#It's best not to have expectations of people but requirements of what you will and won't tolerate

[tarotofhope]

PAC: 【What do your parents think about you & Why ?】

(Please Read My Pinned post *IMPORTANT NOTE* before selecting a Pile)

Pick an Image by meditating and selecting the image you feel called to. You can be attracted towards more than 1 image. If you are not able to select maybe this reading isn't for you.

𖨆 Pile 1

Cards: Death, 3 of Wands, 6 of Swords, 8 of Cups, Strength, Queen of Wands, 4 of Cups, The World, 9 of Wands.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 1. There's a lot of heavy energy in this pile because there are two 8s in the cards. For some of the audience reading this pile, Either, both of your parents/one of your parents could have passed away when you were very young and you had to live with your relatives or in foster homes. For some of you, even if your parents were alive, they could've been so busy that they left you under the care of other people most of your childhood and teen age. For the remaining audience, I'm getting that even if both of your parents were alive and not so busy, they were very over-protective, over-bearing and strict, so you never opened up to them, you kept your thoughts to yourself and they never got to know you very well. All in all, whoever took your custody, didn't do their job well. You got sick and tired of them, and you've always been looking for a listening ear and comfort in the outside world. You've been waiting for someone to truly understand you and love your soul, someone who doesn't tie you up(not in a literal sense, iykyk) just because they're concerned about your safety, someone who respects your right to freedom. You might have left your guardian/parents behind and went out on your own journey to discover yourself, embracing your independence. It took a lot of courage and strength to do this, but you did it anyway. You might have faced a few major ups and downs in your life as a result of which you became mature much faster than your peers. You're much stronger now and you'll continue to be so. Your journey is from hardships to finally becoming The Queen of Wands. You might have good judgement of people and their intentions. Your parents/guardian might say that they were protecting you from harm all this time, that's why they were strict with you, they want your best and so on..but in reality, you know that wasn't required, what they actually did was messed you up. For some of you, they could be keeping you from going far away from them, because now they expect you to take care of them. They're not allowing you to grow and be your own person. Now, see, people from different countries will have different outlook on this. Indeed, old people need care but keeping a young person trapped and not letting them have a life of their own is not right. Raising children with the intention of getting something in return during oldage, is outright selfish.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 1.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

𖨆 Pile 2

Cards: The Hierophant, The King of Pentacles, The Sun, 8 of Wands Rev. clarified by The World, The Fool clarified by Ace of Pentacles, Ace of Cups clarified by 2 of Pentacles, Queen of Swords.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 2. You guys along with pile 1 are my brave and bold people, I must say. Great leadership qualities you've got. Even your parents think so. They just think that you don't realize this, they think that you're not aware of your full potential and you're not quite out there as you should be in order to become a successful person. They think you're also very demanding of them and you don't understand the value of money. They also know that you're religious or traditional in a way but you make your own rules when it comes to you. They know you'd do very well when you'll be in a position to lead a group of people. I can see 2 scenarios here, few of you could themselves be facing a hard time in love, struggling a lot, while others of you could be giving a hard time to people who are in love with you/romantically interested in you, such as rejecting proposals, having commitment issues, intentionally or unintentionally breaking other people's heart. You are more ambitious and goal oriented and interested in focusing on your career rather than love. Your parents can sense this, whether you talk about these issues or not. You seem like a very practical and rational person to your parents and so you're not verbal about how much you love them, you're a person of actions. Your love language could be acts of service or gift giving. They also think that you believe in yourself so much that nobody can bring you down. Yet there is this issue that you somehow do not realize the amount of power you hold, that you have the ability to achieve big things in life. Your parents already see you as the King of Pentacles, The Hierophant, but they think you're not working up to it whether they've ever said this to you or not.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 2.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

𖨆 Pile 3

Cards: 3 of Pentacles, Temperance, 2 of Swords clarified by The Moon, 4 of Wands, 2 of Wands, 3 of Wands, Ace of Swords, High Priestess, Queen of Pentacles.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 3. Your parents think that you're very mature and you can also give good advice to people. They think you're quite sensible and philosophically, you're very open minded but when it comes to being sure of your own life, you get very confused. You might be torn between choosing your career and settling down. You don't know how to balance both. You're confused about what could come upon you if you do both the things. Currently, you could be more focused on your career, you might be wanting to achieve stability in your career first or you have a set target of achieving something specific in regards to your professional life. As far as your love life is concerned, whatever your relationship status might be, you seem heavily confused because you're afraid that your love life might interfere with your professional life. Your parents are very concerned about this because they want you to have more clarity in life and they want you to arrive at a proper conclusion. They might be trying to give you advice on this, but you're still confused and want to be left alone to decide for yourself on such significant matters of your life. Some of you might be into long distance relationships and so you're even more confused while some of you want to travel abroad for work and settle there. A few of you might even be waiting for your visa or if you're already abroad, you might be waiting for your citizenship. I'm also seeing lot of arguments here, between you and your parents. Your parents might be traditional and they might want you to have a traditional approach to life too. They want you to become responsible in life. You might want to travel the world or enjoy your life your way no matter how messed up it may look like to others. You don't want to have regrets later on in life. Your parents think you're not clear-headed though you seem so put together, they think you're so much internally balanced but you're not using your inner guidance in this matter.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 3.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

𖨆 Pile 4

Cards: 9 of Cups, Page of Pentacles, The Hierophant, Queen of Pentacles, 9 of Pentacles clarified by Justice, The Sun, The Tower, King of Cups, 8 of Pentacles and 4 of Cups.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 4. Your parents think you're very lazy. You could belong to an upper middle class family or a financially well off family. They think you've been fortunate enough to have everything you demand available to you within no time. They think they've spoiled you but they still love you so much. Some of you could be an only child. Some of you could've started your own business or joined your family business. They know you're someone who wouldn't like to work under anyone, you would want your own thing. Your parents know that you're very talented but you don't do anything about it or you don't extract the full advantage out of it. They believe you can show the world how talented you are, that you are your own individual person, unique and full of potential despite coming from a wealthy family. They don't want the world to tell you later on that you didn't achieve anything on your own. You could have also inherited a lot of ancestral property or wealth. You want to continue having this kind of life in your future too but you're not working hard enough for it. You might also be very young at heart or very childish. You like to be spoon fed or you want others to do your work for you. Your parents might also have this fear that, if you don't learn your lessons by yourself, life will find out other ways to teach you and then that would put you in a tough situation and you wouldn't like it, you might have to learn the hard way then. That's why they want you to work hard for yourself and your future. You might also have too many friends, too many people who might not even be your well wishers. Your parents(even your guides) want you to choose wisely. You need to focus on yourself and that can be done only when you'll be in solitude. You need to observe more and be more connected with yourself.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 4.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

𖨆 Pile 5

Cards: Justice, 4 of Swords, 4 of Cups, The Hanged Man, 6 of Pentacles, 4 of Pentacles, The Empress, 9 of Cups Rev, The Tower and The Emperor.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 5. Your parents think that you're unbiased and fair. You don't do things to show off or to impress anyone. You'll let people hate you for the things you do, which you think is right in your heart. Even your parents could be a little irked by how you defend yourself and others because they think you're arguing when you're just putting your point across. They think you're the quiet, calm and lonely child of your house. You not only like your solitude but you thrive in it. You function best when you're left alone, they think. They know you're also the one who hates conflicts but would start a fight if you're being wronged. They also think you're emotionally very sensitive and would go out of your way to help others. Your parents also want you to let go of the past and the things that hurt you, because you get yourself stuck in the sorrow and hurt and then you just don't budge, you don't move on. It takes a lot for you to get out of an emotional turmoil. They like how you're happy with your own self but they also want you to get out of your comfort zone and be out there more, make friends, talk more, socialize more. Maybe you have a very few friends or no friends at all. They think you'll succeed in your life if you go out and travel more because they think you also lack confidence and boldness. They think you're also very protective of them, very caring and family oriented. They want you to become strong because you might have faced a lot of difficulties earlier and you still appear very naive and weak to them(for a few of you, your parents or others might even tease you for appearing naive and weak) but I think you have a lot of inner strength, pile 5, which the world doesn't see. They think you're the disciplined and obedient child. They know you'll stick to them in tough times but some of your parents might even be taking advantage of you. They also think that you're not smart and clever enough to understand tricky situations/people, you may or may not be so.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 5.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

Thank you so much for being here. I post PAC readings every Tuesday and Friday. Do love and support by reblogging, liking or following.

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[crescent-blades]

ᯓᡣ𐭩Kokushibo Romance Headcanons:

| Type: Fluff 💕 | Warnings: None | WC: 0.7k |

𖤐ˎˊ˗Masterlist

⌗ Okay, so this man is canonically implied to have been emotionally neglected since childhood which is why he gets obsessed with Yoriichi in the first place.

⌗ So if you ever manage to genuinely win Kokushibo's heart, he is genuinely going to cherish you so much.

⌗ Even though he might come off as stoic and tough on the outside, Kokushibo will express his love through his actions.

⌗ Like when you're both out in the cold, Kokushibo would wrap his arm around you, making sure you're warm, even though his expression would just remain as stoic as usual.

⌗ You can expect him to shower you with gifts—think elegant clothes, nice hairpins, and all sorts of sweets to spoil you with in private.

⌗ And contrary to what some fans think, I actually believe Kokushibo would be a lot more lenient towards you as well, rather than being a strict husband/s.o.

⌗He would also be quite protective of you, though. He has lived through 400+ years (and even as a human alone), so he has definitely witnessed many horrific and unsettling events affecting women considering how they were treated back then and even just humanity at large.

⌗ Especially in his role as a samurai.

⌗ Kokushibo would always position you next to Kyokokukamusari (his sword) when the two of you go outside on a walk side by side, ensuring that he is always on the outer side to protect you from the road.

⌗ In a crowded area, he would keep you close to him, making sure people don't bump into you. He prioritises your comfort in every situation, and if you ever feel uneasy, he promptly removes you from that setting.  

⌗ This does have exceptions, though. Especially in the case of a meeting with Muzan. Kokushibo would attempt to reassure you with his words, maintaining his usual formal tone, yet you can tell that he possesses deep affection for you.

⌗ If you're a human s/o, then admittedly, it would be quite difficult to spend time with him since he's only able to come out at night. 

⌗ And given Kokushibo's strong sense of duty and his personal expectations of honor, he would perceive it as his responsibility to protect and look after you. So he would encourage you to become a demon yourself, also ensuring that you stay by his side for the rest of his life.

⌗ If the s/o is a demon, however, he would not be overly concerned about your initial weakness (again, contrary to popupar belief). Although he would engage in training and sparring sessions with you to help you develop your strength, he might even bring some humans so you could devour them. Maybe even a few hashiras. 

⌗Trust me, if you succeed in winning Kokushibo's affection, it is likely that even Muzan would hesitate to kill you at Kokushibo's request. However, you would still be required to adhere to Muzan's commands, and Kokushibo would likely encourage you to comply with them as well. 

⌗ Just like Yoriichi, Kokushibo too has access to the transparent world. So if you ever manage to get sick, if you ever get your period, etc. he'd already know beforehand. Even before you yourself could even feel the symptoms.

⌗ If you ever were to become ill, he would ensure that you received the proper care you needed, as he considers it his duty. He would get you the best doctor in the land and try his best to accompany you during your hard times. 

⌗ In case you get attacked by anyone, let's say a demon—Kokushibo would have already taken the initiative to train you beforehand in handling adversaries. Therefore, he would not rush to your aid immediately; instead, he would carefully observe your ability to defend yourself. In case you are weaker or unable to manage the attacker for any reason, only then will he intervene. 

