#Volcano Label

[curryvillain]

OLDIES SUNDAY: Eek-A-Mouse - Ganja Smuggling (1981)

OLDIES SUNDAY: Eek-A-Mouse – Ganja Smuggling (1981)

It’s Oldies Sunday! Before “Chopping/Scamming” songs flooded the market, there were songs about the Ganja trade. Today’s selection comes from a pioneer of the “Singjay” style, Eek-A-Mouse with the track, “Ganja Smuggling“! Produced by Henry “Junjo” Lawes and released through the Volcano Label in 1981, Eek-A-Mouse goes into details of his life in the Ganja trade. For a long time, many would find…

[quaranmine]

Yesterday was wild because I've never been in a situation in my life where I'm just driving normally down the highway heading to the airport and then off to the left of the road you can just casually see a volcano erupting

^ photo taken from a highway pull-out

[edwardallenpoe]

best feeling in the world to finally find a really nice black lesbian blog, that is safe for minors, talking about lesbians that includes butches, transmascs, and transfems but mspec lesbians "perpetuate homophobia" and "you're not welcome here. Get the fuck out." Very nice feeling. You guys really weren't kidding when you said that even that coming out to the queer community fucking sucks, that's wild.

[saturns-xenogenders]

+ Volcanive +

A mostly stable gender that occasionally erupts into chaos before becoming dormant again, similar to a volcano.

[sugasiren]

🧜🏾‍♀️ SIRENE (1009): Top 3 Sex Symbols! 💋

SIREN: A seductively beautiful or charming woman, especially one who beguiles men; A woman who is a very attractive but dangerous temptress. 🔥🔥

The Sirene (1009) asteroid is one of my absolute favorites to explore. 🧜🏾‍♀️ And I have many! Its placement in a woman's chart tells us about her brand of Dark Femininity. How she seduces and influences. How she harnesses her power and the TYPES of men who are helplessly drawn to her. 💋 Every Sign has incredible qualities! I'm simply sharing my Top 3 Sirens based on the research I've done. So enjoy and share your Siren below!

**FYI - Men with these placements are also very sexy and captivating in their own way. 💯 So I will include some famous examples for them as well.

~♡~♡~♡~♡~

Siren in Scorpio 🔥

Famous Women:

Sophia Loren (pictured above)

Sade (pictured above)

Lisa Bonet (pictured above)

Lana Del Rey (pictured above)

Dita Von Teese (pictured above)

Beyonce

SZA

Traci Lords

Monica Bellucci

Mae West

Grace Kelly

Bridget Bardot

Christina Aguilera

Angelica Houston

Zeudi Araya

Liv Tyler

Siren in Scorpio MEN:

The Rock

Brad Pitt

Paul Newman

Ryan Gosling

Carlos Santana

Idris Elba

Bruno Mars

Fabio

JFK

SCORPIO SIRENS lure you in with their hypnotic eyes that are as deep as the Blue Sea. 🧜🏾‍♀️ Their powerful aura will quickly swallow you whole and you will enjoy every moment of it. 💋 They effortlessly captivate and are explosive Lovers! They love to keep you guessing. As they know, you'll be addicted to the mystery of it all and keep coming back for more. And they're right! Just like Monica Bellucci and Lana Del Rey - these women can casually sit somewhere, smoking a cigarette, and *everyone* around them is watching in total ENVY of that damn cigarette. 🔥 Others like Lisa Bonet and Sade are gentle and ethereal but they will *still* snatch your SOUL. The Male Sirens are charismatic heartthrobs who make panties drop everywhere they roam. Women submit to them with glee. They want their 'Notebook' moment with Ryan Gosling, okay! And for The Rock to lay the smackdown (and pipe) on their kitty. 😺 And nothing less.

Siren in Capricorn 👑

Famous Women:

Brooke Shields (pictured above)

Megan Thee Stallion (pictured above)

January Jones (pictured above)

Stevie Nicks (pictured above)

Amal Clooney (pictured above)

Megan Fox (pictured above)

Teyana Taylor

Doja Cat

Mamie Van Doren

Ava Gardener

Mariah Carey

Shania Twain

Tyra Banks

Karrine Steffans

Amber Heard

Ellie Goulding

Eartha Kitt

Siren in Capricorn MEN:

James Dean

Robert Plant

Robert Pattinson

Matthew McConaughey

William Holden

Prince William

Kobe Bryant

Suge Knight

Andrew Tate

AJ McLean

Gerard Butler

CAPRICORN SIRENS lure you in with their deeply earthy, erotic energy. They are smoldering volcanoes underneath their cool IDGAF exterior and this enticing contrast drives people wild! 🔥 They have monstrous sex drives yet are very grounded in their personal power and selective about who they entertain, so others seek their approval. The Female Sirens often attract highly influential and/or dominant men who crave her submission and loyalty. Their desire to control her can truly consume them! 💯 They see her as the Ultimate Challenge and want her AT ALL COSTS. Their results vary depending upon what *she* actually wants. For instance, Amal Clooney. She was able to capture the heart of life-long bachelor George Clooney with impeccable ease. 🩷 He looks at her with stars in his eyes! They have the ideal marriage. Mariah Carey ultimately made Tommy Matola (the Record Executive who signed her to his label) wait until they were married before being intimate with him. She had such an effect on her ex-husband after **opening her luscious Pearly Gates** 🙌 that he put cameras up around the house to watch her every move. He was utterly obsessed with her! Amber Heard is an example of Capricorn Siren in full Destruction Mode. And Karrine "Superhead" Steffans in literal Maneater Mode slurping her way to THE TOP. The Male Sirens simply have Big Dick Energy - period. They are Doms, Bosses and Kings. 👑 Women yearn for them to (symbolically) suck their blood and their p***y like Robert Pattinson in 'Twilight' with carnivorous passion. 🔥 They want to surrender doggystyle to a man like Gerard Butler in the '300' movie. And even when they are stone cold killers like Suge Knight or manipulative pimps like Andrew Tate... they still command respect! They possess massive amounts of Masculine charm.

Siren in Sagitarius 👠

Famous Women:

Marilyn Monroe (pictured above)

Dorothy Dandridge (pictured above)

Rita Hayworth (pictured above)

Shakira (pictured above)

Indira Varma (pictured above)

Kim Cattrall

Margot Robbie

Robin Givens

Tina Turner

Dana Delaney

Emilia Clarke

Gwen Stefani

Aishwarya Rai

Rose McGowan

Sagittarius Siren MEN:

Paul Walker

Patrick Swayze

Elvis Presley

Clark Gable

Mario Lopez

Marilyn Manson

Shia LaBeouf

Michele Marrone

Marvin Gaye

SAGITTARIUS SIRENS lure you in like smoke rising from a bonfire in an enchanted forest during a Drum Circle. They illuminate dangerous levels of heat. ☀️ That will melt you like hot lava with their dynamic sex appeal. Baddies to the bone! Their esthetic widely appeals to the masses and individuals from *all* walks of life. People from *all* ethnic backgrounds admire and lust after them. 💋 They are exciting and make people feel ALIVE. And they're often the epitome of someone's Dream Girl or Guy. Marilyn Monroe is a FOREVER Icon who lives on generation after generation. 🌟 And her Feminine prowess remains unmatched no matter how much time goes by. Rita Hayworth is another immortal Sex Symbol and proud Latina. As is Dorothy Dandridge - who broke many barriers for Black Women in film and greatly appealed to a variety of powerful men such as Marlon Brando and Otto Priminger. Margot Robbie in the 'Wolf of Wallstreet' and 'Barbie' movies? 🩷 Nuff said! The Male Sirens are usually a strong yet suave bunch - like Clark Gable and Patrick Swayze. And that's a killer combination, my friends! They are often Rebels. 💪 Whether clean-cut ones like Paul Walker, goth ones like Marilyn Manson or rebels GONE WRONG like Shia LaBeouf. Either way, they are magnetic.

~♡~♡~♡~♡~

And that's a wrap for now! 💛 I'll be back soon with more on SIREN and other awesome asteroids. Thanks for reading.

[todays-xkcd]

The HVAC bill for installing the Gulf Stream was enormous.

