#astrology headers

[sh0tanzz]

Who do you think would be the mtl jealous bf in riize?

OMGG ive been waiting for an ask like this 😭

MTL JEALOUS BF IN RIIZE based on astrology ~

(reminder that this for fun and astrology is something I study for a hobby, these are all inferences based off of observations and not exact fact unless I knew them myself !!)

Most

Sungchan - Tbsh his jealousy would be pretty overboard and extremely obvious like a blaring red signal. He would NOT play about you. His cancer moon makes him pretty sensitive and obvious with his emotions so if he felt jealous he'd get in his feelings or even sulk/ruminate as well as he'd take it pretty personal and have a hard time letting go. His leo venus makes him pretty dramatic 😭. This venus paired with his moon might make him cause a scene or "act out" . His venus+moon leads to him wanting your care and attention on him and him alone. His cap mars screams possessiveness and being restrictive, he'd get so possessive do not let him see you laugh at another guys jokes or be helpful to another guy he'd be FUMING .

Wonbin - I honestly wasn't going to rank Wonbin this high but then I remembered his taurus mars paired with venus square pluto and pluto conjunct lilith so...here we are LMFAOO. From my own personal observations taurus mars is way more possessive in comparison to taurus venus; those pluto/venus/lilith aspects paired with his mars can make his jealousy take a snowball effect leading to an emotional avalanche. Plus a power imbalance fueling the jealousy even more and leading to him being restrictive. However, I ranked him below Sungchan because Sungchan would be VERY petty and loud about his jealousy while Wonbin would most likely silently seethe (due to his pisces sun, aquarius mercury) until he ultimately can't handle holding back, but until then his jealousy would still be DEEP.

Shotaro - His scorpio moon+capricorn venus makes him take the relationship pretty seriously. He craves stability and honesty and once he feels like his jealousy is compromising the security and trust in the relationship he must act ! He won't be too quick to jump into conclusions because of his libra mars, he'd probably think things through before asking/acting on his jealousy..and he might front and pretend he's only a tiny bit jealous/concerned when really it's weighing heavy on his heart in the beginning. When he is jealous he'd be more quiet and less jovial than he usually is. He'd be pretty straight up and might even just ask/tell you about how he's feeling. When things are clarified things will be cool again and he'll go back to being your sweet taro and hopefully stop staring daggers into the random guy talking to you while smiling.

Anton - Very unserious, would text "what position he got you in" and move on with his day. KIDDDING kind of 😭 He'd have short phases of possessiveness due to his taurus venus. His moon square saturn and venus square neptune can lead to slight paranoia and being unable to naturally express his insecurities which could be the source of the jealousy. Despite these things he wouldn't express his jealousy in toxic or overboard ways, he'd probably express his jealousy through jokes or non seriousness hoping you would pick up on it (you probably would with that mercury aries, straight to the point) If he ever did tell you straight up he wouldn't be too harsh he'd just want to be honest and being reassured will patch everything right up.

Sohee - I ranked Sohee this low because honestly when reading his chart I feel like his jealousy would, similarly to Anton's, be quick to come and go. He'd be quick to say something or show that he's uncomfortable. He wouldn't sit you down to have a serious convo about it, but it would have to just passively come out in conversation . As soon as he felt reassured then he'd be fine once again. Now if it was an ongoing issue of scenarios that led to him being jealous then he'd have a more serious even messy approach (his mars square pluto) his temper would awaken. But outside of that he trusts you, even if he doesn't trust and is suspicious of the guys around you he trusts YOUUU at the very end.

Seunghan - Oh the lovely boyfriend that just wants to keep the peace. He wouldn't want you to hound him out of jealousy so he ofc wouldn't do that to you either. If he was jealous he'd be more emotional rather than being petty+aggressive. His mercury is exalted in virgo so he'd definitely want to talk about it or at least let you know how he feels. Outside of that I think he'd want to avoid such a thing in the first place. He'd trust you as best as he can and wouldn't want there to be an imbalance in the relationship to where one of you are restricting the other due to deep seated jealousy (thanks to his libra sun+venus and sag moon). He quite literally just wants you two to be happy and knows that genuine jealousy can poison such a good thing.

Eunseok - I'm sorry fellow briize but this man is quite literally the least of your concern. His aries venus wouldn't want to make things too serious and ominous with jealousy (plus because he values his freedom so in his mind you must value yours too right ?) His sag mars paired with it means he doesn't want to dwell with thoughts of you possibly giving your attention to other guys. He basically has a nonchalant "she knows where home is" mentality lowkey. Plus if he ever did feel jealous he'd probably not say anything because his cap moon+pisces mercury would barely let him properly express it (with words at least). Also weirdly enough he'd be more jealous if you weren't in a relationship compared to if you guys were; once you two are officially together he wouldn't be as jealous anymore .

Least

#kpop astrology #riize #riize anton #riize fluff #riize reactions #riize imagines #riize smut #riize x reader #riize headcanons #riize headers #riize icons #riize masterlist #riize sungchan #riize shotaro #riize eunseok #riize wonbin #riize seunghan #riize sohee #riize angst #sungchan #riize astrology #eunseok #osaki shotaro #seunghan #riize is 7 #briize #anton lee #nct #nct u #riizenet

[fullsunisms]

AESPA GIRLS .

#aespa #aespa moodboard #aespa layouts #aespa ningning #aespa winter #ningning icons #winter icons #ningning moodboard #aespa winter moodboard #alternative moodboard #astrology moodboard #black moodboard #aespa comeback #aespa girls #gg moodboard #kpop moodboard #aespa giselle #aespa karina #ningning headers #winter headers #maknae line #aespa teasers

[caeeesar]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⚝‎ㅤㅤ‎astrologist mona megistus

ㅤ❝ fate is called as such for it cannot be changed, nor can it be reversed. it can only but be accepted. ❞

#genshin impact #headers #icons #header #moodboard #icon #genshin #cute #i dont know what im doing #kawaii #mona megistus #genshin impact mona #genshin moodboards #genshin mona #megistus mona #astrologist #astrology #blue moodboard #starry aesthetic #stars #blue headers #blue theme

[yaeletro]

happy birthday mona !

#pastel #genshin icons #messy icons #aesthetic icons #anime icons #anime layouts #genshin layouts #messy headers #messy layouts #aesthetic layouts #genshin mona #astrology #stars

[chronically-ghosted]

iron and charcoal

rating: explicit 18+ pairing: pero tovar x f!reader word count: 6.9K summary: Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –  Her. He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.  OR Pero falls hard for a princess and doesn’t know what to do with himself on your wedding night. warnings: angst, brief classism/xenophobia two very stubborn people, pero experiences one Human Emotion and cannot fully process it, arranged marriage, yearning, smut LIKE WOW, soft!pero that i broke my own heart with a/n: Thank you so much to @perotovar for this request: "congrats on your milestone, my love! so happy for you <33 i'm sending a little astrology 💫 + pero & #6 on the fluffy list OR #1 on the smutty list (whichever is speaking to you), because i wanna see your take on him 👀” – of course I chose the slutty one, just for you 😉 I’m actually pretty proud of this one - please consider reblogging if you like it too!

*the image in the header is for aesthetic purposes only and does not reflect the appearance of the reader*

🤍Masterlist 🤍Pero Tovar Masterlist

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Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

Sometimes before battle, the clatter inside Pero’s head goes silent. It listens. It waits. 

Other times, it roars. Memories of family, of dead amigos, of mujeres he fucked – they all buck and scratch for a chance to blaze across his mind like a dust storm kicked up by an unbroken mustang. 

He doesn’t know which one he prefers or which one will win out. They both have their uses, necessary states of mind to survive whatever is barreling towards him – an ax, a monster out of legend, some other drunken mercenary he intentionally pissed off. It’s an unconscious decision, yet one that has served him well so far. He wouldn’t be alive today if some deep, primal part of him knew what he needed to live through another battle. 

And yet, his own trunk knocking against his hips as he climbed the sickly ostentatious stone steps to the top of the parapet, the handles starting to pinch his fingers, the barest – nearly invisible – tremor in his knees, he cannot fathom, for the life of him, why that singular phrase from his abuela played in his head like water swirling around and around a cenote. 