⌗And if you ever happen to hurt yourself, don’t even think about hiding it. He’s already aware and will probably ask how you ended up in that mess. 

⌗ Considering he's a samurai from the Sengoku era, he would definitely write some well-written love letters and even love poems for you from time to time. especially during times of separation.

⌗ When it comes to physical affection, Kokushibo lacks significant experience. Therefore, if you were to express such affection towards him (like cuddling, hugging, etc) he would be quite flustered on the inside, even though he'd still maintain his stoic demeanor.    

⌗He would definitely be uncomfortable amd against PDA (public display of affection), though. For him, expressions of love are reserved for private moments. 

⌗ But remember, just like he acts out his love as a duty towards you, he would also expect similar gestures in return from your side—such as preparing a bath for him and whatnot.

[redrose10]

Here is #6 from the photo game!

Warnings: Swearing, hints of cheating, anxiety, depression

A relaxing weekend spent at a cabin with your boyfriend sounded like an amazing idea at the time. No distractions, no work, just you and Yoongi spending a few days together. The fall time was the busiest time of the year thanks to the leaves changing and the brisk air making cuddling by the fireplace more desirable. To make sure you got the reservation and to get the best deal you booked the cabin six months in advance.

Then life happened and you and Yoongi got in an argument. It wasn’t anything new. You two had been together for four years and had arguments every now and then like any couple. You could tell something was different this time though. He seemed angrier, less willing to communicate and more closed off. You walked into the bedroom to give each other some space expecting to work things out later. Ten minutes went by and Yoongi walked in with red eyes and his cheeks soaked with tears.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I can’t do this any more.”, he whispered before shoving some of his clothes in a bag and running out the door. That was two months ago and you haven’t spoken since.

“Y/N you should go on the trip. Take a relaxing weekend for yourself. You deserve it.”, your best friend said over dinner.

The romantic trip you had planned with Yoongi was coming up. After all that happened you had forgotten to cancel it before the required date and now it was too late. The trip was non-refundable at this point. You thought about just loosing out but it was a lot of money.

“I don’t know. I wish you were available to go with me. Isn’t it kind of weird to go alone? Yoongi also helped pay so I don’t really think it’s fair for only me to go and even worse what if he shows up?”, you questioned.

“Y/N first off you paid for half the trip too so it’s just as much yours as it is his. Secondly I really doubt he even remembers it’s coming up. He looks pretty busy right now anyways.”

You followed her line of sight until your stomach dropped at what you saw. While you were barely able to function the last couple months Yoongi appeared to happily be on a date with another woman across the restaurant like he had moved on with no issue.

“How could he move on from me so fast?”, you asked rhetorically.

Your friend shrugged, “Maybe he’s known her for a while. He could’ve been cheating on you for all we know.”

“No he wouldn’t have done that to me. He wouldn’t have cheated.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”, she said pointing over in Yoongi’s direction. The woman he was with had turned around to grab her bag and you gasped, “Nari?”

You bit your lip trying not to cry. Nari was a producer that worked for the same company as Yoongi. She made you feel really insecure from the moment you met her. She was beautiful and smart and funny and worked as a producer just like Yoongi so they had a lot in common. You were suspicious from the first time you met her. It definitely crossed your mind a few times that maybe he liked her more than he lead on. He assured you over and over that she was nothing more than a coworker though and that you had absolutely nothing to worry about. You believed him. And now here he was staring into her eyes just two short months after breaking your heart into a million pieces. You started to wonder if maybe he really had been cheating on you that whole time. Your sadness and hurt began to change to anger the more you pondered that.

Suddenly you stood up grabbing your things. “Where are you going?”, your friend questioned confused.

“Home. I’ve got a trip to pack for.”, you gritted through your teeth.

The drive up the mountain to your cabin was a little scarier than you expected. You took your bag out of the back seat and entered in the code that the rental company had given you to gain access to the front door.

The cabin was adorable and you were really happy with your choice. It was tiny but enough for two people and more than enough for just one. The bedroom and the bathroom were at the back of the cabin and after your long stressful drive you wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower and lay in bed and relax for a while before dinner.

You were drying your hair after your shower when you heard the front door open and shut followed by some jingling keys. Immediately you went into panic mode. You were alone in a cabin in the middle of the mountains. You couldn’t run anywhere and no one would hear you scream. You grabbed the fire poker from the bedroom fire place to use as a weapon and then slowly tiptoed down the hall ready to fight whomever was entering the cabin.

“What are you doing here?”, a deep familiar voice asked before you could speak. “Me?! What are you doing here?”, you spat back at Yoongi who was glaring at you.

For a brief moment you were a little relieved to see him and not a serial killer ready to claim their next victim but that relief was quickly replaced with anger.

“Seriously Yoongi, why are you here?”

Suddenly it hit you, what if he was here with Nari? Like what if he brought her here to enjoy the romantic couples trip you had planned for the two of you. You felt sick at the thought.

“I paid for half of this trip too. I need some time alone so I can work and get some stuff done.”

“What too many “distractions” at home?”, you rolled your eyes immediately thinking about him and another woman.

“Yeah actually there are. Not that it’s any of your business.”, he clapped back.

That hurt and your angry confidence faltered. Your lip began to quiver. You knew you needed to get away from him before he could see you cry.

“Fine. Do what you want. I’ll be in the bedroom.”, you said storming off and slamming the door shut behind you.

When you woke up the room was completely dark. The curtains were still open and it was clearly the middle of the night. You didn’t mean to cry yourself to sleep but you must’ve been more exhausted than you thought.

You were stretching out on the bed when your stomach started to rumble reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since the morning. Slowly cracking open the bedroom door you were met with silent darkness. Maybe you got lucky and Yoongi decided to go back home. That would be ideal you thought.

You tiptoed down the hall only to be met with the sound of soft snores coming from the couch. You peaked over finding Yoongi sound asleep all wrapped up in a blanket. He looked so cuddly and warm and you missed falling asleep with his arms wrapped around you.

Thankfully your stomach grumbled again getting you back on the right track. Yoongi was not yours to cuddle any more anyways.

The kitchen was small but livable. As quietly as possible you poked around hoping to find something you could quickly turn into a meal. Unfortunately thanks to the events earlier you didn’t even think to go to the grocery store to stock up so the kitchen was bare. You chugged a large glass of water hoping it would hold you over a few more hours until you could go get breakfast somewhere.

You turned to rinse out your glass when you saw a note sitting on the counter. The handwriting familiar,

“Pizza in the fridge. Promise I didn’t poison it. Just didn’t want to wake you. -Yoongi.”

You wanted to cry. You wanted to be angry. You wanted to run into the living room and hug him. But instead you chose to just take a slice of pizza, conveniently with your favorite toppings which only made you want to cry more, and headed back to your room to hideout until the morning.

Somehow you managed to doze off again for another few hours. The bright sun shining through the crack in your curtains waking you up this time. You got ready for the day, putting a little more effort into your appearance than you had for the last couple months. You kept telling yourself it had absolutely nothing to do with Yoongi.

The kitchen was filled with the scent of pepperoni and garlic. Just as you walked in Yoongi was pulling what was left of the pizza out of the oven.

“This will have to do for breakfast. We’ll have to go into town and get some groceries.”, he said when he noticed you.

“Oh if you want to make a list I can just go. You said you had a lot of work to do.”, you replied wanting to avoid having to spend so much time with him.

But he shook his head, “It rained quite a bit last night. The roads might be rough. We’ll go together.”

You knew there was no use in arguing with him and maybe a small part of your heart warmed up at the thought that he still worried about you like that.

“Okay. We can leave after breakfast.”, you nodded.

The drive into town was silent and uneventful. The little town was cute to say the least. You even took note of the realty company there because you wouldn’t mind moving there some day.

At the grocery store you both quickly gathered what you needed. Mostly snacks since you were only there for one more night. You grabbed some fruit and a giant tub of ice cream. Yoongi grabbed a six pack and some instant noodles.

He surprised you when he suggested you both stop for lunch. You really wanted to say no but he was driving so you didn’t have much of choice anyways. You ended up at a quaint little cafe. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming even though the tension between you and Yoongi was ice cold.

You were sat on the back patio over looking the beautiful fall foliage. Several outdoor fire pits provided more than enough warmth.

“So how have you been?”, Yoongi awkwardly asked.

“Fine I guess. Not as good as you apparently.”, you replied harsher than you meant to.

“What is that supposed to mean?”, he asked confused.

You went to apologize but were interrupted.

“Alright did you two decide what you’re having today?”, the waiter Jin asked.

“Uh yeah just the classic burger for me.”, Yoongi replied.

“The harvest soup please.”, you said handing him your menu.

After he walked away the tension between you both was thicker than before.

You realized that Yoongi had been kind through the whole trip. Saving pizza for you, sleeping on the couch without argument so you could have the bed, heating up breakfast, taking you into town and paying for the groceries, now taking you to a nice cafe and trying to have a civil conversation. You realized you had been the one making things difficult.

“Hey Yoongi I’m sorry about what I sa-“, you began but his phone started ringing. He took it out of his pocket and you felt your blood boil when you saw the contact name flashing on the screen, Nari.

“Sorry Y/N. I have to take this.”, he said walking away from the table.

“Of course.”, you scoffed thankful that you didn’t fully apologize yet.

Feeling anxious and not wanting to just sit there any more you walked over to the balcony so you could look out over the property.

“They’re beautiful aren’t they?”, a guy said next to you. He pointed out to the field after noticing your confusion, “The trees.”

“Oh yeah. They’re gorgeous.”, you chuckled.

“They’re tulip trees. They’re even more beautiful when they bloom in the spring.”, he said, “I’m Namjoon by the way.”

He smiled flashing you the prettiest dimples you’d ever seen.

“Y/N”, you said, “Maybe I’ll have to come back in the spring to see them in bloom. That sounds quite nice actually.”

“Oh you’re not a local?”, he asked, “You know… if you want I could show you around the town a little.”

“I’d like that, but I’m just here on a little weekend trip. I leave tomorrow.”

“Oh Uhh are you here on a trip with your boyfriend?”

Your brows furrowed, “What? No I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Namjoon awkwardly chuckled, “Well um does that guy know that because he’s currently staring at us like he wants to kill me?”

You looked where he was pointing to see Yoongi standing there. His hands in his pockets while he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. And he was in fact staring daggers at you. You knew just from that look that he was furious.

“Don’t worry. He’s just a complicated friend thing person….”, you cringed.

“Okay well if you want to give me call I’d be happy to show you around. Maybe don’t bring your friend thing though.”, he laughed handing you his number.

You walked back to the table just as Jin dropped off your meals. You both ate in silence and that carried over to the drive back to the cabin too.

Once the groceries were unloaded Yoongi grabbed his headphones and laptop and went out to the back deck without a word.

You stood and watched him work for a while. The Yoongi that you knew all these years would never just give you the silent treatment. He discussed what was bothering him so that you could work together to solve it.

He answered another phone call. You figured it was Nari again so you walked away to give him some privacy.

You had just finished plating up dinner when Yoongi came walking back inside. He eyed the food and then you. “We didn’t have much to make a big meal but I put together what I could.”, you said shifting awkwardly under his gaze.

“Not hungry.”, he scoffed before turning to walk back outside.

“Seriously Yoongi, what the fuck is your problem?”

He stopped and turned to look at you, “I don’t have a problem. Why don’t you go out and have a nice dinner with your little friend you met earlier.”

You hated that you could feel tears already begin to form, “You’re one to talk.”

With three long strides he was right in front of you giving you somewhat of a startle, “Me? I haven’t done anything other than be a heartbroken mess these last two months without you but the minute a cute guy flirts with you then you’re practically trying to fuck him right there.”

