#deception 🎶

[blueey-jayzilla]

Can u tell I've been watching Jem and the holograms?

[dakusan]

S K Z   D I C K   A N A L Y S I S

stray kids ot8 x reader | field research, god-tier dick, you won’t walk tomorrow

🖤 synopsis: eight men. sixteen hands. one universal truth: they’re all built different. this isn’t a thirst post. it’s a forensic study. a field report. a soul-snatching gospel of hips, tongues, and the quiet cruelty of a man who knows how to fuck. some of them worship you. some of them destroy you. all of them leave you shaking. welcome to the skz dick analysis. we’re not just rating dick. we’re decoding it.

💌a/n: i don’t even know how we got here. one second i was sipping tea like a sane person, the next i was writing about han jisung crying in your arms post-nut while “That That” by PSY (feat. yoongi, because of course) blasted in the background. filth. absolute filth. but you know what? it’s what they deserve. it’s what we deserve. also if it wasn’t obvious by now — yeah. my favourite colour is red. has been for years. red + black is a whole era. i don’t just want to write skz dick analysis… i want to bleed it in velvet. p.s. reblog this post like it gave you a hickey p.p.s. tag your bias & cry about it in the notes p.p.p.s. give some love to Flavor click the link or don't

⚠️warnings: : 18+ ONLY (MDNI) — explicit sexual language and themes, kink-based character analysis, dom/sub dynamics, degradation, praise, overstimulation, body worship, size kink, oral fixation, possessive behavior, creampie mentions, implied breeding, power imbalance, aftercare, emotional collapse, use of pet names (e.g. "good girl"), choking, mirror play, neck biting, fear of God inserted through dick game, and aggressive levels of brainrot. all fictional, all consensual, and all unhinged.

🎶now playing: "Flavor" – VX

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

BANG CHAN // 방찬

Length: 6.5" – 7", but it’s not the size that breaks you — it’s the command. It’s the way he angles himself just right, drags it out slow at first, then gives you everything when you’re begging prettily.

Thickness: Thick and hefty, the kind that makes you gasp when he slides in. Veins you can trace with your fingers. Warm, weighty, always throbbing against your thigh when he gets needy.

Stroke Game: Rhythmic. Calculated. Insane. He doesn’t just fuck — he directs. One hand pinning your hips, the other on your throat, whispering “Take it like a good girl. You’re doing so well.” Alternates between deep, punishing thrusts and slow, ruinous rolls that leave your legs shaking. You’ll lose count of your orgasms — he won’t.

Cum: Heavy. Warm. Deep. He always finishes inside — slow thrusts, gritted teeth, holding your hips still as he fills you up. Groans in your ear, “Fuck, you take me so well.” The kind that drips out for hours and makes you blush when you shift in your seat the next day. Breeds you like he means it, like it’s a ritual, not a reflex.

Dick Game Verdict: He doesn’t just fuck you — he orchestrates your undoing. With precision. With obsession. With love so filthy it makes you sob. You’ll forget your name. You’ll remember his.

Lee Know // 리노

Length: 6.5" — sleek and sculpted like everything else he owns. Elegant curve, perfect for that spot. His hips do most of the talking. He knows what he’s working with.

Thickness: Just enough to make you stretch and shudder. Not monstrous — but deceptively perfect. Every thrust feels like a calculated violation of your sanity. Fit like a lockpick, not a sledgehammer.

Stroke Game: Deliberate. Cruel. Precise. The kind of man who watches your face while you fall apart and smiles. He’ll edge you with shallow strokes until you’re begging, then snap his hips once and have you seeing stars. Minimal movement, maximum destruction.

Cum: Warm. Coats your insides with slow thrusts and low moans. Doesn’t always finish inside — sometimes he likes to paint your stomach, your thighs, your tongue. But when he does finish in you, he makes you stay full. “Don’t let a drop go to waste.” Then fingers it back in while whispering, “Good girl.”

Dick Game Verdict: Not loud. Not messy. Just lethal. He’ll fuck you like a science. Break you in silence. Leave you so ruined, you’ll flinch when someone says his name. He never rushes. Because he knows — when he’s done? You’ll never look at anyone else the same again.

Changbin // 창빈

Length: 6" — don’t let the number fool you. It’s the girth that has you blacking out mid-thrust. Short king? Try wrecking ball. When he slides in, you feel every inch, every time. You’ll swear it grew mid-session. It didn’t. Your walls are just traumatized.

Thickness: Unholy. We’re talking stretch-your-soul level. You’ll see stars before he even bottoms out. Has that heavy, veiny, “you’re not ready for this” kind of presence. Leaves you breathless, wrecked, and praying for a second round you know you can’t survive.

Stroke Game: Rhythmic. Punishing. Zero brakes. Thrusts like a gym playlist — fast, powerful, relentless. No teasing, no build-up — just impact. You’re folded in half, being pounded like a drumline, choking on your own moans while he’s still breathing steady. “C’mon, baby. You can take it.”

Cum: Heavy. Sticky. Endless. Loves finishing inside — but also loves watching it drip out of you. Will thumb it back in just to see you flinch. Grabs your chin after and says, “What’s wrong, baby? Thought you wanted all of me.” Leaves bruises. Leaves marks. Leaves memory loss.

Dick Game Verdict: He’s not just built. He’s built for destruction. You’ll scream. You’ll tap out. You’ll beg — and he’ll just tilt his head and go, “Already?” Sex with him isn’t just a night. It’s a full-body event. And he’s the headline, main act, and afterparty.

Hyunjin // 현진

Length: 7 – 7.5" — long, elegant, dangerous. The type that makes you gasp when he pushes in slowly, watching your face with hooded eyes like he knew it would hit that deep. Fills you up like he’s been dreaming about it for days.

Thickness: Sleek but firm — a velvet blade. Enough to stretch you, but it’s the depth he reaches that changes you. The curve? Unfair. Like it was sculpted to kiss your g-spot just to hear what you sound like when you lose composure.

Stroke Game: Flowy. Deliberate. Unfathomably deep. He starts slow. One hand gripping your thigh, the other tilted under your chin, lips barely touching yours. Once you’re a whimpering mess? He speeds up just enough to overwhelm you. The hips don’t lie — and they destroy. “Take all of it, baby. I’m not stopping.”

Cum: Slow, hot, emotional. Finishes deep with long strokes, burying himself fully as he breathes your name like a prayer. Moans in your ear while holding your waist tight. Likes to cum inside — watches it drip out with dazed eyes and kisses you between the legs like an apology.

Dick Game Verdict: He doesn’t fuck. He haunts. Every moan is a poem. Every thrust is a love letter sealed with bruises. He’ll make you feel like a canvas and leave your body shaking like he wrote a sonnet with his hips. You’ll walk home sore and smiling. And you’ll want him again immediately.

Han // 한

6" — average but deceptively powerful. It’s not the size that ends you. It’s the way he uses it — every thrust hitting just right because he’s memorized every inch of your body like it’s his favorite song. You’ll forget air exists.

Thickness: Slightly girthy with just the right stretch. Has that perfect snug fit — enough to make you gasp, never too much to tap out early. Just the way he likes it: “I wanna feel all of you squeezing around me.”

Stroke Game: Fast. Desperate. Unhinged. He fucks like he’s trying to get you addicted. Starts off whimpering and soft, then kicks into overdrive when you praise him. Slams into you with frantic rhythm like his soul depends on it. You’re drooling, overstimulated, and he’s still muttering, “One more. Just one more, please.” (Lie. It’s never just one.)

Cum: Hot, fast, everywhere. Finishes with a long, desperate groan — body trembling, fingers digging into your hips. Might cum inside without realizing because he’s too far gone. Or on your chest while panting apologies like “I couldn’t hold it, you were too good.”

Dick Game Verdict: He’s your emotional support slut. Will rail you to pieces and then cry in your arms. Sex with him feels like a confession, a breakdown, and a fireworks show all in one. You don’t just cum — you ascend.

Felix // 필릭스

Length: 6.5" – 7" — smooth and beautiful. Not too much. Not too little. It’s the kind of dick you see once and think about forever. The first thrust always makes your breath hitch — not because of size, but because of how intentional it feels. Like he’s been waiting for this.

Thickness: Just right — sleek and filling. Perfect pressure, perfect stretch, perfect rhythm. You don’t get overwhelmed, you get hooked. Hits that spot and stays there, grinding slow, deep, and steady until you’re breathless.