Iceland [Explained]

Transcript Under the Cut

[Cueball is standing in front of a board and pointing to it with a stick. In front of him is a long table with White Hat, Blondie, another Cueball and Megan sitting on the long side of the table (the same side, the one away from the reader) with Hairbun sitting at the end of the table furthest from Cueball. All are sitting on office chairs and looking at Cueball. On the board there are two figures and some unreadable text. The top figure is an skewed elipse with some dots inside. There is a label text beneath it. The next large figure depicts and island with a rift going down its middle. The rift extends on either side of the island. There is a label above it. Beneath this there is a box with four lines of unreadable textm and above it a heading. Cueball's stick points to the island.] Cueball: Okay, we'll make it an island on a mid-ocean ridge to satisfy the mantle people and the oceanographers. Cueball-like man: But what about my glaciers? Cueball : We can just pile them on the volcanoes. Hairbun: Don't forget that it has to be near a pole - I was promised aurora!

[Caption below the comic:] Iceland was designed by a committee of planetary scientists that was trying to satisfy everyone.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 10)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 9, Part 11

summary: In the morning, Miguel reminisces.

warnings: smut! grinding, humping, alcohol, PIV, switch-y behaviour (what's new), aftercare, mentions of depression. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: soft melty mig >>>

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 4.5k

Oh! and I finally made the series' playlists (very open to requests) <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

between your bodies;

You wake up with a headache and a lump in your throat.

Bleary eyes; and you rub away sleep, rosy and warm around the edges. Everything smells like him, is your very first thought. It's the kind of thing that has you reeling, tossing and turning in unfamiliar sheets before looking up at a mottled ceiling. Light creeps in from curtains cracked open, rays spreading like wildfire on everything it touches. Miguel's bed is by the window, and you can't help but curl up what little light spills in with your hands; palm upwards, slowly balled into fists. It's warm, and your hand feels a little different.

Oh.

Like a bolt of lightning, memories of the night before run up your spine; dancing up and down between the sheets. Miguel's hand in yours, his skin pressed up against you, a room spinning in the kind of way that seems romantic. Seems romantic; you note. It could've been the alcohol, but you had felt something between you two, yesterday. Something… different . Your cheeks grow warm at the thought of last night; drunken revelations and so much light, it burns.

I like the way your eyes scrunch up when you smile. I like the way you look in the morning, squinting at labels and cereal packets. You've got the prettiest lips I've ever seen, Miguel.

You burrow under the covers as you recall it; the memory of Miguel between your thighs, his head in the crook of your shoulder. The way he had half-laughed, heady and heavy and thick with want, low groans pooling by the shell of your ear. You're not too sure if you meant it; really, really meant it; and you're scared of what that means. Casual sex was the agreement, and you didn't think you had the capacity for much else.

Sighing, you stretch your leg out from under the covers, dipping a tentative toe on the rug. Bare, except for a T-shirt whose hem kisses your thighs. Mig's t-shirt, of course, and you tug it down as you slip out of his bed. The aftermath, things tossed off shelves and awards that had clattered to the ground, lies in last night's wake. Guiltily, you root around to pick up his things.

They're more personal than the things around the house. You notice a plaque or two from undergrad, his diploma  - biomechanics and chemical engineering with honours - and even a certificate from a middle school science fair. The image makes you smile: little Mig with braces and a distinct frown, handed a plastic trophy in front of a spotty crowd. 'First Place' it says, and knowing him his entry was less baking soda volcano and more miniature Hadron Collider . If he's anything like he is now; he was probably a mouthy little pain-in-the-ass, too.

You take a watch off of the floor, half hidden under his bed. A knee brushes past a clear box; that jostles and rattles around like nails in a metal can. From vague outlines, you can see a box of junk , in every sense of the word: scrap metal, wires, plastic tubing. A whole scrapyard under his bed, and you reach for it, curious.  Something knicks at your hand in the process. Glass, from a broken pane of a frame slipped under the bed. Softly, you hiss, sucking at the cut that draws blood.

More careful, now, you push the frame towards you, sweeping up the glass as best you can. In the lowlight, you can't make out much. Carefully, you hold it by a corner - an intricate thing, all twisted metal and brushed bronze. From out under the bed, you see it, or rather, him: Miguel, a little younger, surrounded by a couple of unfamiliar faces. A taller man, a much older woman - and they both smile in the way he does, crows feet and with the kind of warmth that reaches their eyes. In his arms (Miguel's, but not your Miguel) is a little girl. She is small; wide-eyed, gap-toothed; looking up at him, as if the camera wasn't there. The adoration in her face makes you smile. His sister, maybe? His brother, Gabi, and his dear mama ? 

Gently, you place it on the side table. You sweep up the glass into your hand, ignoring the sting that spreads to your palms. It's not a deep cut, but you head to the kitchen anyway, in search of warm soapy water and something to mop it up. 

Slipping past the doorway, it is deathly quiet. Morning spills in through a window, illuminating a lone figure - broad shoulders, tan and bare save for pyjama pants, hunched over the dining table. 

Miguel doesn't seem to notice as you get closer, finally able to hear slight noise and chatter from a tinny phone. Cup of coffee in hand, you watch as he scrolls, replaying the same video over and over. From over his shoulder, you can just about make it out: music that had deafened you at the time, loops with a pathetic whine. A video from last night, it seems, and you recognise the icon of Lyla's story. Bright lights, your dress sparkling and a pretty little laugh drowned out by Lyla's - he seems to replay the same couple of seconds over, and over, and–

“Mig?” He jumps, leaping almost 3 feet into the air, it seems. His phone shuts off with a clatter, slammed onto the table. Turning, he seems guilty, before flattening his face into something more socially acceptable.

“H-Hi. Morning.” He clears his throat, giving you an awkward nod.

“Morning,” Softening, you slink down to take a seat. He knows, of course: he knows that you know, that you saw exactly what he's been doing. But you're both going to ignore it, let it settle in the gaps between you - a gap that quickly shrinks, he notes. 

The chair drags across the floor, almost catching at a rug on the wooden slats. When you seat yourself by him; closer, closer, oh-so close; you can't help but brush your legs to his, addicted to the way it makes him shiver. Payback, you think, grabbing at his mug and stealing a sip before he can say anything. For all the times he's fucked with your head.

Miguel knows better than to protest, crossing his arms resolutely. He sighs - not maliciously, but with a tinge of defeat. You're too pretty, and too close for him to think properly; to even muster up the energy to argue. And so he doesn't, opting to chew at the inside of his cheek. 

“ Hey .” You say, hand coming up to cheekbone, stroking at it with your thumb. Miguel tries not to lean into it, to melt into the touch. “ Careful. Where'd you go?”

It makes him laugh, bitterly, ruefully - whatever you want to call it. Where'd you go? And you say it like you've got an inkling of all the shit that goes on in his head. He goes to the same place he always seems to be, these days. Somewhere that reminds him of you , of your nights together, of your nights apart–

“Did you sleep well?” You're asking, and it takes him a second to process it.

“Sure.” Shrugging, he lies, and you pretend to believe him. “Long night, I suppose.”

When he picks that moment to look at you, to bore into your soul, you take your hand away; feeling naked , feeling bare . 

“What about you? Did you sleep well?” 

And you hum, non-committal, in response.

“Can’t remember much.” It’s a bold-faced lie, and he knows it.

He chews at his lips, eyes dragged down to your figure. He’s shameless, lashes fluttering before he sighs - with the kind of tiredness that rattles at his chest - scratching at a 5 o’clock shadow.

He’s pinching at the bridge of his nose like he’s battling a headache - and losing miserably. Miguel; your Miguel, this time; looks so pathetic, with the countenance of a wet mop. It’s not a grimace, nor a frown, like always. It looks like melancholy - thinly veiled, bone-deep - and it makes your heart splinter.

You just… you just want to comfort him. To hold him in your arms and stroke his hair, to press kisses into the crinkles at the side of his mouth, his forehead: to be warm and soft and somewhere safe , for him.

It’s a compulsion you can’t fight, clambering over him to sit on his lap. His gaze flickers, pointedly trying to ignore you, but his hand rests comfortably on plush thigh. It sends a shiver down your spine; how tender his touch is, even when like this. 

“I…” You start, tracing a hand to his scratchy jaw and gently tilting him towards you. “I remember enough.”

 He can’t help it, hand travelling a little further up and eyes flitting to your lips. 

“... Yeah ?” And it comes with an unceremonious squeeze at your ass, wetting his lips with pink tongue.

That gap between you shrinks even more as you press your chest to his, with a hand at his shoulder. God, his skin is hot to the touch; lean muscle that tenses under your palm. He gets closer.