You stared at him in disbelief. Your heart rate was skyrocketing. From his pocket you could hear his phone ringing again and it all came back to you.

“At least I waited until you broke up with me. You are the asshole who was cheating on me the whole time.”, you whispered as the realization of your words hit you. Tears began freely falling as you turned and ran back into the bedroom closing the door behind you.

You never expected that this trip would be filled with so much crying and hurt. It was supposed to be relaxing and fun.

You waited a while until you had calmed down and then decided you weren’t spending another night in the same cabin with Yoongi so you grabbed your bag and packed up your clothes. You did a double check making sure you had everything and with your car keys in hand you pulled open the bedroom door only to hear a loud thud followed by a groan.

Quickly you found the hall light switch flipping it on only to find a very buzzed Yoongi rolling around on the floor. The six pack he had gotten at the store now empty and tossed around him.

“Y/N please don’t leave. I need you.”, he slurred.

You looked over his face. He looked just as bad as you did if not worse. Clearly he had been crying. His nose was bright red and his eyes still teary.

“Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”, you sighed while helping him up thankful you talked him out of the twelve pack.

Worried that he would roll off the couch you decided to let him have the bed. You were leaving anyways so it didn’t matter. Once he was all tucked in you tried once again to leave but he grabbed your wrist, “Y/N you can’t leave. I already lost you once and I can’t…I can’t do it again.”

He started to cry. You started to cry. You agreed to stay.

When you woke up the next morning Yoongi was already staring at you.

“I never cheated on you with Nari. I know that’s what you think happened.”, he said getting right to the point like the Yoongi you knew.

You stared at him in silence. Your throat was sore and your head hurt from all the crying.

He took a deep breath before continuing, “Y/N, I broke up with you because that’s what I thought was best for you. Just it’s just that the last couple months I felt like I was drowning. Work was piling up, I was spending less and less time with you. My mental and physical health were deteriorating. I saw how worried you were about me. I saw how sad you were. How tired you were. All because of me. And then I had a realization that I didn’t bring anything positive to our relationship. So when we got into that fight I saw it as my way to get you out of this. To free you from me.”

He paused for a second. He used his thumb to wipe away some of your tears that you hadn’t even realized were there again.

“But after we broke up I realized how much you held me together. I couldn’t function without you but every time I’d pick up my phone to call you or every time I’d stand outside your door ready to knock I would remind myself that this was what’s best for you. You wouldn’t be able to live your life if I was there dragging you down. But I’ve been a complete mess since that night. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. My work was slipping so bad and that’s why I had that dinner with Nari. The one you saw me at. She’s a head producer now and technically my boss. She told me that if I didn’t get my shit together that they would have to terminate my contract. That’s why she keeps calling me, to check in and see how my progress is coming along. And I’m sorry about what I said about you and that guy. If you want to go out with him it’s none of my business. I’ll work through my feelings alone.”

You sat for a moment trying to process everything that you just heard because you had no idea that he was feeling that way.

“Yoongi I’m sorry that you felt like that but you don’t get to make that decision for me. I would go to hell and back for you and with you. Part of being in a relationship is being there through not only the good times but the difficult ones too.”

After you heard sniffles coming from next to you, you noticed that he was crying. You pulled him into your lap which he happily allowed wrapping his arms around you and pulling himself as flush against you as he could. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your next to soothe himself.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. I never meant to hurt you. I actually wanted was trying to do the opposite.”, he spoke through sobs.

“Shhh shhh I know. We can talk more about it later.”

And you did have a long discussion about all of the events that lead up to that moment. It was much needed and helped you both to open up and put all of your feelings out there.

You agreed to take things slow but you spent the rest of the day happily wrapped in each others arms by the fireplace just like you had originally planned .

[darkmaga-retard]

They say it’s a conspiracy or exaggeration at best to claim the Democrats want to decimate the Second Amendment. The left talking points claim that they merely want to curtail access to guns, but resurface interviews prove that is simply not the case. Kamala Harris admitted that she believes authorities should have access to citizen’s private residences to “check to see if they’re being responsible” with firearms.

Second Amendment

“A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.”

Fourth Amendment

“The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.”

Encoded in the United States Constitution is the ability to bear arms. Our Bill of Rights clearly dictates that the government may not infringe upon our rights as American citizens to bear arms. Elsewhere, the Constitution forbids illegal searches and seizures. Yet, this is precisely what we could expect under a Harris presidency.

“We’re going to require responsible behaviors among everybody in the community, and just because you legally possess a gun in the sanctity of your locked home doesn’t mean that we’re not going to walk into that home and check to see if you’re being responsible,” Harris once said in 2007 when acting as district attorney of San Francisco.

Did she not attend law school? Harris claims she herself owns a fire arm, but per usual, rules for thee and not for me. Even far-left Governor Newsom called these measures extremes. “We’re not going to knock on everybody’s door, we’re not going to break in and inspect,” Newsom once said when questioned about gun regulation. Harris disagreed and said that these extreme measures would benefit the government in encouraging “certain types of behavior.” ‘When we create laws, it’s not only about creating an opportunity, if you will, to prosecute someone for committing a crime, but more importantly, when we legislate our values, it’s about trying to encourage certain types of behavior,” she said.

Harris does not respect American freedoms provided by the Constitution. Straight from the horse’s mouth, Harris believes LEGAL gun owners should live in fear of Big Brother barging in their home at any moment, violating both the Second and Fourth Amendments. She does not respect the First Amendment for free speech and likely will tie in “misinformation” with those “shared values” that permit the government to determine who may and may not defend themselves.

[uncanny-tranny]

Stealth doesn’t help the trans community. I'm not saying we have to be an activist, wear a t-shirt announcing our trans status, but we have an obligation to help advance the human rights of the trans community we belong to

These viewpoints, while I can appreciate them, tend not to recognize the full scope of why people are stealth in the first place.

If stealth is not right for you, don't be stealth. However, not recognizing the nuances of stealth doesn't help trans people either. You can be an advocate for trans people without being out because you don't need to be out to help the trans community. Additionally, nobody is obligated to know one's trans status. I'm pretty stealth in my real life because I owe nobody that information about my identity. And I do my best to make trans folks one of my primary interests in my life. These two things coexist in my life, and that's why these viewpoints are generally confusing to me. You don't need to be out - or let anybody know about your transness - in order to advance trans rights. Hell, you don't even need to be trans to do that.

Nobody should ever be obligated to be stealth. The expectation that trans people fade away in society is wholly asinine. However, that doesn't mean that stealth inherently is problematic. Stealth is not inherently adverse to trans rights.

[autisticlee]

no one knows just how hard I work at things. how I have to work 1000000x more than the average person to compensate for being autistic and adhd and probably other things i'm working out with therapist, and having a sort of physical disability i've not received any help or treatment for. everyone assumes I don't try or give up too soon. they think I just started, need more practice. they think I expect everything handed to me immediately with no work or effort and don't acknowledge the multiple years i've put into things. they think I have no right to be upset about still failing to get where I want even after working my entire life to get there, while watching people around me surpass even my meager goals within a fraction of the time and work i've out into the same thing. constantly getting surpassed by everyone around me who seem to barely do any work to get there compared to me. it's all handed to them and falls into their lap so easily. all because they don't have the extra obstacles to overcome and work around that I do. while they go from point A to Z immediately with no major stops in between, I have to go through every single letter and then some, often getting sent back to the start. but it's always *my* fault, according to everyone. it's not the fault of those around me who ignore me, don't support me, don't help me, don't believe in me, etc. it's my fault they don't do those things. because doing the work of 10 people in one isn't enough, just because it's me. and not reaching Z as fast as everyone else means I don't deserve any of the support or help or anything else and means i'm not trying hard enough. it doesn't matter that I *need* to work harder than 100 "normal" people combined to get even half the result! Just because I can't reach what they do means i'm not trying hard enough! ugh.

[florida3exclamationpoints]

.

[memento-mariii]

I'm not scared of getting older, I'm scared of new opportunities getting shut off from me :(

[hyperlexichypatia]

As I keep shouting into the void, pathologizers love shifting discussion about material conditions into discussion about emotional states.

I rant approximately once a week about how the brain maturity myth transmuted “Young adults are too poor to move out of their parents’ homes or have children of their own” into “Young adults are too emotionally and neurologically immature to move out of their parents’ homes or have children of their own.”

I’ve also talked about the misuse of “enabling” and “trauma” and “dopamine” .

And this is a pattern – people coin terms and concepts to describe material problems, and pathologization culture shifts them to be about problems in the brain or psyche of the person experiencing them. Now we’re talking about neurochemicals, frontal lobes, and self-esteem instead of talking about wages, wealth distribution, and civil rights. Now we can say that poor, oppressed, and exploited people are suffering from a neurological/emotional defect that makes them not know what’s best for themselves, so they don’t need or deserve rights or money.

Here are some terms that have been so horribly misused by mental health culture that we’ve almost entirely forgotten that they were originally materialist critiques.

Codependency What it originally referred to: A non-addicted person being overly “helpful” to an addicted partner or relative, often out of financial desperation. For example: Making sure your alcoholic husband gets to work in the morning (even though he’s an adult who should be responsible for himself) because if he loses his job, you’ll lose your home. https://www.nytimes.com/2022/07/08/opinion/codependency-addiction-recovery.html What it’s been distorted into: Being “clingy,” being “too emotionally needy,” wanting things like affection and quality time from a partner. A way of pathologizing people, especially young women, for wanting things like love and commitment in a romantic relationship.

Compulsory Heterosexuality What it originally referred to: In the 1980 in essay "Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence," https://www.journals.uchicago.edu/doi/abs/10.1086/493756 Adrienne Rich described compulsory heterosexuality as a set of social conditions that coerce women into heterosexual relationships and prioritize those relationships over relationships between women (both romantic and platonic). She also defines “lesbian” much more broadly than current discourse does, encompassing a wide variety of romantic and platonic relationships between women. While she does suggest that women who identify as heterosexual might be doing so out of unquestioned social norms, this is not the primary point she’s making. What it’s been distorted into: The patronizing, biphobic idea that lesbians somehow falsely believe themselves to be attracted to men. Part of the overall “Women don’t really know what they want or what’s good for them” theme of contemporary discourse.

Emotional Labor What it originally referred to: The implicit or explicit requirement that workers (especially women workers, especially workers in female-dominated “pink collar” jobs, especially tipped workers) perform emotional intimacy with customers, coworkers, and bosses above and beyond the actual job being done. Having to smile, be “friendly,” flirt, give the impression of genuine caring, politely accept harassment, etc. https://weld.la.psu.edu/what-is-emotional-labor/ What it’s been distorted into: Everything under the sun. Everything from housework (which we already had a term for), to tolerating the existence of disabled people, to just caring about friends the way friends do. The original intent of the concept was “It’s unreasonable to expect your waitress to care about your problems, because she’s not really your friend,” not “It’s unreasonable to expect your actual friends to care about your problems unless you pay them, because that’s emotional labor,” and certainly not “Disabled people shouldn’t be allowed to be visibly disabled in public, because witnessing a disabled person is emotional labor.” Anything that causes a person emotional distress, even if that emotional distress is rooted in the distress-haver’s bigotry (Many nominally progressive people who would rightfully reject the bigoted logic of “Seeing gay or interracial couples upsets me, which is emotional labor, so they shouldn’t be allowed to exist in public” fully accept the bigoted logic of “Seeing disabled or poor people upsets me, which is emotional labor, so they shouldn’t be allowed to exist in public”).

Battered Wife Syndrome What it originally referred to: The all-encompassing trauma and fear of escalating violence experienced by people suffering ongoing domestic abuse, sometimes resulting in the abuse victim using necessary violence in self-defense. Because domestic abuse often escalates, often to murder, this fear is entirely rational and justified. This is the reasonable, justified belief that someone who beats you, stalks you, and threatens to kill you may actually kill you.