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

His inner voice, taking on a myriad of forms, of sounds and voices, never quite standing still, the one companion he could always rely on. 

Maybe it was warning him. Dust yourself off, boy, you know exactly how this was going to end. 

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –

Her.

He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.

He feels sweat escape from the nape of curls at his neck, his cheeks warm and chest hot. Two more flights, he can manage two more flights. 

His abuela also liked to tell him something else: if hell doesn’t get him, his pride certainly will. 

It’s certainly what got him into this ridiculous farce in the first place. Because he can’t alchemize whatever is in his gut into vocalized syllables, he instead has to climb a truly incalculable amount of stairs, while carrying a ragged, torn trunk that weighs as much as his armor. 

Because he can’t form the right words, any words, about what he carries lodged beneath his breastbone for her. What draws him up and up and up and up because it’s lighter than hope, makes him lighter than air, and yet it clogs him up, chokes him out all the same. His pride, his vanity, cuts through it, through her – enough to keep him tongueless and dry but not enough to offer this lightness in his chest to her, for her. He can’t take the light out of him or else he fears what he will truly become.

So, he walks, he goes around and around on unforgiving stone steps until finally there is a door. He thinks about waiting, to catch his breath, but he knows he will just as easily turn around and go back the way he came, trunk still heavy and knocking against his hips, and that pride will be the death of him. So he keeps going, opens the handle, and makes abrupt eye contact with the two guards outside her door. They seem uninterested and unamused in his sweaty, stilted breathing, but by his less-than-royal attire, they easily clock him as one of their own; a man who fights to make his way in the world. The one on the left nods jerkily at him. 

What they see him as, what he will always be, is nearly the reason he kicks that fucking trunk all the way back down. Instead, he nods back, shoulders rounded, eyes down. 

“The princesa - the princess - is requesting the last of her things, to be b-brought up from the stables –,” he clears his throat, “drop this off for her and –,”

“Can’t let you in. King’s orders.” The one on the right sees him as something else – a foreigner first and foremost, their similar stations in life irrelevant. His bright blue eyes rove over Pero’s dark skin, dark hair, jagged scar, distaste and disgust smearing his already ugly features. But he had been dealing with men like these all his life.

“Bueno, you can explain to the King himself why his daughter’s belongings were lost and disregarded. I hear she’s very fond of the Italian prints at the bottom of this . . .”

The guards glance at each other, calculating way above their paygrade. Pero jostles the trunk as if to show he is not above throwing it out the window. 

“Fine.” The second one snaps. “Drop it inside and come back immediately.”

He drops his head, a good little foreign boy. “Gracias, señor.” 

The heavy wooden door opens beneath the iron lock and the instant he is through, he bolts it behind him. Waits to see if the guards notice. They don’t. Perfectamente – all the time in the world. 

All in the time in the world – for what? 

To fail? Again?

He stows the trunk in front of the door, extra time, a few seconds maybe – as if she wouldn’t just tell him to get out the instant she laid eyes on him. Only time will tell. 

Out of the atrium, another door, this one set deep into the wall. A last line of defense. He knocks, once, then twice, then waits. El orgullo chokes him again but fuck it, he’s come this far. He knocks again, knocks something in his chest free and, with it, spill the words:

“Princesa? It’s me. I –,” it throttles him, “princesa, can you open the door?” 

Silence. His heart sits, buried in that trunk. Then –

“It’s unlocked, Pero.” 

His heart in his throat, he opens the door to presumably what will be your marriage bed. And yet, by the state of things, you could have been moving out of it. Trunks and bags stack high against the far wall – those fucking trunks he made such a scene over because the unnecessary weight would slow them all down remain untouched, arranged as they had been when they had been first brought in. He didn’t quite know what to make of that, his thumb absently pressing into the callus of his other hand as he glanced around. It is a beautiful room – tall windows, etched in scarlet drapes, to match the scarlet curtains around the bed. With gold thread and impossibly detailed paintings of the countryside, it is fit for a princess, a some-day queen. This is where someone with royal blood deserved to be, not in the back of a hot carriage for weeks on end, surrounded by dirty, loud, rough men. 

And yet, with your hair down, expansive gown from the ball tonight replaced with a simple cotton dress, you could not have been more out of place. Pero’s heart lurches briefly, moisture seeping from his mouth, as he realizes this is the same dress he bought you when the two of you had been accidentally separated by the caravan and your previous dress had been ruined in the mud. He had no idea you still kept it, much less wore it ever again. 

But if anyone asked him, you look more beautiful in this than any silk or velvet. 

Instead of unpacking, settling into your new home and eventual role as wife, you sit hunched over at the intricately carved mahogany desk, eagle feather quill scratching against parchment. You finish with a flourish and look over your shoulder at him, your eyes annoyingly unreadable. 

“Yes?”

A stupid brute some may call him, but he wasn’t entirely without awareness. Observation of your customs and what you considered inappropriate only encouraged him: if you really didn’t want him here, you would never have let him see you in this state.

But it’s hard to remember that under your icy stare. 

“Y-your things, Princesa. The last from the caravan.”

Your eyes slide over him, to the trunk in the shadows of the atrium. He can tell from a single glance that you know as well as he that trunk is not yours, that no one told him to come here with it, and yet he did it all the same. Something flashes over your eyes but it’s gone by the time you meet his gaze again. 

“Thank you. I am, as always, indebted to you.” 

He hates your words, but warmth spreads in his gut at the way you say it. That’s how it’s always been between you and him – saying one thing but meaning another. He’d never appreciated a sharp mind like yours until he realized you wield it as he wields a sharp sword. 

There are many things he’d never even dreamed of before he met you.

“Then, this means you’re leaving, I suppose.” You draw your sword against him. The metal flashes in your eyes as you stand, one hand against the curved tip of your chair. A bronze halo rims your outline, the fire behind you burning bright and hot. He knows if he touched your shoulder, your neck, your skin would be wonderfully warm. 

He wets his lips. “Si. Our contract with your father is done.” 

You drop his gaze, your lips tightening for a minute, your fingers running through the carvings of wood on the chair. “Even with William in his state? Would it not be better for him to stay and recover? The journey home is –,” you pause, as though someone had thrown a hand over your mouth, “– the journey back east is long.” 

All the longer without you.

“William, he is not an idle man. Two days of bedrest is often all he can take.” 

You grin, in spite of this thing circling you both. “Unless he finds the nun attending to him beautiful.

“He finds them all beautiful.” 

Your smile expands wide across your bright face when you find him smiling at you too. 

This – if this is to be his last memory of you (his heart wrenches at the thought) – this is the you he wants imprinted on his soul: smiling and glowing by firelight. 

But as quickly as it came, that grin that warms him down to his bones, fades. In an instant, your eyes grow soft, your mouth twisted, jaw tight.

“Where will you go?” you ask, in the quietest voice you’d ever addressed him with. 

It pains him, physically aches within him, to hear the distress in your voice. He hasn’t even thought about the next contract, the next royal cabrón who intends to yank him all across God’s green earth to perform a task he can’t be fucked to take on himself. How can he possibly answer you? Nowhere, without you. To rot in a dark hole in the ground? Off a cliff? What answer would provide you or him any sort of satisfaction?

“Wherever the coin goes,” he says and the words scrape his tongue like bile. That ache in his chest spiraling rapidly, deep into his gut – like a poisoned limb he cannot amputate – he does the same thing he always does when he’s hurt: he makes others hurt until they leave him alone. “You do not have to worry, princesa, your new husband will keep you in such comfort you will never wonder where the coin comes from.”

He must be a truly sick man, for the knife-sharp glare you throw at him only knots arousal around the base of his spine. It tugs on something attached directly to his groin which, in turn, yanks the next words out of his mouth.

“He looked especially happy with you in his arms on the dance floor tonight.”

The icy shards in your eyes go brittle and crack. His heart races; he’s overplayed his hand. 

“You watched me dance?”