“What are you doing today?” He’s trying so hard, forcing himself to look you in the eye - betrayed only by a pounding heart and a lingering look to your lips. 

Coupled with the way he looks at you; kneading at your thighs, leaning into your gentle palm; it makes your throat close up. 

“...U-Umm, I think–”

“It’s Friday, right?” He hums, head cocked as if deep in thought. “You’ve got… stats and lab prep, today.”

You frown. “Yeah, actually. How did you–”

“You’re always complaining about Fridays.”

“I didn’t yesterday.”

“I’ve barely seen you all week, sweetheart.” 

“ And who’s fault is that? ” Muttering, you roll your eyes, trying not to show him the way it makes you melt.

“I listen.” He says, soft. 

“...sometimes.” You finish, but it’s half-hearted. You know, he knows; he listens . He always has. 

“I think…” You clear your throat. “T-Think m’gonna take the day off. I’m pretty–”

Tired. Exhausted. Ready to kiss your roommate if it meant he would look at you like that for a little longer.

“ – hungover .” He whispers, thumb stroking your hip as you snort; ready to bat him away. 

Wriggling, his grip tightens, slotting you closer as if in a trance. You’re laughing, a sharp retort at the tip of your tongue, but his wry smile seems tinged with something else. It’s a something that makes your heart skip a beat – but it’s his next words that have you reeling.

“I’ve got the day off, too.”

You’re taken aback. “Don’t you…? I-I mean I thought you’re taking extra hours at Alchemax…”

“Nope.” Resolute, he shakes his head. “We’ve got appraisals or something, today. Upper management only. I thought I told you.”

Brows kneaded, you give him a look he’s well accustomed to. And Miguel; because he’s Miguel, of course; counters it almost immediately.

“Don't give me that … You didn’t even know I wore glasses until yesterday.”

“That’s not fair , Mig.”

“You don’t want to spend the day with me? Dios mio, hermosa.”

“Mig–”

Dramatic, he tips his head back, clutching at his chest. “Am I that bad? You can’t spend a couple hours with me–”

“Mig –”

“Just a couple, sweetheart, and then I’m out of your hair, and you can complain about me to–”

“ Mig! ” You exclaim, giggling whilst you nudge his head forward to meet your gaze.

“You called?” He flutters his eyelashes playfully, with a hint of a smile. 

It looks good on him, you think; glad that he feels comfortable enough to finally let go.

There’s a gentle lull and he places hot palms at your thighs to hike you up even closer. You adjust yourself on his lap, watching the way he groans with his head in your hands. It makes you bold: the way he moves to clutch at your hand and dart under the lip of your shirt to press you closer. 

A roll of your hips makes him purr , eyes fluttering as he rocks up in thin pants. Quickly hardening, he’s wearing a dopey smile - one you return as you press your forehead to his. He angles his hips just right, causing little moans to spill out from pretty lips. The hand at his jaw travels to the nape of his neck, tugging in that way you know that he likes. You know him, and that makes your chest warm: the way he purrs and rumbles as you touch him in a way only you can.

Roughly, he swallows, head tilted up to catch at your cheek. 

“Do you remember what you said last night?” It’s whispered into skin, soft and barely-there. “What you asked me to do?”

Kiss me. Why won’t you kiss me?

Like something sharp and intense through your veins, the memory makes you shiver, leaning into Miguel so his clothed cock catches at your clit. Like this , you don’t want to look at him - you can’t. 

Ask me tomorrow.

And so you shake your head, nuzzling into his side with a weak whimper.

There’s a pause so imperceptible you might have imagined it. If Miguel is disappointed - or relieved, or frustrated - you can’t quite tell. Unceremoniously, he latches on, taking large handfuls of your ass and sucking ugly hickies into pretty skin.

“You asked me–” He says it between wet kisses, sloppy and hungry and quickly deepening. “You asked me to fuck you .”

You gulp, hips rolling as you close your eyes. 

“ Just the tip, you said.” He lifts you up slightly, rolling back plaid pants. He nips at your neck, all tongue and teeth and claws. “Do you remember now?”

He’s not even inside, teasing your bare folds with the wide head of his cock. Your head tilts to give him more access to that juncture of your jaw. A dry chuckle leaves your lips at his tone and countenance; asking if you remember as he does his best to make you forget even the simplest of things. And that’s the thing about Miguel O’Hara, saccharine-sweet, gorgeous -in-the-low-light O’Hara: he makes you feel so good, everything else falls away.

“ Fuck.” He heaves. “”J-Just the–”

Impatient, you shift your hips, slipping him inside with one delicious movement. You can taste it: pleasure , white-hot and building up just below your gut. Miguel separates with a wet pop, hands trailing up to rid you of your shirt – his shirt, you realise with a moan. Exposed, he eyes your pretty stomach and then the peak of your breast. He keeps you flush to his hips, right at the sharp cut of his v-line, tufts of hair leading to where you both meet. With the way his eyes flutter, you can tell: he wants to kiss you, slathering up your chest to collarbone, and then from collarbone to jaw. He gets close, pressing shaky kisses to the corner of your lips – threatening to break the promise you made to each other long ago. And God , with the way he pistons up into your cunt, you… you just might let him.

Then his hips shift, pubic bone at your clit in a way that brings pleasure to the burn. You’re stretched out, filled to the brim and then leaning back to press your forearms onto the grain of the dining table. Like this, his hands stay squeezing the flesh at the tops of your thighs; only able to watch as you take over. You use a bit of leverage to tilt your hips this way and that - eyes low, not leaving his.

“Feels good , Mig.” You’re whining, eyes locked onto his because you want to watch him fall apart - to watch as all his troubles melt away. “So good. Uhh –Always does. I remember… shit … remember this. ” 

And you take his hand, wrapping your lips around his index and middle finger - thick and large - with the memories of how they felt inside you only making you wetter. Gushing praise as best you can, you slobber and slather over his fingers, studying every twitch and gorgeous groan that he gives. He pulls his hand away from you; gentle, but cursing nevertheless; alternating from slapping your ass to tugging at the stiff peak of your nipple. It’s your turn to stutter, hips jumping as you cum - an orgasm so hard he bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from spilling into you. There’s blood in his mouth, he notes as he studies the way you look: beautiful, always beautiful; framed in the gentle pink and purple from a rising sun.

Miguel slips out of you, painfully hard. Still heaving from your orgasm, you lean forward to press his cock between your bodies: bare and gorgeously framed in morning sun. Writhing, you kiss his neck, trailing up to the shell of his ear, whispering sweet nothings.

“Want you to cum, Mig.” And you do… oh God , you do. “You close?”

All he does is groan, nodding fervently into the crook of your neck. Diligently, you wrap him up in your arms, crooning and sweet, carefully rocking into him so his cock slides up and down your soft skin. For once, he doesn’t complain, holding you just as tight. 

“M’gonna… o–ohh ffuck …”

“Cum, Mig. For me.”

You’re firm but gentle, pressing your tits up against him and making sure his cock gets that well needed friction. As such, you can feel it almost immediately; hot cum slathered over your tits and body - leaving so much glistening on your skin. 

With a rough gulp, he heaves, eyes screwed tightly shut. You can’t help it, brushing away stray hairs from his face, leaving soft kisses in your wake. And maybe, just maybe, you hear him sob - muffled whimpering and whining with every slight shift of your body against his. And oh . It makes your heart melt when you realise, still carding your fingers through the nape of his neck.

He’s overstimulated. It’s too much.

Limp, he stays wrapped around you for a while, muttering nonsense into your skin.

“ Sorry. ” Shakily, he says – like he even has anything to be sorry about. “M’really— fuck. I just need a moment.”

