#you can discuss multiple things/types of things

[xxplastic-cubexx]

what is your favorite thing about charles and your favorite thing about erik? separately, as in what you like most about their characters :]

a devious question this one is, my friend!!! it's hard enough for me to explain my thoughts cohesively, but having to pick ONE thing i particularly love is difficult. with characters like charles and erik, theres been so much done with their characters over the decades and so they have so many components to them that make them so interesting and fun to observe. BUT I TRY FOR YOU TODAY. under the cut i kinda ramble and the size of this text box makin me anxious

i think if i were to be simple and broad, what i enjoy most about charles is his determination to help others, even if he isn't really thanked and/or if people don't even like him. ofc, this isn't to say he hasn't done wrong- to be honest, the fact he does wrong/questionable things at times is another aspect of him i really enjoy, maybe because- broadly speaking- he's meant to be altruistic (intent vs outcome and all that). i don't know if that's super exciting to most people, but it is for me

as for erik, my reason for liking him is easier to explain tbh. To Be Simple And Broad, his progression from villain to antihero over the decades has been fun to observe (as much as i have so far anyhow) and analyze. i think to be a bit more specific, him using his rage and pain as justifications for his villainous actions is definitely what compels me the most: hurt people hurt and the sort, an idea i've always found interesting (something something vicious cycles and the like). yet now, he recognizes this wasn't really. A Just Thing To Do and is beginning to change that, which i enjoy

[whisperedmeg]

NAILED IT ⋆˚꩜｡ spencer reid x girlfriend!reader

summary: spencer’s been away too long, your nails are too long, and you’re getting a little desperate. good thing he’s always happy to lend a helping hand.

genre: fluff, smut | w/c: 2.1k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, spencer calls reader sweetheart & sweet girl & angel, hand/finger/nail kink, masturbation (f; only attempted/discussed), fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, spencer cums in his pants lol, no use of y/n

a/n: based on anon’s request! loved this idea so much. couldn’t help making spencer the ultimate super whipped boyfriend lmao. enjoy! 💅🏼😉 p.s. if you zoom in on the far left photo you’ll see my sad photoshop attempt at the manicure I described lmao

You send Spencer the photo just before sunset.

It’s nothing fancy — just your hand resting on your thigh, fresh from the nail salon, skin still warm from the hot towel they wrap your hands in at the end of your appointment. The polish is indigo, with little gold stars forming teeny tiny constellations on each nail. They catch in the light when you move. You know he’ll appreciate that. You type out a quick caption and hit send.

You: new favorite set?

His response is almost instant, a flurry of three successive messages:

Spence: How do your hands keep getting more beautiful?

Spence: Also. Yes. Definitely a new favorite.

Spence: Wish I was there.

You stare at the screen, thumb hovering, debating what to send next. You want to say something clever — something flirty or offhand or designed to make him blush a little in public — but instead you just type:

You: come home soon, please

—

The TV hums low in the background, something forgettable you haven’t really been paying close attention to. You sit in the quiet for a while, curled into the couch like it might hold you tighter if you’re still enough. Outside, the sky is bruised and soft and growing darker by the minute. You keep staring at your hands.

Spencer always pays for your manicures. It wasn’t your idea — the first time you mentioned how expensive a full set was, he’d looked almost offended on your behalf and insisted you let him cover it from now on.

“Let me. You’re not just getting them done for you,” he’d said. “You’re also getting them done for me.”

And it’s kind of true. Spencer loves to watch your hands when you talk, like there’s a whole language he’s learning just from your fingers. He traces your knuckles during movies, plays with your rings when you’re standing in line, thumbs over the backs of your hands while you read, threads your fingers through his and presses them down into the mattress when he’s on top of you. He holds them like they’re precious artifacts. Like they’re rare.

You’d gotten this set done a few days after he left for a case out in Denver, and much to both of your chagrin, it ended up being a bad one that would keep him in Colorado for much longer than expected. You hadn’t realized how much of a problem your new nails would be until later that night, when you were wound tight and lonely and craving something warm and familiar. You’d lit a candle. Touched yourself under the blanket. Tried to make it quick.

But it hadn’t worked. You’d scratched yourself twice and gotten the angle wrong three times, and by the time you gave up, your whole body felt edged and annoyed.

You’ve tried again since. Twice, each attempt more frustrating than the last. You can’t say it out loud — I can’t get myself off because my nails are too long — without feeling ridiculous, so you don’t tell Spencer when he calls you each night from the hotel.

You press your hands between your thighs and exhale slowly, willing the ache to dull.

It doesn’t. You know it won’t.

Not until Spencer’s back, not until his hands are on you again, not until you can tell him in person how frustrated you’ve been — half-ashamed, half-hoping he’ll find it as ridiculous and kind of hot as you suspect he might.

But for now, you just sit with it.

The polish catches the light. The stars on your fingers shimmer. And you wait.

—

After a long ten days without him, Spencer finally calls you from the jet to let you know he was landing and would be at your apartment soon. You barely say anything on the call — just a soft “okay, baby,” because anything more might unravel you with want. The line goes quiet for a moment until he says he misses you, and you say it back, and then the silence stretches again like it always does when neither of you wants to hang up first. Eventually, he does. Reluctantly.

You don’t move until you hear footsteps approaching the door.

He lets himself in with the key you gave him months ago and drops his go-bag to the floor. You rise slowly from the couch and walk to the entryway, taking in how his messy curls framing his forehead, suit jacket slouched and travel-wrinkled, dark circles beneath his eyes like parentheses around something unsaid. You can see how the case wore on him, the heaviness of whatever weight he’s left carrying even after it’s over. But the second he sees you, his posture softens.

You don’t say anything at first. You just meet him where he stands and wind your arms around his waist.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath since he left.

“Hi,” you murmur.

He hums it back into your shoulder. “Hi.”

You stay like that for a while, his arms tightening around your back and his lips pressed to the side of your neck, like he needs to confirm you’re really here — still warm and real and his.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to look down at your hands.

“Let me see.”

You raise them instinctively, fingers spread. You watch his expression shift — first curious, then sweet, then something that edges towards arousal before he tamps it down with a swallow.

His thumb grazes over your ring finger. “These are… unreal.”

“You picked the design,” you remind him with a soft smile. “Sort of.”

“I told you I like stars. I didn’t realize you’d get a whole galaxy just for me.”

You shrug. “You pay, I impress.”

He smiles and lifts your hand to his mouth, kissing each fingertip like a habit. You feel those kisses everywhere.

“How was the flight?”

“Fine,” he says as he shrugs his jacket off. “Mostly. There was some turbulence. I didn’t sleep.”

You nod, even though he doesn’t need a response. The closeness is enough.

But when he leans in to press his forehead to yours, when he closes his eyes and exhales like the hard part’s over, you don’t relax the way you normally would. You’re warm, and full, and grateful he’s home, but there’s still something tight in your chest. In your belly. Lower.

He senses it instantly.

His hands still at your waist. His brow furrows just enough. “What is it?”

You hesitate. You could lie, say you’re just tired or overworked or don’t feel well. But the truth is sharp behind your teeth and strangely tender at the same time.

“I’ve just been a little… frustrated,” you say.

He stills. “Frustrated how?”

You glance down at your nails, then back up at him.

“I, um, got them done right after you left. They’re a lot longer and pointier than usual. I didn’t think it would be a big deal, but I haven’t…” You gesture vaguely. “Been able to… you know.”

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. “You haven’t been able to… to touch yourself, this whole time?”

You shrug, embarrassed. “It’s harder with longer nails. Awkward. I gave up. Maybe I should just give in and buy a vibrator.”

His mouth opens, then closes as he processes the words. “You waited?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t mean to,” you say quickly. “This isn’t, like, a guilt trip or something. I don’t want you to feel guilty.”

He blinks. “No, no, I’m not feeling guilty, I’m feeling… lucky.” Then quieter: “And, okay, maybe a little like a negligent boyfriend.”

You smile, a little sheepish. “Not at all. You were out solving murders. That takes precedence.”

“I would’ve solved them faster had I known.”

You laugh, and he wraps you tighter into his chest.

After a pause, his voice comes low, reverent. “Let me fix it,” he murmurs. His fingers tighten at your waist, and his eyes don’t move from yours. “Come on.”

He walks you backward to the bedroom, his palm warm over the back of your neck like he’s trying to keep you grounded. He kisses you once before you sit back against the pillows, and again after — soft, open-mouthed — as he settles between your legs.

“You sure?” you whisper, even though you already know the answer. “You’re probably so tired. It can wait, really. I’m fine.”

He huffs a breath against your collarbone like it’s laughable. “You, my sweet girl, are not fine. You’ve been walking around like this for over a week. Of course I’m sure. Let me do this for you, please.”

You lean back on your elbows as he lifts your shirt and kisses the newly bared skin, slow and thorough. The reverence in his hands makes your stomach tighten. Like he’s not just touching you for the sake of it — he’s reacquainting himself. Like he missed you with his whole being.

As he peels your underwear down, his gaze catches on the shimmer of your nail polish again.

He parts your thighs slowly. Kisses the crease of your hip before shifting again to kiss your jaw. And then, with a careful breath, he drags two fingers between your folds and lets out the softest, most ruined sound you’ve ever heard him make.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “You’re soaked.”

You want to say yeah, no shit, Sherlock, I told you I’ve been frustrated, but then his fingers dip in and curl just right and your mouth goes completely slack.

He watches your face like he’s cataloging it. Each shift of your expression, every twitch of your hips. He keeps his fingers slow, consistent — long strokes that press deep and purposeful, curved just slightly until your thighs start to tremble.

“You’re so tight,” he breathes. “So wet, sweetheart. You needed this.”

You nod, helpless. “Spencer—”

“I know.” His thumb moves to your clit, light and rhythmic. “Let me take care of it. I’ve got you.”

The build is fast — shamefully fast. You’d almost be embarrassed over how fast it is if it wasn’t for how sure you are that Spencer loves it. His fingers never stutter, never pause, and when he leans forward and kisses you again, you whimper his name.

“Come for me,” he says, soft and certain. “That’s it, angel. Want to feel you come around my fingers.”

And you do.

Your hips jerk forward, mouth releasing a sound you barely recognize as your own, and you feel yourself clench. He slows the pressure and rides the rhythm through it, eyes locked on yours until you collapse back against the mattress, gasping.

But Spencer? Spencer doesn’t stop. He simply adjusts, changes his position, presses a few kisses to your stomach. Then lower. Lower.

You jolt when you feel his mouth over your center.

“Spencer—oh, fuck.”

He looks up at you from between your thighs, curls already messy, mouth flushed.

“Put your hands in my hair,” he says, voice low. “I know it’s what you’ve been waiting for.”

You groan. “You’re such a cocky—”

He licks a slow stripe through you before you can finish the statement, and your back arches clean off the bed.

His fingers stay inside you — deep, curling just right — and his mouth covers your clit with obscene dedication. Tongue and lips and hands and pressure so steady it borders on unbearable. Your second orgasm builds sharper, thinner, a frayed wire stretched between nerve endings. Your thighs start to shake again and he presses in deeper, sucks a little harder, moans loudly against you when your nails graze his scalp.

You feel it in your whole body — his hunger. His focus. The way he wants this for you more than anything. You’re not even sure if you’re breathing.

“I’m—” you start, but you can’t get the warning out in time. Besides, he already knows.

You come again with a cry that tears out of your throat, and this time it overwhelms you — your body writhing, hands pulling at Spencer’s hair hard enough to make him groan. You’re too lost in the moment to notice how lost he is alongside you.

And then, as your limbs shake and your head falls back to the pillow, you hear a low, choked sound that didn’t come from you.

You glance down, dazed.

Spencer’s still between your legs, breathing heavy. He looks completely boneless, cheeks red, eyes half-lidded and glazed, limbs trembling a little, a combination of his sweat and your slick glistening on his skin. Then it hits you — you’ve seen that face before.

“Did you just…” You blink at him. “Spence, did you just come in your pants?”

He rests his forehead against your thigh and nods, clearly trying to catch his breath, clearly a little embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to.”

You start to giggle. It bubbles up through your chest, soft and stunned and fond beyond belief. “Oh my god, you totally humped the bed. Does getting me off really turn you on that much?”

He groans again, this time in embarrassment, but he’s smiling. “You were… god, you were just so perfect. And the way you pulled my hair and scratched my head… What was I supposed to do, not lose my mind?”

You smile and comb your fingers through his hair again, gentler now, your nails grazing his scalp. He hums.

“So,” you murmur, “would it be cruel to say I might keep my nails like this a little longer?”

Spencer kisses your inner thigh, still breathless. “Cruel? No. Cruel would be not letting me do this every time you need it.”

—

At some point you end up tangled sideways across the mattress, half under the covers, one of his legs still dangling off the edge.

Spencer’s cheek is pressed to your hip, his eyes fluttering closed every few seconds, hair mussed beyond recognition. You’ve managed to wriggle your underwear back on — barely — but he hasn’t made any attempt to move.

“You good?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over the crown of his head.

“Mmhmm.”

“You sure about that? You came in your pants and then passed out,” you tease.

“I did not pass out,” he mumbles. “I’m resting. You’re comfortable.”

You smile and let your nails trace gently over his scalp again. He hums.

“You really missed this, huh?”

He opens one eye, gaze lazy and warm. “I missed you.”

His sincerity hits you. Your cheeks heat up, and you manage a soft hum in response — your chest is a little too full to find the words to speak properly.

He finally shifts, crawling up beside you and nuzzling into your neck. You wrap your arms around him and let your nails scratch lightly at the base of his skull, just enough to make him shiver.

“Seriously, though,” he says, barely a whisper now. “Keep your nails long like this. Please? I’ll take care of you.”

You kiss his hair.

“Anything you want, Spence.”

ᝰ.ᐟ

masterlist

PSA: likes do very little for promoting posts on tumblr! if you'd like to support a fic, please reblog!

[dellieghtful]

LADS: Period Pain Simulator

🍓A/N: Yeah, I'm on my period too~ hope this can bring in a good laugh or two. This will be my bare minimum effort for the week since I have work tomorrow lol this is the fastest thing I was able to finish 2nite

SYNPOSIS: Period pain and men. That's it.

📍characters: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb (Separate) Looking to get notfied? Tag yourself here!

XAVIER

Actually volunteers to try it out to better understand how it goes for you during your monthly visit.

"This is actually fine". He says, before you crank up the pain at the highest level, there you could see Xavier succumbing to the pain, going all out on all fours on the floor. Gripping the area near his stomach, gasping out in pain. "Holy fucking shit!" He groans out, attempting to stand up by grabbing the edge of the chair before he stumbles over a non-existent bump on the floor and falls face-first on the floor.

Prefers to either crawl on all fours or drag his body from point A to point B because of the pain. You asked multiple times if he was okay but Xavier only responded: "Crank it up, I can take it".

He in fact, could not take it and ended up passing out on the floor and waking up to find himself on your couch with a pillow under his head and a blanket over his body.

"You know, you didn't have to go through it". You said, his head now resting against your lap as you comb through his very soft and messy hair.

"I did it so I could understand your pain. I don't want you to suffer all that and not get the comfort you deserve." He says, looking up at you as he holds your hand firmly against his chest. "I'll work hard to do more for you." He promises, placing a kiss against your hand.

"That's so sweet, you definitely deserve a good treat for all your trouble," you commented as you reached out to grab your phone. "I hope Charlie's bakery is open, we can have him deliver those cookies you like".

Xavier's smile twitches and slowly forms into a frown. He hated to admit it but Charlie's cookies are good and he definitely needed the comfort food after the hell he just went through. Xavier made sure to make a mental note to sneak into Charlie's bakery and nab his cookie recipes to make some for you during your period week.

ZAYNE

Being a doctor grants him the knowledge of understanding your monthly cycle and struggles so, being given the opportunity to actually try out the simulator was a chance for him to actually better understand how it affect the human body.

At first, everything was fine. The first two settings were tolerable and then he decided to crank it up a bit, that's where Zayne started to feel the actual roller coaster ride of hell.

Just to make matters worse, Greyson entered his office to discuss a new case they were expected to dive into in a few days.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Greyson asks, lifting his gaze from the documents and eyeing Zayne with much concern.

Zayne who was clearly uncomfortable with the hell he inflicted upon himself, stands at a very awkward position, with his hand on his couch holding for support and another attached to his hip in hopes adding pressure would somehow ease the pain.

"Never better". He responds with a tight smile. That same day, he came home to you with flowers of your favorite type and bags of your favorite meal. When you asked what it was all about, Zayne could only respond by pulling you in a tight hug and peppering you with the sweetest and softest kisses all over.

RAFAYEL

He passes out and doesn't make it pass through the first setting.

Cuddles you non-stop after waking up from his pain-induced experience.

Rafayel was basically attached to you like a newborn Koala, refusing to let go. "Come on Rafayel. I have work in a few minutes". You whine as you try to untangle yourself from Rafayel.

He whines and continues to grip your waist tighter as he sprawled himself on your couch like an octopus, trying to weigh you down.

"No! That was like hell for me, how much more would it be for you? Stay at home and let me take care of you, just this time". And when I tell you, Rafayel gives out the sweetest and cutest pout you'd ever seen, it's hard to say no to such sweet face.

With your leave for the day granted, Rafayel wasted no time in ordering you all your favourite meals and giving you all the kisses and cuddles he could offer before it was his turn to get all the cuddling and babying treatment from you.

SYLUS

A lot stronger than you think, he actually could handle the pain even if it was nearing the highest. But you could definitely tell he was about curl up any moment.

Sighing, you get up from your seat and walk towards him, wrapping your arms from behind and bring him closer to your body with your head resting upon his.

Sylus, suprised by your sudden gesture could only put out a small smile on his lips as he gently flips through the files he was so intrigued on reading.

"You know, you could call it quits and we can go out for some good seafood". You commented, hugging him a little tighter.

"And let you gloat about how I can't handle pain? Please. There are many things that I face on a daily, this is just a little bump on a road of trials". He comments, pulling you a little closer to him because whether he would admit it or not, your warmth and all that you are were enough to drive the pain away.

That same night, he burns the pain simulator to ashes, out of sight, out of mind

CALEB

Crumbles to the floor as you hit the highest setting on the simulator, groaning and panting on the floor as he tries to rub his stomach to ease the pain.

"Between getting shot and this, I'd choose getting shot any day". Caleb says, as he curls into a fetal position before changing forms and rolling himself on the floor like a log.

Doesn't pass out but chooses to drag his body from point A to B across the apartment, you could actually see him crawling towards the couch before collapsing on the floor with a loud thud.

Not long after, Caleb rips off the simulator from his body and pulls your body onto the couch for a long cuddle. "That shit was nasty, I can't believe that happens to you monthly!".

Afterwards, Caleb decided to make your day as special as he could. He pampered with all the things you could ever want and need because he cares for you that much. "I'll make sure to make it easier for you each day." He promises to you and he always kept his promises, making sure to fulfill your every request without complaint.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Hard Launching ∘°∘♡∘°∘

Summary: lando and y/n wanted to hard launch their relationship after dating secretly for a while. lando finds the perfect way to do so.

☘ ln x reader ✧˖*°࿐

☘ fluff + humour ✧˖*°࿐

masterlist ☾☼

lando and y/n had been discussing for a while about hard launching their relationship. they had managed to keep it out of the media for an entire season, but the media liked to paint lando as a villain, in more ways than one. not only were they attacking his skills on track, they began collecting pictures of lando with women, no matter how many years ago, and publishing them with articles about him being a womanizer.

the funniest ones were the pictures of lando and her sister out on some bonding time. reading those articles always made y/n laughed, and she would be lying if she said that she didn’t have them bookmarked in her browser for a pick me up when she was having a bad day.

at first, they had thought of doing a simple post with a cheesy caption. enough to let the fans knows that he was off the market again. but, it also felt kind of boring, and that was not lando or y/n’s style.

they discussed it for weeks, looking at different social media websites for inspiration, until it struck lando. scrolling through instagram, he’d found the perfect way to hard launch his relationship with his girlfriend.

when y/n asked him, he said, “you’ll just have to wait like the rest of the world, my love. but, i know you’re going to love it.”

y/n waited, just like he had told her to. she waited for two months, until one day, in the middle of her work, she received the instagram notification of lando posting and tagging her. this was the moment, y/n thought.

opening instagram, she found a reel, instead of a post or a story like she assumed. quickly, wearing her airpods, y/n clicked on the reel, increasing the volume in the background.

the reel opened with someone recording lando as he walked, head down and concentrated. the person recording said, “excuse me, what are you listening to right now?”

lando took out one of his airpods, and said, “my girlfriend yapping,” and then walked away.

the reel immediately cut to different instances of y/n talking and lando patiently listening. they were all sped up videos, and y/n watched her animated hands as she ranted, and lando listening, changing his position every so often. the music in the background was a lively, jaunty sound, and it fit so well with the reel.

there were a series of videos, from their home, from the paddock, from conference rooms where they were waiting for zak, or even from the gym where lando worked out, and y/n basically followed him, still talking his ear off. there were multiple videos of them on facetime as well, or screenshots of their hour - hour and half long conversations.

y/n laughed. it truly was the perfect way for lando to hard launch their relationship. it described them perfectly, if she did say so herself.

scrolling through the comments, she saw a lot of fans crying that he was a taken man now. she saw some saying things like, “this is the realest representation of a relationship.” there were some hate comments too, but they were stupid, so she ignored them.

she commented on the post as well, typing, “wait till i send you a 20 minute voice note on my lunch break” to which lando immediately responded with, “can’t wait, i got my airpods and my phone fully charged”

y/n laughed again, opening her text messaging app, and sending a quick “i love you this was perfect” to her boyfriend.

·̩̩̥͙＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊·̩̩̥͙

hi! i hope you guys enjoyed this! it came to me while i was driving to college! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @anamiad00msday

i'd love your support! https://ko-fi.com/kavi2305

[theorphicangel]

tuning in for sukuna sunday :p would love to see possibly an argument with kuna that ends in him sleeping on the couch. can be angst fluff or anything rly 🙂‍↔️🫶

hiiiiiii!! thank you so much for submitting a sukuna sunday thought!! arghhh i loved writing this, i missed writing for grumpy kuna <3333

hope u enjoy!!

it's been back and forth since this morning.

sukuna doesn't know if you woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning or if his dream self must have pissed you off but you really have it out for him.

you nitpick at his clothes strewn across the apartment, the way he leaves his breakfast dish in the sink all day, how he always asks you where he's left his keys before he leaves for work which leads to a whole rummage. every. single. day.

you snap and your agitation (which is rare) makes him equally as angry causing the two of you to throw words at each other like knives. you both end up showing late to work which pisses you both off even more.

after a couple of hours sukuna makes the grave mistake of thinking that the argument was behind him. it was stupid. petty even. and it was way too early in the morning to even discuss or take seriously. hell, he can't even remember how it started in the first place.

it's stupid and by the time he returns home you'll have forgotten about it and go back to normal.

right?

wrong. now that mistake leaves sukuna staring at the living room ceiling feeling like a dickhead. upon reflection he realises that he should have taken your words much more seriously. the last words that you said to him before leaving for work this morning.

'oh. and you're sleeping on the couch tonight.'

'like hell i am, woman' he had replied with but by then you were already half way out of the door.

but you were smart enough to return home before him and lock yourself in the bedroom so he had no choice but to resort to the couch. he was tired. sweaty. and angry. the worst three combinations to experience.

he had waited until midnight thinking that you would at least come out for something. food. water. shout at him. but alas you never emerged. he watched the beige door and it's golden knob waiting for a twist or the sound of a lock but it never came.

sure he heard you shuffling around or coughing and occasionally laughing at something stupid on your phone. from this he concludes that you're still alive locked in with your favourite snacks and whatnot.

you're living the life of luxury in your king-sized bed and sukuna resorts to...

whatever the hell this is.

his calves hang over on the armrest, the blanket barely covers his chest, there's something digging in his back, the pillows aren't comfortable enough for his head and if he even shifts a limb he knows he's tipping off entirely.

and of course the last thing that sets him off is not being able to find the remote for the tv so he can't even distract himself with his favourite show and finding multiple popcorn kernels instead.

that gives sukuna enough rage to rise up and head to the bedroom door. he gives three loud knocks, uncaring if you've already drifting off to sleep.

