#me when people give me my own theme song

[meltingchaos]

Had some boys sing ‘I’m in love with an emo girl’ as I walked past them in town and honestly they were hitting those notes like damn I got my own personal concert

[irafuwas]

BUMP OF CHICKEN - 「Aurora」

もうきっと多分大丈夫 どこが痛いか分かったからね 自分で涙拾えたら いつか魔法に変えられる

i'm sure everything's gonna be okay 'cause you realized where it hurts, right? if you can gather up your tears, they'll transform into magic someday

ほんの少し忘れていたね とても長かった ほんの少し お日様がない時は クレヨンで世界に創り出したでしょう

you just forgot for a little while, is all for a really long little while on that dark, dark day didn't you use your crayons to dream up the sun into the sky?

正義の味方には見つけて貰えなかった類 探しに行かなくちゃ 呼び合い続けた あの声だよ

even though your knight in shining armor never came you still gotta go look for that voice that always called out to you

溜め息にもなれなかった 名前さえ持たない思いが 心の一番奥の方 爪を立てて 堪えていたんだ 触れて確かめられたら 形と音が分かるよ 伝えたい言葉はいつだって そうやって見つけてきた

those nameless thoughts that couldn't even muster themselves into a sigh they lay deep in your heart, lashing out around them and they waited if you can reach out and touch them then you'll understand just what they are that's how you always end up finding the words to say what you want to say

振り返れば途切れずに 歪な線を描く足跡 悲しいくらい分かりやすく いつもここに向けて伸びる

if you look back, you'll see the the footprints you left behind still in that unbroken, crooked line it's sad, how easy it is to understand that they'll always be there, heading towards today

大切にするのは下手でも 大切だって事は分かっている せめてその白い手紙が 正しく届きますように

i'm not good at treasuring things but i know this is important to you i hope at least your letter will get to where it needs to go

考え過ぎじゃないよ そういう闇の中にいて 勇気の眼差しで 次の足場を探しているだけ

you're not overthinking it when you're in that dark place all you're doing is being brave and looking for the next step to take

解き放て あなたの声で 光る羽根与えた思いを その足が向かうべき先へ そうしなきゃ見えなかった未来へ 諦めなかった事を 誰よりも知っているのは 羽ばたいた言葉のひとつひとつ 必ず届きますように

your voice gave all those thoughts and feelings you kept bottled up inside their shining wings now it's time to set them free and for you to go down the path you're meant to take - to that future you've never been able to see before each and every one of your words knows better than anyone else that you didn't give up now look as they take wing i pray they'll reach where they need to go

もう一度 もう一度 クレヨンで 好きなように もう一度 さあどうぞ 好きな色で 透明に (Aah) もう一度 もう一度 クレヨンで この世界に 今こそ さあどうぞ 魔法に変えられる

one more time, just one more time pick up that crayon, and draw whatever you want just once more, go ahead use any color you like, that transparent sky is your canvass once more, just once more make the world what you want it to be now's your chance, so go ahead. it'll transform into magic

ああ、なぜ、どうして、と繰り返して それでも続けてきただろう 心の一番奥の方 涙は炎 向き合う時が来た 触れて確かめられたら 形と音をくれるよ あなたの言葉がいつだって あなたを探してきた そうやって見つけてきた

you kept on asking yourself, "why? just why?" but still you kept on going, didn't you? in the deepest depths of your heart your tears burst into flame and now it's time for you to face them head on if you can reach out and touch them, then you'll understand just who you are your words have always been looking for you and that's how they found you

もう一度 もう一度 クレヨンで 好きなように もう一度 さあどうぞ 好きな色で 透明に (Aah) もう一度 もう一度 クレヨンで この世界に 今こそ さあどうぞ 魔法に変えられる

one more time, just one more time pick up that crayon, and draw whatever you want just once more, go ahead use any color you like, that transparent sky is your canvass once more, just once more make the world what you want it to be now's your chance, so go ahead. it'll transform into magic

[noxtivagus]

listening to endwalker ost outside of the game hits different fr 🥹

[hoseoksluna]

SOJU | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. hobi)

genre: heavy angst, heavy smut

word count: 10.4k

summary: jungkook gives you all that he has—his feelings, his dominance and his cum.

playlist: soju / pinterest board: wine

warnings: sex flashbacks, alcohol consumption, jungkook is drunk emotional and a mess, jealousy, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), almost heavy dd/lg themes, plushie used during intercourse, inner child healing, use of a sex toy, oral sex (f. receiving), ass play and nipple play, provocation, dirty talk, hair pulling, dry humping, rough sex, overstimulation, pain felt during intercourse, jungkook instructs reader like the teacher he is, pet names and one particular title used, squirting, praise kink, jungkook is mean and cruel and just so horny

note: i will never forget this fic. never. this is the third part of 'wine' and therefore the very end to this adventitious series. even though, this part has a little bit information and quirks in it from the other two fics, it's fine to read as a standalone, but i do recommend reading all three parts as they interlink and you can beautifully see the process and the change of their relationship. i want to thank the lovely soul who asked me to make this a series because writing this made me incredibly happy—and all the themes i used mean the world to me. i also want to thank all of you for reading and for all the love. i hope you like this as much as i do. please, heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that not everyone can be comfortable with. with that being said, enjoy your reading and let me know what you think, let me know your favorite parts. ᡣ𐭩

side note: drunk 3D jungkook being all mean, dominant and daddy is, quite literally, the epitome of my sexuality.

Jungkook will always be a man of his word.

It’s the foundation that keeps his back straight as he leads you through the crowd. The core of the whole promise is the very strength of his fingers as they clasp around your much smaller hand because he notices, under the washed out lights of red and violet, that you’re the center of attention.

He feels as though he’s dragging the hand of a child like a protective father. Except, he has the impulsive need to cover you with his body.

It’s a blasting alarm within the ear splitting chaos of his mind. Louder than the modern music he cares little for; louder than the song of the hard, quickening beats of his heart that he’s unable to ignore. He promised he’d make it up to you about the party because he’d made you drunk with lust. Now that he’s taken you here, he’d much rather be back home with you. Wouldn’t even have the need to seduce you—he just doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want you to be the apple of everyone’s eye.

Sweat glistens on the planes of his forehead.

Jungkook returns every inquisitive look of people he doesn’t know with a stern furrow of his brows. Figures he needs a drink; figures he needs his hyung, at least one familiar face among strangers.

A strong one, to calm the storm within, and a big hug from the host himself.

He hates people.

Leading you to the makeshift bar of spirits in the kitchen, he has a protective hand over the small of your back as you climb on the bar stool. Watches as your ass lifts over the leather and almost jumps out of his own skin when the outsole of your high-heeled shoe slips on the footrest and you fall back onto the chair with a thud. A precious set of treble giggles billow out of your mouth, followed by a reassuring flick of your hand that you’re okay, and Jungkook’s own hand trembles when he lifts it off your back. While you open your purse to reapply your lip gloss, he hides behind his tight, feigned smile the need to run and calm his breathing.

His irises wander over the contents of that purse of yours. Finds a long brown pencil there, your phone, a pack of cigarettes with a purple lighter and a ring of keys adorned with the tiniest Hello Kitty he’s ever seen. No wallet, no cash tucked beneath. A smirk tugs the corner of his mouth, hand acting out of its own will—coming over to your long hair, smoothing it down as you focus on lining your lips with another set of glitter and pinkness. Perhaps the gesture is owed to the proudness he feels due to the fact you’re expecting to be provided for throughout the night, wherever it takes you both after this party. Blurred within is the smugness that he’s the reason you’re dolling yourself up again because he couldn’t help but make a mess of your mouth in the car. It makes his cock grow tight in his pants.

He wears the smugness all over his features. From the gleaming cosmos in his eyes, to the smudged kiss stains of all the roses in the world scattering over his nose and cheeks, down to the deepening smirk. He thinks he’d buy you anything your eyes would linger a heartbeat longer on, with snacks included in case you’d get hungry, as he silently praises you for your good behavior, for that smart brain of yours by the brush of his hand down your hair. A sick part of him wants to even get in debt for you for the pure fun of it—the fun being the primal core of your wishes and needs being gratified, for your satisfaction to shine through the veins on your skin like little sun rays, all while having the time of your life on the night out he promised you.

He’s not afraid to admit he’d do anything for you as long as it stays safely stashed within his system. Can’t risk voicing it out. Can’t risk you knowing. Can’t risk shit.

Studying the shape of your lips as you hold up a small heart-shaped mirror, he twirls the ends of your hair as he waits for you to be done to ask you what you want to drink. Is reminded of the way those pillows wrapped around the straw of the banana milk you brought for him the last time he saw you. Of the way they sucked his fingers when he used them for lubrication to rub your clit while he was fully buried inside your tight, dew-sprinkled cunt. He suddenly feels hot under his collar.

He’s a slave to flashbacks. Always has been.

The celestial concoction of your needy moans and his, kept safe within the confines of his car, loop in his brain. The look of agonized lust when he bit your bottom lip in a heated kiss that he soon alleviated with the swipe of his tongue, with the suction of his lips that begged him to take more of you. Jungkook hears it as if there wasn’t any music at all, as if its thrumming wasn’t enveloping the corridors of his panic-stricken heart. He hears your words, embellished by those giggles of yours, in his ears all over again: “Stop, you’re making me horny. We should go inside.” His own, too: “You dance better for me when your panties are wet. I know you do.” Sees again, as if the moment is happening again and you’re standing in front of him, the way you reacted to his hands warming up your sides in the cold after you stumbled out of his car. Sighing softly, glossy eyes whirling upwards to the drowsy sky full of quivering stars, tipsy on the desire he’s obsessed with awakening in you while being tipsy just the same. The smile rising on your lips when he asked: “Show me how you’re gonna dance for me.” The way you moved your hips in such a silly way that squeezed his heart until it was difficult to breathe.

He’s fucked. Knows he is. Has known it for a while now.

You’re the origin of the chaos within his mind. The body of it itself. He has a teeny-tiny version of you in his mind that lives there, and lives there well because he feeds her, brushes her hair and gives her kisses, despite the storm.

He could never tell you—how much he thinks about you daily.

To a certain extent, he almost did the last time you came around, in a frenzy of sensuality and pent-up desire that consumed him. Prayed you didn’t see it for the way it really was.

It’s not just lust, and it’s more than just a friendship.

He figured as much—doesn’t have any fucking idea what to do with it. 

Not a single one. Especially not when you pucker your lips at him and screw the applicator back into the tube. 

He doesn’t want to lose you. Doesn’t ever want to lose the sight of that pucker of yours. And he fears that if he tells you of his weakness for you, he might never see it again.

So, he opts to keep things safe, keep things casual. That is until he eventually bursts.

That’s another promise, too. 

He pulls on one of your strands. Your head knocks back, eyes wide at the audacity of it all. He laughs at your reaction.

“Can you stop?”

Jungkook does it again just to see the shock written over your face, full on belly laughing.

“What the fuck?” You slap his shoulder, the impact so small he barely feels it. “You want me to pull your hair, too?”

He grabs his stomach. “No, what I want to know is what you wanna drink.”

You purse your lips in feigned anger, fingers outstretched by the back of his head to play-pull his hair or perhaps slap him into oblivion. If you could manage it. 

He doesn’t think you could. 

He goes around you to sit beside you on the bar stool, studying the bottles of liquor his hyung bought. Is ignorant to the way you’re studying him, to the way the corners of your mouth lift ever so slightly at the discovery of the current situation in his intimate parts. 

Pulls out one to acknowledge himself with it. Asks you if you wanna drink it. 

You don’t say anything. 

When Jungkook lifts his eyes to scold you for not paying attention, all the words get hitched in his throat. You’re grinning from ear to ear. All those damned words are forgotten immediately. 

“Are you hard?” you whisper, flushed at the face, glossy eyes glimmering, ever so excited about your discovery. 

He feels himself twitch. Hides it by cupping himself discreetly. 

Averts his eyes. “I’m always hard around you,” he mutters, twisting the bottle open. “I’ve gotten used to it.” 

He doesn’t look at you when he pours you a shot, but he focuses on the way your breathing gains speed. Fights the smile threatening his lips caused by how easy it is to provoke you. 

“You wanna get out of here?”

You’re hasty as you ask, looking around you, inspecting which room you could use to drag him into and relieve him of his problem, but he assures you it’s no problem at all with a curt shake of his head. 

Strangely, he found a way to like the tension in his pants. Thinks it digs deep into the depth of the moment—simply makes it more exciting. 

“We just got here,” Jungkook says flatly, screwing the lid back on. “Don’t be rude.” 

He filled your shot to the brim not necessarily with the intention to make you drunk as fast as he can, but to watch your eyes widen the way they do so sweetly. And you don’t disappoint him at all when you do just that, the smile on your lips blossoming still. An aura of shyness envelops you in softness due to his disapproving words and Jungkook realizes he grazed your submission by reprimanding you. While it magnifies his smugness, he feels a little bit bad for you. Knows how much it turns you on when his fatherliness looms out, but blames you for it nonetheless. You rouse it in him.

You may have never told him about your father wounds, but his instincts sensed it in you—sought it out like its own child and cradled it in his arms, promising to never let go.

Promise. There it is again.

He wants to spend the rest of his life promising you things. Doesn’t matter what. He just wants the security, the cord of trust, that you’ll be here; that you’ll be here for a long time. It truly doesn’t matter if he promises you things internally or outwardly.

Jungkook cups your chin. Wants to say something. Wants to reassure you that you can take the shot, encourage you a tiny bit. But what you say to him dries up his throat completely.

“You don’t want a blowie?”

Your words were a mere silky noise, but he heard you. Curled his fingers tight into fists in order not to bend you over the bar stool and take you right then and there in front of everyone.

Decides he will provoke you right back.

“You don’t want a lickie?” he murmurs, drawing close to you so you’re the only one who hears him. “You don’t want Daddy’s tongue on your little clit?”

You gasp and grip his knee, your legs intuitively spreading.