“All guardsmen were required to –,”

You shake your head, eyes bright and searing through him. “No. It was only the King’s Knights there in attendance.” 

Your hand trailing off the edge of the chair, you take a step forward and he feels his weight shift back onto his heels. But he remains firm. 

Sana, sana.

“Pero, why did you come here tonight?”

“To return the last of your things, princesa. What else is there?”

You flinch, as if he had raised his voice to you. What else is there indeed?

“Not even to . . .  say goodbye? Sixteen weeks on the road is an awfully long time to be around someone, only for them to . . . leave so soon.”

He locks his knees to keep them from shaking. “Do you wish for me to tell you goodbye, princesa?” 

There’s something painfully sad about the way you smile at him. “I wish for whatever would make you happiest.” 

Anger roars within him, hungry and hot, like a burn from a white flame. Why can’t you just admit it? Why do you avoid it time and time again? He knows he hasn’t misread anything you’ve sent his way, so why? Why are you so vested in torturing him this way? 

“Coin makes me happy and, now that I have it, there’s nothing to keep me here.”

There, that hurts you too, just as he meant it.

“Then leave.” They could make ice fortresses out of the strength of your bone-cold stare. “If you have nothing else to say, then take your goddamn trunk and get out of my sight.” 

The flame scorches him, ripping him apart and in his anger, making him cruel.

He bows to you.

“I imagine you will be very happy with your new husband, ranita.”

The term slips from his lips before he can stop it, but his throat and cheeks blister so badly, he physically can’t open his mouth to correct his mistake. Instead, he turns and strides towards the door.

He thinks he hears a gasp from behind him, a sharp sound like breaking glass – small, tinkling, tragic. It spears him through his chest, pierces his heart. 

He gets to the door and pauses.

If you have nothing else to say . . .

Of course he has something to say – words in English and Spanish and broken dialects gathered like poisonous lichen all churning in the boiling cauldron of his mind, but nothing will suffice – nothing reflects or compares to the grief he is already feeling, the despair, the anguish that has settled into all the fleshy joints in his body. Not his pride, but this, saying goodbye to you, this is what actually will kill him.

Every word imaginable crawls up his throat and rages in his mouth, presses up against his teeth, begging for something, anything to be let out, to be free, to tell you that he cannot fucking live without you–

Nothing comes through, but one single word.

“Don’t.” 

The fire crackles in the silence, a wicked god pleased at the display of carnage.

“What did you say?”

A dull thud echoes from where he drops his forehead against the wood of the door, all anger flooding out of his system. Do you have any idea the power you hold over him? One request, one tremor in your voice and his knees all but buckle at your altar. 

Fuck it. 

He always thought he’d go out in a blaze of bloody glory, but he’d never expected to be so exposed, so flayed like this.

“Don’t,” he repeats, his throat as dry as sand. “Do not . . . marry him. Please.” 

The vision of your great warrior slumped against the door frame, his neck bent, shoulders curled up to his ears has your already pounding heart leaping forward into a gallop. He is defeated, laid low. You watch his guts all but pool out on your hearth. 

He looks about as hopeless and anguished as you feel. 

Your soldier, your man of iron and charcoal, goes blurry in your eyes.

“And what would you have me do, Pero?” Your plea is damp, malleable at the edges. You press your hand flat against your chest, near your throat, as if you could pull the grief lodged there with your fingers. “I have been engaged to this man before I was even born. How can I stop this?” 

“Fight.” The word snarls against his bare teeth. He turns, his eyes liquid ink, and suddenly he has you by the shoulders. His thumbs nervously skitter around the curve of your shoulder, gaze just as unsteady and unfocused as it wavers between your hands, your earlobe, your neck. "Where is my brave girl who fights for what she wants, hm? Fight – for me, please.”

Fight, he asks – but in spite of him or because of him?

You lay your hands on the silver shine of his breastplate, watch as they rise and fall with his steady flow of breath. How many nights had you woken up against that shine, in the crook of his arm for warmth, or protection? You didn’t cherish it at the time because you never knew when it would be your last. 

“Why won’t you fight, princesa?” His voice is low, strained, the groan of a wagon wheel before it breaks. You meet his gaze and the exposed look on his face, softening every line on his mouth and around his eyes, nearly sends you into hysterics. You swallow the tears, swallow the hook in your throat as your fingers curl around the clasps of his cape. 

"Because if I don't fight then I can't lose.” His fingers slip from your shoulders, to your elbows, to your waist. You inhale and the scents of warm leather, oil, and ash flood your mouth. The tip of your nose is inches from the scruff of beard against his cheek, the ruddy brown of his sun-drenched skin. He has curled you into him and this, you do not fight either. His massive palms map your back, against your skin, but without any urgency or control. “If I can’t lose, that means I don’t lose you. You'll just be . . . gone."

That last word is a lie. It hangs in the air like a sweltering humid rain and you both know you’re lying. He has you wrapped up in his arms, you didn’t stop him even for a second, and you are all too aware that it would take some great, insidious alchemy to ever truly tear him out of you. 

You stare at his silver collar, defiant against the waves you had managed to shackle down until this very moment: a wave of hopeless crashes into you, a wave of heartbreak, a wave of helpless that fills your eyes to the point of spilling with that very same salt water.

He touches your cheek delicately, fingers rough with callouses, and the floodgates break open with a sob. 

“Preciosa,” he rumbles softly against your hairline, “hush. You break my heart with your tears.” 

“Do not mock me, Tovar. Not now.” you sniff, trying to turn your face but his wide hands catch you around the cheeks.

“You are beyond mocking. I’d show you my heavy heart but I do not wish that weight on anyone.” The snag of his rough thumbs against your cheek draws your watery gaze to him. His mouth is a flat line, barred against whatever climbs his throat, but his eyes move like mercury across your nose, your eyelashes, the arch of your cheek. Your fingers wrap themselves around his wrists, a grounding agent against the waves that threaten to pull you under. 

“Pero, I –,”

“I have fought you, tooth and nail, for days without end. Every favor, every breath, you have forced them from me. I fight my own mind when I sleep at night. Sueños, always of the same woman.” He smears away the tears with his thumbs, gently, sweetly, before pressing his lips to your wet flesh by his knuckle. He inhales deeply, eyes closed, mouth hovering stationary above the skin of your cheek. “You fight me every step of the way . . . and I am so tired of fighting.” 

For all your struggling, for all your tearing and clawing and snarling against the blooming in your chest, nothing is as easy as it is to turn your head and press your lips to his. 

The brush of his bristled mustache against your upper lip. His warm, rough palms holding you steady. His lips soft and hot. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him.

There is nothing like, and nothing will ever be like, finally kissing Pero Tovar. 

All it takes is the movement of his hands from your cheeks to your lower back, the light trace of his tongue against your lips, and the yearning you’d been smothering for weeks now roars to life. His hands squeeze your hips and you can suddenly barely breathe. 

“Pero–,” the noise in the shape of his name that escapes you is near a whine, begging. He nips at your lips, hand firmly at the cup of your jaw, mouth now rough and insistent, and your fingers claw up his neck, wrapping themselves in his dark curls. You tug, nails scratching his scalp, and he groans into your mouth as if you’d just kneed him in the gut.

A thread-bare gasp of your name from his lips splits you from him, then his hand on your hip and the back of your neck pushing you backwards gives you enough air to breathe – to think.

"Your husband will know you're not a virgin,” Pero warns, breathing hard and fast, his eyes like black flints, “if we go on." 

You curl your fingers around his neck, dragging your mouth near his jaw, the soft skin at the edge of his ear.

"Then he will also know my heart is not his either.” You ask everything of him with this. His armor blocks his warm body from you – you want to sink inside his hard shell. “If you’ll have it.”

He is not himself, half-human with an inhuman want, with the snarl that leaves him. 

“Don’t make such promises, dulzura –,” A threat, a dog forced to expose its underbelly, fear radiating like the pain from a broken bone. Your fingers dig into the buckles of his cape, steadying you against a sudden terrible awareness that bloomed, purple-bruised. 

