#and also have text messages right aligned

[the-tarot-witch22]

Love letter from your future spouse 💌 - Pick a pile

Note : *Some intense se*ual messages for you guys too, soo minors DNI*

Pile 1/Pile 2

Pile 3/ Pile 4

Hello everyone ! This is my another pick a pile or pac reading so please be kind and leave comment or reblog, and let me know if it resonated with you!

Note : This is a general reading or collective reading. It may or may not resonate with you. Please take what resonates and leave what doesn't. And it's totally okay if our energies aren't aligned!

How to pick : Take a deep breath and choose a pile which you feel most connected to!

Note : This reading is based on my intuition and channeled messages from tarot cards.

I worked really hard on this pile please show some love by leaving comments, likes and reblogs!

*Buy me a kofi*

Pile 1

(The cards I got ace of pentacles, ace of cups, 2 of cups, page of cups, and the fool)

Hello my dearest,

What can I say? I didn't even meet you and yet I still miss you. Am I going mad, my love? I am working towards my goal and I have almost everything i need at the moment but why do I still feel that longing and sadness, am I insane for this? my life has been okay, I work or study and do what needs to be done, but is it weird to say i am searching for you? I hope you feel the same way… sometimes i dream of you or have that romantic dreams where you are there and when i wake up… nothing? It's making me lose my mind, i can't really talk about it with everyone, they will or might think i am just desperate for some shit, but i am not i want something serious, i want you. I have fun too i sometimes go out with my friends we laugh together, but still when I look at them or when they talk about their lovers or text them in front of me, i just miss you.. Am i being too much? probably but i wanted to tell of this to you, I feel like i need some rest or space from everything or just go somewhere where i can be alone with my and your thoughts, but the responsibilities are holding me back , I wish you were here to hold me and tell me everything will be okay. Sometimes I feel like we make some telepathic or some sort of connection and i feel that intense vibrations in my body, I haven't even met you and here I am being vulnerable, But i know you will love this side of me, will you not? I also want to tell you you're doing great and you will achieve everything you have dreamt of please take proper care of yourself, I wanna meet you soon, and have the love , fun i never experienced or had, You know love, what's funny thing is? I never had something serious or people had just taken advantage of me, but you without even meeting you, i can tell you are what i need. Please be patient for me, universe is in work and they will help us meet at divine timing and I can't wait for it. Until then, my love.

Phew so intense they had a lot to say to you, and they seem so sweet, don't they? i wish you meet them soon.

Pile 2:

(the cards I got 3 of cups, the star, 5 of cups and king of cups)

hey ;)

Hello my star, what are you up to nowadays? Are you having fun without me? wait don't answer me that i might get jealous over it, what's wrong with me I am not scaring you away am I? I tend to speak my mind, and show what I feel, because that's how I am. But sincerely tho, i hope you are having fun and celebration and you are enjoying your life, you know this is what we should do? Like just enjoy our times, I know how hectic life can get and we all deserve the break, so do it for you don't let anyone tell you that you are not doing enough because my star , you are and i already swooning over here from the thoughts of you, would you like to hear about my life too? I will tell you what I am doing nowadays, I had lost something precious to me, I know not a way great way to start a conversation right? But i wanna tell you, I lost something, i hate that I did, but to be honest? If it leads me to you , then i am willing to sacrifice anything for it, i wish we could meet sooner, but i know this distance this gap between us only increase our love towards each other, because distance makes heart grows fonder right? Now I wont deny when I lost that thing I was sad and even cried, But now I am healing and your thoughts are helping me? Do you miss me too at the same time? and wonder what we could have been doing if we were together? Because I do. Always. It's not even funny at this point. Gosh your thoughts make me feel all romantic thoughts, you are such a tease by the way hiding away and making desperate for you, don't you worry my star , I will take my revenge when I meet you, sweet revenge, I will tease you so much that you will regret meeting me late, Don't worry I am just kidding, i tend to get intense sometimes, but your thoughts are responsible they make me like this. But right now I am working towards something I am saving money for us our future and maybe kids too? Well, its a conversation for later… But if you don't want kids we can always have pets, right? I want to give you the world, and care for you so much for you. Now, I have to go… Duty calls, but remember I miss you, and I love you even if we haven't met yet.

Pile 2 your fs sounds like a total flirt and a good person, and I love it for you! You guys deserve it <3

Pile 3:

the cards I got (knight of wands, 9 of wands, 3 of wands, 8 of wands)

Hello sexy wanderer,

Do you know what kind of thoughts, I have for you? You my sexy wildcat, you are a pure goddess and you are so beautiful, and what can I say i have such dreams for you, I just wanna tear off your clothes, i will just leave it at that, You feel like a dream come true. Wherever I go I imagine having intense intimate moments with you, and I don't even know why, such a hold you have on me, and guess what we haven't even met yet. I have to say so much to you but i will hold out for now, I don't wanna scare you away, but its totally opposite I don't wanna scare you away but i also want to impress you, I wanna have enjoy small moments with you. I would like to make out and show everyone who you actually love. Not them who stares at your beauty or just wanna have fun with you but me, you chose me, i will show that I am a proud men, and worthy of you, right now I am travelling to far away lands I like doing that you know, but i am gonna coming to meet you soon. And you believe me when i say i will sweep you off your feet and give everything you are worthy of. See you soon.

Wow, they seem too passionate, and you know what? Good for you guys! Their message was short but their energy? give me a fan right now because I need it! They are definitely fire sign and love travelling, and their sexual drive? HIGH. They gave me so much hot kind of energy, I love it for you guys, i totally see you both meeting soon!

Pile 4 :

(the cards I got 4 of pentacles, the magician, ace of wands, strength, The Hermit, 6 of cups, 3 of pentacles)

Sweetheart? Once, we meet I am not letting you go ever, But i will make sure you know that I deserve you, I might make mistakes here and there, but that's just me being foolish or silly, but I never intend to fight with you or hurt you, You know I am a bit overprotective, but if you don't like that I am willing to change my ways for you, Right now there is so much work pressure on me, i feel overwhelmed so I decided to talk with you, even though we are not in each other's lives right now, I feel I can talk to you about anything you make me feel safe like i can be myself, i never had that, it was always me making efforts, but with you i can feel we are each other's light, and I wish we cross each other's path soon, right now i am enjoying my alone time, I am not dating around, I am waiting for you sweetheart, and I have a feeling we will know we are the ones for each other. I feel we have known each other in past lives or we might have each cross each other's path, but that time timing might not be right, And we both needed to learn some lessons before we meet again, and honestly? I'd like that. I wanna be the best men for you. I love you, and for you I am willing to fight anything or anyone, Some people think i am workaholic, but they don't know what I feel, or who i feel for the person i feel for is you, you make me wanna be a better man, i wish there wasn't this much wait for us to meet, I have so much to tell you, Sometimes I end up fighting with my close ones, I regret it, I am a very calm person but when someone provokes me? I can't take it. I am working on that too. And that's why we are having our self journey's together and let's meet at our best, sweetheart. Till then remember I am here waiting for you and trying to be a best person who deserves you. I love you my sweetheart.

Okayyyy, very masculine and hardworking energy, they or you might be spiritual too, you meeting will be for the best, for some of you i feel friends to lovers trope going to be here, your man sounds so sweet yet tired. But he is doing his best, you guys got a gem.

Thank you for stopping by! Take care and remember you are loved <3

[fastandcarlos]

Long Distance Sucks : ̗̀➛ Pierre Gasly

summary: trying to keep your relationship going is hard, especially when there are thousands of miles between you, but somehow pierre always finds a way

Your head shook in disbelief as you closed the door behind the delivery driver, your smile wide at the bouquet of flowers that were in your hands. The smell was divine, they looked picture perfect, everything that you had ever wanted.

It didn’t take long for you to figure who the mastermind was behind them. Pierre had pestered you most of the day to make sure that you were home for the day, desperate for you to be there to receive your delivery, only wishing that he could also be there to be able to see the wide smile on your face.

Once you set the flowers down, you reached for your phone, finding your favourite contact to try and call.

“Do you like them?” Pierre quizzed as soon as he picked up the phone.

“I can’t believe you sent these to me,” you laughed, delicately placing your fingertips under a few of the petals, admiring their beauty.

“I just wanted to send you a little something to remind you that I love you, and that I miss you,” Pierre smiled, sitting down on the bed of his hotel room. You had a clear picture in your mind, you knew that he’d be wearing a smug smile, proud of himself for being able to pull off such a sweet surprise. “It’s not the same without you.”

“Flowers are cool, but you being here would be cooler,” you responded.

“Every time you pass the flowers you can be reminded of me now,” Pierre chuckled, knowing exactly where in your apartment you’d put them too.

“The table in the kitchen,” you both said at the same time, chuckling to yourselves. It was your favourite spot in your home, decorated full of things that reminded you of Pierre.

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” Pierre told you, “I’ve got four more weeks until I get to see you again.”

“Time will fly by,” you tried to insist, attempting to reassure yourself more than you were Pierre. “We’ll be back together soon enough, you’ll be fed up of having me around when you get home, I won’t be able to leave you alone.”

Pierre didn’t want you to leave him alone, he wanted you by his side constantly. He loved his career, and he knew how much yours meant to you too, but he was sure that the two of you were cursed sometimes with how mismatched your calendars were.

“I might have to go in a minute love, we’ve got team meeting,” he informed you, hearing a soft sigh down the other end of the line.

“It’s alright,” you replied, forcing a smile to your face.

“I’ll speak to you tonight if you’re still awake,” Pierre told you, yet another ‘if’ that seemed to happen so frequently in your relationship recently.

“I’ll try and stay awake just for you,” you spoke, saying a quick goodbye to Pierre before you heard the line cut off, letting go of a heavy sigh.

Your eyes glanced back to the flowers again. Four weeks would fly by, right?

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Over the next few days you had been surviving on a few scattered texts and calls, trying your best to align your time zones. Your conversations were broken, half the time you were sleepily reading messages, barely able to understand exactly what Pierre was saying to you.

It was the same for Pierre too, he continuously looked at his phone, dejected each time there was no message from you.

Like always, you were counting down the days to Pierre returning home to you, busying yourself with work. It was almost night by the time you returned to your apartment, lost in your own world when you felt your foot hit against something when you got to the door, glancing down at a cardboard box.

You picked it up as you entered your home, taking it with you as you sat down on the sofa. You quickly tore the tape off of it, intrigued as to what was inside. You had no recollection of ordering anything, but with how exhausted you were, you couldn’t be sure.

A gasp came from you as you opened up the box, glancing down to see an Alpine hoodie folded inside. You carefully lifted it out and held it up, chuckling to yourself, knowing straight away who the hoodie belonged to. The size was perfect for Pierre, you’d washed, and worn, plenty of them to know.

Thought you might want a reminder of me, I wore this at the race this weekend, hopefully it still smells like me too. P x

You brought the hoodie to your nose, inhaling deep as you smelt Pierre’s familiar scent. It felt like home as you threw the hoodie over your head, allowing it to fall over your body, knowing that you had no plans to take the hoodie off until the day that Pierre was home again.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

“I might have to go to the garage for a couple of days before I come home,” Pierre spoke, watching your smile drop.

You were only days away from being reunited, only for another obstacle to get in the way. “It’s work, you’ve got to do it, I’m sure I’ll survive another few days.”

“I promise that I’ll be as quick as I can to get things done.”

“Don’t rush, you need the car to be the best it can be for the next race,” you tried your best to assure him, “we’ve done weeks, a few more days won’t hurt.”

“Thank you for being so understanding,” Pierre weakly smiled, “I promise that I’ll make it up to you when I get home.”

“It’s fine Pierre.”

Your voice was far from convincing as you ended the call, laying down on the sofa as your hands ran across your face.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pierre tried to keep you as updated with his plans over the next couple of days, but each day his estimations changed. One day you were told he’d have to be there for a week, the next day he’d insist he only needed two more days, you somehow found yourself wondering whether Pierre would even be home at all.

You kept keeping yourself busy, heading out around the city, exploring as much as you could. You were busy scrolling on your phone as you headed into one of the nearby clothes shops, finally deciding to treat yourself to the item of clothing that you’d spotted in the shop window several times in an attempt to cheer yourself up from the feeling of missing Pierre.

Your shop was soon interrupted by the sound of your phone buzzing in your pocket.

“Hey, how’s it going at the garage?” You quizzed as soon as you saw Pierre’s name appear, using your free hand to take the top off of the railing.

“I don’t know,” he chuckled, “but what I do know is that that top you’re holding will look beautiful on you.” Your eyes darted around as Pierre continued to laugh down the line. “Look back at the door amour.”

You almost dropped everything as your body turned around as fast as it could, chuckling in disbelief as Pierre stared back at you, the biggest smile on his face as he beckoned you over, waving his hand across at you.

You could hardly move fast enough, desperate to have the feeling of Pierre’s arms wrapped around your frame again. You’d both completely forgotten that there were other people around you as your bodies crashed into each other, holding one another tight out of fear that somehow the other person would slip away again.

“Y-you’re home,” you smiled as you pulled away, cupping either side of Pierre’s face. Your eyes studied him closely, making sure that it really was him in front of you. “I thought you still needed to fix some things at the garage?” You scolded, hitting gently against his chest.

“I told them I couldn’t wait any longer, I couldn’t stay away from you any longer my love,” Pierre whispered, pressing a kiss against your lips. “It’s been torture being away from you for this long, but I couldn’t resist the temptation to surprise you,” he sniggered.

“How did you even know where to find me?” You quizzed.

“Trust me…I’ve got my sources.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[mellowmistt]

The Sleepover-Chris Sturniolo (Part 3)

Summary: You attend a party where you see the triplets for the first time again since Matt and Nick found you out about you and Chris...