What it’s been distorted into: Like so many of these other items, the idea that women (in this case, women who are victims of domestic violence) don’t know what’s best for themselves. I debated including this one, because “syndrome” was a wrongful framing from the beginning – a justified and rational fear of escalating violence in a situation in which escalating violence is occurring is not a “syndrome.” But the original meaning at least partially acknowledged the material conditions of escalating violence.

I’m not saying the original meanings of these terms are ones I necessarily agree with – as a cognitive liberty absolutist, I’m unsurprisingly not that enamored of either second-wave feminism or 1970s addiction discourse. And as much as I dislike what “emotional labor” has become, I accept that “Women are unfairly expected to care about other people’s feelings more than men are” is a true statement.

What I am saying is that all of these terms originally, at least partly, took material conditions into account in their usage. Subsequent usage has entirely stripped the materialist critique and fully replaced it with emotional pathologization, specifically of women. Acknowledgement that women have their choices constrained by poverty, violence, and oppression has been replaced with the idea that women don’t know what’s best for themselves and need to be coercively “helped” for their own good. Acknowledgement that working-class women experience a gender-and-class-specific form of economic exploitation has been rebranded as yet another variation of “Disabled people are burdensome for wanting to exist.”

Over and over, materialist critiques are reframed as emotional or cognitive defects of marginalized people. The next time you hear a superficially sympathetic (but actually pathologizing) argument for “Marginalized people make bad choices because…” consider stopping and asking: “Wait, who are we to assume that this person’s choices are ‘bad’? And if they are, is there something about their material conditions that constrains their options or makes the ‘bad’ choice the best available option?”

[consultingwives]

As someone who works in the reliability sector of IT I cannot emphasize how much you have to give 0 fucks about professional standards and best practices in order to do something like what Crowdstrike did.

At the company I work for, which you have definitely heard of, there are thousands of people (including me, hi) part of whose job it is to sit in rooms for literal hours every week with the people building new features and updating our software and ask them every question we can possibly think of about how their changes might impact the overall system and what potential risks there are. We brainstorm how to minimize those risks, impose requirements on the developers, and ultimately the buck stops with us. Some things are just too risky.

Many of the practices developed at this and other companies are now in wide use across the industry, including things like staggered rollouts (i.e. only 1/3 people get this update at first, then 2/3, then everyone) and multi-stage testing (push it to a fake system we set up for these purposes, see what it does).

In cases where you’re updating firmware or an os, there are physical test devices you need to update and verify that everything behaves as expected. If you really care about your customers you’ll hand the device to someone who works on a different system altogether and tell them to do their worst.

The bottom line here is that if Crowdstrike were following anything even resembling industry best practices there should have been about twenty failsafes between a kernel bug and a global update that bricked basically every enterprise machine in the world. This is like finding out the virus lab has a direct HVAC connection to the big conference room. There is genuinely no excuse for this kind of professional incompetence.

[actual-changeling]

welcome back to alex's unhinged meta corner, today's topic: the chest touch at the pub. that scene has me in a chokehold for some reason and i still cannot stop thinking about it.

the first thing i wanna talk about is crowley's reaction, since this is the shorter part. he did not expect aziraphale to reach out to him like this and freezes for a second while aziraphale happily chatters away.

they were both walking and the hand on his chest stops him, so he comes to a stop right next to him while he was slightly behind him before that. his gaze also snaps to aziraphale's face, who is very much not looking at him.

they were having a conversation, but the touch essentially shuts crowley up and zira leaves him to get their drinks.

now, my question is why aziraphale does it. sure, it could just be an absent gesture since they're in a crowded place, just that he has never really done so before. i think it was very much planned, like asking crowley to dance and grabbing his hand later on.

a second before he actually reaches out, he also looks back to check whether crowley is where he thinks he is. that is the only time he does that, he was busy looking for a free table and miracles them one when he cannot find one - the look back is deliberate. especially since crowley is practically glued to his side, he has no need for confirmation, he can feel him brushing against him while walking.

the hand motion he does gets me, too. he is busy fidgeting with his hands like normal and has them clasped in front of him. aziraphale lifts them once he gets to "that is precisely the point", yet also already moves it slightly towards crowley, realizes he miscalculated where exactly he/his chest is, looks to check, then looks away again before actually touching him. am i reading too much into it? maybe.

i think it is his version of a little temptation. not only does it make crowley's brain short-circuit for a second, he also gets them their drinks and is now (or so aziraphale hopes) a bit calmer and will take the news aziraphale is about to give him better. the conversation at the cafe did not go entirely as planned, after all.

additionally, something i am not sure if other people have noticed or not is that aziraphale does not just touch crowley, it is a caress. he moves his hand down his chest.

the movement in order:

bar girl unfortunately moves in front of them, but you can clearly see the way his hand takes. to give you a direct comparison of the starting and end point:

a good point of reference is crowley's bolo tie but also the angle of aziraphale's arm while it is still visible.

the best part, in my opinion, is that aziraphale puts his hand right on top of crowley's heart. i think the symbolic importance of that is pretty clear and does not require any more explanation, although it makes me want to throw myself into a river. but that's by the by.

to summarize, aziraphale caresses crowley's heart chest to get him to calm down and not go insane over the news he is about to give him. he is also simply a bastard and knows exactly what he is doing to crowley.

as always, this is me going nuts with analysis, but i'm also curious to hear other people's thoughts on this.

don't tell my therapist about my unhinged meta posts or she will probably be very concerned for my mental wellbeing

[luveline]

Oooooo carmy request: him being jealous of readers friendship w richie cos they re like buddys and he thinks she doesn't like him cos shes not like that w him

—you realise what Carmy wants from you. fem, 1.4k

Richie isn’t technically an upstanding citizen, but he’s a good guy. 

“I’m telling you, sweetheart, you just need to be more aggressive.” 

You’re sitting on a stool behind the counter filling the ketchup and mayonnaise bottles with the huge ones from the walk-in. Richie isn’t doing much of anything, which is fine by you; he’s good entertainment for a shitty job. 

“I don’t want to be more aggressive, I want people to be nicer.” 

“We don’t get what we want,” he mutters. 

You frown expressively. “Aw, baby, we don’t get what we want. You don’t get what you want, huh?” 

“What’s your problem?” he asks, though he laughs brightly. “You’re the fucking baby. You’re not doing that right.” 

You point at your extremely slow drip of ketchup. “No, you think? I know I’m doing it wrong, Richie. Doing it right is a lot of arm effort. Have you seen my arms?” 

“You’ve got muscle.” Richie lifts your arm up by the wrist. “Flex. Flex your arm.” 

“I’m flexing. You can’t see that?” 

“What are you guys doing?” Carmy asks. 

He comes up behind Richie and they’re almost twins. Not in appearance —Carmy’s lighter facially and broader physically— but in stance, their mussed up aprons and the rags on their shoulders a uniform. 

You flex. “Weight training.” 

Richie drops your arm. “I’m showing her how to fill the sauce bottles.” 

“And you didn’t know how to do that?” Carmy asks you. 

“I’m the one that taught Richie.” You absolutely didn’t teach Richie how to do it, that much is obvious. Richie laughs heartily, and Carmy frowns, and you realise that Richie thinks you’re both laughing at Carmy, which isn’t what was happening. Not totally. 

It’s hard to navigate The Beef without Mikey; Carmy is nothing like his brother, and Richie’s an asshole. 

Carmy nods at you. You’re worried his lip is gonna curl like it does when he’s mad and you’re gonna get told to do something you’re uninterested in, but it’s Richie who gets punished. “Can you finish Sydney’s prep?” 

“Why can’t she do it?” 

“Her stomach thing. It’s just onions.” 

Richie wants to argue, but can’t. He’s paid a wage to work. “Fine. But tell Syd I’m not her gopher.” 

Richie saunters away. 

“He’s not her gopher,” you tease when he’s out of earshot, to Carmy’s surprised delight. “God, Carm, don’t you know anything?” 

Your Richie impression isn’t your best. Carmy must enjoy it, still smiling to himself as his attention is turned to the register, where he begins wiping down the keys. 

“Is that really the way to do that?” he asks, gesturing to your sauce bottles. 

You’ve turned the cap upside down, feeding sauce into the bottle one drip at a time. It would be quicker to remove the cap entirely and pour straight from the big bottle, but that sometimes requires three hands, the big jugs are that heavy. 

“Despite what you might think, Carm, I’ve thought it through.” 

“You sure?” 

You could get defensive. When Carmy first took over the restaurant, you thought, What the fuck, Mikey. Leave your shithole restaurant to your world class brother and get your entire roster of staff fired in one fell swoop. But Carmy never fired you, hasn’t cut your hours, doesn’t treat you like an asshole. He is a jerk, that much is certain during busy dinner service, but he has yet to take it too far. (Ish.)

So you won’t defend your laziness, or expect him to like it. You get up from your stool and turn the cap right side up, tapping what’s yet to drip through the spout into the bottle. You set the cap aside, and you uncap the big ketchup to decant sauce until the bottle is full. 

Carmy glances at you from the corner of your eye. He looks at you, looks away again. 

You think he might like you. In the don’t have a choice, grown on him like moss way. He gets cagey when you and Richie are having fun, and he stares altogether too much, but he can be pretty when he’s smiling (or really yelling) and he has nice hands, and nice arms. He has a nice way of saying things. You don’t mind his attention.

There have been worse bosses to want to push you up against a wall. 

Not that you think Carmy could. He whines like a bitch at you for stupid shit, but Carmen Berzatto shoving you into a wall for a rough kiss? That’s never gonna happen. 

And yet… his frown tells a different story. 

“Why do you get so weird about me and Richie?” you ask. 

“I don’t get weird about you and Richie.” 

You open the mayonnaise bottle and set the cap aside. “He’s nicer than you think.” 

“Yeah?” He sounds vaguely depressed, which isn’t uncharacteristic. Seriousness colours his voice with a strange charm. “I’ll take your word for it.” 

“He is, he makes me laugh. He makes sure I eat, he shouts at guys when they’re mean to me.” 

“Who’s mean to you?” 

“Carmy.” You give up on the mayonnaise and wipe your hands down your apron, to his ire. You’d prefer not to smell like egg and oil during this conversation, but it’s better than smelling like burnt chicken, sort of. “Richie’s a nice guy, whether you agree or not.” 

“That’s great, I’m glad he’s so nice to you.” He sounds angry now, but he’s stuck as you are —walking away is losing. 

You really don’t get it. “Is he not supposed to be nice to me?” you ask. 

“He can do what he wants. You can do what you want.”

You laugh, and hope to diffuse the situation with a joke, “Okay, thanks for your permission, Chef.” 

“Fuck off.” 

He sounds less tense, but not fixed. And you might find it harder to keep up with him, constantly wanting to impress him, knowing you can’t, but you’re not out of touch. You aren’t a huge dick. 

Carmy beats you to it. “I was kidding, about the bottles. You can do it how you want.” 

“I wasn’t offended.” 

“But you don’t– with Richie, you– I don’t know what I’m doing wrong with you.” 

You look him up and down, lengths of his arms, tattoos and the cut over his elbow. His clean t-shirt, his neck, the strong line of his nose and his bright eyes. 

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” you say, smiling at him, knowing your expression says lots of weird stuff. 

Working here in the kitchen makes a busy atmosphere normal. Richie’s telling a story at the top of his lungs, Angel’s swearing about a dropped plate, knives scratch on boards and ovens hum. Being overwhelmed is something you’re good at, and big feelings don’t scare you. 