“Unless you don’t want –,” 

The desk rattles when your hips break against it, the force of his kiss enough to topple over your inkwell, spill rolls of parchment to the floor. The wood groans under your weight when he gathers the thick swell of your thighs in his hands, heaves you onto the flat surface, and spreads your knees around his waist. He is as hard as the iron on his chest. 

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

A frantic sigh of relief, a groan shared between two pairs of lips, seeking skin and warmth and other hungry places. 

He drags you onto his chest, your skirt bunched up around your hips, the rings of his armor digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, his mouth covering yours in wet pulls, and he stands up right, as though you weighed less than his sword. 

A stumble, and he spreads you out on the velvet covers of your marriage bed, his hands imprinting on your hips, your knees, the supple meat of your calves. The touch of him on your bare skin feels like the licks of flames, the smoke of arousal blurring your awareness and dragging your eyelids half-closed. On his heels at the edge of the bed, the flint shards of his eyes drift over the bones of your ankles, the bend of your knee, your heaving chest, hair in snarls around your neck and caught behind your back, and finally to your cunt, hidden by the folds of your dress. 

Velvet hums as you slide your ankles to the curve of your ass, widening your legs, parting your knees. His lips part open, dark want etching every line of his face. You feel the wet linen of your dress cling to your achy cunt. He swallows, unbuckling his cape one latch at a time, his eyes nowhere else. The metal clatters as it falls to the floor.

Piece by piece, the chinks in his armor fall away. Piece by piece, he is revealed to you. Your hands rise up, up your thighs to your knees, your thumbs rubbing soft circles. He watches, never tears his gaze away from your sticky hole, his nimble fingers working away the buckles and knots with practiced precision. You can see it in his eyes – memories of bedrolls by firelight, of such a deep painful, yearning ache, separated only by thin tarp, they are a physical weight beside you in this marriage bed. 

You see them because they’re there for you too. You see them because you've been here a dozen times, on your back, legs spread wide, your hands circling but never dipping, waiting. Wanting. For him. 

His bare chest is warm, the wings of his ribs expanding around short, half-drawn breaths, as he crawls up into your pliant mouth. The kisses are slow, like before, with a crackle of heat just beyond them, his hips slipping into the cradle of your thighs, the wet warmth of you separated by the thin linen of your dress. He sucks the tendon below your ear, a whine slipping out of your mouth, fingers spreading over the harsh planes of his back, and his cock bobs against your thigh. 

Pero is bare and warm and entirely yours. All man beneath the sweltering armor. 

“Amorcita,” he drips into your ear, kisses smeared against your collarbone, your mouth, your earlobe, “amorcita, amorcita . . . ranita, let me take you.” 

He starts to use teeth, a harder nip behind his kisses, when he dips down to your chest. A wide palm with stocky fingers grasps at your breast and it’s a startling sensation for you both. 

“Soft,” he moans before licking up under the supple curve of your breast, mouthing at what his tongue missed. He slips your erect nipple into his mouth and twists it between his teeth. “Sweet,” he murmurs with your nipple firmly between his lips. 

This is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You deliriously thank the gods that he hadn’t touched you like this on the road; you would have kept him, your own wild animal, in bed without rest for days on end.

Pero plucks just as aggressively at your other breast, the spit-wet nipple that preoccupied his mouth verging on purple and aching. He cups you from the outside this time, squeezing and massaging, ringing your nipple with his tongue until your back bows and you let out a whine that has his eyes flickering up to you, the scent of wounded prey filling his nostrils. 

That whine of pleasure elongates into a whimper: “please.”

“Tranquila, ranita.” His touch is softer around your bruised tits, but he keeps one hand bagging the weight of your breast while the other slips beneath your skirt.

The pads of his fingers brush your creamy cunt and with a yelp, you grab him by the wrist, your eyes open with a familiar emotion he draws out of you: rage.

“Pero Tovar, if you value your life you will take me under the covers and put your —,”

He chuckles, his cheek against yours, nose rimming the velvet hairs on the ridges of your ear. The vibrations liquify the tension in your bones, loosening your grip. Your eyes flutter, slick obviously running down his fingers. “Ranita, I don’t think you know how you want to end that sentence..”

His words roll like honey over the heat of your skin. It makes your skin tremble. Your grip tightens on his wrist and you roll your hips, your swollen clit finally relieved by the pressure of his palm. 

“Oh, oh, Pero—,” 

With a grunt, he shuffled closer, elbow by your shoulder and he cups your entire wet cunt in his hand, pushing the heel of his palm flatter against you. You cry out, a sparkling kind of pleasure radiating out from where his hand rests. You buck your hips faster, complete release flickering through your outstretched hand. 

“Can you come like this?” You nod, eyes squeezed shut as you barrel towards escape, and you feel him shudder next to you. You are intimately aware that he’s rubbing his cock on the crease of your hip bone but that only drags you faster towards the light. “Then come, ranita, come and I’ll fuck you.” 

The wet, curling heat growing between your legs descends, then in a bright snap, explodes across your body. 

“Fuck!” You tear open your eyes to find them damp, Pero’s massive hand cupping your cheek towards him, his stallion eyes dark as his fingers drag on the soaked material of your dress, your hips slowing. 

“Amorcita, breathe.” The words are torn from his chest, all cock-suredness gone from his frantic gaze. You gulp in air, the weight of his body over yours grounding and smothering you all at once. He pulls his hand away from you, rides it up your thigh to your waist, looking for something to hold onto. He strokes his thumb once against your overheated skin and you’re wriggling up out of your dress. 

“Help,” you hiss and his fingers nearly tear the fabric off you.

With a few undone buttons, you shiver out of your dress, the slick-drenched spots catching on your warm skin. He flings it behind him, near the fireplace. 

He takes you barely beneath the thick covers before you welcome him back to the heat of your open legs. 

But instead of reeling back and plunging his aching cock into you, he takes the time to kiss you. To praise you in all the ways he fears his mouth will end up short. He kisses you, grateful, reverent – wonderful to be swallowed by but also a distraction.

When he lifts your knees by his waist, your hips automatically tilt towards him and for the first time, you feel his red, sore cock between your tacky lips. The dual sensation nearly drags you over the rack of delectably delicious pleasure, as does his worn, broken groan in your ear. 

“More, please, don’t stop.” You cry against the bristles of his beard, his hand dropping between your sweat-slick bodies, finding yours already there to guide him. The press of him spreads you open, filling you one sinking notch at a time. The sensation of your pink, dripping walls moving to take more of him in has you arching up into his chest, nails dragging into his back. His dry lips stifle the moans escaping from your mouth. 

Pero takes both of your hands in his, dragging them above your head, his fingers locking your palms together as his hips roll forward. “Cálmate, amorcita, cálmate,” he murmurs between distracted presses of his mouth against your chin, your cheek, his breathing heavy and stunted. You writhe, pinned open by his hips and his hands, his cock filling you all too slowly and not fast enough. 

With the last few inches, you take him completely, your cunt throbbing, heart pounding, intoxicated by the sensation of being so maddeningly full. Pero drapes over you, his head tucked into your neck, forearms straining with the tension of gripping your hands tightly. 

“Santa madre . . .” He is not a warrior right now. He is but a man, cunt-drunk and heaving. 

His name is pushed out of the bottom of your lungs with the first swing of his hips. You cling to him, knees at his ribs, unwilling to let even an inch of space between your bodies. But this becomes increasingly difficult as his thrusts gain speed. His flushed lips stain a sticky line against your jaw, down to your throat, and he releases your hands, the oak of the bed creaking beneath the force of him drilling down into you, he props himself up on his palms, his shoulders bent and curled over you, biceps straining, hairline damp, eyelids fluttering. The scar on his cheek is flushed pink.

“Look, amorcita, look how well you take me.”

His words tear you from your nebulous high, the grit of them forcing your head down to the obscene squelch beneath the sheets. The thatch of rough curls over his groin is drenched in slick, his thick cock soaked to the point of shine as it drives into you again and again. The heavy draft of breath the sight steals from him, the tap of his cock against a place so deep you didn’t know your body possessed, draws the spooling bliss as tight as a wire. 

