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whump-captain · 11 months

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it's been like 10 years since i posted any writing and this isn't even whump lol. but ive been rotating Joy in my head for weeks now and had to give her something to do. this is part of Fruit of the Glass Tree, so the earliest story with these guys

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CN: animal death (not shown but bodies described in detail), descriptions of animal waste, mentions of death and injury, fear.

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On the fifth floor, Joy finally finds some walls.

The rest of what she's seen of the building has been stripped of the dignity of an interior. Only lines of chipped plaster have remained on the floors of the previous levels, outlining where the rooms were before the whole tower has fallen into disrepair.

What greets her behind the creaking door of the stairway is a broad, L-shaped corridor, angling left after three pairs of evenly spaced doors. The walls themselves look as bare and fragile as all the others, with rectangular white patches left in the wake of ripped off wallpaper and a single, shallow inset guarded by the fangs of snapped hinges. The windows are no longer exposed. It barely takes two steps for the scant moonlight from the stairway to lag behind Joy, leaving her in cold, powdery darkness.

She clicks the torch on. There's nothing to cast shadows and all that the light manages to bring out is the horrid brownish shade that the carpet has turned over the years. The doors are all missing their handles.

Joy pushes the closest one and finds it locked. Relief blooms in her chest but then the varnished plywood creaks and she starts. Her heart picks up the pace. Something compels her to turn around, like a hand on her shoulder, pulling. The beam of her torch again finds nothing. No movement, no silhouette. One of the doors is slightly ajar, revealing a thin wedge of absolute darkness. Something else creaks somewhere.

She's on edge. She ignores the open door and tries the next one. The lock gives with a click and her arm shakes as she swipes it down in front of her before stepping in. The room is as empty as every other part of the building. The window lets in enough light to catch the dust floating in the air and Joy fights the urge to fix her facemask. She's checked it thoroughly, no need to fiddle. Her fingers pick at the hem of her jacket.

She rests her hand on the radio clipped to her belt. She wants a human voice to dispel this unsteady, oppressive silence. But she also wants her ears open for when the next sound is not innocuous.

She leaves the empty room. If she does radio Cutter, he'll probably just go on about ghosts again and that's the last thing her fraying nerves need. Another door turns out closed and this one leaves behind a residue of something tacky on her glove. A bare metal bolt sticks out of where the handle used to be.

Another empty room, gutted but for a concrete column in the middle. Another creak somewhere, a dry rattle of debris. There's a crack across the wall, exposing lines of rebar like tendons. A stench of rot hangs in the air and Joy's stomach turns when her boot swipes across a rough surface. Dry patches of hardened bird excrement stain the carpet in disgusting off-white.

She leaves the door open and the smell follows her. It grows stronger as she crosses the corridor and more white blotches make the floor look like moulding bread. It feels the same underfoot.

Joy looks up at the ceiling. It's flat and the paint has long since peeled. When she stomps the floor to check it, the air remains still.

When she opens the next door, she almost retches. The backdraft of the stench sends her staggering back and coughing. Torchlight flits frantically across bare walls. Joy pulls her scarf over her face, ignoring the shift of her facemask, and blinks to clear away tears.

This room does have furniture in it - low-backed chairs, desks, half-collapsed filing cabinets with no shelves. They’re barely recognizable, their outlines blurred by inch-thick, lumpy layers of excrement, streaking in grey rivulets down every flat surface. The carpet looks like it's corroded. Everything is congealed into a horrid, nauseating monochrome.

Joy slams the door shut, face hidden in the crook of her elbow. It barely helps. The whole corridor now reeks more than anything she’s ever smelled and she doubles back to the first room. The cracked window lets in blissfully fresh air and she stands there for a long moment, waiting for the smell to stop clinging to her skin.

Her breathing, muffled by the facemask’s filter, sounds like howling wind in her ears. Everything else is deadly still, not even an echo of her footsteps remaining of the commotion she’s made. Not on this floor, not on any others.

A part of her is grateful for it. No sound, no movement - no danger. No other life here besides her.

The empty room feels like a bare ribcage, picked clean by scavengers and maggots. The silence sticks to her more than the stench did. She grabs her radio.

"Cutter, come in,” she whispers into the microphone.

No echo again. For a moment, there is no sound but her heartbeat. It almost deafens her at the thought that she might not get an answer.