“You’re jealous of Richie?” you ask, playfully pitying. “Get it together.” 

“Fuck off,” he says again. 

“Seriously? Richie Jerimovich. He’s telling Tina a story right now about how the last date he went on ended with her asking if he’d ever been abducted by aliens.” 

“I’m not jealous of Richie.” 

“No, I don’t think you are,” you say, taking a step too close, and refusing to take the step back. 

Carmy doesn’t look mad anymore. 

You wonder if anybody’s ever held his hand. You used to think he must’ve had a ton of girlfriends, he got so famous everywhere he went, but… He looks like he’s never been this close to someone before. Like you’re making him nervous. 

“Me and Richie are friends,” you say quietly. “Is that what you want us to be?” 

His hand twitches at his side. 

“There, cousin, I cut the fucking onions. You happy?” Richie asks, and laughs as he steps back out to the front of house, unaware of the tension. “That’d be the day, right?” 

“Yes, Richie, I’m happy you did your job. Thank you.” 

“Was that hard for you, baby?” you ask Richie with a pout. “Here, let me kiss your poor hands.” 

Richie gives you the bird with both of them. 

You look to Carmy. Making fun of Richie together isn’t quite as good as holding hands, but you hope it’s a start. 

Carmy catches on, can’t hide his grin, “There’s tylenol in the office if you need it, cousin.”  

“Are your wrists feeling tender?” you prompt. “Or is that motion one you’re used to?” 

Carmy laughs and the sound takes on the shape of his smile, nearly giddy. 

“Fuck both of you.” 

[charliemwrites]

Unfamiliar Nobody

You are a witch preparing for winter. Luckily, you have an extra set of hands - if they'd ever help.

Content: Possessive behavior, Semi-Safe/Semi-Sane/Consensual Intimacy, implied (pseudo) cannibalism, Violence and Death, Unhealthy but Happy Relationship

You haven’t been the same since the ritual.

Souls are tricky things, somewhere on that rickety fence between the Seen and Unseen, a bit of practical magic so common that people don’t think much of it.

Souls are like stones or plants. Abundant, but varied. Some are rare and precious, some are beautiful, some are poison. One soul does not weigh the same as another, and the beings that deal in their collection and sale value them differently. Souls aren’t rare and only some of them are powerful.

It’s a narcissistic misconception of humans - even the ones that can perceive beyond the physical world. That a soul is considered precious and coveted and powerful by all things of heaven, hell, and beyond.

Not so.

That said, like a bit of gold or a well-woven blanket, a soul can be commodified. Reshaped and displayed, butchered for parts, sold…

The selling of a soul has its merits, though not many. High risk, high reward sort of gamble. Tempting for clever witches - or desperate ones.

You were neither when you built the summoning circle that night.

You weren’t looking to forge any contracts or make deals beneath that moon. Didn’t expect to invoke any infernal beings or heavenly apparitions with the stars.

Well, best laid plans and all that - not that it had been an especially well laid plan anyway.

Baring your soul that deep into midnight had not yielded the results you intended. Or maybe it had and your expectations were just skewed. Souls are tricky things.

And yours hasn’t been the same since.

You always rouse as the sun begins to set. Late afternoon at the earliest, when most everyone else is finishing their suppers.

You can manage stark daylight, but poorly. It hurts your eyes and prickles your skin. A deep hood and long sleeves does the trick when required, but you don’t make a habit of it if you can help it, if only for the teeth that bury in your throat when you return.

Tend the garden in the dying rays, light the shop candles before night nestles in. Say your blessings, leave your offerings, wriggle out from beneath clingy weight to secure any provisions or materials from the town.

As the temperature cools and the shadows deepen, you settle into your work.

The shop once belonged to an apothecarist. Died in a plague some four decades ago, or so you’ve been told. No one of any skill or natural talent replaced them afterwards. Too frightened, perhaps, of what could be lingering within.

It wasn’t haunted until you (and your shadow) occupied it.

You’ve stocked it up quite nicely now. Herbs and spices, vegetables and fruits, roots and seeds. Thistles hang from the ceiling and bones rattle in the drawers. Mortars and pestles line a wall, weights and measures beneath the counter. Not a single thing labeled or organized, the latter of which disconcerts your… companion.

Fickle is not the word for him, but it’s the one you use.

(And he is a he, at least according to the long, thick cock he crams into you every chance he makes for himself. Though you suppose such trifles as gender are superfluous to nonhumans. A categorical fallacy for your own ease of reference.)

You told him once, that if he did not like the disarray of the shop, he was welcome to rearrange as he saw fit. In response, he left teeth rings around the base of each of your fingers, telling you how easy it would be to bite them off. He didn’t, of course - wouldn’t - but you spent a good portion of that evening updating the inventory logs (sat on that long, thick cock.)

The shop was never reorganized.

Tonight you wake to his tongue, a dark and wicked thing, improbably dexterous, lapping at your thighs.

“Winter comes,” he drawls into your skin. His voice is dredged up from the deepest pit in his chest, scrapes against his throat before nuzzling into your ears.

“I thought so,” you sigh, sleep laden and languorous. “Felt it on the wind yesterday.”

He hums. Or maybe it’s a growl. It’s hard to say when he’s sinking his teeth into the plush of your thigh, though he does it without hurry. 

For a creature without definite expiration, there is little need to be hasty.

You click your tongue when he threatens to break skin. His jaw locks like that, just on the verge of taking without being asked. This is his price for greeting the evening with you - or so he claims.

“We’ll have to begin preparations,” you muse to the inky ceiling. “I’ll make a list over tea. You’ll help, won’t you? What kind of winter will it be?”

He relaxes his bite, laps at the iridescent fluid left on your skin. His saliva, or what passes for it in this vaguely human form.

“Long,” he drawls. An unseen thumb rubs circles into your calf. “And frigid.”

You hum, can already see it in your mind. Howling winds and a silent earth. Still and peaceful, little creatures huddled down and hibernating. It was a good, warm, lush summer that promises a sweet, abundant harvest.

“A lot of snow?” you ask, fingers buried in something almost too coarse to be hair. 

He unseals his mouth from a fresh, livid mark on your hip. “Da. Snow.”

Your fingertips trail over the gnarled, raised topography of long-healed wounds. Marks that go beyond flesh, wounds of essence. No matter his appearance, he will always be scarred - disfigured, even.

Sometimes you fancy that he was some fearsome fae king or warlord of hell before retiring to become yours.

Sensing the direction of your thoughts, he nips at the meat of your thumb. Draws blood the time. You hook your index finger around a too-sharp canine and shake a bit. He grunts and slides his tongue over the pinprick of blood.

“Any storms?” you ask.

“Two,” he rumbles around your finger. “Maybe three.”

You didn’t used to love winter so. But this will be your third with him. As the climate chills and the nights lengthen, he comes into his patron season. It’s helpful to have a thing of the cold and dark when times are lean and everything (even people) lose their pretty foliage.

“Shall I expect more pelts, then?”

You balked the first time he brought (more) death to your door. Thought him cruel and ruthless. Perhaps he is without you to metamorphose the slaughter into necessity.

Furs for warmth, meat for food, bones for your work. Nothing gone to waste under your care.

“Pelts,” he agrees, “skins, down.”

You trace your thumb over the bridge of his crooked nose, press between his brows when he tries to tilt his head into the warm apex of your thighs. He bares his teeth against your wrist but cannot defy you.

“Tea for that drop of blood,” you bargain.

He sighs deep and vexed. “Mistress.”

Before slithering from your blankets, though, he buries his nose against your pubic mound and takes a deep, noisy inhale.

“Nikto!”

A village girl comes a little after the sun has fully set.

You finished your tea (and bread, for the price of a wet, filthy kiss) while making a list of preparatory chores. Have started grinding up rosemary to replenish your stock.

Nikto senses her before you do, pthalo eyes flicking up. She hesitates at the closed door, poised to knock, then decides against it and simply pushes in.

You pretend as if you’ve just glanced up from your mortar, an easy smile at your visitor.

“Good evening,” you call.

“E-evening,” she replies, lingering in the door.

While you’ve taken measures to keep the air of the shopfront clean and light, it’s something of a fruitless endeavor when Nikto’s made his den here. (Or more accurately, in the room behind the shopfront, where you dwell.)

Still, she only wavers another moment, finding nothing immediately alarming or perilous. She can’t see him lounging on the back counter like a lazy cat.

“Have you need of something?” you ask.

Your easy, friendly tone loosens her shoulders, coaxes her from the doorway.

“I’m here for something for my grandmother?” she says.

You tilt your head. “Anna?”

She blinks. “How did you know?”

Because Nikto grumbled it just now.

“You have her eyes,” you lie. “I have her medication just over here. One moment.”

You turn away to collect the little parcels that make up Anna’s bi-weekly order. Brews for her tea, ointment for her joints. You’ll mix extra as the chill sets in, fewer trips while seeing her through the harsh season.

“Usually Alexei comes to collect these things,” you say.

She rocks back and forth on her heels, a more curious eye trailing over your wares now.

“Mama and I have come to take care of nana. She’s getting older, you know. And this town has better prospects than our old village.”

You hum in agreement, neatly bundling all the items in a cloth and tieing a length of twine to secure it.

“Uncle Alexei is away with papa to finish sorting matters back there.”

“So you and your mother have come ahead, then,” you summarize.

“Mhmm!”

“Well, Anna is lucky to have you. She speaks fondly of you and your mother,” you say.

The girl lights up, cheeks rosy with pride. You slide her grandmother’s order across the counter.

“Anything else?” you ask.

“No, thank you!” she replies, dropping coins into your palm.

You glance at them (overpaid as usual, oh Anna) and sigh fondly.

“Hold on,” you call, “here.”

You pass her a little jar sealed in wax. She accepts it with a bemused smile.

“What is it?”

“For travel sores, when your father and Alexei return.”

She absolutely beams. Any apprehension she had when entering your shop is long melted away.

“Thank you, Miss!” she chirps, waving, and sweeps out the door.

Niko pounces in an instant, arms so tight around your waist that you don’t even stumble from the force.

“What’s gotten into you this time?” you ask.

“You were thinking of those men,” he grumbles. You’d call it childish if he wasn’t damn near mauling your neck.

“They’re well-paying customers,” you scoff, “and more good will is never remiss.”

He snarls, but moves on quickly. “You were so kind to that little girl. She had stars in her eyes.”

You hum in question, surprised.

“Makes me think of you with little ones. Younger ones.” He’s near rambling, drool soaking into the collar of your dress. “My brood. Clinging to your skirts and your hips. Getting sticky hands in the beeswax.”

You huff out a startled laugh. “You’re thinking of babies?”

He moans into your ear, pressed tight to your back. Broad palms knead at your lower abdomen.

“Little voices calling ‘mama’. They would all adore you, want to be just like you. Mother is god in the hearts of children.”

“All?” you repeat, twisting to stare owlishly. “How many is ‘all’?”

“As many as you will let me breed into you.”

Another laugh escapes you, a bit bewildered. He’s never spoken like this before, never seemed interested at all by the women (or their husbands) that come to the shop to ease their pregnancies or births.

“You couldn’t stand to share my attention,” you scoff. Which is to say nothing of it even being a possibility. You’re not sure that you and he could produce viable offspring.

He pauses, nose in your hair, considering.

Finally, he grunts, “Maybe.”

You’d thought so.

It’s not just the change in your natural sleep rhythms. You crave the iron of raw meat and inhale deep the burn of black smoke. Sometimes, you’re too preoccupied with the spill of ink on parchment, or the length and depth of shadows.

Subtle things, perhaps. A change beneath the skin, in the dark parts of your eyes.