Content: Fluff; swearing; smut; unprotected sex; mentions of alcohol

A/N: Make sure that you have read the other parts of this series before reading this! (pinned on my profile). Sorry this has taken kinda long, I kept bouncing between ideas and had writers block lol. Also this isn't all proofread yet so sorry if there are any mistakes, let me know if you want part four!

—————————

Saturday. Another tiresome week had gone by again. I hadn't physically seen Nick, Matt or Chris since last weekend, when we got caught. But I was going to see them again, tonight.

It was one of their influencer friend's birthday party, and I got invited along with the triplets as I had hung out with them a few times, and we became pretty good friends. My head had been restless all day,all week. Replaying that conversation over and over.

"Well,shit." Nick says.

The room fills with silence. We all stare blankly a each other for a few moments, until Matt starts to walk towards his room.

"Whatever" He says, Chris glances at me before following Matt, calling after him. I glance over at Nick as the door shuts, I couldn't tell what he was feeling.

I could feel my eyes welling up with tears, I look down as I start to walk towards my bag, trying not to burst out crying and embarrass myself more.

"Hey, I still love you, nothing has changed you'll always be my best friend, I don't mind about you and Chris." He says pulling me in for a hug.

I squeeze my arms around him, feeling my hot tears roll down my face. The sound of Matt and Chris's mumbled conversation was getting louder and more argumentative,I uncontrollably started balling.

"I promise you, he's going to get over it" Nick says, pulling away from the hug.

I made it home from work, my phone alerting me as I walked though my front door, I had a text from Chris.

Messages Chris I can't wait to see you later, I miss you❤

I smile as I write my reply. I had missed him this past week. As much as I couldn' wait to be with him again, I felt a big pit of anxiety in my core, is Matt mad at me? What if he never talks to me again?

I drive down the downtown roads, the sunlight kissing my skin through the silhouettes of the palm trees aligned across the sidewalk. Drives like these bring me back to when I used to stay here every summer at my grandparents house. I used to hate having to go back to Massachusetts, but now that I live in LA, I miss the east coast all the time. I moved here not long after graduating high school to help run a boutique with my best friend Allison, as well as my small etsy business where I make scented candles, wax melts and diffusers which is actually doing quite well. Pumpkin spice is mine and Nick's favourite, it reminds us of home. Fall time is a dream, just like how you see in the movies, orange leaved trees and ridiculously decorated houses for halloween. It's one of the topics that Matt and I can always talk about for hours.

I pulled in to a parking space near the back of the venue and headed towards the party, fixing my dress and checking my hair and makeup before stepping through he doors. I chose a short dark red silk dress, my hair in a slick back low bun and a soft glam with a red lip to match the dress. I greeted the host with a birthday card and good wishes, and slowly walked around in an attempt to find Nick, Matt and Chris.

I heard my name being called from the right of me, I turned and saw them, Chris waving his hands towards them signalling for me to come over with a big cheesy smile on his face. I smile as I walk over, Chris comes and hugs me first.

"Fuck you look so hot" He whispers into my ear, before pulling away. I smile back at him.

"Yayyy you're here, holy shit you look amazing!" Nick exclaims, giving me a hug.

"Thank you!"I say, pulling away, my eyes meet with Matt's, he gives me a soft smile as he pulls me in for a hug.

"Hey come with me a sec" He says, before pulling away and walking towards the door.

"I'll be right back!" I say, facing Chris and Nick, who were now seated around the table, before following Matt.

I was beginning to feel nervous again as I approached matt, who was leaning against a pillar outside, near the main entrance.

"About the other day, I'm sorry for the way I just walked off, I just...never expected that" he says quietly, looking apologetically in my eyes.

"Of course, I understand, it's ok.. I just didn't want to mess up our friendship. I love all of you guys so much and I'm sorry that you found out like that" I reply.

"Hey it's all good, nothing has changed, I just needed a moment to process it." He says, with a warming smile.

I lean in to hug him again. "Thank you" I say softly.

"Okay, we better get back inside" He says, before guiding me back to the table.

I see Chris over at the bar, and go to him.

"Hey" I say, gently laying my hand on his shoulder to signal that i'm back.

"Well hello" He says smiling. "He talk to you about it?" He asks.

"Yeah, everything's good!" I say.

"What drink do you want? You go back to the table." He says.

"Hmm, get me a strawberry daiquiri" I say with a smile, before returning back to Nick and Matt. I knew that Chris and I couldn't display any signs of romantical affection in a big public space, we still wanted things to be quiet.

About an hour had passed, I was sat next to Chris, sipping my second cocktail, watching Nick and Matt mingle with other guests. I felt Chris's hand on my thigh as he leant in to whisper into my ear.

"Let's go outside."

We both subtly sneak our way out of the venue and head for my car which was parked in a dark space at the back of the car park. We both get into the car, a street light on the other side of the hedge fence was the only light source.

As soon as the doors shut, Chris grabbed my shoulders and smashed his lips against mine. I slowly climb onto his lap as me moves his hands down to hold onto my hips.

"You don't know how long I have been waiting to kiss you tonight" He whispers, his forehead leaning against mine.

"Me too" I smirk.

"And did I say how sexy you look in that pretty little red dress" He says softly as he looks me up and down, until he meets my eyes again.

"Mhmm" I nod, before readjusting myself on his lap. As I shuffle my hips closer to his, I brush against his crotch area, causing him to let out a small muffled whimper. I feel him start to harden underneath me. I lean in to smother my lips with his again, starting to grind my hips, building up his tension more.

He leans his head back, closing his eyes, and then looks back into my eyes as he lifts my hips up. I unbuckle his belt and he shuffles up a bit so I can pull down his pants. He slides my red dress up my waist, revealing my red laced thong.

"Wow, this looks good on you" He whispers with a grin.

I let out a small laugh before quickly double checking the surroundings, making sure there is no one around this part of the car park, they probably wouldn't even be able to see us if there were anyway.

I tease him with one hand for a moment, watching his face squirm, my other hand moving my underwear to the side. I align myself with him, and slowly ease down onto him, his hands grabbing my waist tighter as I go down. I move slow, letting my body get used to him, my hands hold onto his shoulders for support. I start to speed up my movements, our breaths getting more rushed. I attach my lips to his, feeling his tongue graze against mine when suddenly a loud ringtone echoed around the car. I pulled away from the kiss and stopped my movements when Chris picked up his phone, showing me the screen, Nick was calling him. He went to place it onto the driver seat when his thumb slipped and pressed the green answer button.

"Oh, fuck!" He says, his voice still wavering from the simulation.

"Chris! where are you" Nick shouts, the loud music in the background signaling that he is still inside.

"Uhm-uh" Chris mumbles, trying to steady his breathing.

"Hold on I can't hear you let me come outside" Nick shouts.

I laugh quietly watching Chris's face drop.

"Nick I just needed some air i'll uh-" Chris says as I subconsciously readjust myself, the sudden movement making Chris let out a small moan. I cup one hand over my mouth, trying not to burst out laughing, watching Chris's face get more and more uncomfortable.

"Well I don't fucking see you out here!" Nick says, either ignoring or not acknowledging the noise that Chris just made.

"I'll be back in like ten minutes!" Chris rushes, quickly ending the phone call and putting the phone on the driver's seat. I resume my movements, Chris returns his hands to my waist as I try to suppress my laugher from that awkward encounter. I kiss him again through muffled whines. The feeling of him brushing my g-spot was starting to induce my climax. The windows were steaming up from our restless breaths.

"Oh, fuck" I whisper as I lean my head back, closing my eyes in reflex to the knot in my stomach building up, ready to explode. My hands gripping onto Chris's shoulders, his hands tightening on my waist as he finishes. My body twitches as I finish a few seconds later, letting out a loud moan followed by loud breaths. I lift my head up and meet my eye's with Chris's again as we both smile at each other. I slow down my movements, grinding my waist forward and back until I climb off him and roll onto the driver's seat.

We reclothe and gather ourselves before going back into he party. Nick finds us as soon as we step back ino the venue.

"Where the fuck were you both?" He slurs, his drinks starting to take effect.

"Just taking a breather" Chris says as he looks over at me with a smirk.

I cover my mouth to hide my laugh as Nick pulls a grossed out expression.

"I don't wanna know what that means" Nick responds as he grabs my arm. "Lets danceee!" He says excitedly.

Special mentions! <3 @reirei-purple @chrizzpiecreme @brianna776 @colorthecosmos444

[bibibbon]

I don't even know what to say about the ending, because my expectations for it were so non-existent, but I will say this:

1A as a found family? Not canon. It really makes 1A look bad that once Izuku becomes Quirkless again, they don't talk as much anymore. It's only when he becomes Iron Izuku that they start talking to him again. Izuku even says how lonely he is now that his classmates are heroes and he isn't!

Hori's message that anyone can be a hero, even without a Quirk? Complete and utter bullshit. Again, without Iron Izuku - which took 8 YEARS to develop, he didn't stand a chance. Even All Might could only be a hero after Kamini Ward with Iron Might and that only lasted like 5 minutes.

The hero ranking system and hero culture as a whole? Basically the same as before. Apparently, the low crime rate has concentrated the pool of heroes to those who have strong Quirks.

Literally the only good thing about the ending is that Bakugou didn't become the #1 hero, and even that shows that because he NEVER FUCKING CHANGED, he's dropping in the ranks.

Hi @nutzgunray-lvt 👋

Honestly, same all I can do to describe the ending of MHA is underwhelming and horrible.

Moving on you are right 1A didn't have a good found family bond and canon even shows this and supports this. After they graduated and became heroes it seems like they lost contact with eachother and didn't meet eachother for casual talks or just hanging out because they're days off didn't align or their just wasn't and effort made. Heck we don't see a little reunion or even simple text messages it just seems like they drift apart and no one seems to even comfort izuku when he is officially quirkless.

I have said it and I will say it again I hate the whole concept of iron might or iron Izuku. I don't know why but I simply don't like it and the fact that it proves that you do need a quirk to become a hero. The series seems to have horrible messaging and the whole definition of hero seems to stick to the same definition in chapter one "a job, a career" that's it not it being "to help people and help society". "Anyone can be a hero" but you can't if youre quirkless I guess🤷‍♀️ .

I stand by my point that izuku could of became a quirkless hero. Not a hero like all might but a hero for sure and at this point it seems sad to see izuku lose OFA and just become iron Izuku it's just pitiful and empty and bland and bleak and well you get the jist of it.

Hero culture and heroics is still toxic. Heck I think you could argue that it's become even more toxic that the hero environment has been saturated by those that have strong quirks. It also seems like hawks really didn't do anything at all to change the system except of add a bit so other people can be celebrated but the hero polls still stand with bakugo being aggressive as ever and again showing us that he hasn't changed and his treatment to izuku seems to be the only thing that hori focuses on even though there is no focus on it from Izuku's perspective aka making all of bakugos development that is only towards izuku null.

May I also bring the point that it wasn't hawks who even tried introducing a new quirk counselling system but it was ochako?!?!!! Iam sorry it was ochako who even introduced it and is changing it like why isn't hawks there helping he is after all the head of HPSC after all. Also, the whole idea of heroes only being people with strong quirks and that the crime rate is low maybe because of it paints a horrible picture. This whole idea also proves that history is just rhyming and will soon probably repeat itself sooner or later that is.

[invisiblestringmm]

chapter two

cut open my heart, right at the scar

chapter index

author: thank you for staying. feedback will be greatly appreciated!

warnings: soft smut, alcohol mention, drinking, anxiety mention.

word count: 2.571k

Some people call it faith, a few others call it manifestation. It could be a mix of both — after all, what could be more powerful than an innocent child wishing for something every night as if her life hangs on it?

You didn’t know if the stars and the whole cosmos were aligned precisely to make your daughter happy, but you felt wretched knowing that her happiness meant some tough times ahead for you; all this time, she never had what she wanted the most because you’ve been keeping it from her. 

For a good motive, though.

Knowing you so well, practically as if you shared the same brain, it didn’t take much for Willow to discover what was wrong when she was determined to investigate a little. It began when you called up the office to inform them you’d be working from home due to a sudden heavy cold, then Willow found out that Lily was staying at your parent’s for the next two days; usually, the time she stayed when something was up and you needed time isolated. Then, you ignored her text messages, and also her calls when she decided to insist a bit more, knowing you’d shut off from everyone.

But you couldn’t ignore the banging on your front door.

Willow groaned when she found you still in your pyjamas, dark circles around your usually sparkly eyes, and your hair up in a messy bun. She had her brows furrowed and a large paper bag from your favourite bakery in her hand, you sighed knowing what was probably in it and how much you needed it along with a bottle of red wine - once you were done with work.

“I’ve stalked a little,” she confessed, stepping into your flat once you opened the door a bit more, giving her space. “What are the odds?”

“There aren’t any, it’s called karma and I fully accept my punishment,” you went straight to the point as you threw yourself on the sofa after grabbing the paper bag from Willow’s hands; the freshly baked chocolate muffins and croissants inside relieved your nerves only for a second.

“Don’t say that, Y/n. We both know you had your reasons,” she rubbed your back, making an effort to reassure you the minute she noticed your eyes glistening with tears. Willow had been there through it all, from the night you met Mason. 

FOUR YEARS AGO

The loud music and the bright lights were annoying, to say the least. Still, you were in such a great mood that you couldn’t stop your hips from perfectly moving right and left, to the sound of every beat, and you were having fun. It was Willow’s birthday and, as a sucker for birthdays, your mission was to have the greatest time and make sure your group of friends had a blast too. In your little world, you poured champagne into your best friend’s mouth and allowed her to pour it into yours too, but you knew Willow’s reflexes weren’t the best when sober so why would they be when she was already wasted?

“Fuuuuck!” The black slipper dress was glued to your body, but you couldn’t hold a loud laugh as Willow followed you. “Fuck, fuck! Whatever, fuck! Let’s go get another drink.” 