Stroke Game: Deep. Rhythmic. Lethal. The slow strokes kill you. It’s the way he grinds, chest pressed to yours, whispering soft filth in that low voice — “You’re so pretty like this… all mine.” Will go harder if you ask, but he prefers to fuck you through eye contact and emotional damage. Makes you melt, then makes you moan.

Cum: Warm, slow, and intensely possessive. Finishes with a deep groan and wraps his arms around you instantly. Fills you up and doesn’t pull out — “I wanna stay like this a little longer.” Watches it leak out of you with a dazed look and kisses your trembling thighs.

Dick Game Verdict: He doesn’t just make love — he devours your soul. You’ll cry, you’ll shake, you’ll feel cherished and wrecked. Sex with Felix is like being adored into submission. You’ll never recover — and you’ll never want to.

Seungmin // 승민

Length: 6" — but don’t get comfortable. He doesn’t need to be huge — the control, the angles, the timing is what sends you to the ER. Slides in like he’s done it a thousand times in his head. Because he has. “Told you I’d fit perfectly.”

Thickness: Sleek and dangerous. Just enough to fill you right — just enough to make you squirm. He lives for the moment you exhale and say, “Oh my god…” because he already knew it would feel that good. He's been patient. Calculating. Now you're his problem.

Stroke Game: Controlled. Cruel. Clinical. Each thrust is calculated. Each change in rhythm is intentional. The kind of sex where he grabs your jaw mid-stroke, leans in with a smirk, and says: “You’re so loud. You trying to get caught?” You’ll cry. He’ll coo. And then he’ll go deeper.

Cum: Hot. Possessive. Intentional. Loves cumming inside — and watching it leak. Will plug you up with his fingers and say, “You’re not wasting a drop.” Doesn’t make a sound when he finishes — just a quiet gasp and clenched jaw like he’s in complete control even now.

Dick Game Verdict: He’s a fucking weapon. Not loud. Not flashy. Just precision-based annihilation. He’ll gaslight you into thinking it wasn’t even that intense — while you’re still shaking 30 minutes later. You’ll never win. But you’ll beg to lose again.

I.n // 아이엔

Length: 6.5" — a sleeper hit. You don’t expect it to hit like that… until it does. And then you’re arching, twitching, grabbing sheets with a voice you didn’t know you had. He gives you that deep, shaky breath before sliding in like, “Tell me if it’s too much.” (It is. But you won’t dare say no.)

Thickness: Slim but deadly. Slides in too easily. And that’s the trap. He gets deeper than he should, hits angles that make you shiver, and then stays there. Tilts his hips, watches your eyes roll back, and just smiles. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Stroke Game: Evolving. Dangerous. Addictive. At first, he watches you — every gasp, twitch, stutter. Then one day he finds a rhythm that makes you break and he never lets it go. From then on, it’s deep, slow, purposeful fucking. Holds your hands down. Bites your neck. Makes you beg with a soft whisper: “Louder, baby. Let them hear who owns you.”

Cum: Hot, messy, unexpectedly filthy. Finishes with a choked gasp and a twitchy thrust, still buried inside you, whispering your name. Then collapses on top of you, breathless and shaking. Sometimes asks if he can stay in a little longer. Sometimes goes again while you’re still twitching.

Dick Game Verdict: He is the sweetest weapon you’ll ever encounter. You think it’s cute until your legs are shaking, your brain’s gone, and he’s pulling you in for another round with a soft, dangerous smile. He didn’t ask to break you — but now that he has? He’ll never let anyone else put you back together.

[demiboydemon]

🎶 Embrace the deception, learn how to bend 🎶

[barchiefangirl]

🎶you never gave a warning sign-I gave so many signs-you didn't even see the signs🎶 as charlie and morfydd would say: „not all of it was deception..,like you were complicit“-„she chose not to see... to ignore the warning signs"

this is my 3rd try to post this/a part of it here🫠

watch in full here: https://youtu.be/BwkrMsdyykc?si=yw_J3X5Tj79G_9-q

[thatoneartistinthecorner]

REMEMBER! EXISTENCE IS A DECEPTION, THE GALAXY IS A RIDDLE, EAT COPPER WIRES, TA-TAA 🎶😵‍💫∆

[cybertroniannugget]

Gift Giving Bumblebee x Reader

Dec 6

Look at that cute face

Fyi, I make sure to always use real lyrics for Bumblebee xD List at the end as proof.

Spotify is my best friend when writing Bumblebee.

As much as I love him, writing the bay version is tough. Always searching for lyrics that fit.

It's a little rushed, but better late than never right?

It's pure fluff

🎶Give it to me baby-Boots with the fur-tonight🎶1

“You want my boots?”

The yellow scout nods, pointing at your shoes.

“I mean sure, but why?”

🎶It's a wonderful surprise🎶2

“But that's no American tradition though.”

🎶Cuz I don't care🎶3

“So you wanna gift me something through St. Nicholas Day?”

🎶I love you, always forever🎶4

“Love you too, Bee. I'll give you my boots later, alright?”

He buzzes excitedly.

“Ey Bee, I need you on patrol with me.”, Jazz talks over the comm link.

Bumblebee’s antannae fold back and he whirrs a little annoyed.

You pat his cheek, smiling.

“I know, we rarely see each other, but this is important. I'll be here for a while.”

Another sad buzz echoes from his vocalizer, before he transforms and drives away.

Later in the evening you receive a message from Bee, asking you to put your boots outside your door.

“Okay, that's actually cute.”, you chuckle while walking outside.

Hearing someone round the corner you quickly walk back inside, leaving your shoes where Bee asked you to put them.

He has been busy lately with training under the new agreements between earth's government.

Daily exercises for the soldiers where they have to learn how to fight Deceptions.

And when he wasn't busy with that, he had to go on routine patrols.

When you wake up the next day, the first thing you do is checking outside to find your boots filled with Christmas chocolate and a note saying ‘I love you my honeybee’

Quick on your way back inside with the shoes in your hand, you put them down onto a chair, admiring what has been put in them.

“Oh, he even bought new headphones.”, you say, holding the packaging.

Taking your phone out of your pant's pocket, you dial the access code for his comm link, holding the device to your ear, waiting for him to respond.

“Bee, that's very cute, but you didn't have to do that..”, you say as he picks up with an excited buzz.

🎶I'm hopelessly devoted to you🎶5

“Where you at right now?”

🎶By the hangar🎶6

“Alright, wait for me there.”

A few minutes later, you walk into the wide open hangar where that yellow Bot you have grown to love stands waiting.

🎶Hello🎶7

“Hey there, Bee.”, you say smiling.

🎶How was it for you-Christmas present🎶8

“It was so sweet, thank you Bee.”, you say while walking up to him.

The scout crouches down to be more on your level and whirrs happily.

🎶Because I'm happy🎶9

You smile as you stand before him.

“So, gift giving?”

The scout buzzes confused.

“It's your love language.”

His optics widen, antannae standing up now as you said that.

“Don't worry, I love you too Bee. I figured something was up.”

Hugging him, as much as the size difference allowed, you couldn't stop smiling.

🎶You can be my safety zone-Nothing can come between You and I🎶10

You chuckle as you look at him, a hand on his cheek.

🎶You ready?🎶11

“Let's see how the others will react…”

Bee chuckles.

Here's the proof guys:

1 Pretty fly for a white guy-The Offspring

Low-Flo Rida

don't stop me now-Queen (obv)

2 Friday I'm in love-The Cure

3 I don't care- Ed Sheeran&Justin Bieber

4 I love you always forever- Donna Lewis

5 Hopelessly devoted to you- Olivia Newton John

6 Hangar- 8485

7 Hello-Adele

8 How was it for you-James, Christmas present- Doris Day

9 Happy- Pharrell Williams

10 The Ocean-Mike Perry & Shy Martin You and I- One Direction

11 Price Tag- Jessie J & B.o.B

[thedwarrowscholar]

hi! unsure if this has been asked before, but i was wondering if you could give me some khuzdul translations of Wind Rose's songs, like Drunken Dwarves or Mine Mine Mine! would be greatly appreciated if the grammar and conjugations used werr also broken down. thanks!

i mean GRARARRAAAAGARAAAAAAG

Well met!

Ah yes — an unmistakable war cry! I’ve no doubt many a bearded throat has echoed like that in many an ale hall. A lively and fun question — and I’m glad you brought it up.