You used to ask your questions in the sun, and look for the answers in the bloom of flowers or swirls of clouds. Now you whisper into abyssal shadows and they whisper back with a man’s rasp.

Not everyone can see it, the unusual glint in your eyes or the sharp edge to your smile. For those that do, it’s something of an open secret - that you provide more than helpful tonic and tinctures for common ailments.

A serum against pregnancy. A syrup for unkind spouses. Cut cords for bad friends and bent coins for poor business partners.

Tonight it’s the smith’s daughter. She’s just come into adulthood this past spring. A crown of youth on her brow, vitality draped around her shoulders. Darkened, this eve, by deals made with her as the currency. You see it beneath the sweep of her skirt, a chain of her father’s own making, a key in the hand of the mayor’s son. It drags her step in your doorway, rattling along the wood floors.

“Irina,” you greet.

She doesn’t admit it right away, demuring to purchase her father’s usual burn salve. You don’t pry, instead taking your time to spoon the thick, cloudy mixture into a small jar.

“You’ve…”

You tilt your head to show your attention, expression open. She clears her throat, smooths her skirt, tries again.

“My father designs to wed me to Boris.”

She blurts it like the words escaped between the gaps in her teeth, looks shocked in their wake You flick Nikto a reproachful glance.

“Is that so?” you reply mildly, as neutral as you can manage.

“I don’t want to,” she whispers, as though it is a shameful secret. But there is little shame to be found in your presence, and when your expression only reflects polite interest, she repeats herself, stronger. “I don’t want to. Boris is a coward and his father is…”

Mean. Lascivious. A bastard with a heavy hand and wine for blood, kind only to coin.

You don’t make her say it all aloud, you’ve heard it just fine.

“Is it an ear you’re after?” you ask. “I’ll listen.”

You do not offer more. It is something she must request of her own will. For your sake as much as hers.

It only takes another breath for her to gather the courage.

“Would you help me?”

“I would.”

You don’t jump as Nikto pours himself over your shoulders, teeth already scraping the nape of your neck. He’s hard and insistent against your spine, where scars of his teeth have begun to blossom. You sense that you’ll have a new notch for the collection soon, already feel slick and achy with the promise of his maw.

“What will it cost?” Irina asks, fidgety.

Your cunt three times over. Your blood on my tongue. Your juices down my throat.

“That will depend on our solution,” you say over Nikto’s sibilant entreaties.

Irina’s brow furrows. “Not coin?”

“Maybe coin,” you correct. “Do you want any of these three men dead?”

She startles, pales. Nikto groans in your ear, hips jerking hard, cock catching on the laces of your corset. Irina mistakes the sound for your shop settling, eyes flicking nervously around as if either of you will be caught.

“N-no!” she answers. “No, that’s too - I just want papa to change his mind. O-or for Boris to… to wed someone else. Is that wicked of me?”

You shake your head, soften your smile to ease her conscience. Once upon a time, you stood on the other side of the counter like she is now.

“Then coin won’t be necessary. I have a different price.”

Her shoulders lower, just a bit, curiosity where she should be wary. Coin is a paltry payment in comparison to things a creature like you could request instead. 

“What is it?”

“Scrap from your father’s forge, as much as you can manage, and whatever Boris gave you for your hand. Bring them to me tomorrow night.”

You fish a shirt button from beneath the counter. Prick your thumb on a needle and press the droplet of blood that wells into the smooth surface.

“This is a contract of my services,” you explain as it dries in the open air. Nikto inhales deep and ravenous, tongue flicking over the shell of your ear.

“If you take this, there is no going back. Do you understand?”

Irina hesitates; she’s always been a smart girl. That’s why she knew to come to you.

“What happens if I don’t come back with the payment?”

You flick a glance at Nikto, but he’s too busy toying with the ribbon around your throat. Patience fraying with each beat of your heart.

“Even I don’t know, but I’d rather neither of us find out, yes?”

“Alright. I understand.”

She accepts the bloodied button and drops it into the pocket of her frock.

“Tomorrow,” she promises, and steals out into the night.

Nikto bends you over the counter, heavy body flattening you to the polished wood. It’s unnaturally warm beneath your cheek. You suck in as much air as you can while he paws at the hidden parts in your skirts. He growls to find you wet and willing (always, regardless of what your mouth says) between your thighs. 

“Tithe,” he rasps, sinking to his knees.

Massive arms snake around your thighs as he finds his home between them. Buries his nose in the soft crop of curls so that his tongue and lips and teeth can partake in the sweet offerings below.

“All this for a severed tether?” you gasp, hips twitching in a bid to escape the too much, too fast, too good of it all.

His grip does not relent. On the contrary, it only tightens, dragging you down to smother himself in your cunt.

“Yes,” he hisses.

He takes and takes and takes. Sucks your clit until it’s throbbing at the slightest touch. Licks at the rim of your cunt, forcing his tongue deeper and deeper. Impossibly deep, until you feel the tip of it curl against the hard wall of your cervix, the root of it as thick as two of his fingers.

Your knees have long given out, your voice but a weak trill in your throat. It’s only when he hears you sniffling that he wrenches himself away.

“Give me,” he demands, surging up.

Laves that slick, black, inhuman tongue up your jaw, over your cheek. Doubles back to swipe at half-dried tears that dripped down your neck and onto your hands. He makes an obscene sound when the salt mixes with the dried blood on the pad of your thumb.

“I want to eat you,” he snarls, baring his teeth against the tender veins of your wrist.

“Maybe one day,” you pant, “when I’ve passed on. You can have my corpse.”

His eyes snap open, a manic rage burning so hot it feels cold. 

“Never,” he snarls, cruel fingers plunging into your tender cunt.

You cry out and grip onto his shoulders, fresh tears sliding down your hot cheeks. There is no mercy in Nikto, not even for you. He strokes and pets your walls relentlessly, abusing all the sensitive places he’s long mapped out. Brutal as the muscles in his arm bunch and jump with the pace and force of it.

“Never,” he repeats. Teeth in your throat but you can still hear his voice. It’s so loud and rough that glass rattles. “Just like this. You stay just like this for me. Mine, all mine. Always. My little witch.”

He makes you cum on his fingers, then jerks his angry cock using your release to ease the way. Spends himself in burning, sticky ropes directly onto your clit. As you drag in ragged breaths, he draws his sigil inside your cunt with your mixed fluids.

The bond has long been formed, there is no need to renew it. Your soul is no more or less his than before. You still shiver with the memory, an echo of the sublime sensation of your soul taking new shape. Making room for something else to lace through it.

“S-someone is coming,” you whimper, weak in every sense.

“Dmitiri,” Nikto answers. You knew who it was, of course, but you don’t think he would abide you saying any other name right now.

“Leave his order on the counter and make sure he pays,” you sigh, limping away in search of water.

Nikto may be a bastard, but he manages to follow your orders most of the time.

Irina returns the next evening with all that you asked. A bucket of metal scraps and shavings. In a little velvet pouch, a simple gold engagement ring.

“The button too,” you request.

Nikto, raven-shaped this evening, swoops in to snatch it from her fingers. She yelps, moon-eyed as he perches on a tall shelf and swallows the button down his scarred gullet.

“Should… should it eat that?” she asks.

You don’t even glance at him. “Too late now, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t look amused so you laugh softly and assure her, “He’ll be alright. He’s done it before.”

You turn away, scooping up the items for the spell.

“Now then, take this pin. Carve your name into one candle, and Boris’s name into the other,” you instruct.

“Which one is which?” she asks, a green candle in one hand.

“Your choice,” you reply simply.

When she’s done as you ask, you tie a piece of twine between the two, about halfway down. Set them on a metal plate facing each other and light first Irina’s, then Boris’s.

“Pull up that stool. Watch the candles burn down to the wick.”

It takes nearly an hour. You keep half an eye on it. Watch the candle meant to represent Boris start to eat at the twine, a slow encroachment towards the midpoint. Only for Irina’s flame to latch onto its end of the tie and scorch through the knot, the remaining length falling away.

Irina gasps softly, glances up to find you already watching. Studiously turns back to observe the remainder of the melt.

In the meantime, you continue forming the other half of your spell. Irina has been too preoccupied to notice the raven’s disappearance. Nikto is behind you again, guiding your hands to carve the woodblock in neat little peels. His fingers are threaded between yours, dripping raw power that you shape with intent. If Irina were to look, it would just seem that the candlelight casts strange shadows down your forearms.

When the candles have burned down to nothing, and Irina turns to you expectantly, you press a finger to your lips.

“Do not speak again until sunrise. When you get home, throw this into the hearth, as deep as you can get it. No trace of it will remain, rest assured.”

You press the carved wooden key into her palm. Her eyes trace the unfamiliar runes in wonder, but she keeps her silence and takes her leave with one final, grateful nod.

It is only just past midnight, but you yawn. The connection between Irina and Boris was not a strong one, but severing the covetous teeth of the mayor’s greed was tedious.

He has a weakness for fair hair and light eyes - both qualities passed down to Irina in lovely spades. Qualities his own wife doesn’t possess, but he would gladly see in his son’s if he had his way.

“Nikto.”

“All for a severed tether,” he purrs.

You tsk at him, shove his face away when he tries to steal a kiss.

“Finish the spell and then you will be rewarded,” you huff, waving him off. “Useless thing.”

He moans softly, eyes burning into you. “Useless,” he agrees, sharp teeth grazing your cheek. “Worthless.”

“Out with you. We’ve not all night,” you chastise.

He sinks slowly into the shadows; his eyes are the last to disappear.

Winter preparations are well under way.

A small mountain of firewood is steadily accumulating in the backyard, stacking higher and wider by the day. You’ve already finished harvesting the last of the garden, drying, preserving, and pickling by the jar. Have knitted half a dozen more shawls and socks with thick wool yarn.

Cough medicines, warming tinctures, lotions and ointments. You’re accumulating your winter remedies along the back wall and in crates beneath the counter, well-stocked for the town and smaller surrounding villages that frequent your shop.

Thus far, Nikto has brought you two pelts, and promised two more before the season truly sets in. A new pillow has also been added to your nest bed, a puffy, heavy thing of feathered down and cotton.

You like it so much that you bounce on Nikto’s cock until morning when he brings it to you, spitting into his mouth whenever he opens it in supplication. You drop lavender buds into the casing and breathe it deep as he lays you down after daybreak. It makes an excellent throne for your pelvis when you’re too worn (or over-pleasured) to hold yourself up any longer.

Still, as promising as your preparations are, you need items unavailable even in town. The journey to the nearest city is one day's (or night’s) walk there, and another back. Well worth the trouble.

Nikto has no particular affection for any dwelling, so long as it’s yours. He’s just as eager to travel as you are.

Before nightfall, you drop off any orders expected in your absence, and receive well wishes from your customers. No one asks why you are traveling alone at night. No one warns you that it would be too dangerous.

Nikto accompanies you along the well-trod road, a hooded figure more likely to be mistaken for the grim reaper than your familiar. He’s human enough if you don’t look at him for too long. A tall man thick with muscle, broad-shouldered, built for labor. Likely malformed beneath the scarf hiding his features below those blue eyes - or perhaps just shy.

Just don’t try to peer into the depths of that hood, or ponder that mysterious scarf for too long. The moon acts as a strange prism, waters down the light into eerie refractions. One might start to imagine sharp teeth peeking through ripped lips. Or glimpse poorly sewn hills of flesh, nothing but dark, empty space between the seams.

Luckily, there are no travelers on the road this late into the night. Any errant gaze is that of night creatures, and those know well to avoid the shadow at your side - and you by extension.

The trip into the city is no great adventure, but you weren’t looking for one. Nikto, you sense, is something almost like disappointed. You arrive in the small hours of the morning, just as the earliest risers have begun their day.