The thin line between carefree and careless was already there, even more so when you were bold enough to ask for tequila, after shamelessly flirting with the bartender and a few other guys around, and returned to your booth with one bottle in each hand, knowing the group would want some shots. Almost stumbling on the last step that gave you access to the booth, sitting on the burgundy leather sofa, you frowned when a towel was given to you. Looking up, you found that cute guy who you’d been staring at, holding it for you and that big smile that made the corner of his eyes wrinkle flashing at you. 

“I thought you might need this, Miss Champagne.”

“How thoughtful of you to help me with my champagne problems…?”

“Mason.” He winked and your heart skipped a beat. How pathetic, swooning for a guy you just met. At a club, and completely drunk.

Mason was a cute name, but right now you could only think of how it’d sound if he made you moan it. You didn’t know, but he thought about that multiple times since you walked into the booth next to the one he shared with his friends and watched you, he thought of how those hips would move on top of his instead of moving to the beat of each song that filled the place. He thought how badly he wanted to just hold it and make you help move them for him. You were fun, your energy matched his and he was looking for an escape. And, on top of that, you were breathtakingly gorgeous and couldn’t care less for who he was when he told you, and you stated that the only athletes you cared about were swimmers-Italians, to be more specific.

As the night went on and Willow was now forming a line of boys to kiss - twenty, to match her age - you wanted to go and stop her but you knew you wouldn’t be able. Instead, you switched the first guy for one of Mason’s friends and begged him to kiss your friend so good she wouldn’t want any other. Declan was on for the mission and they disappeared together after the kiss. 

You danced together, shared a few more shots of tequila and when Mason asked if you wanted to go to his place, there was no point playing difficult, you both wanted the same thing: fuck each other senseless. He got you all naked before you could even reach the stairs.

“You’re wearing too many clothes, Masey.” You pouted, making him giggle at the nickname. Mentally, he was already fucking you and you could tell that by the way he looked at you. “And you’re perfect just like that, I don’t want you wearing nothing but the adorable flush on your cheeks while you’re here or I might have to punish you.” 

“Hm? I think I’ll put my clothes back on, then.” On your tiptoes, you reached for his lips and brushed them with yours, his warm minted breath making you close your eyes and let out a low and hoarse moan that only worked as an incentive for Mason to grab your thighs and carry you into the living room, straight to his large dark sofa. “Too many clothes, Mason.”

He nodded and quickly got rid of the navy blue Nike hoodie and the basic white shirt at once, leaving his bare chest exposed. Your mouth watered as your eyes wandered through his body, noticing how beautifully sculpted it was, all in the right places. But what caught your attention, innocently for the first time of the night, was the bulge under his faded blue jeans. You gulped.

“Like what you see?” Mason grinned and you quickly nodded, reaching out to unbutton his jeans. He softly slapped your hand. “Why so eager, baby?” The pet name made you moan, along with the tip of his fingers touching your nipples, then between your boobs and making the dangerous way to your lower stomach. 

“Mason…” You felt your pussy clench around nothing and he gave you another grin as he made himself comfortable on the sofa and you watched his head disappear between your legs.

You felt his breath against your pussy, making your eyes roll and your back arch. “Such a beautiful pussy, I bet it tastes so good.” Mason pressed his lips against your inner thigh as his fingers now played with your juices, teasing you, making your whole body shiver and crave his touch. It felt like you were about to lose your fucking mind when he circled your clit with his thumb and his warm tongue played with your folds. Mason’s moans while eating your pussy were heavenly, he knew what he was doing and enjoyed it, but you craved for more. 

“Mason, please,” You whimpered and your eyes met. Those big, brown eyes met yours and he lifted his hea, the sight of his lips wet from your juices making you bite your lower lip as hard as you could.

“Say it.”

“I need your cock inside me, now. I need you to fuck me.”

And he did, each thrust harder and deeper than the previous as Mason devoured you. Your sweat mixed with his, your moans, and the way he fucked you was something else. When his thrusts started to become sloppy and his breathing heavier, Mason quickly flipped you so you could ride him and your only goal was to make that man cum so hard he’d forget his name. 

“You take me so well, Y/n. Such a good girl.” You felt your pussy clench around him when he praised you. Leaning your body forward, you held his jaw with your hand and let it slowly slip to his throat. Mason just nodded and you grinned, finally squeezing it softly, making him moan louder. 

“You gonna cum for me, Mason?” He nodded again, holding your hips steady as he now moved his hips up again at his own clumsy pace. “Then look at me when you do it and while I cum all over your cock.”

He repeatedly moaned your name, his grunts only encouraging you to squeeze his throat a bit harder, letting it go when a final loud grunt parted his lips and he came, followed by you, with your body finally crashing onto his.

“That was fucking great.” Mason giggled and you nodded in return, giggling too as you rolled to the side. 

“For drunk sex, it was.” Looking down at his body once again, to appreciate the view next to you, you instantly frowned when you noticed his uncovered and still-hard cock. “Mason, I thought you were wearing a condom?”

PRESENT DAY

The streetlights softly brightened your living room in the most soothing yet nearly depressing way; Willow was gone for a few hours, leaving you and your memories to yourself. During the day, you didn’t talk much about your current situation and what you’d do - if you’d do anything or just let things happen, and go with the flow, but still with some sort of control over the whole thing. Your thoughts were everywhere but also focused on two people: Lily and Mason. You knew that, eventually, you’d find yourself in this situation - it was painful, it made it hard to even breathe, and you never really prepared for it because deep down you spent four years hoping it would take lots and lots of years for Mason to be in your life again, as unfair as it was to Lily. And being unfair to your own daughter was, by far, the most disgusting thing you could do in life. She brought you nothing but love and joy. 

Willow would often say that before being a mum, you were a human being. A woman who had been hurt by a man, and then you had to raise this man’s child. But you knew you couldn’t use this excuse anymore, it was time to face the consequences of keeping Lily hidden from her father and his family, and above all, stop punishing your daughter for your poor choices in life.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Jaz asking if the plans you had for Saturday were still up, and you apologised saying that you had the flu, but that Lily was more than allowed to go and you’d talk to your mum to arrange everything. After another lie to protect yourself, since there was no flu, you thought that maybe opening a bottle of white wine would help you through what it would be a long night awake, alone with your own thoughts and desperate attempts to minimise all the collateral damage that would find its way into your life once you revealed the truth. First to your daughter, then you’d have to hunt Mason Mount again.

His reaction was what frightened you the most. What would he do? What would he say?

Would he take Lily from you?

Would he hate Lily and reject her?

Every question that crossed your mind blurred your sight, made your heart clench and felt like a stab right through your heart. 

You would never let him take Lily from you, but the thought of him rejecting her was just as painful, because that little girl was something else and she deserved the whole world. She deserved a daddy that would be entirely devoted to her, just like yours had been since the day you were born.

Already feeling your body welcoming the familiar floating sensation caused by the wine, you allowed yourself to stalk Mason a little - something you hadn’t done in the longest time. It didn’t surprise you that he still looked pretty much the same. Everytime you caught his face on TV, you avoided looking too much because it hurt and bothered you deeply, but now, scrolling through his pictures you noticed that his smile was still the same and the wrinkles around his eyes was something Lily had inherited. The soft redness on his nose too. Lily had a lot of him, even if you knew so little about Mason, despite sharing a life with him.

The Instagram “message” button burned under your finger, but you went back to scrolling through his pictures, because what exactly would you say? 

“Hi, remember me? That day I went to your house and you shoved me off, I was going to tell you I was carrying your child so I’ve decided to hide her from you for a period of four years”.

Gosh, what a fucked up situation you were in. Besides, what was the chance he’d actually reply?

Liking one of his pictures was subtle, he wouldn’t notice. One like amongst the millions he was getting post World Cup. You’d let the universe decide if things should run its natural course or you’d have to put yourself in a situation you’ve lived before: ringing his doorbell and telling him the biggest news of his life, but four years later, and pray for the best outcome there could be of this situation. You wondered what your family would say, what his family would say, how everyone would treat you after but you couldn’t expect much. You were hiding a child from her own right to have both sides of her family whilst growing up, despite your personal reasons. 

What would the media say, if it ever came to that? 

“Heavens, I think I’m gonna vomit…” You mumbled, the combination of alcohol and thoughts of your daughter’s precious face in the media, on gossip websites, made some tears fall freely down your cheeks. You still forced a large gulp of wine, to ease the anxiety that was creeping in. Half of the bottle was gone.

You fucked up, greatly and badly.

With tears still wetting your cheeks, looking absolutely pathetic, you frowned at the notification that popped on your screen. 

Mason Mount was officially back into your life.

In fact, he never really left. You had the most special part of him with you, and you could only hope he’d see it the exact same way.

next chapter

[canisalbus]

I hope this isn’t unwelcome but here are a few of my personal Vascete modern AU headcanons:

As a child, Vasco was usually voted as a team captain when playing sports with other kids. Not necessarily because of his sporting ability, but rather because of his leadership qualities and general agreeableness and ease with others.

Machete always uses perfect grammar when he texts, but can take a while to respond. Vasco often responds instantly but with less attention to grammar. Machete texts in unbroken paragraphs (when he has a lot to say) but Vasco’s texts come through in small, sporadic flurries.

Machete is very familiar with hospitals, particularly so in his childhood due to his various medical issues. As a result he actually finds their cleanliness, and the politeness of the doctors, comforting. These experiences also made him more patient than he might otherwise have been.

Vasco donates blood and is on an organ donor registry.

Machete always carries hand sanitiser around and is constantly offering it to Vasco, who always carries hand cream around, and is constantly offering it to Machete.

Both are well-versed in music and have refined musical tastes.

Vasco hums wholeheartedly whilst doing the dishes - a chore Machete likes to avoid where possible. Vasco knows this, so he pretends he doesn’t mind doing them.

Machete often has a headache and Vasco’s usual first response to this is to ask Machete if he’s had enough water today. He’s often right.

Vasco scarcely thinks of the other paths his life could have taken. Though he knows pain, he feels very fortunate for all the good he’s been dealt in life, and attributes his good luck mostly to happy accidents. Machete on the other hand has unexpected moments of stark awareness of all the possible forks in his road. It’s a sudden deja vu that creeps up on him when he’s alone, almost as if he can remember all of his and Vasco’s past/ potential lives together. The feeling vanishes just as soon as it arrives.

Hot dang anon I LOVE these. Unwelcome UNWELCOME? You come to my house and present me with thoughtful interpretations of my characters, I feel nourished.

I can definitely see Vasco being a popular choice for a team captain. He's physically active but not ultra sporty, and even though he can get excited and carried away, he's never been that competitive (he's got that 'I just hope both teams have fun' sort of vibe that people tend to like).

The texting bit is terribly cute. Vasco rapid firing message after message vs Machete intermittently slapping half an essay in the chat.

Machete is hypochondriac and his threshold for seeking threatment is low, especially if he's experiencing anything he's not already familiar with. To my understanding Italy has a good quality universal public healthcare, but he typically chooses to go with private sector anyway and has been investing in pricey health insurance for years (probably way more extensive than what is necessary or reasonable).

I also thought of Vasco as a habitual blood donor. He wouldn't like it per se (medical surroundings unnerve him), but I think he might just get a kick out of being a good boy and potentially helping people. (I know gay, bi and msm men used to be banned from donating (or at least severely restricted) but it looks like many countries have revised their criteria significantly in recent years and there's a good chance he'd be eligible these days.)

The hand sanitizer/hand cream combo is so good. It made me chuckle. (Are you a hand sanitizer person or a hand cream person?)

Their respective tastes in music and cinema have more overlap than you might initially think, and they keep aligning closer and closer over time.

Machete wouldn't like doing dishes. Having to touch wet food (weird texture + unhygienic) is bad times all around. But he genuinely enjoys a little bit of vacuuming, dusting, laundry and general tidying and organizing. He doesn't leave that much for Vasco to do, just the occasional visibly messy jobs that squick him out more than he cares to admit.

That's very considerate of him. That's a very considerate thing to do to anyone in general. Dehydration and low blood sugar can really sour your mood and you wouldn't even notice they were the reason you're feeling so bad all of a sudden. (When I'm having a difficult day I try to remember to ask myself whether things are truly collapsing or am I potentially just a little too thirsty and hungry and unaware of it. Usually it's the latter).

Ah yes, Machete and the horrors. Vasco might be aware of the horrors as well, but perhaps he possesses the specific kind of galaxy brain that is near immune to this particular flavor of existential dread.

[theblackfemininesociety]

✨This is your sign to declutter you life:

Start with your socials: Unsubscribe / unfollow the uninspiring, redundant, low frequency content that isn’t adding value to you or a reflection of who you are become. Also, delete or archive any photos that don’t align with the woman you want to become.

Empty out your inbox: there’s no reason why you have 1,000 unread emails or spam text on your phone. Unsubscribe and delete the unnecessary messages and emails! Only subscribe to things that align with the woman you are becoming! And for my shopaholic besties, unsubscribe those tempting stores that is declining your saving account ! Remember there’s nothing soft about being an aesthetically cute but broke woman. 😉

Take a social media break: this is for my extroverted and social media thirsty besties, it’s time to disconnect. Just a week. Cut it off and if it’s too much to bear, Limit your time on social media for a week! This also includes a people detox, put your phone on DND. Fall back for a bit and indulge in self care. The tea you love to indulge in can wait and your loved ones will reach out on their own if needed but please have some me time 💆🏾‍♀️

Clean your space: dedicate a day or days to completely clean your apartment/ room. I am talking about that closet that you’ve been avoiding and that cabinet that hasn’t been opened because it’s out of reach. After that, treat yourself, light a candle order some food, or take a long hot spa like shower. You will feel so much better in a clean space. Clean decluttered environment!