Jungkook skims his surroundings to see if anyone’s watching. When the coast is clear—people mindlessly mingling, having conversations—he hovers his lips against your ear, hand coming in between your legs, not to touch you but to cover you. Whispers, “or you don’t want Daddy’s tongue fucking you fast? Licking over your little ass? Hm, you don’t know how good that feels yet, do you?”

You’re holding in a sob—Jungkook sees it in the way your eyes and lips round, brows furrowing. He made you wet. Serves you right.

He pulls away to pour you a chaser. Asks which one you want.

You take a deep breath, flicking your hair back. “Coca cola,” you chirp, despite the deathly grip you have on his knee, perhaps to hold your sanity together, other fingers wrapping around the shot. Small, so fitting for an equally small glass.

Jungkook laughs. Loves it. Loves…

The realization, of what he almost granted access to within his system, strangles his heart. He hears nothing for a moment, not the music, not the tremor of his weak heart. Nothing.

A can of Coke waits for you behind the bar on the kitchen counter and before any thought flicks through his brain, Jungkook stands to his feet to fetch it for you—to get his blood pumping again so he can gain control of his senses. It scares him, the nothingness. Even his eyes fail to focus as he looks for the metallic red can he swore he saw hardly a minute ago. He feels a slap on his back and a familiar face, at last, comes into view. 

Hobi. 

The first thought that resurfaces is filled with thankfulness enveloping around that name, dispersed with tiny kisses of ‘you saved me, hyung’. Jungkook dives head-first into the offering hug of his savior, his senses returning to him like magnets attaching to metal. He takes in a deep breath as if he was under water and just came up for air. 

“So glad to see you,” Hobi says, rubbing his back. 

Jungkook squeezes his shoulder. Says something that doesn’t reflect what he truly wants to say, keeps up the small talk while burying under layers upon layers of mud the confession that he almost told himself he loved you. 

Which reminds him that he didn’t introduce you.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Jungkook says, grabbing the can of Coke his eyesight is now clear enough to spot and an empty, tall glass for you. Guides his friend to where you’re sitting but what he sees almost makes him jump out of his own skin for the second time in the span of an hour—almost sobs tearfully at the unfortunate discovery. 

A mop of dirty blonde curls shaking at the impact of his laughter as he whispers sweet nothing into the shell of your ear. He towers from behind you, compressing you in the muscly width of his half-barren chest. An electricity of anguish spasms down the course of Jungkook’s body, for in a flash he’s reminded of the way you towered above him just the same the last time. His sweat cools as you listen to him, a pang after pang of jealousy stinging him in his abdomen. He’s frozen on the spot—Hobi says something, but Jungkook can’t hear him—that is until you make a face of discomfort.

Jungkook sees red. 

His heart slams hard against his chest, but he doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t feel its intention to break his ribcage. 

The words unfurl out of his tight mouth before he can think them through. “Can I fucking help you?” he hisses through his teeth, setting the glass and the can down harshly. The noise makes you jump, which instantly drives him to regret his actions—and it puts an end to his rage.

He didn’t mean to scare you. Doesn’t want you to regard him this way. 

The sudden softness welcomes his senses back with a gentle beckoning.

Lifting his eyes, the guy ignores the question. Whispers something again that forces you to pierce your stare into the fire that burns within Jungkook’s irises. Not the fire he let you see throughout the trajectory of your casual relationship, the blue, the dreamily sultry one. 

The one that licks over his eyes is black. Pitch black. No sign of stars, no dots of reflection of light. Pure pitch black.

But you hold his gaze, unafraid of the darkness.

For a reason unknown to him, it ignites you with strength to shove raggedy Barbie Ken away. Your touch lingers on his chest for a mere second and is not as scorching as the bite of your words: “Yes, I’m here with him and I’m not interested in you. Go away.”

Jungkook doesn’t look at the guy. Doesn’t give two shits about the painful twists of his features as he staggers away. Forgets about Hobi; forgets about the questioning looks of strangers digging into his back. All he sees is you. All he hears is the sigh of relief once he’s gone. And Jungkook is hasty as he reaches for you, relieved himself—relieved that he didn’t have to fight the fucker and alter the trust you have in him—needing you close, needing to gain back his control. He’s almost smiling uncomfortably at the ridiculous twist of events, but then the tug of his mouth stills.

You slip out of his grasp and move past him.

There’s silence within Jungkook’s ribcage. Not one beat or flutter, not one kick.

Nothing.

***

Knocking back shots after shots, Jungkook remains silent. Doesn’t answer any of his hyung’s questions. Doesn’t look at any of the girls who sashay to Hobi’s thigh to chitchat. His gaze merely remains fixed on the empty glass of the chaser he never had the chance to pour you. 

Your shot of the dark liquor is also left untouched. 

It’s the twinge of pity he feels that gives the order to his feet to rise. Hobi grabs his arm, long fingers digging into the hard leather of his jacket. Jungkook doesn’t reciprocate his stare, despite its heavy energy. Keeps his head low instead. 

“Give her more time,” Hobi says, lugging him down to a seated position but Jungkook untangles out of his grip. 

Grabs a bottle of soju as he mutters, “half an hour is more than enough.” 

He makes a way through the corridor towards the door you slinked into, the translucent bottle swinging by his jean-clothed thigh. Doesn’t knock on the wood, instead walks straight in as if he owned the place.

You’re sitting by the foot of the bed. The yellowness of the subdued bedside lamp drapes your sagged shoulders in gold, filtering through your hair that obscures your face. You had taken off your shoes and they lie crooked and alone by your stocking-clad feet. Jungkook wonders if that’s how you feel. 

His weakness caused by the unfortunate events and the sadness engulfing you stops him from moving a step closer to you as he beholds your puny form, but Jungkook fights it—fights for you. He needs to be in control. Of his own body and emotions, no matter how strenuous he finds it. He needs to be strong—and he needs to be strong for you to make things right.

He clicks the door shut behind him. As he walks towards you, he opens the bottle of soju with the firmness of his phone and takes a long sip. Settles in between your legs on the ground, crossing his legs at the ankles. Probs you on the calf to make his presence known to you, cooing your name. 

You sniff your nose, gathering your hair to the side, curling the shorter pieces behind your ear. Your face glistens from the rivers of tears he wasn’t there to wipe away, cheeks flushed from all the onrush of emotions that wasn’t of the coy or sensuous kind he likes so much. The hard stone of his heart cracks at your broken countenance and the back and forth swipe of his fingers on the nylon of your stocking grows more tender the more he takes in your sadness. He wishes to inhale it, rid you of it once and for all. Thinks it doesn’t belong to you. Wants to fight the guy, make you laugh—make a fool out of himself—and make love to you. Wants all of those things at the same time, but he realizes he can’t tear himself apart.

He decides being here is enough. He can fix whatever has been broken here in Hobi’s room. 

“This is so fucked up, Jungkook.” 

You’re the first one to break the silence and it takes a slight weight off of his shoulders. Jungkook hums, prompts you to speak further on what hurts your heart. Wraps his entire hand around the muscle of your calf, thumb tracing figures of eight on your skin. 

The warmth helps you look him in the eye, but you don’t say anything else. 

Jungkook figures it’s his turn.

“I wouldn’t let him touch you,” he says softly, hand drifting down to cradle the heel of your lifted foot. You’re mine, he doesn’t add. 

Your mouth rounds once again in a wave of emotion that clutches you. You don’t let the tears fall, looking up to the ceiling so the little pearls don’t trickle out of your tear ducts. Jungkook notices puffy marks of darkness under your bottom lashes, where he swore he saw thin pathways of glitter, small shooting stars traveling around the globe of your eyes. They’re nowhere to be found now, you’ve rubbed them away. 

“I know, it’s not about that.” You sniff, hands hooking under the hem of your skirt just to have something to hold onto, to busy your fingers a little—as if he wasn’t right there. “I think I kinda get you know.” 

Jungkook makes a sound that asks you to enlighten him, taking a swig of the sweet liquor to aid him in forgetting what he didn’t say. But the more he drinks, the more he remembers—the more his feelings splutter to life. It’s like he didn’t drink a drop at all. 

“I never understood why you need to be in control all the time,” you start, fixing your gaze on his. “But I finally did when that guy had his arms around me and wouldn’t let go. I wished I had even a small bit of control in that moment when I was alone. I hated feeling like I had to endure it when all I wanted to do was run away.” You break apart at your last words and Jungkook’s world crumbles in his hands. 

There’s chaos in his mind. A chaos of selfish nature that wants to prove you wrong because no, he doesn’t have any control when it comes to you, when you’re dressed, perfect and broken altogether. He doesn’t have shit—he’s nothing. A complete mess. And perhaps it’s his bruised heart that acts out despite this self-pitying mayhem grappling him, shutting it out into eternal darkness, for Jungkook doesn’t even know how he does it when he pulls you down onto his lap by a careful drag of your legs and encases you within the heated snugness of his arms.

He doesn’t even understand his own words when he says, “You can take all of mine. It’s yours.”

Jungkook doesn’t care about anything at all because when you start to sob into his shoulders, he breaks along with you—bursts at the seams completely. 

“I know you were scared, but that won’t happen again. Not when I give you all of my control.” His words are smooth amidst the stream of his liquid emotions and Jungkook is glad for it—glad to be a pillar you can lean on. He imagines transferring all of his being, not just his control, to you like a blanket draping around your shoulders, so the situation never happens again. 

His tears soak your hair strands and they carry his sorrowful kiss to the crook of your neck. He doesn’t want to utter a sound, wants to remain strong, but his heavy exhales betray him, wafting against you as he tightens his grip around your violently shuddering body in effort to soothe it. Considers this moment to be yours alone, doesn’t want to be selfish. Wants to be there for you.

“You helped me when I saw you,” you say against his skin, the sound muffled but he hears you—tightens his lips in a firm line in order not to wail. “When I saw that you were there, I was strong enough to push him away. You were my backup, Jungkook.” 

He agrees with a soft sound, rocking you back and forth as he cradles you. Leans his head against the side of yours, shielding you from the world and its wickedness. 

Your cries quieten. “But I want to be strong even when you’re not there.” 

Jungkook strokes your hair, understands you even when it pains him—his attachment to you pulled so taut he fears it’ll break. “You’re strong now. I gave you my control, didn’t I?”

To his surprise, you nod. 

After you pull away to breathe and Jungkook sweeps your tears away with his thumb, he’s smothered with the reminder that he made a promise to himself—a promise that is on the brink of being fulfilled. 

The walls close in on him, but he doesn’t care. He promised to keep things casual until he bursts. He refuses to go another day pretending you’re just a friend he feels nothing for. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the heavily charged emotions that make the decision for him, but he simply doesn’t care about the outcome anymore. The truth has to come out into the light. 

Jungkook calls you by your name. Brushes your hair back so he can look properly in the faded lush of your eyes; cradles your face in his hands like that. You call him by his name as well, whispering it into the shadows of the room. Such a soft, silky sound that puts pink plasters over the cracks in his heart. He says your name in the same intonation just to get a taste of liberty. 

“I’m yours,” he confesses, a lump forming in his throat, and he’s too late to blink the tears away. “I’ve been yours since the day I met you; since the moment you laid your hands on me. Yours for the taking. My heart, my control—it’s all yours.”

The bridge constricting his throat collapses when you give him a look of endearment, your features softening, rounding in emotion. Jungkook watches as a tear rolls down your cheek; feels an identical one going down the same path on his own skin, fiery and hot. 

“I’m sorry.” He breaks into sobs—and break, break, break is all he does. “I’m sorry if you wanted to stay casual, but I can’t… and-and I can’t let you go. I can’t let anyone else have you.” 

You bunch the material of his wife-beater in your fists under his jacket, mewling tender weeping sounds. Jungkook bites his lip to prevent himself from spilling in your hands, needing you to say something, anything, so he can straighten his back and call it a night. You bury your head in his chest  and Jungkook lulls you to calmness while needing it himself. He suddenly feels alone. Alone and crooked like your shoes, as if he said the wrong thing, as if he didn’t deserve any reassurement, any love for what he just did—

You mumble something into his skin. 

His heart jumps. 

“I didn’t catch that, baby.” 

You lift your head, clutching the sides of his neck. “I like you, too, Jungkook.” 

Your words tell him a lot of things. 

He didn’t make a mistake tonight. He didn’t do anything bad, didn’t lose you for the rest of his life. He will see that pucker of yours for the months to come, your glitter and all your shooting stars will be there to guide him home. 

And the other thing is—he fell for you first. Because while you like him, he absolutely and irrevocably loves all of who you are. 

He smiles at you, though. The bridge takes the heft on his shoulders along with it and disperses into nothingness. He wants to thank you. He wants to thank you for the kindness you expressed towards him, for your hands that hold him. And he does by kissing you, by inhaling you, taking away all your sadness and the bad events that caused it. 

“You mean a lot to me,” you say against his lips, pretty wet eyelashes fluttering. Jungkook feels their dewiness; wants to feel yours, too. There’s a pout to his mouth as he listens to you. “You changed my life. You make it better.” He nods at your words, senses them opening a window in his heart to let the fresh air in. “I don’t ever wanna lose you, Gguk. You’re too important.” 

He almost says it. Those three words. But he keeps them stored within the now brisk chamber of his heart, full of spring. Flowers grow, in place of the plasters. 

Jungkook caresses your cheek. “I want to make you forget.” 

You beam at him—and there he feels it, the pulse of his heart, its song and its steady, balmy notes. 

“Make me forget about tonight, please.” 

He kisses you, adds in a million tiny pecks in between, sliding his tongue inside your mouth in brief greeting. His fingers blindly find the bottle of Soju and when he withdraws with a pop, he presents it to you. 

“Look at what I got you,” Jungkook says, chuckling. 

You wrap your hand around his on the bottle and he tips it to your mouth, helping you drink it. You widen your eyes at him when he wants you to drink more than you do, and he lowers his hand with a grin. Loves those eyes of yours. Loves your mouth as he wipes it clean with his thumb. 

It’s lighthearted, the state of his emotions. He had tasted liberty by fondly mimicking your intonation, but now it courses through his veins, now it’s his. He feels so very glad to be alive at this moment and he wants to celebrate in the only way he knows he can. 