'oi. i'm sick of this shit. whatever you want i'll do it.... just let me back in to sleep.'

no response.

sukuna pauses to see if he can make out your light snores but he hears nothing. so you're definitely awake.

he knocks again with a heavy fist. he's tired and he knows you are too. 'i know you're trying to be petty but i don't even remember what we were arguing about it was stupid.'

still no response.

maybe he's saying the wrong thing. if anything you're the type to want sukuna to do the impossible (which is to take responsibility for his actions) and with a sigh sukuna muses over his words and runs a hand over his forehead.

' okay, i do remember. i was stupid and i was wrong and bla bla bla okay? whatever you want i'll do. you win. you hearing me or what?'

he hears a slight shuffle behind the door.

so he is getting somewhere.

'i'll do anything, baby, just let me in and sleep with you.'

sukuna perks up at the sound of another shuffle. before too long he hears the sound of your voice. 'so you'll do anything?'

it takes sukuna a couple swallows before he replies. fuck, he knows he's basically making a deal with the devil. 'yes i'll do anything.'

anything to not have his back ache and his pillows propped up properly and the sheets covering him properly and of course...the comfort of being next to you.

there's a long pause as you ponder over his words and it takes all of Sukuna's patience to not to break the damn door down himself.

'so you'll buy me food?'

'brat i do that shit anyways.'

'oh okay, so what i'm hearing is that you don't want to come back in?'

'i'll do that.' he replies.

'and you'll clean the house by yourself for a month.'

sukuna groans.

'two months.' you add on and sukuna learns to shut up.

'whatever.'

and finally sukuna hears sweet victory. the sound of a door unlocking. as he expected you were standing there all fluffed up in your comfy clothes and blankets while he was shivering out in the cold ass living room.

he moves to enter but you block his path. sukuna holds in another groan before you change your mind about letting him in.

with beaming eyes and a sweet smile as if you hadn't terrorised his entire day today you ask for a favour.

'can i have a kiss first?'

'you and your greedy ass.' he mutters but he leans down and peppers your lips with a kiss anyways.

[quarterlifekitty]

net meet cute

aka: how they start cyberstalking you. Some of these are more on the innocent side, some are slightly more intense.

Gaz sees you pop up in the people you may know section. He most certainly doesn't know you, but you are his type. As it turns out, you have some ridiculously distant relation of people that leads to his circle of connections (you're like his sister's college roommate's wedding photographer's cousin or something). But that one little tether is enough to make him feel tugged.

Soap started following you for your artwork. He follows anyone who even remotely interests him, and he liked what you made. You become a name he looks forward to on his feed-- he feels a bit parasocial about it, he knows your body of work so well now. And one day, he sees you share a post you were tagged in: It's a photo of you with another artist, both holding up the pieces you'd made to trade each other at a convention. He'd known you were talented, he didn't realize you were gorgeous as well.

Ghost sees you in the background of a video Soap shows him. Some disgusting display where people are trying to identify liquids they're drinking. When it's your turn, your face twists and you stick out your tongue, a little patch dyed umber from the soy sauce you'd sipped. He does a little detective work, finds you have a tiny little channel of your own. Nothing with a consistent schedule, clearly just a hobby, but there are a few videos of you restoring old toys, repainting dolls faces and things like that-- usually just showing your hands, but he finds your voice so soothing and you work with such delicate precision. Pretty soon he's obsessed with you, and fantasizing about ending up on your work table.

Price has very few reasons to surf online, but he does have a guilty pleasure: r/AITA. He loves a bit of tabloid level gossip now and again, and its the perfect place for it. He can see the world's most delusional people hard at work. His favorite ones are when both sides are clearly deranged and meant for each other. But then he sees you, posting about your shitty boyfriend, and all too willing to take the blame for the sorry state of things. And he finds himself rather keen on showing you how girls like you ought to be treated, as well as kicking your current man in the teeth.

I've mentioned this before, but I think König meets you in an online game. At first, you never speak on the microphone, and he doesn't either, but you're quite good, and your playstyle compliments his rather well. So he sends you a friend request on a whim, you accept it, playing a few rounds before turning on the party-only voice chat. And once he can hear you when you thank him for tanking damage, or targeting a player who'd been flanking, or pinging a pick-up for you, he's cooked. Looking you up on every social, trying desperately to find pictures of you, because he's sure you'll be as pretty as you sound.

Nikolai find you on a movie review website. He watches movies by the dozen when he gets some time off, but he's admittedly a little bereft of discussion partners, so review suit him fine. He typically disagrees with most of them, partially because he's naturally a contrarian, partially because the majority of online reviews are made by casual watchers and not lifelong cinephiles. And he comes across you, having written one of the only full, multiple-paragraph reviews for the obscure little number he'd just watched. And it straight up made him smile. Your review was punchy, funny, addressed multiple areas including the score, cinematography, casting, and costuming, and he agreed with a surprising portion of it. What he didn't agree with, he was intrigued by. He looks at your page to see what else you've written. You've seen and shared thoughts on many of his favorites, but quite a few things he's never seen, as well. He ends up watching them all, and feels a certain perverse excitement when it comes time to read another review, like he's a teenager taking you on a third date. Before long he's wondering where you are, if you go to the cinema. If they have non-hostile airspace.

Nikto finds you on the staff of some insanely obscure wiki/ID forum. Like, you help run a website/blog that's devoted exclusively to soviet era stuffed animals produced in Sergiev Posad (formerly known as Zagorsk). You help people identify them from pictures, from vague descriptions sent in to you of something from their childhood. He doesn't know why, but he ends up searching up images from others, often from unpopular and defunct listings on marketplace/bidding sites just to send to you. Just to read what you have to say about the stitch markings and stylistic eyes and the little tab of fabric on the leg seam from where the tag was cut. Maybe he'll take it further, maybe he won't. Maybe he'll find out where you are, just to make sure you're safe. Maybe he'll have to keep you safe. People with hearts like yours don't last in this world.

[thebibliosphere]

Wait, PMDD and GERD are connected to MCAS? Because I have both of those. Would you please talk a little more about that?

They can be connected to MCAS, yes.

If you google it, the current AI answer will tell you that mast cells are present in the esophagus, which is true, but only because mast cells are present in every part of the body.

What would be more helpful to say is that the esophagus is lined with histamine receptors, and when these receptors are activated it leads to chronic inflammation caused by several mast cell mediators which can make you more prone to acid damage.

Mast cells also release chemicals that can cause the stomach to overproduce acid, as well as relax the esophageal sphincter, which makes it easier for the acid to wash back up into the esophagus, causing further damage.

This is why some of the treatment aimed at GERD is actually antihistamines like Famotidine (Pepcid), which are type 2 histamine blockers, though I’ve yet to meet a GERD patient whose doctor has explained to them why this antihistamine works to relieve their GERD. The answer is mast cells.

(Note: MCAS is a multi system spectrum disorder that requires multiple factors to be present. Having some mild form of mast cell instability is actually far more common that is actually realized even by the broader medical community, with mast cell dysfunction now being linked to things like fibromyalgia, IBS, endometriosis, etc and I suspect in the next few decades, research is going to pivot drastically to focusing on mast cell treatment as a form of prevention instead of treating these disorders as things with no known cause and only symptom management.

My point of this whole section is to say: if you have GERD, that doesn’t automatically mean you have MCAS. You might have some form of mast cell instability that is causing issues, but so does a significant chunk of the population. It just isn’t discussed or recognized by current medical literature, though that is thankfully changing. Slowly, but the change is there.)

For PMDD there’s unsurprisingly a limited amount of research but the EDS clinic page on it is fairly comprehensive. Basically, hormonal fluctuations linked to the pre-menstrual stage of the menstrual cycle can prime mast cells to overreact, liberating several mast cell inflammatory chemicals but chief among them histamine which has been shown to have an effect on pain perception but also mood stability. There’s very little official studies related to histamine and PMDD, but looking at other studies such as the effect of histamine on major depressive disorder, you can sort of cobble together a bigger picture of how mast cells affect mental health and how hormonal fluctuations may impact this. Among the mast cell syndrome community you’ll sometimes see people talking about ‘masto rage’ or ‘histo rage’ and that’s because excess histamine in the brain can lead to extreme anger that can seem to come out of nowhere.

For me, this primarily happens with my PMDD and it feels like someone dropped a match into a barrel of napalm. My entire brain becomes a fucking mess that has gotten better with mast cell treatment, but not entirely eradicated.

This may be why some individuals who experience PMDD are self reporting relief from taking a histamine blocker like Famotidine during the luteal phase of their cycle.

Again, having these conditions doesn’t mean you have MCAS, but it can be an indication of some mast cell fuckery, especially if you have multiple things going on at once.

It wasn’t until I got diagnosed by my specialist that all these seemingly random unconnected disorders that I struggled with for nearly my entire life made sense because their primary instigation in my body was my untreated mast cell disorder. Everything from the chronic acid reflux that started as a child right down to my interstitial cystitis which started the moment my menstrual cycle kicked in at age 11.

Honestly it’s all been down hill since then.

Anyway, I hope this was useful.

[100vern]

while he's gone | ksy & hvc

𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒆 // 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓.

★ pairing: vernon x f. reader; established hoshi x f. reader ★ genre: open relationship, fwb to lovers au; smut, fluff, lite angst ★ summary: your boyfriend's on tour, but vernon's still in town. ★ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ★ warnings: i am reiterating that this is an open relationship so there is NO CHEATING!! i don't wanna hear it!! soloist hoshi, producer vernon, i wax way too poetic about music and interior design, swearing, alcohol, use of pet names, one miscommunication, one tiny argument that gets resolved, discussions about polyamory. everyone being in love and down bad for one another. ★ smut warnings: mentions of threesomes, voyeurism (over the phone), dirty talk, oral sex, dry humping??, protected vaginal sex, marking/biting, multiple orgasms, sex toys, cuckolding, recording (photos/videos), masturbation, teasing, cum play/eating, lingerie. please tell me if i forgot anything! ★ wordcount: 12.6k ★ credits: cam (@highvern) for spreading the "hoshi holding vernon's head down" agenda far and wide. bee (@imnotshua) for telling me when my words don't make sense and fixing them. jess (@starlightkyeom) for reading this over. ★ author's note: more cursed thoughts thanks to a conversation about monsta x with @aeristudios. i've been wanting to write a fic based off "got my number" for ages, so here we are! a lil treat dedicated to @sailorsoons for girlbossing her ass off these last few weeks (and pulverizing her knee). i would also like to apologize to all the hansol truthers. i typed it out once and had a visceral reaction, much like i did using hoshi's government name, so he's just vernon.

Your boyfriend’s flight departed from Incheon just shy of four p.m., though he’d left the apartment long before that.

Needed time to make the hour and a half drive. Fix his hair and makeup before he hopped out and posed for Dispatch. Push his way through the horde of fans and to security, get his face scanned and passport checked. Needed time to make it to the privacy of his terminal lounge where he could catch his breath and lock himself in the bathroom. Needed time to send you a mirror selfie: hoodie unzipped to the middle of his bare sternum, hat pulled low to cover his eyes, tongue just barely peeking out from between his lips.

Made it 😘, it said.

Beneath that, even though the two of you have been through this exact scenario more times than you can count—even though it’s the same every time and he said all the same things as he was fucking you into the mattress last night and again this morning, as he was kissing you goodbye at the door hours ago:

Soonyoung: Love u babe. Gonna miss u sooo much~ I’ll text u every chance I can !! Soonyoung: Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do ㅋㅋㅋ just kidding don’t u dare behave Soonyoung: Send me pictures tho. What if I get lonely 😔

There was a thought: your boyfriend on tour, all alone between the cold, crisp sheets of his hotel bed, no one to occupy all that extra space. You’d snorted at that. Replied with the eye-roll emoji and wondered, privately, if he was going to meet up with the same old flames; if he was going to send you pictures with faces and bodies you recognized. Anticipation clawed its way up your spine and settled in your gut, left behind an insurmountable want.

Saying goodbye was always hard, but this part? It felt like Soonyoung held the forbidden fruit in his hand, sliced and fed to you on the point of a paring knife.

Delicious, in other words.

Whatever you and Vernon have fallen into can best be described as a foregone conclusion: Soonyoung leaves, Vernon arrives, and there’s no need for the discretion or the habit, but you can’t deny there’s a certain allure to it. It feels scandalous, dirty—something that only happens in a dark corner away from prying, garrulous eyes—even though it isn’t. Not really.

Soonyoung will be in Japan, Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand; he’ll be in Berlin, Paris and London; he’ll go across North and South America. In every one of those places, someone will keep him company until he comes home to you. And, after every single time, you’ll have something in your inbox to mark the occasion—a text, some pictures, a video—because your boyfriend is nothing if not a pervert.

So no, the discretion isn’t necessary. You and Soonyoung are free to do as you please, both separately and together, which is how all of this started, anyway: his album release party, prod. by VERNON in the credits, you safely sequestered on the other side of a velvet rope. Not a secret, just… not out in the open, either, which was both a little embarrassing and difficult to explain to Vernon over the deafening, teeth-shattering background noise as he unabashedly hit on you.

He’d known, of course, that Soonyoung had been writing love songs about someone, but he hadn’t known it was you he’d helped him write about.

Not that it mattered much in the end. Soonyoung had slunk over, drunk on the spotlight and the status it afforded him, the most important man in the room, and looked Vernon dead in the eye. Pushed his tongue into the fat of his cheek, looked like a real sleazy piece of shit, and said, “You wanna fuck my girl?”

He did, admittedly, and Soonyoung had rewarded him for his honesty. Took both of you home and held Vernon’s head down as he told him how to eat you out, wet and messy and filthy. You came in record time, and a man that made you come in record time was not one you were itching to get rid of.

Vernon fucks you right and doesn’t ask a lot of questions you don’t have answers to. Doesn’t mind your unconventional relationship and definitely doesn’t mind recording the way you suck his cock: the way spit pools in the corners of your mouth and glistens under the flash; the way you moan around him as he rasps out husky praise; the way he says shit—fuck, baby, just like that, cock’s so far down your fuckin’ throat, huh; how wet your eyelashes are and the tears tracking down your cheeks.

Vernon fucks you right and doesn’t ask a lot of questions and calls Soonyoung hyung even though they’re colleagues, but that’s the sort of relationship you naturally fall into after you have a threesome and fuck said colleague’s girlfriend, you suppose, and Soonyoung doesn’t mind it. Because he’ll go away for whatever it is he gets called away for and Vernon will come over and tell you to ride him as he pulls out his phone and says shit like, “God, hyung, she’s about to come all over my cock. I don’t think she’s thinking about you at all. You aren’t, are you, baby? You’re not thinking about Soonyoung-hyung at all, are you? Only me,” between gasping, fractured moans.

And Soonyoung knows how that feels, is the thing. Knows the feeling of being suffocated in your tight, wet heat and how it can drive a man nearly to madness, and all he feels is pride. That’s his girl, bringing another man to his knees.

Hence the routine.

Normally you’d go out—a swanky new rooftop bar, a nightclub owned by a friend of a friend. Your drinks would glow neon blue under the blacklights, skinny red straw stuck in a plastic cup that matched the cherry at the bottom. Your skin would glisten with sweat as one of your friends twirled you around, kaleidoscope shapes behind your eyelids, both of you laughing breezy and sweet.

At some point throughout the night, Vernon would text you. You’d send him your location. He’d show up in an outfit contradicting the exclusivity of wherever you were, shower-soft, Sauvage on his wrists and neck, and he’d lean in close, ask if you wanted to stay or get out of there. Discarded on your bedroom floor, pooling at his feet in the club bathroom—it no longer mattered what he was wearing, because it never stayed on very long.

So here you are. While Soonyoung’s 800 kilometers away, undoubtedly trying to charm someone into his bed, you’re at home biding your time until the inevitable, no urge to go out. Instead, you indulge in yourself, work yourself up. Soonyoung, Vernon, both of them together—regardless of who you think about, the results are the same: you pinpoint the anticipation in your stomach and press, let your body sink beneath the weight of it.

Your boyfriend has only been in Osaka a handful of hours when the inevitable happens.

Vernon’s name lights up your screen. Transforms the slow simmer of expectation into full-blown wildfire. Has you squeezing your thighs together, bottom lip tugged between your teeth, when you open the text thread. Before tonight, the last time he’d texted you was three months ago: two o’clock in the morning, a video with a completely innocent thumbnail belying its content, already sent this to hyung but figured u might want it too written underneath.

Vernon: heard soonyoung hyung’s out of town for a while Vernon: what are u doing tonite

You exhale a soft laugh. As if Vernon just happened to stumble upon this information. As if he doesn’t already know what you’ll be getting up to tonight. As if he also isn’t falling victim to the desire. As if his lowercase letters and disregard for his ego with a double-text aren’t feigned nonchalance.

But just because you both know exactly where this is heading doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun.

So you pull your shirt over your head and toss it aside. Open up your camera and angle your body the way you like: glossed lips parted, the bruise Soonyoung sucked into your skin this morning just beneath your collarbone, cleavage framed perfectly, curve of your ass center frame, both covered in cheeky forest green lace. You snap a photo and another one with a painted-on pout; snap a third as the tips of your fingers delve beneath the waistline of your panties.

You: [Attachment: 3 Images] You: Hopefully you?

At the receiving end, Vernon swears, drops his phone. Of course you’re bathed in his favorite color. Of course you’re wrapped in sheets he’s lucky enough to know the feel of. Dizzy, his breath catches in his throat; tries to stave off feeling like he’s in free-fall. He’s no stranger to this kind of insatiable hunger—becomes reacquainted with it every few months, in fact—but it always catches him unaware. Always comes back with such a vengeance, as if all the times before had simply been the prefix.

He grabs his jacket.

Vernon’s barely been at your place twenty minutes when your phone rings.

You groan as he rolls his cock against you, jeans undone but still sitting low on his hips, zipper biting into your skin every time he presses you further into the mattress. The next sound you make he swallows with his mouth. Moves his lips to the column of your throat, the underside of your jaw, the spot just beneath your ear. Takes your lobe between his teeth, asks, “Is it him?” and lets you feel the way he smirks.

Blindly, you reach toward the sound, that horrible scattering across your nightstand that makes your teeth ache. It must be Soonyoung because it’s relentless, another call just as the first one ends, and you’re trying, you really are, but Vernon’s relentless, too. Abandons your space, takes your common sense and all his heat with him as he sits back on his haunches and moves his hands beneath your ass; drags you closer until your cunt—still covered in that dark lace and growing darker the wetter you become—is back against his cock and ruts.

You’re speechless, head thrown back against the pillows, the synapses of your brain misfiring and coming up empty. Both of you are still clothed and Vernon’s still having his way with you; still smirking dirty and arrogant out of the side of his mouth. Almost looks like he’s sneering a little as he asks again, “What’s the matter, baby? Not gonna answer him?” At your continued silence, he amends, “Oh, or maybe you can’t?”

You want to roll your eyes, shut him up with some sharp retort, but he’s got you exactly where he wants you. It’s a place you don’t mind being, either, because whether it’s the way his thick cock feels rubbing against your clit or the result of months of waiting, it doesn’t matter, it all feels divine. Has your breathing labored and heavy, has sweat pricking at your skin, has Vernon staring down at you with a gaze so pointed it cuts through the haze.

So he makes the decision for you. Reaches over and grabs your phone, tucks it between his ear and his shoulder. Keeps his hands free so he can keep moving you against him and greets your boyfriend with a, “Sorry, hyung, she’s a little busy right now.”

You can hear Soonyoung’s bark of laughter from where you’re laying, and then more muted chattering. He must give Vernon instructions, because Vernon puts the phone on speaker and tosses it somewhere on the bed. “Hello, princess. Are you having fun?” All you can manage is an uh-huh that’s fractured in the middle, punctuated with another roll of Vernon’s hips. “Mm, you sound so good, baby. Miss hearing you like that already. Can I see you, too?”

Vernon catches your eye as he reaches for your phone again. Waits for your nod before he points the camera at you and switches it to FaceTime. You hear Soonyoung suck in a breath. Wonder what he looks like. If the low light of his hotel room casts amber shadows across his face that intensify his stare, sharpen it to a point. If he’s got his arm tucked behind his head, laissez-faire in that way that drives you crazy, sensual without having to try. You almost ask Vernon to see, but then Soonyoung clicks his tongue and says, “That set is your favorite, isn’t it?”

The man he’s addressing looks down at you, eyes full of stars. “Yeah, hyung,” Vernon says, and it’s breathy, barely counts as separate words. Through the camera, Soonyoung watches as Vernon runs his fingertips over the hickey he’d left, over the swell of your breast and the space between each rib. Watches as Vernon grips at the meat of your thigh; as his hands flex before he grabs at you again.

“You want to touch her, don’t you? Properly.” He watches as Vernon nods, the camera wobbling with the intensity of it. “Put your mouth on her, Vernon-ah—she loves that so much.”

You can hear the shit-eating lilt to his tone and you know he’s enjoying this. That he loves watching you. Loves that Vernon’s always so fucked up over you and that he gets to direct these scenes. Loves what he gets to experience with you: something enduring and impenetrable, something that grants him freedom and indulgence. Loves you, most of all, but there will be time for that later.

Right now, he wants to watch Vernon make a mess of you. Wants to watch him pull those little lace panties to the side and eat you out, fervent and messy. Wants to hear it when he starts sucking at your clit and you keen high in your throat. Wants to watch the way you grab at his hair and force him closer as you roll your hips and seek out your own undoing.

Right now, Vernon hands the phone to you. “There’s my pretty girl,” Soonyoung says, and your face grows hot—as hot as the hands that skim over your skin and move to take off your panties. Soonyoung loves this part—loves watching someone unwrap you like a present; loves the tension even when isn’t there for it—so you flip the camera so he can see. “Leave them on,” your boyfriend instructs. Vernon’s brows pinch together. “You know she wore that set just for you, so leave it on when you fuck her. Make a mess of it. Cum all over it and ruin it, and then maybe I’ll let you take my card to buy her a new one.”

Vernon’s eyes flutter closed, long lashes fanning across his ruddy cheeks, so fucking pretty.

Anticipation sinks its claws into you again. Feels like an eternity passes before Vernon’s hands start moving again. Before he presses the pads of his thumbs into your hips and the contact makes both of you gasp. Before he leans in closer and kisses all the places he’d left fingerprints. Kisses your stomach, hips, the tops of your thighs and down, down, down until he’s where you want him—until you can feel his breath against your cunt, goosebumps rising from the warmth.

You only tear your eyes away from him to look at Soonyoung. Even through the screen you can tell he’s growing restless: pupils blown wide, teeth worrying at his bottom lip, breathing unsteady. You reach for Vernon, thread your fingers through his hair and tug, and at his resulting whine Soonyoung flips his own camera. What greets you is an expanse of familiar tan skin, his defined abs, legs spread wide, cock curved and hard.

There isn’t an ounce of shame to be found as he palms at himself. Just a ghost of a touch before he squeezes at the base and groans. All the times you’ve watched him do this… you can imagine the way his head rolls back, lips parted, muscles tensing.

“You look so good,” you murmur, and there’s no telling who it’s directed at—because Soonyoung looks good, just as he always does, but Vernon is a vision.

Especially when he’s between your legs.

There’s a glimpse of a half-cocked smile before he flattens his tongue and delves between your folds, stealing the breath from your lungs. One stripe and then another, all parallel lines as he works you over. Wraps his arms around your hips and pulls you closer to his mouth, doubles his efforts, doesn’t pay any mind to the mess he’s making, both of the sheets and of you.

You tug harder at Vernon’s hair. Roll your hips in time with his tongue, both of you endlessly noisy. Vernon groans as he sucks at your clit and you feel the sparks like lightning. Feels like he’s making a mockery of you. Feels like all he knows is your pleasure. Feels like an eternity has passed since he’s worked you over like this, and Soonyoung must agree because he almost sounds whiny as he says, “God, I missed this. Missed seeing you two together.”

You dare a look. Soonyoung jerks himself slowly with a loose fist, drags it out, savors every second and shiver that dances up his spine. Hisses through his teeth when he gathers the precum at the tip and spreads it along the length of his shaft. You want to see his face. Want to see the way his dark hair falls into his eyes when he shudders and curves into himself, the crease that forms between his brows, his eyes when they’re glassy and unfocused.

But then Vernon does something with his mouth that has you crying out—a strangled sound halfway between shock and gratification. Has you mirroring the exact image you expected to see on Soonyoung’s face. There’s poetry in that, you think, and that’s the last thought you have before Vernon drags your orgasm from you and your world tilts on its axis.