The innkeeper seems surprised by such an early (or late) guest, but is happy enough to welcome you in. Bread has yet to be bought from the baker, but there’s stew that’s been simmering overnight. It’s warm and hearty and thick. You eat two bowls with a cup of peach wine, pay for food and board for the next two days, and retire to the second story of rooms.

The bed is not nearly as comfortable as yours. The blankets are thin and woven, though they are layered enough to be warm. The mattress and pillow are both straw - comfortable by most standards, but a poor substitute for your cotton and wool and furs and down.

You make due on Nikto’s rumbling chest (prideful that you miss what he has so diligently provided) and let yourself drift into slumber.

At midday, you wake. City merchants aren’t accustomed to your odd hours, and you don’t want anything to be out of stock - you’re not the only one that’s made the journey for winter.

Luckily, it’s an overcast day and the sun isn’t too obnoxious when you venture out. You get a sweet bun from the bakery to tide your hunger while you shop. Follow Nikto’s whispering for directions, or to pick the best items of any selection. Spoil yourself a bit on honey from abroad and a new grimoire.

Return to the inn at the brightest part of the day for a nap. Rouse again in the late afternoon for more exploring and shopping, as well as a drink at one of the alehouses.

You’ve no friends in the city - or anywhere, really, for that matter. But being surrounded by good spirits and bright noise provides an unusual source of energy. There’s a band to watch and strong drink, some gambling that you amuse yourself meddling in from afar.

There are eyes on you, but there always are in such a busy place. You tend to attract very few gazes, but the ones you do will return time and time again, musing at the lone figure by the wall. None are brave enough to approach - especially not when it grows dark enough for Nikto to reveal himself.

Even he is in unusual form, telling you stories of a bygone time. A time when perhaps he was more finite than he is now. He uses names you’ve heard before, in passing, and chuckles at exploits more mortal than he deigns to participate in now. You like to hear it, like to provide him with the excess buzzing in your veins.

When the crowd begins to thin, you take your leave. He stays at your side (always too close, nearly underfoot) all the way to the inn, and is waiting in your room when you come up with the meal. He manhandles you into his lap and feeds you with his fingers, pours water into your mouth from his.

You stave him off until your food settles, and then he’s taking you into his lap. Has you twice before you doze off. Wakes you three hours later with his tongue lapping at your swollen folds. Has you twice more before you settle in properly until dawn.

The second day passes in much the same fashion as the first. Your indulgence this time is a pretty, slender knife, a length of ribbon, and a simple burgundy frock. The combination has Nikto salivating by the time you return to your room to rest. Not that there’s much to be had with you splayed out over your new garment, his hands and mouth and cock working you over until a puddle of slick and cum forms beneath your writhing bodies.

You send him to wash the stains in annoyance, and it’s returned seemingly pristine - though he gloats that the scent of your coupling remains. At least to him.

Nasty creature.

“If I get tired, you will be carrying me,” you huff on the road home.

He nuzzles his nose into your temple, a silent assurance that you need only say the word.

Halfway there, a band of highwaymen makes the fatal mistake of trying to ambush the two of you. Aware that anyone coming from the city will be laden with coins or goods, they would be correct if you were anyone else.

You click your tongue, steps never faltering.

“Kill anyone that’s taken an innocent,” you call over your shoulder.

“Mistress,” Nikto churrs into the air, breath so cold it sinks in the chilly air.

An unnatural growl reverberates off the trees. You don’t spare a glance behind you, steps easy and light, crunching over dead leaves and dry twigs.

A hand lands on your shoulder - heavy… and then not. Heat splatters and soaks into your sleeve, dripping down towards your wrist. The severed arm falls with a wet, fleshy thump.

Always so messy.

You tilt your head, veer off the road and follow your intuition until you find a stream. Humming, you shed your clothes and saunter into the gentle current. It’s frigid, only just unfrozen. You sigh, minding your step for slippery rocks as you wade deeper. The water rises past your scratched calves, over bitten thighs, soothes your well-used cunt and the bruises on your hips. Tingles over the silvery flesh of your scarred back until it’s nearly to your breasts.

Only then does the water darken around you.

Nikto’s hand closes around your wrist, draws your arm back until he can lick away the smears of a stranger’s blood.

Feast before the season’s famine.

You moan softly at the drag of his serpentine tongue along your skin. The ball of your shoulder, the curve of your tricep and bicep. Tickling the bend of your elbow… up your forearm… and wrist. Twisting between each digit. You lean into the sturdy pillar of his body until his other arm curls around your waist. You stand with him in the water like that, cradled by shadow and bathed in moonlight.

He is never hasty, but tonight he’s unusually slow. Almost lazy.

Wait, no. Not lazy. 

Deliberate.

Each flick of his tongue, scrape of teeth, brush of lips is applied with the same care and reverence afforded to an altar.

You tilt your head to rest against his shoulder, bare your throat. Peer through lidded eyes at the thick fingers twining with yours.

It’s as if he plunged his hands into a fireplace and didn’t care to dust away the charcoal and ash afterwards. It fades at the forearm into alabaster. In the crease of his elbow, it looks like he has ink for blood. You know from experience that it tastes of almonds and tannins, heavy on the tongue like thick wine.

You let him lay you down on the bank, dry and clean. He pampers you on his cock with slow, languid rolls of his hips. Grinds deep, pulls out only halfway to massage the head into that sweet spot over and over until you’re shuddering apart with a deep, heavy moan. He finishes on your stomach and thighs, drawing symbols into your skin before rubbing it in.

“Nikto,” you croon, thumb drawing a line down the left side of his face. From forehead, over his eye, down to the corner of his mouth where there’s an unnatural split. He lets you scrape your nail against the big canine, amusing yourself on the sharper bicuspid just beside it. “My Nikto.”

He purrs into your chest, drooling down your sternum.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks.

You smile, indulgent.

“I belong to Nobody.”

There is a possibility of a second part. Maybe. If that's something people want.

[julietsbody]

romeo meets juliet — luke castellan x reader : chess can be played in many different situations. 

tags : 18+!! loser!luke (hes actually such a loser im sorry), college setting, brothers best friend!luke, mutual pining, religious imagery(?), classic literature references, body worship, smut, luke is pathetically in love 

a/n : save me nerdy boy with sad eyes save me

luke didn’t acknowledge your existence at first, he stuck to himself, from his classes, to his dorm, maybe even the lunchroom if his roomate, your brother, convinced him to come rather than just making all of his meals in the dorm. luke and your brother were complete opposites, luke was studying literature, mostly classic,  he didn’t speak to many people unless forced to— and your brother was studying engineering, which also basically required him to join a frat, and he spoke to nearly everyone with cockiness prominent in his tone. 

one thing they did have in common, though, was chess. 

now, your brother could never tell anyone, especially not his frat brothers, that he played chess, let alone was in the university’s chess club— but he felt pity for luke, most of the time luke played by himself, which was somehow equally as frustrating as having to play against someone else. 

the only people that knew about your brother playing chess was luke, the chess club, and you. 

luke remembers the first time you came trotting in to the dorm, complaining to your brother about some argument you had with your parents about how your friends are distracting you from your studies. your brother only rolls his eyes, barely listening to your non - stop whining about how it’s ridiculous, “i mean— you’re the one in a frat! why aren’t they mad at you?” 

“because i actually do my work,” he mumbles, and luke breathes out in a silent laugh, moving a piece on his chess board. 

“you’re in engineering, you don’t even have any actual work,” you frown, and albeit the fact that you’re wrong, you’re still confident in what you said. 

“are you stu— whatever,” your brother waves you off, deciding to change the subject when he motions to luke, the boy in a nirvana t-shirt, currently moving to a different side of the chess board as he plays against himself, “this is luke, my roommate, obviously.” 

luke immediately freezes, fingers curling around the chess piece he was adjusting to move— his eyes are wide, and they’re moving to look at you, only to immediately flicker to some other part of the room when they meet your expectant gaze. since he won’t speak first, you pick up the slack, “hey, luke.” 

your brother notices how luke looks like a scared, lost puppy even by the slightest implication of having to speak to a woman, let alone be perceived by one, so he moves to whisper in your ear, “he’s like, deathly afraid of women, i’ve never seen him speak to one, ever.” 

and you from that you don’t expect a response from luke, until he mumbles a short, “hi.” 

that’s when your head tilts, noticing the way his curls fall over his brows messily, like he doesn’t pay attention to styling it, or maybe it’s on purpose, maybe he pays too much attention to styling it. the way he wore something so simple, yet so telling about himself, the way he awkwardly places the chess piece back on the board on the spot he wanted to. he assumes the conversation is over, so he moves to the opposite side of the board to make a move against his own. 

“are you in the chess club?” you take a step closer, and he perks up, hand ghosting over the piece once more. 

luke doesn’t say anything, his lips twitch around words that don’t come out. your brother speaks in his place, “he’s the president, he’s a fucking grandmaster.”

luke just awkwardly laughs, moving his hand to scratch at the back of his neck, eyes moving from the board to you, then to your brother, “i’m not like— actually the president,” another awkward, short chuckle, “i just— like.. um.. play a lot, i guess.” 

“you are the president, dude,” your brother corrects, being insufferable as he always is. 

but luke puts up with it, then you ask another question, “what do you major in?” 

“literature,” luke responds for himself this time, finally able to move his hand to make a proper move on the chess board, before mumbling, “mostly classic.” 

“you’re kidding, i am too, how have i not seen you before?” 

luke’s eyes finally meet yours, now, pausing on your eyes, then resuming down the shape of your face, memorizing each feature, the curve of your lashes, the shape of your lips— he swallows thickly. 

“i just— sit in the back.. and go to my dorm— as soon as class ends,” there’s that awkward, short chuckle again. 

“have you finished the paper?” 

luke nods, and that’s when your brother finally gets a bright idea. 

“you should help her, luke, with the work.” 

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

that’s how it all started, with a simple suggestion, that’s when you came to the dorm more often, when he began to notice that you were actually in his classes, and when you realized he had an awful staring problem. he thought he was slick with it too, letting his eyes move around the room for a mere.. twenty seconds before they finally snap to you, and from there, they stay, until you finally return the gaze and he’s immediately nervously looking away. 

he hardly speaks to you, unless your brother urges him to, and he’s always avoiding looking at you when he speaks, stumbling over words, pausing in sentences to catch his losing breath. he was a complete and utter loser, terrible when it came to socializing, even worse when it’s with girls. with you, it somehow seemed to worsen. 

“am i the first girl you’ve ever talked to?” you ask once, far too blunt for your own liking, you didn’t mean to really say it, it kind of just came out when seeing how much his leg bounced under the table with nervousness, nearly sweating himself to death under your gaze. 

sweat beads down his temple when his eyes flutter up to meet yours, moving from the romeo and juliet book in his hands. isn’t it so ironic that he had just gotten done reading the scene in which romeo says, “did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! for i ne'er saw true beauty till this night,” when seeing juliet for the first time? truly, it isn’t the first time he saw you, but it’s night, and you are beautiful. truly, utterly, “beautiful.” 

“what?” 

oh, oh my god. saliva bubbles in his mouth, sour saliva, and he gulps it down, hoping it would somehow be a form of poison that would wake him from this nightmare. does he say what he meant? that he was thinking out loud? that he thinks you’re beautiful? or should he deny it? deny. he bursts into awkward laughs, “what— what do you mean— i.. i didn’t even say anything.. ha, haha.” 

“why are you acting like that?” your brows furrow. 

“like what?” 

“like you’re hiding something.” 

his breathing only shakes anymore, “i’m not hiding anything.. that’s like— a wild accusation.” 

