I did.”

“Are they worth it?” Sakusa doesn’t hesitate before he answers, and that’s when Osamu knows that the ruthless, selfish fighter that he’d trained with was no more.

“I wouldn’t do all this if they weren’t.”

— 11:57 P.M. Week 10 of 15. Success: They’re safe in the gym. Failure: They might hate me.

I should get him a proper lock for his birthday, Atsumu thinks to himself as he unties the double-knotted rope securing Sakusa’s locker door. He spots the extra set of clean clothes and pulls out the carefully folded sweatshirt with a faded print of the university’s logo. Atsumu thinks for a moment more before making his decision; he’d reap the consequences of rummaging through his friend’s stuff if it meant you weren’t shivering in the stale air of the gym. To no one’s surprise, you’re right where he’d left you when he exits the locker room, curled into yourself with your back against a corner wall. You initially refused to sit down, but hesitantly let Atsumu settle you on a bench once you tugged Sakusa’s sweater over your head. The smell of the detergent, the faint undertone of his cologne, and the well-worn fabric feel like safety. It gives you enough courage to finally start asking questions.

“Where are we?”

“MMA gym, just a couple blocks south of campus,” answers Atsumu. He sits at a polite distance from you on the bench, purposefully far enough that you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable but still able to have a normal conversation.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Miya Atsumu. I train here with your, uh…bodyguard.” Your jaw tightens.

“I thought he was supposed to be my driver.”

“Who the hell told you that?”

“My father.”

“He wear a silver signet ring?” You nod, wide-eyed. “Yeah, he came in a while back asking about Omi-omi. Wanted to hire him for a job.” 

“I’m assuming I was the job,” you conclude. “Dad’s been out of the country for a few months now, won’t be back for another couple of weeks. Omi was hired to what, protect me?”

“From what I know of. You know Omi; he’s a man of the least words possible,” Atsumu says. “Didn’t even share that he’d taken the job. Just stopped showing up at his usual training times and only explained where he’d been when I cornered him after class.”

“I bet he hated that.”

“Oh, he nearly broke my nose. For the fourth time.” You manage a small, tired smile that fades just as quickly as it appeared. As angry as you were that Sakusa had lied to you about what your father hired him for, you couldn’t shake the nauseating stew of nerves in your stomach. “It’s good he was there with you, though. Maybe your old man knew those scumbags might make a move.” 

“Do you think Omi’s okay?” You let the sleeves of the sweater cover your shaking hands and run your fingers over the inside ribbing of the cuffs to ground yourself. 

“He’s the most feared fighter in the gym. I think he’ll do just fine against Daishou’s bozos.”

“The look on his face…” Your voice trails off and you stare at your shoes, scraped and stained from running across the Daishous’ lawn. “Does he always look like that when he fights?” Atsumu thinks, his eyebrows pinching.

“No,” he decides. “He usually keeps his composure pretty well. It’s what makes him so scary in the first place; half of the fight is not getting intimidated by his aura.”

“I assume you fight him often, then, to know all this about him.”

“Sure, we’re BFFS. Best fighters forever.” His attention is temporarily taken by his phone, which buzzes and makes quiet clicking noises as he types a message and sends it.

“What was different about tonight, then? Why did he have so much—”

“Blood lust?” Atsumu finishes without looking up. 

“Yeah. Like he was on the verge of killing someone.”

“Honestly, I’d say it was because they’d cornered you,” Atsumu says with a shrug, pocketing his phone and turning toward the main entrance doors. “But if you want a genuine answer, ask him yourself.”

Sakusa doesn’t know what to expect when he opens the gym door with a metallic creak. Half of him hopes that you weren’t there at all, that you’d forced Atsumu to take you home and declared that you would never want to see the face of a liar. The other half of him is expecting a firm slap in the face, a screaming match, and the same outcome where he’s left jobless and you’re never to be contacted. What he doesn’t plan for, however, is seeing you wrapped up in his clothes and looking so emotionally wrecked that it feels like he’s been punched in the chest again. He doesn’t plan for the way you open your mouth to say something, abruptly shut it when tears start to well, and shrink even further into his sweater like a sad turtle. 