When you come to, vision still out of focus and fuzzy around the edges, you’re covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your phone is lost somewhere in the duvet, and Vernon’s still between your legs.

You choke. Feel around desperately for your phone and can barely hold onto it, weak and trembling, all your energy drained. Try to clamp your thighs around Vernon’s head for some reprieve but he knows you too well, knows you can take it, so he forces them back open.

Bliss spreads like wildfire. Starts in your toes and works its way into your bloodstream. Feels like you’ve been carved out of kerosene and matchsticks. It’ll be Vernon, you know—he’ll be the catalyst, light the spark that consumes and overwhelms you.

Especially when he’s like this.

When you’re the only thing that exists to him. When he’d forego pleasure for the rest of his life if it meant drowning in your pussy and getting you off. When he pays no mind to your boyfriend’s obscene goading—“Can you taste me, Vernon-ah? Did she tell you I filled her up this morning? That it was so much it was leaking out of her?”—and stays focused on you. When he runs two fingers through your mess and presses them inside, right against the spot that nearly folds you in half, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, pressure mounting.

“Oh my god. Vernon, please, it’s too much, I’m gonna—”

You feel him smile against your cunt. Pulls back only far enough to bite at the juncture of your thigh and say, “I know you can take it,” in his hoarse voice. With lips that are covered in you. “You’re gonna come again, aren’t you, baby? And you’re gonna be a good girl and soak through these fucking sheets while your boyfriend has to jerk himself off.”

That’s exactly what happens.

The cord inside you snaps. Soonyoung swears as he watches you come again, body pulling taut, Vernon’s name spilling from your lips like a mantra. Vernon’s on you immediately, setting the phone on your nightstand and kissing you senseless. Lets you taste yourself and the way you claimed him. Slots his body between your legs, careful as he presses against you because he knows how oversensitive you get. Waits until the tremors subside and he can feel you tracing shapes against his back before he murmurs a quiet okay? into your ear.

It takes a second for you to nod, but you do.

Vernon looks to his right at your phone. “Still want her fully dressed, hyung? She’s made a pretty big mess already.”

Soonyoung laughs, breathy and a little disbelieving. He loves this part, too, when Vernon dishes back as good as he gets. Both of them know it’s not a competition and would never treat it as one, but Soonyoung can’t help himself sometimes. Loves to stir shit just because he can—because Vernon is younger and looks up to him, but also because you like Vernon and he enjoys teasing you just as much.

So Soonyoung laughs. Asks, “How are you feeling, pretty girl? You want him to fuck you?” and continues stroking himself, pace leisurely, cock glistening with spit and precum, balls tight.

He’s always affected.

And so are you. You nod. Readjust your body beneath Vernon’s so he can press in tighter, so you can wrap your legs around his waist and delight in the sounds he makes—first like the breath’s been punched out of him, then more intentional as the electricity ebbs away and settles into his bones. His fingers grip at your thigh, movements fluid as he rocks his hips, unconcerned with the stickiness seeping through the fabric of his briefs.

Vernon wants you every second of every single day, and he doesn’t care who knows it.

You move your hands to his face. Let your thumbs rest on the high points of his cheekbones and settle into the contours there. Press your lips to his and lick into his mouth, all teeth and tongue and no savoir-faire. Vernon responds in kind. Starts moving frenetic and mindless, vehemence making up for his lack of composure, swallowing everything you give him.

Fucks you up a little that he still tastes like you—that you’re not all that easy to rinse out.

“Shit,” he swears, slurring the word against your mouth, lips bitten red and swollen. “Need you so bad, baby, please.”

Your vision swims, the raw urgency in Vernon’s tone making everything look like television static. All you can do is nod, spread your legs wider, press your body into him and hope he knows what to do with it, but he needs you to say it. “Tell me,” he says, settling a hand around your throat. Not tight—just so he can feel your words, just so he knows they’re there. “Tell me you want me. Tell me how you want me to give it to you.”

“Want you. Wanna ride you,” you answer. “Wanna be able to look at you. So pretty, Nonie—you look so pretty when you cum, I wanna see it.”

Vernon swears again. Sits back and has his jeans and underwear pulled off before you can process what’s happening, rolls on a condom, and that’s where you meet him, in the center of the bed. You move into the space between his spread legs, drape your arms over his shoulders as your knees bracket his hips, spit into your hand and work it over his cock, thumbing at the head just to make him whine.

“Babe—”

And then you’re pulling your panties to the side and sinking down on it.

The stretch is overwhelming. Steals the air from your lungs. Has Vernon pressing his forehead to yours, sharing your breath, dimpling your hips with bruising fingerprints. “Slow,” he pleads, and you’d give him anything, so you kiss the spot just beneath his eye, say okay, okay, and turn your attention to Soonyoung.

Not far off from how you’d left him: touching himself with reverence, not an ounce of shame to be found; sounds spilling from his lips that sound like home. He doesn’t notice you watching, but it doesn’t matter, he’s a performer in every aspect of his life. Thrives when he’s under the spotlight, demanding everyone’s attention, all eyes on him. Sex is no different. Always goes into it with eyes wide open, so you’re not surprised when he feels yours on him. When he says, “What’s the matter, princess?”

Beneath you, Vernon’s starting to gather his bearings. Thrusts slow and shallow and groans. “Did you bring it?” you ask Soonyoung, trying to keep your voice steady as Vernon fucks into you.

“The—”

“Yes,” you interject, already knowing what he was going to ask. Shit, Vernon feels so good. “Get it out. Use it. Wanna see you cum that way.”

Soonyoung swears. Says, “Fuck—god, yeah, I’ll get it,” and disappears from the screen. Vernon’s lips move to your chest, your neck, your mouth. He’s moving in earnest, now—doesn’t care what he sounds like, that he’s devolved into staccato whines and half-syllables. Doesn’t care about the mess between your legs.

Doesn’t care that when Soonyoung comes back onto the screen, you’re wholly focused on him, grinning pleased and wicked. If you want him to work for it, he will. If you want him to give it to you so good you’re not even thinking about your boyfriend, that’s what he’s going to do. If you want him to fuck you so hard you can’t even speak, well, that’s the goal.

So he doubles his efforts. Plants his feet on the bed and uses the leverage to bury himself as deep in you as he can. He’s done this enough to know his angles, know how to have you dripping and shaking, but he wants to savor this. Wants to drag it out for you. Some sick, selfish part of him wants this to be the fuck you’re thinking about later as you’re about to drift to sleep even though you aren’t his to claim. Not like that, anyway. He can still paint you in bruises that match Soonyoung’s, undecipherable from one another. No telling what’s his work and what’s Vernon’s.

“Tell me what to do.”

Vernon glances sideways. Watches as his hyung dribbles lube all over his cock, slicks himself up. Glances at you and sees you watching. Sees the way your jaw ticks, your eyes darken. Can feel how endless your love is for Soonyoung and he wants to burn up.

But then you say, “Fuck yourself the way Vernonie’s fucking me,” and the words soothe over him like a balm. Even more so when Soonyoung listens; when he grabs the pocket pussy and works it slowly down his shaft, moaning long and drawn out the entire way.

“God, I’m about to fucking bust.” Soonyoung laughs. “Tell me how he’s fucking you, pretty girl. Bet it feels even better than this, huh? Bet he’s making you feel so good.”

Everyone’s about to make an early exit at this rate. Vernon tells (begs) him to shut up in so many words. Tries to focus on himself, thinks about every terrible thing in the world to stave it off, but the way you’re nodding along with Soonyoung’s words are hurtling him towards the end at record speed. The way you look at Vernon with constellations in your eyes. The way you’re reduced to mindless babbling, all your words slurring together as you say, “It’s so good. So good, Soonyoungie, he’s so deep, fucks me so good, god I’m gonna come again—”

Vernon panics, bites at your collar bone, knows he wouldn’t survive feeling you clench around his cock. Tells you, “Not yet,” even though he’s barely able to choke out the words; even though he can barely endure you now, cunt spasming, walls fluttering around him. The unbelievable white-hot heat, the vice grip. Fuck, he wants to do this every day. Wants to do this for the rest of his life.

And you must be able to tell. Must see how spaced out he looks, because you move your hands to the center of his chest and dig your nails in, urge him backwards until he’s propped up on one elbow. This is what Vernon sees when he closes his eyes, when it’s been months since he’s seen you and he’s cumming all over his fist: the lines of his own body, the coarse strip of hair that leads from his stomach to where your bodies connect; you on top of him, hips sinuous and sinful as you circle them.

You put on a show of your own. Move your hands to his knees and spread your legs wider. Vernon’s cock looks obscene inside of you, trapped beneath your lace panties, so he grabs your phone, makes sure Soonyoung can see what he’s seeing. Makes sure Soonyoung can see the sheen your wetness leaves on his skin as you grind back and forth on him. Makes sure Soonyoung can hear the slapping of your and Vernon’s skin, the way your pussy squelches, how lewd everything sounds in the still air of the bedroom the two of you share.

“Jesus—fuck,” Soonyoung says down the line, voice metallic and fucked out. “You two are so goddamn hot together. Make her come, Vernon-ah, and then I wanna see her covered in you. Wanna see you ruin my pretty girl.”

Vernon shudders and nearly folds in on himself. Grabs your hip to slow your movements, refusing to get off before you, but you’re determined. Your grin is devilish as you move his hand to your clit and tell him to get to work. As you lean forward briefly to kiss him before you’re moving in earnest again, more intentional than before, and it’s all Vernon can do to stay conscious. All of it’s too much: the way you look above him, head thrown back, the marks he’d left on your throat; the way you’re able to handle both of them at once, riding Vernon into the mattress while you talk Soonyoung over the edge, the most filthy words spilling out of your mouth.

The way you gasp as Vernon thumbs circles against your clit and reach for his hand, trying to ground yourself as your pussy clenches, as you barely have time to stammer out the words before you’re coming on his cock.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Vernon pulls out, almost cries at no longer being enveloped in your heat, pulls off the condom and fists his cock once, twice, and then watches, entranced, as he does what his hyung said and covers you in cum.

Your tits, your stomach, the fabric of your panties.

For a moment, everything is quiet, everyone still coming down and trying to catch their breath. You’re spent, exhausted and satiated in ways you haven’t been in months. Every muscle in your body feels overworked. Your throat feels raw. Every inch of skin that’s bruised feels like a branding iron, and it is, you suppose.  Soonyoung’s, Vernon’s, it doesn’t matter—you wear them both.

“Don’t wash those,” comes Soonyoung’s voice.

It takes you a second to realize what he means. “My panties?” you ask, shock apparent. You’d known he was a freak, of course, but the depths of his perversion continue to surprise you. “Soonyoung…”

“Don’t kink shame me, princess, I’m covered in my own jizz and I need another shower. I came so hard I think I had religious visions. How’re you feeling, Vernon-ah?”

The man in question doesn’t answer. You’d think he was asleep with his eyes open if you knew he was capable of it, but that’s not what’s going on. Vernon’s fixated on you. Can’t tear his eyes off of you and the cum that’s drying into your skin, and you know you shouldn’t, that you should give him a break, but there’s no fun in that, so you trail your fingers through the mess on your stomach and suck them into your mouth.

“Yeah, don’t need to ask after that. Goddamn. I’m gonna go shower before you get me hard again. Good luck with her.”

The call disconnects. In the aftermath, the silence is almost stifling, almost makes you feel a sense of guilt that’s entirely undeserved, but then Vernon’s sitting up and crowding your space, hands behind your back as he works at the knots he finds there. Pulls you in closer. Presses a spun-sugar kiss to your forehead that makes your heart skip a beat.

The thing is, though: he doesn’t stay.

It’s not a rule. It’s not something Soonyoung requested to keep some semblance of boundaries in your relationship. He doesn’t care, and neither do you, but Vernon does. Doesn’t want to overstep and muddy the lines. Doesn’t want to make it seem like more than it is, and you’ve always been fine with that, but something about this time feels different. Strikes you someplace deep, hidden away, tucked behind your ribs. Vernon runs you a bath and changes the sheets while you’re soaking your aching muscles and when you’re tucked into bed, he presses another kiss to your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. Promises to text you later in the week.

And then he lets himself out.

You’re still awake an hour later when your phone lights up with a string of texts, and you force yourself not to think about what it means that you’re disappointed it isn’t Vernon.

Soonyoung: Going to sleep. The two of u wore me out ㅋㅋㅋ Soonyoung: I’ll text u in the morning. Got an early day tomorrow 😭 Soonyoung: Love u baby. Sleep tight ❤️

With Soonyoung in Paris, it’s hard to make the time difference work.

Seven hours usually isn’t a problem—it’s worse when he goes to the Americas, for example—but it’s been weeks since your technological ménage à trois and you aren’t feeling any less unsettled. All you want to do is talk to him. Ask him what the hell is going on with you, why you can’t seem to shake this, what it all means, but it just never works out.

Not the right time. Not enough time. Soonyoung often has his own plans that keep him occupied until the early hours of the morning wherever he is, and by then he’s too exhausted and you’ve been awake for hours, already well into the monotony of your day.

Still, it eats at you. Makes you feel guilty in ways you can’t rationalize. You know you haven’t done anything wrong. Haven’t done anything you haven’t done plenty of times before; haven’t done anything Soonyoung isn’t also doing when he’s not around to answer your calls. And that’s fine—even though it’s unconventional to most, you love the dynamic the two of you have. Wouldn’t change it for anything except Soonyoung himself, so you know he’s not the point of contention.

No, it’s you—you’re the problem here.

Something’s changed, but whatever it is isn’t all that keen to let you in on the secret yet.

So you do your best to push it down and swallow it. You go to work. You meet your friends for dinner and drinks. You suffer through your gym sessions just to give the anxiety and jitters someplace to go. You clean your and Soonyoung’s apartment top to bottom until there’s not a speck of dust to be found and all the countertops start to squeak. You go shopping and charge whatever you want to Soonyoung’s credit card because he’d want you to.

None of it works.

It’s no wonder, then, that you break by the time Soonyoung gets to Paris. That you’re sending up flares and paying little attention to the time difference. That you text him—

You: Can you make some time to call me today? You: I don’t care about the time. You: It’s nothing bad, I promise. Just need/want to talk to you.

—and expect something, anything, in return: the familiarity of his tone, his overuse of emojis, the way he always calls on FaceTime and always greets you barefaced and with a relieved smile, like you’re the only thing he wants to see at the end of a long day. You expect him to say anything for my girl—or, at the very least, can’t today baby 🙁 I’m so sorry, but I’ll have time tomorrow and I’ll call first thing, ok ??

You don’t get any of that.

What you get is silence.

Your texts go unanswered. He doesn’t call. You double-check your calendar just to confirm you hadn’t gotten the date confused, but he doesn’t have a show tonight. Rehearsal and a team dinner, maybe, but nothing that should make him so unavailable to you.

Well, except one very obvious thing.

There’s a flashbang of hurt you immediately try to tamper down. Soonyoung can’t read your mind. He’s never ignored you when you’ve needed him or given you reason to believe he’d do something like this intentionally and maliciously—not to mention that the arrangement the two of you have has never been an issue before, so it’s nothing to get upset over. You know it’s nothing to get upset over, but knowing doesn’t suck the poison out.

A temporary lapse in communication is all this is. You’ve survived worse.

It’s just—

This shapeless, undefinable thing that’s clawed its way inside of you isn’t going anywhere. And you can deal with the stopgap emotions until you’re able to put a name to it—the anger and confusion, the abstract betrayal—but it’s always easiest to carry burdens with two sets of hands, is all.

Hours tick by. What was two hours without a response turns into four; four turns into six turns into you readying yourself for bed and spending the night tossing and turning, checking your phone every time you awake in the middle of the night. When your alarm goes off at eight o’clock and there’s still nothing, all those ugly feelings come swimming back to the surface.

Your first call rings and rings until it goes to voicemail.

So does the second.

Soonyoung answers the third out of breath, voice gravelly. A woman’s laughter greets you before he can, and for the first time ever, it makes you sick to your stomach. Makes you wonder what the fuck you’re doing. Has your hands trembling, all your words stuck in your throat, frustrated tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Another twinkling laugh that your boyfriend responds to with a husky one of his own. “Hello? Hi, baby, I’m a little—”

Busy, he’s going to say. You’ve gathered as much. Busy is laughing in your ear, probably has her hands all over him, and it’s always been like this, the sharing and the nonexistence of possessiveness, but you come first. That’s the rule. Both of you come first to one another, so busy isn’t acceptable. Busy has resentment biting at your heels. Has your blood pressure spiking, your skin flushing hot.

Has you cutting him off, saying, “So busy you couldn’t answer my fucking texts?” with so much animosity all noise at the other end of the line immediately ceases.

You hear footsteps and the shutting of a door, the turn of a lock. “Okay, I’m alone,” he murmurs softly; you wish it did anything to comfort you. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

A laugh of your own, derisive and disbelieving. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to do.”

You’re not about to spill your guts when Busy is in the next room over touching herself so she’s primed and ready to go when your boyfriend ends the call, goes back into the bedroom and says, sorry about that, and climbs back on top of her. You’re not about to spill your guts and feel like an inconvenience.

So you scoff and shake your head, say, “You know what, Soonyoung? Don’t even worry about it. Go back to fucking whoever the fuck she is and forget I even called.”

“Baby, come on, wait—”

You’re not about to spill your guts, so you rewrite the script.

You end the call. You ignore the texts that follow.

You text Vernon and ask if he’s free after work.

He is.

Vernon gets done work a little after ten.

You get off the train a few stops early and decide to walk the rest of the way. It’s been so long since you’ve done this. Since you’ve breathed in the smell of the samgyaetang and dakgalbi restaurants, the tteokbokki and bungeoppang from the street food vendors. Since you’ve thought the neon lights of Hongdae Street were going to blind you and shielded your eyes. Since you’ve walked by groups of friends posing for selfies in the middle of the sidewalk, apple cheeks from wide smiles pressed together; couples doubled over in laughter as they try to jump on one another’s backs. Since you’ve watched patrons stumble out of bars and clubs with queues to get in, faces flushed from the alcohol they’ve already consumed.

Vernon lives in Mapo, in an artsy high-rise in Seogyo-dong. New construction that’s meant to look much older, meant to resemble the industrial loft apartments found in older American cities, warehouses made irrelevant as the 21st century moved in and took hold. They’re all exposed brick, twenty-pane windows, concrete floors, neo-expressionist paintings hung in the lobby.

A block away, a bingsu restaurant is closed until the next afternoon, but it’s what lies beneath that piques your interest: a basement rock bar, show flyers plastered all over the door, live music pounding the pavement and spilling onto the sidewalk.

You’re in the lungs of the city, and it’s every bit as alive as you expected—and hoped—it would be.

You feel at home here, surrounded by people and nightlife and unrelenting noise. Where you and Soonyoung live isn’t dissimilar, just different—more refined and inhibited, more concerned with appearances than letting loose. You’ve gotten good at rubbing elbows with those types of people, as necessary and inevitable as it is, but sometimes you just miss the unpolished grime of ordinary people.

Vernon’s outside waiting for you when you reach his building.

Hat pulled low over his eyes. An oversized black hoodie that drowns his lithe frame, makes him look smaller than he is. Face lit up by the glow from his phone. A lollipop stuck in his mouth that he presses into the fat of his cheek when he looks up, sees you, and smiles.

“Hi,” he greets you, arms twitching at his sides, unsure of what to do—what’s okay, what isn’t. If he’s allowed to be affectionate with you in public. If anyone can know, even though you’re no one to these people and he’s as out of the spotlight as you are.

So you make the decision for him. Place a hand on his waist, lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. When you pull back, his cheeks are the same shade of cherry red as his lips and tongue. He ducks his head, tries to hide it, but there might as well be a flashing sign above his head to signal his embarrassment. “Oh,” he says quietly, touching the spot where you’d kissed him.

You swallow. The Vernon standing in front of you is a stark contrast to the one you fall into bed with. This one is all soft, rounded edges: shy, chivalrous, almost self-conscious—the kind that wouldn’t bruise if you bumped into him. You try to ignore the way your heart is hammering away in your chest, but the duality is making your head spin.

“Do you want to grab a drink first, or should we just…” He trails off, coughing to cover himself when all you do is quirk an eyebrow just to see if you can get him to blush again. “There’s a pretty cool LP bar down that way, if you’d be into that sorta thing? But I also have vinyl at my place, so I guess it doesn’t—”

You know laughing will only mortify him more, but you can’t help it. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” comes his automatic response.

“Are you sure?” you tease, watching as his fingers—covered to the second knuckle by his sleeves—worry insistently at the fabric of his hoodie. He flushes again, mouth opening and closing around words that don’t materialize, and it’s almost painful how endeared you are by him. “Come on, then,” you say, deciding to put him out of his misery, “show me this pretty cool bar.”

It’s a short walk, only a few blocks, but Vernon sets a slow pace and holds your hand anyway. Neither of you acknowledge that his is sweat-slick, and you can tell he’s thankful for this bit of reprieve. Must help him settle, because it isn’t long before he starts yapping away, animated and buoyant. He talks about work, about the album he’s mastering and how he hasn’t yet gotten the sidechain compression on the bass where he wants it. Tells you about a group the company recently put together that he’s excited about and thinks could be really successful.

“I don’t see them much since they’re always at practice,” he explains, slowing further as you approach a convenience store, “but when they have free time some of ‘em like to sit in the studio and watch me work. This GS25 gave me a black eye once.”

“What?”

He sounds straight out of a nature documentary as he tells you the story. How he’d wanted convenience store ramen because they had a 1+1, and on the way decided he needed a Yonsei bread, too, except he was piss drunk and didn’t realize the doors weren’t automatic, so yeah—hence the black eye. And it’s not particularly funny, but you laugh until your stomach hurts anyway; laugh until both of you are off-kilter from it, shoulders knocking into one another, tears blurring your vision and making the city look crystalline.

You laugh all the way to the bar, and Vernon only lets go of you to open the door and help you inside, hand reassuring and warm when it moves to the small of your back.

A two-seater table is open in the far corner. You sit with your back to the wall and a Blondie poster above your head, content to take in the view. Vernon’s content to let you. Asks what you’d like to drink and doesn’t bat an eye when you request a midori sour. You throw him an exaggerated wink as you say, “If you ask them to put a cherry in it, I’ll show you a magic trick.”

Vernon nearly cums on the spot.

But he does as you say. Returns to the table with two drinks and a pencil and paper. “For your song requests,” he explains when he sees you eyeing it.

“Thank you,” you say, taking your midori sour from him. “What are you gonna request? And what are you drinking?”

“It’s a Coke and something,” he answers, “but I’m not telling you what.” You roll your lips to keep from laughing. As if you couldn’t smell the coconut from across the bar. As if you can’t smell it on him now, when all you can think about is if you’ll be able to taste it on him later when he’s licking into your mouth. “I think you promised me a magic trick.”

A group of American girls taught you this in university, back when you were a starry-eyed freshman completely out of your comfort zone, friendless, more wallflower than functioning human. You just need a party trick, one of them had said, something to break the ice, and that’s how you learned to tie a cherry stem with your tongue.

Just like all those impressionable, hormone-riddled college boys, Vernon is stunned when you stick out your tongue to present it to him. Gets that dazed, faraway look in his eyes; has to clear his throat to get his lungs working again. Turns the tables on you when he reaches out and grabs it, putting it in his pocket for safekeeping, and then it’s you who feels like they’ve been punched in the chest.

It’s maddening, how oblivious he is to the effect he has on you.

“Did I ever tell you I was born in New York?” He drums the pencil against the table. Looks around the bar that’s grown steadily busier. “I moved here when I was five so I don’t really remember much, but it’s always felt like this huge part of me, so I went through this phase a few years ago—read a ton of books on the history of the music scene there, listened to all the albums they said were influential.”

You jot down some songs. “And? What was your verdict?”

He takes a sip of his drink. Laughs a little as he scratches at the back of his neck. “I got really into Tom Tom Club,” he answers. “You know Talking Heads, right? Tom Tom Club was the side project of the drummer and the bassist of that band. Husband and wife.”

Over the speakers, a bluesy folk song starts playing, soft and melodic. You’re not as musically inclined as your boyfriend or the man across from you, but you’re still able to be moved by it. Still able to appreciate in others when they love something so much it becomes tangible. When a bluesy folk song starts playing in a bar and it brings a smile to Vernon’s face. When he talks about artists and albums he’s discovered and speaks with all the reverence of an archaeologist digging up ancient riches thought to be long-forgotten. When you glance at the songs you’ve written down and don’t have to worry that they won’t be cool enough, because everyone here just loves music, no matter what form it takes; are able to find something to appreciate everywhere they look.