You hum. It makes your heart heavy that he thinks he needs to be ready now , that he thinks he doesn’t deserve more than a moment to process his pleasure. You want Miguel to feel good, you always have. But with the realisation that you want him to be happy ; to feel safe, to feel loved; well…

…it scares you more than anything.

~~~

Aftercare .

Miguel admits, he’s not too familiar with the term.

It’s not something he’s proud of. With many a one night stand under his belt - even, occasionally seeing a girl more than once - he’s never been too good at it. He’s tried, definitely. Tried so very hard to stick around a little longer, to stay curled up in bed and guide his partner through their comedown. Unfortunately, it doesn’t quite come naturally to him - oft susceptible to a glass of water by the bedside and a gentle nudge to an Uber. That physicality: the cuddling , and kissing, the sappy, wholesome, relationship-adjacent thing? He’s never had that desire after sex, much too stuck in his own head for that.

So why does this feel… so good?

You’re taking care of him. He’s not stupid; knowing that your bedside manner is much better than his. You’re merely doing the right thing and helping him past such an intense orgasm: and that seems to come in the form of his head on your chest, limbs tangled up together on your beat up old couch. This doesn’t count , he’s convinced himself: all those rules and boundaries you’ve both come so close to breaking - a little cuddling doesn't even scratch that surface. And if it feels so good to have your hand playing with his hair, to ground himself with the steady thump-thump of your heart, then who is he to complain?

He’s just a man, he decides. A mere mortal, unable to resist that taste of heaven he’s been given - unable to say no . Absentmindedly, you’re humming some stupid song you’ve had stuck in your head for at least a week, now, eyes trained towards a cheesy soap on the TV. There’s a mug of coffee on the table - it tastes like shit, but Miguel is more than happy to gulp it down if  it makes you feel better - hot and steaming as you tug the blanket so it covers him a little better. 

Unknowingly, you’re lulling him to sleep - the very same sleep he’s been chasing for the past couple of hours. Tossing and turning at night, but barely 10 minutes in your arms and his body only seems to listen to you , for some reason. Traitorous bastard, he thinks, fighting to keep his eyes open. 

You’ve cleaned the both of you up - even though he had insisted otherwise. Let me take care of you , he had slurred, and you just laughed ; that pretty, infuriating laugh, with that pretty, infuriating smile – the very same one he’s wanted to kiss off of you since the beginning. Weakly, he protested, following you into the kitchen only to make a nuisance of himself. 

It’s like you're drunk, Mig.  

In some ways, maybe he is. You had steered him away, and onto couch cushions. Which must have been quite the feat, he notes, able to control all 6”5 of his sleep-deprived, hefty limbs. But he supposes, yet again, his body doesn’t quite listen to him anymore. Only you.

Was it that good? Did I fuck the fine motor skills out of you?

He remembers groaning. He remembers trying not to be drawn in by that lilting giggle, covering his ears with a rough blanket. Most of all, though, he remembers the feeling of your body on his, slipping on top of him to dig him out of that heap.

Miguel? Baby, it’s a joke! I’m kidding, I promise.

He had poked his head out. Baby. He likes that, likes the way his name sounds out of your mouth. It anchors him to this mortal plane like a sharp hook, cutting through the brain fog and burying itself into his chest. You had clasped your hands around his face, steadfast despite his wriggling.

…Oh God, even worse. I think I fucked the common sense out of you instead.

He remembers wanting to kiss you. Your lips curled up into that stupid smile, clearly so pleased at a shitty joke. It makes him warm, thinking about it now. Or maybe, it’s just the blanket you’ve tried to suffocate him in. 

“When did you sleep?” You ask, and he has to blink up at you to collect his thoughts.

“Late.” He says it simply. 

That answer doesn’t satisfy you, and you’re poking and prodding at his face, gently pulling at slowly deepening eyebags.

“ No fucking wonder .” You mutter. “You’re turning into me. No more late nights, Mig.”

When he frowns, you stick your tongue out, gleefully watching as his grimace deepens. 

“Or what?” 

“Or we stop having sex.”

That makes him rocket u pwards, indignant. “ You can’t just– ”

“I can do what I want.” Slowly, your face morphs into what must be worry. At least, he thinks it does, not too familiar with someone worrying about him like this. “No more late nights, please”

You say it so softly his heart might break. He clears his throat of its cobwebs.

“That's not really up to me, sweetheart.” Thesis deadlines. Tutoring. Taking on more hours at Alchemax in preparation for a big event. Slowly, his plate mounts, and it takes everything in him to keep going.

“I know,” You settle his head onto your lap, now. Absent-mindedly, you wrap one of his curls around your finger, hand in his hair in a way that feels more intimate than the past hour, days, weeks spent together. “I just wish you'd take care of yourself better.”

It's not said to chastise him, and you don't sound disappointed ; not tinged with the same flavour of guilt that his mama has over the phone, or that Gabi has when he hits him with that deep sigh. It's pure, selfless, plain-and-simple worry. He doesn't deserve it, he thinks.

He looks up at you. Beautifully oblivious, your gaze is still pinned to the TV. It’s domestic, comfortable in the afterglow of sex. That’s what it must be: contentment and bliss settling over him like a warm blanket. The aftermath of being in your arms, of your body on his; purely physical , that follows the kind of euphoria that he imagines can only be found in a needle. Honestly, he’s still expecting a sharp decline, a rough comedown that tastes like regret, or despair, or deep, deep empty. It doesn’t come.

Always the pessimist, but Miguel can’t help it, really; he’s been chasing something just out of reach for too long. 

“You’re gone again.” You say it so quietly he almost misses it. You give him a weary smile, hand clutching at the fabric that pools around him. He watches as you rearrange it by his shoulders, pinching the folds with a kneaded brow. Finally satisfied, you look him in the eye. “Like Ophelia. ”

He doesn’t sigh. He doesn’t scoff, or roll his eyes, or any of the half dozen ways he’s learnt to repress difficult emotions. Slipping under the water - the makeshift waves made of a ratty blanket - passive to his own suffering. You don’t say it, and he hasn’t even told you the half of it; but somehow, you see it . You see him.

He remembers the first time he met you. Thundering and clattering through his space; bulldozing every carefully placed wall he’s spent years putting up. And then he remembers the first time he actually met you; behind the sharp tongue and quick retorts, finding you watery and forlorn on the floor of your shared apartment. Beautiful, of course – always, always beautiful. But that time, the kind of beauty only found in a painting: tragedy captured in oils, careful brushstrokes muddied by time, by loss, by hurt. You’ve been hurting for a while, he thinks, well before any mention of shitty ex-boyfriends and missed lectures.

Miguel recalls late nights spent trying to still his heart, fixated on a sudden, betraying question that rattles around in his head. Are you like him? Do you understand ? Born with something missing, a tick-tick-tick of the count, radioactive and broken and–

Your hand drapes lazily across his chest, tapping and pointing at something on the screen. He hums, non-committal, the words out of your mouth barely registering. It feels familiar. It feels warm. It feels like nights spent on the couch trying not to laugh at your frustratingly witty remarks. He remembers holding his breath when your leg brushed against his; stealing careful glances to his side; trying not to stare at the way the gloom of the TV looks ethereal against you, snug to the slope of your features, cut this way and that.  

But more than anything, he remembers wanting to kiss you. God. Maybe he always has. 

_

_

_

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[haechanhues]

Corrupted

pairing : haechan x (fem)reader

genre : smut. 

warnings : established relationship (kind of). corruption kink. porn without plot. oral (f. & m. receiving). unprotected sex (please practice safe sex). choking. haechan!dom / reader!sub dynamics. reader is a brat. marking. the endearment ‘good girl’ is used. body worship (in a particular way). also this is like the first time i’ve actually tried to write smut so if it’s terrible be nice about it pls and thank you. minors do not interact. 

summary : all you can focus on is him and how much you wish he’d corrupt you like so many times before. 

word count : 4k 

@k-labels​

part two 

main masterlist 

playlist : heaven - taemin / into you - ariana grande / volcano - han /  under the influence - chris brown / venom - stray kids  

The sunset view from the car is beautiful. The chewy orange blending within the whitewashed light blue. It’s truly heaven on Earth, you imagine. An infinite picture of how glorious the world can be. Yet, your attention isn’t on the sky. Nor on the beautiful red wine dinner you had tonight. You were neither drunk nor high. What you were, was a woman in need of her man to wreck her. To have his way with her in a way she believes only he knows how. 

Said man lazes back into the leather car seat, eyes half lidded and dragging across your body with an appreciative gaze. The hand that was lazily drawing naughty pictures along the fabric of your silk dress all night now has a grip on your hair, experimentally squeezing and tugging at the roots. 