He certainly doesn’t plan for the way his arms instinctively slide around your waist to pull you close, or how you immediately melt into him with your hands clutching the fabric of his shirt. Your face is hidden where his neck meets his shoulder and he can feel every shaking exhale against his skin. Sakusa waits for you to let go, to pull away and shove your knee into his crotch, but all you do is stand there, letting him hold you, and breathing him in. Both Miyas have disappeared into the back, leaving you enveloped in the quiet security of his presence. 

“I’m sorry I lied,” he murmurs into your ear. There’s a speckle of dark red on his neck that you wipe with your thumb, making his throat bob as he swallows. Against your ear, his heart rate picks up significantly at the feeling of your finger on his skin. 

“I know.” About the lying or the remorse, he couldn’t tell.

“Think you can forgive me?”

“Stay at the house tonight and I’ll think about it.”

“That can be arranged,” he replies and without another word, intertwines his fingers with yours and leads you to the car to take you home. 

— WORK LOG [K. SAKUSA]: 10:04 P.M. Week 14 of 15. Success: Won all bouts. Failure: Running very, very late. 

“What’d I tell you about leaving the front door unlocked?” He calls out, breathless, to the empty living room after hurrying over after the night’s fights. Earlier, you graciously allowed him to borrow your family’s green Mustang—something about the color matching his aesthetic for luck purposes—and he’d nearly flipped several times racing to get to your house from the gym. Now, he does a quick check of the entryway before kicking off his shoes and beelining for the bathroom upstairs. 

“I only unlocked it recently, don’t panic. I knew you were coming home,” you reassure him as you round the corner that leads to the kitchen carrying a party-size bag of chips. You pop one in your mouth with an unhurried crunch. He exhales and leans over the stairway railing, fighting back a smile at the sight of you wearing his jacket over your fancy going-out clothes. “Also, what happened to, ‘Hi, love of my life, how was your day?’ You’re already on thin ice for being late.” You set down the chips and posit your hands on your hips as he obediently makes his way back down the stairs. Despite your faux-irritation, you don’t protest as he pulls you in by your hips and presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“Hi, love of my life, I would love to hear about your day when I’m not covered in blood and sweat,” he murmurs with facetious compliance. You snort, all too aware of the stray beads of perspiration hanging from his curls and the small cuts on his hands as he takes one of yours to kiss your knuckles. 

“You and your silver tongue.”

“You’re the one who said I needed another way to fight that wasn’t with my fists,” he reminds you, his mouth still brushing your fingers, “and Atsumu isn’t a bad teacher if you need to learn how to piss people off with just words.” 

“Don’t learn too much from him, now.”

“Blame the teacher, not the student,” he replies with a sly grin. “Lemme shower and then we’ll go, yeah?”

“Fine, be ready in ten or I’m taking the Mustang without you.” You gently push him away and he sneaks one more peck on your lips. “I’m serious, Kiyoomi.”

“Promises, promises, baby,” he drawls, already peeling off his shirt as he climbs the stairs again. “You want me ready in ten, I’ll make it six.” 

“Should I wear your jacket to dinner?” You ask and he pauses at the top of the stairs, looking down with the same old blush warming his face. “It goes well with my outfit, no?”

“I’ll have my arm around you anyway, so you won’t need it.” 

“I won’t?” He smiles softly.