“I got you another thing as well, but it’s back home,” Jungkook says. “I can’t drive but we can take an Uber.” 

“Let’s go.” 

Jungkook straps your heels, fixes your skirt and swipes his thumbs under your eyes to rid you of black mascara stains. Offering you his hand, you take his pinky and ring finger and he leads you out of the room with you following behind. He skims the living room to find Hobi but, again, he’s nowhere in sight until you tap his shoulder and point to the right side of the corridor. Hobi is rising to his feet from sitting on the stairs. The thought of his hyung staying around for him instead of enjoying the party squeezes his heart in gratitude. He hugs him and when it’s your turn to say your goodbye, Hobi pulls you in for a hug as well, rubbing your back as he asks you if you’re okay. 

The soju remains in your hand. Sitting on the curb outside, both of you finish it while waiting to be picked up with Jungkook’s hand on your thigh and rough kisses shared in between. The wind doesn’t dare to disturb the intimacy, but watches on with a fond care, the stars hanging low, peeking through to witness at least one good thing of the night. 

***

“If this breaks me out, I’m gonna kill you.” 

Jungkook is carefully tender as he drags the makeup wipe along the perimeters of your cheeks, scowling at the sun-filled tint coloring the whiteness of the wet cloth. He had spent half an hour choosing the right brand in the drugstore earlier in the morning because he decided you were going to sleep over without telling you, reading each small letter on the packaging, despite the fact he understood shit. 

You’re still clothed and so is he, resting in the middle of the comfort of his bed as he hovers above you, knees perched at the foot of the bed. The aching ball of your own foot grazes the bulge in his intimate parts and Jungkook himself is at wonder how he’s able to focus when it stimulates all of his senses, adding heat to his body. 

“It’s Korean, it won’t break you out,” he mutters, swiping along the underside of your eye with extra care. 

“I once had a toner that—”

Jungkook covers your mouth with his palm. “It’s Korean,” he whispers, furrowing his brows at you. 

You giggle and he drops his glower, beaming down at you. 

“You know I can do it myself. I’m not that drunk.”

He focuses on your forehead now, cleaning off your foundation and all those sparkles. 

“I know you can, but let me.”

You babble on and Jungkook decides he’s had enough of it. He clicks his tongue. “I’m gonna shut you up.” 

He dumps the makeup wipe on your face and rummages through his bedside drawer. While you use it to cleanse off your neck, Jungkook spoils your surprise and opens your present. Is discreet as he smuggles it between your legs, pressing it against your clothed clit. 

The soft vibrations spread throughout his whole hand. He increases the intensity. 

You freeze, flicking your eyes to his, makeup wipe long forgotten. You roll your hips against the toy. 

“Oh my god.” 

Serves you fucking right. 

“Keep talking,” Jungkook mutters. “Hm, keep fucking talking and dare to come.” 

It’s maniacal, his laugh, but gentle and amorous in nature because he fucking loves you, loves to tease you, loves to make you feel good—show your body new things that it willingly accepts. You wiggle your hips, chasing the pleasure, mouth fallen open, emitting tiny satiny legato whimpers, which cause his cock to twitch in his pants—so much that he begins to move the purple toy all around your femininity while palming himself. He notices your lack of babbling. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks in feigned sympathy. “You suddenly have nothing to say?” 

You smile at him, and it stops everything. The roleplay of his mean dominance, the vibrations buzzing his hand. He turns the toy off and is straightforward as he says, “undress.” 

Does so himself.

He takes off his leather jacket and unbuttons his pants; watches you as you drag the skirt down those hips he wants nothing more than to kiss and hold in his hands. When it pools around your knees, he chucks the material behind him. You hook your thumbs beneath the waistband of your stockings and Jungkook thinks about how he’d like to tear them apart and make you lose your mind through the hole he’d create as he strokes the outer side of your thigh. He wanted to be gentle with you tonight, but he just can’t help it.

You rouse it him and he just listens. 

His hands are quick as they rip a hole above the center of your rosily pink panties. He smirks at your shocked gasp, so short and dry, drawing close to your pussy, kissing her, nuzzling his face in her. The tension in his intimate parts is almost unbearable when you run your hands through his hair and incite him to do more. He licks over the tiny wet spot on the frail material that he’s the artist of, adding to it, and watches the roll of your eyes because there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. It’s a dance what your hips do, the most unkind torture and he longs to squeeze them.

He’s a good boy when it comes to listening to his body’s desires. 

Making a way through the beige hole, ripping it further in the process, he grabs the supple skin, thumbs fondling over your hip bones. So small, so delicious. Jungkook licks his lips, pushes your underwear to the side to reveal your dewy little seashell—fixes it so it stays put. Looks up at you. “Top off. I wanna see those pretty tits.” 

You’re a good girl, too, when it comes to obeying his wishes. 

A praiseful coo ripples out of his mouth once you reveal your black padded bra. Jungkook decides he wants it to be in line of his sight, so he lowers the straps down your arms and merely tugs the undergarment below your breasts. The spillage and the ripple of their fullness almost makes him die right then and there. Jungkook bites his bottom lip until he draws blood.

Two hindrances. The silky straps on your arms, the stockings he will soon lower down your thighs. Jungkook curses under his breath; thinks he should’ve gotten the ropes he was eyeing after his drugstore run. Pink and rough, just the kind you would’ve liked. 

Perhaps it isn’t needed for the lovemaking he longs for with you. Playtime and lovemaking are two different things, he concludes. 

He’s so horny he might lose his mind first. And he does—with nose pressed against your sternum, babbling nonsense while he buries his head in your tits. Inhaling your vanilla and tuberose scent, he kisses the valley leading up to the peak of your stiffened nub, trails it with his tongue, goes the extra mile to suck it into his mouth, hearing its call. He’s just listening—listening to your body language that asks for him. His eyes are blurry when he gazes at you. You’ve fled to the pink planet again, but he wants you here with him. While he flicks your nipple with his nimble tongue, he grabs your face and squishes your cheeks. Would die for your adorableness. Would go to war for it, a thousand times over. 

Jungkook sucks the nub to make your travel back to Earth faster and he accomplishes what he wants. With a roll of your body and a moan, you’re back, looking down at him, cradling him, brushing his hair back. He makes sure you see the way he toys with your nipple—keeps his mouth open as he circles it, flicks it before he sucks it back inside. 

“Stay here with me,” Jungkook mumbles, switching to the other nipple. “Please.” 

You nod, grinding your hips against his stomach. Another call. Your hands slide lower to his neck and Jungkook understands you want more. 

“Take control of me, baby,” he says. “Flip me over.” 

Your breath is shaky. A light flickers in your eyes, glints like his saliva adorning your nipple in the yellow dimness of the room. You grab a hold of his neck with your one hand like he does to you every time while the other comes around his shoulder and you push him to his back in one swift motion.

Jungkook feels proud. You learn well from him. So studious, so smart, so cute.

You straddle his hips and Jungkook begins to trace your thighs, fingertips gliding back and forth on the nylon, until he grips your hips—and grips them hard. He forces you down on the bulge of his cock, hissing at the pleasure rising up his abdomen. He feels your dewiness against the material of his boxers soaking it through. He guides your hips in a steady but firm rhythm and once you familiarize yourself with it and hump him on your own, he brushes his fingers across your wet nipples. The sensation sends you toppling back, spine arched as you ride him like you rode his Hello Kitty plushie, but Jungkook keeps his fingers on those two little nubs. Your tits bounce and slap against each other and he just follows their movement, squeezing, grazing, leading you to the burst of your climax. When he lets go, you lower your body enough for him to nuzzle his face in them, moving you to the tip of his cock that peeks out of his boxers. The contact of your little soaked clit with his oozing arousal makes Jungkook moan into your skin, and he feels his balls tighten. 

He lets you know by squeezing your arm, as if his furrowed brows, flushed face and the planes of his forehead shining in a layer of sweat weren’t indicating the matter enough. 

You enjoy every second of the torment you bestow upon him, back upright now, fingertip playing with his navel.

Even more so as you flip around and ride him reverse cowgirl style, the nylon of your stockings stretched taut over your ass. Jungkook feels faint.

You’re wearing a thong that is but a thin fabric and would cover absolutely nothing if it were in its right place. He can see your little puckered hole that he’s very hungry for, starved actually, with each backward movement you make. He yanks his boxers down, granting you access to paint his manhood with the loveliness of your shiny dewiness. Grunts at the sloppiness of your flesh gliding back and forth as you toy with his ballsack. On the top of his cock, your juices mix with his—creating a pretty, pretty palette. 

The way your pussy lips barely wrap around his girth, your little breaths and sobs—Jungkook can’t take it. White flashes in his eyesight, the build up of his orgasm nearing the end.

“You feel so good,” you murmur, flicking your hair behind your shoulders as you arch your back, your hair like a waterfall cascading down your spine. 

Jungkook pulls on it, halting your torture. “You’re gonna make me come,” he purrs. “What a waste that would be—for me to come all over my pants like a teenager when your cunnie is right here.” 

He rips your stocking further to reveal more of your ass. Pushes you towards his face until you’re sitting on it and—

He devours you. 

You cry out. The sound propels him to tighten his grip around the small of your back, to quicken the shakes of his head while his tongue stimulates your engorged clit, occasionally flicking against the muscle to hear more of your little noises. Your palm feels up his wet shaft and Jungkook rewards you for being such a good girl that thinks of her Daddy by taking your bundle between his lips and sucking it. Your body quivers, plays tag with his tongue and Jungkook growls, your taste the sweetest thing he’s had all week and he can’t get enough. Needs more, needs…

“Fuck yourself on my tongue.” 

He guides you. Spanks you when you find him. And the sobs you let out, interlaced with the naughtiest of whimpers, make him ache. Your walls press against him—stars fill his vision—and he can’t breathe. Needs you to come, needs a release himself, needs to taste your tiny hole that has never been touched before. 

His hand extends for the purple toy, keeping it on the low setting. He presses it against your clit and the way you tighten around him lets him know you’re soaring; mere seconds away from ascending fully to the pearly gates. 

Jungkook lets you reach your climax on your own, even though his hands itch to grab you and invigorate your thrusts. He wants you to have full control; wants you to get a heady taste of that liberty. 

Wants you to get used to it. 

You slow down your movement and Jungkook hears your cry first before your body begins to convulse. He holds you through your orgasm whilst he rubs the vibrator all over your clit and is ever so fucking mesmerized when he catches your pussy drooling and clenching. 

He aches—aches badly to be inside of you. 

Ridding you entirely of the mere cobwebs that your stockings have become, Jungkook holds your panties in place. His tongue darts out to swipe at your trickling hole, drags it past your skin across the other hole he’s yearning for. He feels you clench; he hears the litany of your incoherent words as you take in the new pleasure. He doesn’t touch your clit—he knows how sensitive it is after such an intense orgasm, so he just drags his tongue up and down both of your holes, swirling around the tight entrance. 

When he penetrates you there, you scream. 

You scream a bunch of yes’ in a row and Jungkook imagines your eyes are rolling back like they always are—imagines a grin on that fucked-out face of yours, eyelashes fluttering and wet with liquid emotions. It drives him to drill his tongue there in faster staccatos, moaning against you; the entirety of his bloodstream flowing to his intimate parts. He’s so hard he might burst, length heavy and solid against his stomach, but it brings him a great deal of pleasure to have you open like this, to taste you in a place no one has ever touched before, to give you a new experience that you’ll remember for a long time and possibly beg him for again. 

He sighs against you, drinking you to relax his jaw. Is drunk on the moment, probably enjoys it more than you do. 

You begin riding his face and he just offers you his tongue. Lets you do whatever you want. 

“Feels so fucking good, Jungkook, oh my god.”

You’re fast now and Jungkook feels proud of you. You’re taking charge, chasing your pleasure. His heart skips a beat when you want him in your ass again, and he willingly obliges, fucking you there until the tremor of your body signals him of the thunder of your approaching orgasm. 

You come on his tongue violently. Shuddering, screaming, leaving his neck, mouth, chin and cheeks wet. Dewiness for tears—he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Turning around, you don’t let him breathe before you grab his face and kiss him, licking into his mouth, moaning at the taste of your own rich flavor. Jungkook reciprocates all of your kisses and swipes of your tongue, doesn’t try to dominate you but instead revels in the nasty kiss, bucking his hips against your heat. So slippery, so fleshy. He grunts into your mouth.

When Jungkook sees your blissed-out face, he grins at you. Is blissed-out himself. “How’s that?” he asks. “You have all of my control. All of it.”

Your voice is hoarse when you say, “so fucking amazing, thank you,” and grin down at him just the same. 

Joy beats through his chest, illuminating him from within as if he had his own tapestry of the whole night sky right there above his heart. 

You sink lower down his thighs and pepper kisses along the length of his sticky cock. The gesture moves him and he lets you stay there for a moment while he briefly ponders over how a paralyzing form of pain led him to such a pure, expanding joy that he feels right now. 

Tears well up in his eyes. 

“Come here,” Jungkook pleads and you lift your head like a puppy. 

He decides that he doesn’t want any restrictions on your body anymore. Each move of his hand is calculated as he unclips your bra and tugs your stockings, along with your underwear, down your legs. Even his own clothes come off in a blink of an eye because all he wants is skin to skin contact, to be connected with you on the deepest, most raw level that there is. 

There’s a bit of nervousness coating his voice when he asks you to ride him due to his vulnerability. And when he feels the beginning of you, your heat encompassing him like the warm wind he last had grazing his body in his summer childhood days, the tears that loom in his eyes rush out. 

It feels like he’s back in those days, but only this time all things are made right. But he can’t lie his head down in that tall grass of his childhood and escape—not when you struggle to take him from the angle you’re not used to.

He doesn’t think he ever let you ride him. Not even once. He apprehends you don’t know how to go about it. 

“I know it hurts from this angle, but you can take it,” he says, willing his voice to be smooth as if he wasn’t crying at all—is thankful for the dimness that obscures his vulnerability from you. “You’ve taken me before, you can do it. Relax for me, sweetheart.”