That said, it’s also a bit of a deceptively huge ask. So let’s break it down.

⚒️ Not Just “Plug and Translate”

Requests like “Can you translate X song into Khuzdul?” may sound simple on the surface — but they involve a massive amount of behind-the-scenes work.

Unlike English, Neo-Khuzdul is an intentionally compact, root-based language. Every word is built from the ground up using a strict triconsonantal system. That also means:

There’s no quick equivalent for many modern phrases or poetic imagery

Each line has to be individually studied, interpreted, rebuilt, and “re-forged” to fit linguistic structure (and likely Dwarvish culture too)

Even a single verse could potentially take hours to render properly — let alone an entire song

Simply put: this isn’t a copy-paste job. It’s a linguistic smithing session worthy of Mahal himself.

🎶 Is Neo-Khuzdul Too Rigid for Music?

Not at all! Contrary to some belief, Neo-Khuzdul can be surprisingly rhythmic and lyrical. Its consistent syllabic patterns and relatively fixed grammar often make rhyming easier than in English.

That said — while the results can be musical, the process is still careful and deliberate. In fact, creating a song from scratch in Neo-Khuzdul is often far easier than translating one from English. Translations must contend with idiom, rhythm, tone, meaning, and cultural framing — all at once.

If you’d like an example of what Neo-Khuzdul can sound like when used musically, feel free to check out one of my own: 👉 Cause We Aren’t Leaving (Khama Lu Mêmari!)

🪓 So What Can I Offer?

I’m always happy to help with short translation requests — a word, a name, a phrase, even a line of a song — at no cost, as I’ve done for years.

However, if you’re asking for a full song translation, especially with a detailed breakdown of grammar and conjugations, that’s not something I can just dive into freely. A project like that would need to be discussed properly — timelines, expectations, and potentially compensation. After all, I have a family, a full-time job, and only so many hours in the day to devote to the Mountain’s work.

If you're truly interested in a full song being translated into Neo-Khuzdul — feel free to get in touch directly. We can talk about whether it’s feasible, fair, and mutually rewarding.

One last note: if you plan to use the translation in a new musical work, you’d also need to secure rights to the original song from the appropriate rights holders.

🧾 In short:

Translating full songs? Possible, yes — but not on the fly. It’s a serious undertaking.

Short lines? Absolutely! Send one over and I’ll see what I can forge. (Just be patient — there is a lengthy queue.)

Ever at your service, The Dwarrow Scholar

[anotherconventionaltumblr]

Finally, it's done! Warrior Nun Season 2 trailer. Non-spoiler (created as if you've seen the first season but you can also be brand new to watching WN), just keeping it heavier on the Avatrice focus.

I had never actually watched any WN S2 trailers previously, mostly because I was hooked on S1 and went right into S2. But I wanted it to be a fresh take with this score, and editing audio to make it more deceptive to what actually happens in S2 if someone was a first time viewer.

Update: I have since watched official S2 trailers and I was shocked by how much plot they gave away. 😂 So I'd say mine is pretty much 5ge opposite: give very basic plot outline, but throw in lots of out of context lines.

🎶 We Run This Town version from the movie 365 Trailer

Highest quality is up on YouTube as an unofficial trailer:

[aheathen-conceivably]

🎶 Don't you know too much already? I'll only hurt you if you let me 🎶

Giorgio stood in the doorway, watching Josephine unbuckle the bows of her red shoes. There was nothing in life that brought him more joy than seeing her in front of him. She had walked these floors for months, treading on them like a shadow; but it had been as though her footfall made no sound, her face a mask of mere existence rather than life. But now, there she stood, so vivid and alive that he had hope she might be able to be herself again, both for her sake and his own.

When he had written to Antoine, he had never dreamed this place would plunge her into such a state; truthfully he hadn’t even comprehended the depth of his deception. Antoine’s letter had caught him in his own state of immense depression, his failed efforts and isolation sinking him so deep into a hole that he hadn’t seen a way out. Then the letter, like a blinding flash of light that they could be here, that perhaps it would all work out, and he wouldn’t be alone. So he had written back. Must find work. Perhaps he had hoped that it would be enough of a warning. Perhaps he hoped it wouldn’t. 

But for every stifled apology, he had told himself that admittance would only serve to take the blame off of his guilty conscience. It was the price to pay for his sin, and confession would do no more than further wound her when she was already so broken. Looking at her now, he told himself that the truth would ruin her tenuous reemergence. Then she would slip back, and he would slip back; then maybe they would all slip away, and he’d have nothing again. He’d wake to find her gone, and now she was here, standing in front of him the way he’d imagined every night they were apart.

So he stifled another apologetic admittance, this time telling himself that it would be his last, and walked toward her.

For the first time in months, she leaned toward him, a movement both of them immediately registered as unspoken longing. Still, she kept her hand on the bow of her shoe and spoke without turning around, “Quite an improvement to how I must have looked all these months, isn’t it?”

He ran his hand up her leg toward her hand, which felt as though it had been waiting there for exactly that, “Jo, you are wonderful to me, always. I don’t care what it is you look like as long as you’re here, as long as you’re happy. I just want you to be happy, okay? I just want to be able to take care of you.”

He had responded so quickly that he hadn't even thought to carefully select his words the way he usually did. Part of him panicked, expecting her to pull away in protest. Instead she stayed locked in his arms, the anticipated rebuff coming in the form of a derisive sigh and retort, “I can take care of myself just fine, Gio.”

In another life, in another city, her words would have stung. But they were filled with a self aware strength and half hearted mockery that Giorgio hadn’t heard in months; so instead they made him smile. “I know you can, mi raccomando, I know; but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to, to make sure you have the best life I can give you. I just want you to be happy, Josephine. I promise you.”

Finally she turned toward him, angling her face downward and keeping her eyes closed so that she wouldn't have to meet his eyes, “I know. I…I do too. I don’t want to fall back into that hole. I want to be happy here, with you. I’ll try, I promise. I’ll try as much as I can. I have to, for myself, for Lottie.”

He wrapped his arms around her and spoke into the narrowing space between them, “That’s all I can ask you to do.”

Previous / Next

[dakusan]

J u s t F r o m T h i s

stray kids ot8 x reader | you said “i could cum just from this.” they made sure you did.

🖤 synopsis: You said it once—soft, trembling—“I could cum just from this.” From the sound of his voice. The weight of his stare. The tension in his thigh beneath yours. You didn't mean for them to hear it. But they did. And now, they won’t let you forget it. Each of them takes your body like it’s an oath. A power play. A performance. You are worshipped. You are undone. And pleasure? It comes in eight different forms of obsession.

💌a/n: it came. the skz tamagotchi. took its sweet time—now it just sits there. unhatched. staring at me like it knows what i wrote. like it’s judging the fact that i turned one line into eight different kinds of destruction. shoutout to @cybergracie for the prompt. you lit the match. i burned the house down. p.s. if you’ve ever given me a prompt and i end up writing it… i will message you to ask if i can tag you. p.p.s. the song is Phantom’s Touch by VX. click it, or don’t.

⚠️warnings: NSFW (18+) — body worship, overstimulation, edging, powerplay, teasing, praise kink, voice kink, thigh riding, light degradation, orgasm control, implied overstim/crying kink, fingering, face sitting, dom!skz energy, possessiveness, sensory play, emotionally manipulative tenderness™, no actual smut penetration but still feral, all 8 of them are dangerous in different ways, you said it. they proved it.

🎶now playing: "Phantom Touch" — VX

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

BANG CHAN // 방찬

🖤 the “this” = his voice. Low. Rough. That honey-dipped, accented murmur that melts into your skin. He's not touching you—yet. Just speaking. And it ruins you.

1. The moment it slips out. Your breath hitches. His words ghost across your ear. It’s slow and warm and just filthy enough to make your thighs press together.

You gasp,

“I could cum just from this.”

He pauses. Smiles like sin. “Is that right, angel? Just from my voice?” His hand tightens on your waist. You’re in danger.

2. A challenge, not a compliment. You meant it as an overwhelmed moan. But to him, it’s a provocation.

He leans closer, lips brushing your jaw—not kissing, just hovering.

“Then don’t move. Don’t touch. Let’s see if you really can.”

The room feels like velvet and heat. He whispers. You tremble.