“Never.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[transmutationisms]

Asking in good faith, as someone with curiosity about/sympathies for family abolition. Do you have a positive vision of how children should be cared for, or any recommended readings that posit such a vision? I feel like sometimes when family abolitionists on here get questions about the aspects of childcare where some kind of coercion is clearly necessary (like getting kids vaccinated, making sure they brush their teeth so they don’t develop serious dental problems later, keeping toddlers from wandering into traffic), those are treated as these ridiculous bad faith gotchas, like, OBVIOUSLY we’re not talking about letting children wander into traffic. But I don’t think it’s necessarily obvious or that those questions are necessarily being asked in bad faith! And like, I’m a communist not an anarchist, and I do think that there are aspects of organizing any society (even one that doesn’t serve capital) that will invariably necessitate coercion of some kind, both of children and adults, and I also think that could possibly happen through means other than the family , and that the family gives parents a frightening degree of completely unaccountable power over their children. But I’d love to hear more about how you envision childhood in your ideal society, if you have specific ideas of e.g. communal child-rearing that you could see working. And also are there any forms of authority exercised over children that you consider acceptable, and if so who should wield such authority and how should it be held accountable?

i don't at all want to evade these questions because i think pretty much any purely negative critique has quite limited political utility & is a starting point only. however i also think that i'm frankly not the right person to be giving the positive argument on this particular tooic because i just don't have a great deal of experience around/raising/teaching/caring for children, nor have i read into this enough to feel confident bandying an opinion around lol. in general i would agree with you that some aspects of social living necessarily entail coercion [/authority/&c]; eg, i don't entertain arguments against vaccination requirements, for children or adults. i would also say in general the principle is to ensure children can, at the very most basic level, actually leave a violent or dangerous situation, whether that's a biological relative or other home caretaker or a school setting or anything else: this necessitates, for one thing, making sure the child's material needs are actually met without being dependent on any such relationships/settings, ie treating them [legally, socially] as agents rather than as property, &c. but this is a guiding principle & not a concrete proposal because i simply don't have those for you right now.

[itsrlymine]

hi lol i just wanted to share my success stories to motivate others 🩷

so for starters two years ago i was in college and absolutely MISERABLE. I was in my all time low episode. You can imagine-

Then during christmas break I snapped. I was like, enough is enough. I took a gap year, found a job I wanted to do. Problem was that for this job they are generally looking for confident extroverted people. I was neither of those things.

But all through that time I was like “This is a new chapter. It doesn’t matter how I was before. Nobody knows it here.” I got hired.

This once success changed my whole mindset. I truly started believing that I have the power to change my life for the first time. That not everything is written ahead and I can’t change it.

Next examples:

I really wanted to go to this big ass concert in my country in summer. I know people who sometimes can get me tickets for free but they said they don’t know this organizator so it’s not possible. Did that stop me? Hell no-

In the next month before the concert anytime I thought about it, I considered it done. I was telling people I’m going already. A week before I got a message I got two VIP tickets ready.

Then my job contract ended in october. The managment told us they’d take us back for summer. But that’d be around may the soonest. Again, I was already telling people I’m going back as soon as I ended there. In my mind there was literally no other way my life could even go.

A week into november I got a call I’m starting in january, which was literally a dream for me. I had money aside and I also had a ton of plans in winter with my friends so I had the time to do them all. For the next two months I was partying and going to concers.

Now back in job I learned we are going for layover trips. Basically they send you somewhere for a week or so. Nice sunny country with a pretty paid for hotel. But once again- the older colleagues were insistent that as someone new I won’t get there at all, that I have no chance.

Oh boy- in one month I was in 3 destinations. Tanning, swimming, shopping. One of those (the longest one) I actually got to spend with probably my favorite homegirl at work.

At this point I didn’t even try to manifest it, I was just like “yeah, bet!” to all the people who told me I’ll be sitting at home on my ass.

The last example is just me having plans that I refuse to cancel (another concert actually 🤭) and another of those working abroad things. First of all, this trip is for 2 weeks with ROYAL payment, so ofc I did not want to give it up. But it looked like it’s gonna be at the time of the concert.