You eye him dutifully as he wraps the soft strands around his fist, his tongue peeking out to swipe against his bottom lip. Your pussy aches for him. But you wait, betraying the need in your body in order to please him. 

It’s a skill of yours, to still look so innocent whilst you’re on your knees in front of him. So compliant. So soft. Even though he knows what you taste like when your mouth is drunk on lust and your cunt is dripping with arousal. What you smell like. What you feel like. 

And it’s all thanks to him. 

You are the result of his corruption. 

He smirks a little at the thought, letting his fingers cascade down your face, tickling the skin before he grips harder at your hair, the skin around his mouth becoming taut as he uses a bit of force, ‘My good girl.’ 

God. 

Pleased with the nickname, your palms brush over his stomach, his body slightly tensing as you make to grab at the waistband of his pants, tugging at them pleadingly. With a dark look smoothed over his face, he drags them down, eyeing you with challenge as he’s left in only his boxers. 

Feeling a rush of bravery, your knee slips in between his legs and your mouth claims him. His lips are soft and your body heats at the feeling of his. Surprise overtakes his features only for a second, but lets you take charge, not bothered at all by your longing. Your head tilts as your tongue licks against his, timid and unsure. He only smiles at your hesitance but doesn’t make any effort to take the lead. 

Accepting his smile as permission, you feel a surge of confidence and deepen the kiss yourself, your tongue more confidently brushing against his own, the subtle taste of cinnamon almost bursting in your mouth. You can’t help the way you melt into him, your fingers reaching upwards to sift through his gorgeous locks of hair before your nails drag down his neck and across his shoulders, electrifying him with pleasure. He hums into your mouth, planting both of his hands on your hips with a firm grip, holding them in place. You want nothing more to sit on his lap and to feel the fabric of your panties lick across your clit, but you remain kneeling. It’s torment. Your chin drops onto the curls on his head and your lips together in a futile attempt to keep quiet. 

But he knows you so well. 

It’s almost like he designed the way you felt pleasure. How you thought about pleasure. Every sensation was designed by him. 

Feeling your need, his right hand drops from your hips and you shudder at the way his palm dawdles down your front until it meets the skin on the back of your thigh, every hair on your body raising with anticipation.  Taking his time, his fingers are a caress as they circle the expanse of your upper thigh before his palm slots in between your thighs like a puzzle, his thumb kissing your slit. 

Your breath hitches and you pull a little away from the kiss, your mouth opening at the feeling. Your thighs press together and it causes the most delicious feeling of torment to crash behind your eyes. His eyes flutter open as he gazes at you knowingly, his pupils blown wide and the tongue that runs across his bottom lip teasing. 

“You alright, baby?” He asks, his voice laced with such a dark lust, you almost moan at the sound. 

“Mm-nnng,” You whimper against his mouth as his fingers cup your sex and your hips jerk involuntarily, ‘Yes.’ 

‘Yes’ He mocks in a high pitched tone, and it’s so red the way he says it. Almost murderous. The colour of blood. The texture of velvet. 

His fingers circle your clit over your panties, teasingly sweeping and igniting the growing feeling in your core. Little mewls of lust escaping your mouth as you throw your head back, exposing your throat to the man in front of you, his eyes dancing as your wet arousal coats his fingers. His breath tickles the length of your throat as his mouth hovers over your neck, enjoying the way moans are being pulled from your chest when his fingers enter you. No matter how much he wants to wreck you with his fingers this very instant, wreck you with only his hands until you forget your own name, he wills his hand to halt its ministrations. You whine, wanting him to move, needing him to move. Always needing. Just the way he likes. 

Haechan paints your throat with his kisses, groaning at every reaction, feeling his cock become harder and harder with every experimental touch. Sweet kisses pull breathy giggles from your throat, your own hands cupping and squeezing at your tits. Open mouthed kisses have your hips seeking out their own pleasure, rolling back and forth in his hold in search of that delicious friction. More desperate than you have ever been. Pleading with him to have his way with you. Please. Just please. Kisses where his bottom lip dawdled behind the rest of his mouth to meet each new press of his lips had you a fidgeting mess, your hands grabbing at anything. His elbows. Arms. Hair. Your dress. 

Your pretty but pesky dress. 

‘Take off your dress,’ Is a whisper as much as it is a demand and he removes his hand from your core. Haechan swipes at the bottom of his mouth with the very same fingers that were dripping with your wetness, your arousal and the taste of your cherry lip balm left behind on his lips. 

Obedient and docile, your thumbs hook around the end of your dress, pulling it upwards, letting the man in front of you appreciate the way your body is slowly being exposed to him. With a lick of his lips, his thumb pulls down at your bra, your nipple perking up excitedly. His thumb circles your left breast lethargically, gazing at the way your breast dimples with the slightest press of his fingertips. It’s when he touches the nipple that your back straightens and your eyes fall shut briefly. You await the torture you know he’ll make you endure. Instead, his thumb remains gently stroking, approving of the way your nipple starts to harden under his flirtatious attention. 

Unable to help yourself, with his hand still remaining at your breast you reach forward to kiss him again, this time much sweeter and innocent than the previous. Seemingly. He abides by it, loving the way you smell. Loving how warm you are. You’re liquid honey and he’s nothing but weak to it. 

Suddenly a slight rush of pain in his lips has him looking at you confused and pleasantly surprised, coming to the conclusion that you’ve nipped at his lips playfully whilst he was lost in your kiss, wearing a smile so daring and so like the cheeky girl he knows you can be. He can’t help the slight smile that graces his lips when you attempt to soothe the small bite you’ve subjected him to, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips in apology, one that leaves his mouth tingling. You could kiss him for hours - how soft his lips were, how perfect, how him. 

Those were the lips that have you brought you to heaven so many times after all. It’s only fair to pay tribute. 

He exhales as you fall to your knees in front of him again, his erected cock as hard as it can possibly get, pleading to be removed by the constraints of his boxers. 

And you pride yourself on being a good listener. 

Your palm reaches in and pulls his long cock out, your mouth watering at the sight. He’s so pretty. Much prettier than you’d think a cock could be. So effortless pretty. 

With a mouth with a mind of it’s own, you lean forward, licking a large stripe from the underside of the shaft, licking upwards to meet the tip. Haechan hisses at the sensation of how warm your mouth is, his knuckles white. You smile, wrapping the tip of his cock with your mouth, tasting the slight taste of his pre-cum with a little moan. Though you make no effort to suck him off. Only mouthing around the tip of his cock. 

Impatiently, he grips the back of your head, seeing your willingness to thoroughly enjoy his sounds of equal frustration and pleasure. Needing to punish you, he hisses, ‘You enjoy teasing me, huh? Think it’s fun?’ 

Without waiting for your response, his hips lift and his hand pushes down on the back of your head, groaning at the true feeling of your mouth and throat. Your mouth opens wider to allow for his cock to have access. A surge of pride rushes through him. You take him so good. So well. 

Pleasure overtakes his senses as he grips harder at your hair, daring to go deeper each time he pulls back. Sadistically loving the way you gag around his cock and the crescent moons your nails leave behind on his legs. The ends of your hair has fanned outwards and they tickle against his skin. He smiles as he slides out of your mouth to briefly check on your state of being, loving the way your chest is heaving with every large breath of air you inhale and exhale. 

There’s his good girl. 

‘So good to me, baby, aren’t you?’ He licks his lip again, your fucked out expression only managing a sweet, obedient nod. 

Taking that as permission he continues to fuck your face, thrusting back and forth with more vigour, groaning at everything. The warm and wet feeling of your mouth. Your tongue rubbing along the tip. Your desperation to see his pleasure. To reach that feeling where he has no control at all and you have it instead. 

Knowingly, his waist drops as his posture straightens, his cock falling out of your mouth. It’s messy and your thighs squeeze together at the thought that your mouth had been there. Your mouth was on that pretty cock. That cock was down your throat. And you loved every second of it. He did too. You look at him as if he had disappointed you, yet he only looks at you expectantly. Waiting. 

Your turn. 