You clench around him, stay frozen on the spot, and Jungkook can’t see. Filmy vision, emotions hurling at him like an incoming surge of waves. But all of that takes a step back when you mewl a pained noise and let yourself fall on his chest, his cock only a quarter of the way in. 

“I’m scared. It’s too sensitive, it hurts.”

You shift your hips so he slips out of you. Jungkook kisses your forehead, wraps an arm around you while the other travels further down, below the roundness of your cheeks. Makes sure you look at him as he says, “don’t be scared, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. There’s no rush. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you.” 

He looks at you for a long while—recognizes only some of your features in the dark—and so do you whilst he lulls you into a state of serenity by humming a song his mother sang to him during those summer days, by petting your head ever so fondly. He never realized how broken his inner child truly was until you kiss his tears away—see them, alas—and the boy inside him leaps into the sun-breathed air of the past. Grows into a young man with a dream in his heart and pensive thoughts beneath the thick set of black hair. Transforms into an adult man with love for a dream instead, for all that has become of his ambitions is the desire to be loved, to be wanted. 

Dream or desire, none of it matters now because all of it, in a strange way that heals him, intermingles with each exhale of your breath against his cheek—and with the inch you think you’re ready to take—all of it is fulfilled. 

A dream come true. A desire gratified. 

You’re his and he is yours. And he tells you. 

You kiss him everywhere. Nose, cheeks, neck. Grab his bunny plushie and tuck him into the crook of his elbow. Jungkook holds onto him as you take another inch, other hand holding his shaft as you sink down little by little, stopping whenever it gets too much. 

“You’ve always taken it so well,” he murmurs onto your pained expression, unable to take his eyes off of you. “I was made for you. It’s yours, baby. It’s yours. You can do whatever you want with it.” 

You clench at his words and the noise that you squeak makes him grunt onto your lips.

“That’s right, baby. I’m so proud of you for trying to take me so well like this when your little pussy is so sensitive from my tongue. You deserve to be rewarded, don’t you?” 

The smile blossoming on your mouth is dangerous with its coyness but confidence at the same time. He falls in love with you all over again, feels the tall grass of his childhood bending over his head, sifting through his hair. 

“I’m doing it for you,” you say. “I want to make you feel good.” 

A hum of appreciation. A kiss full of tongue. “Throw your hips back a little. Just like when we dance.” 

He’s not fully sheathed inside of you, but he feels your gummy walls smothering the half of his length and it’s enough. He doesn’t want to hurt you by filling you to the brim—he’s heedful even as he guides your hips with his hands, rolling them back as if you were grinding against him. Both of you danced like that many times before and because you know the move, you’re comfortable once you latch onto his hands and lift them, intertwining your fingers with his, pinning them down onto the mattress. Your hips gain speed, bouncing on him as your chest lifts a little, hovers above him and the bunny in the middle of his stomach, and Jungkook doesn’t let himself feel pleasure until your eyes lid and turn to the ceiling.

“That’s it, you’re doing so good. You’re a fucking”—Jungkook whines at the impact of a distinct hard slam of your hips down on his—“pro. My little fucking pro. Doing so good for me.”

He’s losing it and it’s so quick. The change of energy in the room, the arousal rising like fine dust in the air. All because his words nourished you with confidence that blazes the atmosphere around the bed. It’s just you, him and bunny in this microcosm and Jungkook longs to hold onto the plushie. Feels so much like you when he’s the one in control; feels as though you’ve become one in this emotionally charged act. He can’t differentiate between himself and you anymore. 

He’s simply become you because he loves you. Or has been you the whole time due to that very fact. Perhaps loving someone truly means becoming them because what you learn from them, what you mimic from them is perpetually yours.

An awareness of how tired you must be drifts across his mind. He knows that with each excellent performance comes the burning of the muscles so without thinking twice, he maneuvers you to his favorite position—remaining on his lap with your back against his chest and bunny stacked on top of you. He takes the lead but lets you decide the pace. You’re the boss. “Fast or slow?” 

“Fast.” 

Jungkook hums, raising a brow. “Fast? Cunnie isn’t sensitive anymore?” 

You shake your head ‘no’, propping an arm behind his neck. “I want it fast.” 

It’s simultaneous—the deed of two hands, yours and his, grabbing a hold of the fluffy belly of the plushie, fingers traveling and interlocking without a thought, without a direction, and yet meeting. Like two shooting stars. Like the ones you wear under your bottom lashes. 

One person. One mind, one heart. 

Jungkook taps your belly button with the tip of his cock. You laugh softly. He remembers how wide your eyes were in fear when you sat upright on his lower stomach and could clearly see how far he reached inside of you. 

“Ready?” he asks. 

“Yes.” 

He sinks his length into your warmth. The grass, the caress of the summer wind. You’re the personification of his childhood and Jungkook kisses you hard, tells you of it by the press of his lips on yours. Is ruthless as he ruts into you. His free hand clutches the vibrator and finds your clit under the small dangling legs of bunny. The low intensity is but a thrum, though by the gasps you emit, by the moans that rise in echoes within the atmosphere, he deduces it’s good. 

Smugness returns, hand in hand with his control. He presses the toy harder against you, rubbing it side to side—and this time he doesn’t stop. 

He doesn’t stop fucking you. 

Vigorous with strength, empowered by the free rein of his emotions that were accepted and loved, he pistons his hard cock into that tightness of yours, regardless whether you can handle it or not. Feels right at home, feels—

“Who’s your Daddy?” he questions without slowing down the rhythm of his brutal pace. “Who’s fucking you this good?” 

You hum, licking your lips, and your confidence fucks with him, strips him bare of any sanity he had left. You give him the eyes, flick your tongue against his lips before you tilt your head to kiss him with a brief passion. “You are.”

Butterflies. 

Jungkook drops the vibrator on the bed. Has to touch you, has to grip you—and he does. His hand finds your throat and he squeezes, kissing you with the same passion, prolonging it because what you did wasn’t fair. He needs the passion; he needs to swallow it down and feel it course down his body. And when you give him just that, along with your luscious moans, he rewards you. 

Gives you all of his cock. 

He rams himself into you, balls deep. Repeats it over and over, each thrust harder than the one before. Watches your irises disappear from your eyes, mouth agape, voice gone. Jungkook senses you’re leaving planet Earth again and he stops you. 

“Is this Daddy of yours your boyfriend now?” 

Like a bell, his heart is clanging and the freedom in that sentence losing its principle of ever being a risk causes his eyes to fill with tears again. He’s a mess. His emotions are a mess. But he’s so happy. 

And the smile you give him due to that question—it charges him with the longing power to own it, own you, so he grabs you everywhere. Your chin, your cheeks, your mouth, and you never stop smiling, not even when you say, “he is my boyfriend now, you got a problem with that?” 

The chuckle that rumbles out of his chest is a surprise to him because dizziness takes a hold of his entire being. He’s gone—he’s about to die. This is it. 

He kisses you and the act of your lips wrapping around his makes this so much more real. He squeezes you and bunny in his arms, hips grinding his circles now. “Does it hurt when I’m this deep?” he murmurs. 

“No, feels good.” 

“Let me know if it starts hurting, alright?” 

You nod, pecking him, gripping his hair. 

Jungkook lets go of your hand and slowly lifts you up and down on the hardness of his cock from behind. You’re so light in his hands, like a little angel assigned to his side, just his to play with. You tip your head back, the smile of yours having bloomed into a full grin. Jungkook watches you in awe. 

“Look at you riding me. You don’t need any help.” 

You giggle. Jungkook feels his cheeks fire up. Thinks the sound is angelic, it must be. Thinks the squelch of your pussy taking him, leaving him dewy, is angelic, too. 

It makes him stop playing with you and fuck you properly instead. 

He sits up. Angles your head so your lips touch his, but he doesn’t kiss you. He wants you there so you swallow all of the words that will come off his tongue, so you remember them even when the delirium wears off. 

He pounds into you. 

You’re no longer smiling. 

Takes the vibrator again. Provokes you, just because he can’t help it, by turning up the intensity and letting it only float above your clit, never letting it touch you. He’s not fast as he fucks you. On the contrary, his thrusts are hard. 

Merciless. 

He feels evil when he removes the toy completely, makes sure you watch, and presses it down into the softness between bunny’s legs. He turns your head back to face him and he mimics your moans, scrunches his features in pleasure, giving life to the plushie—acting for her.

But his meanness makes you come and you fall apart in his hands. He feels bad, terribly bad for you, and the feeling begins to consume his insides—so much that he gives you the pleasure he denied you mid climax. He presses the toy against your clit and—

You’re gone. 

Your stream of pleasure forces him out of you and it makes him moan loudly. It makes him moan when he rubs the vibrator all over your absolutely drenched cunt and you just keep coming. And it makes him moan when you beg him to keep fucking you. 

Who is he to say no to you? 

“You just want it bad, don’t you?” 

You nod against his head. Gone, gone, gone. He follows you into that rabbit hole, pounding you rough and fast this time, keeping you caged against him, fingers back in an intricate interlock. You smother him with your femininity and Jungkook is perpetually at wonder how you manage to do that, how you manage to never have enough. It makes him lose his fucking mind, lose everything—lose his identity. He just blurs into you. The stars in his chest pour like liquid into your ribcage. He feels them quivering when he touches your breasts all over. Wonders if you’ll come again for him. 

“Pussy molded just for me, hm, isn’t it?” he breathes. Hot, sweaty, on the brink of insanity. White flashes. Balls tight. Dizziness stealing his senses. “Good little pussy, always wanting more.” 

The air grows dense. 

“Mine,” he growls, voice strained—so close, so fucking close. “My pussy. Mine to fuck. Mine to eat. Mine to love—”

His gut tenses. Flames burn it hot. Time stops. Knuckles turn ivory in the feverish grip of your fingers upon bunny’s tummy; your walls, too, splattered in magnificent white. Jungkook fucks his cum into you, once, twice, for the last time—pumping you full. Giving you all that he has. 

He falls limp against his pillows. The toy buzzes on upon the comforter, long abandoned. 

His exhaustion doesn’t let him open his eyes. Not when his eyes sting with tears once more, not even when your warmth leaves his manhood. He knows you didn’t come this time around, however he doesn’t have the strength to fix it. His vigor oozed out of him and nestled within you—like his control, like his love, like his cum. 

He will make it up to you tomorrow morning. 

Now he needs sleep. He needs the tears to halt their hurting by leaking out of the inner corners of his eyes. Would prefer if you weren’t the witness to it because with his vigor departing, his vulnerability heightened. He’s ashamed of the sea of his feelings, but there’s nothing he can do to change that. He just loves you. 

He’s so happy that he’s yours and he fucked you so good and—

“You tired, baby?” 

You sound just like him. 

Jungkook suppresses his sob, swallows it right down. 

“I’m spent.” Too emotional. “Too spent to wash up.”

He feels a kiss on his nose, the comforter lifting, small warm hands on his body as he’s being tucked into his bed. Jungkook lies on his side. Feels too lonely. As if you had insight into his soul, you settle into the spaces of his form that you know are there for you to hide in. 

With a barrier in between. 

You push bunny’s back against his chest. Click the lamp off.

In the darkness, Jungkook allows his lungs to expand in their silent weeping. Finds bunny, finds your arm. Moves you closer until the plushie serves like a heart in the middle of your bodies. Fingers petting your hair, he allows another thing—

“I love you.” 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two

[zeldasnotes]

ASTRO OBSERVATIONS 33

masterlist

• People with Sun in the 8th house or aspecting Pluto might have been saved from situations because of their fathers name. For example might be threathened then the people find who your father is and apologizes.

• If you ask someone whats the worst thing someone ever said to them it will probably be something related to their Chiron placement. Because A when people touch our Chiron wound we remember it forever and B for some damn reason people seem to always touch where you have your Chiron wound bc its kinda obvious to others.

• If you have 10th house placements you have a trademark after your name, whatever you do you easily become known for it. People want to put a label on you and the themes of the planet you have there is the label thats most easily put. So when you have 10th house planets its extra important to think before you act.

• If you have Lilith conjunct North Node you need to learn to do your own thing. Ive seen people with this who didnt reach their potential until they refused to stop trying to fit in and be ”normal” . You are a class of your own. People will respond to you differently when you act like Lilith. Example: A rapper in my country have this placement in Virgo and was treated bad by other rappers bc of a beef he had on the streets and bla bla. Anyways he knew he wouldnt get collabs bc of this so he made it ”his” thing to never have a feature on his songs and to never do interviews and be on other rappers tracks. After this people started respecting him more. He used his inability to fit in to make himself look even better.

• Venus/Neptune involve their love interest in their art. A lot of rappers with this might want to have their partner on their albumcover, in their music video, paint their partner etc. Dating a man with this placement feels like being his muse.

• Be careful when you have Venus in Leo in the Solar Return Chart because this one can really make you want to SPLURGE. Especially clothes, bags and stuff that makes you look good. 💰🛒🛍️💸

• Talking to someone with a Mercury/Pluto or Mercury/Nessus placement can feel like being interrogated. Constant checking if you are lying, asking extra questions to see if you change your story, detailed questions to see if your story is true. Can be very exhausting to be around bc of this (sorry).

• Every Aquarius Rising Ive met looked better in person than on pictures. There is a striking quality that the camera have a hard time capturing. Same with Virgo and Pisces Rising.

• People with Jupiter conjunct personal planets are funnier when they are not trying than when they try to be funny.

• Nanisca the role played by Viola Davis in the movie ”Woman King” reminds me of Sun conjunct Lilith.

• People with Ceres(1) conjunct personal planets seem to not like adornment.

• Aura(1488) conjunct Mercury might come across as sneaky.

• Venus in the 8th house or Venus aspecting Pluto attracts people who would normally not want them which is why they need to be extra careful. They might be super tall and attract someone who usually only go for short people or vice versa. But because of the intense magnetism that having a plutonian venus gives everyone wants a taste of you no matter if they really WANT you or not. Be wary of who you share your energy with.

• Venus Square MC might feel like their looks and social skills doesnt match the career they want or how they want the public to see them.