Before our new schedule came out, I was just thinking how that’s just NOT happening. Like ain’t no way. I’ll be going to that destination and absolutely will be home at the time of the concert. It will somehow work out.

It did.

“It will somehow work out.”

This sentence basically sums up my whole mindset. I don’t overthink it. “How is it gonna work?” I just let the universe figure it out for me. I just know it will be in my favor.

I tried manifesting before when I was at school. But my problem was that I always worried HOW it’s gonna work out. I was overthinking, trying to desperately do the mental gymnastics of how those unreal things will happen.

The moment I stopped this, simply shrugged and went about my day, those things started to happen.

Hope this motivates yall and helps you stop obsessing if you do. 🩷

"anytime I thought about it, I considered it done." ARE YALL LISTENING OR???? THAT'S HOW YOU GET ANY AND EVERYTHING OMG . I love this so much for you babes. You never have to sit down and worry about how it's gonna happen. You sit down and think about how it already worked out for you bc literally everything does. You better come back and keep updating us babes.

[bmpmp3]

i mean this is the most nonjudgemental way possible because i also like synthesizer shipping quite a bit but it does make me giggle a little when i see people talk about a vocaloid or whatever ship like they would in like, a fandom for an actual piece of narrative media instead of software like "ffffuuuck the way these two look at eachother they make me insaaaane" type stuff because i always smile and close my eyes and imagine this:

[addrai]

Elder Gen Z, here. It took me until I was in my twenties to discover that deepthroating is not a normal part of a blowjob.

Like, I had decided in my teens—and i'm still a virgin now, so this was all because of what I had seen in porn—that I would never give a man a blowjob, with my specific reasoning being, "Well, my gag reflex is way too strong for me to be able to do that without throwing up. Guess blowjobs are out of the question."

And then I learned that "deepthroating" is actually a relatively new thing, one that only became mainstream because of a specific porno from the sixties called "Deep Throat." And it turns out that female-on-male oral sex can actually just be, like, kissing his dick while giving him a handy. You don't even have to let his semen be in your mouth if you don't want to.

I learned this in my twenties.

Because, as a teen, I was aware that porn existed, and so when my sex drive was initiated by puberty, I inevitably sought it out out of curiosity. And instead of finding healthy expressions of sexuality, I was bombarded with endless videos of women being raped. It's why teenage me ended up gravitating towards watching hentai/animated porn, because the videos of actual people having sex felt "too real" to me (A.K.A. what I know now to have been extreme discomfort at the violence I was seeing).

Of course, hentai and animated porn have their own issues, because you can depict things that can't happen (or are illegal) in real life—and it's pretty much all made by & for men with fetishes. So I ended up seeing horrific shit anyway.

These days I've managed to wean myself off to only reading erotica & occasionally enjoying some sexy fanart—and I'm really proud of that. But like OP stated above, it's really hard to find erotica that doesn't end up falling into those tropes. Even if you think you've found something decent, you'll be reading a sex scene and suddenly you get jumpscared by the guy grabbing the gal by the throat out of nowhere, or by him grabbing her by the hair or spanking her without asking, or by him calling her "dirty" or a sl*t with no warning. Even if you go on AO3 and filter out all the violent/mysogynistic/fetish/etc. tags you can, stuff still ends up falling through the cracks, because the authors don't always tag things. It should not be this hard to find healthy erotica, people!!

(Obviously, the ideal solution would be for me to have a romantic relationship with a guy in real life, and have sex with him, so I'm not out here floundering like this. But... uh. Have you seen the heterosexual dating scene lately. Lol 🙃)

Anyway—if I didn't realize that deepthroating wasn't normal until I was in my twenties—and I'm nearing thirty, now—what kind of stuff are younger gals today being led to believe? How can we expect them to not seek out violent sex and abusive relationships, if that's what the media around them has groomed them to see as normal?