With a fixation on the tip of his cock, you kitten lick it once again. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek at the teasing you can’t help but commit. But his annoyance disappears as your hand reaches up to wrap his cock in a fist, gliding back and forth along the slick shaft. Your mouth opens and your tongue extends, his cock almost bouncing in the cave of your mouth and against your tongue. He groans at the feeling and you look at him. 

So innocent and yet he can see what corruption has done to you. He exhales a small laugh, his fingertip brushing at your cheek. You can’t help but smile back at him, getting slightly bashful as he takes the time to admire you. His smile only widens at you, looking at you in a way that you can’t help but pause your naughty ministrations to slump forward to rest your forehead on his hips. He cocks his head. You’re shy again. 

Not letting your bashfulness get completely in the way, your hand returns to its back and forth and you line kisses on his shaft as an apology. But he’s not mad. Not really. You’re starting to get desperate again. Your mouth laying claim over his cock, gagging as you take him deeper and deeper. He moans with such a feral ferocity that you can’t help the whine that escapes you, lighting him with sensual fire. 

He needs you. Now. 

‘Lie down,’ He orders, motioning towards the leather seats. Swallowing, you follow his orders, your legs slightly spread apart. With a smack of his lips, he peels your underwear down your legs, the air cooling against your exposed slit. 

His ring clad fingers pry your thighs further apart, letting his body fit between them unabashedly. He smirks at the sleek arousal almost dripping out of your pussy, taking great delight in the way you eye his fingers and mouth. Long ring clad fingers. Soft, wet and pretty mouth. 

Smugly, his arms hook under your thighs and pry them apart even further, allowing easy access to complete ruin. Your greed for it evident in your eyes. Drinking him in. 

The first kiss to the inside of your thigh has you whimpering and he lets his kisses float against the skin. 

‘Move....please, move.’ You plead. 

He gloats against your skin, licking against the outer lips of your pussy. It tickles but all you can let out are whimpers. Unable to tame the beast inside of him anymore, he licks at the swollen clit. Loving the way you writhe for him. 

Your mouth gapes open at the sensations that overtake you. Pure pleasure running through your veins and taking your body as a hostage. You can hear the sounds Haechan makes when his mouth comes into contact with your pussy. Messy popping sounds that drive you to unspeakable lengths and back with each swirl of his tongue. He sucks at your clit like the lollipops he consumes was made for this one purpose. 

You moan loudly as he licks one torturously slow long stripe along your sex before blowing on it. A shot of cold air has you electrocuted and your mindful grip on the seats has turned almost violent on his head. Your hips grind onto his mouth enjoying the feeling of his tongue. Untamed. He slaps your ass swiftly and you gasp as flecks of delicious pain jolt your body into attention. 

His mouth pulls away from you in challenge, his eyebrows dancing as you glower at his retreating figure, ‘I’m just getting a condom, baby.’ 

Your glower deepens and you reach for him again, pulling at his collar. A dangerous and risky move. Sometimes it gets you punished. But you’re incessant. Begging for him to continue. Pleading for him raw. Always wanting him. 

He smirks as he theatrically places his middle finger on the hood of your clit, enjoying the way you squirm ‘You’re always needy, aren’t you?’ 

He’s teasing and he doesn’t expect you to respond. Not when his mouth returns to suck at your clit and his fingers dip into pussy. You’re relentless and you’re moaning so loudly at the pleasure he can’t help the way his need to have you come on his mouth transforms to a primal sort of want. He curls his fingers with trained precision thrusting in and out whilst his mouth is kissing and sucking at any angle that has you screaming louder. 

Trapped in a gaze like molten lava, coming is the easiest thing you’ve ever done. Like a knot becoming undone, your legs and arms loosen and your head falls towards the flat surface of the car seat. Yet you’re not finished. You know you’re not. You may of had his fingers. You may have come on his tongue. But you wanted to be wrecked by his cock. You wanted him to completely have his way with you. To fill you up. Your desperation is silent this time as you remain in your position, waiting for him. 

Haechan places a soft purposeful kiss on the inside of your thigh, a contrast to the dark chuckle with a sardonic texture that tickles the skin. He’s slow and his eyes are burning into you with a heated challenging glint, ‘Have you been taking your birth control?’ 

You bit your lip as you nodded. 

‘Good girl,’ He purrs, letting the words affect you like his hand would. His mouth shining with your arousal painted on his mouth. With a last parting kiss to your thigh, he straightens, letting his clothes slacken. 

Soaking up the way you’re watching him, he brings both his hands through his hair before removing his leather jacket and t-shirt. You marvel at the subtle lines of muscle along his abdomen and stomach. Snickering at the pleading eyes of yours, he shuffles closer, letting you grip his hips and grounding him against your pussy, moaning at the sensation. 

‘Impatient,’ He murmurs, dragging his boxers completely down his legs before tossing them to the side. He glowers at the way you blink at him innocently and he knows he’s going to have to set some rules. Splaying out the total length of his hands on your stomach before beginning its ascent to the place he wants it, collaring your neck. 

‘I think I’ve been lenient with you tonight, yes?’ He cocks his head, his tongue briefly licking at his bottom lip and your eyes zero in on the action, incredibly horny. Glaring down at your lack of focus, his pelvis thrusts into the gap between your legs and his hands slightly squeezing at your neck, noting the way your eyes roll back in pleasure, ‘Answer me.’ 

‘Yes,’ You nod, the obedient little lamb once again. 

He’s so hot. So incredibly mouth watering in front of you like this. Dominating and devilish. 

‘So you’re going to be a good girl for me?’ Haechan demands and you nod. You just want him. Need him. Forever needing him. Only him. If he wanted a good girl, he’d get a good girl. 

'Yes,’ You whine, your voice increasing in both volume and pitch. 

Haechan’s eyebrows lower in warning before grabbing his cock in his hand and gliding it across your slit once, his tip grazing your clit. You mewl as you grip your thighs in a tighter hold, the pain barely registering as he lines his cock up to your entrance before slowly easing into you. The groan that escapes both your moans has your smile widening. You feel so full and complete. You watch him, wanting to see the way he looks at you. However, his focus is stolen by the way his cock disappears into your cunt before bottoming out. Both your stomachs pressed up against each other has you feral. He’s so beautiful. 

‘Fuck,’ He moans at the way your pussy clenches around him. His eyes close for a sweet second before he’s moving, thrusting in and out of you at a slow pace. Your chin tilts upwards as you let out a sound of satisfaction. 

‘Faster,’ You beg, grabbing onto his shoulders in preparation, clawing at the skin. 

He pecks at your neck with a feather like kiss, before he positions himself to thrust just the way you want him. He enters you hard and fast and you can’t help your strangled scream, ‘Fuck.’ 

Haechan groans as he continues to steal your identity in exchange for the pleasure that has your body in a chokehold. Your legs hook around his waist, bringing him closer and your mouth finds his neck, biting and licking with every devilishly wolfish drag of his cock into your tight cunt. A playground for all your sex bites and kisses. Marking him.

‘You and your fucking marking,’ He sneers into the crook of your neck. He’s not one for visible marks, but you are. You like the way the colour of his skin changes because of you. How they stake claim. With a reprimanding growl, he lays his palm on your stomach, needing to absolutely wreck you of words. His cock thrums as your cunt swallows every hard thrust. All you can do is moan, finding it physically impossible to mark him. All you do is moan and mewl, whimper and scream. So many songs of pleasure and he’s the one making you sing them. 

Your eyes are glazed over like honey and your lips swollen, he muses down at you with a sweet look in his eye, ‘Words....can you remember them, baby?’ 

Eyebrows furrowed, open mouth, swollen lips and a tightening grip on his waist. No answer. His musing smile drops off his face as he stares cruelly at you. As if you’re his prey. His hips drive into yours faster and harder, driven by your sounds and the tightening of your pussy. You’re close, ‘You don’t need them when you come anyway.’ 

He’s right. Because he’s brought you down this road many times before. Your body is shaking with your orgasm, wet and pulsing with heat. Legs and feet tensing, grabbing at the car seat under you with a tight squeeze. Your pussy clenching around his cock tightly and it takes all of his power not to become undone by the effect your orgasm has on his cock and how much he wants to come. 

But he stands no chance, because you’re looking at him with your innocent eyes of worship, like a fox, as if the both of you aren’t currently fucking in his car. His orgasm rips through him like a new skin, and you’re smiling at the way you feel his cum coat the walls of pussy. He feasts upon it. 

Only when he feels himself soften and his breathing return to normal does he wipe at your leaking sex with his t-shirt and check for any marks that he might’ve left behind, ‘Did I hurt you?’ 

‘You could never hurt me,’ Your words and tone are soft. You’re glowing, he notices. So beautiful. 