3. The studio voice. You make the mistake of visiting him at the studio. He plays a raw vocal cut, and you’re already melting in your seat. He notices.

“I haven’t even said anything dirty yet, baby.”

Later, you’re bent over the soundboard while he whispers filth behind you like it’s a love song. His voice? Wrecks you.

4. His voice in your inbox. Nighttime voice notes. Always when you’re alone. Always dangerous.

“Slide your hand down for me. Slowly. Don’t cum until I say your name.”

You do as you’re told. You always do. Because his voice is home and ruin in the same breath.

5. The aftermath. You cum. Hard. Just from his voice. No hands. No mouth. Just that low, growled praise that lives under your skin.

You’re wrecked. He’s smug.

“Next time? I won’t be so gentle.”

And you want that.

Lee Know // 리노

🖤 the “this” = his fingers. Long, elegant, deceptively gentle. Not even inside you—just teasing. Just tracing. Slow circles on the inside of your thigh, or featherlight strokes over your clothed heat.

You're panting. You whisper, “I could cum just from this.”

And he freezes. Lifts an eyebrow.

“Is that so?”

1. He doesn’t stop. He slows down. Minho’s fingers are maddening. Not fast. Not rough. Just intentional. He finds a spot—one that makes you twitch—and stays there until you’re whimpering.

“You’re already trembling. You’re that sensitive, baby?”

2. Just over your panties. He’s not even under your clothes yet. Just rubbing the softest circles over damp lace. Never increasing the pressure. Just enough.

“You want more?” “Beg for it. Or cum like this.”

Your mind? Gone. Your pride? With it.

3. The rhythm. Minho’s a dancer. He knows tempo. He knows exactly how to drag his knuckles down your ribs, how to match your breath with the flick of his wrist.

It’s not just fingering—it’s orchestration. And you? You’re a string he plays with cruel precision.

4. Smug little comments. He says them so casually, it’s infuriating.

“Didn’t even have to fuck you.” “My fingers make you lose your mind, and I’ve barely done anything.” “Pathetic.”

And yet, the way he whispers “good girl” right after has you cumming so hard you see stars.

5. The aftermath. You’re collapsed on his chest, legs still shaking. He’s lazily playing with your hair, unbothered.

“So dramatic. Just from my fingers?” “You’re lucky I like ruining you.”

You’re addicted. And he knows it.

Changbin // 창빈

🖤 the “this” = his mouth. Not just what it does—but how he uses it. Kisses that get messy, lips that trail down your body like he’s worshipping you, filthy things whispered into skin he’s already marked.

You moan out, “I could cum just from this,” and Changbin looks up from between your legs like he’s about to ruin your life.

“Then do it. Right now. Cum for me, baby.”

1. His mouth never stays still. He's licking, kissing, sucking just enough to bruise, then pulling back to let you whimper from the loss. He alternates between featherlight and desperate. And he makes sure you feel everything.

2. Tongue game = lethal. You think he's just teasing with soft kisses… and then suddenly? He flattens his tongue and groans into you like he needs it just as bad.

Your legs lock around his head. He smiles.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Ride my face—go on.”

3. Verbal filth while he’s eating you out. He’ll pull back just to say:

“You taste so good, fuck.” “You could cum just like this? From my mouth alone? Then give it to me.” “Make a mess on my tongue, baby.”

You’re shaking before he even goes back in.

4. Holds you down. He uses his strength to your disadvantage. One arm wrapped around your thigh, holding you open. You’re trying to squirm—he won’t let you.

“You’re not going anywhere ‘til you cum on my mouth. Understand?”

You understand nothing. Your brain is static.

5. After you cum— You’re trembling. Breathless. Mind blank.

He doesn’t stop.

He groans, tongue slower now, teasing your sensitivity. Just enough to make you twitch again.

“Told you. My mouth wrecks you.” “One more, baby. Be good and give me another.”

He doesn't stop until you’re crying into the pillow.

Hyunjin // 현진

🖤 the “this” = the way he looks at you while he touches you like art. You’re already overstimulated—because he’s been softly caressing every inch of your body like he’s painting you with his hands, and the way he holds your gaze while doing it? It's ruinous.

1. The eye contact is intense. You’re beneath him, vulnerable, and he’s watching you. Not with lust—with reverence. Like you’re a masterpiece falling apart beneath his hands.

When you say it—“I could cum just from this”— he just whispers,

“Then fall apart, my love.”

2. Every touch is deliberate. He's tracing the dip of your waist, the swell of your hip, the curve of your lips. Not rushing. Just soaking you in. As if the act of touching you gently is holier than sex itself.

You’re crying and he’s barely touched your core.

“You feel this? This is what worship feels like.”

3. The slow burn is unbearable. No thrusting. No fingering. Just his hands on your skin. His lips on your collarbone. His eyes never leaving yours. Your body is arching into every whisper-soft graze, chasing the heat.

You tell him you could cum—just from this.

He believes you. And then he pushes you there.

4. The aftermath is ethereal. You're shaking, tears in your lashes, chest heaving.

He kisses your forehead like you just survived something divine.

“You’re so beautiful when you let go.” “You don't need anything but me.”

And it’s true. Because when Hyunjin touches you like this— you don’t even remember your name.

5. The artist returns. The next morning, he sketches you in bed. Your flushed face. The way you looked right before you shattered. You ask what he’s drawing.

He says, “Your divinity.”

Han // 한

🖤 the “this” = his voice… but specifically? His moans. His whimpers. The messy, desperate sounds he makes when he’s so turned on he forgets how to breathe. You hear that and your body betrays you.

1. He’s LOUD. He’s the type to curse, whine, beg while rutting into the mattress because you’re just watching him, thighs clenched.

When he hears you whisper “I could cum just from this,” he stares at you, wide-eyed, panting.

“Wait—you like this? My sounds? Shit—keep watching, baby.”

2. Makes you listen. He records voice memos when he’s needy. Moans your name. Tells you what he’s doing. And then sends it. You’re at work. Or on the train. And now you’re suffering.

“Fuckfuckfuck, I’m thinking about your mouth again—ahhh—baby, I need you so bad—”

You’ve cum from just one voice note. You’re not okay.

3. Moaning in your ear. He’s a whimpering mess when he’s close—breathy “fuck”s and half-formed pleads slipping out between kisses. But when he realizes it gets you off?

He amps it up on purpose.

“You’re squeezing me so tight—ahhh, babe—fuck—gonna cum—ahh, don’t stop—“

You're done for. You cum first.

“No hands? You came just from my voice? That’s so hot. You’re so hot. I’m gonna—fuck—“

4. Accidentally made you cum while overstimmed. He was already sensitive, trembling, twitchy—and moaning through every movement. You were overstimulated too, on round three. He begged so sweetly, voice cracking from pleasure—

And you came. Again. Just from hearing him.

He panicked.

“Wait—did you just—? FROM ME?” “That’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

5. The afterglow is chaos. You’re breathless, dazed. He’s giggling and flopping over your body like a broken ragdoll.

“So… my moans are your kink? I should record an album.” “I’ll title it: Moanography Vol. 1* You threaten him with a pillow. He moans at that too.

Felix // 필릭스

🖤 the “this” = his voice— But not dirty talk. Not begging. It’s the way he murmurs soft, loving things in his deep, velvety bedroom voice. The contrast between his sweet words and that unholy bass tone is what wrecks you.

1. His voice wraps around you like a blanket. You’re lying in bed, half-dressed, flushed. He’s barely even touched you—just holding your hips gently, forehead against yours, whispering things like:

“You’re so beautiful when you fall apart for me.” “I love the way you react to my touch.” “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

You whine, breath stuttering— “I could cum just from this…”

He groans softly.

“Then be good and let it happen, angel.”

2. He’s all about connection. Felix doesn’t fuck you—he makes love to you like it’s a religion. Every kiss is reverent. Every touch intentional. But the moment he leans close and whispers something soft and filthy?

“You’d fall apart just from my voice? That’s so sweet. Let me take care of you.”

You’re done.

3. ASMR IRL. He reads to you. Whispers in your ear when you cuddle. Tells you what he’s going to do to you while brushing your hair back gently.

“You’re going to cum just from hearing me? My good girl. That’s so special.”

Your body responds to him like it’s wired for his frequency. One low moan from him, and your legs tremble.

4. He keeps his lips right at your ear. He’s behind you, grinding slow and deep—but his lips stay close.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re doing so well.” “I’ve got you, baby. Let it out.”