But then static cracks and a cheerful voice comes through:

"Home base receiving."

Joy breathes out. She pushes away the scenario that her mind has already half-knitted: silence, tension, a long way back, and a corpse under the rubble. But she's okay. She’s not alone in this wretched building just yet.

“Any news?” Cutter asks through the radio as if they’re discussing the weather.

"I found pigeon poop. Whole room of it.”

There’s a short pause. "That's disgusting."

"Yeah.” She doesn’t even consider laughing. Her mind adds up the sights, the sounds, and everything else she has seen on this floor. The equation doesn't resolve. “But where are the pigeons?"

The static dies out. The stillness stretches. Joy feels the facemask stick to her cheeks and the dust to her hair. Despite all the noise she’s caused, not a single pair of wings has fluttered anywhere in the building. No other life.

“I haven’t seen any,” Cutter says.

“Me neither. Nothing flying, nothing- scared away.” She looks at the window, straining to see into the night through the dirt and graffiti stains. “I’d hear them by now.” She can’t keep the shake out of her voice. “Or they’d hear me.”

Cutter laughs and it comes through the radio as a clipped buzzing sound. “I definitely heard you. Do you have something against that floor, with the way you’re stomping on it? I thought it was gonna give out.”

The sudden joke gives Joy whiplash but she defends herself: “It’s called safe movement. It’s so that when it does give out, I am not standing on it.”

“Ouch, too soon.”

She closes her mouth, realising. “I didn’t-” she stutters, then sighs in defeat. “I don’t mean-”

“I know, I know. Just kidding.” Cutter laughs again. Then he asks: “Are you okay up there?”

Joy takes her thumb off of the push-to-talk button. There’s still some apparitional hand tugging her shoulder, bidding her to turn around. The corners of the room, coveting their shadows like veils, whisper threats. There could be anything in the darkness. Or there could be more stale, suffocating, plasterboard nothing.

“I’m fine,” she says to the radio. “I’m gonna search the rest of the floor. Going quiet.”

“Copy that, over and out.”

She lets herself breathe the clear air a little while longer, as if trying to commit it to memory. The corridor looks less imposing the second time she faces it; one more door is closed, another leads to one more empty room. She holds her breath stepping over the bird waste but her eyes still water at the smell. With her shoulder to the wall, she sweeps her torchlight around the corner. There are two more doors, larger this time, and chips of brick mix with old dust on the floor between them.

Ahead, the hallway opens up into a chamber. Windowless dark sticks to the heavy forms of two square columns on either side, visible past the wide entrance which is missing a two-winged door. Stiff sheets of plasterboard overlap into a choppy surface on the floor and bare concrete shows on the walls that they’ve been ripped from. An empty picture frame leans against the wall - the first item Joy has found in the building. The metallic plating has come off of its corners and the glass is shattered into a spiderweb pattern.

There are more off-white stains there, less visible on the white debris and more spaced out. Joy grimaces. She stomps the floor and something snaps under her boot. Though she flinches back, nothing collapses. It will be difficult to tell the state of the floor when it's covered like this.

The light of her torch infects the walls with a sickly blue tint. The flakes of paint and crumbling bricks give the shadows peaks and valleys to play in and their skittering movement follows Joy’s as she drags the light up and down the right side, floor to ceiling. It doesn't reach all the way but it's clear there are no more doors; no way through.

On the left, the light refracts into glittering lines. Another picture frame lies abandoned among the mess. Its long shadow stretches forward to the far wall and just before it, it meets a row of columns. They're thin, unevenly spaced, and as they climb, they grow even thinner. Then they spit the light out behind them in a rain of dancing colours.

They're solid glass, smooth and bulging like knotted bark. There are swirls of cloudy pink dulling them from the inside; faint here, completely opaque elsewhere. On the tip of each of them, like the jewel on a sceptre, hangs an exquisite glass sculpture of a bird.

Joy steps forward and glitter light showers her, reflected from the outstretched, frozen wings; from the pinhead domes of eyes. The sculptures are half-opaque too, muddled with dark patches under the iridescent surface.

They split into colours as she approaches and she recognizes red; then black, then grey. Then white, in curved streaks of exposed, splintered ribs. Then more red, cloudy and swirling all the way down the glass spikes from the skewered corpses of pigeons, encased in translucent prisons.