Okay I need to say it. I think the popularity of romance books/smut/romance tropes like physically + sexually abusive and controlling abusive male leads is partly hindering the progress of women's rights with it's use of Soft Power narratives, or power through desirableness. Yes it's all fiction, yes women should read what they want, yes it's part of a greater culture of female socialization, yes its good that women are staying away from irl men, but i think we need to talk about it more. For one thing, i wont say it started the recent boom of violent sex culture but it definitely promotes it as many girls' first exposure to sexual media is through romances and smut, and not to mention how pornified its become along with everything else. And it's not just fiction because people are doing this in real life, with real people. 'Id never want this in real life but I'd definitely roleplay it' I see that one a LOT.

With the popularity of booktok and smut there's been men who are absolutely disgusted yes, but only because they think women shouldn't have drives at all, or they're mad as shit about the fact that only good looking sexy men get Abusing Women Privileges. And they're disgruntled about the popularity of the bad boy trope. Like look at this random reddit example which echoes male sentiments I've been seeing absolutely everywhere

A significant other portion of men support this, because if you're a pos misogynist all you have to do is say you support women's choices to like what they want and you'll have both the opportunity to abuse them without consequence and get praised for it. If there is actually somehow a man uncomfortable with it he's gonna get reassured by thousands of feminists on how some women love getting abused!! Consent!! Feminism choice empowerment!! It's crazy out here.

There are a lot of women gloating over how mad men are over romance/smut while not realizing how we're reinventing misogyny in new desirable ways every day. And just how many men are going to take advantage of this recent boom. Misogyny is misogyny is misogyny. At the end of the day It doesn't matter that we can separate reality from fiction and that women can like certain things or that it's more nuanced than we think. The damage is done, for women as a group, it keeps us right in our patriarchal chains.

Liberal feminism is an actual plague. Literally how are we going to condemn horrible acts of oppression then turn around and say it's okay as long as you get off to it. Can you imagine doing this with any other movement?? Imagine if a major talking point in anti racism was that poc deserve rights and respect, but if they consumed extremely racist media willingly and/or they choose to degrade themselves for a white person it's just a fantasy? and just fiction? and actually really empowering? and actually is anti racism and reclamation? and how absolutely dare you tell poc what to like?? YOU are the actual racist here.. Seriously.

[pritong-baboy]

haiii :3 biggg tfa fan over here... tfa shattered glass bee actually does have some story! obviously in the AU the good guys r the bad guys, and that includes the humans too! proffesor sumdac is a pretty horrible guy, instead of finding megatrons head he finds optimus and the rest of the evil autobots and uses their tech to basically rule detriot, all of the autobots have shock collars so he can control them, including sari

instead of being talkative hes actually everything but that LOL, instead of speaking normally he kinda just giggles and laughs like "hehehehehehe" which i think is super funny and cute

he would probably be very traitorous much like starscream but hes a little too much of a chicken to actually do anything about it

u can read about him on the transformers wiki! id link it but i dont think i can

THIS IS SOOO COOL!!! SG BUMBLEBEE I LOVE YOU!!! i remember reading a bit about him when i finished watching the show and then instantly yearning and wishing those sg episodes actually happened sighhh...

i wish they also talked about the sg decepticons more (not for any nefarious shockwave reasons of course....)

[soleauclub]

The Mental Health Habits That Made Me Prettier, Calmer, Richer

by Soleau Club / www.soleauclub.com

The mental health glow-up is the realest glow-up of all. You can have the serums, the sculpted abs, the designer coffee table books, but if your nervous system is fried and your brain’s running on vibes and oat milk alone, it shows.

When I started actually tending to my mind, not just my body and bank account, something shifted. I looked better. I felt magnetic. I made better decisions (and more money). Mental health became my prettiest accessory, my softest flex, and my strongest foundation.

Here are the habits that changed everything:

I romanticized slowness

Not the lazy kind. The intentional kind. I stopped rushing through my life like it was a to-do list and started moving like I was the main character in an indie film. Morning matcha rituals, soft Pilates, long skincare routines with jazz in the background; slowing down made me more mindful, present, and dare I say…luxuriously irresistible? lol.