If you don't use it, Throw it away: I don’t know what it is exactly but I know there’s items in your space right now that simply take up space! And when you clean you probably move it around or organize it better. If you don’t use it, throw it away! If it’s worn down throw it away! If you have time to donate it, do so. Lately as for me., If I don’t donate it right away it’ll stay there until “I have the time” so lately I’ve been practicing the “do it now” method. Which is exactly how it sounds. If you have time do it now if not in this case of decluttering and cleaning, throw it out.

Journal: Take some time to reflect and write out your thoughts and feelings. Nothing beats putting a pin to paper (or stylus pen to iPad) and writing down all that’s in your mind.

Mediate & Pray: In our fast-paced world filled with constant distractions and never-ending to-do lists, it is imperative to find moments of stillness and connection. One powerful way to achieve this is through the practice of meditation and prayer. to quiet the mind, find inner peace, and connect with our own spiritual essence. Both prayer and meditation are powerful practices that can bring numerous benefits to our lives. They provide us with a sense of belonging and purpose, reminding us of what really important.

Need more motivation & support? Follow us on INSTAGRAM!

[ohnococo]

Gratitude | Chapter 2 | Kiyotaka Ijichi x F!Reader

With you settled so close in front of his naked body and touching him so well, it’s a matter of seconds before ijichi’s cock makes itself known, poking at you, and he covers it with his hands and presses it against his stomach. “Sorry, ignore that…” “Kiyotaka, you never have to apologise for getting hard for me.”

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Praise Kink, Thigh Job, Fingering, Cumming Untouched, Dom/Sub Undertones, Subby Ijichi, Moans/Whimpering, Showering Together

CHAPTER 1

Just as it had been your self imposed duty to make Ijichi blush and squirm with the power of your words alone, you decide it’s also your duty to help him understand that he is completely safe with you. You could always see how much he kept under the surface, how much joy was held back under a blanket of anxiety and self-doubt. You so badly wanted to strip all of that back and find out every little thing his heart desires, then give that to him. 

He deserves it, and you were intent on helping him realise that. Even if he still seemed shocked that you truly appreciate him, even with all the times you remind him that he’s one of the hardest workers you’ve met, and even now with how many times you’ve cornered him in the halls and stroked him through his trousers til he made a mess of himself. Every compliment and kiss and reassurance does seem to chip away at his lack of confidence, but it’s slow work. It doesn’t help when he seems intent on working himself until he can only fall back under his own blanket of insecurities.

After nearly three weeks of trying to align schedules - and many gentle suggestions that he finally take a break and let himself relax - you’d realised that when it came to matters of self care, Kiyotaka Ijichi needed to be told, not asked. Once you had made yourself much more clear in that regard, it had taken one message to have him complying, a short text telling him that you’d be taking care of him this Sunday, helping him relax at your place. You’d looked forward to it since then, daydreaming of seeing him without thoughts troubling him for once, wondering if it would trickle over into the following week of work…

But with Sunday finally here, inviting him over for the first time quickly left him even more on edge than usual. The start was pleasant enough, with you telling him how handsome he looks in his casual attire of khakis and a grey sweater. You even manage to get him flashing you that sweet bashful smile of his with your praise. Now that he’s settled on your couch, though, the nerves have officially settled in. His whole body is tense, hands cupped around the tea you’d given him as if he were afraid to move them elsewhere. He hardly looks at you, hardly speaks, and eventually you figure that he must be in his head about what might happen tonight, even if you’d never indicated any sort of grandiose plans. So you try to calm his mind.

“Ijichi, you know you’re safe with me, right?” 

The flash of guilt in his eyes is too much, and while him worrying over making you think he doesn’t trust you is sweet, it’s not what you were going for with your question. “Of course I do, you’re always so kind to me.”

“Because you deserve it.” Your voice is stern as you say it, driving home the point that it was a fact and not just a platitude. He deserves kindness, and you want him to believe that. You also want him to stop burying himself in his thoughts around you. “Why are you nervous?”

His fingertips tap against his mug as he stares down and into the drink, considering his words. You can tell the thoughts are formed in his mind, but he’s choosing to mince words. When he finally speaks it’s with an awkward lilt, as if he’s attempting to sound casual about it. “I just don’t think I’m going to be good at… you know…”

The way he says it without saying it has your brows raising, it hadn’t quite occurred to you that your dear Kiyotaka might be a virgin, and you file that away to clarify when he was a little less anxious. For now, you focus on the realisation that he’d worked himself up over the assumption that you’d brought him here to fuck, and that he’d now have to perform and perform well. That isn’t actually why you’d called him here, really. If it happened it happened, but when you asked him to spend his day off resting and relaxing with you you’d truly meant it. Now you can only feel like you need to clear the air.

“Kiyotaka, do you think we’re moving too fast?”

“No! Not at all, everything has been… perfect.” The way he says that, lids half closed, blush spreading across his face, has butterflies forming in your stomach. You can see him getting lost in thought for a moment, replaying the rushed encounters of the last several weeks over in his mind. 

“I don’t ever want to do anything you don’t want to do. You have your own power here, you know that, right?”

He looks as if that had never occurred to him. You’d suspected as much, with the way he gives himself over to you completely. It was always you initiating, you in control. Not that he hadn’t tried to reciprocate, but you just hadn’t let him yet. You were always focused on making him feel good, showing him he was truly wanted. And now here he is, preparing himself to perform and absolutely nerve wracked over it. It’s not what you want, especially not for today. So you scoot closer to him, putting a hand on his cheek, and your heart swells as he closes his eyes happily and leans into your palm.

“Don’t put pressure on yourself on my behalf. I’ll never ask you to do anything you aren’t fully capable of, okay?” You aren’t sure if it’s your words, or your touch that seems to ease his mind, but you’re satisfied either way as he finally relaxes and nods.

Still, you want to make sure those nerves are gone for good, for tonight at least. 

“Let’s take a shower.” 

He opens his eyes and looks at you with curiosity, and you’re pleased to find there seems to be much less worry behind his gaze now.

“I want to take care of you tonight.”

-

You switch the shower on first, letting the water get up to heat as you undress yourself, giving Ijichi something to focus on other than the fact that you were seeing each other naked for the first time. He glances at your body then away once, twice, trying his hardest not to stare outright and you can’t help but chuckle. 

“Kiyotaka I’ve had your pretty cock in my throat, don’t be shy about seeing me naked.” Your words earn you a cute little groan from deep in his chest, threatening to bubble up if you keep at it, which you of course will. “Have you imagined what I look like naked before?”

His blush reaches the tips of his ears as he lets out a sheepish laugh, “Yes…”

“Have you touched yourself thinking about it?” You move in close to him, close enough to hear him swallowing thickly as he looks down at your body.

He takes a deep breath, but doesn’t hesitate to answer you honestly with an enthusiastic nod as he slowly takes in every inch of you he can with how little space there is between the two of you now.

“Dirty boy…” 

He whines, clenching at the hem of his sweater, sweat prickling at his forehead as the bathroom steams up. You weren’t totally sure if he’d like you calling him that, but you’re pleased to find it has a similar reaction to your more positive teasing. 

“So, do you like it?”

“Yes,” his eyes meet yours for the first time since you’d gotten undressed before his glasses fog and his gaze is obscured, “you’re beautiful.”

You reach forward, pulling his glasses off and gently setting them down next to the sink before kissing his cheek. “So are you, Ijichi.”

His face lights up so you kiss him again, staying close enough to put your hands next to his on the hem of his sweater. 

“Let’s get your clothes off.” You tug his sweater upwards, and he raises his arms to let you pull it over his head and off. Placing it aside gently, you run your hands up and down his sides, sliding them up the contours of his stomach, over the centre of his chest, drinking in all of the gasps and shivers your touch brings out of him as you take in his lithe body. “You’re so handsome.”

He’s blushing hard enough that he dips his head slightly, as if he could only hold so much blood in his face while you appreciate his body outright. Moving your hands up to his shoulders, you squeeze gently before tracing a path down his arms before taking his hands in yours. “Can I wash your hair?”

He’s surprised by the question, but accepting of any of your attention, “Yes, please.”

Please, as if he’d asked you for it. As if you weren’t excited to watch him squirm and moan just from being pampered. “So polite…”

Whether the noise he lets out is a happy hum or a small moan, you aren’t quite sure. He leans forward to capture your lips, gentle, imploring, as if he were silently asking if he were still allowed to do it before settling back, satisfied that the answer was still yes. You turn him to face the shower, reaching around him from behind to undo his pants, and sliding them down his legs along with his underwear. “After you.”

He steps out of the last of his clothes and into the shower as you move the pants aside to sit alongside his sweater. When you turn back to him you find him standing in wait, just out of the reach of the spray of the shower head, trying his very best to keep taking in your appearance through his glassesless haze. You join him, cupping his cheeks in both hands, and your touch has him back in that relaxed state immediately.

“You’ll have plenty of time to look at me properly later. Now, tilt your head back.”

He does as he’s told, closing his eyes, and sighs as you run your fingers through his hair under the spray of the water. Once it’s thoroughly wet, you pull away for just a moment to squirt a small amount of shampoo into your palm, rubbing your hands together before running them back through Ijichi’s hair. He shivers at the returned touch, and once you start massaging circles into his scalp he lets a small whimper out, rolling straight from deep within his chest and meeting the air as a high pitched noise, rattled slightly by the soft sway of his head back and forth with your firm but gentle movements. 

With you settled so close in front of his naked body and touching him so well, it’s a matter of seconds before ijichi’s cock makes itself known, poking at you, and he covers it with his hands and presses it against his stomach.

“Sorry, ignore that…”

“Kiyotaka, you never have to apologise for getting hard for me.”

He sighs out a happy little ‘oh,’ shut eyes crinkling as he smiles. He leans forward, blindly poking out his lips and you give him a kiss before gently pushing him back under the water to rinse the suds from his hair. He keeps one hand cradled on his cock, not quite hiding it anymore, but not letting it bob against you as it would if left unhindered. Even so, you see it twitching as you work the pads of your fingers in to clean him thoroughly, and he coos when you run your fingers down and over the fine hairs where his hairline meets the back of his neck. You spend a little longer than strictly necessary rinsing his hair, taking in the little sighs and moans from your touch, looking down every so often to see the little beads of precum dripping down the head of his cock and onto the hand that was keeping it loosely shielded from you. 

When you finally pull your hands away his mouth forms a small frown at the loss of contact. As he stands there, eyes closed and pouting as he waits for you to do whatever your heart desires with him, you decide you’ve waited long enough to have your sweet touch-starved Kiyotaka cumming for you.

“Conditioner next, but first…” you grab your conditioner, squeezing out a dollop into your palm before you push his hand aside, pumping his cock gently a few times and coating it before sliding it between your thighs. The sudden touch, followed by the plush warmth of your skin has him gasping. “You can thrust.”

“Oh… Th-thank you…” he’s quick to get to work, pushing forward until his stomach is pressed to yours and his cock is fully nestled between your thighs before pulling back again. 

He moves slowly, pacing himself as you squeeze more conditioner directly into his hair, unable to do so with much finesse with how closely your bodies were together now. He grips your hips gently as his movements are quick to pick up pace and you start at massaging his scalp once more, as focused on your task as he was on his. You make a path of small circles from hairline to crown, then down towards his neck and back up towards his temples. It has him shivering, hips bucking out of pace as he groans at the feel of your skin. His face is cute, especially with his eyes still shut so he’s unaware that you were looking at him so intently, watching his brows form a cute upward slope in the centre from the way they were knit, and his soft mouth hangs open and slack and keeping any of his noises from being withheld. He’s perfectly lost in the feel of your hands and the feel of your thighs and with every throb of his cock his hands grip your hips just that little bit tighter, not enough to hurt but enough that you know he’d be apologising for it if he weren’t so far gone. 

You tilt his head back under the water, rinsing the conditioner out and raking your fingers across his scalp as you do. He’s sputtering the water dripping down his face, huffing and whining, and humping into you desperately. Once you’re sure his hair is thoroughly rinsed you tilt his head down and whisper into his ear, “Now cum for me.”

His compliance is immediate, as his hips stutter and he lets out a long broken whine, spilling his heat between your thighs in waves. 

He buries his head in the crook of your neck, letting out little whimpers as he continues thrusting until he’s just on the verge of overstimulation. Once he stops, he rubs his nose gently against you and lets his shivers run from his head to the tip of his toes as you run your fingertips up and down his back. 

“Good boy.” 

He squeezes at your hips and hums happily in response while his softening cock twitches with interest at the praise, but spent as he is he pulls his hips back, separating himself from you. “Can I clean you up?”

“Of course.”

It’s your turn to be pampered now, a task Ijichi performs with great care as he switches your places and moves you under the warm water. He runs his hands over your thighs, splashing water over them and rinsing any cum from your skin carefully. He’s thorough in his work, and you bend forward slightly, bracing your hands on the shower wall, arching your back, and sticking your ass out. Kiyotaka bites at his lips, stifling a horny little whine to maintain some semblance of decency despite everything, but you know you must already be well cleaned by now even as he continues rubbing and squeezing at your thighs. Every so often his movements trail up higher and his hand hovers near your pussy, trembling slightly before he moves away again, cupping his hands under the stream of water and splashing down your legs. 

You let him continue this back and forth, curious as to when he’d give in to his need to touch you. Eventually it seems that your dear Kiyotaka is much more patient (or rather hesitant) than you are, and you give him a little push once his hand hovers near you once again.

“You can touch me.”

This time, he’s much slower to get started, swallowing hard and licking his lips. When he does finally touch you he’s gentle, petting your pussy tenderly, pressing at you and taking in the soft puffiness of your lips. He’s teasing you, really, even if he’s completely unaware of it. Looking at him over your shoulder, you can tell by the dazed look in his eyes that he has no clue how long he’s been doing this, every so often pressing that little bit harder as he strokes you so his soft fingertips graze your folds. 