Joy covers her mouth. Her stomach twists and her knees wobble. Her body refuses to move. She can't pull her eyes away from the decomposing birds and she feels them etch into her memory, burning like sunlight. One of the pigeons stares back with its single remaining eye, distorted by the curve of the bare socket it's leaking out of. There are still feathers sticking out of one of its wings; the other is a dark crimson pulp of half-melted muscle and blood seeping out into the glass.

When Joy's legs finally move, they carry her mercilessly forward. Her hand leads, pulled by the rein of dancing reflections. The glass is warm to the touch, even through her gloves. With a quiet scrape the bird tips back and snaps away from its stalk.

It shatters like a bottle of wine and red liquid explodes onto the floor. Joy shouts and jerks back. She almost loses balance, clutching her hand to her chest as if she's been burned. A single red drop stains the tip of her boot and she can feel it through the fabric like shrapnel. Her mind doesn't even register the stench of decay; nor the grinding sound that comes from the broken statue. Everything drowns in the single tone of terror that fills her ears as she watches the glass spike twitch and then grow in a nauseating, slithering motion. It climbs the inches it has lost with the bird's body and then falls still again.

The silence locks around her. The dead birds demand she stops breathing as well, they steal the oxygen out of the room. She yanks the radio off of her belt, grips it with both hands and chokes out:

"I found the birds." Her fingers slip, she has to press the button again. A horrible buzz from the speaker drowns out her words: "They're all dead."

The radio drops and hangs on the cord attaching it to her belt loop. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to breathe. The buzz means two people have sent at once. Joy uses the moment of wait to force herself to stop shaking.

"Repeat that?" Cutter says on a click of static.

"The birds." Some of her control returns but now she can't find the words. Her gaze keeps dragging back up from the radio's blinking light. "Bodies," she manages. "I'll- I'll show you. I'm coming back."

There's a moment of silence and then, "Okay." Joy senses he wants to say more and is grateful that he doesn't.

Eyes still down, she retrieves her pocket camera. The lens extends with a laboured whirr and the display greets her with a half-full battery icon. Relief pours over her and melts some of the ice in her stomach. Whatever anomaly has drained her phone is slower to claim the old-fashioned double-As, it seems. The dim glow of the familiar screen is like a lighthouse in a storm.

She trains her eyes on it as she takes several photos of the pigeons; the ones suspended and the one splattered on the floor. As if seeing them through layers of lenses and pixels could disconnect her from the sight. She gets the close-ups with digital zoom. The macabre display's horrible beauty invites her closer. She squeezes the camera's button so hard, the shutter clicks three times in a row.

She backs away to the corridor; it's out of the question to turn her back on the bodies. Only when they disappear into the dark does she dare to turn around. The hallway looks foreign, the empty walls seem to gain a new, alien shade of white. The floor creaks. Joy sweeps her foot in an arc in front of her, shifting the dust. Then she stomps. Then she swipes her hand down through the air.

Nothing collapses, no hanging wires get caught on her glove. She knows that already. She’s checked the hallway, checked every inch of the floor. But the ritual of safety grounds her, brings her mind back into focus. Sweep, stomp, swipe; it’s a rhythm. A clear, simple action she can take to protect herself. From some things, at least.

She reaches the stairway in a trance. Sweep, stomp, swipe. Over and over, taking up all her thoughts. Right until the radio cracks and Cutter’s voice comes through:

"Are you doing your safe movements now?"

"Yeah,” she says. She opens the door, checks across the doorstep. Then she stops. “Why?"

"Just worrying you'll bring more of the building down on me,” he answers.

But she doesn’t miss the tiny pause, the barely audible false note in his light tone.

"Why are you asking?"

There’s silence. It stretches into an eternity in which the blurred moonlight outside the window seems to take a cloudy pink hue.

"I think I heard something else walking."

#animal death #horror #horror writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #captain's stuff #captain's ocs #ghost ambulance #i have been SO blocked with writing i can't believe #ive been focusing on art a lot and it's been great but i do think i need to write more often or ill start going insane #the promised non-whump writing lol #ive been also thinking abt the Glass Tree storyline in particular bc there could be some fun dynamics there #some psychological stress on top of the general spooky shit going on #3 strangers trapped in a haunted building and they all have reasons to distrust the others #(but they fight through it bc they all put their compassion first and it saves them in the end)

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lilyginnyblackv2 · 1 year

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Some long, big thoughts on Kazuki, Rei, and being “Fathers.” - SPOILERS!