“Talking Heads had already put out, like, four or five albums I think by the time Tom Tom Club formed,” Vernon continues. His drink is almost gone. “But David Byrne had released some solo stuff by then with Brian Eno, so they wanted to do something, too, and what they made was this really funky, kind of unexpected new wave album.

“They did some really weird stuff production-wise—103 bpm when everyone else was doing 120, deliberately tuning Tina Weymouth’s bass to 150 hertz, using a really crunchy synth. I find myself going back to it every time I get stuck, mostly because it’s the sort of thing you can listen to and feel how much they loved making music.” He pauses. Almost looks horrified when he sees there’s nothing left in his glass but half-melted ice. “I—oh my god, I’m sorry, I can’t believe I’ve been talking your ear off about this.”

Head tilted to the side, you smile. “We’re in a music bar,” you deadpan. “I’d go so far as to say we’re in the perfect place for you to talk my ear off about this.”

“Yeah, but—” You give him a look that has him holding his hands up. “Okay, okay! I’ll go refill our drinks since it’s the least I can do. Do you have your…?”

That aforementioned smile morphs into something more mischievous when you hand him your slip of paper. You watch as he looks it over, nods at the picks he thinks were in good taste: “Dreams” by The Cranberries, “Don’t Push It Don’t Force It” by Leon Haywood, “Smalltown Boy” by Bronski Beat, “When I Come Around” by Green Day just to take the piss out of Vernon, who seems to have an endless collection of faded, worn Green Day t-shirts with loose necklines. Then, you watch as he gets to the last song on your list and his brows furrow.

He looks up at you. Even against the dark backdrop of the bar, against the red green blue lights casting technicolor shapes across his forehead, his cheeks, you can tell Vernon is stunned. Can see how wide his pupils have blown.

There, at the bottom of your list, is “Fantasy” by Mariah Carey.

Arguably the most well-known song to sample “Genius of Love” by Tom Tom Club.

Vernon’s apartment has three bedrooms.

One is used as a home studio, with a massive L-shaped desk that nearly takes up the entire room. In the middle, a laptop hooked up to a massive curved monitor with immaculate resolution, flanked on each side by monitor speakers. Stereo receiver. Preamps and input patch bays. A midi controller and a drum machine.

The rest of the room is taken up by instruments. An upright piano against one wall, clearly purchased secondhand; beside it, a two-tiered stand containing a keyboard and analog synthesizer. Two electric guitars, one acoustic, one bass. More microphones and over-ear headphones than you’ve ever seen in a single room.

Another resembles the LP bar: two walls of floor-to-ceiling built-ins that house his extensive vinyl collection, sorted first by genre then alphabetically. More records sit in milk crates on the floor, waiting to be catalogued and put away. To the right, on the only remaining wall that isn’t fully windows, sits a vintage credenza, most likely Japanese mid-century. You don’t have to ask—just by looking at it, you can tell Vernon’s hi-fi setup is top of the line, each item carefully chosen after hours of research and trial and error. Two plush armchairs, angled toward one another. Colorful shag rug.

His actual bedroom contains none of those things, but there are still touches of him everywhere.

Framed prints from his favorite artists and films. A concerning number of plain white t-shirts hung on a chrome clothing rack. On his nightstand, a well-used Replica candle (Jazz Club; smells like him) sits atop a stack of books with neon spines: Virgil Abloh. Nike. ICONS, Sofia Coppola Archive, Yoshitomo Nara. There’s a lamp on his dresser meant to look like entrance beacons of the New York City subway. Above his bed hangs a neon sign of Basquiat’s Beat Bop album cover, and on the floor, a black and white checkered rug.

As for the rest—well, you hadn’t been given much time to admire it before Vernon was laying you in the middle of the bed and kissing you breathless.

(It does taste like coconut when he licks into your mouth.)

And it isn’t like you needed a reminder—you never do with Vernon—but it serves as one anyway. That the two of you spent the last few hours of a Friday night drinking together in a bar, laughing at one another’s song requests, laughing at Vernon’s drinks mixed with coconut rum, laughing in general. That it’d taken a few rounds, but after the laughter faded and he plucked up the courage, he asked about your and Soonyoung’s relationship: how you met, how it started, how it works. That you answered all his questions because there was only curiosity beneath them.

That he paid your tab and held your hand as you left, giddy and eager to get back to his place. That when the two of you reached an intersection, no walking sign lit up, he pressed his chest to your back and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

That when you passed the GS25, you cracked a joke and asked Vernon if he wanted to stop and get ramen and Yonsei bread.

That he’d clenched his jaw and sent you a look that was pure heat; grabbed you by the waist and leaned in close, whispered in your ear, “I’ve been ready to bust in my fucking pants since you decided to torture me with that cherry, so I’m not doing a fucking thing that isn’t taking you back to my place and making you come over and over.”

Now here you are.

Vernon’s pace is bruising. It’s frenzied and unpredictable, like he’s trying to prove a point. What it is, you don’t know, but you find it hard to care when he’s like this. When he sheds his shyness like a second skin and is brazen in the way he wants you. When you’ve crossed the threshold of his bedroom and he makes it clear selfishness doesn’t exist here—that all you have to do is lay claim to what he’s willing to give.

And maybe that’s the thing: you can’t put a name to what you want. “Everything” feels too heavy, too much. When it’s exactly what’s on offer, it feels like the weight of the world. I couldn’t possibly ask for that, you think, and Vernon is right behind you asking, Why can’t you?

So you’ll take it, for now. You’ll let Vernon’s deft fingers undress you with reverence and you’ll claw at his back and help him pull his hoodie over his head. You’ll revel in his proximity; how it never, ever feels like he’s close enough. You’ll steal the breath from his lungs and wrap your legs around his waist to keep him draped over you like chiffon. And the first time your phone vibrates you’ll ignore it. The second and third times, too.

When it doesn’t let up, Vernon pulls back. Asks, “Is that…? Should I grab it?”

You only have a split-second to decide how things are going to play out—not only this, right here, but everything that comes after. You and Soonyoung come first to one another, but you still feel scorned. A bit petty. Hi, baby, I’m a little busy, still feels like a bruise; has hurt coursing you like it came from a blood bag.

So you thread your fingers through his hair—impossibly soft; the color of molten chocolate—until they’re resting at the back of his neck. Bring his mouth back to yours and let the taste of him transport you someplace else. Vernon groans as he fits his hands to the curve of your waist.

Your phone is still ringing. Vernon opens his mouth and you shake your head. “No,” you answer, voice unwavering, “this one’s just for us.” He stares down at you. Everything he’s feeling shows clearly on his face, but it’s still undecipherable: the push and pull of the tide, always changing. “Kiss me.”

He does. Whatever fire had consumed him earlier has cooled off considerably, replaced only with the need for closeness. Every press of his mouth against your body is delicate. Every brush of his fingertips and knuckles against your skin is tender. When he kisses down your body and makes you come with his tongue, it isn’t booming fireworks but a quiet gasp into the crook of your elbow.

When he rolls on a condom and presses into you, he twines your fingers together again, and they aren’t sweaty. When he rests his forehead on your shoulder, the words he speaks against you are full of velvet praise. When he moves his hips, the sound of his skin against yours reminds you of a symphony: adagios bookended by scherzos, culminating in a shared finale that leaves you both glowing and euphoric.

Four a.m. looks different from Vernon’s apartment.

More down to earth, not as deep into the clouds. You’ve called Seoul home for the entirety of your adult life, but you’re still learning its secrets. Here, on Vernon’s side of the city, it’s more lively. Sleeps less. You watch as dot-sized people duck in and out of 24/7 shops; as groups of friends converge and separate like starling murmuration. You watch through bleary eyes as the city lights start to blur together.

This is where Vernon finds you, sitting on his living room floor, knees tucked against your chest.

Wordlessly, he sits beside you. Stretches his legs out, hands planted on the rug behind him. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth still stuck to his skin, see every breath he takes from the corner of your eye. And you think you should say something—maybe apologize if you woke him—but four a.m. is built for silence.

Minutes pass. The traffic signals go through their sequence, green yellow red green yellow. The stream of dot-sized people remains steady. The man beside you is steady, too, but he’s also perceptive, and usually it’s a perception that lets you initiate, come closer once you’re ready, doesn’t push. Not this time. This time, he turns to face you and studies your profile. Must notice something, because his eyes narrow, perfect brows pinching in the middle. “You okay?” You nod. Give him a smile you hope is convincing. Four a.m. is a lot of things, but it doesn’t feel like the time or place for this kind of revelation.

Because you like him.

Something of this magnitude should feel world-altering, you think, but it doesn’t. Even if it was subconscious, you’ve known this, so it feels the same as when you look at the sky and see it’s blue, when you look at the grass and it’s green—the universe as advertised and in perfect working order. The way things are meant to be.

But you aren’t sure where the lines are drawn anymore, or if there’s anything left of them at all. Both you and Soonyoung have been here before: feelings that came out of nowhere, hookups that left a more lasting impression than others, the occasional short-term fling. All of it was within the boundaries of your relationship, but something about this—about Vernon—feels different. Feels like something you don’t want to lose.

You suck in a deep breath. “I’m okay,” you confirm, “I just… there are things I need to talk to Soonyoung about, I think.”

Vernon nods. “I figured as much with all the phone calls.”

And because it feels like something you don’t want to lose, you need to be honest. “We got into an argument yesterday morning, before I texted you. It wasn’t—I don’t even know if I’d actually call it an argument, really, because I just got pissed and hung up, but.” You sigh. Place your chin on top of your knees. “I needed to tell you that, because I don’t want it to seem like I used you. It’s not like that for me with you, but I also can’t lie and say I’m not still stung about it.”

Vernon hums. Asks, “Did you want to hurt him?”

“No,” you answer immediately, because it’s true. You never want to hurt him. “I know the relationship me and him have doesn’t make sense to a lot of people. Most people, probably. It works for us, though, and because it’s always worked, I’m not always sure what to do when it doesn’t.” A sigh. “I’m not jealous, you know? I love him, and I love that other people love him. I don’t want someone else’s normal.”

A half-smile ghosts across Vernon’s face. “I’m sensing a but coming.”

“No but.” You laugh. “Well, maybe a but—ever since you left a few weeks ago, I’ve just felt… off? I couldn’t put my finger on it. I couldn’t shake this feeling I’d done something wrong, and I tried talking to Soonyoung about it but we couldn’t make the time difference work, so I texted him and asked him to make time, but he never responded, so I called him yesterday morning. I’m sure you can guess where this is going.”

“Mm, yeah,” comes his simple reply.

“I overreacted, and I need to apologize for it, but I wasn’t ready to have the conversation until I figured out what was weighing on me.”

“And?” His fingers inch closer to yours. “Did you figure it out?”

You place yours over them. “Yeah, I did.”

Vernon had gotten called into the studio just after eleven.

Both of you had tried holding onto the last dregs of excitement of waking up together for the first time. Tried blinking the exhaustion out of your eyes and showing some semblance of life as you danced around one another, brushing your teeth and getting dressed. Vernon paid for your ride home and kissed you goodbye at the door, but not before promising it’d all get figured out.

The drive takes you down streets lined with cherry blossoms in full bloom, petals covering the asphalt, blowing in the breeze. Morning doesn’t often find you philosophical, but there’s something comforting about the changing of the seasons. Winter will always give way to spring in the same way everything will always work out, just like Vernon had promised, and it makes you feel light, finally unburdened, so you dig your phone from your bag.

You: I’ll be home soon You: I know it’s early where you are, but I’m around if you’re up and want to talk

Soonyoung doesn’t answer, but this doesn’t surprise you—the message just sits there, undelivered.

So you thank the driver when he drops you outside your apartment. Without much else to do, you stop into the grocery store to grab a few things, including a bundle of yellow and pink flowers, and the café next to your building after that, where you order something strong and not watered down. You soak up the sun on your skin, let it warm you from the inside out, and after half your coffee’s gone you start to feel human again.

This only lasts as long as it takes to get to your apartment and open the door.

Because there’s your boyfriend asleep on the couch. Soonyoung, whose mouth is hanging open and is snoring lightly. Soonyoung, who’s supposed to be in Europe. Soonyoung, whose phone is laying on the floor, halfway under the couch. Soonyoung, who startles awake when you call his name and punctuate it with a question mark.

Soonyoung, who realizes it’s you and crosses the living room in milliseconds. Who pulls you into his arms before you can breathe life into another question. Who peppers kisses all over your face and sighs when you thumb away the tears beneath his eyes simply because you’re touching him. Who presses his forehead to yours, content to hold you, and you, who fists your hand in the fabric of his shirt, content to let him.

Once the shock wears off, you realize you’re still holding the flowers. Say, “Let me just…” as you gesture at the bouquet. “Then we can talk?”

He’s reluctant to let you go, but he nods anyway. Doesn’t say a thing about the dozens of flowers already covering the kitchen island. When you spin around, his cheeks are dusted pink, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “I ordered them to be delivered first thing this morning,” he explains. “Well, no—I ordered them yesterday, but they couldn’t deliver that many on such short notice. They also thought it was fake, since I was ordering them from France, so I had to call them, but—”

“They’re beautiful,” you whisper, rubbing a rose petal between your fingers. “Thank you.”

“I panicked. I thought you were breaking up with me.” You don’t mean to laugh, but one tumbles out anyway. Soonyoung pouts around a smile he tries to tamper down, doesn’t take any offense because he, too, knows how absurd it sounds.

“Why would I ever do that?”

He nods his head in the direction of the couch—his favorite place to have these kinds of talks. Says having serious discussions standing up gives him heartburn. Really, you suspect it’s so he has pillows within grabbing distance for when he inevitably starts crying and needs to cover his face in embarrassment, but you’ll give him this. You’ll sit in your usual spot and wait as he sits in his, and then you’ll stretch out and place your feet in his lap like you always do. And he’ll try to apologize first like he always does because he can’t stand things being tense between you, even when it’s your fault.

Today, though, you don’t let him.

“I owe you an apology,” you say, and you want to laugh again at the shocked look on his face, that he can’t believe you beat him to the punch, but you don’t. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. It was out of line and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.”

“I did a little,” he snarks, all self-deprecation. “I am never, ever too busy for you, and I made you feel like I was.”

“I know.” He moves to protest; you hold up a hand to stop him. “Just let me try to explain this. After Vernon left a few weeks ago, everything felt really off. I had this overwhelming sense of guilt, like I’d done something horrible and I couldn’t figure out what it was, because it’s not like I’d crossed any boundaries, you know? Everything was above board. But I wanted to talk to you about it in case you knew something I didn’t, and then we couldn’t—”

“You like him.” Soonyoung says this as a declaration rather than a question. He says this with a shit-eating grin on his face. He says this as if he’s an old philosopher imparting ancient wisdom upon you, like he’s predicted historical events and has yet to be wrong. “You do, don’t you?”

“I—yeah, but how did you know that? How long have you known that?”

He laughs. “Baby, it’s been obvious to everyone except the two of you since that first night.” You sputter, ready to defend your own honor—Soonyoung’s album release party feels like ages ago now, so surely you would’ve been able to put two and two together before now if what he’s saying were true? “I know you,” he adds, tone far more serious and gentle. “I know what you’re like when you have feelings for someone, remember? I’ve watched you fall in and out of love; not only with me, but—”

You gasp and nudge him in the ribs with your foot. “First of all, I have never fallen out of love with you. Don’t even joke about that—”

“Yes, ma’am.” Soonyoung salutes you sarcastically. Captures your foot and acts like he’s going to tickle you just to get a rise.

“Soonyoung, don’t—you know how ticklish I am! I won’t be able to control my body and I’ll kick you in the ribs or the dick or whatever and hurt you and you’ll get all upset! Also, we are in the middle of a serious conversation here! Stop derailing!”

“I’m not even doing anything,” he lies. “Please continue.”

With a groan (and a very deadly stare), you convince him to stop fucking around. He doesn’t release you entirely, but he forgoes the threats of tickling to press his thumbs into the arch of your foot instead. It works. In an instant, you’re calm, half-melted into the fabric of the couch.

“I went out with him last night.” You swallow, feeling the guilt creep in again. Soonyoung digs in deeper. “I texted him after I hung up on you. I didn’t intend for it to be one, but it very much turned into a date. I slept there.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Yes,” you answer honestly. Soonyoung pulls you closer, moves his hands to your calf and works at the muscle there. “I didn’t tell him.” You don’t know whose sake you’re saying this for—if it’s for Soonyoung or you or even Vernon—but it feels important to admit. To acknowledge that Soonyoung still comes first to you; that, as chaotic as things feel, one thing hasn’t changed. “Wanted to talk to you first.”

“Okay,” he replies breezily. “Let’s talk, then, pretty girl. Let’s figure it out.”

And you do.

The two of you talk for hours. Mostly apologies and promises to do better, but Soonyoung wants to hear all the perverse details of your night spent at Vernon’s apartment. Can’t help himself. Laughs when you scold him for getting hard, but you’re laughing, too. He asks if you want to date him—properly, not only when you’re feeling spiteful—and you ask if it’d be okay if you did. Briefly, you wonder if such a question is presumptuous. After all, you haven’t talked to Vernon, haven’t put your feelings into plaintext, but then you think back to the way he’d touched you last night and come to the conclusion it isn’t.

The two of you talk about the future. Soonyoung makes a point to revisit the original agreement; needs to make sure the two of you are on the same page. “It’s okay if you don’t want this anymore,” he assures you. “I just want you to be happy.”

There’s something in his tone that has you eyeing him. “Do you still want this? You’ve never floated the idea of closing the relationship before.”

“I had a near-death experience,” he jokes. “You know how they say your entire life flashes before your eyes right before you die? That’s all I could think about on the flight home—that it’d be my fault if you left and I’d deserve it because I was selfish; that no one I’ve been with could ever come close to you and none of it would’ve been worth it.”

Everything’s starting to sound waterlogged again. Soonyoung takes you into his arms when you crowd his end of the couch and fit yourself against his side. “If you just want it to be the three of us, that’s more than enough for me.” You press a kiss to his shoulder. “Or we can decide later when I feel less like a deer about to get destroyed by a car.”

You snort. Say, “You can decide. Whatever you want is okay with me. I know it’d be a big adjustment for you.”

“Don’t say what you think I want to hear.”

“I’m not,” you affirm. “I’m really, truly, one-hundred-percent okay with whatever you want to do, even if, like, fifty-five-percent of that is because I’m way less enthusiastic about butt stuff than you—”

“Hey!”

With another shared laugh, the air is cleared. Together, the two of you erase the existing lines and draw new ones. Talk about what it would look like for two to become three. Has another moment of self-doubt and apologizes that he is who he is, that he can’t love you in public the way he desperately wants to, the way you deserve to be loved out in the open. “You love me in the ways you can,” you tell him, “and they’re more than enough because they come from you.”

You talk until the sky begins to darken and the conversation devolves into nonsense. Until Soonyoung realizes he never plugged his phone into the charger and his team’s probably in a panic. Until his stomach rumbles and he suggests ordering a ton of food for delivery, except he really does mean a ton, and when you ask him who’s possibly going to eat it all his cheeks redden and he says, sheepish and a little nervous, “I thought we could invite Vernonie over?”

Another playful groan. “You’re back home for—what, barely 48 hours?—and your main concern is having another threesome?”

“And if I say yes?”

You text Vernon and ask if he’s free after work.

He is.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Sharing and reblogging my work is the best way to show you enjoyed it, but I also accept any and all feedback and screaming in my inbox. <3

[dokries]

things seventeen take pride in doing for their partners

pairing: seventeen x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

word count: 2.2k

warnings: mentions of food, some kissing

author note: hello! i’m alive!! thank you anon for requesting this, and i’m so sorry it took…literally 5 months to write this 😭 i hope you enjoy it though! thank you to my awesome friends who helped me write this <3 (honestly i have no idea where so much for chan came from but extra chan love!!)

masterlist

seungcheol (s.coups) - buying you groceries

⟢ seungcheol is a provider, and he’d love to be the one getting you things, especially if it was something as important as groceries.

⟢ he’d totally just text you for a list, and expect you to just tell him exactly what you wanted—plus later, you’d get a bunch of pictures asking which brand or version you wanted of something to make sure he doesn’t get the wrong thing.

⟢ he’d want to pay for most, if not all of it—but he wants you to be comfortable with what he does, so you could both figure out who’s paying for it (though he’d definitely make sure to pay for the small things at least).

⟢ he has his card (and wads of cash) and he’s not afraid to spend it on you—in fact, he prefers it that way.

⟢ it’s even better when you’re with him, since you can spend time together and do something essential (and perhaps it gives him a glimpse of what’ll come down the line, once you’re both older).

jeonghan - getting you the hot gossip from work

⟢ jeonghan is…honestly, he’d make sure he picks up all the gossip for himself—and for you both to discuss later.

⟢ he wouldn’t be nosy per say…he’d just keep his ears open when there were people around talking, okay? it’s not his fault they’re so loud.

⟢ and of course, he’d retell it to you in such a way that you couldn’t help but be completely immersed in the drama because his manager is dating who?

⟢ there’s multiple lines of gossip that you both follow based on who you’re talking about, and each week there’s at least one debrief session where the two of you sit down on the couch and you just absorb the information he gives you.

⟢ he’s glad to see the different expressions you make, and it makes him happy to see you so interested in something he’s telling you about, even if it’s something horrendous about his co-worker—and then when you snuggle up next to him, ready to fall asleep he gives you a small smile and pats your head in contentment.

jisoo (joshua) - buying you flowers or little trinkets

⟢ i think that while joshua’s love language is more like quality time, he seems like the type of person to also buy you flowers every few weeks—or whenever the flowers he previously got you wilt.

⟢ he’d totally get a bouquet for you and a flower for himself to make sure he knew exactly when to get you some new ones.

⟢ obviously, it’ll be your favourite flowers! or just ones that remind him of you, depending on the week.

⟢ if you’re allergic to flowers, he’d get you chocolate or something else you really like—it doesn’t have to be exclusively flowers :>

⟢ he’d see little deer characters and think it would remind you of him, so he would drop them over at your place so you’d always have a way to remember him! (you’d definitely have a little deer and cinnamoroll collection at home somewhere).

junhui (jun) - cooking for you

⟢ even though jun is busy, he knows you are too, so he makes sure to make dinner for you when you get home.

⟢ he immediately rushes you out of the kitchen when you try to help and shushes your protests.

⟢ he’d beg you to just let him cook for you—unless you really wanted to cook yourself. at that point, he would make sure to be the trustiest assistant chef you’ve ever had, just to make it a little easier.

⟢ he just enjoys seeing you have something he made for you and the smile you give him afterwards always makes it worth it.

⟢ if he’s not there for dinner, he makes sure to leave a packaged meal for you in the fridge, complete with a sweet sticky note telling you to eat well and text him a cat meme when you see it.

⟢ he’d make sure to note down your favourite foods, and try to remake some of the things you’ve liked when you both go out on dates to make you happy—because it makes him happy too.

soonyoung (hoshi) - bringing you snacks when you’re busy

⟢ if soonyoung noticed you hadn’t gotten up to get food or drink water in a while, he would come in himself, giving you a plate of fruit or whichever snack you liked the most with a water bottle to keep by your side as you worked.

⟢ he’d do this even in the late hours, when you were studying for an exam or an important report for work, and give you something sweet as a treat—and a reminder that no matter what happens, he cares.

⟢ if you didn’t mind, he’d just sit with you in the same room and do something else to pass the time so you wouldn’t feel alone.

⟢ if he couldn’t be with you but knew you were working or studying long hours, he’d get food delivered to you—or deliver it to you himself again, showing up on your doorstep later at night, hoping a hug and a good meal will energize you.

wonwoo - fixing all your tech issues

⟢ honestly, this is something he’d be really good at.

⟢ like yes, he’s good at so many other things but as soon as you run into any problem whatsoever, he’d know how to help—even if he did have to watch a youtube tutorial or read a guide for your tv.

⟢ he’d fix his glasses right after he managed to fix that weird glitch where your google results were all in a different language or your phone would keep shutting down on you.

⟢ would definitely guide you through fixing anything if he couldn’t be there, and wake up sleepily to facetime so he could see the problem—his glasses askew and his bed hair on full display.