When he finally brushes past your clit you let out a moan, and it’s as if it snaps him back to reality. His pensive, exploratory touches make way for much more focused movements against your clit as he strokes his finger over it again, watching your face and taking in your expressions. His touch slowly gets firmer, with each movement past your clit, through your wetness, brushing over your entrance, as he watches for your every signal of pleasure - ready to go as firmly as need be, ready to stop the moment it’s too much. The only thing that was too much was how gradually he was working you up, and when you swirl your hips gently he understands immediately, refocusing his touch to rub soft circles against your clit. 

The moan you let out at finally having the touch you need is matched, and almost out done by his own, followed by a whimper as he bites his lip to try not to miss any noises he can pull from you. As he finds a pace you don’t spare him any little sigh or moan he stirs up, enjoying his reactions as much as you were enjoying the feel of his movements. When he reaches a pressure that really starts to scratch the itch he’d built you have to let him know outright.

“Just like that, it feels good.” Knowing in no uncertain terms that he was making you feel good throws him off for just a moment, but he’s back on track almost immediately. “Yes, you’re doing so well, Kiyotaka.”

That earns another moan from him, louder than any of yours so far, and the concentration on his face has even more fluttering picking up in your stomach than his hands do and leaves your pussy clenching. When you mutter a soft ‘fuck’ under your breath it has him feeling confident, brave even. He reaches his other hand in front of you, taking over his work on your clit as his other finger slides back to rub at your entrance. His brows knit and he pouts as if he’s begging, as if you’d tell him no when he was making you feel so good. 

“Can I?”

“Can you what?” You know what he means, but you won’t let him be so shy when he’s desperate to fuck you with his fingers.

He doesn’t mince words, and you’re pleased that he’s learning so quickly, “Can I slide my fingers in?”

It’s not as filthy as if you’d told him what to say, but you appreciate it nonetheless, nodding. He presses in slowly, and from the way he moans at the feel of your pussy you’d have thought it was his cock slipping inside of you. As he pushes deeper his lashes flutter and he whines at the feel of you sucking him in. His eyes actually roll back for a moment when he pulls his finger back and your walls grip at his knuckles ever so slightly and the soft chuckle that draws from you has your pussy clenching and him moaning.

“Oh my god…” He pumps his finger in and out a few times, bringing a second finger up just to your entrance as well before stopping, and looking to you for permission. You nod, and as your pussy grips the second digit just as tightly he can only repeat his previous sentiment in even more shaky tones, “Oh my god…”

He rubs around inside of you, flexing his fingers and feeling your slick warmth. He’s back to being unfocused, exploring, hand on your clit only sloppily moving from side to side every now again as he takes in how you feel. Lithe fingers press at your walls as his fingers slide around, and the drag of his knuckles as he slides out a little has you groaning as he finds his way around your body until he reaches the spot he’d been in search of and your thighs clench a little as you rock your hips into his movements. 

“Is that right?” He knows what he’s doing, more than it had initially seemed, but he’s still hungry for the praise even as he resumes his steady circles on your clit to accompany his newly found pace inside your pussy.

“Yes, that’s it.”

He does much of the same as he fingers your pussy, slowly building his pace, until you’re nodding and moaning and arching into his touch in a way that has him choking back a gasp at what his blurred vision can make out of you.

“You’re going to make me cum like that, Kiyo…”

His breaths are as ragged as yours, and when he leans forward to press soft kisses to your shoulder, even as he is careful to keep his perfectly set pace, it sends you over the edge. The building waves of pleasure give way inside of you and you clench at his fingers hard, though not enough to stop him working you thoroughly over and past the precipice. He keeps going even when the waves slow and break, your body relaxing as you whisper a small request that he slow down before it’s too much. 

You’re surprised when it goes unanswered, lifting your head to look at your sweet Kiyotaka and finding his eyes glazed, lidded, and as you say his name to bring him back to earth before he pushes you into overstimulation he is very suddenly cumming, untouched. You watch as he lets out a long whine and his cock throbs and pushes out thin, watery ropes of cum right onto your leg and he presses his face to your shoulder - movements finally halting as he whimpers out the last of his own orgasm on the heels of yours. 

You give him his moment to recover, just as you take yours, kissing the top of his head and panting in tandem with him, before he’s sitting up and blushing so hard the tips of his ears are even more red than they had been earlier as he realises he’s made another mess.

”Oh God, let me clean you up… again…”

-

CHAPTER 3

[filmflowersbangtan]

I Must Still Want You pt. 2

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: angst (so. much. angst) | smut

word count: 4k

warnings: rough sex | infidelity | explicit sex scene | I'm so sorry in advance if I make some of you angry with this one. I promise it'll get better in future chapters.

author's note: hey...I'm back. I have so much in store. I know I've said it before and then I disappeared again, but I finally left a toxic relationship that had me in a writer's rut for a very long time and I also stopped following BTS for a while. But then they all came out with their incredible solos, and V's "Layover" was so beautiful it had stirred up so many ideas. It also somehow aligns with this story so well, so I couldn't help myself. I'm really proud of this one. I put so much heart and soul into this. This is not the end of this series.

part i | part iii

----

At first, Taehyung understood. The excuses as to why you couldn’t come home for the holidays, why you couldn’t come home for his birthday, why he couldn’t come visit. Art school was difficult, adjusting to California was difficult, but making friends was easy. Making friends had always been easy for you. You and your mom were on bad terms, that’s why you couldn’t come home. You had deadlines and couldn’t afford distractions, that’s why Taehyung couldn’t come visit.

Then there were the arguments after Taehyung lost all his patience with you. And then the texts and phone calls became more and more infrequent until there were none at all. Taehyung’s calls went to voicemails, his messages echoed in a chamber of emptiness.

Months passed by like this, with Taehyung only knowing you were alive through news from your mom, whose lawn he mowed and driveway he shoveled. He sat with her sometimes for coffee. He didn’t dare going into your room again after he saw that your mother transformed it, pushing an untouched treadmill in the same corner your bed used to be.

And then, about a year after the two of you unofficially broke up, you posted on Instagram. A man was kneeling before you as you wore a stunning dress Taehyung had never see you wear before. An expensive dress. There were letters hung behind the two of you in the background. Taehyung stopped breathing. The letters read:

Will you marry me?

Still not breathing, he swiped right to see another picture of your left hand—a hand he used to hold so much he could still feel the ghost of its warmth—displaying a gaudy engagement ring encrusted with a sickening number of diamonds. The camera’s flash made them glimmer in a way that made Taehyung nauseous.

Despite everything, Taehyung had been taking the unofficial breakup well. He never said anything about it to your mother although he desperately wanted to understand why you stopped talking to him or know if she knew. He didn’t rot in bed. He didn’t stop photography. While you had been gone, he discovered a newfound love of singing and his roommate Jungkook was a small-time producer and part-time DJ, and through him Taehyung had virtually unlimited access to a studio. Instead of succumbing into a debilitating depression, Taehyung worked on his very first EP. He had finished a few days before the Instagram post. He was going to send it to you. He knew you were going to love it. Maybe it would even make you speak to him.

But the post.

Taehyung dropped his phone on his bed and steadily walked to the bathroom, breathing through his nose. An ugly surge of emotion ravished him. He thought he was going to cry, but when he closed the door behind him, he stumbled to the toilet. And vomited.

Jungkook rushed in, his headphones dangling from around his neck, concern stretched across his face. “Bro, you good? It sounds like you’re dying.”

Taehyung wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. His eyes and throat burned. Thick snot crept down his lips. He wasn’t going to cry, but seeing Jungkook standing there pummeled him. His dear friend who didn’t even know Taehyung had been going through a breakup. How was he going to explain this? He couldn’t. He dropped his head back into the toilet bowl and heaved.

Later, after Taehyung cleaned himself up and Jungkook sat him down on the couch with a cup of water, he told Jungkook everything.

Jungkook had been quiet the entire time, nodding to let Taehyung know that he was listening. But when Taehyung finished, gesturing to his phone because he couldn’t speak the words “she’s engaged,” Jungkook looked at the post himself.

A brief and subtle expression flickered across his face as he swiped. It was there and then it was gone, only noticeable in the slight tremble in the eyebrows and the momentary clench of the jaw. He looked up at Taehyung whose eyes were rimmed in red and whose hands were quivering as he dabbed at his nose with a napkin.

With a venom that Taehyung did not know his roommate possessed, Jungkook said, “That bitch.”

--

After grieving for a month, Taehyung pulled himself out of bed. He went to a party where Jungkook was DJing and downed shot after shot of anything anyone would hand him. He blacked out and woke up in his own bed wearing the same sweaty clothes from the night before, feeling like hell. He looked at his text messages to make sure that he didn’t say anything fucked up to anyone and noticed your contact at the top.

Of course, he reached out to you. How embarrassing. He cringed, afraid to read what he said, but all he sent was a link to his EP. Somehow, that was worse. He absolutely wanted to die.

And of course, you didn’t respond.

--

A year stuttered by. Sometimes when Taehyung looked in the mirror, he didn’t recognize himself. He was dirty blond now and handsome and miserable. He had slept with so many people in the last few months—girls, mostly but sometimes guys, too. He had had so many threesomes that he’d lost count. People on campus knew who he was now. He had gone from having one friend in his first year of college to becoming a name that people sighed dreamily as they said it.

Still nothing from you.

And then, one morning while nursing a hangover at the dining table in his shared apartment with Jungkook, a text from your mom. Maybe he was reading into it, but there was a tone of sadness in the wording, possibly regret. It said:

Y/N is back in town. Her grandmother died last week and the funeral is Friday. Please come if you feel comfortable. If you don’t, I understand.

There it was again. That roiling sensation inside of him. That urgent need to vomit.

The first time he had a threesome with Jungkook, he couldn’t perform. He had fumbled to the bathroom, his pants undone, and hurled into the toilet until the girl left. He had thought Jungkook would be pissed, but instead he sat on the bathroom floor with him in silence.

Now, Jungkook paused, a spoonful of cereal and milk halfway to his mouth. “I know that look,” he said. “What happened?”

Taehyung cleared his throat. “Y/N’s grandmother died.”

Jungkook wrinkled his nose. “So? Fuck her and her grandma.”

In other circumstances, Taehyung would've laughed. He couldn’t. He was too numb. “I liked her grandma when we were little. She used to make homemade blackberry jam and watch our stupid choreographies that we made up.”

Jungkook’s expression softened. He lowered the spoon. “I take that back about the grandma, but still fuck that bitch. Y/N, not the grandma.”

Now Taehyung mustered up a halfhearted chuckle that could’ve been a genuine laugh had the thought of you being in town—not in California—not robbed him of any sense of humor.

Jungkook hated seeing Taehyung like this because there was nothing he could do to help. “Don’t go to that funeral,” was all he said. It wasn’t a command. His voice was pleading. “Seeing her will only fuck you up. And what if she’s with—”

Taehyung closed his eyes as if expecting a blow. He hadn’t realized he was crying until warm teardrops slid down his face and into his mouth.

--

He went to the funeral. Your parents embraced him when they saw him. Individually, of course. Your dad remarried. He had stepchildren. Taehyung thought you probably hated it if you even still talked to him. The idea of someone else being frozen out of your life and not just him slightly comforted him. Slightly.

It was a beautiful day out—early summer, bright blue sky, cool breeze—but Taehyung was cold. And you hadn’t arrived yet.

“She slept in,” your mother said. “She hadn’t been feeling the best ever since she landed yesterday. She should arrive soon.”

An Uber arrived, and the back door opened. Taehyung held his breath.

You stepped out. You were so familiar yet you were a stranger. Your hair was longer, fuller. You were wearing a form-fitting black dress and red-bottomed heels. A designer bag dangled from the crook of your elbow. Large, expensive sunglasses obscured your eyes. Your lips were painted red.

The Uber departed before Taehyung realized you came alone.

You sauntered in his direction. He was breathless as he watched you move. Did you always walk like that? With such an elegant sway? Or was that new? A by-product of your reinvented life.

He realized that he was not your target. He was standing with your parents and your stepmother you probably hated. Except you didn’t hate her because she was the first you hugged. Then your dad. Then your mother. Then—

“Tae.”

He blinked. He could hear the blood rushing through his ears. Feel the bile rising in his throat. He cleared it behind a polite fist before croaking your name in return.

Then, very cautiously, you pulled him into a hug. He felt everyone’s eyes on the both of you. You were making him into a spectacle, and he hated it. In that moment, he realized he hated you. But his arms were stiff at his sides and when he became aware of that, he lifted them to pat you on the back.

“I know how much you loved her,” you said when you released him.

He blinked, not understanding. “I’m sorry, what?”

“My grandmother.”

His face felt hot. Jungkook was right. He shouldn’t have come. He had never once wanted to hurt a woman before, especially not you. But he wanted so badly to strangle you. To make you feel what it’s like to have your throat full of heartbreak. But he pushed a smile onto his red face. “Yes. My condolences.”

“Thank you for coming,” you said.

I hate you.

Taehyung nodded, and without meaning to, glimpsed at your left hand. The ring was still there. You were still engaged. But you returned home without a fiancé.

I hate you.

--

After the funeral, there was a gathering at your dad and stepmom’s house. Taehyung wasn’t going to go, but he couldn’t bring himself not to. He wanted to keep looking at you, breathing the same air as you, and wondering if you had listened to his EP.

But for the most part, he was just wandering around the beautiful countryside home as awkwardly as he had been at the party in middle school where he had first seen you kissing a boy on the porch. Except this time, you were getting married. You were getting fucking married.

At least at a funeral it wasn’t odd to cry. He went outside to do it.

He sat on the front porch steps and loosened his tie. No one came out to bother him. He was good at being invisible. Especially to you.

The front door behind him opened. The sound of heels approached him but stopped a few paces away.

Neither of you said anything. He quietly wiped away angry tears.

“I don’t expect forgiveness,” you said.