His smug smile is teasing, not taking you seriously, opting to ignore your beauty by pretending like it’s normal to be this enraptured by someone. His initial reply is halted by the way you look at him with only gentle eyes. Like you always do. It used to anger him, somewhat. He wasn’t the best guy in the world, not really, everyone knew it and yet, you never treated him like he was anything less. He closes his eyes and his smile tilts towards fake, ‘I could.’ 

You lean into kiss him, just a chaste kiss, one that isn’t heated nor desperate. One that’s sweet like you and difficult for him. But you know he’d do it. However, he’s distracted by your eyes. With a trained kind of gentleness, his finger skims along your eyelashes, admiring the new length, a small smile on his face ‘These are new.’ 

You smile, your words singing in your head like a mantra. Haechan can think the worst of himself. See himself as the big bad wolf that brought the innocent girl down to rot. See himself as the bad guy before the good guy swoops you off your feet. See himself as the embodiment of corruption. 

It’s true, he corrupted you. He did. He’s the man that’s fucked you in your kitchen. Fucked you on his desk.  Even now, he’s the guy who’s just finished fucking you in his car. He’s fucked you so much that he’s ruined any other guy for you. You can’t even entertain the idea of somebody else.

But you’ve also corrupted him. He doesn’t realise how gentle he is with you. How sweet and how caring. How he protects you. How he’s always willing to try or to readily sacrifice a part of his world for you. How he has made your pink love red and beating. 

Those innocent eyes of yours. So obedient. So compliant. How ready they were to show him how to love and be loved. 

author’s note : is it normal to want to bury myself in a hole. asking for a friend. this was originally supposed to be for valentine’s day or my birthday or haechan’s birthday! but you get it now instead! yay! 

[maxwellatoms]

Hiya Maxwell!

I would like to ask about the inspiration behind Endsville? Aside from the constant supernatural activities that plagues the daily life of its residents, I’m curious to where you get the inspiration from involving any town’s symbolism/history? Like is there a town that has its own curse; where things were normal until one day shit hit the fan and before you know it there’s armageddon at your doorstep? 

Y’know, kinda like Centralia in Pennsylvania - a coal mining settlement turned ghost town due to an incident with the poisonous gas fumes from a fire mine - which inspired Silent Hill series.

I hope this question sparks some interesting answers!

P.S. What's with the volcanoes in the background?

P.S.S. R.I.P Cartoon Network studios.

P.S.S.S. I like apple sauce.

Those are reactor cooling towers, but I understand why you'd think they're volcanoes. That's my bad.

Endsville was supposed to be the Everytown of your average Crapsack World. I've always been fascinated by urban decay and I'd just come from art school in Philly, which at the time was a wreck South of City Hall. And Northeast of City Hall. And if you went far enough West, it was also sort of shit. And if you went East you'd hit New Jersey. At the time it was just an all-around no win situation, and a big inspiration for Endsville.

Philly also had a generic brand with the classic blue and white labeling, which I thought was hilarious. I'd seen the same thing in Repo Man, but I didn't know it was a real thing. The generic brand inspired the color-scheme for Billy & Mandy's school and school uniforms in the later seasons.

[wickedcriminal]

What kind of dragons are Furious are Wodensfang and Little Tooth in the Half-Brothers AU? Are they still Seadragonus Giganticus Maximuses (Maximi?) or are they changed to DreamWorks species like Merciless and Horrorcow?

Or are the Red and Green Deaths just how SGMs look in this AU?

They're all Seadragonus Giganticus Maximuses! What I did for the AU is that I made SGM an umbrella classification for multiple different species of giant seadragon. Kind of like how wolves, dogs, and foxes are all canines.

For HBAU specifically, what I did is made all the Death dragons one species. Thus, the Red, Green and Purple Death would all look very similar. I really like how distinctive the movie design for the Red Death was, so that's what I went with!

Their DreamWorks design seems to have been built as Boulder Class, so I made some changes to suit the seadragon label. Since the Red Death lived in a volcano, I made it so that this dragon is typically at home in lava and other extreme temperatures, mainly underwater, hence the seadragon classification. (The Green Death would have resided in an underwater volcano until it woke up and decided to Have Berk For Supper!) The crown and tail emulate coral and can change color to decieve fish and smaller dragons. They're built like elephants and hippos with devastating jaw strength and can swim very well despite their size.

As for Furious, the Wodensfang, and Toothless, they're all one undefined species of SGM that are born very small, grow incredibly massive, and then get very small again in their old age. In the context of HBAU, this specific species of seadragon is so incredibly rare that they dont even have a name, and are just referred to as their umbrella class, Seadragonus Giganticus Maximus. (Since these dragons have a habit of being connected to Hiccups throughout the ages, perhaps that could inspire their official name?)

For some other members of the SGM family, I added Doomfangs and Leviathorgens! Considering how huge they are and them being seadragons, it just felt right to me!

[yesterdays-xkcd]

I'm waiting for the day when, if you tell someone 'I'm from the internet', instead of laughing they just ask 'oh, what part?'

Online Communities [Explained]

Transcript

[Hand-drawn fantasy style map with land and sea areas representing populations of online communities, plus some fictious jokes and references. Each area or item is labeled.] Map of Online Communities and related points of interest Geographic area represents estimated size of membership

[A giant continent with:] The Icy North (Yahoo, Windows Live) containing the Mountains of Web 1.0, AOL, Qwghlm, Yahoo Games, Reunion dot Com, Classmates do Com, Faceparty, E-Harmony, Friendster (off the coast of which is the The Lonely Island), My Space containing The Series of Tubes, MySpace Bands, and the much smaller Attractive MySpace Pages, Blurty, O.K. Cupid, Cyworld, Orkut, Facebook, and Livejournal & Xanga - the coasts of which form the Bay Of Angst.

[The Noob Sea is bordered by AOL, the Icy North, MySpace, and an island system off the coast of Yahoo Games consisting of:] Second Life (and the much smaller island Third Life), Lineage, World of Warcraft, Runscape, Ultima Online, EverQuest, Final Fantasy 11, and further off, 2Channel and 4Chan. [To the east is labelled "Here be anthopomorphic Dragons].

[The Gulf of Youtube is bordered by Facebook, Myspace, and the island continents of:] Piczo, Broadcaster, the river Bit Torrent, Flickr, Last.FM, and DeviantArt with the subsection Gays of Web 2.0, and off the south coast and between another island is the Straits of Web 2.0.

[Off the pennisula of MySpace, island of Second Life, and island continents of Broadcaster et al is the Sea of Culture which hoasts the Peer-to-Peer Shoals. The Sea of Culture is separated from the Ocean of Subculture by and island system consisting of:] Digg, Fark, Reddit, Slash Dot, Soviet Russia, and Something Awful, which surround the Bay of Trolls, and Spaaarta (You're The Man Now Dog), Stumble Upon, and Delicious on the south end of the Viral Straits and the north end of the Sea of Memes, the Isle of Slash, Numa, and Your Base.]

[On the south end of the Sea of Memes, mostly made up of the IRC isles with a dotted outline where Usenet is located, is:] Stallman's Airship, Google's Volcano Fortress, Sourceforge, and the Wikipedia Project bridged island system that connects to M.I.T., EnGadget, Gizmodo, and Make Blog.

[West of the Wikipedia Project lies the Blogipelago with:] BoingBoing, Technorati, [something that can be read as T.W.B. or T.M.Z.], Cory Doctorow's Balloon, Sulawesi, Xu Jinglei, Post Secret, the Shipwreck of the S.S. Howard Dean, the Huffington Post, and the Wet Sea.

[North of the Blogipelago lies the Compass Rose-Shaped Island, with the north arm labelled Practicals (Noob), the south Intellectuals (Pi), west Focus on Real Life (I.R.L.), and the east Focus on Web (dot Com).]

(Not a complete survey. Sizes based on the best figures I could find but involved some guesswork. Do not use for navigation.) Spring 2007

[toskarin]

I did actually read the long reply on your Pompeii post and it somehow manages to get racist despite originally talking about how shockwaves kill you

it's incredible how quickly "you wouldn't survive taking a volcano head-on" had to evolve into "the whole world would kill you, and here is why [turns the car directly into a brick wall labelled Racism]"

[pokemonshelterstories]

Have you had any expenses with magmortar? I've heard they can be tough to train or even interact with but they seem simple enough? I want to make sure I have all the info right before I make any mistakes

not personally, but there's a reason for that. they're incredibly difficult pokemon to correctly and safely provide for- definitely not a pokemon i would label as simple to care for.

magmortar are extremist pokemon whose natural habitat is active volcanoes and who maintain such a high internal temperature that their flame sack is more like a magma chamber. you can get burned just on their breath. because they're adapted to such a hot environment, they cannot live in conditions that are sustainable for a human being. while they can briefly handle moderate temperatures, keeping them long-term in an environment less than 90°C will lead to both physical and mental stress.