⟢ wonwoo would be proud to call himself your tech guy, especially if it made you smile—and besides, he’s happy he can help you with any challenges, even if it’s something simple.

jihoon (woozi) - planning surprise dates

⟢ jihoon, honestly, spends a lot of time on his own in the studio, and while you visit, he really knows he needs to get out of his second home sometimes—and a date with you is a good way to do that.

⟢ he’d do it shyly, calling you up to first ask if you were busy, and then ask if you could come meet him at the studio (he…can’t drive, otherwise he would pick you up.)

⟢ it’d be nothing much in his eyes: a stroll at a park nearby, learning something new, going out for dinner—simple things that were better when he did them with you. 

⟢ sometimes he’d just show up at your home with flowers, his face red, since he’d been encouraged by soonyoung to do so and be “more romantic for once!” (or at least, that’s how soonyoung saw it. he didn’t really know about the archive of songs that jihoon had written inspired by you, and you had only seen a few of them anyway.)

⟢ he’d always make sure to look into places where you would be interested so you could go together, and he could watch you be entertained by something you wanted to do—even if it wasn’t something he would do himself. 

seokmin (dokyeom) - notes of encouragement

⟢ seokmin’s the type of person to send long, long texts about how much he loves you and how proud he is of you every so often, especially if you’re busy and he can’t see you as much as he wants to!

⟢ he’d leave little notes around the kitchen after weekly movie night, so that when you wake up the next morning, he can see your reaction when you see his shameless puns on the colourful paper—which are all definitely related to whatever you watched. or you know, dad jokes. one of the two.

⟢ if he ever brought you lunch while you were out, he’d leave a little note telling you to eat well and message him so he knows you’re doing okay!

⟢ he wants to make sure you know you’re loved and when you write your own notes for him, he just about melts, giving you a gentle peck on the forehead and a long hug until you both end up giggling.

mingyu - fixing things around the house

⟢ yes, he may be clumsy but mingyu is always volunteering to build you new furniture or fix things you (or he) has broken.

⟢ every so often, he’ll just scan through the entire house under the pretense of cleaning for you when you’re busy, and creates a mental list of what to do. it’s like he’s trying to sneak around but it doesn’t really work because it’s so obvious where his gaze is.

⟢ he also loves to help you rearrange furniture too! like your own little interior design helper except you only pay him in cuddles on the couch…wherever you two put it.

⟢ would totally text you pictures of furniture if he goes to ikea and asks if you want them so he can just buy them for you (and so you can have a little date at home building whatever it is).

minghao (the8) -  watering your plants / taking care of your pets

⟢ he would show up early at your door, ready to help out if he was available—and something he would always do is take care of your babies (plants and/or pets!)

⟢ he’d water your plants for you, leaving a note to remind you to not do the same later, and hum to them to help them grow faster and stay healthy.

⟢ he’d also make sure to help out with grooming or feeding a pet—whatever you needed so you could focus on yourself first.

⟢ if you don’t have either, well he’d take care of the sleepy you by making sure you get through your morning swiftly and happily.

⟢ he’d be proud of making sure you were alright in the mornings, despite how hard it could be some days.

seungkwan - making sure you’re active

⟢ seungkwan loves to do sports and go on hikes and the such, and i think that he would want you to be with him!

⟢ obviously, he wouldn’t force you to but hey, you do need to stay active, and it’s better if it’s with him than on your own—plus, it’s more fun by his side.

⟢ he would totally buy you matching jackets to go hiking in, and always pick activities that you’re comfortable with doing.

⟢ he lights up every time you would say you’re having fun and would run over and give you a quick kiss before continuing your badminton match.

⟢ once you’re both tired out, it’s time for cuddles on the couch…and maybe a quick cheesy rom-com where you can both make fun of the protagonists.

⟢ eventually, he can see the difference in your strength and stamina, and it reminds him to keep working hard too, because you do the same for him.

hansol (vernon) - remembering you

⟢ hansol is a bit of a forgetful guy but he would never forget you (well, for the most part at least; he still has his moments). 

⟢ you’re brought up casually in most conversations he has simply because you’re so important to him that you can be brought up anytime.

⟢ everything and anything ends up reminding him of you, even if it’s not meant to. he’d tell you about most of them because he loves getting a text back full of love, or a smile on your face as a reply.

⟢ even if you’re not present, he’s always hyping you up without realizing. 

⟢ with you, he’s always sending you cat memes and posts in general saying “us” or “u n me fr” 

⟢ he takes pride in simply knowing you, and having the ability to be around you so much :)

chan (dino) - driving you around

⟢ we’ve all seen the dingo video where chan drives a fan somewhere, right? yeah that’s him on the daily with you.

⟢ you’re his passenger princess !! (gender neutral <3) and he makes sure you know it, always offering you a ride no matter where you need to go!

⟢ the grocery store? your friend’s house? the optometrist? [insert any ridiculous place he doesn’t need to accompany you to]? he’s already waiting for you outside.

⟢ this goes even if you’re fully capable of driving yourself because he knows it can be tiring getting on the road some days, but he’ll always brave the bad traffic if it’s for you. 

⟢ knight in shining armour? no, he’s your knight in a really nice car, one that, in his mind, has your name all over the passenger seat. 

⟢ other than that though, he would offer to take you for a late night drive often, with your choice of music on the aux as he drives you over to a spot he researched about weeks ago because it was the perfect couple spot (at least, that’s what it is according to google).

⟢ he’d have a huge smile on his face every time you waved at him before opening the door and plopping in right next to his side, where he could sneak glances at you while waiting for the light to turn green.

thank you for reading ‎♡ - moon :>

[roastedoatmilk]

Who Kissed Nanami?

Kento Nanami x GN! Reader

Summary: The first year trio see that someone left lipstick on Nanami’s collar so they decide to play detective and figure out who it was

Word Count: 1.7k

Tags: literally so much fluff, the first years follow nanami, heavily implied itafushi, some sprinkles of nobamaki, nanami and reader being disgustingly in love with each other

Little Things Masterlist

This was also posted on ao3

A/N This was heavily inspired by a selfship commission i have from my lovely friend cassecreeoute let me know if y’all would like to see it :D

Something was different about Nanami, that much Yuji could tell. He wasn’t quite sure what it was but the stoic man seems to have a bit more pep in his step as of late. While out on missions Nanami seemed more adamant than usual to leave at exactly 6pm, making quick work of whatever it is that’s keeping him. On multiple occasions the pink haired boy has caught his mentor smiling at his phone; two things that the man doesn’t often do. On this day in particular the elder man came into work with a faint red mark peeking up from almost right under where the collar of his shirt meets his neck causing alarm bells to go off in the boy’s head. Yuji decides that his best course of action is to go to Fushiguro and Kugisaki with his findings. He manages to catch Fushiguro while he’s leaving his dorm only offering a small “Need to talk to you.” before grabbing the spiky haired boy by the hand and dragging him down the hallway.

They managed to find Kugisaki sitting beside Maki in the courtyard, the two girls leaning over a phone discussing something in hushed voices. As the boys drew closer they were able to catch a bit of their conversation. 

“I’m telling you Maki he’s obviously hiding something.” Nobara whispers to her elder classmate before continuing.”Nanami doesn’t seem like the type to share stuff like that anyways.” 

Maki nods along before looking up and seeing the two boys approaching them, still holding hands with each other. A smirk grows on the green haired girl’s face seeing this before she stands up and says her goodbyes to the trio. The boys make their way over to their counterpart sitting down next to her. Nobara looks the two boys up and down in annoyance.

“What do the two of you want?” The ginger girl huffs, “I was having a conversation you know.”

Yuji flushes in embarrassment, lowering his head before responding in a hushed voice “I think Nanamin has someone special in his life, I’ve noticed some stuff about him lately.” 

Hearing this Nobara visibly perks up giving the cursed boy her full attention, grabbing him by the shoulders she shakes him while saying “Why didn’t you start with that, tell me everything you know right now!” 

“Kugisaki, if you expect him to answer you need to stop shaking him.” Megumi says, speaking for the first time since Yuji dragged him to the courtyard. 

The elder girl stopped shaking the boy, giving him a break so that he can say his findings. Taking a deep breath Yuji then tells the two everything that he has noticed, even showing them the photo he sneakily took of the mark on Nanami’s neck. Nobara snatched the phone out of his hands to examine the photo further, zooming in as close as possible on the photo.

“I definitely recognize that shade of lipstick, a bit too red for my taste personally.” The girl speaks before handing the phone back to its owner.

Yuji pockets his phone, collecting his thoughts for a moment before declaring “I think we need to investigate where Nanami is going after work, he told me he has somewhere to be tonight.” 

A bewildered look crosses Megumi’s face as he listens to the boy next to him, not really wanting to spend his night following the blond stoic man around. However Nobara seems equally as determined as the pink haired boy to figure out what Nanami is hiding. The two of them lean into each other and whisper ideas of where the man could be heading to. 

Later that night at exactly 6pm Nanami stands from his desk, paperwork already completed, and starts to head out for the night. The first years watch as the door to his office opens and he walks out, heading straight for the entryway of the school. The three students spring into action, following behind the man at a reasonable distance. 

They watch as the man pulls out his phone and calls someone the second he walks through the school’s barrier. Yuji and Nobara gasp as they see the man smile as he says he’ll meet whoever is on the other end of the line at a restaurant a few blocks away, their jaws drop even more as they hear the man say that he loves the person and that he’ll see them soon. Nobara grabs the two younger boys and forces them into a group huddle. 

“He’s definitely seeing someone, we need to follow him to the restaurant and find out who it is.” The girl whispers conspiratorially. Yuji firmly nods agreeing with her while Megumi just sighs before nodding as well. 

The three continue following behind the taller man, making sure to keep their distance. When he arrives at the restaurant he visibly perks up when he sees a person sitting at one of the tables by the window. Making his way inside the trio watch as he walks over to the person, coming up behind them and placing his hands over their eyes causing the person to laugh as they try and guess who it is covering their eyes. Nobara and Yuji’s eyes widen as they watch the person remove his hands from their eyes then stand up and turn around to face Nanami, placing a kiss on his lips leaving behind a mark in the same shade as the one on his neck. Nobara lets out a squeal so loud that it causes the two lovers’ heads to snap in her direction. The first years freeze in place knowing that they are now caught spying on the older man. 

Nanami lets out a deep sigh, pinching his fingers between his eyes and shaking his head. His partner however just laughs at the shocked faces of the kids, leaning into Nanami’s shoulder for support. The older man's shoulders now bouncing as he also chuckles at the kids. The three stand there in complete shock watching the two adults laugh at their expense. 

“W-we are so sorry for following you Nanamin, we just had noticed some stuff about you lately and wanted to find out what it meant.” Yuji stutters, his face completely red at this point. 

“Yeah!” Nobara chimed in, “Besides it was Itadori’s idea in the first place I was just following along.” This caused the pink haired boy to bow his head in shame, nodding along to the words of the older girl. Megumi stands with the two before waving shyly at you, his face a vibrant shade of pink. 

You laugh even harder at the three students before making your way over to them standing in front of the trio. Nanami follows behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“It’s very nice to meet you two and it’s nice to see you again Megumi.” You say to the kids, your voice gentle as if talking to a baby deer.  A bright look in your eyes as you speak to the kids. 

Yuji’s head shoots up towards Megumi at hearing that the dark haired boy had met you before, Megumi refusing to look at his friends mutters a “It’s nice to see you again too.” 

Yuji and Nobara round on him after he speaks, the elder girl staring daggers into the green eyed boy. 

“Why didn't you tell us that you knew about Nanami’s partner huh??” Nobara squawks clinging to his arm.

“Do you not trust us, is that it Fushiguro?” Yuji asks with fake tears in his eyes, playing into Nobara’s act.

Megumi frees himself from Nobara before he tentatively reaches out to hook his pinky around the pink haired boy’s own. Megumi takes a few moments before speaking to his friends in a soft tone, “It just wasn’t my place to reveal that sort of information, I figured they were keeping it a secret for a reason.” 

The other two nod in understanding, giving up the act they had been putting on finding his reason acceptable. Yuji locks his pinky around Megumi’s in response. The two boys shyly looked at each other before the clearing of a throat caused their heads to snap up. Nanami and you are still standing there watching the trio, a small smile gracing both of your faces. 

“Have any of you eaten yet?” The tall blond man asks the trio, his voice soft. The three shake their heads in response, and on queue Yuji’s stomach starts to growl. Causing everyone to let out a laugh. 

“Come on kiddos, let's get you guys some food before you have to go back to school.” You say, ushering the kids into the restaurant. 

The three sitting in the booth across from where Nanami and yourself sit. You spend the next few hours getting to know the kids as you all eat. Answering any of the questions that the trio had. After all of the food was eaten and the kids ran out of questions, Nanami paid the bill before telling the kids that he’ll walk them back to the school. The three groan not yet wanting to go back but follow the elder man anyways. Before they leave Nanami gives you a peck on the lips, a smile gracing his face as he looks at you. 

“I’ll be home as soon as I make sure that they’re all back in their dorms.” The freckled man murmurs, placing yet another peck on your lips. You laugh at the man before nodding and turning to the kids. 

“It was lovely meeting you both Itadori and Kugisaki, and it was great seeing you again Fushiguro.” you tell the trio. Wrapping the three of them into a quick hug. 

“It was nice meeting you too.” Yuji and Nobara blurt at the same time causing you to smile even wider at them. 

“It was good to see you again.” Megumi mutters his face still pink from embarrassment.

You let the three go and Nanami ushers them towards the exit, the three dragging their feet behind him. Laughing at the kids as you watch them go, you hope that you’ll be able to have dinner with the trio again soon.

A/N here’s part two i had tons of fun writing this i hope y’all enjoy it as always lmk what y’all think in the comments 🫶🏻

[astrotruther]

Astro Observations

power & deception

🎲 Having multiple squares to Neptune with someone in a synastry chart—be VERY careful. These people may not have your best interest at heart. Or your perception of them could be skewed in some way. Nonetheless, there could be hidden things that could hurt you or the relationship.

🎲 North/ South Node square Sun natives are constantly torn between who they are and who they think they should be, leading to a lifetime of identity struggles. In low-vibrational energy, they deceive by creating a false persona—shapeshifting to fit in or exaggerating their achievements to feel worthy. Can end up living a lie just to avoid facing reality. E.g. Tila Tequila. She also has her Sun at 0°. I've discussed the 0° here & here.

🎲 Mars square Jupiter in a man’s chart—he rarely spends money on anything that doesn’t serve his interests. The type of man who buys drinks only for the girl he wants to get with at the club, only talks to her, and acts as if her friend is invisible. This aspect is also common in guys who think women only want them for their money.

🎲 For North/ South Node square Neptune natives, reality is slippery, and they struggle to find clarity in their life path. When low-vibe, they deceive through delusions, gaslighting, and playing the martyr. May lie compulsively (even to themselves), rewrite history to fit their narrative, or pretend to be more lost/ helpless than they really are to gain sympathy.

🎲 8th and 12th House synastry can be tricky in non-romantic relationships. Mars in 12th House - Mars could be secretly plotting your downfall; Pluto/ Jupiter in 8th could benefit from the 8th House person's losses. Of course, it depends on the morals of the other person, but the energy/ opportunity is definitely present here.

🎲 Pluto square Mercury natives are sharp-witted and adaptable. They may shift their personality depending on what gains them the most influence. There might be a huge gap between how they present themselves to the world and who they truly are. E.g. Bobbi Althoff saying, "being myself doesn't get views, I had to go where the money was". Also, Carlee Russell faking her kidnapping for attention.

🎲 Everyone talks about how Capricorns are obsessed with climbing the success ladder, but Sagittarius (Suns/ Stelliums) are by far the most cutthroat when it comes to business. They often work in silence & in the shadows until they've built an empire. If they're good people with a strong moral compass, this is a great placement. However, I've seen a dark side of this in public figures. These people know how to sway public opinion. They're good at covering their tracks. E.g. Jay-Z, Nicki Minaj (both Sag. stelliums). Taylor Swift releasing new versions of her albums coinciding with other popular female artists' release days (Sabrina Carpenter, Chappell Roan, and Billie Eilish, to name a few). Min Hee-jin, ex-CEO of ADOR, falls under the most unhinged spectrum of Sagittarius: a creep & a bully.

• These people often exhibit a 'shoot first, ask later' mentality, especially in conflict or business. Nicki Minaj’s social media meltdowns are a glaring example of this. The Taylor-Scooter situation is a prime example. It was purely business, and Taylor’s own father had significant control over her label. He could’ve stopped the deal, but instead, she took the opportunity to paint herself as a victim and turned it into one of her most commercially successful eras. I'd bought her narrative too and only looked into it after Candace Owens talked about it in one of her Lively vs. Baldoni episodes.

🎲 Nessus (7066) square Jupiter has a complicated, sometimes toxic outlook on abundance. They might pride themselves too much on living a simplistic/ minimal life. They might feel guilty for desiring luxury. Contacts with Saturn may indicate that it was internalized since childhood, likely because of the father. Positive aspects, particularly trine, would be helpful in healing and creating a more balanced approach to material things.

🎲 Destinn (6583) square Saturn is so draining. You have this idea that you're destined for big things, but it seemingly takes a very long time to manifest. It's a tiring journey of setbacks, blockages, and important lessons. Hang in there!

Donate 💌

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

Actual Ultimate Classpecting Guide

For real this time.

Buckle up, this is a really long one. For everything that's posited, I can provide textual evidence; that being said, I'm not going to be including the textual evidence within the essay itself, because it's already long enough as-is. As such, please feel free to ask for clarification or sources on any assertion, and I'll do my best to provide.

Before we begin, there's some things to discuss about how we're going to be approaching classpect in the following essay. In numbered list form for our short attention spans:

1. There is a concept Hussie talks about multiple times in his book commentary, "personality alchemy" - the idea that there are these "platonic ideals" of certain characters, which can be mixed and matched with others, in order to create new characters. The examples he gives are of how Eridan was a proto-Caliborn, how Kanaya has shades of Jade, how Nepeta was a proto-Calliope, and how Sollux and Eridan have shades of Dave in them. Classpecting is fundamentally a form of this personality alchemy:

2. Class describes the character's arc and emotional hurdles, while Aspect describes the character's base personality traits by which this arc is experienced.

3. For example, all three Seers struggle with hubris: Rose's need to be the smartest person in the room led to her being manipulated by Doc Scratch, Terezi's obsession with meting justice led to her engineering a situation where the only option was to kill Vriska, and Kankri's desire to be seen as a spiritual leader amongst his friends led to him furthering their divisions and harming them.

Then, when their pride is shattered, they cope by inflicting willful self-blindness: Rose turns to drinking herself stupid (the opposite of Light's sway over knowledge), Terezi gets down with the clown (the opposite of meting out Mind's justice, as it's a Gamzee W), Kankri goes celibate (Blood L) despite his clear romantic feelings for certain teammates.

4. As for Aspect: note how all three Life players share the personality traits of optimism, stubbornness, and obstinacy. All three Breath players share an immaturity and naïvety, and are quite frankly irresistible to people for some reason. All three Light players share a need for the spotlight and a tendency toward long-windedness and persnicketiness. So on and so forth.

What's interesting is, if you start analyzing characters that share Classes and Aspects, these specific types of similarity crop up over and over - all our Knights struggle with insecurities and facades, both our Bards have a crisis of faith. All three Breath players have an aspect of immaturity and childishness to their characters, and all three Light players are deeply concerned with appearing intelligent and feeling important.

5. As a result, this guide is NOT intended for classpecting real life people, because we are complicated, we contain multitudes, and we don't have arcs. This is primarily an analysis of what Class and Aspect mean in Homestuck based on textual evidence, because I genuinely believe that you can basically figure it out if you read carefully.

6. Duality, and the idea of "equal and opposite," are major themes within Homestuck - Prospit and Derse, Skaia (described as a crucible of birth and creativity) and the Furthest Ring (the literal afterlife). Which classes are involved in an Active/Passive split, and opposing Aspects, are the same way. This is the primary method I used to determine the Active/Passive pairings and opposing Aspects. After all, as Callie describes, both Thieves and Rogues are classes "who steal" - so, too, do I try to unify Classes by a common theme, even if they diverge wildly in how that theme is expressed (as Thieves and Rogues do). In the same way as the opposite of "up" is not "apple," but "down", because "up" and "down" are both fundamentally concerned with relative vertical position, so too can be defined concepts like Breath and Blood, Hope and Rage, Light and Void - as well as the reasoning behind Class pairings like Heir and Page, Maid and Knight, and Seer and Mage.

7. Descriptions for both Class and Aspect are left deliberately vague and up to interpretation within the comic itself, and this is by design: the actual manifestations of an Aspect can vary wildly given the Class, and even individual person, that it's tied to. Calliope even makes note of the fact that, under the right circumstances, someone can manifest effects that appear to be the opposite of their aspect. She's also careful to couch her language in "may" and "can" - because these concepts are intentionally somewhat nebulous and malleable. As such, while this guide certainly lays down what can be gleaned and inferred from the text, do note that Homestuck runs on a soft magic system, and as such, nothing stated is firm, 100%, must-always-be-this-way - just an overview of what we've seen.

8. There is often great overlap between Aspects, Classes, and Classpects - which Calliope herself notes. Heart and Blood are one of the most salient, as they both have a fixation on relationships, and Calliope mentions that under the right circumstances, a Classpect may even be able to manifest what appears to be the opposite of their Aspect. Again, Homestuck operates on a soft magic system, so this is a feature, not a bug.

ASPECT

There's a little less to say about Aspect, not because it's less complicated, but because "base personality traits" are much more nebulous compared to Class's sway over character arc. Still, Aspect represents the fundamental way a character is, and thus, color every interaction that character has. There's a reason Ultimate Selfhood is sought through Aspect, not Class - Aspect is the core of the character's being, what makes that person that person.

That all being said, Class has major sway over how an Aspect manifests, and certain classes can even invert the Aspect and even the character's role in the party. As such, these descriptions must be parsed carefully in relation to Class. Moreover, due to the soft magic system, there is at times overlap between unrelated Aspects, which can also be exacerbated by Class - Heart and Blood being the most obvious in this regard. Still, overall, you'll find the Aspects to be fairly distinct from one another.

Please also note that every Aspect can deal with its literal counterpart by default - Light players can wield lasers, Breath players can wield the breeze, et cetera. Because this kind of goes without saying, and because the non-literal stuff is more interesting to discuss, I'm not really going to go into too much detail about the literal qualities.

Finally, something interesting to note is that nearly every Aspect follows its own Hero's Journey cycle - full actualization for each one usually means reaching around to its opposite Aspect, and taking lessons from them - for example, Breath players need to learn maturity and responsibility, while Blood players need to learn relaxation and whimsy. Thus, an Aspect at its worst manifests in two ways - either a toxic overabundance of the Aspect's worst traits, or such a dearth of the aspect that it begins to resemble its opposite. Only by reaching into the opposite, however, can the player be tempered and reach full maturity - can they become more of who they are.

SPACE / TIME

Space and Time are both concerned with physical reality, goals, and the way one approaches them.

Space is associated with "the big picture" - with recycling, reproduction, and the interconnectivity of all things. The aspect also presides over the enjoyment of the journey over the destination - Space players serve as reminders that the present moment is as important as the end goal. Space is often a more passive Aspect, being the stage upon which the story is set. They're the hosts of the party, and the one who marks the ending.

Its players reflect these tendencies, often being feminine, with penchants for life-giving acts such as gardening. Their personalities tend towards frivolity and silliness, finding it difficult to stay on-topic or bring full gravitas to serious situations. Perhaps a better word would be "distractable;" when the aspect is so concerned with all things in connection with each other, it's easy to lose track of details, and it's easy to enjoy things simply as they come. Space players tend to be kind, patient, and forgiving, which is a strength as much as it is a flaw; it's easy for malicious actors to take advantage of this compassion, or for the Space player to find themselves in a poor situation by being overly permissive. They can easily be painted over by stronger personalities, and tend to struggle with romantic relationships, as they attract many with their kind and giving natures, and few are naturally so considerate of the Space player in turn.

"Passive" is a good word to use; at a toxic overabundance of their Aspect, Space players are trampled underfoot. They become enablers, servants to dark forces, or so lost in their own worlds that they neglect the one they live in. With their Aspect "inverted," a Space player becomes a demon of poor prioritization. Distracting not just themselves from their true purpose, but others, too, the Space player will wreak havoc by overemphasizing unimportant topics and ignoring important tasks. This superficially resembles Time, in that the Space player will become fanatically dedicated to their task, but note that the poor prioritization is still Space-esque at its core.