• Juno(3) or Venus Square Mars are the kind of people to have a huge difference in taste when it comes to who they want to sleep with and who they see as relationship material.

• If you have Lilith in the 7th house or Lilith conjunct Venus your ex's new partners might become obsessed with you or you become obsessed with your partners ex's.

• Dejanira(157) conjunct Ascendant is probably the scariest synastry aspect Ive ever experienced. Experienced it 2 times and both times I was Ascendant and he was Dejanira. Very scary attacks. I can even look at pictures of these people.

• Mars conjunct MC can mean a lot of people are scared of you. A very intimidating placement. In a mans chart it makes other men look up to him. Women with this placement seem too struggle with this placement a lot tho since people are more likely to want to challenge a woman who comes across as intimidating.

• Scorpio Moons seem to be very fascinated with psychopaths.

• Sag Moons might have had extremely carefree parents. Thats why these people can be so good on their own, they raised themselves. But its also why they flee from issues because they were never forced to stay and solve stuff like in a normal family.

• Cancer Risings can be really intimidating, especially the eyes. Ive mistaken so many Cancer Risings for being Scorpio Risings.

• Populus(8647) conjunct Mercury might be more popular among younger people.

• Lilith in a womans chart seem to show what archetype she finds empowering and might even want to be and in a mans chart an archetype he finds fascinating. Ex. Lilith 2nd/8th: the golddigger femme fatale, black widow. Lilith 4th house: The family matriarch, Evil Stepmom. Lilith 10th house: The boss, the businesswoman, cold bitch. Lilith 7th house: The homewrecker, femme fatale, beauty queen, homecoming queen, Mr steal yo girl. (Not always ofc and mostly this goes for when you are underdeveloped)

©️ 2024 Zeldas Notes All Rights Reserved

[jointherebellion215]

If It's True

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader

Summary: When an unexpected guest crashes your House's welcome feast for the Harkonnens, your life unknowingly becomes the start of a sad, sad song.

Word Count: 872

TW: Manipulation, Dark!Feyd-Rautha (so Regular Feyd-Rautha), she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, songfic

A/N: Hi, it's your friendly neighborhood shitposter. I'm taking a huge leap of faith with this fic, because I truly haven't written anything in YEARS. This idea has been bouncing around in my head for days, thus "the trilogy was born". This is meant to be Part One of a three part series, based on different songs from the musical Hadestown. I've obviously written this with very very dark interpretations of the songs and the themes. If enough people like it, I'll post parts two and three. Please let me know if it's any good, I'd love some feedback :)

AO3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories other than what I derive inspiration from are strictly coincidence.

What’s the use of his backbone

If he never stands upright?

“We welcome you to Kolhar, my lords Baron and na-Baron. Our House humbly offers our services and facilities to your use. I toast to our continued cooperation and to the strength of our Houses.”

As your father raised his cup, others of our House followed suit. The official welcome feast was well underway, though House Harkonnen had been planetside for at least a week already. The past few days had been for inspecting our mines and factories, ensuring that our production of their ships and swords were up to standard. 

Now? Pure pageantry. You found it a bit redundant, but it was necessary to ensure your good standing among the Houses of the Imperium. It was a grand occasion, in which the leaders of your father’s council were present, as well as the highest ranked mine workers. 

The doors to the large hall slam open, a familiar figure storming in. Your heart flutters at the sight of your beloved parting the crowds before him. The man who you had met by complete coincidence, one of the workers in a local steel mine, who you had spent the better part of a year meeting in secret—had crashed the court. You noticed a bruise growing on his cheek and blood trickling down his temple, indicating that his journey to enter through the doors was easier said than done. His voice soon bellowed throughout the hall. 

“My Lord Duke, I refuse to let your daughter’s hand be taken by the na-Baron. She cannot marry him.” 

The crowd gasps, as do you. You had spent the past week showing the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha around the grounds, the training of your most fierce warriors, and the best of your planet’s culture. You had shared a laugh or two and shown your prowess as a leader. Yes, you’d spent quite a bit of time with him, but marriage? This was news to you. 

You turn to your father, who gives you an apologetic grimace. Several Harkonnen guards step forward to seize the love of your life. You quickly stand to protest, but the na-Baron stops the guards in their track with a single snap of his fingers. He offers a hand to calm the crowd, an eerie stillness in his form.

“It is true, I have offered my hand to the Lady.”

I believe that with each other, 

we are stronger than we know.

“There must be a way around this. Even if this is in defiance of the court, they can’t punish all of us! We work their mines; they couldn’t truly function without us. We are the ones who truly hold the power! I implore you to stand with me, show them our strength!”

Your love stands strong, chin raised in the crowd, voice pleading with his brothers and sisters to stand beside him. He was convinced that this moment could provide a great revelation, that somehow your situation was different. That the consensus of a crowd could make the na-Baron stand down. Surely, your story could convince even the coldest of hearts that love can conquer all. He must have some sentimentality that resonates within him.

That's one of the main reasons why you fell in love with him. He's always so full of hope. Always willing to see the world as it could be, in spite of the way that it actually is.

But you knew better.

“This is treason.” Someone whispers in the room. Murmurs of assent soon follow, and your heart drops. The crowd around him quickly dissipates, as if the mere act of touching him promises death. 

And the ones who deal the cards

Are the ones who take the tricks

With their hands over their hearts

While we play the game they fix

You start to plead with your father to spare your lover. He doesn’t know any better, he wasn’t raised in the ways of politics or court. It’s purely out of his love and devotion to you, so please—

Feyd-Rautha stands up and the room is immediately devoid of sound. He cranes his neck to look at you.

“You love him?”

You swallow harshly, lifting your chin. “I do.” You went to your lover, making a bold statement in linking your fingers together. Presenting a united front. Hoping that somehow, your kind attitude the past week towards the na-Baron would allow this leniency.

A gleam flashes through his eyes, almost imperceptible. He gives a blackened smile, making show of placing his hand over his heart. Confusion fills you. He slithers down the steps towards the pair of you, boots echoing in the Feasting Hall, each step making your lover’s hand give a slight tremor. Your mind stands strong in its conviction, in the thought that you’ll have to fight for what you want. But a small tendril in the back of your mind gives the slightest hesitation. The smallest indication of hope. Maybe…

Piter leans towards his Baron, whispering concerns in his ears, but is quickly paused by the Baron’s hand. Vladimir gives a slow, menacing grin. He responds to his Mentat in a low voice,

“Don’t bother. You know that my nephew loves to play with his food.”

Is this how the world is?

[dixons-sunshine]

I Never Lived For The Applause | Daryl Dixon x Former!Celebrity!Fem!Reader

Summary: Before the world quite literally ended, you were a famously known singer. However, your celebrity status didn't do you much good in the apocalypse, despite most people in your group giving you privileges that you didn't want. Thankfully, a certain redneck archer treated you like a normal person, unwillingly becoming the guy who caught your attention.

Genre: Angst, fluff.

Era: The quarry; the farm; the prison.

Warnings: Swearing, usual TWD warnings, suggestive themes.

Word count: 3.9k.

A/n: Okay but the former!celebrity!reader x Daryl was such a unique idea that an anon requested! I never would've thought about that on my own. I thought that this idea would be great combined with a few other requests, and this was born. There's a few time jumps and this is honestly not the best. I scrapped over 1500 words and this is all over the place, and it was supposed to be smut, and I don't really like this, but I hope you like it nonetheless.

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

Before the apocalypse came to be, you were a famous singer and songwriter. You had multiple hit singles that made the charts and your concerts always sold out. It seemed like wherever you would turn, there would be someone there who would want an autograph or a picture. It seemed like you could never escape the spotlight.

Not even now, when the dead started rising and the world came to an end.

“Amy, I told you, I'm fine. I don't want your food. You need it more than I do.”

Amy shook her head defiantly, practically shoving the paper plate into your hands. “I insist. You're my idol, and I'll be damned if I let my idol go hungry when I have food I can give her.”

You sighed and reluctantly accepted the plate. “This is unnecessary. I already had my share, sweetheart. You don't have to give me yours when you also have to eat.”

“I'm fine. Rather me than you.”

Before you could protest, Andrea called Amy's name. Amy gave you an apologetic smile and bid you farewell, walking over to her sister and leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sighed and turned around, heading over to the tent you shared with your daughter. You opened the flap and stepped inside, seeing your twelve year old daughter, Nicolette, busy sketching in her sketchbook.

She looked up when she heard you step inside, sending you a smile. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, Nic,” you greeted her, sitting down on your cot opposite hers. “Why aren't you outside with the other kids?”

Nicolette shook her head, closing her sketchbook and sitting up in her cot. “Most of them treat me funny. They keep asking me if I can sing or if I can write songs, and if I got free stuff because you were famous. Only Carl and Sophia treat me like I'm a normal kid, but they're with their mom's right now.”

You sighed, guilt gnawing at you from the inside. Never once did you regret having your daughter, but sometimes you regretted having to raise her while you were in the spotlight. The paparazzi were relentless, and your daughter more often than not had to pay the price for that. It was unfair, and you wished that you could've just faded from the spotlight to raise your daughter in peace.

“I'm sorry, baby. If I knew back then what my fame could do to you, I never would have signed on with that record label. I wish I could take it back.”

Nicolette shook her head. She got up from her cot and sat down next to you, leaning her head on your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around her, placing a tender kiss on her head.

“It's not your fault, Mom. I don't blame you. You shouldn't, either.”

You shook your head. “That's easier said than done,” you replied, before adopting a more lighthearted tone. “But let's not talk about that. I've got some more food for you if you're hungry.”

Nicolette smiled at you and nodded eagerly. “I'm starving. Thanks, Mom.”

You smiled at her. However, before you could respond, a ruckus could be heard outside your tent. Both yours and your daughter's heads snapped in the direction of the two voices, instantly going quiet to hear what was happening.

“M'tellin ya, man. S'a fuckin' waste of time. We should jus' cut our losses here and scram. Take a few guns and food fer the road.”

“Merle, fer the last fuckin' time, we can't leave righ' now. It's too dangerous. We should wait 'til the heat dies down 'fore we go.”

“Wha' m'hearin' s'tha' yer a pussy. Wha's the matter, Darylina? Scared the geeks will get ya? 'Cause yer too incompetent to handle 'em?”

“Fuck off, Merle! It ain't like tha'. I jus' dun' wanna risk our lives if we dun' need to.”

“Whatever, man. M'goin' back to the tent.”

The man who's name you had learnt to be Merle left, his retreating footsteps growing fainter until you couldn't hear them anymore. However, you could clearly see the silhouette of the other man still outside your tent. You could hear him quietly muttering to himself.

Turning to Nicolette, you gently placed the plate with the food—cooked squirrel with some beans—onto her lap and stood up. You turned to her and leaned down to place a sweet kiss to her forehead.

“Eat up and get ready for bed. I'll be right back and then we'll continue reading that book.”

Nicolette nodded, and with that, you exited your tent. The man stood with his back to you, but a simple slight twitch of his head in your direction showed that he had heard you. His body stiffened visibly, and you frowned at that.

“Hey. You're Daryl, right?” you asked him, prompting the man to turn around.

However, he didn't meet your gaze, finding great interest in the ground below. He simply grunted his acknowledgement, a slight upwards nudge of his nose confirming your question.

“I'm Y/n. It's nice to officially meet you,” you introduced yourself, extending your hand to his for a handshake. Daryl made no move to shake it, however, making you awkwardly retract your hand. “I, uh, just wanted to say that you were right.”

“Wha'?” Daryl asked in confusion, his eyebrows furrowing. He hadn't meant for the question to slip from his lips, trying to just remain quiet until you got the message that he was in no mood to socialise, but he failed.

“That argument you had with your brother. You were right. It's way too dangerous to wander off on your own right now. Personally I feel like you shouldn't be wanting to go at all because it's safer with a group, but that's not my call to make. Just thought I'd let you know that your instincts are right. Don't listen to your brother.”

Daryl was confused by your niceness. He was even more confused by the fact that you agreed with him. He was so used to women taking Merle's side instead of his all the time, so this was something entirely new for him.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” he replied awkwardly, nervously chewing on his lower lip.

You smiled at him before nodding. “Okay, well, just wanted to tell you that. Oh, and to ask you not to argue in front of my tent again. I have a twelve year old in there who doesn't need to hear all of that.”

Daryl ducked his head, an embarrassed blush flushing over his face. “Sorry.”

“I guess I can let it slide this time,” you said with a smile. “And thanks for the squirrel. Thanks to you, my daughter doesn't have to go to bed hungry tonight. Never thought we'd have to resort to eating squirrel, but it's not that bad. It's actually kinda delicious. It's way better than—” Realising that you were busy rambling, you shook your head and gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Just, thank you.”

Daryl didn't know why, but he felt an unexplainable pull to you. Maybe it was the way you showed him kindness without even knowing him, or maybe it was the fact that you were the only one who seemed to actually appreciate the food he brought back from his hunts, even if it was squirrels. Despite their hunger, everyone else mostly refused to eat anything he brought back if it wasn't deer. Yet there you were, thanking him for bringing back something as mediocre as squirrel.

And it certainly didn't help that he found you absolutely radiant.

“S'nothin',” he finally responded. “M'jus' glad yer lil' girl can eat tonigh'.”

“You're the one who brought back the squirrels?”

At the sound of a small voice, both you and Daryl turned around to face your daughter. Nicolette walked up to your side and beamed brightly up at Daryl, catching him off guard. The other kids in the camp were terrified of him and wouldn't even glance in his direction, yet this kid was not only looking at him, but willingly talking to him.

“Yes, he is,” you confirmed, smiling fondly down at your daughter.

Nicolette looked up at Daryl, realisation dawning on her. “You're the man with the crossbow! And the vest with the angel wings! You're so cool, sir. Do you think I could maybe shoot your crossbow one time? It's okay if you say no, but can I maybe see how you shoot it so that when I get my own crossbow one day, I know how to use it? Or—”

Daryl's lips subconsciously twitched up into a smile. Her rambling was so similar to yours. Like mother, like daughter, he thought to himself as he looked between the two of you. There were over a dozen similarities between you and Nicolette. She looked just like you.