And when you do, just from his words, his voice…

He moans with you.

“That’s my girl.”

5. The aftercare is divine. He holds you like glass. Kisses your temple. Wraps the blanket tighter.

“Did I make you feel good?” “You know I’d do anything to hear you say that again.”

You feel worshipped. Cherished. Loved. And you know next time?

You’ll say it again. “I could cum just from this.”

And he’ll whisper,

“Then let me give it to you, over and over.”

Seungmin // 승민

🖤 the “this” = his mocking praise + overstimulation. He’s not even inside you. He’s using the toy—your vibrator—or just two fingers, barely moving. But he’s speaking so calmly, so condescendingly, it makes you feel like you’re losing your mind.

1. Cold voice. Hot hands. He’s holding the vibe against your clit, on the lowest setting. Your hips jerk, your voice shakes, and you gasp—

“I could cum just from this…”

He doesn’t even flinch.

“That’s kind of pathetic, don’t you think?” “I’m barely doing anything.”

And yet, your thighs are shaking. You’re already moaning.

2. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He talks down to you but still watches every reaction—eyes locked on your face, noting every twitch, every breath.

“You really can’t handle it. That’s so cute.” “Wanna cum already? Just from this? Tsk. Easy.”

And yet, his free hand is stroking your thigh gently. You’re being bullied and comforted at the same time.

3. He plans this. He’ll do it after a long tease session, where you haven’t been touched for hours. He pulls out the toy, sets you up in his lap, and says:

“Let’s see how little it takes tonight.”

It’s a game to him. And when you break first?

He smirks.

“Told you. All talk.”

4. The scientific menace. He adjusts the intensity. Barely. You cry out.

He tilts his head.

“Oh? Just a little stronger and you’re already shaking?” “Are you that sensitive, or is it just me?”

Spoiler: it’s him.

5. The aftercare is… confusingly tender. You’re fully wrecked. Legs jelly. Brain fried.

He kisses your forehead and hands you water like he didn’t just degrade you into an orgasm with zero effort.

“You did well.” “But next time? Don’t brag so early.”

Seungmin is terrifying. But also? You want him to do it again.

I.n // 아이엔

🖤 the “this” = his teasing + power play. The way he holds you down. The way he taunts you while being just out of reach. You’re desperate. Grinding against him. And he’s still fully clothed.

“So needy. I’m not even touching you properly.” “And you’re ready to fall apart?”

You nod. Whimper. Cry. He grins like a devil in Dior.

1. He plays innocent until he has you spread open. He acts shy in public. All cute boy smiles and dimples.

Then behind closed doors?

“Look at you. You want to cum from this? From just my thigh?”

He makes you ride it. Doesn’t even flinch. Lets you grind until your moans get high and your nails dig into his shoulder.

2. His grip is UNREAL. When he pins your wrists above your head with one hand? Yeah. Game over. You’re already panting, and he hasn’t even kissed you yet.

You whine, “I could cum just from this.”

He just tilts his head.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

3. He teases until your brain short-circuits. He gets you so close and pulls back. Over and over. Every time you beg, he coos sweetly.

“Not yet, baby. I wanna see you cry for it first.”

But the moment you say “I could cum just from this,”?

He STARES. Goes quiet.

Then:

“Do it. Right now. No fingers. No cock.”

4. He lives for ruining you without giving you what you thought you needed. His knee. His voice. His gaze. That’s all he’ll allow.

And when you finally collapse, trembling from a friction-only orgasm?

“That was cute. Think you can do it again?”

Oh no. You shouldn’t have challenged him.

5. Post-nut evil. You’re on your back, boneless. He’s sipping water, still dressed, like he didn’t just psychologically dismantle you.

“All that from a thigh and some dirty talk?” “You’re more corruptible than I thought.”

And then— He finally kisses you.

Soft. Slow. Sweet. Just to break you again.

[dearfuturehusbandblog]

Let's Get Medical, Medical 🎶

Dear Future Husband,

I normally don't talk about these things with anyone, but I think I'm at a point where I need to just lay it all out there.

My body is a mess.

And nobody knows why.

Just a heads up, I will be talking about female reproductive health here. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

I started writing this a month ago, but life and times got in the way, so here's where I started, and I'll update where needed:

Let's shuffle back in time a bit....

My siblings and I were all born with a lot of hair, but apparently mine was impressive for some reason. My mom had a friend who would say something like "the girl is 2 but her hair is 16!"

Which is to say that it was super noticeable when I started to lose my hair as a teenager. Mostly because by the time I was 16, my hair was as thin as a 2yo's.

Did that lady make an ayin hara? Or is it just life being life? Who even knows.

Between food allergies, migraines, obesity, emotional neglect, meal skipping, chronic stress, anxiety, and depression... it's kind of shocking I even made it to teenagehood.

Yet, there I was - 16 years old, having never had a period, obese, and losing my hair. Also I had noticeable strands of gray hair.

I was tested for anemia and that came back negative. So MotherLivelyHeart dragged me around to a few specialists who did exams and blood work, and one even tested a birth control pill on me to see if they could diagnose or rule out PCOS.

Everything came back inconclusive.

And because I was surrounded by a lot of shrugging adults and nobody pushed for real answers, everything was just kind of dropped.

When I was in seminary, away from my family for a year+, eating 3 meals a day with my peers, and walking everywhere, I actually ended up starting and maintaining a fairly regular cycle. And I lost some major weight, which I'm sure helped.

But I was manipulated into coming back and starting college immediately. Manipulated into thousands of dollars worth of student loan debt. And I was living at home again with my dysfunctional family. Fun.

My cycle stopped again in under 2 years. And over those first like 6-7 years I gained all that weight back, despite eating a balanced diet high in vegetables, whole grains, and protein. The meal-skipping probably didn't help.

It's been about 10 years since then and if I actually kept track, I could probably count the number of periods I've had on two hands.

But because I'm a mess of a human, I haven't actually tracked that properly. And at this point, if some kind of spotting I had over the summer wasn't an actual period, it's probably been 2+ years since I've had one.

Because of the lack of proper menses, the hair loss, the obesity that's hard to lose, and some significant facial hair (particularly on the chin that end up as in-grown hairs that lead to acne), the presumed diagnosis has always been somewhere in the range of PCOS, despite all the results coming back inconclusive.

Now, I'll be honest - not having a period doesn't really bother me. It probably should, but it means I don't have to deal with monthly mood swings (I deal with enough mental anguish as it is), and I don't have to spend money on pads or tampons or anything, which makes whatever this condition is pretty budget friendly for someone who's barely making it by paycheck-to-paycheck.

The biggest thing that bothers me is the hair-loss. I hate it. I hate how I look. I hate how I feel. I hate how people stare. I hate how everyone questions it. And I hate that I live in a community where only married women cover their hair, so if I cover mine I get comments on the covering.

I literally had a conversation with a woman at work a couple of years ago (stop me if I've told you this before) who asked me what my maiden name was and when I told her lightheartedly "oh, I'm not married, I'm just wearing a hat" she berated me for "being deceptive" and "lying to people."

As though I was doing it davka to offend her and not for my own self-esteem.

Yeah. She can take a long walk off a short peer.

Since I've gotten with this new doctor this year, we discussed ruling out or getting a formal diagnosis for PCOS. So I've had multiple blood tests.

And wouldn't you know...

All inconclusive.

Again.

In fact, as the doctor put it to me when I saw her in person, "it's almost abnormal how normal your bloodwork is."

Well, isn't that a relief.

It's concerning how unconcerning my results are.

Fascinating.

Aside from elevated liver enzymes (fatty liver - a family trait), low vitamin d (I'm now on a supplement), and high cholesterol (I think that's a relatively new thing because of some other things I was doing this year)... every other result came back almost smack dab in the normal range.

One of the other things she had me do for the PCOS diagnosis was get a trans-vaginal ultrasound.

I wanted to die.

I don't even like to see my own naked body, let alone let anyone else see it. Let alone insert anything into it.

The last time I'd seen anyone for anything below the belt like that was around 2007, I think. And that doctor did a gynecological exam in a brightly lit room, with my legs spread wide open.

As a minor.

I wanted to die.

So I thought this was going to be the same type of situation. But shock of all shocks, it was almost like going to a spa. The room was dimly lit with warm lighting and beautiful paintings on the walls.