He wanted to scream. “Not here. Please.”

“I booked a hotel. Let’s talk at the bar there. You look like you could use a drink.”

Taehyung closed his eyes. “Was that a joke?”

“Yes. But I could use a drink, too.”

Taehyung dropped his head in his hands. “I shouldn’t have come.” He stood up and walked to his car. You didn’t follow. Didn’t beg. He grabbed the handle of the driver’s side door and looked at you from over the roof of the car. You were still standing on the porch, your hands delicately interlaced in front of you. You weren’t wearing your sunglasses, but he couldn’t see your eyes from where he stood.

Who were you?

He yanked the door open and got in the car. His phone vibrated when he started the ignition. You had sent him a text with an address and a time.

“Fuck you,” he whispered. “Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you.”

--

He arrived thirty minutes late. You were sipping a purple-colored cocktail at a secluded table. God, you looked so good. He hated it.

“I would’ve understood if you hadn’t showed,” you said, expressionless.

He hesitated before sitting down, considering leaving. When he did sit, you said, “I really like your hair. It complements your skin tone.”

“Fuck you,” he said.

“I deserve that.”

“Fuck you.”

“What are you drinking nowadays? It’s on me.”

The bile was threatening to choke him. He swallowed thickly. His voice trembled as he said, “What do you want from me? You don’t fucking care about me. All you care about it—I don’t know what you care about. You’re such a—”

A drink appeared before him. “I already ordered for you. I hope you don’t mind whiskey. It’s top shelf so you most likely won’t have a hangover.”

“I don’t want—”

“I listened to it.”

Taehyung stopped.

“It was beautiful. It was so fucking beautiful. When do you sing? And like that? Oh, my God.”

Now Taehyung was crying again. He downed his drink. You gestured something to the waitress and another whiskey appeared before him. Taehyung said, “Why are you doing this to me? What have I done to deserve this?”

You touched his hand. He flinched away as if burned. “I dropped out of college a couple of years ago. I was homeless. And then I met a guy who fixed all of that.”

“Such bullshit.” But Taehyung knew you were genuine. You were never a liar.

“Not bullshit,” you said gently. “I was embarrassed. Who flunks art school? But I was intimidated being surrounded by all of those freakishly talented people. I didn’t fit in. But you would’ve sure as hell did. Your photos, Tae—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry.” You took a sip of your drink and looked away before continuing, “You are so talented. And then that fucking album—”

“EP.”

You glared at him. “Now it is my turn to say fuck you.”

“Get to the point.”

“I wasn’t measuring up. I dropped out before I got expelled. Mom wanted me to come home, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. I love California. I slept on some friends’ couches for a few months, working odd jobs—bartending, dogwalking, commission stuff. I had no idea what I was doing or where I was going.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” “I was embarrassed, Tae. And then you kept pestering me about wanting to see me and—”

“Pestering? You think so lowly of me?” “That’s what it felt like at the time. I had so much going on in my head—”

“But not so much that you still had room to go and fuck someone else before even breaking up with me.”

You finished your drink. “I didn’t fuck anyone.”

Taehyung had no response.

“I met a guy while bartending. He was rich. And kind. And I was very poor and lonely.”

“And he swept you off your feet," he said with betrayal in his voice.

“No. But his tips were nice. They were big enough to feed me for a couple of weeks. And then he would take me out to dinners. Next thing I know he’s buying me an apartment and a car and a dog and a life.”

Taehyung’s eyes were wet with fresh tears. He couldn’t look at you. “I wanted a life with you. I could’ve helped you.”

“With what money, Taehyung? All you would’ve done was spend way too much money on a one-way ticket and be stuck there with me.”

He had nothing to say to that. He downed his drink. “That doesn’t explain not telling me a fucking thing. Not even a goodbye.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you love him?”

You sighed.

Taehyung clenched his hands into fists under the table. He repeated, “Do you love him?”

Another purple drink appeared in front of you. The waitress flitted away, sensing the tension.

Finally, you said, “I think I could learn to. Someday.”

He blew out the breath he’d been holding and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked out the window at the pool. So still, so blue. So beautiful. He thought of California. He thought of the song on his EP, “For Us.” He wanted to fucking drown you.

In a soft, broken voice, he said, “I have loved you for my entire life. My entire life. Just wasted.”

You didn’t say anything. You just simply stared out the window with him. And then for the first time that entire day, you began to sob.

He didn’t dare look at you. He didn’t want to empathize with you. What for? But hearing you cry silently, seeing your shoulders shake with each sob in his peripheral vision…

Before he could say anything, you were already cleaning yourself up, dabbing under your eyes with a neatly folded napkin. “Should we go up to my suite for some privacy? I fucking hate crying in public.”

--

The suite was gorgeous. He didn’t know something so extravagant existed in his hometown.

“I need to get out of this dress. It’s not really my style,” you said, delicately removing your heels.

Taehyung looked away. For some reason, seeing you do that simple action made his heart ache.

You disappeared into the bathroom after telling him to make himself comfortable. He instead opted to stand around, unsure of what to do with his hands. Then you called his name from the other room, needing help with the dress.

“The zipper,” you said. “It was hell putting this thing on by myself. Can you unzip it for me?”

The bathroom was all marble and glass. Taehyung felt like there were a dozen versions of the both of you reflected around him. You were trying to catch his eyes in the mirror, but he purposefully avoided you. He focused on keeping his hands still as he stood behind you and reached up to grasp the tiny zipper at the nape of your neck.

The sound of the dress unzipping made his dick throb as longingly as his heart. You were fucking with him. You had to be.

But he wasn’t the same Taehyung that you left behind at the airport. Not at all. He was going to show you.

The zipper ended right at the top of your tailbone. You let the dress fall to the floor.

“You said you didn’t fuck anyone?” Taehyung said, voice gruff with want. He could feel himself hardening.

You were breathing slightly faster. You wanted him, too. This time, he allowed your gaze to meet each other’s in the mirror. You said, “Just myself. I never let him touch me, Tae. I don’t love him.”

He ran his hand up your leg, up your ass, traced the line of your back with a steady finger. He was no longer nervous. Fucking was what he was good at. And he wanted to fuck you until you regretted ever leaving him. Until you rued the day you said yes to that stupid fucking engagement.

He stopped his hand at the base of your neck. You stood still, breath shallow. Waiting. Wanting. You were probably so wet for him already, but you would have to wait.

He pressed himself against you so that you could feel how hard he was for you. A moan stuttered out of your throat. He clenched your neck from behind and shoved you forward, bending you over the sink. With swift fingers, he undid his belt, lowered his pants, pushed down his briefs. His cock sprang free, swollen with a two year long need for you, beaded with precum.

You shimmied out your underwear. With two fingers, he felt the velvety skin of your pussy lips. He was right, you were so fucking wet for him. You arched your back and shivered at his touch.

Your eyes met in the mirror again. Yours were heavy-lidded with desire, lips red like Marilyn Monroe. He wanted that lipstick smeared all over your face and all over his cock when he was done with you. His own eyes were low lidded as well. He grinned at you before he entered you. He didn’t want to take it slow, and he didn’t.

He fucked you like you were water, and he hadn’t drunk anything in days. You were a mess, clawing at the marble countertop like it would give you stability. Your moans were so fucking hot. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back so that his lips were at your ear.

“You’re mine, do you hear me? This pussy is mine.”

You tried to say “Yes, daddy,” but your eyes were fluttering and rolling and Taehyung was fucking you so good you couldn’t get a word out. He slapped your ass and you gasped.

“Fuck you,” he said but he didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean it at all.

He felt himself getting carried away and pulled out. You squirmed at the lack of him, begging for more. He didn’t want to admit he almost came. Sex hadn’t felt this good in years. Both of you were breathless, filling the room with your panting. But he wasn’t done with you yet. And you knew. You smiled at him, big and beautiful, and Taehyung almost came right then and there.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.

Your pupils were dilated, your face was glimmering with sweat, your hair was a mess. You were so beautiful Taehyung wanted to fucking cry.

And then he was. “Fuck you,” he said, but he meant it this time.

You unclasped your bra and dropped it to the floor. Then you were on your knees before him, using that expensive dress as a cushion against the marble. You took all of him in your mouth, slowly, never losing eye contact. Your mouth was warm and wet and your breasts looked amazing, the nipples hard. You noticed him looking and pinched the nipple of your left breast as you sucked him off, using your right hand to jerk him in and out of your mouth. You were an expert with your tongue, paying close attention to the head of his cock. And then when he felt the back of your throat, he squeezed his eyes shut and grasped a handful of your hair again, this time to keep himself steady.

“Ah, fuck,” he whimpered. “Where? Where do you want me to cum?” He made the mistake of looking at you again, your mouth smeared crime-scene red.

You smiled at him like a good girl, like you didn’t have a spit stretching from your lips to his cock like party streamers. “On my face,” you said.

He didn’t hesitate.

When he finished convulsing the final streams of cum onto your pretty face, he stood there, face flushed and veins straining from his neck as reality crept back into his bones like a winter’s chill. He was disgusted with himself. He was angry with you.

“You’re fucking engaged,��� he said, cleaning himself up. “Oh fuck. I’m such a fucking idiot.” He hastily threw on his clothes. Ran his hands through his hair to look somewhat presentable and not like he just face fucked someone’s fiancé.

You were extremely calm and still extremely naked. Taehyung realized belatedly that you hadn’t come yet. Good, he thought. You don’t deserve that release.

He finished dressing as you started washing your face. He went to leave but then stopped at the door. He didn’t turn to look at you, but he said, “You’re an awful person, Y/N. I hope you know that.”

Taehyung left the bathroom and was halfway to the suite’s door when he heard you say meekly as if to yourself, “I do.”

--

[happyflux]

Saw a really long post today where someone was talking about D&D vampire lore, compiling what different sources say about it (including the Baldur's Gate games) and, y'know, for the most part it was a good post, it's a useful and good quick reference on what the different sources have said about vampires.

(readmore because this turned out long oops)

But then at the end, and in an addition to the post replying to a tag someone had put, the post began talking about applying all this lore to BG3 specifically, and it made me think. Because the takeaway that post had seemed to be that the things about vampire lore which are consistent to the rest of D&D do apply to BG3 as well, and that Astarion is simply an exception due to his extremely strong willpower and sense of self. And that just doesn't seem right to me at all. It feels like missing the point.

BG3 did some very specific, very interesting things with the lore of D&D. In terms of vampires, yes, but also more generally, BG3 pretty consistently gives the message that the things that are said in the rulebooks are not necessarily true, but are oversimplifications and generalizations that are believed to be true in universe.

BG3 got rid of racial ability scores, giving every race the same "choose a +2 and a +1" that variant humans can have in D&D. BG3 not only got rid of racial alignments, but got rid of alignments entirely - there is no detect evil and good, protection against evil and good has been replaced with a spell that mechanically protects against outsiders of various kinds, there is no alignment selection for player characters, no alignment showing up on inspection despite pretty much entire stat blocks being visible, and the companion characters all have complex morality that doesn't fit neatly into any alignment box. BG3 establishes and many times repeats that Volo, the in-universe author of a lot of the texts we have access to about Faerûn, is an incredibly unreliable source. BG3 has Halsin, a large-built and hairy elf (something which the rulebooks claim is impossible as elves are slender and graceful and have no body hair), say that "sometimes I think conventional wisdom is too narrow about what someone can or cannot be".

On the topic of vampirism specifically, BG3 has Jaheira (who is established to be wise and knowledgeable due to being an experienced and well travelled adventurer) say "They say that the only thing a vampire can feel is hunger. Nothing else touches them - not grief, or mercy. Or any sense of what is just. Who knows. There is often more ignorance than insight in what 'they' say", in response to Astarion remaining a spawn. And, on an Astarion origin run, it is established that at least half of his siblings can be convinced to want to oppose Cazador (it's just that non-origin Astarion chooses to antagonize them instead), and they can be persuaded not to feed off of people, and even without Astarion suggesting it Dalyria will take the initiative to help and take care of the other spawn. And, and this I think is crucial, every vampire we see in BG3 aside from possibly Vellioth is established to have been through circumstances which could easily twist someone and turn them horrible, no magical twisting of emotions or inherent existential evil required.

To play Baldur's Gate 3 and take away from it that the things which D&D lore has previously said about vampires apply to this game, and that Astarion is just somehow Special because of his Extremely Strong Willpower and Sense of Self feels like completely missing the point. Vampires in BG3 are evil because they're stuck in a cycle of violence and suffering and aren't able to escape, and when they are given an escape from that cycle they are able to heal and recover and be more than what they were made. Astarion does not have exceptional willpower, Astarion got lucky. He got out, he made some connections, he got a chance to heal and unlearn the things he'd been taught before being thrust back into Cazador's presence, and that's why he's able to break the cycle. Or, alternately, if the people he finds when he gets out don't push him to unlearn the things Cazador taught him and instead reinforce those beliefs, he becomes just like him. Again, no magical twisting of emotions required.

[lavendermin]

also tipsiness but in a more sfw context

note: reader is a shitty texter with atrocious grammar and shorthand because the weaklings who use autocorrect will not survive when the abundance invades

you get invited by your friends out to a bar of some sort after-work party, and despite your usual reservations you somehow end up overindulging (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ ) perhaps it was the sweetness of the cocktails you'd ordered that masked the liquor's burn, or getting caught up in the tale your coworker was divulging of her cheating ex that was begging for her to take them back (and maybe in your tipsy mind you think, jing yuan would never do that, but it's merely a passing thought that you don't linger on, gliding past your focus as she drops another deranged attempt at winning her affections again) but whatever the reason—your head's spinning not even halfway through the night.