You placed a hand on Nicolette's shoulder, halting her rambling. You turned to Daryl, giving him a smile. “We should probably get ready for bed. Goodnight, Daryl.”

“Night, Daryl!” Nicolette greeted him enthusiastically, following you into the tent.

“Night,” he whispered.

“Oh, and by the way, don't be a stranger. I'd love to see more of you.”

Daryl blushed and ducked his head. He hummed, not trusting his voice at that moment in time.

You smiled and finally entered the tent, zipping the tent closed behind you. He stood there for a couple of moments before turning and walking back to his own shared tent with Merle.

Daryl couldn't explain it, but for some reason, in that short conversation, he felt drawn to you. It was unnerving, but felt nice at the same time. And your daughter was downright an angel, your exact copy.

“Wha' were ya doin', sniffin' 'round tha' popstar?” Merle asked when Daryl entered the tent, catching him off guard. Daryl had assumed that Merle would've been passed out by now, high off of whatever drug he was using that night.

“Popstar? Wha' the hell are ya talkin' 'bout?” Daryl questioned, plopping himself down on his cot.

“Tha' woman ya were talkin' to, she was a singer 'fore all this. Real famous, too. Used to see her on TV and in magazine's all the time.”

Daryl's mind swarmed with questions. You were a famous singer? How the hell did you end up there, with a bunch of nobodies? And why had you thanked him for bringing back something as simple as a squirrel? If you were famous, you had probably eaten banquets of the richest, most delicious food out there, yet you enjoyed squirrel? And to top it off, why would you willingly want to hang out with him of all people?

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Daryl, oh my god.”

At the sound of your panicked voice, Daryl slowly sat upright in the bed in the guest bedroom. He looked up and locked eyes with you, seeing the worry written all over your face. You hurriedly sat down on the edge of the bed next to him and gingerly reached out to touch the bandage around his side, careful not to add too much pressure and hurt him.

“M'fine, sunshine. Dun' have to worry 'bout me,” he replied, waving off your concern and gently grabbing your hand to push it away from the bandage.

You scoffed in disbelief and shook your head. “You're my friend, Daryl. Of course I'm going to worry about you. I care about you, and you expect me to not worry?” you asked, bringing your hand up to gently caress his cheek.

Friend. That word reminded Daryl of how you viewed him. It had been two months since your first interaction at the quarry and his affection and attraction to you had only grown stronger. However, it seemed to him like his feelings weren't reciprocated, so he settled on being your friend.

Little did he know that you felt the exact same way. You just didn't know it yet.

“Heard ya punched Andrea fer shootin' me. Any truth to those rumours?” Daryl asked, diverting the attention away from his now pounding heart as your fingers gently pushed his hair back.

You smiled sheepishly. “My hand slipped?” you tried, shrugging your shoulders.

Daryl smirked slightly and shook his head. “Sure. Whatever ya say, sunshine.”

You let out a sigh, reluctantly drawing your hand back from his hair. “She had it coming. We told her not to shoot and she didn't listen, trying to boost her own ego instead. She almost killed you, Daryl. That's not something she should be allowed to get away with, but Rick and Shane aren't gonna do anything, so I took matters into my own hands.”

Daryl smiled softly. “Not bad fer a popstar.”

You giggled. “Hey, I got into a couple of fights before my career took off. I know my stuff. I know how to shoot a gun, too, but that's a discussion for another day.”

Daryl chuckled and nodded. He shifted back against the headboard and gazed at you, simply admiring your beauty for a moment. It amazed him that a beautiful, kind, caring, smart woman like you would ever wanna be associated with the likes of him. You were perfect and he was, well, him. It didn't make sense, but he dared not to question it.

“Can I ask ya somethin' personal?” he blurted out before he could think about it.

You nodded at him. “Sure.”

“When ya talk 'bout yer career, it sounds like ya hated it. Why'd ya become a singer if ya hated it so much?”

You remained silent for a minute. Daryl feared that he had asked the wrong thing and was about to apologise, but you spoke up.

“I was nineteen when I signed with my first record label. I didn't want to be in the spotlight because singing was more of a hobby to me, but my parents forced me to. Growing up, there wasn't ever really any money around and my parents made it out like it was my fault. They made me feel like I owed them for everything they did for me, and they forced me to sign with that record label. My parents were my managers and all the money I earned for the songs I wrote and sang basically went to them. That went on for a couple of years until I met Nic's father. He was a bass player in a band I was collaborating with. I fell in love way too quickly, jumped into bed with him when he made an advancement and ended up pregnant. The guy didn't want kids and bolted, leaving me a single mom. My parents hated that and basically disowned me.”

“M'sorry to hear tha',” Daryl replied sympathetically. He didn't really know how to respond; he never knew that about you. You chose to keep your life before you had Nicolette private, and he respected that. He had his own demons he preferred to keep quiet.

“It's okay,” you reassured him, shaking your head. “He was an asshole. And I was better off without my parents. I managed to sign with a decent enough record label and the rest was history. I got a ton of backlash from haters for being a single mom. There were even rumours that I had cheated and that's why the guy left me, but that wasn't true. But none of that matters anymore. My reputation doesn't matter anymore. All that matters now is keeping my daughter safe and keeping the people I care about alive. People like you.”

“Ya shouldn't care 'bout me. S'a bad idea.”

“Well, bad idea or not, I care about you. And so does Nic.”

As if being summoned, Nicolette knocked on the door and hesitantly stepped inside. Daryl adjusted the covers over his body and sent her a tight-lipped smile. Nicolette gave him a small smile back but he could clearly tell it was strained. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying.

“Are you okay?” Nicolette asked, crossing her arms over her chest as if to make herself appear smaller.

“M'fine, kiddo. Dun' worry 'bout me,” he reassured her. “Hershel fixed me righ' up. I'll be outta here in no time.”

Nicolette looked to you for confirmation, and you nodded. “He's right. He'll be fine. Some antibiotics and he'll be up and at it in three days. You'll see.”

“Okay,” she nodded, her eyes flickering between you and Daryl. “I'm glad you're not dead, Daryl.”

Daryl chuckled at the girls forwardness. “M'glad m'not dead, too.”

You smiled at the small interaction between Daryl and Nicolette, your heart swelling with fondness. You stood up from the bed and motioned for Nicolette to follow you.

“C'mon, baby. Let's leave Daryl to get some rest, okay?”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could maybe stay?” she asked timidly, nervously fiddling with her hands. “It's just... I wanna stay.”

You looked at Daryl, and he shrugged nonchalantly. Despite his nonchalance, Daryl's heart swelled with fondness. This little girl, who owed him nothing, wanted to stay with him. He couldn't believe it.

“Okay, you can stay for a while. I'll be back later, okay?” you relented.

She nodded and sat down on the chair. You gave Daryl's hand one last squeeze before heading out, sparing one last look at the two. Nicolette was starting to retell some of the events of what her and Carl had gotten up to that day, and Daryl hummed in acknowledgement before looking up and locking eyes with you.

With one last parting smile, you headed out and made your way back to the tents. On your way there, a startling realisation hit you like a ton of bricks, one that would change the way you saw Daryl forever. Despite the fact that he could be snappy at times, and that he was known for being grumpy, he treated you with respect. He didn't care about who you were before the end of the world. He didn't care about your mistakes, about if you were famous or not. That didn't matter to him. He only saw you, the person behind the old tabloids, and he had become close with your daughter. He even took the time out of his day to teach her how to use his crossbow, even if she was a slow learner. And in that moment, you realised something:

You had feelings for him.

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Y'know, m'glad Nic didn't have to meet her father. She's better off.”

You turned your head to Daryl, a look of confusion spreading across your features. “I agree with you, but why do you say that? You didn't know the man.”

Daryl shrugged, taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke away from you. “Ya said back at Hershel's tha' he never wanted kids. If he had stuck 'round, god knows wha' he would've done to her.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, turning your attention back to the darkness ahead of you. “She is better off.”

The night was relatively quiet, save for the distant sound of walkers groaning outside the prison's fences.  Daryl was on watch that night in the guard tower, and you had taken the initiative to join the archer that night. Everyone else had retreated into the prison for the night, leaving only you and Daryl awake.

“So are we gon' tell Nic 'bout us or not?” Daryl broke the silence, taking the last drag from his cigarette before putting it out next to him. “S'been over a month now. She deserves to know.”

Unbidden, flashes of that night a month ago arose in your mind. The feeling of his lips on yours, his hands exploring your body and the way he felt pressed against you. The feeling of your bodies becoming one was one that you wouldn't forget anytime soon, but the one memory you'd hold with you forever was the confession from the man next to you. After the heated, pleasurable moment you'd spent together, feelings were revealed, and you and the archer had unofficially started your relationship. You had both agreed to keep it a secret, but Nicolette was starting to get suspicious about the two of you.

“I'm okay with telling her tomorrow. She deserves to finally have confirmation on her suspicions,” you told him, leaning your head against his shoulder. “She already sees you as her dad, anyways.”

Daryl couldn't argue with that. Flashes of his own arose in his mind. A couple of days ago, he had returned from a run, battered and bruised. He could barely walk and both you and Nicolette were distraught. However, after he was patched up and resting in his cell and you were up in the guard tower for your shift, Nicolette had come to him in tears. He had hugged her tightly to his chest, acutely aware that she was transported back to that day on the farm when he had been shot. That night was the night Nicolette had confirmed that she saw Daryl as a father figure.

“Please don't leave. My mom needs you. I need you. We both need you in our lives. Please, Daryl.”

In that moment, even though she didn't know yet that you and Daryl were together, he knew that he wouldn't be able to live without either of you. You both were his entire world. Nicolette was his little girl. You were his partner, and there was no way he was letting either of you go.

“Dun' worry, Nic. I ain't goin' nowhere. I promise ya tha'.”

Shaken from his thoughts by your lips on his exposed shoulder, he turned his head to you, coming face to face with a mischievous smirk. He instantly knew what that smirk meant, and he helped you climb onto his lap.

“But,” you began, pulling his attention back to your previous discussion. “Let's worry about that tomorrow. Tonight, it's just me and you.”

Daryl smirked and attached his lips to yours. You may have been a popstar before the apocalypse, a celebrity living in a mansion, but in that moment, you were simply you. The woman Daryl cared for deeply, the woman Daryl was never gonna let go of.

Because in that moment, you were nothing but his.

[tismrot]

HOW FATAL IS YOUR GOOD OMENS BRAINROT ? a checklist

Give yourself a point for everything that applies to you.

LEVEL 1 [ ] I have seen both seasons.

[ ] I can name at least one character that isn’t Aziraphale or Crowley.

[ ] I know that Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman wrote the book. Points: [ ] of 3

---

LEVEL 2 [ ] I have seen both seasons more than once.

[ ] I know I can write “Aziraphale” without spelling it wrong. Bonus point if you have actually written the name anywhere, for any reason.

[ ] I have had a conversation about Good Omens with a person outside of the internet in the last 3 months. Points: [ ] of 3 + [ ] bonus points --- LEVEL 3 [ ] I experienced any negative feeling beyond "ouch, that sucks for them!" after the ending of season 2.

[ ] I have looked up anything related to Good Omens, Neil Gaiman, Terry Pratchett, Michael Sheen or David Tennant in the last 3 months.

[ ] I know what #payyourwriters refers to.

[ ] I have had at least one (1) thought about Crowley or Aziraphale (or both). Bonus point if you told anyone (Tumblr counts).

[ ] I read the book before the show came out. Points: [ ] of 5 + [ ] bonus points ---

LEVEL 4 [ ] I have seen both seasons more than three times and some scenes more than that.

[ ] Somebody watched Good Omens because of me. One extra point for each additional person!

[ ] I catch myself thinking about Good Omens when I should be thinking about other things.

[ ] I have listened to Queen more than I usually do during the last 3 months.

[ ] I have read or listened to the book (don’t have to have read/heard all of it for 1 point) after season 1. Points: [ ] of 5 + [ ] bonus points ---

LEVEL 5 [ ] I have analyzed the lyrics of most of the songs and experienced moving emotions.

[ ] I have either made a new account or revived an unused account somewhere ONLY to browse Good Omens related media. One bonus point for each additional new/renewed account. (Renewed = you haven't touched it in at least 2 years)

[ ] I have watched at least 5 videos on YouTube about Good Omens.

[ ] I no longer blush while reading fics.

[ ] I have a stash of saved images on my phone/IG account/Pinterest/other I would very much not like anyone to see.

[ ] I have made any game character look like characters from the show. Three bonus points if you googled 'south downs cottages' while playing The Sims. Points: [ ] of 6 + [ ] bonus points ---

LEVEL 6 [ ] I have genuine, tangible heartbreak due to Good Omens, and I have experienced heartbreak before - so I know what it feels like. (Friend/platonic/aro heartbreaks count, ofc.)

[ ] I have shared my support for the strikers multiple times.

[ ] I know more than I’d like to know about the anatomy of male snakes.

[ ] I have published Good Omens related media - fics, artwork, big metas (spent more than three hours researching/writing it), music, videos. Bonus point if this happened on a recently created or renewed account.

[ ] I have had dreams about something Good Omens-related. If this was a spicy dream, collect 3 extra points.

[ ] Things that shouldn’t remind me of the show, reminds me of the show. (Flies, clocks, ducks, classical music, drinking coffee, anything related to England, biblical references, etc.)

[ ] I have a set of beliefs and theories that I stick to - example: coffee theory, body swap theory, Crowley is Raphael, etc. Bonus point if any of these are genuinely from your own head.

[ ] I have a favorite Crowley (Bildaddy?).

[ ] I have listened to other people’s Good Omens themed playlists/music on YouTube or Spotify. Points: [ ] of 9 points + [ ] bonus points ---

LEVEL 7 [ ] I have experienced a spike in learning/skill after watching the show. (Read Shakespeare, history, philosophy, books mentioned, shown or referenced l, learned or improved a craft and any other neuron connection boosting activity).

[ ] I have experienced an increase in my preferred destructive coping mechanism after watching the show, but I’d rather have it this way than not having watched it.