Still, within this nadir is a valuable lesson: the strength of self-assertion, and the determination to see a goal through. These will allow the Space player to weed their garden, separating good from bad, allowing it to flourish like never before.

Time, in contrast, is associated with "the little things" - with details, minutiae, and processes. Time presides over the struggle toward something greater, the endurance of hardship with an eye on the prize - the destination over the journey. Time players are the ones keeping track of the tasklist, marking off each item as it reaches completion; they are the tireless workers keeping the whole engine running.

Time players, thus, are ones whose lives are marked by struggle. They are highly goal-oriented; in contrast to how Space players can easily move from goal to goal, task to task, Time players feel bound to see things through to the end, finding satisfaction only when they've achieved their desired result - and only until they come across the next goal in their journey. A Time player isn't happy without a goal to work towards, a craft to polish, a prize to win - but this driven nature can easily be its own downfall, as it leaves little room for the player to admit to their own shortcomings, or ask for help from others. Moreover, their focus on minutiae can leave them blinded to the bigger picture, and it's easy for a time player to fall to despair, able to do nothing more but spin their wheels. They're prone to directionless anguish, frustration, and resentment towards the seeming futility of their actions, becoming destructive and defiant even when it doesn't serve them to do so.

At a toxic overabundance of their Aspect, Time players become explosively destructive. The ultimate "goal" of all things is death, with which Time is associated, and accordingly, Time players have a penchant for aligning themselves with futility and entropy, struggling so hard that their thrashing leaves a trail of annihilation in their wake. With their Aspect "inverted," Time players detach entirely - they can become so fed up with struggle that they simply opt to lay their weapons down and let the end take them. It's very easy for them to come to the conclusions that either everything matters, or nothing matters. This superficially resembles Space and its big picture thinking, but note that its framework of struggle, and whether or not a goal needs to be pursued, makes it a Time concern.

But the inherent meaninglessness of existence is, in itself, an important realization to make - that whether or not anything "matters" in the grand scheme, things can still be worth doing, worth caring about, and worth investing in. This realization allows the Time player to attack their goals with renewed vigor and greater clarity, which in turn means that the party becomes an efficient, well-oiled machine.

BREATH / BLOOD

Breath and Blood are both concerned with directionality, interpersonal relationships, and autonomy.

Breath is the Aspect governing freedom, liberty, and independence; it is a force that breaks shackles, clears out social norms, and refutes "the rules," whatever those rules may be. Breath players can't be tied down, whether by physical bonds, societal rules, or even the ineffable forces of the narrative itself. They are leaders of example, pioneers, and trailblazers, opening new paths for their teammates to follow.

Breath players are goofy and gullible, often with hearts full of childlike whimsy, naivety, and even immaturity. They are friendly and well-meaning, fond of simpler things, and easily swayed by others. They approach the world with a sincere and innocent good-naturedness, like a baby animal before it learns to be fearful of danger. Something about this sincerity seems to make Breath players irresistible to others, and they often find themselves the subject of romantic attraction. However, in this childishness is also the great pitfall of many Breath players - their natures are naturally conflict-averse, and egotistical the way a child can be, failing to see beyond themselves. They can be incredibly callous when not considering the consequences of their actions, or the viewpoints of others.

At their worst, Breath players are irresponsible and callous. They'll shirk the consequences of their actions, blaming anybody but themselves, or simply choose not to care who they hurt in order to get what they want. They may even choose to stop making choices for themselves, leading to the "inversion" of their Aspect - a voluntary loss of freedom and independence, derived from an Breath-like aversion to responsibility, which superficially resembles the bondage of Blood.

But if they are able to overcome these tendencies, a Breath player will learn what true responsibility looks like - responsibility for themselves, their choices, and the effect they have on others. Armed with this, a Breath player's ability to break bonds can be focused into a clear force for good, clearing away all obstacles and harmful societal standards, leading the charge into something new and beautiful.

Blood, in sharp contrast, is the aspect that governs bondage, contracts, and interdependence. It is a force that binds. Under Blood's sway are not only romantic entanglements, but familial, friendly, and societal ones as well. This aspect sees overlap with Heart, but the division is this: Heart concerns itself with feelings, and Blood concerns itself with compatibility. Blood players are diplomats, forces that remind us all that we are more similar than we are different, and that that similarity should bring us together when we are on the verge of pulling apart.

Blood players, reflective of their Aspect's association with bonds, tend to be neurotic and obsessive. They have a tendency to over-examine and overthink, constantly fretting over the infinite and infinitesimal variables that influence the shape of society and interpersonal relationships. However, this judgmental nature stems from a deep well of idealism and empathy; Blood players can't help but care about others and wish for the best for them. In a way, this makes them one of the most mature members of the team, being concerned with its overall well-being. Unfortunately, their prowess does not extend inwards, and their assessment of themselves is usually direly incorrect - all the worse because Blood players always feel responsible for those around them. Blood, being the Aspect concerned with interdependence, is the weakest one when all alone.

Thus, it's easy for the Blood player to wind up controlling - desperate to make sure everyone is moving according to their vision, they'll become iron-fisted dictators, with a "my way or the highway" approach to social interactions. It's easy for them to wind up pariahs of their own making, becoming so critical of others, or so adamant about enforcing their own will, that they inadvertantly sever their ties - something that superficially resembles Breath's independence, but is truly a result of Blood's neuroticism.

But with that space and separation can come great clarity. Blood players must learn to relax their grip, and allow people room to breathe - including themselves. Once able to grasp that sometimes bonds must be forged with a soft touch, Blood players' natural empathy shines through, allowing them to build something so much kinder and greater than the sum of its parts.

LIGHT / VOID

Light and Void are both concerned with knowledge, ontology, and "narrative relevance".

Light (as well as its counterpart) are perhaps best understood through the lens of "narrative" - this idea that, of all things that do and don't exist, and all events that do and don't happen, only the ones put to page are "relevant". Thus, Light is associated with knowledge and luck - that is to say, it's associated with the knowable, the objective, and the concrete, and the ability to determine "important" events. Light players have read the book they're participating in, and able to serve as luminary guides from one plot point to another, lighting the lampposts for others to follow.

Light players, naturally, are erudite and educated, possessing keen intellects and cunning minds. They are fond of knowledge itself, of markers of status and prestige - whether that's wealth, the adulation of the masses, or a massive library. They harbor a desire to be important, to be seen, to be acknowledged, and are happiest when they are looked up to. Conversely, they deal poorly with being looked down upon. Their confidence transmutes easily into hubris, and they struggle with having that pride challenged. As such, they tend to be volatile and unpredictable, quick to retaliate against those who threaten their egos, or obsequious to those whose acknowledgement they desire.

Their desire for the limelight can quickly spell disaster - they can become incredibly cruel, harsh, and egotistical in their pursuit of narrative significance. They forget, in their obsession, that they, too, are fallible and flawed, and the inevitable reminder can come very harshly. Light players struggle with moderation, and as such, when they feel shame, they'll often take drastic measures to cope with it - deliberately darkening their own influence or intellects, removing themselves from the "story" entirely - something which superficially resembles Void's penchant for the background, but which is firmly rooted in Light's obsessive need for drama.

But in experimenting with narrative insignificance, Light players can reach an epiphany - in their absence, others may shine, and that can be a wonderful thing. Light players, then, can learn to shine not just for their own sakes, but for the sake of others, allowing them to weave a story even more brilliant than any that can be weaved alone.

Void, in contrast, is the blank spaces between the words. That which is secret, subjective, unknowable - these are Void's domain. It's associated with taboos and hidden things, sexuality and pleasure. It's also associated with the empty canvas - the blank space before creation, and the oblivion to which creation is eventually destined for. Thus, it stands for infinite possibility, though the collapse of those possibilities into a reality removes that reality from Void's domain.

Thus are Void players ever cosigned to the background, though this generally suits them fine. Void players are very self-possessed. Where Light players tend to exaggerate and complicate, Void players are honest and simple, preferring straightforward solutions. They don't tend to think very hard, instead letting intuition and emotion guide them to where they want to be - which makes them one of the more stable personalities on a team. However, this simplistic, feelings-driven approach often leads to pleasure-seeking behavior, poor impulse control, and overindulgence in vice, and from there, to irrelevance, with which Void is so closely interlinked.

Void players are especially prone to vice, and at their worst, will become so drunk on pleasurable activities that they pursue them to the active detriment of the party's goals or the Void player's self-improvement - making them the ultimate irrelevant character. They can also very easily drag others into their mélange, with a forcefulness that resembles Light's illuminating guidance, but which is ultimately rooted in Void's pursuit of personal pleasure.

But there's a lesson to be learned in Light's domain: how to bring themselves into relevance and greatness. A Void player, once they learn to pursue not just personal pleasure, but a greater satisfaction for the collective whole, can drag the Void behind them, kicking and screaming, to where it'll be of use.

MIND / HEART

Mind and Heart are concerned with what it means to be a sentient being, with identity, and with why we do what we do.

Mind is the Aspect associated with logic, rationality, karma, ethics, and justice. To a Mind player, they "are" because they "think". They are keenly aware of the consequences of every action, and well-versed in cognition and behavior, such to the point of manipulating others with ease. Deeply concerned with the "effect" of cause-and-effect, Mind players are always cognizant of debts and credits, where justice is owed and where it has been over-meted, and their subtle machinations culminate, like well-placed dominoes, in grand and explosive finales.

Mind players are schemers - it's in their nature. They have a tendency to view the world as a puzzle or game, with themselves and the people around them as pieces on a board, and set as their standard rules the laws of ethics and karma - owed debts and overhanging credit - guilty and innocent. Mind players are wickedly cunning, and have an high success rate with every scheme they commit themselves to, but the grand downfall of all these tendencies is that they tend to lack in a sense of identity, and have a poor grasp on their own emotions or desires. While they may know how to provoke a desired reaction, they don't know how to change someone's mind. They often find themselves grappling very painfully with their own selfhood, with feelings of emptiness, inadequacy, or uncertainty.

Thus, a Mind player at the worst zenith of their Aspect is heartless and cruel. Leaving no space for empathy or even personal feelings in their plans, the Mind player will plot for an ending as heartless as they are. But a Mind player is never truly without emotion, and ignoring their own feelings causes them to manifest in terrible ways - Mind players have a tendency to seek toxic, codependent relationships, hoping to find external validation, subjecting themselves to the wishes of others, which can appear like Heart's fixation on feelings and desire.

But in recognizing their own need for emotional validation, and the importance of their own feelings, a Mind player can realize that there's an entire dimension to the game they've been playing that they've been ignorant of. When a Mind player learns to temper their schemes with empathy, compassion, and kindness, how much more success they'll see - and how much happier that grand finale will be!

Heart, then, is associated with feelings, motivations, intuition, the soul, and the self. To a Heart player, they "are" because they "feel" like they are - and they're keenly aware of the multitudes that are contained within themselves. Deeply concerned with the "cause" of cause-and-effect, they're drawn to desires, those of themselves and of others, especially where strong feelings are concerned. Heart players are gifted with an intuitive understanding of those around them, both their good and bad qualities, and are tasked with the grand task of bringing out the best.

It stands to reason, then, that Heart players have a firm grasp on who they are and what they want. For the same reasons, it's difficult for a Heart player to truly hate or condemn another person, because they are so adept at understanding them. However, this understanding comes with a price - because the Heart player is so aware of themselves, they can't escape their own worst traits - nobody self-loathes as accurately as a Heart player can. Nor can they ever truly be untruthful with another, making them poor manipulators. Capable of presenting a different facet of themselves as the situation calls for it, certainly, but just as it's impossible to lie to a Heart player, who always knows how someone really feels, it's impossible for a Heart player to lie to themselves.

With this sincerity comes vulnerability. Heart players wear theirs on their sleeves, and at their worst, this can make them demanding, needy, and sensitive - so eager to connect with others emotionally that they'll cramp themselves to fit others' desires. But they can't ever keep this up for long; Heart players have a tendency to withdraw from others after being hurt too often, finding it easier to be alone and silent about their feelings than to deal with the pain of rejection. They may even work to manipulate others, preying on their emotions and desires to force them to act in their worst interests. This superficially resembles Mind's cold logic, but unlike Mind's cool rationality, Heart's aloofness is a mask, an attempt to avoid pain by pulling away.

But this isn't purely a negative, because a Heart player can learn a healthier form of detachment, and separate out healthy and helpful desires from harmful and detrimental ones. Given this clarity, the Heart player becomes the team's emotional core, able to raise up each teammate's best qualities, while helping them deal with their worst, enabling everyone to be the best possible version of themselves - which the Heart player knew them to be all along.

LIFE / DOOM

Life and Doom are concerned with outlook, with journeys, and with trials and tribulations.

Life is an aspect concerned with healing, growing, and improving. It is associated with beginnings, optimism, and positive emotions. The very essence of Life lies in its healing abilities, in this idea of overcoming the odds and triumphing over hardship and difficulty. Life is action, movement, and motion, and its players can scarcely hold still. Life will find a way - and Life players harbor the same immutable belief; they are the most stubborn weeds in the garden, the cockroach that survives the apocalypse, and the beating heart that refuses to stop.

Life players tend to be optimistic and confident. They are self-assured individuals, with a stubborn belief that good things are on their way, and any hardship they face is not only temporary, but something that can be overcome. They can find the silver lining in any cloud, and enjoy themselves under any circumstance. They love to nurture, to care for others, though this love has a tendency to be one-sided. Indeed, Life's stubborn nature is its players' greatest pitfall; their persistence easily becomes obstinacy, and their confidence can become condescension. Their self-assured nature easily becomes egotism, and they can have great difficulty grappling with those who don't share their views - even coming to oppose those who bring emotional pain and suffering that can't be easily fixed.

It's very easy for a Life player to decide another person isn't worth their attention, and opt to leave them behind - after all, Life has to move forward, no matter what it tramples in the process. At their worst, they're stubborn to the point of not listening to anyone but themselves, confidence becoming blockheadedness. This focus on forward progress without looking back can even cause Life players to become harmful to others, so focused they are on their own growth that they don't notice that they're choking everyone else out. This may resemble Doom's death in its worst case - arresting everything else, eventually blocking even their own path with unruly, out-of-control fecundity.

Thus, a Life player needs to learn to more gracefully accept Doom's influence - to pause, slow down, and consider viewpoints that are negative, unpleasant, or difficult. A Life player, endowed with moderation, will be able to cultivate a bountiful garden, rather than an unruly jungle - a place for all to flourish and live in plenty, never wanting for anything.

Doom, then, is the aspect concerned with death, with rest, and with endings. Doom is associated with suffering and with negative emotions, with peace, with sleep, and with dreams. Doom players have a natural penchant for prophecy, and are often dual dreamers, able to take advantage of both Skaia's oracular clouds and the Horrorterrors' voices over Derse. All things must eventually come to an end, and not all times will be good; in these troubling times, Doom players shine, as they are the guides who call the murk home, and know best how to navigate rough waters, course-correcting until the storm passes.

Doom players tend to be deeply pessimistic. They experience, to a much more magnified degree than others, negative feelings and impulses, and it's difficult for them to see the world without seeing its flaws, first and foremost. They are not healers, but commiserators, those who understand greatest that sometimes there's no way to deal with tragedy but to simply sit with it and wait for it to pass. The counterpoint to Life's insistence on breathless positivity, Doom is a reminder that pain, grief, sadness, shame, and guilt are not unnecessary things - in fact, excising them can lead to terrible consequences. Doom players are the universe's martyrs, often taking it upon themselves to course-correct, to sacrifice themselves in order to give others a chance to continue on, to avert a terrible fate.

Unfortunately, this tendency also brings with it a tendency for Doom players to wallow in misfortune, or worse, to take themselves out of the picture, giving up entirely on seeing a better ending. As if energized by their own sense of futility, a Doom player at the "inverse" of their aspect may seem to echo a Life player's focus on forward progress and motion, actively spurring their team on towards an untimely demise.

A Doom player must learn to harness this sense of progress for good, rather than harm. A Doom player, once able to grasp the joy of life even in the greatest depths of despair, will be able to fill even the darkest hours with peace, meaning, and hope.

HOPE / RAGE

Hope and Rage are concerned with permission, and are the lens by which we define reality.

Hope is described by Hussie in the book commentary as being "framed as the most powerful aspect" because it is, literally, an aspect that defines reality. Its specific ability is lies in reducing the "fakeness attribute" of something, thus making it "real". Hope is associated with convictions, with idealism, with faith, order, holiness, and, of course, with magic - which Hope turns real. Hope is permission itself - a reality-breaking ability to look at the world and decree that it must be another way, a way in which the Hope player believes it ought to be.

Thus, Hope players tend to be hard-headed zealots, with no self-awareness whatsoever. Their inclination towards powerful beliefs makes them very difficult to dissuade from a path they've set their minds to, and their specific suite of abilities makes them terrifyingly likely to make their vision come true. Hope players are usually not particularly cunning, nor particularly intelligent, nor even particularly empathetic. Given the Aspect's focus on conviction and faith, it's usually very difficult for Hope players to notice anything occurring beyond their own minds and feelings. Thus are Hope players hopeless optimists, hopeless romantics, and hopeless in general - often great sources of embarrassment to their teams, as their naked sincerity is painful to witness. However, their ability to define reality does not leave them when their beliefs are faulty (which they often are, given Hope players are not particularly introspective, either), which is what makes a Hope player so dangerous.

A Hope player can easily be set on the wrong path - as convicted as they are, and as difficult to shake from that conviction as they can be, Hope players can easily march down a path of destruction, if not persuaded with a deft touch and gentle guidance. In the event that their faith is broken, Hope players easily become despondent and lost, floundering and wishy-washy, which superficially resembles Rage's self-consciousness, but is truly just a lack of direction.

But Rage has a powerful lesson to teach Hope players - that of questioning themselves, interrogating their own beliefs. Once their convictions have gone through rigorous scrutiny, revised into the best, brightest versions of themselves they can be, a Hope player is a worker of miracles - speaking into existence a beautiful future on faith alone, proclaiming that how they see the world is how the world shall be.

Rage, then, is the power of denial. If Hope reduces the "fakness" of a thing, then Rage reduces its "realness". Rage, too, is a means of defining reality, in this case taking a torch to the aspects of reality that it rejects. In more passive Classes, this works in subtler ways, stoking others towards destructive fury. Rage is associated with anarchy, chaos, revolution, destruction, anger, and nihilism. A Rage player will not suffer a world that does not satisfy them, breaking it to pieces, such that something new can take its place.

Therefore, Rage players are prone to harboring anger and resentment, discontentment with the status quo, and faith only in that what currently exists must somehow be dismantled. However, unlike Hope players, who can't help but be pathetically sincere, Rage players are incredibly self-conscious, and often try to mask and hide their embitterment and anger. This, ironically, leads to further ostracization, as others can tell they're being inauthentic. This only further compounds their sense of alienation, and drives them further into smoldering resentment. This makes Rage players sound volatile and dangerous, and they are - but the same fury that moves them is the fury that ignites revolts and tears down oppressive regimes, a necessary and vital well of energy and momentum. It takes careful handling to ensure that the team's Rage player can channel this energy towards righteous causes, rather than marking all as a target for their destructive ire.

In the worst-case scenario, the Rage player turns that rage out indiscriminately, deciding that there is nothing worth fighting for - only unpleasant things to be brought to ruin. This is Rage at its toxic overabundance. Conversely, a Rage player can retreat so harshly into their mask that they allow others to dictate their beliefs, taking them to heart - an action motivated by Rage's destruction (this time, turned inwards) that superficially resembles Hope's convictions and faith.

The true path for a Rage player is a healthy balance - to allow themselves some of Hope's sincerity, and by doing so, to become more sincere and true. This will let them release the pressure of their mounting ire, such that it can be converted into productive, rather than destructive, energy - the heralds of a revolution, razing away the faulty, corrupt old systems such that something better and new can take their place.

CLASS

As previously stated, Class governs a character's character arc - the character's starting circumstances, whether their conflict is primarily internal or external, and what major aspect of their Aspect becomes a hurdle for them to overcome.

In the same way an Aspect's sways tie into the character's base personality, the character's Class abilities tie into the kinds of struggles they face, and have great influence on how their Aspects manifest.

That being said, a character - and their Class - are always subject to their Aspect, as their Aspect is tied fundamentally into who they are. Thus, it can be said that a Light player will always have an affinity for knowledge and provide Seer-esque guidance even when not in a Seer role, a Doom player will always have prophetic abilities even with a non-prophetic class (note that Mituna, an Heir, still had prophetic visions, despite those generally being the realm of Mages and Seers), and a Life player will always have a penchant for healing, even paired with a destructive Class like Prince or Thief (the Condesce, after all, could still extend life; a Prince of Life would likely manifest not as one who causes plants to wither and die (this would actually suit a Prince of Doom), but one who destroys in the way of nature overtaking an abandoned shack, or a forest breaking down a body).

This means that when a character's Classpect inverts their Aspect, it doesn't mean that they suddenly become a hero of the opposing Aspect - rather, it means that, at their very worst - at the nadirs of their character arcs - they will lean so much into their Aspect's worst traits that it will superficially appear as the opposite, when all it really is is an absence of themselves. Dave, a Time player, usually so attentive to detail (despite his disaffected facade, he's always paying rapt attention to Karkat's rants, and noticing all the clues pointing to his destiny of defeating LE), at his lowest emotional point (arguing with Grimbark Jade after sobbing about his lost childhood whimsy), states that he doesn't think Lord English is that big a deal, and never even did anything directly bad to him or his friends - when he was literally directly haunted by LE via Cal his entire childhood. Similarly, Rose drinks herself stupid in order to cope with her mother's death.

Note how, superficially, this almost appears to be an invocation of Space's "big picture thinking," its passivity and permissibility, or how Rose's case appears to be Void's tendency to indulge in vices and pleasure - but they're not. Time's worst traits superficially resemble Space, Light's resemble Void, and vice versa - Grimbark Jade is the Condesce's taskmaster, and Porrim at her worst was as much of a nag as Kankri, trying to do a Time player's managerial job. Horuss and Equius at their worst won't shut up and won't stop talking over their partners. So on and so forth.

Finally, Calliope tells us a couple things about Active/Passive pairings. The first is that Calliope introduces the idea of paired classes with the idea that both Rogues and Thieves "steal" (and later, that both Princes and Bards "destroy"). This presents the idea that both classes can be roughly summed up with the idea that every pairing can be summed up with a common theme.

The second is her description of what makes a Class Active versus Passive - that Active Classes move their Aspect to benefit themselves, whereas Passive Classes allow their Aspect to be moved in order for others to benefit. In a way, they're like active and passive voice in grammar (to tie in with the way Classes and Aspects are so tied to ideas of narrative and character arc) - an Active Class performs their Aspect, and a Passive Class allows the Aspect to be performed "by others" (the famous piece of advice regarding telling the two apart being that a sentence written in passive voice can have "by zombies" tacked to the end of it - eg, John is attacked "by zombies", as compared to active voice - John attacks).

Thus, the Class pairings, along with their basic themes, are as follows:

KNIGHT - / MAID +

"One who controls."

Knights and Maids are paired together through two key factors: the first is that they both hold leadership or managerial roles; the second is that both classes carry the connotation of serving a Lord. Fittingly, they are both struggle with the control of malicious forces - Knights with prophecies indicating their role as heroes, Maids with direct usurpation by malicious forces.

PAGE - / HEIR +

"One who inherits."

Pages and Heirs are paired together because they both fundamentally deal with the great inheritances placed before them. Pages can come into incredible, limitless power - but they must struggle and work hard for it; Heirs begin the game in societal comfort and wealth, and must learn to defect from their decadence.

THIEF - / ROGUE +

"One who steals."

Thieves and Rogues are highly adaptable, as Thieves are capable of fantastic on-the-fly adaptation, whereas Rogues have an infinite toolbox at their disposal. They are both provocateurs, shakers of the status quo, though the Thief does so for personal gain, while the Rogue does so to right injustice.

MAGE - / SEER +

"One who guides."

Mages and Seers are tied together by the gift of prophecy and future sight. Seers are privy to the endless branching paths that the future may take, while Mages are gifted with the ability to outright determine a future that will certainly happen, appearing to be prophecy.