Your trembling thighs squeeze him tighter, that hot pressure rendering you speechless, except for the most pathetic whine. Please, Pero, please, you think, you mutter, you whisper, your body rocking damp against the sheets. 

With a sudden snarl, he takes the chunk of your hair at the base of your head flat in his fists and tugs. A shoot of bright pain sparks bliss down to your tight and bruised nipples, and you cry out again. 

“Stop fighting, puedo sentir cuanto la quieres. Let me have it.” It is the following word that splits you open like lighting carving apart a tree. “Please.”

The wail that you release is the rush of gooseflesh over your skin alchemized into audible sound. Heat radiates through you, sucking the air from your lungs, your vision going blurry, then black as you clamp your eyes shut against the rush, the final release, that curls you into his arms. His warm, flushed arms, shaking with strain. A final wobbly thrust or two and his elbows are buckling, sweat-drenched chest pressing into your own.

Distantly, you are aware of the warm, slick drip down your thighs, his cock pulsing the last drops into your cum-flecked cunt, and the dangers this sort of intimacy poses. You can’t gather enough breath, enough sense to settle the spinning room, to worry or even care. 

Your his, and he is yours. That is all that will ever matter. 

The crackle of wood burning is the only other sound than your ragged breaths, the silent roll of sweat from sticky hot skins into the bedsheets. The stone walls of the castle’s room entomb you together for a brief stretch of infinity.

Pero moves and you think he’s going to back out of you, but instead, he merely adjusts, his head fully on your chest, thick fingers clutching your bruised waist, the shift of his cock pushing more of his release out of your oversensitive cunt. But you’ll take overstimulation over his absence every time. You run your fingers through his damp curls and he hums. 

“I’m sorry,” he huffs into your humid skin. “I’m sorry I let my pride keep us apart for so long.” 

You grin lazily to the ceiling, your breath settling as affection takes its place in your chest. 

“You were not the only one blinded by vanity.” 

“But I’m not blind. Not anymore.” He lifts his head, eyes as dark as your spilled inkwell. “I am never letting you go.” 

You smile at him, fingers soft against the back of his neck. “I don’t plan on wandering away.” 

His oil-black gaze drops to your lips and he leans forward to take your mouth against his. Gentle, but with the promise of more. 

“Mi ranita,” he purrs to break the kiss. 

“You call me that all the time, Pero. What does it mean?”

At that, a nearly shy expression crosses his face. He shakes his head, shifting onto his elbows to lift off you. “I can’t tell you. It will ruin your good mood.” 

You gasp, offended, and you grab him by the ear and twist. He chuckles through a grimace. “You will tell me what that means, Pero Tovar, if you value your appendages.” 

“Órale, princesa, retract your claws and I will tell you.” 

You release your grip and settle against your pillow. Grinning bashfully, he kisses your neck briefly.

“Remember that I love you after I tell you this.” 

Your heart nearly stops, the absence of a steady beat nearly drawing tears to your eyes but you hold firm. You breathe deeply against the fluttering in your stomach and pin him with your glare. Of course, this is how he would profess his love to you – when he’s trying to get out of trouble. 

“Tell me, Tovar!”

He chuckles again and preemptively picks up your hands. He kisses the inside of your palms, settling himself between your thighs. 

“It means little frog.” Your mouth falls open in a gasp and you struggle to yank your hands back from him, hissing like a tea kettle, but he uses his weight to press down on you. He nips at your nose. “I call you that because when you’re upset with me, much like you are now, you puff up like a bullfrog, your cheeks like this–,”

He rounds his cheeks full of air, crossing his eyes, and you simply cannot take the slight anymore. You push roughly against his gut, the breath trapped in his mouth escaping in a hot puff, and you twist him onto his back. He lets you, of course, his bold, full laughter rendering him defenseless. His body shakes beneath you, his beautiful eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open wide as he laughs and laughs and laughs. You take him by the wrists and push his limp hands over his head, pinning him as he had you. You pinch his chin with your teeth, your messy cunt over his stomach, as his laughter subsides. 

“Have you had your fun yet?” 

“Barely,” he chuckles, turning his big nose against your cheek and inhaling. He hums.

“Is that all I am to you? A joke?”

Pero opens his eyes, sober as death rattle. He takes you in, not in a hungry, all-consuming way, but in a look that speaks of awe and rapture.

“You are everything to me.”

You sigh, releasing his hands and curling into his chest. He kisses the top of your head, your eyes on the roaring fire. His thumbs rub your shoulder blades, trace the lines of your spine.

“You’re so very lucky I love you too.” 

His wandering against the expanse of your back stills, just for a moment, before his fingers slide into your hair, around the nape of your neck, holding you to him with the intention of keeping you there forever.

“I know, ranita, I know.” 

He watches you sleep as the sky lightens beyond the tall windows on the opposite side of the bedroom. The dying fire traces your edges in gold, settling heat in the curve of your lips. 

His heart lurches with the wanting of you.

There’s more terrible things to come, he knows that. The plan the two of you concocted in the early morning hours will be dangerous, deadly even. But dying together instead of living apart would be much more tolerable, you told him earlier that night, your hand on his chest. 

He would kill if you asked. He would kill, even if you didn’t, to keep you safe and by his side. You’ve proven yourself capable of living a life away from this spectacular opulence, but it pains him to know he will never be able to give you anything nearly as lovely as the velvet dresses in the closet, the gold jewelry in your trunks. 

Instead, all he has to offer is himself. His strength, his hands, his heart. It’s his own fear that tells him that’s not enough, because you remind him again and again that’s more than you ever wanted. 

He traces the curve of your cheek with the hovering pad of his finger, brushing your hair away from your face. How he ended up so lucky with your love, he’ll never know, but he will spend the rest of his days proving that he’s earned it. 

You stir in your sleep, sensing him above you, and he hates to steal even a few minutes of blissful sleep from you, knowing the endless nights that are coming. When he steals you away from all that you’ve ever known. 

The sleepy grumble in your throat resembles his name as he curls around you, but your eyes remain gently closed. He pulls you against him, the air that leaves your mouth and sits between your chest and his something he covets with his whole heart. 

I love you and I’m disgustingly lucky and I love you. 

He is a man made of dust, serving men made of silver. He is a man of dust, loving a woman made of gold.

El orgullo? No, Abuela, his ranita will get him first, last, and every time.

+

Translations:

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. - This rhyme is typically said to children when they have just hurt themselves. The parent (or grandparent) usually rubs the part that is sore and sings this little tune. Literally translates to: "heal, heal, little frog’s tail. If you don’t heal today, you will heal tomorrow."

el orgullo - pride

dulzura - sweetness, romantic connotation

amorcita - little love, romantic connotation

Tranquila - quiet, as in "be quiet" or "relax"

Cálmate - take it easy, or take it slow

puedo sentir cuanto la quieres - I can feel how much you want it/love it

Órale - okay, or an exclamation expressing approval or encouragement.

ranita - little frog, but you knew that already ;)

the rest are cognates (or familiar words) which you can probably guess the meaning of, but feel free to message me if you don't know!

#pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x ofc #pero tovar smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pero tovar fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #the great wall fanfic #pedro pascal #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar fanfic #pero tovar the great wall #tovar x you #tovar x reader #tovar x f!reader #tovar smut #tovar fanfiction #tovar imagine #pero tovar x fem!reader #1k celebration #follower celebration #1k followers

[uwmspeccoll]

It’s Fine Press Friday!

Today we will be discussing Weather Opinions, a book with quotations on various “weather subjects”, compiled and arranged by Jennie Day Haines, published in 1907. The book consists of a variety of passages and poetry associated with the weather of each month. Each month is accompanied by illustrations of the astrological sign associated with the month in the headers. Between the months, there are similar quotations about greater weather patterns or seasonal phenomena. Also included in the book is a color frontispiece made by printmaker Gordon Ross (1873-1946).

The book was printed on Normandy Vellum with typography by John Henry Nash (1871-1947) at the Tomoye Press in New York City; it was published by Paul Elder & Company. Nash worked on typography and book design with Paul Elder (1872-1948), who was in charge of the publication and selling of the books the two created until 1911, when the partners had a falling out and Nash left the Press.