[ ] I have been sad that I am not an immortal, celestial being fighting for the opportunity to finally be with my soulmate and lover, another immortal, celestial being forced to work for a rival oppressive government, after 6000 years of queer yearning and forbidden desire. I have been sad that I - due to human life expectancy, at the very least - can NOT experience such love. Ever.

[ ] Good Omens has affected my sexuality (kinks, roleplay, thoughts, type of desired partner, etc.)

[ ] I know what the archangel Michael’s ring looks like, and what it’s modeled after.

[ ] I have made my own playlist with music reminding me of Good Omens.

[ ] I have had trouble sleeping because I thought about my fic narrative (even if I haven’t started writing it yet), unfinished drawing, video idea or similar.

[ ] I can, with worrying accuracy, correctly guess the episode when watching a scene from the show.

[ ] I read an insane amount of layered theories and possible references and so on, into every word said by Aziraphale and Crowley, to the point where watching is difficult because I get so many fan theories in my head I have to write down.

[ ] I want to travel to London. Bonus point if you already have been to London pre-brainrot and hated it. If you live in London, you get a point if Good Omens made you visit Soho even though you know it wasn’t filmed there. If you live in Soho, you get a point if you've been to the South Downs because of Good Omens.

[ ] I have thought of or prepared a Good Omens costume for Halloween. Bonus point if you have already found a reason to wear it. Bonus point if you wear it casually. Bonus point if the costume is inconspicuous enough that you can go to work/school without it being too weird. Bonus point if, when wearing your costume, you sat on a bench on purpose. Points: [ ] of 11 + [ ] bonus points --- INSANE LEVEL [ ] I have been a fan of the book since 1990. [ ] I read queerness into the book independently (be honest). [ ] I have made money creating Good Omens-anything. [ ] I have met and/or talked to Neil Gaiman/Terry Pratchett(RIP)/the actors outside of social media (mail and cons count, Tumblr does not) specifically about the book or later, the show. [ ] I have hosted a Good Omens themed event (wedding, birthday party, con, baby shower, etc). One point for each event.

[ ] The amount of text I’ve written (fics, metas, song lyrics, poems, whatever) is equal to or greater than the amount of text in the book. Points: [ ] of 6 + [ ] bonus points --- GOD'S FAVORITE-LEVEL [ ] Michael Sheen retweeted you or referenced something of yours in any way. This one is worth 25 lazerii, which is more than all the other points combined. You only need this one checked to have 100% fatal Good Omens brainrot. --- Total points: [ ] of 48 + [ ] bonus points = [ ] points SCORE 1 - 3 points: Why did you take this test? Go do something better with your life, you don't belong here. Enjoy your freedom, the lightness in your heart and the fresh breeze upon your unbothered, youthful face. 3 - 6 points: I bet you still know how to feel happiness. It's still time, you can turn this around. I suggest you just leave this now, and come back whenever you see an ad for season 3. Let yourself be happy in the meantime. 6 - 16 points: You've ventured into dangerous territory, but none of your loved ones have realized you have a problem yet. And you might not... The lines are blurred here. You can still come off as an adjusted person when you talk about the show or anything related to it. 16 - 23 points: A scan of your brain reveals that almost 20% of your prefrontal cortex has rotted away. Friends and family have a negative kneejerk reaction to any mention of Good Omens related subjects. You spend most of your free time on your phone, browsing Good Omens media. The only possible cure at this point, would be a new hyperfixation. 23 - 36 points: 33 % of your total brain volume has been affected. The rot has infected almost every area, and trying to introduce any unrelated hyperfixation causes anxiety, confusion and depression. Doctors are baffled to discover that there is a fungi growing from the rot - it seems to connect with your brain, allowing for an extreme learning curve should you hyperfixate on any subject in any way related to Good Omens. If you ever wanted to read up on Shakespeare, this would be the time to do that. 36 - 48 points: 89% of your brain is affected by rot and mostly replaced by fungi - the only uninfected areas are the reptilian brain (the words 'reptilian brain' reminded you of Crowley) and the medulla, which means it hasn't affected your breathing and your instinctive reactions. You still flinch when cars almost hit you, as you wander aimlessly roadside - lost in thoughts about Good Omens. 48 - ?? points: I'm here if you need to talk. No therapist will understand this without labeling it as a severe breach with reality. (I mean, excuse me - the show is right there on Amazon Prime, it’s real.) The medical field is far behind, years and years will go by before they recognize your diagnosis; 100% fatal Good Omens brainrot. It controls your breathing, your heart rate - everything. This condition is fatal because it lasts until you die, and then you'll have a Good Omens themed funeral. 25 lazerii: How does it feel to be loved by God?

[thewhizzyhead]

So like one common theme when discussing bullying is the tendency for bullies to project their insecurities on their victims right? like them taking their own shit out on the people they bully?

so i know that may not be exaaaactly the case with Max Jagerman in Nerdy Prudes Must Die like the dude even in the afterlife just really fuckin likes terrorising the shit out of people due to his god complex BUUUUT what I found very interesting was when in the Nerdy Prudes Must Die sequence, he was telling Richie to repeat after him: "Who will pray for me when my body's gone or until another Richie comes along?" And mind you, this song comes directly after another musical sequence about all the teens in that high school being so fucking happy that Max was gone. And like, well yea you can't blame the kids for being happy that Top Terrorizer #1 is gone and that they don't have to abide by his social strata anymore - but then again, having nobody pray or give a fuck about Max after him being mysteriously missing for 2 weeks is,,kinda fucked up for Max no matter the kind of person he is. So, to see someone he victimised get the attention and appreciation I would assume Max would've wanted from his team especially after being missing for so long - it really does seem to me that he was projecting onto Richie when he was about to kill him and making him feel how little he will matter to other people when he dies - like what he could've felt after literally everyone considered the high school "objectively better" now that Max was gone.

Which makes things a whole lot more interesting when Max snaps out of his WHO WILL PRAY FOR YOU solo when Richie belts out I'M NOT A LOSER - henceforth defying the idea of worthlessness Max was projecting onto Richie. So damn.

[p1utofairy]

PAC🎱

“don't change i like the way you make me feel. can we take our time and do this for awhile?”

• what will their first impression be of you?

disclaimer ✩: 18+ mature themes. take what resonates, leave what doesn't. it's been a minute y'all <3 i've been a bit busy but here's something new to show my appreciation for the constant love and support. ILY!

PILE ONE.

hello, pile 1. i don't know why i have the urge to start your reading off so professional but i feel like your energy reads “come correct or don’t come at all.” OOO okay i respect it! i’m already picking up that your person may feel like you’re out of their league…or their friends might tease them and say that you are. ballin’ by partynextdoor is playing, “i’m out of your league, baby. baby 'cause i’m ballin' for a minute.” i can see your person watching you from a distance, you’re surrounded by your friends laughing and talking, and their friend comes up next to them and says “[Y/N] is totally out of your league!” this may not even be a friend of theirs lol this could totally just be a hater being annoying but people definitely deem you as the perfect catch. your beauty is otherworldly i’m hearing, people constantly steal glances and are in complete awe of your beauty/the way you carry yourself. majority of you that chose this pile are deeply in tune with your feminine side and you like the finer things in life. “diamonds are a girl’s best friend!” is what i’m hearing — also 7 rings by ariana grande/my favorite things from the sound of the music. yeah y’all are it girls for sure! i think they’ll be a bit intimidated and nervous to approach you at first pile 1…they'll definitely be in their head a lot. their thoughts will be so all over the place like “WHAT IF [Y/N] doesn't like me?! or WHAT IF [Y/N] doesn't give me a chance!?" lol but once they finally do muster up the courage to approach you?! it's a wrap! i think that you'll like the way that they try to woo you, it'll be different from the way other people try to get your attention. however, i think that it will take them a while to actually make a move because they fear rejection. once they get out of their own head and take the leap, they'll realize that there was no need to stress in the first place because they peaked your interest all along. they definitely see you as high-value and very classy pile 1. they'll treat you with the utmost respect and go the extra mile to court you the way that you deserve to be. they will not take you for granted. not only do they think that you’re absolutely stunning, but they also admire how you have the brains and wit to match. i also think that visually you two will look very good together, it’s giving power couple vibes. when you pop out with them heads definitely will turn cause i think y’all both match each other’s fly very well — ugh yes!

other channeled messages:

could be younger than you, mama’s boy, dream girl, g.o.a.t by eric bellinger ft. aroc, lil boo thang by paul russell, air sign venus, you make me feel so young by frank sinatra

PILE TWO.

hi pile 222! i'm ngl i keep hearing that tiktok sound of that flo milli song that goes "he speedin’ the wraith while his hand on my coochie, he touchin’ emilio pucci." LOLOLOL maybe y'all like that song or you keep seeing tiktok edits with it playing? idk that was random but i feel like it's also your vibe? you have this sultry/seductress vibe but you have such a cute face i'm hearing, i think people may not expect this from you. i’m picking up that some people project onto you a lot and have this expectation/idea of how you should be/should act which is weird…people may have started rumors about you or said you had sex with someone that you didn't. ugh you definitely have undercover haters and i'm also picking up that some of you get sexualized a lot :( you feel misunderstood a lot of the time and people don't realize that there's more to you than what meets the surface. i think that your person may hear of the rumors but won't pay them much mind…they want to get to know you for themselves. they'll think that you're very ambitious, kind-hearted and smart! you have big dreams and they admire how motivated you are to achieve them — it's inspiring to them! you have a zest for life and you know how to turn a negative into a positive, so despite what anyone has to say about you…you'll always succeed and have the last laugh. ngl this turns your person on??!?!?! OMFG I'M CRYING. your person is also very dedicated and passionate so the fact that you match their energy will have them feeling some type of wayyyyy like they want you bad pile 2. they definitely see you as the ultimate trophy like they want nobody else but you, this isn't in a superficial way either…they just love how you never fold under pressure. they love that you can hold your own and you don't need anyone to validate you, including them. they never met someone like you before pile 2, they feel like you're a rare find. like you by bow wow ft. ciara is coming to mind. YEAHHH IT'S VERY MUCH THAT.

other channeled messages:

nyc, baby it's cold outside, agora hills by doja cat, smoking weed, retail job, scorpio, fire signs (esp leo & sag), milkshake by kelis

PILE THREE.

hey pile 3! right away i’m already feeling that your person will think that you're hard to catch or too hot to handle…something along those lines. they'll feel like you’re hard to obtain, you might be very private/incognito so they don't know how to reach you. incognito in the sense that you don't post a lot on social media or you don't go out to parties/clubs much, you’re like a mystery. you value your privacy and personal space a lot (and there's nothing wrong with that) but just know this might make it a bit difficult for your person to approach you. i think that you have very high standards and you will not settle for less or compromise any of your personal needs/desires for a situation you know is not worth your time. i don't know…i feel like you might curve this person initially — you may not feel like you're in the right headspace or are in the right capacity to handle a relationship with this person at the time that they reach out or approach you. for some that chose this pile, this could be an old-flame trying to spin the block again but i don't think you'll be very receptive to the idea of giving them another chance. this person is willing to wait and give you the space that you need until you figure out if you want something more with them or not. i think you're more so focused on healing your inner child and pouring love back into yourself pile 3 which is absolutely beautiful, keep going! it's all going to work out in your favor in the long run. a similar dynamic that i pick up between you and this person is elizabeth bennett and mr. darcy from ‘pride and prejudice’ for those of you that watched the movie, you know how it took a good amount of time before they finally got together — but that slow burn/build up between them was sooooo worth it. i think that once you feel ready, this relationship will bloom into something so beautiful, passionate and intricate — something only you two will ever understand but ultimately it's up to you pile 3!

other channeled messages:

u with me? by drake, yearning for your love, long distance, passive aggressive, i made some mistakes, back and forth text messages, mind games

[littlefragmentsofagirl]

Weyes Blood's 'Titanic Rising' and A Lusting for Peace Within Ruins

In 2023, I discovered Natalie Mering's album admittedly by shazaming a track while at a cafe. Though it was during a time where I desperately needed something like it. In a world seemingly plagued by chaos and uncertainty, the pursuit of peace has become a hardship for many. People find themselves yearning for tranquility amidst the ruins of our creation. And in the mist of this longing, 'Titanic Rising,' influenced by soft rock and music from the 70's, emerges as an ode to human sentimentality and the search for solace in an ever-changing, turbulent world.

My personal favourite track "A Lot's Gonna Change", serves as the opening song for the album, immediately enveloping us in a soundscape that is both haunting and comforting. Her velvety voice, which I find to be almost Karen Carpenter-esque carries a vulnerability that is so inviting. The confrontation of the inevitability of change serves as a reminder that life is a constant flux, whether you may like it or not. The ending line "Let me change my words, show me where it hurts."  hit me insanely hard when I first listened to it. The way it encapsulates the vulnerability and empathy at the core of the song, and essentially, captures a large theme in this album: healing.

Another favourite of mine would be "Something to Believe", one of the most poignant ones, where she reflects on the struggles of navigating a society that is driven by superficiality, and the constant pursuit of external validation which is something I relate to painfully. "Give me something I can see. Something bigger and louder than the voices in me. Something to believe." These lyrics touched me in my own yearning for something greater, something that transcends life and provides a sense of purpose. In many ways, this song also reflects the broader themes of the album where she grapples with the complexities of our modern world and the longing for tranquility within it.

Ultimately, this album holds the search for a harmonious existence, genuine beliefs, and a deeper understanding of ourselves and our place in the universe which is still something I navigate in vain. And while acting as perfect music to melancholically wallow in the meaning of life within my bedroom, Weyes Blood's music has also become a vessel for me to carry through the depths of my own introspection. In that sense, it has easily become the album that means the most to me.

[cartoon-brainrot]

I posted these on Twitter one by one, but I was waiting to have the full collection to post them here!

I saw a lot of people draw the MLP as trolls, so I wanted to give it my own spin!