I really think this episode is when Kazuki and Rei really face the reality that they are Miri’s FATHERS. Like, it finally sunk in.

The lady here uses otou-sama, which is a very formal way to address the two of them, very stuffy. But also very...Japanese. In Japan, it is very commonplace nowadays for little kids to use papa and mama when addressing their parents, but those are still seen as loanwords. They don’t carry the same weight as being referred to, and seen as, FATHERS.

That question and how they would be perceived by others really hit them here. They aren’t just playing house at home anymore, they are out in society and are going to be perceived as this Miri’s fathers. That may also come with the assumption that they are a couple or in a relationship with each other.

They both look uncomfortable here at that realization, but neither one really denies it either. Of course, this daycare is very unwelcoming and the lady far more judgmental than Anna. So that also likely plays a part in how they feel and react here too. The first daycare they go to focused more on the business side of things.

The room is huge, but empty, the walls are colorful, but not bright. Miri is sent off to play with blocks and the lady never directly addresses her or asks for her thoughts on things. Everything about this daycare is unwelcoming and uninviting and unaccepting, so Rei and Kazuki act coldly to this initial realization and the usage of the word FATHER here, seems very fitting.

It’s not a happy, bubbly, childlike, and even fantastical like the word “Papa” is. And the lady interviewing them, was definitely judging them, even before Miri started mentioning some more...suspicious stuff, lol.

Now, when they go to Aozora Daycare, Anna also addresses them using the word father in Japanese, but she goes with otou-san, still formal, but not stuffy and far more common and approachable. It’s still not “Papa” though. She only uses “Papa” when she talks to Miri about Rei and Kazuki.

(In the Japanese she directly addresses Kazuki first by calling him otou-san and then stating that she was asking Miri, not him, haha).

We are met with understanding here, though. Not judgement. The walls of Aozora are filled with children’s art projects, a piano that indicates singing and dancing time as a group, and warm smiles and comfy clothes. Everything that indicates a child-first daycare center.

The whole interview process ends successfully. The daycare views them as suitable parents and Miri got accepted into the school.

And while Rei looks disinterested during this entire interview. He was paying just as close attention to everything as Kazuki was, and if watch the high-five scene with a good eye, you can see that Rei actually has his hand up and waiting for Miri’s high-five before Kazuki.He understands her and her flow so well.

The rest is going under a Read More due to length.

Next we see them navigating all the prep work. And even though Rei did fall asleep at one point, we see that they both put in as much effort and energy as they can to get everything right for Miri and her first day of daycare. They both read through the handbook, write her names on things, even Rei did some sewing too. They exhaust themselves out.

They think they make a great first impression on that first day:

But they make a lot of faux pas in the world of Japanese parenthood (specifically in a space that tends to be dominated by motherhood).

Arriving by car = ✘

Wearing suits that aren’t black = ✘

Having Miri wearing clothes that look expensive = ✘

Arriving by car is equated to wealth and money, and even to showing off, as opposed to riding a bike.

Wearing suits that aren’t black is associated with the underbelly side of Japan, men that work in the red light district or with the yakuza. An exception to this would be like, in many places, the entertainment business.

Dressing Miri up in clothes that look expensive plays into the whole “yakuza daughter” vibes, but also makes it so that she stands apart from the other children. It can also make it so that Miri has a difficult time putting the clothes on and off herself, which could take up class time when coming in from play time, getting ready to go home, and etc.

I worked at a juku (cram school) with a daycare. Most of the students I cared for there were native Japanese kids between 2 - 4 years old whose parents were working in America. My boss would often get annoyed when parents would bring their (usually daughters) in wearing fancy shoes that looked pretty, but hurt the child’s feet and were hard for the child to take on and off themself.

Kids around Miri’s age are also shown to be aware of economic and social class on some level as well.

LOS ANGELES, Calif. (Ivanhoe Newswire) -- Rich, poor, middle class. Parents often believe it’s their responsibility to shield their children from economic differences and social class.

But new research shows children as young as five years old are not economically blind. In fact, by the time they reach prekindergarten, kids know the difference.

This group of primary school kids already knows what money can buy.