WITCH - / SYLPH +

"One who changes."

Witches and Sylphs are individuals blessed with great magic, but poor judgement. Sylphs heal and nurture, but are drawn to those with strong desires, and enable them to cause great harm; Witches, meanwhile, possess strong emotions, which they often use as moral guidance, for better or worse.

PRINCE - / BARD +

"One who destroys."

Princes and Bards are representatives of society - the one who determines its course, and the one who recounts its passing. Princes suffer from a toxic overabundance of Aspect, and are prone to spectacular meltdowns, whereas Bards are always poised for a crisis of faith. Both are responsible for catastrophic failures - but also breathless victories.

INDIVIDUAL CLASSES

KNIGHT

"One who controls [Aspect] or controls using [Aspect]."

Knights are frontline warriors, rallying points behind which the party falls into line. Although they are often leaders, just as often, they are logistical planners, strategists, or simply the team's beating heart. They are almost always thrust into positions of narrative significance, often carrying grand destinies or even outright heroic prophecies on their shoulders. The are the party's rallying force, its center, and a guiding light - the one to lead the charge, behind which the party will follow.

The primary character struggle a Knight will have is with crippling insecurity. Knights are prone to self-loathing and imposter syndrome, and will often adopt a façade in direct opposition to their aspect (ie, their fundamental personality) in order to cope with their feelings of inadequacy. Thus, their relationship with their aspect becomes love/hate - though they're naturally drawn to their aspect, and even naturally skilled at utilizing it, they have a tendency to become their own worst enemy, as their insecurities make them push their façades, and their façades distance them from their aspect.

"Controlling their Aspect" means that the Knight has easy access to their Aspect, wielding it like a tool or weapon - for good or for ill; "controlling using their Aspect" is what grants Knights their leadership abilities, able to dictate how others ought to act in accordance with the Knight's Aspect - whether their understanding of their Aspect is high or low, whether their advice is good or bad.

Therefore, at their worst, a Knight will fall prey to their insecurities, retreating into their facades, rejecting their Aspect, which will allow disharmony or misuse of it to proliferate throughout the team. They may even wind up deliberately twisting their Aspect's presence within the team so that they never have to be confronted by it; these distortions ripple outwards and eventually culminate in major catastrophes, all on account of the Knight's negligence.

But at their best, a Knight is a shining beacon and guiding light; when they come to terms with themselves, and allow themselves to be comfortable in their own skin - when they no longer allow themselves to be ruled by their insecurities and anxieties - they ensure that their aspect is harmonious wherever it appears throughout their party, and can wield it expertly as a weapon, as if it were their own flesh and blood.

MAID

"One who allows control through [Aspect] or allows [Aspect] to be controlled."

Unlike Knights, which take positions of frontline prominence, a Maid is a managerial presence in the backlines, though no less crucial for the smooth functioning of a party. Just as the invisible hands of the hired help keep a household running, the Maid will be called upon to provide vital services to keep the game stable, even if those services are more noticeable by their absence than their presence. Maids are often the party's unsung heroes or even shadow leaders, tugging at invisible strings, fingers on the pulse.

A Maid's primary character struggle will be that of escaping oppression. Maids tend to start the game in positions of subjugation or subservience, especially to malicious forces, and their abilities often end up being exploited to serve their masters' ends. Therefore, one may even have the impression that a Maid is ruled by their aspect, held prisoner and slave - at least until they're able turn the tables.

"Allowing their Aspect to be controlled" means that Maids are capable of directly dispensing their aspect unto others - a Maid of Time can dispense time unto foes, pausing them in their tracks; a Maid of Life can grant so much life that they can revive the dead. Their boons are great and direct, straightforward in a similar manner to Knights. "Allowing control through their Aspect" grants them their uncanny managerial abilities, as their aspect dictates the realm in which nothing occurs without the Maid's knowledge or permission, a realm made available to whomever the Maid's allegiance lies with.

Thus, at their worst, the Maid becomes a saboteur. Exploited by malign forces, their abilities to allow control over others through their aspect, or control of their aspect, makes them perfect vehicles by which their aspect can be hijacked or usurped, and made to turn against the party, and they often find themselves placed into these positions through no fault of their own. It takes the party banding together to shake off the forces that would keep a Maid in bondage.

However, at their best, Maids ensure that the party can never go too far off the rails. There is a place for everything, and everything will be in its place; a Maid is a supply line, a safe haven, and a promise that everything will be neat and tidy when the party returns from war. When the Maid belongs to themselves, their homestead becomes a fortress, and nothing occurs under the Maid's watchful eye without their express permission.

PAGE

"One who works to inherit [Aspect] or inherits [Aspect] for themselves."

Pages are a class defined by promise. As the name suggests, a Page begins weak, but has the great potential to develop into one of the most powerful players in the game. The exact nature of a Page's powers are vague, not because they are insignificant, but because they are so great that it's difficult to encompass them all. At the apex of their arcs, Pages are capable of miraculous feats, overpowering even Lords and Muses - if only they could reach that point and stay there.

A Page begins the game weakest of all, reflective of their long journey of growth. Where most classes only fall into deficit of their Aspect at their lowest emotional points, Pages begin their arcs in deficit - exhibiting character traits opposite to those their Aspect normally encompasses. Moreso than any other class, a Page must learn to grow into their Aspect. Weak-willed, naive, and easily hurt, Pages require careful nurturing if they're to come into their own.

"Working to inherit their Aspect" describes the endless journey of growth the Page must undertake - one with many missteps, backslides, and setbacks along the way. Still, they "inherit their aspect," meaning that their full potential, when realized, is overwhelmingly great - practically becoming their Aspect in humanoid form, capable of utilizing it to its glorious full potential.

However, their nature defeats them, and even if they can attain this state, the Page usually can't stay there for long. At their very worst, the Page's deficit of their Aspect's better qualities can turn the Page into a gravitic well of misfortune - an albatross about the party's neck, the centerpoint, if not inciting incident, of a massive disaster, as their team is sucked in by the Page's natural weakness.

But this is only true as it contrasts to a Page at their best - having grappled and won with the greatest of all weakness, a Page is poised to come into the greatest of all strength. Shown kindness, compassion, and support, a Page at full power reflects a party at their best. A Page at full strength is breathtaking to behold, an unstoppable force of nature, their Aspect made manifest.

HEIR

"One whom [Aspect] grants inheritance or inherits [Aspect] for others."

Heirs, in contrast to Pages, start the game strong. They usually belong to the upper echelons of their respective societies, a position of great wealth, leisure, and comfort, and are set to be inheritors of even greater wealth. Similarly, their Aspect comes to them as if of its own will - it is powerful, but difficult for the Heir to control, reflecting the wealth and status they've enjoyed as birthright.

An Heir's main challenge is that of examining their privilege, and learning where they wish to spread the gift they've been given. Because of their positions of sheltered comfort, Heirs are not particularly world-wise, and often harbor massive blind spots to the suffering of others and the ills of society. As such, they tend to be fairly aimless, given great power but no strong motivations, and have a tendency to simply indulge in their Aspect without contributing great help or hindrance to their team at all.

The Heir's Aspect is practically an independent entity. Being one whom "their Aspect grants them inheritance" refers to how the Heir starts powerful, able to summon their Aspect to perform great, miraculous acts. However, it is highly intuitive and difficult to control. The Heir's challenge lies not in attaining great power, but in attaining control over, and the ability to direct, their existing abilities. Once they do, they can "inherit their Aspect for others" - Heirs become a conduit through which their party can experience their Aspect, making it a usable pool of wealth for them all to draw from. However, because of their comfortable positions, many Heirs end up dallying, finding no pressing need to do so.

But this dallying hides a ticking clock. An Heir's inheritance will come to them, one way or another, and if they aren't ready to receive the great responsibilities that come with such great power, then the power will eventually consume them. An Heir with no clear direction will eventually become lost to their Aspect, entirely removing both from play. Like how wealthy inheritors simply become part of the status quo, so, too, does an Heir disappear into their Aspect, fixing it in place.

Thus, Heirs must learn where they have been blind, where they have been foolish, and what it means to be underprivileged. Then, once they turn their energies towards addressing those injustices - to taking responsibility for building a better future - when their wealth comes to them, they'll be able to distribute it where it's needed most. An Heir, fully-realized, brings their Aspect to heel, and makes it a resource available to their entire team, as if welcoming them all into the family.

THIEF

"One who steals [Aspect] or steals using [Aspect]."

Thieves are, as the name suggests, greedy - much of their arc revolves around a desire to amass wealth, though what's considered "wealth" varies based on the Thief and especially their Aspect. They tend to be callous people by nature, capable of ignoring or trampling over the feelings of others in order to take what they want, in the hopes of filling an emotional void the Thief may not even be fully aware of.

The Thief's playstyle is one of careful resource management. Reflecting a natural tendency to take "wealth" from others, Thieves are unable to use their Aspect without first "stealing" it - a subtractive act which leaves the victim bereft of the Aspect, weakening them in the process. Because of the finicky nature of these abilities, it takes great cunning to be a Thief, and the Class both demands and requires the player to be adaptable, flexible, and quick on their feet, able to effect complicated schemes and engineer the perfect situations for their powers to have the greatest effect. Thieves aren't necessarily strong, but they have a very high victory ratio, because they're experts at turning a situation to their own advantage.

"Stealing their Aspect" refers to the fundamental way in which the Thief class is played, this resource management game; "stealing using their Aspect" reflects how the Thief often becomes a malignant force within the party, viewing their own teammates as caches of wealth to plunder. Thieves are naturally prone to hurting others for their own purposes, craving drama and attention, and being of such callous dispositions that they're able to perform extreme acts of cruelty given the right motivations.

Thieves often become a target of ire within the party, disruptive forces whose quest for personal wealth and fulfillment comes at the cost of those around them. At their worst, they can bring so much heat down upon their own shoulders that the party feels the need to treat them like an enemy, which is disastrous for party harmony. Moreover, it's disastrous for the Thieves themselves, as Thieves seek wealth to compensate for some emotional emptiness, and making enemies of their friends only serves to deepen their ennui.

Thus, a Thief must be taught that true happiness and fulfillment doesn't come from the struggle for wealth, but from the building of something better with those they care about. A Thief, thus turned to heroic purposes, becomes the party's pinch hitter - an adaptable spy, an unpredictable maverick, an element of surprise - and above all, a reliable ally, capable of turning any tide in the party's favor.

ROGUE

"One who steals from [Aspect] or steals [Aspect] for others."

Rogues, on the other hand, call to mind such figures as Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to distribute to the poor. Rogues are at their best when they're agents of a well-planned heist, as they possess an unlimited toolbox - their own Aspect - to play with. Their Aspect is a treasure trove, just waiting for the Rogue to plunder it and share its riches - if only the Rogue can figure out how.

Rogues are forces of revolution. They naturally carry a rebellious spirit, one which bristles at injustice, takes a stand against authority, and questions the status quo. Their ideas are unfocused, however; they know they must rebel, but usually don't start with a clear idea of against who or what. They know that their society is injust, but they don't know how to address that injustice. They know there are villains, and may even know these villains' identity, but they don't know how best to defy them. In a similar way, they're often lost as to how to utilize their Aspect beyond its most basic applications, and usually require external assistance in order to bring out its full potential.

Rogues' true potential lies in "stealing from their Aspect" - an additive act, rather than a subtractive one, as a Thief's stealing is. Rogues are capable of removing their own Aspect's sway over another entity, allowing it to exhibit the characteristics of the opposite Aspect; a Rogue of Void can create things out of nothing, a Rogue of Heart can tease out behaviors and actions. They can also "steal their Aspect for others," allowing them access to their own Aspect's suite of abilities as well. This allows the Rogue incomparable flexibility, their abilities - like their dispositions - rebellious and subversive.

But their rebellious spirit, coupled with their lack of understanding as to who their real enemies are, is dangerous when left unchecked. Rogues often suffer from a failure to start, giving up on trying to understand the deeper implications of their abilities, and of the society they can't seem to find contentment in - but they can also suffer from a worse fate: rebellion without a cause. Rogues' free spirits can lead to them bucking the status quo in ways that actively harm others, performing acts of taboo or poor taste just because that rebellious energy needs to be put to use somewhere. These can have disastrous knock-on consequences, as some things are taboo for good reason.

Thus, Rogues need to be guided - to make connections with others, and come to a greater understanding of the world at large. Once they know their target, and what needs to be done, the Rogue makes sure there are no obstacles along the way - no safe is uncrackable, no prison inescapable, and no problem unsolvable, so long as the Rogue is there to work their magic.

MAGE

"One who guides [Aspect] or guides [Aspect] for themselves."

Mages are prophets, of the "always correct" variety - or so it seems. In actuality, Mages don't "predict" the future, they "choose" it - in a setting where the future is mutable, the Mage's ability is to speak into existence a future they desire, to tip the scales of causality and collapse possibilities into a single definite course. Their Aspect is the lens through which their "prophecy" occurs, a realm in which they command the fabric of reality itself.

As if to karmically balance this incredible power, Mages are afflicted by deep and terrible sadness. They start the game miserable, having been subjected to the greatest injustices their Aspect can offer, tormented by guilt, shame, and self-loathing. Their worldview has been shadowed with a lens of suffering and anguish, and so, too, is their view of the future. Mages usually begin the game having already set several prophecies into motion, and these early prophecies are usually obstacles that the party must overcome.

Mages "guide their Aspect" - this refers to the way their prophecies, that is, their chosen futures, always come true. Their visions may be limited to the sway of their Aspect, but it remains a powerful ability nonetheless. "Guiding their Aspect for themselves," then, outlines the Class's Active nature - the futures the Mage picks must be ones the Mage believes will come to pass.

Unfortunately, Mages have a tendency to pick ugly futures. This isn't out of malice or anger; this is because Mages start the game sad, and without intervention, grow sadder. They're prone to spirals of negativity, self-loathing, and depression, and as their outlook dims, so, too, do their forecasts. Mages suffer, but even suffering can grow familiar - can even appear comfortable or desirable, if the Mage suffers long enough. It's easy for them to grow so accustomed to misery that misery is the only outcome they can see - spelling doom for the rest of the party, one prediction at a time.

But a Mage whose party shows them kindness and forgiveness, compassion and empathy, can pull them out of their misery. How beautiful, then, the future appears! A Mage who believes in a brighter future is a force to be reckoned with. When a Mage can bring themselves to say, "and everyone lived happily ever after," you had better believe they did.

SEER

"One who who is guided by [Aspect] or guides [Aspect] for others."

Seers, meanwhile, are the true future-sighted, able to see the myriad paths the future could take. Like Mages, their Aspect serves as the lens by which their vision is colored; the Seer can sense, with fine accuracy, which paths are closest to the sway of their aspect, and which paths will take them further away. As if gifted with a guide to the game, their intuition is tied directly to the mechanics of SBURB, and they serve as the party's guides, a role indispensable in a game with so many moving parts.

Seers will struggle with blindness, first by hubris and ego, and then by self-harm. Seers begin the game quite full of themselves, proud of their prowess in their Aspect - usually arrogantly so. When this pride is inevitably shattered, Seers have a tendency to deal with their feelings of shame and guilt with willful, self-induced blindness - as if flipping a switch, they become ashamed of the pride they once placed in their Aspect, and seek to place as much distance between it and themselves as possible. There's comfort in ignorance, even if it renders the Seer useless.

Seers are "guided by their Aspect" - able to sense its presence, they gravitate toward it, and towards futures with it in abundance. And, in the same way, they "guide their Aspect for others," lighting the way for others down the path of greatest reward. Seers truly love their Aspect, no matter how much they may misplace their faith in it, and seeking it out is a great joy for them.

This is why a Seer at their worst is so tragic. By inducing intentional blindness within themselves, they are functionally deadening the strongest part of their soul. No matter the temporary relief this brings to the sharp, jagged pain of shame, it invariably deepens the Seer's suffering, as they deny themselves not only their own joy, but their ability to help others - another act which inherently delights them.

Thus, a Seer needs to be made to deal with their shattered ego head-on, to accept their own shortcomings, to become at ease with the idea that they don't have all the answers. Once their vision becomes clear, and their view becomes honest, the party nevermore has to fear becoming lost or straying from the path - the Seer will see to that.

WITCH

"One who changes [Aspect] or changes [Aspect] in others."

Witches are the winds of change, tweaking reality all around them until it suits their desires. A Witch is presence that commands both fear and respect, and their Aspect bows down before them, reduced to a mere minion in the Witch's presence, ready to attend to all their needs. In a way, the Witch's powers are straightforward - they can manipulate their Aspect as they desire, changing its qualities as they see fit. "How they see fit," then, is where the issue lies.

Witches are usually of "outsider" status, never truly being part of the society from which the rest of the party descends. Free from the same rules and common sense that govern the others on their team, Witches instead operate on a value system heavily reliant on their own emotions. What a Witch deems to be correct, to be true, or to be righteous, are often based not in any objective measure, but in subjective, emotional bias - and they're emotional creatures, indeed. Prone to fits of great anger, Witches can be benevolent one second and malicious the next, and their abilities let them imprint, to a greater degree than any other Class, their desires onto the world that comes after them.

Witches "change their Aspect," as in, the crux of their abilities lies in manipulating the qualities of their Aspect in their surroundings - extending, shortening, magnifying, shrinking, growing, removing… so on and so forth. It's a fearsome power. They also "change their Aspect for themselves" - their Aspect is hapless but to obey their desires; Witches change the world to suit themselves, and their feelings of how things "should" be often become how things "are" in short order.

Thus, a Witch who has been swayed toward evil entities and nefarious ends is a truly dangerous opponent - and it is unfortunately easy for this to happen. Witches' social isolation means they tend to trust their emotions, and a force that flatters these emotions can easily win a Witch's trust. By the same token, those that fail to flatter the Witch are often considered enemies, even if they're benevolent forces. A Witch's morality can thus become warped and topsy-turvy, which has grave consequences for the world that the Witch then shapes.

Therefore, a Witch's struggle lies in learning to see beyond their own emotions, to take in the opinions and assistance of others even when it seems superficially unpleasant, to move beyond the childlike rejection of that which is uncomfortable. Once able to see a more nuanced form of right and wrong, once able to tell evil from good, Witches can build even utopia.

SYLPH

"One who allows [Aspect] to change others or changes [Aspect] for others."

Sylphs are nurturers and healers; they bring to mind fey folk whose very footsteps cause plants to grow. Wherever they go, whatever they touch, all becomes suffused with the Sylph's Aspect, which flourishes under their careful cultivation. Sylphs adore their Aspect, and their Aspect adores them; Sylphs generally feel at peace with themselves, surrounding themselves with what they like.

A Sylph's main challenge - or rather, the main challenge that Sylphs wind up posing the rest of the party - is that Sylphs are enablers. They're attracted to those with strong wills and extreme dispositions, amused by the havoc they wreak and pleased by their attention. Sylphs love to pick out favorites and lavish them with care and attention, excusing any wrongdoing on their behalf and shielding them from consequences. At the same time, those who don't strike the Sylph's capricious fancy find themselves discarded in the Sylph's mind, shut out from the boons the Sylph can provide.

A Sylph is "one who allows their Aspect to change others" - this almost always manifests as healing, as it's an additive ability (that is to say, the Sylph can grant more of their Aspect to someone). "Changing their Aspect for others," on the other hand, explains this enabling nature of theirs - the Sylph will intervene to make the world into a playground for their favored individuals, even to the point of turning other, less "interesting" teammates into playthings for the Sylph's beloved.

Thus, while the Sylph themself isn't particularly prone to wild mood swings and acts of malice, their influence can still cause disaster by allowing unscrupulous individuals to flourish - even encouraging their worst tendencies. A Sylph's touch is subtle, but that subtlety only lends it an insidious quality, as the Sylph quietly works against the good of the many for the cruel, selfish pleasures of the few. At their very worst, the Sylph can deem themselves their only favorite, and render everyone else a minor character in their one-man show.

Thus, Sylphs must be challenged. They must be made to reckon with the fact that favorable treatment is not necessarily kindness, and that bias can easily become harm. When a Sylph is able to grasp the difference between bias and doing good, and tune their approach toward that greater good, uncolored by bias and personal preference, then there is no place safer, kinder, and more conducive to growth than the Sylph's embrace.

PRINCE

"One who destroys [Aspect] or destroys using [Aspect]."

Princes are the most anxious, psychologically anguished members of a party. They suffer from a toxic overabundance of their Aspect - its traits are taken to an extreme, and not only the Prince, but those around them, are made to suffer for it. Princes are naturally set on a path of self-destruction, the culmination of their uncontrolled accumulation of their Aspect, and their meltdowns are spectacular, taking their Aspect - and whoever is unlucky enough to be in the same room - with them.

A Prince's challenge, therefore, is as simple to understand as it is difficult to overcome. The Prince needs to learn how to calm down, relax, and find inner peace. Princes are terribly prone to circular thinking and downward spirals. Their natural inclination is to feel anxious and responsible, like they carry the weight of the world, and this causes them to act out in extreme and aggressive ways. Eventually, others pull away, put off by the Prince's intensity. This only deepens the Prince's malaise, and Princes are - pushed by this hovering sense of urgency and catastrophe - willing to employ drastic, desperate measures to enforce compliance with their wills. They wake on their moons early, reflective of their driven natures. They're determined to a frightful degree, and no sacrifice is too great, no work too dirty, if it means achieving what they see as the greater good.

Princes "destroy their Aspect" in this way - by presenting their Aspect at its worst, they make others take distance, ruining it for everyone else. Their hard wills, intense emotions, and unshakeable drive to do what (they feel) needs to be done - at any cost - is their source of power. Thus, Princes "destroy using their Aspect" - their toxic overabundance of Aspect lets them channel it into a pure, annihilatory force; what they lack in the delicate utility of the other classes, they make up for in raw, ruinous power. Princes can easily deal the greatest damage in a combat scenario, their ability to destroy overriding nearly everything that would stand against it.

Thus is the problem with Princes. They're ticking time-bombs of anxiety and frustration; when they finally go off, they carve a path of destruction, before ultimately self-destructing, leaving no trace of their Aspect behind. Not only that, but it's very difficult to defuse the bomb early; Princes have finicky, aggressive, and complicated personalities, and tend to react poorly to straightforward attempts to calm them down and reason with them. They often appear to be their own worst enemies, marching inexorably toward their own destruction.

But Princes not only can be saved, but must be saved. They must be saved because kindness and compassion must exist for their own sake, and a Prince rescued from their own worst tendencies is living proof of the truth of that sentiment. A Prince, given the peace they need to reorient their priorities, will not rest until they see a brighter future realized. They will be the first to rise, and the last man standing, banishing - as if by royal decree - all obstacles, all enemies, all misfortune, and all ills.

BARD

"One who invites destruction through [Aspect] or allows [Aspect] to be destroyed."

Bards are the wild cards of a party, responsible for both improbable victories and catastrophic defeats - sometimes both in a single session. The methods by which a Bard works are a mystery to even the Bard themselves, which make it easy for the party to dismiss their powers - and, by extension, the Bard themselves. After all, who would expect there to be consequences for something so ridiculous as a Bard?

Bards are usually targets of abject ridicule by their teams. They can't help it - they're religious types, or at least types that hold great, lofty, ridiculous beliefs near and dear to their hearts. A Bard's primary struggle invariably winds up being a crisis of faith. Bards begin the game with a positive, "correct" faith in their Aspect; however, something will inevitably occur that shakes the Bard's faith in this viewpoint to its core. In this state, Bards are incredibly fragile, and it's very easy for them to succumb to whispers of cruelty and destruction, for their beliefs to warp, and for the Bard to come to serve the worst aspects of the society they represent.

A Bard "invites destruction through their Aspect" - their powers are subtle, but have catastrophic effects. Bards are instinctively drawn towards causing the first flap of a butterfly's wing, which cascades into a grand, impossible karmic backlash. They "allow their Aspect to be destroyed" by being the conduits for the forces of their faith - whatever faith they hold - to wreak unimaginable consequences across the game.

Thus, a Bard must not be allowed to fall into darkness. The cost is too great. They must be treated with kindness, patience, and sincerity, and given a chance to re-establish their faith in a better, brighter future. If this can be done, then at the party's direst moment - in their darkest hour - they will find that kindness paid back a thousandfold, as an innocuous act by the Bard that no one remembers balloons into a miracle.

[novy2sirius]

numerstrology notes.