they're not pokemon i'd ever recommend keeping. outside of a couple of extremely dedicated trainers who battle at a competitive level, the only other times i've seen appropriate magmortar care are in research labs situated near active volcanoes and at metal processing plants, where working magmortar help maintain the temperatures needed to smelt ore.

[rock-swag-tournament]

Rock Swag Tournament Round 1: Igneous Rocks Part 8

Once again we have some rocks named after minerals! This time, they're both ultramafic. Also this time, we also have a fun diagram to look at.

Ternary plots, very useful but sometimes difficult to plot on (at least for me. I always confuse myself, even now). But we're not plotting anything, we're just looking at trends!

If you look at the three corners of this triangle, you will see they are labelled Ol for olivine), Opx for orthopyroxene, and Cpx for clinopyroxene. These corners tell us what three things we are comparing the proportions of. In this case, we are comparing what percent of olivine, orthopyroxene, and clinopyroxene are in a rock (and what we call that rock based on the relative amounts of these minerals).

Ternary diagrams can have any three things in the corners, but you'll often see QFL (Quartz, Feldspar, Lithics) diagrams to classify sedimentary rocks, or sand-silt-clay diagrams for soil texture. You can also stick two triangles together to make a diamond for something like a QAPF diagram where the four points are quartz, alkali feldspar, plagioclase, and feldspathoids. QAPF diagrams are also used to classify igneous rocks (you can plot syenite and monzonite on them, as well as your granites).

The closer you get to the top corner of the triangle, the more olivine you have. The closer you get to the right corner of the triangle, the more clinopyroxene you have, and the closer you get to the left corner of the triangle, the more orthopyroxene you have.

If your rock sample plots in the top half (ish) of the triangle (at least 40% olivine), your rock is a peridotite. Now, depending on the relative amounts of pyroxene minerals, you may have different types of peridotite like lherzolite, wherlite, harzburgite, or dunite.

In the picture of peridotite above, the peridotite is actually the xenolith (the green rock embedded in the black rock) and it would be considered dunite because it is more than 90% olivine. The reason a rock full of olivine is called peridotite is because peridot is another name for olivine (specifically gemstone-quality olivine).

As for pyroxenites, if you have less than 40% olivine, the rock would be a pyroxenite. If it's almost all pyroxene (no more than ~5% olivine, at the bottom of the pyramid), it would be called websterite.

As for other facts about the rocks, both peridotite and pyroxenite are typically intrusive, phaneritic rocks derived from the mantle. Peridotite is going to be some shade of green because of the olivine, and pyroxenite is usually black or at least dark in color.

I'm also thinking of making an informational post about volcanoes, partial melting (and magma composition) and how these rocks/magmas get from the mantle to the surface, so look out for that at some point (I know myself better than to name a specific timeline).

[crowlysium]

Alright, I won’t write a mini-dissertation about this topic, but it’s time to discuss how Steven turning to stone in the Duat represents dormancy.

First, let me explain what dormancy is. Dormancy is the term for when an alter becomes inactive. They don’t front and you can’t find them in IW. It’s kinda like a volcano. A dormant volcano isn’t gone, it’s still a volcano, but it hasn’t woken up. Many systems describe dormancy as an alter sleeping for an indeterminate amount of time. It isn’t death, however.

Now that we know what dormancy is, we can compare this to Steven turning to stone and Marc’s dialog in the Field of Reeds after.

Marc says to Taweret, “We need to go back for him.” This prompts the very correct response of “It doesn’t work like that,” from the Hippo.

Forcing an alter back from dormancy can have a lot of negative effects on the alter and system. It’s something that shouldn’t be done unless absolutely necessary, as dormancy happens for a specific reason. This is a show with a hippo goddess, though.

Taweret says “You don’t need him anymore, Marc.” Alters go dormant because their role has been fulfilled. All alters have a purpose, not determined by if the system chooses to follow those labels that denote the role. When the body died, Steven had no purpose.

-Steven Grant

[eris-snow]

Hi I was thinking if you could do aizawa having a sibling or daughter. Like a younger sister or daughter who he teaches and do some type of angst with them. Like him not paying much attention to her or she’s caught doing something (like smoking,drugs). Something like that. Thank you ❤️

I’m not comfortable writing any mentions about underage smoking or drinking (cause I assume that she's still in high school when this scene occurs) but I’ll try to make it up by making y/n kind of ‘bad girl’ ish!

I don't condone underage smoking or underage drinking. Please take care of your body :D

Note for the requester below!

Tags: daughter!yn, Aizawa, angst

“So, mind explaining what that was?” Aizawa asks, sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose as he closes his room door in the dorms of Class A.

You think it's ironic because, even as his daughter, you’ve only seen this place once.

Your arms are littered with scars, a nasty bruise already forming on your cheek at where you’ve been punched. It throbs, sure, but it's nothing compared to your father's words.

No, his words are a knife to the chest. They’d make your heart bleed so much more than any quirk every could.

“Don’t want to,” You grouse, shrugging of your school bag. It lands on the ground with a loud thud as you try to reach for the door handle. A hand shoots out to grab yours firmly, making you freeze in your spot.

“May be I should have rephrased my statement,” Your father growls. “Tell me what happened, Y/n.”

His grip is controlled, gentle but firm in a way that makes you want to scoff. So he only cares now, when you kick up a fuss.

How flippant.

And yet, a small part of your mind still cowers at Aizawa’s anger. Your father’s icy wrath can be as cold as a snowstorm or as explosive as Bakugou, and you’re already anticipating and analyzing different ways you could mould yourself back into the person he wants you to be.

Pathetic.

“Nothing happened,” You mutter, not daring to move. “All I did was lose control a little, that’s all—”

“You picked a fight with my student, Y/n!” Aizawa raised his voice, causing tears to prickle your eyes. “Bakugou’s a ticking time bomb that blows up every 10 minutes. You know that, and you still did it! If it weren’t for Midoriya’s quick thinking to get me, you could have been seriously hurt!”

And that’s when it snaps.

“Your s-stu—” You break off, jerking your hand away from his. Your father’s eyes narrow, about to snap again— “Your daughter lost control of her quirk, Dad! Your daughter! Why is it you still care about your own goddamn students over me?”

Aizawa’s eyes widen, fury snuffing out. “Y/n—”

“NO!” You yell, shaking with emotion. “I’ve listened and watched for my whole fucking life. It’s my turn.”

Aizawa opens his mouth, but the minute tears spill from your eyes and a sob escapes your mouth, he presses his lips into a tight line.

“Your students have always been the priority. Ever since day one, you’d throw yourself in front of a villain crime lord to save them when I didn’t know if you’d even spend my birthday with me each year.” You bite your lip, trembling as the word vomit finally spews from your lips. You can’t stop it, and it just keeps coming and coming because now that the lid is off, the words bubble over like a volcano.

“Do you know what everyone in Class B says?” You grit your teeth, clenching your dirt-ridden shirt with your fingernails digging into your skin. The tears burn hot like magma, and you can’t stop yourself from choking the next few lines out. “They’ve labelled you the second father of Class A, Dad! Did you know that?”

A bitter laugh wrenches itself out of your lips, and you’re pretty sure your skin is bleeding at how tightly you’re clenching your shirt. “Am I not your daughter, Dad? Am I not important now that Mum’s gone?”

“I loved your mother—”

“But do you love me?” you sob out.

The question causes Aizawa’s heart to plummet faster than a ten-pound bowling ball. Your voice is so small, so uncertain, and it makes Aizawa’s heartache. Do you-do you seriously think that? That he didn’t love you?

His hesitation was a fatal mistake, because for the first time in a long while, you look up to him with defiance in your eyes. You’d always been a good child, Aizawa had taught you well, after all. But this? Your eyes were hard, stone cold, and it makes Aizawa stop short.

“That’s what I thought.” You curl into yourself with a small choke, hands finding the door handle before you glance back at him with a teary, broken gaze. “Go check on your precious Bakugou. They seem to need you way more than I do.”

The door slams and knocks down the picture frame hanging on his door, shattered glass fragmenting with a loud, high-pitched crash.

On it, is a photo of you and him on Father’s Day.

To be honest, he has already forgotten how long ago it was taken.

--

Note to the requester: I'm so sorry it's so late! I was debating if I should make it a happy ending and ultimately decided to go with this so it wasn't forced. Sorry if it wasn't exactly what you asked for, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! Thank you for requesting! 💛