The sonogram tech walked me through how the whole procedure works, she had me use the bathroom to fully empty my bladder, and then back in the room she handed me a sheet to cover myself and situate myself on the table, and then...

She instructed me to insert the f***** thing into myself.

I wanted to die.

"You need to do it because you can tell what's most comfortable for you," she says to the mid-30s woman who has never had sex a day in her life.... "I'm going to put some lubricant on it and hand it to you under the sheet, insert it into yourself and when you're comfortable, I'll take over."

She was very nice, very respectful, and the whole thing was over relatively quickly without her seeing any of my nether regions.

But I still wanted to drive into a brick wall when I left.

Especially because, although the appointment didn't take that long, the hospital had recently moved the department to another "zone" of their campus and google led me to the old entrance, so I parked in the wrong parking garage and had to trek 10-15 minutes through the hospital each way to/from my car and ended up overshooting the free 1 hour parking by like 6 minutes, and I forgot to ask for validation, so I had to pay for parking.

But I digress...

The results of that ultrasound came back and there was no evidence of PCOS on my ovaries. In fact, quite the opposite. Not only were there no cysts, but the ovaries for people with PCOS are apparently usually larger and mine are on the smaller side. Also there were no visible follicles.

Lack of visible follicles can usually be attributed to a hormone imbalance, but... my hormones are all in the normal ranges.

So yet again, everything is inconclusive.

And none of it makes any sense.

The last thing of note from that exam was that my endometrium is a bit on the thicker side and has an irregular texture.

This means that I now have a gyno appointment in a month for further exam and a pap smear.

I want to die.

I don't think I can fully express to you how visceral my body reacts to even thinking about these appointments. I literally want to throw myself out a window.

But whatever. It was one moment in my life and I can forget it ever happened, right? These people are professionals. They do this all the time for countless individuals. I'm one of a billion and they'll never remember me.

"But what if they do......?"

Yeah, I can't shut my brain off.

In addition to all of that, I attempted to get a celiac diagnosis because I've been off of gluten for almost a decade now because even a 1/4tsp of pasta water sent my stomach into convulsions.

And yet.... in order to do the celiac testing I've had to eat gluten every single day for about two months and not only did the antibody results come back negative, but I've been able to eat gluten every day for two months without pain.

I also did the genetic blood test and that came back with only one of two markers for celiac, so yet again negative/inconclusive results.

Nobody knows why for almost a decade I had to avoid gluten.

Nobody knows why all of a sudden I can eat it again with no problems.

NOTHING MAKES SENSE.

It's like when you take the car to the mechanic and describe the insane noise it's been making for the last week and the mechanic turns it on and it won't make the noise.

I can describe in great detail all the issues I have but from a scientific standpoint, all my blood markers say I'm relatively normal and healthy.

Other things have been upsetting my digestive system, so the doctor also wants me to see a gastrointestinal doctor.

Which means more probes. And probably a colonoscopy. Fantastic.

And I have to get glasses.

And I have to get the fillings that were just refilled for the first time since like 2009 rechecked because I'm having sensitivity in one of those teeth.

And figure out what the hell is wrong with my feet.

And maybe see an audiologist or neurologist to figure out why I have tinnitus in my 30s.

And then probably see a dermatologist to determine what the hell is causing the hair loss because after all of this, if it's not a hormone imbalance and isn't associated with PCOS, "it's probably alopecia" which doesn't explain why it came along with delayed puberty, underdevelopment, and is more like male pattern baldness....

Because FML, right?

Because everything is wrong and nobody knows why.

On paper, I'm a healthy individual.

In reality, I haven't had a proper menstrual cycle in like 15 years, I'm wildly overweight, and have almost no hair on my head.

The wild thing about this state of "infertility" is that it would be nice to have a diagnosis. It would be nice to have an explanation. It would be nice to know why this is happening and have a clear path as to how to fix it.

But I don't have that.

I have vagueties. (Is that a word?)

And the vagueties are what allow room for miracles. Because Hashem works in the gray areas.

Ok, here's the life and times update:

So, since I started writing this a month ago, the appointment with the gyno was actually yesterday.

And I'm an idiot.

I scheduled my whole life to be there at 3pm, assuming that the 2:45pm I had put on my calendar was me factoring in an additional 15 minutes for traffic and paperwork or whatever, but it turns out that's when the appointment started. And after dealing with stupid traffic and everything, I walked in at 2:57pm.

Because I'm an idiot.

The gynecologist is super nice and super pretty, which sucks. Why does a pretty person have to look at my ugly body?

We did the initial "tell me about your life" stuff (kind of rushing through which I didn't realize was my own damn fault) during which she mentioned that she would probably diagnose me with PCOS but she wants new tests just to double check everything.

Apparently there's something called the Rotterdam Criteria for PCOS, which she recommended I look up. Turns out it's essentially the same criteria I had discussed with my primary doctor, but without the fancy terminology, yet my primary came to the conclusion it wasn't PCOS.

So... huh?

The criteria are:

Irregular menses Menstrual cycles that are shorter than 21 days, longer than 35 days, or fewer than eight cycles in a year 

Hyperandrogenism Elevated levels of testosterone, DHEA-S, or clinical signs like acne, hirsutism, or alopecia 

Polycystic ovaries At least 12 ovarian follicles measuring 2–9 mm in diameter in one ovary, or an ovarian volume of more than 10 mL in one ovary 

And for diagnosis, 2 of the three are required.

My primary doctor's conclusion was based on no polycysts on the ovaries and my hormones coming back normal.

My gynecologist, however, said that since I have things like the hair issues, that's a clear indication of hormone imbalance, even if when tested the hormones are coming back normal.

I literally don't understand the science of medicine.

Either way, that's what we're looking at diagnosing now.

Again.

Then she sent me off to an exam room, instructing me to "get fully undressed, put on the gown and tie it in front, and sit up on the table with the sheet across your lap."

Fun.

And I guess it makes sense that the exam room has to be sterile and brightly lit.

But I still wanted to die.

Like, you talk about vulnerable positions to be in, but damn. Being an ugly human, mostly naked in a brightly lit room, legs open wide with a beautiful lady poking around your nether regions... this is immediately something I want to erase from my brain as something I've done in my life.

"I know this is uncomfortable, but just remember I do this every day, so it's not as uncomfortable for me."

*super awkward laugh of "ok, that literally doesn't make me feel better but thanks"*

She did the pap smear and a breast exam (which I didn't even know gynecologists do, but I guess you learn something new every day, eh?) and I should note that she asked me if I wanted each of those things, so I did consent to them, despite neither being strictly necessary.

For those who don't know, a pap smear is a test they do to check for cervical cancer. Which is primarily associated with the HPV virus, which is generally spread by sexual contact in that region.

Reminder: I have never had sexual contact in that region.

Here's the fun explanation I found online of what they do: A speculum is inserted into the vagina to widen it. Then, a brush is inserted into the vagina to collect cells from the cervix. The cells are checked under a microscope for signs of disease.

She said she didn't see me as being a high candidate for the virus or for that type of cancer, and that as I'm an adult woman I have the right to say no, but she would recommend it just to be able to check the overall health of the region and rule things out.

According to the internet, a pap smear may be uncomfortable, but it should not hurt. For some reason, for me, it stung. I have literally no idea why. As I'm writing this, it's been over 12 hours and I'm still having mild discomfort in that region. So, that's fun.

Maybe it's cuz I've never had sex before and don't make a habit of sticking things down there that stretch the space open? I have no clue. She didn't seem all that concerned, despite me clearly stating it was stinging. So maybe it's just nothing.

She didn't spend a lot of time down there, so I'm not sure how much of an exam she actually did aside from the pap smear part, but after informing me that my breast tissue feels normal, which is a good sign, she sent me off down the hall for some blood work, then I scheduled a follow up for two weeks from now to discuss results, and that was really the end of the visit.

At this point, I have no idea what the future holds.

When we were doing the patient history portion of our conversation she clarified with me that I wasn't and hadn't been pregnant and then she asked if I would like to be.

And I honestly didn't know how to answer that.

Because I honestly don't know.

I joked that I don't mind so much not having to deal with periods like my friends and family members, especially because my family members get crazy when hormones factor in, which obviously happens around that time of the month.

But that's not a real answer.

On the one hand, I would love to know what it feels like to carry a child inside me. To have a child literally built out of love. To hold that baby in my arms and know that I worked so hard to bring that being into life. To see which of my features this tiny human has.