Our copy is another gift from our friend Jerry Buff.

View more Fine Press Friday Posts.

– Sarah S., Special Collections Graduate Intern

#Fine Press Friday #fine press fridays #fine press printing #fine press books #Jennie Day Haines #Gordon Ross #John Henry Nash #Paul Elder & Company #Paul Elder #Tomoye Press #weather #seasons #seasonal phenomena #astrology #poems #poetry #Sarah S. #Jerry Buff

[allamericansbitch]

Hi everyone! Here’s the newest addition to my Creator Shoutout Series (september 10 - september 17)! I want to appreciate editors and their creations that i love from the past week. To track this series or look at previous shoutouts, please check out the tag on my blog *creatorshoutouts. Have a great week everyone!

sabrina carpenter headers by @jessource

taylor swift: karma vinyl concept by @haunt3dtaylorsversion

heartstopper: nick and ben gifset by @userguts

olivia rodrigo: guts gifset by @ethelcainn

the last of us: ellie williams gifset by @barbie-movie

barbie 2023: barbie costume design gifset by @userzil

olivia rodrigo: all-american bitch graphic by @autumnversion

kelsea ballerini: birthday gifset by @jakeperalta

barbie (2023) gifset by @riley-keoughs

yellowjackets: jackie taylor gifset by @emziess

olivia rodrigo: get him back music video gifset by @bu99erfly

barbie (2023) gifset by @djo

sabrina carpenter: vmas performance gifset by @shootingstarsinthedark

yellowjackets: shauna and jackie gifset by @bellamysgriffin

olivia rodrigo: vmas performance gifset by @oliviaisarodrigo

heartstopper: nick and charlie gifset by @spookys

mean girls gifset by @bookstofilms

olivia rodrigo: get him back music video gifset by @oliviairodrigo

yellowjackets: laura lee gifset by @nataliesscatorccio

barbie (2023): soundtrack gifset by @dani-clayton

olivia rodrigo icons by @pauchoks

yellowjackets: misty quigley gifset by @ginaricky

olivia rodrigo: all-american bitch graphic by @h-f-k

olivia rodrigo: guts gifset by @antoniosvivaldi

olivia rodrigo: logical graphic by @aliiaart

olivia rodrigo graphic by @wonderlandacoustic

olivia rodrigo: get him back music video gifset by @spookys

scream (1996) gifset by @djo

taylor swift: eras vinyl concept design by @venka

gilmore girls: jess and rory gifset by @lorelaiileigh

rina sawyama: hold the girl gifset by @kitconnor

yellowjackets: 12 olympians gifset by @lavenderhze

taylor swift gifset by @ketterdam-snack-bar

yellowjackets gifset by @natscatorrcio

the bear gifset by @jamietarrt

taylor swift: album covers gifset by @mikelogan

scream: mindy meeks martin gifset by @taoargents

olivia rodrigo: get him back music video gifset by @comebackbeheres

yellowjackets: astrological signs gifset by @jackietaylcr

barbie (2023): music in film gifset by @madeline-kahn

taylor swift: eras tour outfits gifset by @erzsebetts

olivia rodrigo: lacy graphic by @hidekomoon

barbie (2023) gifset by @buffysummers

the last of us: ellie and joel gifset by @belasdimitrescu

taylor swift: albums + symbolism graphic by @folklorred

yellowjackets: shauna gifset by @azrphales

rachel sennott gifset by @phoebesbridgers

olivia rodrigo icons by @laylakeating

get out: chris washington gifset by @kitherondale

djo: decide gifset by @decidemp3

#*creatorshoutouts

[jeonginssa]

what’s your sine? | masterlist

a/n: yn has a name in this i hope that’s okay 🙈

content: college au, non idol skz, mild astrology theme, lots of angst

pairing: lee minho x reader (named jia but you’re welcome to read it with your own name)

warnings: brief mention of murder in a jokey way, seungmin’s twitter header mentions unaliving, alcohol is mentioned a few times, swearing, i think that’s it?

taglist: @junhour

mad scientists profiles

the limit does not exist profiles

1 - what the fuck is a moon sign?

2 - hey hey hey i’m a feminist

3 - that is where we keep the snake, yes

4 - what math boys?

5 - promise not to get mad

6 - you’re lucky you’re cute

7- lucky guess

8 - lay it on me

9 - you’ve kissed? (written)

10 - they’d better be

#skz imagines #skz fic #skz x reader #skz smau #stray kids #stray kids x reader #lee minho #lee minho x reader #lee minho smau #minho smau #minho x reader

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 11/28/2023

tuesday again no problem will be taking a break for the 12/12 edition (not next week but the one after)

listening

previously featured Os Mutantes, a countercultural brazilian rock group, is back bc i heard A Minha Menha on an instagram reel by @/ vintagepulps on a showcase of brazilian pulp magazine covers.

the SECOND that driving riff hit i experienced a brief moment of fuckor bc this is exactly and precisely the kind of song i like. this translation tells me it translates to My Girl. it's got moon/sun imagery. it's exactly the kind of song to drive around to in the summer while having an absolutely crippling crush on the person in the passenger seat. spotify

-

reading

you wouldn't download a woman...

TWICE

-

watching

I'm No Angel (1933, dir. Ruggles) a 1936 black comedy written by Mae West and starring the babiest Cary Grant you've ever seen. i added it to my letterboxed bc i saw screenshots of this one specific dress. that’s so much sideboob. good for her.

we don't use the term "adventuress" anymore to describe a woman who does various physical or social stunts to land a husband and i think that's a shame. Tira (yes) is a burlesque dancer and (separately) a lion tamer at a down on its luck circus, becomes famous through putting her head in a lion's mouth, and leverages that fame to fall in and out and back into love.

your enjoyment of this movie will hinge on your tolerance for astrologers, circuses with animals in them, and depictions of black housemaids that have not aged super well, even if they're mostly there to stroke her ego. i'm sort of torn on what rating this would get today-- i'm assuming R bc there's a woman expressing desire but nothing actually happens beyond kissing and some sitting in laps. some peril for the lions i guess?

i do not think this particularly nailed its landing, and i'm not totally sure why they got back together, but mae west in straight up burlesque and the shimmiest dresses you've ever seen is so much fun to watch it doesn't really matter. this is sort of sidelining the her very funny, extremely quotable script. apparently any movie she wasn't allowed to write or heavily doctor her own lines just completely flopped, which i also think is very funny.

just straight up on the internet archive

-

playing

triple header for Things That Came Out This Decade: Genshin Impact (September 2020), Deliver Us Mars (2023) and Gamedec (2021).

brief Genshin update: your main companion in the game, Paimon, the little fairy bitch, has been the recipient of some worrying foreshadowing lately. hey Paimon you wanna tell us anything???

Deliver Us Mars, free on Epic this week. i want to like this game. i think there should be more weird little eurojank original scifi B-franchises like this and you should be able to feed your family by making them. i do not want to continue playing this particular little franchise.

it's the second game by KeokeN (The Netherlands) and published by Wired Productions (UK, although they are partnered with Koch, which means they’ll be bought up soon), a studio of under 20 counting support staff (some of who are certainly part time or on hourly contracts) and an intern. after doing that basic background research i ratcheted my expectations back a couple notches and deleted a somewhat catty paragraph about video game hair.

this is a sequel to Deliver Us The Moon, which was a successful Kickstarter and Steam greenlight (TM (C) R) and it seems they spent the four interval years mostly polishing up the predecessor Deliver Us The Moon, which i do not own and do not plan on playing.