You’ll notice I didn’t just slot them in the main 6 genres, mostly because I just tried to find the genre that would fit them the most! As much as I love funk fluttershy or rarity, I don’t think their music style fits them <3

Fluttershy was the first one! I went with Classical-Metal, (although I debated for folk for quite some time) mostly because I thought that would suit her the most- and because she’s a metalhead in EG! Her hairstyle is taken from one of the outfits she used when she models for photo finish!

PinkiePie was so obviously Hyperpop I didn’t even think about it twice! The music, the colours, the style, the excessive accessories- it all fits her so well!

Applejack is country, I couldn’t take that from her. Just pure old country! I had some trouble with her hair, cause I wanted it to be big and poofy like Delta or Holly’s, but the first sketches weren’t quite right. I changed it at the last minute and I’m glad I did, because now I absolutely love it! And yes, her hat is more like a hairband, it’s missing the top- that’s where she slides the ponytail into!

Twilight was classical- I had no doubts from that, but I thought being a mix between techno and classical would fit her very well! I gave her a sort of gown-like tailfin, and her wings also work as extra fins! All in all, I wanted her to look like a mix between an angel and a jellyfish! Her hair is lighter because it!s always subtly glowing- and also because dark hair wouldn’t work for either classical (who have cotton candy shades) and techno (whose hair is always glowing)

Rarity is still a debate between Classical-Pop and Swing! I thought classical pop was great for her, especially because of her songs, but swing was SUCH a good style and genre for her! A lot of her outfits always have that vintage vibe, and her hairstyle reminded me of the headdresses they used in the 20s-30s!

Rainbowdash is PopRock, obviously. She has goggles for when she flies and her earrings are clear! The pop trolls are all brightly coloured so I kept the rainbow hair instead of using less colours, but I dimmed them so that she would blend in better with the rock theme!

And yes, all 6 of them have their elements on them! It’s just that they’re not all visible!

Twilight has it on her chest, Applejack and Rainbowdash have them on their belts! Pinkie pie has it on a hairclip, Rarity has it on a pin on her dress and fluttershy has it on her back!

[our-happygirl500-fan]

Something notable about the Rise version of Leo is that Rise explores Leo’s identity outside the concepts of ‘the eldest brother’ & ‘the leader’ by making Leo a middle child & giving Raph the leadership role at the start of the series.

However I feel as though similar to other versions of Leonardo, Rise Leo also struggles to find an identity for himself outside of his family.

Leo: There’s no team with just a face man! I need my brainy guy, and my smashing guy and my eats peanut butter with his fingers guy! I’m nothing without them!

In the episode Portal Jacked Leo admits that he thinks that he’s nothing without his family, showing that he defines himself by his place in his family & something else that is notable about the episode Portal Jacked is that it’s one of the first times that Leo refers to himself as ‘the face man’, which is how Leo defines his place on the team

Leo: I’m the face man, people love me

The role of ‘the face man’ is how Leo defines himself on the Mad Dogs & it is a role that Leo came up with for himself, however in the very episode where the concept of ‘the face man’ is introduced Leo basically states that the role is useless without his brothers.

When Leo says ‘there’s no team with just the face man’ what Leo’s really saying is that even when he creates a role & identity for himself it’s useless without his family there. Even though Leo isn’t the leader for most of Rise without the leadership role given to him by his family it seems that Leo will create a role for himself to define his place in his family instead.

Donnie: This is Purple Knight is everyone in position

Raph: Red King is set

Raph: Yellow Submarine are we clear?

April: Affirmative Red Rover

Another example of Leo lacking a sense of identity outside his family is whenever the Turtles try to make codenames for themselves & each other their special interests shine through.

Donnie gives his family Chess themed code names & Raph gives his family code names based off of song titles, even Mikey is able to come up with various doctor personas for himself however when Leo attempts to come up with a codename he struggles to think of anything outside the colour blue

Leo: I’m changing my code name too, uh... Blue Bluey! No... Blue... uh-

Unlike his brothers who are able to make codenames based off their own interests Leo gets stuck on the colours that were given to them by their father showing that when Leo is in a mission mindset his own interests are discarded in favour of revolving around his family

Even though Leo isn’t the ‘oldest’, Leo still seems to define his sense of self by his place in his family. If Leo can’t define himself by his position as ‘the oldest brother’ then it seems he will simply define himself by his position as ‘a brother’.

[serpentpatrol]

Astro Observation: Leo ♌ Part 1

🔎Discretion: consider zodiac signs, aspects, and placements in a birth chart as a map of the soul, it gives you direction on how to recognize its influence or impact within you, as the saying goes: "the stars impels; they don't compel". These observations also depends on degrees, houses, aspects to planets and mostly the free will of the person. Your birth chart gives you information about the pattern of how your energy plays out in the universe but in the end it's your own free will which is the one that decides on how to manage the energy.

Webtoon/Manhwa: The Remarried Empress/The Second Marriage

🦁 Leo placements (venus, moon, mars, leo in 5th house, aura in leo, leo rising, etc) have this Emperor/Empress or King/Queen presence in how they carry themselves with dignity or pride and confidence. They exudes regal and rich vibrance which cannot be easily disrespected, they would still stand tall with strong pride like the packs of lion/tigers/jaguars. This reminds me as well of Jason Momoa, he definitely looks like a Lion, King of the Jungle 👇🏻🔥

🦁 Leos placements are warm-hearted people and they love to generously give extravagance/high quality gifts or host parties to celebrate, nothing is small from what they do towards themselves and to others, it would be grand like a King or Queen celebrate annual imperial events.

🦁 Leos are the fixed fire people, so their spirit are fierce and lively (depends on their moon signs, it could vary) but most of them have strong presence so everywhere they go, people would notice them. They have leadership quality too so they could help others or groups by giving inspirative examples from whatever that they are doing. Since the Sun is their planet ruler, Sun could also symbolized as clear willpower, this could be a good inspiration for others to follow and to pridefully express their own personal identity. From my personally POV, "Being unapologetically myself and I stand proud of it!!!" would be the right motto for these Leos.

🦁 Theme song for Leo placements (Leo Rising, Leo in 10th House, Leo MC, Leo Mars, Leo Venus) that I kept visualizing is "Fresh Out The Oven" from JLO (a Leo Woman). From my perspective, having alll those gold jewelleries she wore from earrings, necklace, bracelets, the outfit and shoes, and the nails art too were very typical Leo fashion style. Two other examples of Leo woman I know who both have Leo Sun and Leo Moon (basically Leo Stellium) are Evis Xheneti (Munky's wife, Munky is the bassist from KoRn music group) and Cinta Laura Kiehl (an Indonesian Actress/Music Artist/Philanthropist).

🦁 Leo women I noticed have this sharp fingernails 'claws' and they could have strong arms when physically fighting with someone else, even though the hands or fingers may seem soft but they still have that strong tiger like strength.

🦁 Besides the claws, LOOK AT THE JAWLINE, SO PROMINENT, SO SHARP IT COULD SLICE YOU LIKE A SHARP KNIFE LOL 🔥🔪. I notice Leo women have strong or prominent jawline, and if they could or like to dress themselves and do make up, they would look like cover models, literally all Leo women. But Leo men, they would look primal (the vibe mostly) in every occassion (formal or non-formal) like Viking soldiers or Genghis Khan, or even like those men who wore war outfits.

©SerpentPatrol

[sugar-grigri]

2. Protest: between the author's cynicism and the antagonist's emergence

Fujimoto once again tests you as a reader

Why? Because this chapter requires you to pay as much attention to the foreground as to the background

Yes, hello headache, but now I need you to follow me…….

First of all, I see it as cynicism. The only thing that would make me laugh is if I thought Fujimoto was teasing us.

How and why? Because the church in Chainsaw Man is us. Victims of CSM (who belong to the work), and young people, students who don't always have the right to vote, who come out of curiosity (the fans) fighting bloody battles against the communities.

Come on, Fujimoto follows the networks

Like his OS, but especially Just listen to the song, it's about the relationship between a work, its author and its audience.

I think Fujimoto relishes the debates and arguments on Twitter and other networks.

Fujimoto follows them as much as he suffers them, acclaimed by critics and his own, adored by his fans, he is also the target of threats and hatred.

Whether it's from those who hate his work or those who adore it but can't forgive him for making them suffer.

Fujimoto is as much a figure of protest as Chainsaw Man.

And he's there in the shadows like Denji

But it's not just a wink, and then we get more serious

The protest in the background is just as important as the foreground

Denji and Yoshida are shown as much as the crowd, with the cut-out swapping places between background and foreground. As if Fujimoto were placing them in the same position of importance.

Why ?

First of all, this chapter proves that NO, Yoshida is not up to the task of being the antagonist

who could be the antagonist then?

Where ? Who ? We're a bit confused... well yeah, it was easy to understand that Makima was the antagonist

Not only do we kind of forget that it wasn't that easy to know she was the antagonist, the revelation that she was a demon came very, very late, as did what she was really capable of doing

In CSM the real antagonist is present from the start, and then appears more clearly

Fujimoto likes to use this process to make his work chilling, to encourage you to reread while seeing the chapters take shape under a different light.

SO WHO'S THE ANTAGONIST?

Chainsaw man himself or, (confirming my theory again), Fake! ChainsawMan

To put it simply, since part 2, Fujimoto has shown that Chainsaw Man is controversial, both adored and feared.

This fear would naturally give rise to a Fake!Chainsaw Man demon, whose aim would be to increase its power by maximizing people's fear of Chainsaw Man.

Now let's take a step back. Nostradamus' prophecy is about to come true. Fami's goal is to prevent this apocalypse (for pizza). But this prophecy, as Yoshida knew about it and got in touch with Fami, shows that public safety is aware of the danger.

So why do we want Chainsaw Man to disappear? Would Public Security abandon humanity? Hardly imaginable.

I've given it some thought, and here's the plan as I imagine it.

An alliance has been formed between Fami and Public Security, to take control of Chainsaw Man. Not an absolute alliance, I imagine, but the two groups have common interests.

Both groups need a champion to face this apocalypse.

The fact is, Chainsaw Man is getting weaker.

Turning a demon into a hero who is close to humans means that part of the population no longer fears him, so his power falls proportionally.

Chainsaw Man can't face the apocalypse now.

The solution is to separate Chainsaw and Man. Literally.

When Yoshida invites Denji to live quietly, it's so that he can literally retire.

To make way for whom? Bingo. Fake!CSM

So why do they want CSM to disappear? Why so much emphasis on Haruka and the worship of Chainsaw Man's church?

Nothing creates greater fear than giving people a hero and then suddenly taking him away. We're back to another of CSM's key themes: necessary evil.

If, overnight, CSM no longer appeared to fight the demons, then the world would be in disarray. And fear would increase... giving power to the secretly chosen champion.

A champion... who only appears before dawn. At the very last moment.

The existence of Chainsaw Man leads to clashes, increased tensions and dissent.

His disappearance, meanwhile, will lead to a consensus: the despair of a humanity with no so-called protection.

Nostradamus' prophecy is not simply a prophecy announcing the apocalypse, but a plan that has been in front of us all along.

To be saved, humanity must descend into chaos.

If you want to better understand my theory about Fake!CSM :

[romanticaacore]

This fic was inspired by the song "My Way of Life" by Frank Sinatra. I first thought of giving this to Jing Yuan because I can also see him in this theme but I couldn't resist Tartaglia. I'm just trapped under his spell. He is my whole world...!! ♥️

"You're not just going to leave me here like this, are you?"

The man would come and find you every single day and would always keep you company. You did everything in your power to keep him at bay, to throw some weak excuse that you were busy. Heavens, there were times when you would flat out tell him that you did not want to be with him.

Tartaglia was a man who appreciated honesty. He valued good and true communication, he did not have the time and patience when it came to mind games, especially when it came towards the things and people that mattered to him.

And against his better judgment, you had managed to carve yourself deep into his heart. He did not understand how or why it happened, it just did. It was cruel, how you avoided him. It felt as though you grabbed a sharp blade and stabbed him straight into his chest, the air being knocked out of lungs every single time you would reject his advances.

But what stung most of all was the fact that you were as a matter of fact, not honest with him.

He could tell that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. If you truly wished to do nothing with him, you would be much harsher towards him. He knew you were not a pushover, you could take care of yourself and yet he still wished to take care of you. The lingering touches, the longing gazes, the way in which your hand fit so perfectly in his own was otherworldly. You were made specifically for him and him only. He could not have crafted a person so perfect, someone who both satisfies and calms him.

Someone who makes him feel human.

Reaching out towards you Tartaglia took your wrist and held it close. He pressed the palm of your hand against his chest, straight against his heart and he kept you there, his blue eyes piercing your own.

You belonged to him. He belonged to you.

He cursed the fact that he was a Harbinger. If he was not in the Fatui, he was sure that the two of you would already be together. That was the only reason you avoided him, the fear of being associated with someone like him was too great.

And he could not fault you for that.

Salty tears clouded your vision as you stared at the handsome man, his back straight like the soldier that he was. Everything about him was prim and proper, but in a deadly way, like a weapon ready for the bloodiest battle.

"You are a killer." you said, voice quivering and yet still giving into his touch.

"I am." he confessed. There was no point in denying it, he could not hide anything from you.

He did not want to hide anything. Not anymore.

Standing before you was not Tartaglia, Childe, the 11th Fatui Harbinger. In this very sacred moment he laid himself for you, his soul and heart bared completely for you and no one else. He was being selfish, so horribly selfish. But damn it all, he wanted you. His ambitions were sky high but he could not give you up.

He did not want anyone else by his side. It was going to be either you or no one.

His lips hovered over your own, threatening to steal the many kisses he promised to claim a long time ago.

You were not sure if you could stop him.

"You are not a creature capable of such love."

"I can learn. For you."

There it was, that horrible confidence, dare you say arrogance even. Who did he think he is? How dare he do this to you - waltzing in your life and staking his claim to your heart? You wanted to slap him, to kick him, to show him just how angry you were. You wanted to cry and yell and to kiss him. You wanted to leave him breathless, to make him ache for you but was it worth it? To leave everything you knew, your whole life behind to go see the world with this man, this glorious, wonderful man?

Knowing him, he would take your beating without any complaints.

It was hard to be in love. But it was even harder to love a man like him.