Combine that with the (thirsty though they were) mothers who probably advised their children to not get on Miri’s bad side because of her dad’s, and her outfits that set her apart, and scenes like this one:

Don’t seem so out-of-place.

When Kazuki and Rei pick Miri up at school, her answer to “How was your first day? Have fun?” being “I dunno yet.’ Set’s off alarm bells - even with Rei.

His brows are furrowed. He knows that something is off and wrong with that statement. They don’t know what they did wrong, and they don’t know how to fix it. Miri gets quieter and sadder and this is the first time they’ve had to actually deal with Miri on a deeper, emotional level.

That feeling like you are failing a child (whether your own, one of your students, or just a child in your care) is such a devasting feeling. This episode expresses it well by having these scenes all take place on the way home from the daycare, when the sun is setting.

Thankfully, Kazuki is open to listening to what Miss Anna has to tell him, and she is so supportive. She doesn’t judge them or treat them like they are incompetent or incapable. She just gives them the push in the right direction, with “insider info” in a way, to get them and Miri acclimated correctly. And Rei and Kazuki jump on it. They love that they’ve found this place with a bunch of good quality cheap shit that can help them and make their lives easier.

And after this, Miri goes to school in regular clothes. Kazuki goes to the play area in the regular clothes, and he is just genuine and authentic with the kids. He doesn’t dress Miri up in a way that sets her apart anymore (on a class level, in a way that makes the other kids think she is “saying” “don’t play with me.”).

Kazuki, especially, isn’t trying to “fake it until he makes it anymore.” He isn’t trying to give the impression that they are rich. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he also felt a bit more pressure to get everything right because he and Rei are two guys raising a kid together - two FATHERS.

But then he realizes letting Miri and him and Rei just be themselves is enough.

This was very much so a Kazuki issue that ended up negatively impacting Miri. A situation I’m sure every parent (or even teacher, like I’ve been before) has experienced on some level. It’s one of the harsher parts of being a parent and trying to help your child and do what’s right.

And now, he and Rei have one foot further into parenthood, since they know about this new shop and:

Gave Miri her own room.

That is such a big deal. Similar in a way to how people say not to name an animal unless you plan on keeping it as a pet. Not because Miri can be compared to a pet or an animal in any way like that, but because of what it implies on both an emotional attachment level and a “she is now a permanent part of our household” level.

That's a fully decorated room, filled with toys and plush dolls and games, a bed, books, a rug, even a desk. A desk filled with stationary supplies for her to learn and something which is viewed as a necessity for children to have at home when they are in elementary and junior high school (especially).

Rei and Kazuki have gone from being Miri’s “Papas” on a sort of imaginary, “playing house” level, with very limited outside and real-world/societal interactions to being her fathers. They have integrated her and themselves as her parents and fathers into society on a large level now.

By investing in that room, they are investing in Miri, and are openly choosing to be viewed as her fathers - as partners. Even if they don’t necessarily view each other in that way, it doesn’t matter to them in the end, because Miri is what’s most important.

(Note: I will link to the news article and report that stated that information about children and economic class recognition in the comments).

#Buddy Daddies #KazuRei #Kazuki Kurusu #Rei Suwa #Miri Unasaka #Anna Hanyu #Buddy Daddies spoilers #BD spoilers #long post #image heavy post #meta post #thought post #feel free to add your thoughts to this as well!

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theveryworstthing · 3 months

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I'm Alive

I posted this on patreon so I might as well post it again here. Hopefully current and past patrons see this as well as people who have just been generally curious about where I've been.

I'm very sorry for not being around and I'm very grateful to those who stuck around. To those who didn't, I get it and I truly appreciate you passing through.

Last year and the beginning of this year have been pretty bad. Some of you might have heard about my grandma's death and sadly, she was just the first of the family losses in the time I've been gone. There was also a friend's death discovery, my parents' health tanking, my friends Going Through It, and my own physical/mental problems. I didn't want to talk to the internet about these things because they were/are very overwhelming and private and tbh I used all my energy to help with the household and make sure work got turned in on time. When I had spare time after dealing with the near constant disasters, I didn't really feel like interacting with the internet at all beyond using it as a way to talk to far away friends (mostly to give them the thumbs up that i was alive) or watch/read things when my brain was less scrambled. Social media was an absolute no go and I didn't have any non-work art to post so I just kind of mentally crawled under the porch to die lol.