On the other hand, I don't want to repopulate my genetics. I don't know how my body will respond to the stress of a developing human. I don't know if I have the emotional or physical strength to be a mother. And I don't know if I want to raise children is this screwed up world that seems to be getting worse every single day.

And I don't know if you, my dear future husband, actually exist or if this is all just a hypothetical anyway.

Every day of my life right now is one step closer to 40 years old.

And in the great scheme of things, especially in this age where people are living older and we still bless "to 120," 40 years is literally just the first third of life. That's not even middle aged. Yet at the same time, being a first-time parent at 40 is tough. Especially when you consider that the body starts breaking down at that point and my body is already a mess. I've felt like I'm 80 years old since I was like 8 years old. I guess if that age were accurate I'd be closer to 120 already....

And I'm still dealing with financial problems.

And family problems.

And emotional problems.

And the world just flat out suuuuuucks right now.

And I still don't see an escape from any of this.

So... do I want to get pregnant?

I guess in an ideal world, yeah.

In a realistic world, I would say "that's up to Hashem" except that it seems that "up to Hashem" is my body not functioning in a way conducive to having children, so I guess that's my answer.

They say that every single problem you could possibly have in life can be found in the Torah. And barrenness is something that afflicted 3/4 of our imahos as well as Chana, all of whom eventually bore their own children.

But I'm not a Sarah, I'm not a Rivka, I'm not a Rachel, and I'm not a Chana. And I don't see how knowing that they were able to have natural children when I still know some amazing women who haven't is supposed to make me feel better about my circumstances.

Women are supposedly on a higher spiritual plane than men. We're supposed to be more in tune with our neshamos, with our connection to Hashem, which is what allows us to be the bearers of new life.

What does that say about me? My connection to Hashem sucks and this doesn't really make it better.

I know everyone has a different role in life, and some aren't meant to marry or have children because they wouldn't be able to accomplish what they're sent here to accomplish with those commitments in their lives.

But some people seem to be able to accomplish great things while juggling staying healthy and having a family and working high powered jobs, etc.

And I suck at literally the bare minimum. Literally just existing sucks for me.

And knowing that "my role" isn't "their role" and "that's ok" doesn't make me feel better about any of it.

But it's almost 6am and I'm awake for no reason and heading off on tangents of mental health sadness while the whole point of this was just the physical stuff.

Oh! And speaking of physical stuff, I literally forgot to mention that when I went to get the blood work done, I got a medical text telling me to schedule an appointment. It said "advanced radiology" and stupid me just closed the text, thinking it was for the blood work which was what I was already doing.

But no.

Apparently the gyno put me down for ANOTHER transvaginal ultrasound.

And by the time I realized that, the doctor's office was already closed so I couldn't ask her about that, because we went over the fact I'd had that done recently and didn't recall her mentioning I'd need another one.

So FML.

#1 thing on today's to-do list.

Fun.

So anyways, that's where we're at now. I either might have PCOS or definitely not have PCOS. Regardless, I will probably have to be poked and prodded yet again in regions of my body I'd rather forget exist. All to get a diagnosis for something that may or may not be meaningful, depending on whether I can figure out if having children is something I ever even want to do in this life.

And I don't know. I just don't know.

I'd say I'd leave that up to Hashem, but He's the reason I'm fat, ugly, balding, unmarried, and childless now, so.... that's helpful.

-LivelyHeart

Edited to add: I contacted the gyno and it turns out the second sonogram was ordered by mistake. Good thing I contacted her and didn't just schedule the exam!

[gethoce]

1. 🎶: What is a song that you associate with your OC, and why do you associate it with them?

12. 😢: Is your OC open with their emotions, or do they tend to keep their feelings bottled up inside?

20. 🥀: What is your OC’s favorite kind of flower/plant?

Valfrey? Or any OC u want!! :3

🎶: Valfrey was largely inspired by the songs Queue Up For Redemption, Reincarnation and Resurrection Machine by Deine Lakaien. They believe that life is nothing but a struggle and a life after death means there is no end to this torture. To live is to conquer and take what you need in order to stay alive. To die is to give up upon yourself and allow others to take from you, to give away the space you once occupied. Life and death as part of their duality, reflected in their moods shifting back and forth like the seasons.

😢: To say that Valfrey is open about their emotions would be an understatement. Wherever they go their orchestra plays their very own soundtrack and depending on their mood the music will change as well making it very obvious to any onlookers how they are feeling. They consider bottling up emotions to be a poison to the mind. Emotions are there to be expressed in their eyes, turn them into art! They look down upon those who hide their true emotions considering it a form of deception.

🥀: This has actually been mentioned before! At least the flower part. What sort of flower could they possibly enjoy more than those that remind them of the women they love? They also like cherry blossom trees a lot! Another symbol of life and death. The coming spring... and you know what they say, there is a dead body underneath every cherry blossom tree.

[athenanfaymont]

🎤✨ Fandoms, Fanfic, and Eurovision: A Perfect (Chaotic) Match

I don’t write with music. I write in silence. Not absolute silence — the fridge hums, neighbors exist, the cat does things — but still, silence. It’s how I focus. That’s just how my brain works. 🧠📄

I don’t know if I’m in the minority here, but judging by the sheer number of fanfic authors who swear by playlists, character theme songs, "songs that sound like slow burn enemies to lovers in the rain," etc. — I might be.

And today? Today is Eurovision. Which means fic writers who write with music are probably vibrating with joy.✨🎆🎧 Honestly, we all should be. Because how can anyone be sad on the day we celebrate The Festival of the Song™?

So in the spirit of musical chaos and fandom magic, here’s a list of popular fandoms & ships — assigned Eurovision songs (from this year and all-time icons) that I believe spiritually match their energy:

🦇 Superbat (Clark/Bruce) → "Zitti e buoni" – Måneskin (Italy 2021) ✨ Gritty glam. Brooding punk. The line “non parlate della mia vita” is literally Bruce Wayne energy. Clark listens, kisses him anyway.

💘 Dramione (Draco/Hermione) → "SloMo" – Chanel (Spain 2022) High drama. High tension. Chemistry off the charts. Hermione is here to destroy him slowly, and he thanks her for it.

🐍 Drarry (Harry/Draco) → "Euphoria" – Loreen (Sweden 2012) Enemies to lovers? Magical obsession? Emotional repression followed by full-body catharsis under rain? It’s this one. Always.

💔 Katniss/Peeta – The Hunger Games → "Soldi" – Mahmood (Italy 2019) A beat that slaps but lyrics that hurt. This one goes out to complicated trauma bonds, rebellion aesthetics, and hidden tenderness.

✨ Feyre/Rhysand – ACOTAR → "Tattoo" – Loreen (Sweden 2023) Dramatic, magical, sensual. You know Feyre would hear this and astrally project straight to Velaris.

🧙‍♂️ Aragorn/Arwen – The Lord of the Rings → "Only Teardrops" – Emmelie de Forest (Denmark 2013) Destiny, sacrifice, ethereal beauty — a song for lovers who choose each other despite the years, the crowns, and the wars.

⚡ Percabeth (Percy/Annabeth – PJO) → "Satellite" – Lena (Germany 2010) Quirky, devoted, and just the right amount of chaos. Annabeth is 100% the satellite in question. And she’s tired of his seaweed brain.

👑 Elizabeth/Darcy – Pride & Prejudice → "Waterloo" – ABBA (Sweden 1974) Listen. She lost the battle, and he lost it harder. This is the enemies-to-lovers anthem of literature. Period.

🐺 Remus/Sirius – Harry Potter → "Hard Rock Hallelujah" – Lordi (Finland 2006) Messy boys. Bitten boys. Undead metaphors and emotional trauma. Angst in eyeliner. And a howl at the full moon.

⛸️ Yuuri x Victor – Yuri on Ice → "Rise Like a Phoenix" – Conchita Wurst (Austria 2014) Transformation, elegance, overcoming shame, finding love on the ice — the drama and glamour is immaculate.

🌀 Gojo/Satoru x Geto/Suguru – Jujutsu Kaisen → "Voilà" – Barbara Pravi (France 2021) One loved too loudly, one never enough. Tragedy, betrayal, and a yearning that spills from every frame. Cursed? Yes. Iconic? Also yes.