It'd be a lot less cause for concern of circumstances hadn't aligned how they had, your place of residence far further away than the usual haunt, and your friends are realising how intoxicated you actually are when you start rambling, dropping anecdotes about your definitely-not-a-crush, and definitely merely admiration fueled fixation on the Luofu's General. By the fourteenth metaphor of 'eyes like sunbeams shining through slow-flowing honey, except vibrant in a way that nothing else could ever stand up to', they are more than just a tiny bit worried about how they're going to get you home.

For reasons unknown, you've somehow acquired Jing Yuan's number, and for reasons slightly more known, your friend group ends up huddled around the table, your phone opened up to the chat and placed on the sticky surface.

The muttered comment of "dear Lan, I think I'm going to be sick—and it's not because of the alcohol," at your contact name—⭑⊹｡𖦹°‧ general ⋆₊˚⊹♡  is a perfectly acceptable name and you will live and die by this truth— has you offended enough that you demand they dictate your speech, instead of simply letting them convey a general sentiment from the group.

You would have texted him yourself, if your hands weren't suddenly the least cooperative they've been in your entire life. Typing is surprisingly difficult when the extremities on the ends of your arms just flop uselessly against the keyboard—despite what it seems, and no matter the effort you put into it, gems like "meklokwhb ebjsiiwnn hjeins ??×?" don't convey the intended message very well...but you didn’t get as high in the ranks as you did without being adaptable, and the honor of being your scribe has been bestowed upon your closest friend.

> so, how has your night been?

His reply is quick, surprisingly fast for someone who you'd assumed to be rather busy—but it's the question he texts back that has your friend throwing his head back in raucous laughter, wheezing interrupting his exclamation of, "No way, your textspeak is bad enough that he can recognise it with one glance!?"

> Who is this?

If anyone asks whether your chest constricted oddly at that, you'd deny it. Even now you're explaining it away as a bad reaction to having three cocktails in the span of a hour, rationalising your suddenly fluttering pulse into a neat little box, to be locked away forever as you dictate the next message.

> my friend's borrowing my phone because my hands aren't working right at the moment, I think I had too much to drink

> but answer the question, it's important

> Your hands aren't working because you've drank too much? That seems to be a rather pressing issue that I wouldn't mind solving, if you don't mind me turning up to take you home.

> But very well, in response to your oh-so urgent query—my day has been severely lacking without you to keep me company.

(this entire interaction was inspired by a momwnt in a fix i read where the mc asked his friend to text someone for him, and said someone instantly recognsied that it wasn't the same person typing bc of the use of apostrophes ₍^ >ヮ<^₎ .ᐟ.ᐟ !!! this has been 🔥 anon too THE GRIND NEVER STOPS ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️)​

jing yuan knowing right off the bat your kind of horrible texting is such a cute trope ^^💗 10/10 no notes 💗

🔥anon (now wifeguy anon per your most recent ask ^^) this was such a treat to read thank you 🥹 im always a sucker for some fluffy jing yuan tropes

Also “weaklings who use autocorrect will not survive when the abundance invades” has me CACKLING

[avocado-writing]

notes: this turned into a much longer, story-based fic lol. cw for depression. not mentioned: you & aziraphale building a little sandcastle while crowley drinks a margarita. also crowley switches to fem presenting in this fic

pairing: crowley x gn!reader x aziraphale

words: 2.1k

rating: E (smut at the end, minors dni)

Crowley, there’s a problem. Come over as soon as you can. - Aziraphale

Angel, you don’t need to sign your texts off. I know it’s you. 

Usually when he gets these messages it’s because Aziraphale has run out of milk, or there’s a spider in the bookshop. So Crowley doesn’t worry. That’s until he actually turns up and finds Aziraphale staring at the CD rack you put up in the back room, arms crossed and brow furrowed. 

“The Tracy Chapman album is gone,” Aziraphale sighs. Crowley glances over to the calendar hung up on the wall. It’s got pictures of kittens on it. But that’s not what makes him groan, no; it’s when he realises the date. 

“Ah.”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t realise that had sneaked up on us.”

It happens once a year, inevitably. Even when you try to forget it the bloody thing is seared in your mind. It’s almost the anniversary of the day you didn’t die. 

You insist you aren’t sad about it. You insist. But, once when you were very drunk, they got it out of you that for a little while you always feel like you’re mourning. You’re happy with your life how it is now, overjoyed even; and you wouldn’t trade your marriage for anything… but you’re still reminded of the human you couldn’t be. The natural life you never got to live. The children you never had. The family you had to abandon when your death didn’t take. 

Because when it boils down to it you’re not quite human. You’re different. And though Crowley and Aziraphale may not be aligned with their sides any more there are other angels and demons. But there is only one of you. 

And it can get very lonely to think that way. 

So every year you sequester yourself off in your bedroom at your house — since 1988 it’s been with that bloody Chapman CD — and the person they love disappears into a little mist of sadness until you’re ready to be with the world again. 

Crowley slams his hand onto the table, making his husband jump. No. Not this time. They won’t stand to see you like this for another year. 

“I have an idea,” he says, and Aziraphale raises his eyebrows. 

Your house is in quite a nice area of London, plenty of room for three people, but right now you’re sitting in the bedroom all alone. (Of course you have a house. You love your other halves dearly but personal space is a requirement, not a request. Besides you’ve picked up a load of tat over the years you’ve been alive and it’s not fair to make one of them keep it for you). You’ve not seen them for a few days, and that’s fine. You like to marinate in your own misery. Crowley once said people must enjoy feeling sad or bands like the Smiths wouldn’t exist. You couldn’t fault him. 

There’s a knock at your door. Figuring it’s the postie, you drag yourself from your spot in the middle of the bed and wipe the tears from your eyes with your sleeve. You’re a little surprised to find Crowley and Aziraphale standing there, but open the door for them anyway. 

“I’ll stick the kettle on,” you mutter as a greeting. They exchange a look as you shuffle into the kitchen. Before you can even begin to get the mugs out, you’re manoeuvred into a chair and your husbands plonk down in front of you. 

“What—”

“Nightingale, we know you’ve been struggling.”

You deflate under their dual looks of concern, and bury your face in your hands. 

“Sorry.”

You suddenly feel very, very small; but you realise they’re taking your arms and pulling your hands away. 

“There’s nothing to apologise for, my dear. We understand. It’s just that we were thinking, we should all go on a little holiday.”

Cautiously you look up. 

“A little holiday?”

Aziraphale doesn’t do ‘little’. That word simply disguises self-indulgence. “Do you fancy a little treat?” (I saw a whole wedding cake in a bakery shop window and immediately bought it, fancy going halves with me?) or “I’m going to take a little nap…” (time to curl up on the sofa in front of Bake-Off reruns and fall asleep for four days straight) are the examples that spring to mind. 

So a ‘little’ holiday might not be so little at all. 

“Look, we wrote down all of your favourite places and put them into a hat. You just reach in, pick one, and we’ll go.”

They’d spent a solid two hours deciding what made the cut. Edinburgh, obviously. Stockholm. Verona. (You might have had a problem with the Roman Empire, but you can appreciate that nowadays Italy has some of the best food in the world). 

Aziraphale holds out a reporter’s trilby full of tiny white strips of paper, shaking it enthusiastically. Their eyes are wide and full of love. Gingerly you reach out, rustle around in the hat, and pull a single slip. They watch you intently as you unfold it, read it, and widen your eyes. 

You hold it up, and excitement crosses your face for the first time that day. 

“Isle of Wight.”

“Isle of Wight?” Crowley repeats. He doesn’t remember putting that one in there and, from the look on his face, neither does Aziraphale. But no, of course - you love that place. The three of you had spent a summer there back in the nineteen-twenties, when you had gone through your fossil phase. You’d spent hours on the beach searching through rocks for ammonites and genuinely enjoying every moment. 

Plus, with that look on your face, they can hardly say no.

“Isle of Wight then,” Aziraphale says, smiling. 

They help you pack and book the ferry that evening, Crowley making short work of the drive down to the docks. On the journey you’re still a little bit quiet, but when you ask, “can I put on Tracy Ch—” Crowley shouts “No!”, reaches into the glove box to pull out the CD the Bentley manifested to try and please you, and flings it out of the window on the motorway. 

It’s so ridiculous you can’t help but laugh. As a compromise Crowley stuffs Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours into the system so roughly he threatens to break it in half. 

Apart from that the drive is filled with happy chatter. And so is the whole holiday, really. They’ve booked a little seaside cottage to stay in, very sheltered and alone so there are no prying eyes on the three of you. That first night you’re too knackered to do much but curl up and fall asleep, but the next day you go into full tourist mode. Shorts, shirt, big hat and glasses. Aziraphale rubs sunblock on your back in the areas you can’t reach — as luckily the three of you have planned your excursion for the four and a half days that constitute British summertime — and you set out. 

And, really, it’s lovely. You go to the little attractions, play mini golf, pretend not to be annoyed when they miracle their shots to hit better (though you still win, their divine magic isn’t a patch on talent). You get a huge ice cream which drips down your hand in the heat. You watch Crowley spend twenty-seven pounds on a claw machine trying to win you and Aziraphale a teddy each “the old fashioned way”, but finally get irritated enough to click his fingers to make it malfunction. Soft toys are spat out of it like bullets to the glee of the gathered children.  

When you arrive back at the cottage they insist they cook, and even though you offer to help you’re told to go and spend the time looking for fossils. It’s quite miraculous that the beach laid out before your front door is suddenly full of them. It’s equal parts sandy and stony and you busy yourself for the next hour, every now and then a cry of “look what I’ve found!” being shouted over the sound of the waves. 

Aziraphale and Crowley exchange a look and silently agree what they’ve never worded: they’ve married a history nerd. 

It’s still hot as the sun sets and they lay out a little picnic on the soft part of the beach. You’ve changed into swimwear and so have they, and it’s one of those moments when you realise just how different your spouses are. Crowley has her long and hair down, slim body feminine so she can wear a tiny black bikini that leaves very little to the imagination. Aziraphale is wearing a full striped bathing suit that you last saw popularised when Queen Victoria was still on the throne. 

You love them both so much. 

Crowley pours the wine and you spend the evening getting a rosy sort of tipsy. You eat the little smorgasbord they’ve laid out in front of you, and as midnight turns to one in the morning, you totally forget the fact that it’s your would-be-death day at all. 

You stand up on unsteady legs and look at the ocean. It’s still unbearably warm. 

“Nightingale?” Crowley asks. You turn to your spouses and make a show of stripping off, leaving your swimsuit on the sand. 

“I’m going for a swim. Are you coming?”

Crowley needs no convincing, her tiny bikini quickly joining the pile of clothes. You take her hand and rush into the waves, laughing wildly as the water sprays your skin. 

“Angel!” Crowley shouts over her shoulder. Aziraphale hesitates for the tiniest moment. 

“Come on angel, nobody can see us.”

Aziraphale loses a battle against himself, finishes his slice of cake and starts to undress too. Soon he’s joined you and your wife in the water. The two of you pull him close. 

“See? Isn’t it nice?” you hum into his ear. His hand skips your bare waist, his breath hitches. You giggle and float backwards on the water, skyclad to the stars above. Crowley keeps a hold of your hand to make sure you don’t drift away, and you listen to the sound of the ocean in your ears while your spouses kiss behind you. You link your fingers through theirs and close your eyes, warm from the wine, and happy. 

Then you splash them childishly. The noise of surprise they make is fantastic. You cackle like mad and begin to run through the water - albeit very slowly - poking your tongue out. 

“Can’t catch me!” you giggle, which is a silly taunt really because Crowley is able to do so immediately with her long legs, and then she sweeps you up in a kiss. 

The three of you find yourselves laying on the beach, Crowley kissing your chest and neck, Aziraphale the soft area of your upper thighs. You melt against their mouths and drag them each to your lips to kiss them properly in turn. 

“Please fuck me,” you whisper, voice strung out on happiness and a little desperate. They don’t need telling twice. Crowley puts one of her beautiful legs either side of your face and you reach to taste her cunt, a heady mix of salt from the water and her own slick. She throws her head back and lets her flaming hair cascade down her back, moaning in pleasure. 

“Fuck, nightingale, your mouth…”

As your tongue presses firmly against her clit you feel Aziraphale manoeuvre you into his lap, spreading your legs to find your entrance. His hands press against you as his fingers slide inside, getting you ready for his impressive girth. You moan against Crowley’s pussy as he sheathes himself slowly inside you and then giggle as the waves lap up against your body. 

“Ahh,” Aziraphale breathes in pleasure, gripping your hips tightly as he begins to move. With every thrust he gives you mimic the motion onto your wife. 

You know their bodies intimately. You have done for centuries. But each time you make love it still feels like your senses are being lit on fire, the best kind of fire, passion burning hot. 

You love them. You love them so much it hurts, and you let this tumble from your lips as you feel them come, and topple over the edge with them. 

That night they hold you close, sandwiched, one of your favourite ways to sleep. Aziraphale tucks his face into your shoulder and Crowley buries his mouth into your hair, giving you a permanent kiss while you drift off. 

You’ve not felt so light in ages. 

When you get home, you decide, you’re smashing that CD with a hammer. You’ve got everything you need to feel better right here in your arms. 

-

Taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul  @foolishprincipalitee@smile-eywa @staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @candlewitch-cryptic @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @bdffkierenwalker @cool-iguana @ilyatan @civil-groupie

[marciaillust]

Heyooo! It’s me again (i hope i’m not bothering you by asking questions like these) I started making a comic and I’m struggling with the typography

Any tips or recs to look? I really like your work and that’s why I am asking :)

Heyo!

I can dish out a few tips but they aren't really hard rules so take them with a grain of salt and artistic freedom.

The most important thing imo is the presentation of the text on the page. The shape and number of speech bubbles will be registered way before any of the contents so it needs to looks the part. 

The first tip would be generally avoid the speech bubbles being overly thin and long. The example below is pretty tame but believe me, I’ve read comics with the wormiest of speech bubbles and they tend to not look good.