Deliver Us Mars bills itself as an action-adventure, but during my time with it, it was more of a cinematic movie/walking sim with extremely light puzzle/platform mechanics. there are extensive childhood flashbacks following a dad around as he trains his daughter to be an astronaut. the timing and insertion of these never quite clicked for me-- they take forever and they were never as interesting as what they interrupted.

this game is not good at signposting or tutorializing. i had to restart a chapter twice bc the unique controls popped up for a brief fleeting moment on screen and weren’t in the keybinding settings. i could never quite get the mouse and keyboard camera sensitivity right, and platforming/vertical elements seem to only be partially implemented: you can only really successfully approach certain segments from extremely specific dead-on angles. there are like three big boxes in your path that you have to clamber over at one point and i do not think it should take a solid minute and a half for me to get over them. some reviewers praised the lack of signposting during the launch sequence (causing you to frantically look around at a million unlabeled buttons and levers to see if any of them were highlighted as a thing you can click) as a fun way to ramp up stress but i fucking hated it.

after two and a half hours, and only just making it to a ship OUTSIDE mars, i decided there are other games in the world. this hits some sort of minimal viable story benchmark for me, i can see why some people love it, but i don’t want to find out what happens bad enough to play through a slow game that handles terribly and isn’t much fun to exist in.

does get points for big fuckoff dishes.

Gamedec is an isometric RPG, where you are a near-future private investigator who handles delicate personal matters inside wildly popular MMORPG VR games. unfortunately all the trailers suck shit.

this is catnip to me. i love a no-combat game where i have to walk around and talk to everyone and click on everything and write things down in a little notebook. i loooooooove being nosy. i've played through the first two and a half chapters (kinky second life, racketeering farmville, and real life uh oh) and i'm having a fucking marvelous time. the writing team clearly had a lot of fun, the VR game worlds feel very alive and vibrant-- there's a ton of possible weird little flavor interactions that go a very long way toward making me forget this is a limited-perspective isometric. this is like praising an RPG for doing what it says on the tin and being an RPG, but the most recent RPGs ive played have been fucking terrible. it's not shoehorning me into one-true or main-path choices. extremely forgiving of failure, which is good bc i straight up accidentally killed my first client. i know he was a kid but he kinda had it coming imo. sometimes kids just suck shit

im so delighted by this shitty little apartment-- it's got to be fucking bizarre to exist in, bc of the ultra-loft ceilings you need to make it be isometric, but it somehow manages to feel like a studio apartment and a seedy back office all at the same time. a game that is in general very fun to Look at. will have more thoughts as i continue playing but this is really scratching some sort of itch for me. commits to the bit. funny but sincere. a pastiche in ways i personally do not find annoying. has not hit me with like konami code style references yet. due to the fact this is also in my epic games store library i believe this was also free at some point

-

making

fallow week for me. phil has been regrowing skin at a good clip and i can no longer feel each individual vertebra, AND we have another vet appt on friday to get more/different antibiotic goop and all of her vaccinations and microchipping done. mack made a hairball and is getting put back on an actual wire slicker brush grooming schedule. my beautiful girl seems to have a particularly dense coat among the domestic shorthairs of my acquaintance, although that may be bc she is a new england girlie and we constantly exist in air conditioning?? mixed feelings about scheduled brushies from her, even with short and light sessions. we’ll get there.

helping.

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem #phil

[epickiya722]

For the ask game (send me a character and I’ll tell you…): Uraraka

My first impression: I thought she was too cute! And funny. Like, anytime she laughs, I do.

My impression now: I adore Uraraka! She's just so fun and I want her to have a space adventure, like, today.

Favorite thing about that character: Almost everything about her but I gotta say her quirk is what I love, if I had to say something that's not her personality. It's just so cool and cute that she can make things float by touching them with her finger pads.

Least favorite thing: More so how some of the fandom treats her sometimes. Look, I don't think there's anything wrong with having a crush. Hell, I have had crushes. It's normal. But damn, can she be known for something else? I hate, hate, hate it when someone says that Uraraka's crush on Midoriya is a "personality trait"... NO THE HELL IT'S NOT.

Favorite line/scene: That scene when they come back from their internships and Uraraka is all hard-core and whatnot from training with Gunhead will forever be hilarious to me.

Favorite interaction that character has with another: I adore the relationship she has with Asui! It's overall one of my favorite relationships. They're just so adorable and honestly, I wish it would be acknowledged more that Asui has been an important staple in Uraraka's story. In fact, and really an unpopular opinion, I'd say a little more than Midoriya has.

A character that I wish that character would interact with more: Ashido! I would love more scenes with her and Ashido. I want them watching sci-fi movies and wearing matching pink clothes. SPACE QUEENS!! The alien and the astronaut, folks!

Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character: She reminds me of Bubbles. Yes, the blue PowerPuff Girl. They're both bubbly girls with the biggest hearts, but will kick ass!

A headcanon about that character: I will forever headcanon that Uraraka knows a lot about astrology and knows everyone's zodiac signs.

A song that reminds of that character: OMG, Mayday by TheFatRat feat. Laura Brehm. Every time I listen to that song I think of Uraraka.

An unpopular opinion about that character: Out of all the costumes (heroes and villains), I don't think Uraraka's is that bad compared to others. But I will tell you I think it would have been so dope if she had like sparkly materials on the dark parts, make it look like a starry sky on her costume.

Favorite picture: I love this picture of her here! This design is just so... I love it! I remember using it for a header & icon set I made for her.

Send Me a Character... ✨️

#kiya answers #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #uraraka ochako #ochako uraraka #uraraka ochaco #ochaco uraraka #uravity #💞🌌🪐

[keithsandwich]

About me...

☆ Myara ☆ 30+ ☆ she/her ☆ Brazil ☆ main: @itsmyara ☆

☆ Currently focused on Ikemen Prince and Keith Howell ☆

Welcome to my blog!

I make amigurumis, moodboards, astrology ramblings analysis, and some sketches. I used to try writing too.

I interact with/might post adult content. This blog is a +18 space. Minors DNI.

My ask box is always open for chatting!

No fandom drama, please.

English is not my first language, so be kind.

☆ Amigurumis (Crochet Plushies)

☆ Moodboards

☆ Astrology

☆ Fanarts

☆ Fanfics

☆ OC (Maeve)

☆ OCs (Next Gen.)

Dividers + Masterlist header by @saradika

#about me #masterlist #pinned post

[pressagie]

ORGANIC & FRESH FORTUNES?!

Leave me a question to be answered through divination (for free).

INSTRUCTIONS AND HOUSEKEEPING BELOW

I prefer that you use the ask feature, unless you feel uncomfortable because your topic is too personal, in which case, feel free to message me instead.

You can be anonymous and as vague or specific as you want (which might reflect on the answer) and request a simpler or more complex reading.

Even though I'll choose the deck (from Lenormand, Oracle, Tarot, and Archetypes) depending on which suits your question better, tell me if you have a preference or are curious about one, and I'll be sure to take that into account.

You may also opt for bibliomancy (with Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There) and/or shufflemancy (using my Spotify library), complementary to the cartomancy, or without it.

This is a way for me to practice my divinatory skills. Unfortunately, I don't have a lot of free time, and the readings do take a while to come out — so keep that in mind :]

* No medical, legal or financial advice.

** Leave some kind of ID. (Astrology stuff works but is not necessary; I don't study it.)

*** Content warnings are very appreciated.

About how I read:

I believe that divination is not just getting to know a future set in stone, but that it can be a way to make sense of what feels bigger than us, and even learn how to play with it.

Your reading won't say “this is definitely going to happen to you”; it'll be more along the lines of understanding your circumstances and what will most probably happen if you keep on that path, or choose another one, and how to go about it. It's all about freewill and helping get some perspective and the power to accept or change it.

With that said, I will also never tell you that “you control your reality 100%”, “everything in your life is manifested by your thoughts”, or similar bullshit. We don't live in a perfect world with a fair socioeconomical system where everyone has the same opportunities, and such harmful and ableist ideas are not welcome in this space.

[If you want to know more about these or other aspects of my belief system, how I read, my methods etc: I'm open to talking/posting about it, and I plan on it when I have the time.]

Readings are tagged OMEN DEAL.

Everything else is under #NOT AN OMEN.

The featured tags include the types of divination too.

The avatar, header, and image on this post are paintings by Elioth Gruner, respectfully called Spring Frost, Morning Light and Summer Morning.