I started journaling like I was scripting a new reality

Not just “dear diary.” I’m talking full manifestation mode, nervous system regulation, reparenting-my-inner-child energy. I wrote like the version of me I wanted to become was already real. And spoiler: she showed up.

I stopped trauma bonding, started vision bonding

Sorry, but gossip sessions and trauma dumps over wine weren’t serving me. I started choosing conversations that felt like future-casting. People who made me feel excited to evolve. We talked investments, love standards, legacy. My circle upgraded with my mindset.

I set boundaries like a rich woman with a facial at 2pm

No is a full sentence. And when I started using it, I had more energy, creativity, and actual joy. Mental peace became my top-tier beauty product.

I gave up multitasking for nervous system regulation

I used to pride myself on doing five things at once. Now I see it for what it was: stress in heels. Single-tasking became my new flex. I got more done, felt calmer, and my face? Less puffy. My vibe? Expensive.

I healed my relationship with rest

The girl who used to feel guilty for relaxing? She’s gone. Now I see rest as productive, sexy, essential. I stopped over-identifying with hustle culture and started seducing my goals with clarity and calm. Trust! Money flows so much easier when you're not constantly in burnout mode.

I started treating my mind like a sacred place

Would you let anyone graffiti all over your dream house? No. So I stopped letting junk content, negative people, and inner critic noise take up space rent-free in my brain. Curated input = elevated output.

Mental wellness isn’t just about being calm. It’s about becoming magnetic. Peaceful. Powerful. Pretty from the inside out. If you want to glow different, start with your mind.

Ready to go hardcore with your clean girl routine? Follow Soleau Club on Tumblr for more daily challenges, catch our YouTube videos every Sunday for new routines, and stay connected with us on TikTok and Instagram (@soleauclub) for all the inspo and accountability you need. For it-girl wellness accessories and free US shipping, shop online at www.soleauclub.com

[losver07]

thx for the tag<3

my ability to forgive, i'm immune to hate :) i'm also incapable of hating people, i think that's good

how fast my brain is. i might not be smart but when it comes to puns and quick responses i always surprise myself with a laugh

the way i've grown in these last few years. tough, but we're getting there and i acknowledge how strong i have been and still am

the way i use art and words (the only thing i have lol) to try and help others. i'm pretty proud of myself for trying even if i don't achieve much

my art. fuck it, i can be proud of my drawings and my words, i've worked so hard and am finally starting to be happy with what i create, or trusting the process at least

this is actually a great exercise :) it's neat to think about these things once in a while

npt: @starkayezer @isalikescherriesandblue @hotteststar @whydousernamesevenexist @dont-turn-left @equippedtolove @somanyquestions-featuringanxiety @cool-lesbian-is-here @charlieandlolacow @the-moon-and-stars-4ever @swimmingclass1978 @strawberrystainedfingertips7 @dutifullynervouscreation @motivationequaldead89 @walkingtalkingfrog @uhhlifeig @faeyells @shelbeforgotten @blizzardtheartisticfox @goldfishinabottle

hi! when you get this, you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself, publicly. Then, send this ask to 10 of your favourite followers if you want!

:3

wawow I should check my main acc more often

damn what do I like about myself hmmmm

i like that I can shut up if needed

i like my eye colour (therian community taught me to like them so ty i thought they're ugly ngl )

I like on me that I can take care of kids and my parrot

I like on me that I can cook

I like that I'm protective and would beat someone up if they would be mean to my friends and family and even anyone else in public who didn't deserve hate

I like all my flwrs but what's their name hmmm

*tries to remember*

can I do it as a tag game? :3c 🐝

tags: @itsapollothething @untamedcrusader @mystic-lumber @lucidobserver + ANYONE!

(I don't remember many names sorry 🪦)