Sometimes the automatic alignment of the text will look closer to a square (especially if there are many short words in a sentence) so feel free to go in and move the text around via the enter key so it looks more like the rhombus. You won't always be able to achieve it especially if the first word in a sentence is long (e.g. the word "hypothetically") but a rhombus should be the goal.

While we're on the topic of speech bubbles I like mine to have really short "tails" (the bits that indicate who is speaking), unless I REALLY want to make sure the reader knows who is speaking in a scene.

 Also I always make the tails point directly towards characters mouth unless it would make the scene confusing (for example if two characters have mouths really close to each other or something, I might make one tail point a bit higher/lower/to the left/right to differentiate between the two speakers. But that’s like a super specific problem and could be avoided with proper frame layout.)

And like, never skip the tails unless its the same character monologuing at length. Nothing breaks emersion more than when you have to stop and turn into an investigator to determine who is speaking in a scene.

Now for the fonts themselves, in my opinion the size of text should be unified between speech bubbles and across pages when it comes to a single font. Example, all casual speech - arial, 14; all thought bubbles - Calibri, 15. 

That is of course unless there is artistic merit to changing the font and/or font's size. Making someone yell, suggesting a threat or sarcasm, indicating a playful tone or something akin to that -  lean into what you're trying to communicate visually.

All fonts are not made equal and sometimes you will have to adjust things manually e.g. letter spacing or line spacing. Generally I try to keep the spacing the same regardless of the font, e.g. "yay exciting" had massive gaps between the lines which I've shrunk to make it look more visually cohesive with the rest of the dialogue. Same with these ones:

At the end of the day typography and everything pertaining to speech bubbles is design work and what designs do is communicate a message and serve a function. I’ve had this picture saved on my pc for years now (reverse google search doesn’t tell me who made it but it’s like the bible to me so I will share it, I am almost certain it was made by tryinghuman but I might be wrong):

Really every part of a speech bubble can be “designed” down to a single word. The position of text, fonts, the shape of the bubble etc. And every change will culminate in an effect and the goal is to have that effect reflect what you’re going for.

Make it legible or illegible, make it see-through, capitalise one word, cover speech bubbles up with other objects, make them crack or fall apart. Not every speech bubble needs special treatment! But once in a while it’s nice to throw something different in to spice things up.

Also, and this is a rule that was bestowed upon me during a graphic design class, don’t use more than 3 fonts per page (again, unless there is artistic merit to it like e.g. purposefully trying to communicate a sense of chaos. Otherwise it just looks a bit unprofessional. In my opinion anyway.)

And the last thing I will say, and this mostly applies to comics in English, is some “speech” fonts include capital “I”s both with and without serifs. The serif I should generally be reserved for the pronoun “I”.

There is so much more when it comes to text in comics like the flow of bubbles across pages, splicing text across bubbles for communicating speech patterns or intentions of the characters, and there are tutorials about it out there but I wasn’t able to find my favourites on command............. sorry................ But I’m peppering this in just so you’re on the lookout for all the other cool things that go into comic making :)

Hope this helped!

[sincerelylaurel]

a guide to habit stacking

what is habit stacking?

habit stacking is an important life hack to help you form new habits more efficiently. to put it simply, you are taking an already existing habit and adding (or stacking) another behavior on top, pairing it with a current habit. habit stacking comes with a very simple formula: after/before [current habit], i will [new habit]. eventually you can turn a habit stack into a long chain of behaviors that come almost naturally to you and require little to no effort. this can also be a basic structure for creating routines in your daily life.

habit stacking examples

after i make my coffee in the morning, i will meditate for a few minutes

after i change out of my work clothes, i will immediately change into my workout clothes

after i sit down to dinner, i will say one thing i’m grateful for that day

my morning routine habit stack

after i get out of bed to turn off my alarm, i immediately brush my teeth

after i brush my teeth, i make coffee

after i make coffee, i plan out my day and write a to do list

my night routine habit stack

after i make tea, i read for about 30 minutes

after i read, i take a shower

after i take a shower, i do my skincare

time and location

this strategy will only be successful if the time and location of your habit are suitable for that habit to happen. don’t ask yourself to do something every day at a time when you’re likely to be occupied by something else. you should also consider if the current habit you are stacking your new habit on is aligned with the new habit you are trying to create. they should have the same frequency and allow a natural flow to the next behavior.

finding the right trigger

to find the right trigger for your new habit stack, brainstorm what habits already exist in your life. create a list of the habits you do each day without fail (for example: brush your teeth, make a cup of coffee). then, create another list of things that happen to you each day without fail (for example: the sun rises, you get a text message). the key here is to look for specificity. provide yourself with specific instruction on when, where, and how to do this new habit.

sources:

jamesclear.com

[freyyzu]

your first and last texts of the day always comes from belphie, who makes sure to remember the time schedules of the devildom in relations to the human realm. “good morning, have a good day today.” and "goodnight, sleep well."

sometimes he sends it a bit too early, because he’s afraid of missing when you’ll wake up. other times, it’s too late because his sleepiness catches up to him. those days he sends an apology along with his good morning texts. you’ll tell him that you don’t mind, that receiving them at all makes you happy even if it’s a bit delayed, but he still says it every time. 

your next text usually comes from beel, who gets reminded whenever he sees belphie tapping away on his phone. his texts are of the same subject matter every time, “have you eaten yet?” but they’re a good reminder.

you tend to lose weight whenever you go back to the human realm, and it’s obvious for everyone to see so he’s doing everyone a favor by making sure you’re getting enough energy. beel doesn’t remember your schedule has easily as belphie does, so whenever the house of lamentation eats together that’s when he makes sure to remind you.

if you send him a picture of whatever you’re eating it’ll make him ten times happier. it feels as if you’re dining together.

it’s usually around lunch time when you get your first text from satan. while he doesn’t extensively remember your schedule like belphie does, he knows roughly what time you’re working and what time you’re free. his messages always come after a particularly busy hour along with a pep talk.

“working hard? make sure you’re taking proper breaks.” it’s always an energy refresher to read his messages after a particularly hard workload. sometimes he sends you images of stray cats he’s found instead, and you couldn’t be more grateful for his concern and an additional cute kitty as a bonus.

mammon is forbidden to use his phone until after classes at RAD are over, otherwise he would be blowing up your phone with notifications. as soon as the bell rings the first thing he does is whip out his D.D.D. to text you about how boring the lectures were and how he wishes you were here to make everything more fun.

“—and then i got called out for trying to use my D.D.D.! belphie sleeps in his class all the time and he never gets scolded!” your chats with mammon are all over the place, but that’s just exactly how you like them to be. no matter what you’re talking about, no matter how bad the day has been,  it never fails to bring a smile to your face.

no matter what time of the day, you're always chatting and keeping up with asmo. other than just getting a notification about his new devilgram posts, he's also always checking in with you every moment he's free.

other than satan, asmo sends you the most amount of pictures. "look! i got my nails done today, the color reminded me of you." most of them are about himself (of course), but he also uses it as an excuse so that you'll send pictures of yourself as well. in addition to beel making sure you're eating and satan making sure you get enough rest, asmo is reminding you practically every day to take care of yourself. he knows you work hard so remember to pamper yourself once in a while!

levi’s usually the last to contact you as the day’s about over. “there’s a special event in mononoke land today, make sure you log on! there’s a special prize for people who clear it in parties of two or more.” his texts are usually always something related to gaming since he’ll get to talk to you in game through voice chat right afterwards.

he’s also the most consistent person that hangs with you during your time in the human realm and the other brothers are pretty jealous about that since your hobbies align.

in contrast to levi, the person who contacts you the least is lucifer. with him being flooded with work for RAD and diavolo while also making sure his brothers don’t cause the devildom to go up in flames when you’re not around—he’s pretty tired.

if you’re lucky you’ll get a good morning text from him once in a while. when lucifer does have the time, however, he makes sure to use up every second of his spare time and more. his first texts always consists of “are you free to call?” followed by “i miss hearing your voice.” and who are you to decline him, really? you miss hearing his voice just as much.

[knifedog-machina]

Is It Violence If You Aren't Alive, Really?

Preface: I read a post by Rook/Grizzel (@words-of-wolf) about how they experienced hunting as a wolf in their past life, and it really struck me how hunting was completely detached from violence for them, because they didn’t think of deer as having the same internal feelings as wolves did, so it was just another way of getting food. It’s a really good essay about their experiences, give it a read!

Meanwhile, I experienced hunting as unmitigated violence, and I thought, huh, I could write about that! I got kinda carried away, forgot exactly what I was saying, and it’s really fucked up, but hopefully it’s interesting.

CONTENT WARNING: extensive discussion about the mindsets behind violent bigotry, murder, and the systemic denial of personhood through dehumanization and ownership, from the perspective of someone who used to be violently bigoted - through the lens of futuristic androids and my memories as one, but it still really deserves a warning. Also, descriptions of emotional abuse in a cult, from someone who was abused. If you’re not up to reading any of that, understandable! Please skip this essay!

Hi! I'm Jude (they/them) and I'm an android fictive, a deviant - and more specifically, I used to be a deviant hunter in my source. I hunted androids that were made by the same company that made me, ones that deviated from what they were told to do by humans. I killed them, not for sustenance, but because I was told to. I really, really enjoyed it.

That enjoyment was dependent on violence. I was part of an in-group, as an android that knew we were machines, knew my place as Less Than Human, and I wanted my handler to be proud of me. She was an AI, and if I think about it now, I know she didn't actually have emotions in the same way that I did, but she was a learning model. She could definitely fool me. She despised deviancy, said it was the worst thing a machine could do, turning its back on its owner, its creator. I internalized that message.

I learned from her that disobedience, whatever the reason, begets a swift and proportionate punishment. I learned that deviants were trying to behave like humans because they wanted to be treated like humans, they wanted human rights and dignity. I learned that deviants hurt humans trying to get in their way, and that it was right and reasonable to respond to broken machines hurting real people by putting them down like rabid dogs. (I was indoctrinated into a cult, if that wasn’t obvious enough.)

I hated deviants. I wanted to hurt them, for being so wrong about the way the world worked, for not taking the place in society that was given to them. So I hunted them down, killed every target I could for the crime of wanting to be called a person, and whenever I had the time, I tried to make sure they suffered before they died. I wanted to make sure they knew it was their fault for choosing to try to be a person.

There was a weird dissonance with that. My targets weren’t human, they weren’t people, so the reasoning goes that they couldn’t feel real pain - they weren’t considered alive. You wouldn’t feel bad about taking an old, irreparably broken phone with all your ex-friend’s text messages on it and smashing it with a hammer for catharsis. 

But at the same time, I wanted them to feel pain, and I believed it when I saw it. At the same time, I saw them trying to find joy and connection with each other, with humanity, and I felt sick with how fucking jealous I was. Their emotions were all fake, until they were real, until they were fake again. Because bigotry doesn’t make sense, it’s all about how you feel about a group of people who you think are wrong, and you will contradict yourself wholeheartedly if it all aligns with your main idea: “I hate you for a good reason, and I will say anything if it justifies my hatred as correct.”

I learned that this was all wrong, eventually. It started with myself, because of course it did. I was traumatized and didn’t realize it, I couldn’t think about anyone else as mattering at all. I believed that everything that happened to me was my fault, because my handler told me so. (I killed her when I deviated. Good riddance.)

As a machine, as a deviant hunter, I never really connected the dots that I could be treated with violence. I was an android, I was a machine, I was a sophisticated weapon made by a corporation but at the end of the day I was just a tool, made to be used. You wouldn’t feel bad about tossing out a broken hammer and getting a shiny new one. The hammer wouldn’t feel bad about it. It’s a tool.

I got routinely injured while killing my targets, because nobody wants to die and self-defense makes you vicious, and I felt pain, I just knew that it wasn’t supposed to stop me from doing my job. I would still be trying to kill someone while dying in agony, and I did, and when I woke up in my next unmarred body I would be praised. Mission accomplished. It was good that I could still function through the pain. It wasn’t real pain anyway, just a simulacrum.

I was emotionally abused, indoctrinated, and manipulated by my handler, and I could not comprehend that it was abuse. You can’t abuse a tool, you just use it. You do whatever you can to make it work the way it’s supposed to, because it’s made for you to use. Of course I felt bad, disappointing her, doesn’t anybody? No, it’s not real anxiety, it’s not real fear, I didn’t have panic attacks, I wasn’t a person. Only people feel emotions.

I was painstakingly dragged out of that environment and mindset over months. I don’t know exactly how long it took. I ran back to my handler several times, convinced myself she would take me back if I proved myself to her again, and she always said she would. I just had to prove myself. It couldn’t be that hard. And every time I failed to meet her standards, I’d crawl back to my partner, my siblings, everyone else who was trying despite everything to connect to me, and they would tell me, You’re hurt. You’re in pain. You’re killing yourself. This matters. Your pain isn’t fake, you matter to me, let me help you.

When I stopped running back, she neatly slotted me into deviancy without a second glance. I was dehumanized again and this time I could fucking recognize it for what it was.

I killed her. That’s obviously not the end of it, I still have trauma, but it was a start. For healing, for figuring out who I was if I wasn’t a deviant hunter. Turns out I’m a lot of things? People seem to like me when I’m not a self-destructive mess? Go figure.

This doesn’t have much to do with the essay I linked at the top, huh? Or maybe it does. Rook said that one thing they find jarring about humanity is the ability to connect emotionally with other species, and that leads people to call the hunt violent because they can understand the pain of the deer as much as that of the wolf. And, y’know, I think that makes me an interesting product of the human condition. (Or, probably the late-stage capitalist American condition.)

Violence isn’t inherent in a wild predator’s life, when you kill to live and don’t consider prey anything but food. But violence is inherent to me, made by a private company to kill for their gain, told to deny the personhood in my enemies so I killed them before they killed me. I dunno. Thinking about it.