I only drew work related things for months due to extreme burnout and it took me almost a month off after my last job to remember how to create again. I couldn't draw or write, it was kinda like art block except it was more like nothing was there at all? It's hard to explain.

Things are still happening but I need to get back in the saddle eventually so here I am.

I'm going to post the little art I did in June and all the sketches I did in January when I re-learned how to draw for myself. Again, I'm so sorry for being away without saying anything and I'm grateful to whoever threw me a buck, or even just casually enjoyed my art. Leaving like I did was really irresponsible and there's no excuse for not at least making a post about all of this sooner. Every month I got a patreon payment was another wave of guilt because I literally couldn't give y'all anything but at the same time that money was letting me book flights to funerals and keeping my mom comfortable while she recovered from surgery right after I spent a lot of my savings in 2022 trying to fight my late cat's cancer. And then not posting about what was going on made me more anxious as time went on because there was more guilt every month so I felt like I needed to come back with a bunch of art and energy and good reasons and it was just. A Mess.

But anyway.

I'm alive, I'm back. The Horrors persist, but so do I.

Thank you for your patience.

#talkin

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perpetualcosmos · 25 days

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Astrology insights on Health & More! Pt. 2

*Please Note these are all my personal observations and research, not yet from a professional opinion!*

---> Body part ruled by Taurus is... Neck, shoulders, ears and throat! Now, What it means is that these natives usually have wide, elegant necks, shoulders and even jawlines depending on where they have their Taurus placements. Ex: Personally seen that natives which have Taurus in either 3rd house, in mercury or Venus conjunct mercury in, 2nd house placements, 3rd house placement and basically mercury placements indicating that these natives have a deep voice.

---> Taurus placements (Specially in conjunction, sextile or trine) always carry an energy of elegance. These natives always have a way with their voice, their body and their posture that draws people in. A pull, sensual and hypnotizing.

---> Prone to be interested in Art, Design, Photography, cinematography, music, dancing, etc., in it's most Venusian form, Taurus natives are hard working... when they want to be, otherwise you cannot pull them for anything to do. They have their priorities straight and keep clear of what doesn't suit them. But the tendency to overindulgence in things like food, sex, drugs, money, etc. Is highly prominent.

---> Really, Financial freedom isn't everything, and so isn't pleasure. A thing I have always noticed with Taurus natives is that they might be inclined to aroma and massages, a good way for these natives to decompress is maybe having a self care day with going to the spa, taking care of your hair, going for aromatherapy, going for shopping and indulging in things which make them feel safe.

---> Security & stability is extremely important to Taurus placements/2nd House placements/Taurus degrees holders (2°,14°,26°). But because of their nature, these natives tend to only focus on financial stability, often forgetting emotional investment is just as important. Signs in the body could be stiff shoulders, a blocked throat, always being told they don't "listen", not being able to take a proper break, mood swings, etc. Extremely prominent when these placements in a person's chart are underdeveloped.

---> Taurus placement carry similarities with their sister sign, Scropio, such as:

• Control - a major theme for both signs in opposite sectors, for Taurus natives, it's mostly money and finance. On the other hand, emotional and sensual control is for Scorpio natives.

• Obsession - as mentioned above, in the sectors.

• Pleasure - Both appreciate Pleasure, for Scorpio placements it's intimate, powerful, a connection and always transformative -- it's in the emotional. For Taurus placements, it's imagination, realistic and 3D focused -- it's in the material.

Ex: Adele with a Taurus Sun in 11th house at 15° (cancer degree)! Should I be even shocked that she is a singer, known for her voice and beauty everywhere? Absolutely not lol. Supporting this, is her Mercury in Gemini in the 12th house at 0° (I can't make this up). She is someone who is known for her music all over the world, carrying so much of her emotions and her ability to reach high notes. She definitely has a beautiful neck and shoulders, with her being very expressive about what she wants through art (which in her case, is music!). Another example is of Keira Knightley with a Taurus moon. Definitely something who carries a strong Jaw and bone structure, along with again wide shoulders and great posture. Her energy also draws in people on the stage, you can't help falling in love with how dedicatedly she carries her with her Moon conjunct Mars in Taurus. No wonder she is so dedicated to her Art (here it's acting). A beautiful thing about Taurus moons is when they find something that they are extremely passionate about, no one can stop them from achieving their goals and giving their best. Especially when they love their work, it shows Everywhere.