🔥 Denji x Power – Chainsaw Man → "Poupée de cire, poupée de son" – France Gall (Luxembourg 1965) From Eurovision’s early days: chaotic, deceptively sweet, and weirdly perfect for two disaster teenagers who eat toast and kill devils.

Anyway. To all my fellow writers out there, whether you blast playlists or sit in ominous silence like I do: Happy Eurovision. Happy fanfic. May your angst be poetic, your fluff unhinged, and your chosen banger hit just right when you write That Scene™.

🎶💻Let the fandom music never stop.

[justforbooks]

A guide to Per Nørgård's music 🎶🎵

An admirer of Sibelius and South Park, Nørgård exposes the full force of nature, and humour, in his symphonies

Danish composer Per Nørgård, was the only composer I know who appeared naked on the cover of a book about his life and music. That would be a risky, not to say potentially off-putting move for most composers, but there was Per in all his glory, sitting on a wooden veranda, staring out into an idyll of lake and trees in a photo for The Music of Per Nørgård: Fourteen Interpretative Essays. Now, I'm not going to push the metaphor of Nørgård's nakedness too far, I promise, but there is a connection between the image of man in the midst of nature and the elemental experience of listening to Nørgård's music; the fact that his work is unafraid to let it all hang out, compositionally, emotionally, and expressively speaking.

Don't believe me? Have a listen to the opening of his Fifth Symphony. Nørgård himself quotes one listener who describes this 35-minute work as "a walk with a fire-breathing dragon", an image that says something about the gigantic power and imagination of this piece, which changes in a second from the surreal sounds of sirens, whistles, wind machines and bird-calls to brassy explosions, swirling string writing – and silence. It's music that has all the chaotic unpredictability of a weather system, and listening to it is like being in the middle of a thunderstorm, or walking through a whiteout: discombobulating, disturbing, sometimes even dangerous, but inescapably compelling.

The Proms will host the British premiere of Nørgård's Seventh Symphony on 9 August (Nørgård has also completed an eigth, which we've still to hear in the UK), and his large-scale orchestral works run through his huge output as markers of how his music has changed over the decades. Nørgård's musical vision was forged in Denmark of the 1940s and 50s, inspired by his studies with Danish symphonist Vagn Holmboe and his love for Sibelius. Nørgård heard in Sibelius the radicalism that later generations of composers would discover, the way his music simultaneously manipulates different kinds of material, different kinds of time, and how forward-looking his use of the orchestra is in its texture and physicality. He even wrote the old, and by then compositionally silent, Sibelius a letter, and received a warm reply. Having dedicated a major new piece to him, Nørgård was too shy to meet Sibelius when he travelled to Finland – even though he glimpsed him in the grounds of his house, Ainola.

But Nørgård was not too shy to extend Sibelius's principles into musical places that not even the Finnish master could have imagined. Nørgård started to use a so-called "infinity series", a mathematical principle that does what it says on the tin, and leads to the generation of an always-changing sequence of notes. This isn't a version of Schoenberg's serialism – far from it, since, the infinity row creates the possibility of resonantly tonal centres across a large-scale work: this is not "atonal" music. Never mind the theory, though: listen to Nørgård's Voyage into the Golden Screen to hear how the infinity row can create music of visionary intensity: slow-moving layers of harmony and line that build to a climax of blinding power in the first part, and then, in the second, you'll hear some deceptively minimalist-sounding riffs (the difference from real minimalism is that nothing is ever simply repeated in Nørgård's music).

Nørgård's attraction to eastern philosophy (he has written an opera on Siddharta), and his embrace of 60s-ish ideas such as "the expansion of consciousness while fully conscious", the title of one of his articles, might suggest music of blissed-out transcendence. But Nørgård's work has increasingly embraced conflict, violence, and even humour (you've got to have a sense of the ridiculous to title a piece Bach to the Future, a double-percussion concerto he composed in 1997; Nørgård was also a fan of the music for the South Park movie, friends say). One of the catalysts for this broadening of his expressive palette was Nørgård's discovery in the late 1970s of the work of Adolf Wölfli, the Swiss artist who spent most of his life in a psychiatric hospital. The combination of pattern and chaos, of obsessive detail and expressive wildness in Wölfli's paintings finds an analogy in Nørgård's music – have a listen to the Fourth Symphony, directly inspired by the Swiss artist, and you'll hear how Nørgård's music creates a surreal world of sudden changes of mood and texture that's somehow pulled together into a single form, a genuinely symphonic journey.

That's what I like best about Nørgård's music, its simultaneous sense of freedom and coherence, how it pulls you along with all the power of the undertow of a great wave. His Sixth Symphony, "At The End Of The Day", is yet another huge, elemental experience. Nørgård's music becomes a force of nature in its own right, since it contains, accepts, and creates such titanic expressive extremes. And that's to talk mostly about his orchestral music: Nørgård's operas, his songs, and his chamber music are all there to discover, too. Enjoy your walk with Denmark's music-breathing dragon.

Five key links

Voyage into the Golden Screen

Symphony No 4

Symphony No 5

Symphony No 6

How Per Nørgård tricked Ligeti into discovering Rued Langgaard

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[instruth]

THE STORY OF BONG LUENG—

EPISODE 13, SEASON 6.

The Celestial Series continues…

——————————————————————

THE STORY OF BONG LUENG

Round and round it goes -

the minute hand tells

its sixty tales

before the hour hand

changes its guard

and switches to

another somber tale.

——-

Two O’Clock, Bong Leung—first born of Bong Kim—to inherit his father’s insecurity. Number Two fears death. To stay alive, he seeks success, he must survive at all costs. Lueng is a planner, an achiever, and success-oriented in all dealings in life, that affected my life too. He is my father.

Even when he fails my father will dress it up to look like a success. Two is a decorator; he improves the surroundings, he dresses well, he is an orator, captures the masses. He hides well too, buries the truth and tells lies or half truths, to win the crowd over, to grab his glory.

His life is a total wreck until he learns discipline to follow the rules and abide by them; to study the facts of life in his life, and apply the truth of life—so as to be blessed with mercy and compassion. For he finds it hard to forgive the ones who make mistakes and dismantle his project.

Only then will he find relief and redemption—when he acknowledges that the truth cannot be compromised. Fearlessly, he will advance to achieve success till he, the hunted one, turns Hunter, with a TRUE Victory—to overcome all encumbrances and disunity, and see the glory to sing praises…

——-

🎼Free me from bondage

On a crusade of Samson

To defeat Evil,

Disguised under dark shadows

—Lies, Deceits and Deception🎶

——-

© Johnny J. P. Lee

12 June 2025

HAIBUN Modified:

PROSE + TANKA 5-7-5-7-7

IMAGES by courtesy of J. P. Lee

(References: Curse of the Green Dragon, and its sequel, Breaking the Curse of the Green Dragon - two Hakka novels, covering 5 generations.)

[the-fandom-hopping-mage]

WIP Word Train! (x5)

Rules: tagger gives a word, then for each letter of that word you share a sentence/excerpt from your wips that start with that letter.

Thanks to @ahyperactivehero for tagging me (again! fourth time! thank you so much, v) with the word WAVER!

(🎶time to do a wip train, time to do a wip train🎶)

W - When he pushed himself off the ground, Charles was gone. The thing is, Edwin Payne is destined for Hell. He has known it to be true since he was young. He avoided his fate for 35 years, running alongside a boy with a soft smile who had, once upon a time, offered him kindness in the light of a lantern.

A - A blush is climbing Edwin’s ears as he stutters through excuses. Charles just laughs. His heart burns and he’s never wanted to kiss anyone more than at this moment. But this is Hell, and nothing good can come from Hell.

V - “Very well, then.”

E - (Eurydice has already been doomed, Orpheus has already turned back). Edwin’s hand is cool, in Hell. Solid. (Charles Rowland will never be anything more than a tragedy.)

R - Red light and thick black fumes fill the space stretching between the two. The demon’s hazy limbs curl tighter around his waist and his ankles and his skin burns red and raw.  A familiar hopelessness begins to shroud his soul. Hell will not soon give up its stolen prize.

‘Waver’ is deceptively difficult with that ‘v’. I had only one option and it’s kind of boring.

No Pressure Tagging: @frostedshadow, @honeyxmonkey, @i-am-as-normal-as-you-are, @makemeimmortalwithahug, and anyone else is free to join as always!

Your word is…. AMBIANCE