₊˚⊹ some astrologers believe astrology and numerology cannot collide but personally i have found the degrees in astrology to accurately align with numerology — tw: killing/murder

the most common beauty degrees are 1º, 2º, 5º, 9º, 14º, 18º, 23º, 25°, and 27º placed in the sun, moon, ascendant, venus, and neptune. people with these degrees in these placements will get told they’re beautiful a lot by people and will be seen as very beautiful to society

having the sun, venus, or jupiter at 8°/13°/24°/28° can indicate gaining wealth at some point in your lifetime as these are numbers associated with wealth and money

you’ll often find that successful actors have prominent 5°/9°/14°/18°/23°/27° in their chart. usually the ascendant, moon, mars, midheaven, or neptune

your midheaven at 7°/9° is an indication of being known by the public for your intelligence since 7 is the number of intelligence and 9 is the number of the mind. albert einstein has this placement

mercury at 4°/13°/22° can indicate that you had a very challenging childhood and were often misunderstood by a lot of people. you may have been very insecure as a child as well

people with saturn at 6°/15°/24° often have a toxic family or a toxic family member that they end up having to cut out of their life when they’re older so they can be happier

having both the degrees 1° and 11° in your big 3 can be challenging especially placed in the sun and ascendant. it can mean you struggle a lot finding out who you are and what path you want to take in life more so than other people

people with mars at 7°/16°/25° are often a part of the lgbtq+ community because these numbers are most prone to being a part of the community and mars is associated with our sexuality

people with pluto at 9°/18°/27° have the ability to do really well with crypto and make a lot of money from it. pluto and 9 in numerology are both associated with extremes

having your mars at 1° can mean you attract a lot of enemies and jealous people. these people tend to get hated on for absolutely no good reason. mars represents enemies and 1 is a number that can be associated with jealousy in numerology

don’t become enemies with someone that has their pluto at 1°/10°. you will regret it. they’re quite vengeful and hold grudges when someone hurts them. pluto represents things like revenge and 1 is the number of aggression/grudges

people with venus at 7°/16°/25° do not like dating dumb dumbs. if you want to keep them you need to have brains. ditziness drives them crazy. they are most attracted to smart people and people that can teach them a lot. the only reason they would stay with someone long term who was dumb is for good sex

people with multiple 11°/29° placements usually hang out with people older than them. they’re old souls and often mature very quickly from a younger age than most. they’re the type to say their first word at 3 months old and be potty trained by 1 years old

it’s rare to find someone with jupiter at 5°/14°/23° that’s not entertaining. jupiter is associated with abundance and 5 in numerology represents entertainment

22 degrees can actually be associated with killing. i know this is controversial and astrologers try not to discuss things like this but in numerology 22 is associated with destruction so often it represents things like violent tendencies. 4 in general can be a more violent number. i have found a lot of people who have either been murdered or murdered someone else have this degree but don’t worry because obviously majority of people with this degree have been fine. it just means the people who DO/HAVE will often have this degree. 24 is another one that’s common

on a more positive note 22° can be great for becoming an author. especially when placed in the midheaven, mercury, or in jupiter

[what-if-i-just-did]

wait I'm confused

how can an asexual love sex

please help

TWs: Discussion of sex in relation to asexuals, non-graphic mentions of sex, hunger/food as a metaphor

Course! Look at it like this...

Everyone on earth experiences hunger, right? Well, say you don't get hungry. You can still enjoy food! If it tastes good, or if it was made by someone you love. Maybe if it looks good, you'll have a taste, just to see. You can eat any food you want.

Sometimes you're thirsty, or your stomach hurts, and you wonder if it's hunger, but it isn't, not really. There are more reasons to eat than just being hungry.

It's just like that! Well, almost, because you don't die from a lack of sex, but it's close. Asexual just means you don't experience sexual attraction- but there's multiple forms of attraction!

There's sensual attraction, wanting to touch something. A lot of asexuals confuse this with sexual attraction sometimes, and sometimes sensual attraction can be so strong you want to climb into someone's ribcage, be inside of them, in which case sex is as close as you'll get.

There's visual attraction, wanting to look at something. This is also confused for sexual attraction sometimes, cuz I'll look at someone and think "hot", but hot, to me, doesn't particularly mean I wanna have sex with them. Hot is just a type of pretty. I get the same visual attraction looking at a pretty human as when I look at a sunset or a pretty flower.

There's platonic attraction, which is wanting to be friends with someone. There's romantic attraction, which is wanting to date them. There's queerplatonic attraction, which is wanting a qpr with someone. I can't remember if there's other forms of attraction rn, but you get the picture.

So just because we're not sexually attracted to people doesn't mean we can't enjoy or wanna have sex. Sex with someone you love can be really intimate. The physical sensations are pleasurable and enjoyable. Or some aces might just have sex for the aesthetic, or might not care about sex at all but do it cuz their partner wants it.

More importantly, asexuality is a spectrum, so not everyone that's asexual has the same experiences. There are LOADS of identities under the ace umbrella that will feel sexual attraction in specific scenarios or NOT in specific scenarios or have it fluctuate or anything like that. Some aces don't like to think about anything sexual. Some don't mind, but just don't want it to have anything to do with themself. Some will masturbate or fantasize about crushes in sexual ways but without thinking of themself. Some will masturbate while thinking about themself but not want to actually do anything like that. Some are willing to have sex but don't particularly care. Some enjoy sex. Some want sex.

I, personally, love sex. The physical sensations are exhilarating orgasms are fun. I masturbate a lot. It satisfies my sensual attraction, but so would (naked) snuggles. It's also just a fun thing to do with your partner, but I don't think of it much differently from any other fun thing you can do with a partner. I've had sexual-romantic relationships, I've had friends with benefits, I haven't had a one-night stand but I would go for it if the oppertunity came up. I know a lot of other ace people wouldn't.

This definetly does not go for all ace people though. Some are very sex-repulsed.

TL:DR Ace people don't experience sexual attraction but can still enjoy sex for other reasons such as intimacy, sensual attraction, physical sensations, or entertainment. This does not go for every ace person.

[dufferpuffer]

Can you talk a little about Remus’ intelligence? Recently I’ve felt it’s been severely downplayed in fandom as a response to fanon depicting Sirius as “the dumb one” and Remus as “the smart one” in a wolfstar context. While obviously Sirius is extremely intelligent that doesn’t mean Remus has to be dumb in contrast? I also think they just have different types of intelligence, and I strongly believe that basing their intellect off of their achievements in school is limiting (also people don’t take into account that Remus was sick every month for at least 3 days, even if he was matched perfectly in intelligence with Sirius he’d still be doing worse in school). What’s your take on this my balanced remus lover friend?

I don't think Remus is a 'genius', like James and Sirius might be. But he's a bloody capable wizard - hard-earned, not talent.

The one flashback we get of him as a kid, we see him focusing hard on his OWL's, despite an upcoming Full Moon. He has his own methods for revision - when he asks Sirius if he would help him study, Sirius can't fathom why he should bother. Sirius doesn't need to revise or study - but Remus is good at it.

You're damn right that doesn't mean he is stupid compared to Sirius. There's nothing stupid about forming methods to help himself learn. Sirius and James are natural talents - Remus is a nerd.

By adulthood his work ethic has paid off: He has effortless confidence in his charms and conjuring - doing most of it without incantation. He's kind of a badass: He conjured fire and a non-corporeal Patronus without incantation - while exhausted and in the presence of a dementor. He could duel Lucius Malfoy, battled death eaters in the astronomy tower, dueled while flying and supporting an injured man on his broom - and disarmed multiple people in a row with enough accuracy to catch their wands. (tbf they were children)

Remus is a natural at teaching. First day on the job: he handles a room full of kids like he's been at it for years, even those with difficulties who need extra care and encouragement. He is patient with Harry learning to cast a Patronus, explaining things clearly to him - changing his explanation as Harry's needs change. This shows a deep understanding of both the material he is teaching... and what it is like to learn. Knowing how to struggle, how to adapt, how to learn, the validity of different perspectives - that's good wisdom.

His greatest strength is his Social Intelligence. Witty, astute, cunning, sly, persuasive… Sirius isn't socially inept but he is so honest and blunt he can come across as kicking the door down - rather than Remus' picking the lock and making it seem like a natural innocent behaviour. Does that make sense...? It was the entirety of his role in PoA: A murderer on the loose after Harry's blood - and yet through all the mysterious absences, sketchy evasiveness, superficial closeness with Harry, slightly slap-dash teaching methods and blatant distrust from Snape (who had been proven trustworthy - Harry just thought he was an arse)… Remus Lupin manages to charm his students, getting to know them without any of them knowing anything about him. He has Harry hanging off his every word, despite obvious apprehension to engage with him about his parents or needs. He effortlessly keeps Harry's trust even when he blatantly, skillfully lies in-front of him - and TO him! For his own gain!!! The scene of the Marauders Map is a brazen display of how quickly he can manipulate his way out of a complex situation. Even when he is with a murderer and they all know he will turn into a werewolf soon - he commands emotional focus. Ron is injured, a Murderer is present, they are supposed to be investigating a rat with haste... yet most of the time they are discussing HIM and why HE is 'not so scary, please don't hate me' in a long-winded fashion.

Only Snape seems immune. So he bullies him to shut him up. Without SEEMING like a bully. The kids think he is great, the way he can control the uncontrollable - Snape and Peeves.

Remus slips in and everyone is so taken with him they never notice the lock being picked. Their perception of him is on a tight leash. A magician’s sleight of hand and a silver tongue. Lockheart WISHES he could do this.

Remus is practical and practiced. He has the grit of someone who has fought for his life with both his wand and his tongue. He has lived a life of misdirection, gaslighting and manipulation - always subtle, always present. He reads others better than himself and moves through society with quiet ease, slipping in unnoticed and slipping out just as easily. No wonder he works as a spy.

He’s a top-class wizard - held back only by circumstance. Balancing his core needs, his interests and his health with no support network and poverty…? yeesh. In another life he may have been able to focus his efforts on a passion, rather than on topics that aid his survival in a harsh world.

As he is, though: he’s a formidable duelist and skilled charmer (magically and socially) - a survivalist, both in the wild and within society. An outcast who never seems like one. A wolf in sheep's clothing.

That's my take, as 'balanced remus lover friend' :^) Thanks - I needed to sit down and yap about Remus for a bit, had a shitty month

[storiesforallfandoms]

heatwave ~ matt murdock;marvel

word count: 3306

request?: no

description: in which a terrible heatwave has hit hell's kitchen, and it's leading to some lewd thoughts about her roommate

pairing: matt murdock x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut (shower sex, oral - f receiving, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, matt asks for permission, a smidgeon of begging, naked cuddling afterwards but like...actually cuddling, not a euphemism)

masterlist (one, two, three)

It was an unbearably hot day in Hell's Kitchen. Hot enough that it was making the "Hell" part seem a little too real. It was the type of hot that leaving the window open filled the apartment with heat, but closing it made the place feel like a heat box. There was just no escaping it.

I was grateful to have the day off because it was definitely too hot to work, but at the same time I knew my job had working AC. Matt and I had been saving up for a working AC unit, but it was difficult when other expenses kept getting in our way. Matt kept insisting that when he finally got promoted to a lawyer position, we wouldn't have to worry so much about the apartment expenses, but he and Foggy had been in the same position at Landon and Zack - and unhappily so 0 for so long that I was starting to double they'd get a promotion at that law firm specifically.

Either way, for now all Matt and I had was a shitty fan that blew just enough cold air to make living in this heat bearable. I was wearing my shortest shorts and thinnest tank top, laid out on our couch with the fan directly on me. I was still extremely hot to a point where I just wanted to crawl out of my skin as it felt like the only option.

I couldn't even bring myself to turn my head as i heard the front door open and shut. I knew who it was anyways, even without the familiar sound of Matt's cane folding up. When he did walk into my eyeline, I scoffed. "How are you walking around dressed like that?"

Matt was in a pair of long dress pants, a light blue button up - with no sweat stains, might I add - and his tie pulled tight to his neck. Looking at him alone was making me overcome with heat.

Matt chuckled. "I have no choice in the matter. Can't exactly walk into a law firm in daisy dukes and a wife beater."

I snickered at the idea of Matt Murdock in daisy dukes.

I met Matt over a year ago after he had responded to my "roommate wanted" ad. My last roommate had moved out suddenly with very little notice, leaving me to try and pay rent for the apartment on my minimum wage salary. So to say I was desperate for a roommate is an understatement. Still, I was a little hesitant to answer Matt's response to my post. He was a strange man, and it was just me in the apartment. A girl can't be too careful in this day and age. But, again, I was desperate, so I agreed to meet up with him to discuss moving in.

Imagine my shock, and slight relief, when a well dressed, blind man introduced himself as an intern at Landon and Zack, and was also needing a roommate as his internship didn't pay enough to cover rent at his own place, plus his student debt.

The next week, he was moving into my apartment.

I liked Matt. He was easy to get along with, and he pulled his weight around the apartment. And in general, he was a nice guy. I liked hanging out with him, and with Foggy whenever he was over, too. I did feel like I hit the jackpot for roommates with him.

Matt made his way to his room. In the process, I noticed him pulling at his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. I tried not to be so obvious in my staring, until I remembered he couldn't actually see me staring at him.

Okay, yeah, I may have had fantasies about Matt. Can you blame me? He's a handsome man, and I am but a girl. Not like anything would happen between us. It couldn't happen. That'd make things incredibly awkward around the apartment.

When Matt came back out of his room, he was changed into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I watched him navigate around the room, as if searching for something, before turning to me.

"You're hogging the fan."

I scoffed. "There was no one to hog it from until a few minutes ago."

"Well, there is now, and you're hogging it."

I rolled my eyes. "Just come sit on the couch, idiot. I'll position the fan so it's on both of us."

Matt moved slowly towards the couch. When we first started living together, I would often try to help Matt with things around the apartment, such as moving from point A to point B. I thought it was helpful, until one day Matt assured me that he could do things on his own.

"I have been blind for most my life," he had said. "I've learned how to live with it."

So, after that, I stopped helping unless Matt asked. Like now, just watching him navigate to the couch. When he got close enough, I sighed and extended a hand to him. "Grab my hand, ding dong."

He chuckled. "Ding dong? Are you 12?"

"Almost."

Matt took my hand and I slowly led him to the couch, then patted the cushion so Matt could hear where to sit. I didn't expect him to plop himself down so close to me, but he decided to sit so close that our arms were brushing against one another. I tried to ignore it by tilting the fan so it was blowing on both of us.

"We should get an inflatable pool," I suggested.

Matt chuckled. "And put it where? We live in an apartment building. We don't exactly have a backyard."

"Put it in the living room."

"I'm sure our landlord would appreciate that."

"It's not like he'd know. In all the years I've lived here, I think he's been by twice."

Matt tilted his head towards me. "I don't think it's a good idea."

I rolled my eyes and sighed. "You're so no fun, Matt."

We fell into a silence that made me remember that Matt was sat so close to me. I tried to sneak a glance at him, and then once again remembered he couldn't see me anyways, so I allowed myself to look. I allowed myself to glance at the way his shorts were riding up, showing off his thigs. I allowed myself to glance at his arms, weirdly strong for a lawyer, and now with the added touch of sweat making him glisten.

God, I'm no better than a man.

I was suddenly a lot hotter, with a particular heat pulsing between my legs.

"You alright?"

I jumped at the sudden sound of Matt's voice. "Uh, yeah. Why?"

"You're...quiet."

I chuckled. "Didn't know quiet was a bad thing."

"It's not, but you're...I don't know. There's something different about this silence."

"It's just hot."

I was on my feet before I knew what I was doing. I just needed some distance before I did something incredibly stupid. I needed this heat to fuck off so Matt and I could put more clothes on and I wouldn't have to see so much of his skin that it turned me into a prepubescent boy.

I muttered something about showering before rushing to the bathroom. Once the door was closed behind me, I let out a long sigh. I wasn't actually sure about showering at first, but now that I was away from the fan I was starting to feel too hot and sweaty again. A cold shower wouldn't go astray, and I had definitely been sweating enough all day to warrant showering.

I turned on the shower, turning the cold tap almost all the way while turning the hot tap just enough to make it so the water wasn't bitterly cold. I stripped myself of my clothes and stepped under the cold water. I don't know how I hadn't thought of a cold shower before, but it was definitely the best idea. The downside was that eventually I'd have to get back out into the hot, humid air of the apartment, but for the time being I was content with standing under the cold water until my fingers and toes were prunes.

I wasn't paying much attention to anything besides how nice the cold water felt, otherwise I might've heard the bathroom door opening. I might've heard the sound of clothes hitting the floor, joining my own discarded pile. But I definitely did not miss the sound of the shower curtain being pulled back, revealing a completely naked Matt Murdock.

I shrieked in shock, my heart racing a million miles a second from the scare.

"Matt, what the fuck?!" I snapped.

"You forgot a towel," he said, gesturing to the two towels he had laid on the counter.

"So you had to get completely naked to bring me some towels?"

"Well, to bring you a towel. The other is for me."

When he stepped into the shower, I tried to back away, but damn this small apartment with its small shower. There wasn't much further I could move from him without stepping completely under the shower head and practically drown myself. It took everything in my power to keep my eyes on his face and not to let them venture lower.

"What are you doing?" I asked him. I tried to sound forceful, confident, but instead my voice came out soft, nearly a whisper.

He didn't respond. Instead, he was reaching for me. I knew I should've pulled away, or pushed him away, or insisted that he leave because this was definitely pushing a boundary that we should not cross as roommates. That's what I should've done. Instead, I let Matt's hands find my waist. I let him pull me to him, pressing our bodies together under the cold water. I no longer had to fight not to look down between his legs, because now it was pressed against me.

"What are you doing?" I asked again.

"Your heart was racing," he said, like that answered everything.

"Yeah, you scared me. That tends to be the usual reaction."

"No, I mean earlier. One the couch. When I was next to you, it started beating harder and faster."

"How do you know that?"

"I could hear it."

If it were any other circumstances, I probably would've laughed at that. I probably would've made some quip about him having super hearing since he was blind. But my mind wasn't functioning properly. Not with Matt pressed up against me like that, holding me like that. His hands wandering over my body the way they were.

"We-we can't," I finally managed.

"Why not?"

"We live together, Matt. It'll make everything awkward."

"Or maybe we'll finally get rid of this tension between us and can find out how we wanna proceed afterwards."

Tension between us? Does that mean he's had the same thoughts I've had? Does he feel the same way I've been feeling about him?

My mind was rushing when Matt kissed me, so much so that I almost didn't register it at first. It was a shock, and then it felt right. I placed my arms around his neck, leaning into the kiss. One of his hands found their way to my hair, tangling in the wet locks to hold me in place, while the other drifted down my body until it came to rest on my ass. I could feel him pressed against my stomach, his hard cock twitching. In the time Matt and I had lived together, I had met all of his "girlfriends", who liked to brag about being with Matt because they were all threatened by his female roommate. I was glad to report that the bragging about what he was packing had not just been to make me jealous.

Matt tugged at my hair, which resulted in a gasp slipping from my lips. He smirked, and I just knew that bastard was making mental notes of everything that made me have involuntary reactions. He pulled my head back to expose my neck to him. He kissed my jawline and down my neck, nipping at areas that would certainly leave very visible marks later. He continued moving down my body, trailing kisses from my neck down over my chest, and giving ample attention to my breasts. I was now leaning against the shower wall, my head lulled back at Matt took each of my breasts into his mouth one at a time, swirling his tongue around my already hard nipples. I gasped and moaned with each flick of his tongue. I held the back of his head with one hand, grasping at the strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

Soon, Matt was on his knees on the tile shower floor. We had switched places, so the cold water was now cascading down on him. I was about to offer to move the shower head so he wasn't directly in the line of fire, but Matt cut me off by lifting my leg over his shoulder and immediately diving his tongue into my pussy. I cried out, both in shock and in pleasure.

I had been with a few guys in my lifetime, some of which didn't mind giving oral. But none of them could ever hold a candle to what Matthew Murdock could do with his tongue.

Within seconds of his head being between my legs, I had completely lost any sort of coherence. The only thing my mind could focus on was how good Matt's tongue felt running over my swollen clit; darting in and out of my pussy, as he was quite literally fucking me with his tongue; the feeling of his lips wrapping around my clit and gently sucking on it. It was like he knew exactly what I would like before I even knew. It wasn't long before Matt was holding onto my thighs as they began to quiver, holding me up as my orgasm washed over me. He kept lapping at my cunt, drinking in every drop of me that he could like a man starved.

My legs felt weak. I wasn't sure I'd be able to stay stood. Luckily for me, I didn't have to. As Matt got to his feet, he kept hold of my leg. He pressed his body against mine, holding me in place. When he kissed me, I could still taste me on his lips.

"Can I fuck you?" he asked. His tone of voice was nothing I had ever heard from him before. It was full of lust and desire. His hard cock was resting against me, begging to get its own release, but he waited. He waited until I gave him permission.

It was the barest of minimums, but there was something about Matt wanting to hear me say yes that made the dull ache of post-orgasm turn into the tingly feeling of desire once again.

"Yes," I breathed. "Please Matt, fuck me."

He wasted no time in lining himself up with my entrance. He pushed in slowly, letting me feel every inch of him as he filled me up. The stretch stung, but it felt so good. Once he was buried to the hilt inside of me, he took a moment to allow me to adjust to him. I watched as his face contorted in pleasure and I couldn't help but feel a little pride that I was making him feel this good, even if I wasn't the one doing the work.

"Fuck," he sighed. "Can I start fucking you?"

I nodded. Luckily he still had his forehead against mine, so he felt the approval instead of me having to say it outloud.

He started slow, pulling almost all the way out then pushing all the way back in. It was almost an agonizing pace. It felt so good, but every time he slipped everything except the tip out I felt hollow. He reached a spot inside of me that had only been reached a few times before, but with his pace he was only grazing it instead of constantly nudging it the way I wanted him to.

I was getting close to begging him to speed up. A desperate whine even slipped from my mouth when he pulled all the way out of me again. But this time, when he thrusted back inwards, it was fast and rough. The force pushed my ass back against the shower tile.

"Fuck," he breathed again. "I'm trying to make this last, but I really just want to fuck you until your legs are too numb to work anymore."

Another whimper. "Please."

"What was that?"

"Please fuck me," I said. "Fuck me however you want, Matt. I need it. I need it so bad."

He captured my lips in another kiss as he started thrusting into me at a ruthless pace. The sound of our wet skin colliding fill the room over the sound of the running water. It was lewd and naughty, and so good. It was something we'd never come back from as roommates, but I couldn't care less now. Nothing beyond this moment mattered.

Matt reached his other hand between us. He began to rub circles on my clit with his thumb. His thrusts changed slightly, just enough to hit that spot inside me in a way that drove me crazy. I had my arms around his neck, trying to keep myself up, but as I felt another orgasm building I knew I wouldn't be able to stay upright on my own. When the wave crashed over me, I threw my head back against the wall and cried out his name. It was more intense than the first one, so intense that my vision went completely white.

Matt's cock twitched inside of me, the only warning I had before he hit his own high. He buried himself inside me one last time, shooting himself so deep inside of me that I was sure I'd be full of him for weeks. He groaned in pleasure, resting his forehead against mine again.

The shower water had finally gone stark cold. Not that it mattered. We had definitely worked up a new sweat even with the cooling sensation beating against our bodies.

I sighed when Matt finally had to pull himself free of me. He chuckled and leaned in for one final kiss.

"Let's clean you up before we get out."

He slowly lowered me to the edge of the tub. I passed him my body wash and he lathered up his hands to clean between my thighs. He rinsed himself as well before turning off the water. The chill from the water had gotten under my skin enough that I didn't immediately become overwhelmed with heat once the shower was off. Matt wrapped the towel around himself first before wrapping one around me, and then picking me up to carry me out of the bathroom.

"I can walk myself, Matt," I said, although we both knew that was untrue.

"Your still trembling legs say otherwise," he noted.

He carried me to his bedroom. We dried ourselves off as much as we could with the towels before discarding them onto the floor and getting into his bed. Matt pulled me to him, resting my head against his chest. There was still so much we probably should discuss, but neither of us made the effort to say anything. We weren't ready to face the reality of what was next for us as roommates. Instead, we were content to lay together for just a while longer, until the heat became too much to bear once again.

I listened to his heartbeat, and I couldn't help but think about how all of this started because he claimed he could hear my own.

~~~

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