Other examples are Zendaya, Nick Jonas, Lindsay Lohan, Donald Grover, Channing Tatum, Miley Cyrus, Gigi Hadid, Robert Pattinson and more.

Source: Pinterest

____________________________

A/N: Thank you for checking this post out and omg thank you for the likes and follows 🥹🫶

*I am so grateful for all of you, thank you for your support. I wasn't sure if I should do this but because of you... I am here. Thank you. And I just want to say if no one has told you lately... I am proud of you, you are trying so hard, even if it's just you being alive. Thank you, I am grateful you are here to read this.*

With love & grace 🥹✨

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dumplingsfordays · 6 months

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stay still

welt x fem!reader

genre - smut

summary - pure smut lol

cw!: nsfw (sexual themes), oral (reader receiving), sub!reader, reader has female genitalia, welt is lowkey pussydrunk, swearing, praise (reader receiving), implied age gap, all characters 18+, mentions of c in p and thigh riding, dacryphilia a little, overstim

note - writer's block is hitting me like a truck lmao. also sorry for not writing that sweet bf fic that I mentioned in the passengerprincess!reader x blade post but yk what? i'm gonna do it at some point, but it's not going to be today.

art credit!

And as always, thank you for reading :)

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

"Stay still, sweetheart," the older man warns in a baritone voice as your hips buck up.

He's got you laying down on the silken sheets, hair messily splayed out on the covers, your smaller hands running through his greyish-auburn locks with desperation clearly evident. You came twice already - one from riding his thigh and another from his cock slowly splitting you open thrust by thrust - and you were so sensitive that everything seemed almost hazy. Your eyes swam with tears at the overstimulation as Welt continued his ministrations, giving broad licks to your wet cunt and occasionally kissing the inside of your thigh.

"W-Welt," you tremble, voice wobbling, "please, 'm so sensitive, I can't-"

"Shh. You're doing so, so well, darling, just one more."

That's what he said a round ago, but you don't notice at all - you're too busy engulfed completely in blinding bliss as the older man grabs your hips, pulling your sweet pussy closer to him, and eats you out like a man starved. He's rough and gentle at the same time, if that's even possible - he's too far gone to even care about the translucent stickiness dripping down his chin. His eyes, half-lidded in ecstacy, are locked onto yours, observing and admiring your reactions. He gives a small kiss to your clit, which has you bucking up again.

"What did I tell you, sweetheart?" he scolds as he pulls away from your legs, holding your soft thighs down with his broad hands. "Stay still or you won't get a reward."

You sniffle and whine in response. "But I can't, just feels too good, please..."

"You can and you will. Just a little bit more, 'kay? Be a good girl for me."

He leans in once again - you can feel his hot breath against your cunny - and showers kisses on your lips, slowly creeping up to suck on your little pearl. You whimper when his lips latch on and Welt swears that his cock strains so hard against the bed when you do so.

When you finally wrap your thighs around his head from all the overwhelming pleasure, he groans into your pussy but continues lapping at your clit with renewed vigor. He then shifts down and starts to eat you out so sinfully yet so passionately, and by now, your pants and soft moans and whines fill the room. Welt can't hear any of it, though - he's in a state of bliss, focusing only on your sweet cunt.

As your orgasm nears with rapid speed you grab his hair once more, pressing his head down lightly. Your boyfriend gets the hint - he speeds up, filthy, wet noises fill the room as your back arches in blinding pleasure and you teeter on the edge. A single, long finger of his sliding into your pussy finally sends you over, that unimaginably sweet sensation overwhelming you and you crack, waves after waves of tears pouring out of your eyes like summer rain. Welt's praising you over and over again - you can feel his hot breath on your skin as he holds your thighs open to continue his ministrations until you physically can't anymore.

"Knew you could do it," he praises in that gravelly voice of his, looking up at you through his lashes, "such a good girl. So beautiful, look at you."

You sniffle as you come down from your high, and the man shifts up to lay beside you on the bed. He embraces you, caressing your collarbone with his rough thumb, travelling up your neck and to your chin, when he finally tilts your head to face him. You close your eyes when your lips meet in a quiet, loving kiss.

"God, am I a lucky man to have you," he sighs. You lean in and smile into his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his big frame and he returns the favor with a caring gentleness.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

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