#It seems like in the spirit of not-getting-fucked-in-court I have to state: these readings are meant for entertainment purposes only. #Don't go making rash/unhealthy/whatever life decisions based on what a stranger tells you on the internet! This has been a PSA. #The books were the best options for divination I have available (there's one about the anthropology of butts so just trust me on this). #Also please less “FS”/celebrity-related questions and more like the (upcoming) Absolute Legend trying to talk with an urban spirit? #Finally: I hold the power to bump people up the queue if they make me smile/laugh cause I appreciate the serotonin in these trying times! #NOT AN OMEN #HOW TO DEAL OMENS #Lenormand #Oracle #Tarot #Archetypes #Bibliomancy #Shufflemancy #cartomancy #divination #spirit work #animism #spirituality #paganism #witchcraft

[judas-redeemed]

hello (◍•ᴗ•◍) !!

welcome to judas-redeemed's blog <3

╰┈➤ hello :)

my name is judas! 19 & she/they! i'm also newly out as bisexual so yayy

pfp and background are pinterest. header is "a little life" by holly warburton.

if u wanna be my best friend, ask me abt mitski, astrology, vincent van gogh, or dragon city mobile app :)

i post poetry, art, music & also just random shit i say. i don't tag for dyke or queer, not because i don't understand the words can be harmful, but because i use them a lot and personally find comfort in them. feel free to unfollow or block me if this isn't something u wanna see. i'll trigger tag for just about anything else though, so feel free to ask!

╰┈➤ links

pinterest

bonfire shop

p*yp*l if u would like to support a poet trying to afford food

╰┈➤ that's all folks!

[goodgirlofglory]

I love your header image it’s so cute!

Thank you, boo🫶 i'm such a sucker for any kind of celestial and astrological aesthetic ✨️

#anon #the good girl replies

[alice-the-arcane]

Pinned Post

Notice: This is one of my two side blogs, I follow/comment from @possibly-in-wonderland

2024 Witch's Calendar

Hey, it's me, Alice from my main blog. I've been meaning to make a side blog specifically for my witchy shenanigans (and anything referencing nature & fantasy aesthetics) for a while now.

Without further ado, here's a bit about yours truly:

The/Them | Biromantic Bisexual | Nonbinary

ADHD

A Melting Pot of Italian/Native American/Scandinavian Blood

Eclectic Witch/Kitchen Witch/Green Witch

Birth Totem: Otter

Zodiac: Aquarius☼|???☾|???↑

MBTI: ENFP-T | Campaigner

Ordained :)

(Yes, I'm aware of what the zodiac section says, I'm working on it.)

Tags | Constantly Being Updated:

Alices DigiGrimoire - Astrology | All Things Astrology & Celestial

Alices DigiGrimoire - Correspondences | All Things Correnspondence

Alices DigiGrimoire - Deity Work | All Things Deity-Related

Alices DigiGrimoire - Divination | All Things Divination

Alices DigiGrimoire - Kitchen Witchery | All Things Kitchen Witch

Alices DigiGrimoire - Plants & Herbs | All Things Plants & Herbs

Alices DigiGrimoire - Personal Entries | All Personal Entries

Alices DigiGrimoire - Sabbats | All Things Sabbats

Alices DigiGrimoire - Spellbook | All Things Spells

Alices DigiGrimoire - Recipe Book | All Things Recipes

Alices DigiGrimoire - Misc. & Tips | All Misc. & Tips

xoxo, Alice

Alice's DigiGrimoire - Masterlist

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Blog Header

#kitchen witch #witchblr #witchcraft #Alices DigiGrimoire - Astrology #Alices DigiGrimoire - Spellbook #Alices DigiGrimoire - Recipe Book #Alices DigiGrimoire - Divination #Alices DigiGrimoire - Misc. & Tips #Alices DigiGrimoire - Personal Entries #Alices DigiGrimoire - Sabbats #Alices DigiGrimoire - Plants & Herbs #Alices DigiGrimoire - Kitchen Witchery #Alices DigiGrimoire - Deity Work #Alices DigiGrimoire - Correspondences

[sweetpiccolo-blog]

Hi love! Here for the mash up!

Well, I’m a light skinned Black Latina with a big dark Afro and brown eyes. I’m about 163cm (minus the hair) and I wear glasses.

I speak Portuguese, English and French which makes learning languages a hobbie for me. I love studying, especially if it involves history or philosophy. I also love reading, watching movies and talking about them, and I’m a huge Disney fan. I also love some good homemade food, traveling and music is my oxygen - I’m into a little bit of everything.

I’m a Sagittarius with a Gemini rising — don’t ask me what that means, I don’t get much about astrology. I’m a INFJ-T and a very introverted person until I get to know someone better! Very grumpy in the morning, talkative to the extreme and sometimes funny and silly. I’m very determined and creative in my life.

My love language is quality time with a hint of physical touch. I love to spend time with the people I love no matter if it is staying in, going out or crossing an ocean to explore a new country. I love good communication and vulnerability, makes me feel safe!

I dislike petty, annoying people, repeating noises, not being heard, disorganization and lack of compromise - just to name a few!

Just please don’t match me with Max or Checo! Not my favorites hihihi

Thank you already 🤍 lots of love!

Hi love! Sorry for the wait. I absolutely love your ask because I can see some similarities we have and I tried really to work on it. Hope you like it! <3💙

This is only my opinion, so be sure to let me know what you think about it later : )

LET US GET STARTED!

Header by @dvluc

Your match is...

☆George Russell☆

You are a language girl? He loves that about you. George would start learning new languages with you. He was never really into studying, but with you it´s much more fun plus you are his motivation. You get to test each other randomly if you didn´t forget some new words. You both would encourage each other when needed to use that certain language instead of English like usually.

He would have incredible respect for your culture. He would ask you to tell him something from your history or about your traditions. He wants to learn because he is naturally curious and interested. Plus he cherishes you a lot.

Your enthusiasm with history and philosophy is great for museum dates. When he travels for a race and you are with him you totally go on dates. If the weather is bad, then you visit a gallery or museum where you spend hours. There you tell him everything you know and he listens while smiling at you. He looks at you absolutely smitten. If he wants you to talk more, he asks a question and he just lets you talk. Even if it´s something he already knows. You talk, he listens.

Disney-world trip is happening for sure - because you love Disney ofc. He takes you and Alex with Lily and all 4 of you run around the whole day. And this trip wouldn´t be a one time thing for sure. 

George would watch whatever you like and then talk about it with you for the next few days. Sharing opinions, complaining about the storyline, appreciating characters, anything and everything. 

I feel like you two would kinda have a different taste in music but that´s no problem. Listening to the songs the other person likes is your love language. Just being able to learn about each other through music is very special.

You both are a little introverted. You spend time together the most. You don´t mind being around others but neither alone, just you two together. Meeting people is not really an issue but you like being with your comfort group of homies more.

You would be silly and funny together. You make jokes with him and about him. Its the same way around. Having a laugh is the main goal. And you absolutely don´t mind. He would have you grinning like silly even making you laugh so much you are on the floor holding your tummy.

George would be the first one to speak in the morning, slowly pulling you out of your tiredness and charging you with good energy from the moment you open your eyes. He charges your social battery.

Physical touch? No problem. You want it, he gives it to you and doesn´t let you go until you say you had enough. He doesn´t mind either way. He is there for you however you want. Even sitting next to each other and watching anything in silence is fine by him.

You share determination for things you are passionate about. And that´s what always reminds you how in love you two are. Just seeing the other person not give up and try harder is so admirable.

He knows he can be himself with you so sometimes, when the racing and everything gets to him and vents a bit, he knows you are there for him. Even if there are tears, he is not afraid to show it. He sees no point in hiding how he feels. 

When someone speaks over you, George stands up for you. He makes sure you are not ignored. He also remembers everything you like or are telling him and makes mental notes not to ignore it. If there are some annoying people and he sees you in discomfort, he tries to to take you away from them. He wants you to be comfortable.

His mom loves cooking for you! Or she invites you over and cooks something with you. George can´t help himself in those moment and just fall in love with you more. 

ENJOY! 💙💙💙

#match up #anonym ask #george russell #gr63 #f1 #f1 x you #f1 imagine