“it’s not an accusation, i’m just saying,” you frown at him. 

his adam’s apple bobs with another swallow, “okay but like—“ 

“why are you harassing him?” your brother sighs, tired how much you press luke. 

“i’m not— whatever, i was asking you— am i the first girl you’ve ever spoken to?” 

your brother barks out a laugh, and luke’s eyes fall back down to the book in his hands. did not having proper conversations with women make him any less? romeo grabbed juliet’s hand once, and the first words he uttered to her was a promise to redeem himself if his hand was too unworthy to be touching her holy one. parallels sear in his mind, and he just mumbles a, “not really.” 

he has spoken to women before, sure, small greetings, maybe even the slightest indulgence of conversation— but luke keeps to himself, and to be honest, he was a man used to running from women, as he did from his mother. he grew up being afraid of women, well, afraid isn’t the proper word, intimidated is better, and he just decided to avoid them as much as possible. 

though, no matter how much he tries to avoid you, you’re always there, in his sight, in his mind. maybe it’s a disgrace, like romeo holding juliet’s hand, for him to even be thinking of you, looking at you— you were a goddess that offered a man on his knees the slightest bit of your grace, and now he was hooked. 

it was pathetic, really, how he anticipated every time he suspected you would be over, how his eyes always found their way to you in class, how he made sure to purposefully walk past you in the lunchroom on the days he went, which was oddly more now. 

a man who is still a virgin to adore a girl far too good for him, he is hopeless. 

“it’s okay if i am,” you adjust, okay, there might be a little hope, “anyway, how do you like romeo and juliet?” 

“it’s pretty nice—“ he notices the way your face perks up in shock, “kind of, i don’t know.” 

“i think it’s a bore, i’m sure the movie is much better.” 

“we should watch the movie— um.. together, sometime.” 

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

if luke was being completely honest with himself, he didn’t entirely mean to say it, and as soon as you left the dorm, he nearly doubled over with shock at his own words, and even more shock at the fact that you agreed. not only did you agree, you actually came, and it was just you and him. your brother was off at some frat party, again, and he had left luke completely alone with you, even when luke begged him not to. 

“you’re kidding, dude, i’m like— horrified of her,” luke frowns at your brother. 

“you need exposure therapy, or some shit, call me your therapist.” 

“you’re a shit therapist,” luke sighs, rubbing his temples. 

“and you need to grow some balls.” 

so, your brother left him, and now luke’s awkwardly standing with you at his door - step, staring at him expectantly, his lips twitch around so many possible words, possible sentences, and all that comes out is, “hey.” 

he’s been staring for you for at least a minute, and all he can say is hey. your lips curve to an amused smile, “hi, luke.” 

“um— you can come in, if you.. want, ‘course.” he moves out the way to let you in, watching you step past him so he can close the door. 

“i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t want to,” you remark as if it’s the obvious, mostly because it is. 

when romeo stood underneath juliet’s balcony, he praised how captivating she was, considers her as glorious as an angel, a winged messenger above his head. in his own words : 

“one who makes mortals fall onto their backs to gaze up in awe as the angel strides across the clouds and sails through the air.”

consider luke on his back now, staring up at the stars in your eyes, the halo that shines above your head, the wings that flap with every stride you make— a goddess, an angel, venus incarnate, right before his eyes, staring at him like he had something deeply wrong with him. wait. he blinks a few times, and his eyes refocus onto your confused face. 

“are you okay, luke?” 

he quickly clears his throat, “yeah, yeah— duh, ‘course i am, uh.. we should,” he moves to the table in which his laptop was on, “watch the movie, yeah? ‘ts on my.. laptop, if you don’t mind.” 

“i don’t, at all,” you move to sit next to him on the couch in front of the table, watching the veins in his hands pulse, palms sweaty when he moves to open his laptop, shifting a few tabs and pressing a few keys until he mumbles a small okay and presses the space button. 

moaning. that’s all you hear, the sound of skin slapping, ah ah— oh fuck mmph you’re so b— luke slams the laptop shut. 

dear god, save him now. 

he can’t even bring himself to look at you, the sweat on his palms only worsens and spreads onto the top of the laptop as he smoothes his hands across it, replaying the scene a million times in his mind. to his surprise, you giggle, “you watch porn?” 

he’s quick to awkwardly scoff out a short laugh, “yeah— i mean, everyone does.. but like.. i don’t watch it— that much.” 

your finger moves to run along the vein on his arm, feeling him shudder under your touch, yet he doesn’t want you to stop, even the slightest touch makes his dick twitch in his pants, “are you a virgin, luke?” 

he inhales sharply, “y-yeah..” 

“do you want to have sex?” you lean the tiniest bit closer. 

he pauses, “yes.. of course—“ 

“with me?” 

“yes.” he responds quick, too fucking quick, it must’ve been at most a second after you said it for him to respond. the truth stings his tongue, to finally be able to say it out loud, how much he had fantasized about you in the late of night, even sneaking off to the bathrooms so his hand can dip underneath his waistband when he thinks about the times you’ve worn a tight shirt that frames your tits far too well. 

but it was wrong, wasn’t it? you were a goddess, on a pedestal, and he was merely just a man, staring up at your statue in the hopes that you would notice him one day. forbidden, possibly, but all those thoughts leave his mind when his eyes move from the finger tracing up his bicep to your neck, then your lips, then your eyes. 

“please tell me you’ve kissed before.” 

“yeah.. yeah— i have,” a playground kiss counts, right?

it seems to when your lips fall against his own, the kiss was so gentle, until he dared to kiss you back, then it got hungry, mostly on his end. he kissed you like a starving man, nearly devouring you but at the same time, being horrified to. your tongue finds it’s way into his mouth, and to your surprise, he whimpers against your lips.

his hands are hesitant, unsure of where to go, does he touch your arm? your shoulder? your waist? he doesn’t want to push anything, so the waist seems far too much, his hands awkwardly place themselves on your arm, in a very weird position. 

“have you touched a girl before?” 

his lips are flushed from the kiss, eyes glazing over the position of his hands, and he quickly moves them off, “sorry— well, i just.. um.. didn’t want to push anything.” 

“you can,” you reassure, but his hands still hesitate, the flesh of a goddess, to be touched by someone so inexperienced. was he really worth it? any of it? to even be in your presence was a blessing, and it was still taking him forever to register the fact that you had actually kissed him, prayers passed through your lips into his. 

“are you sure?” 

“‘course i am.” 

it still took luke some getting used to, having you straddle his lap, you knew so much, it felt like more than just an honor to have you so close to him. his eyes flicked from your own to your lips, then to your tits, the low v - cut showing off your cleavage perfectly. and he looked like a complete deer in headlights, staring at the flesh pushed together between the window of clothing. you smile at his lack of self control, feeling the way his dick throbs underneath his pants, right against your ass, “you can touch them.” 

“wha— nono, ‘ts okay— i just..” he trails off, sweaty palms moving past you to slide across his knees. 

“really, luke, you can— why don’t i just..” you move to take off your shirt, his eyes immediately catching on to the lace of your bra, the way your tits are practically spilling out of it, all until you take off your bra as well and they immediately fall out. 

his hand twitches around nothing, desperately wondering what it must feel like to have your flesh underneath his palm, fingers curling around the plush of it. it seems you must’ve heard his prayers when you move to take his hands, pulling them back to press against your tits. 

soft, that’s his first thought, sweat sticks to your skin when his fingers curve around the flesh, gripping it ever so gently. praises spill from his lips almost immediately, thoughts he had since the day he saw you, finally being spoken, “y’re beautiful— fuck, i’ve always.. always wanted to— do this..” 

you smile so sweet at him, nectar nearly drips off your teeth, “can i ride you, luke?” 

his eyes finally meet yours, brows furrowing for a mere second, “huh— oh, oh.. yeah, ‘course you can.” 

you didn’t expect him to have a big, no matter how cruel that sounds, you had heard rumors of nerds with big dicks, but sought to never believe it until you saw it, and good fucking lord you saw it. as soon as his dick springs out from the pants and boxers you were tugging down, luke’s hands mindlessly moved to your waist, your eyes widen. 

no fucking way. he has to be.. six? seven inches, at least. slightly girthy too, he wasn’t all just length, and precum was beading from his red tip. he immediately inhales sharply when your fingers graze his dick, nervous under your gaze, “is it too small— i.. i’m sorry—“ 

“too small?” you scoff playfully at his scared expression, worried of what you think, “this might be the biggest dick i’ve ever seen, luke.” 

“that’s— a good thing.. right?” 

“obviously, god, it better fit,” this is the first time you’ve ever been concerned about whether or not a dick will fit, luke stiffens when you spit on your palm, pressing it to his dick and wettening it as you jerk him off, his response is immediate, carefully gripping at your skin and pressing his lips together to muffle his whimpers. 

luke had jerked of many, many times, but it never felt as good as this. 

“fuck—“ he grunts out, already far too close from just a simple hand movements. 

you immediately stop, picking up on his nearing orgasm from the way his hips kept bucking up into your hands, pathetic whines slipping past his lips, but it was just so cute. the cutest thing, though, was his face when he got the first look at your vagina, he looked like a man staring at a piece of art he had admired. and this was art, sex was, you were, everything about you, it felt so sacred. 

his lashes flutter when you take his hand, guiding it to your sopping cunt, allowing him to feel the wetness that was nearly pouring from you. like nectar from a fountain, it coated his fingertips when he touched you, his eyes focused onto your face, making sure that he was doing it right. he notices the way you gasp when his fingertips brush against your clit, so he presses against it again, and again. 

he follows everything he has seen in pornos, spreading your folds, fingers grazing past your entrance, rubbing your clit— but he’s lost when you wave him off before he can finger you to prep you for his dick, wasn’t that something people did? “but don’t you…” 

“it’ll fit,” you mumble back, relying on how wet you are to make it easier. 

he watches the way your jaw falls when you move to press his tip against your entrance, allowing the tip to push into you and it’s already too big. his eyes widen at the feeling of your walls clenching around his tip, unable to hold back the noises that slip from his own lips. 

“you’re like— the.. the girl of my dr— fuck— dreams,” luke hushed out between his mess of moans and grunts, he wondered if romeo ever felt this way when he kissed juliet for the first time, the sort of electric rush that riddled his bones, it felt unreal. you were a dream incarnate, one luke was always haunted with, the woman that would show up when his eyes would close at night, and now you were on his lap, sinking down on his dick. 

“am i? really?” you question, inhaling sharply when you finally reach the base of his cock. for some odd reason, you didn’t believe you were all he was putting you up to be, and that made him sick— how could you think of yourself as any less? you were perfect, a vision, to be fair, luke would adore you even if you were an enemy, just like romeo and juliet. 

he would stand at your balcony, stare at you from across the ballroom, kiss your knuckles, kiss you— he would do it all. he might even drink poison just to spend eternity with you. 

“yes, yes— are you.. kidding? mmph.. fuck— you’re like.. a fuckin’ goddess,” it comes out like a prayer, as if he was on his knees at your altar, kissing your legs, and whispering worshipping words. 

to nobody’s surprise, luke doesn’t last long at all when you’re bouncing on his cock, no matter how much he tried to distract himself from his throbbing cock by pawing at your tits, or moving to kiss you, his orgasm was just too close. “‘m g’na.. please.. g’na cum.. mmphh.. fuck!” 

when he does cum, you had pulled off him, jerking him off, and he’s practically writhing, a whimpering and damn near crying mess. and once he’s helped you to your orgasm as well, you’re falling into his arms, finding a safe - haven in how he smells like old books, mint, and cheap cologne. 

two star crossed lovers, one capulet, one montague. 

“these violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph die, like fire and powder. which, as they kiss, consume.” — romeo and juliet, act two, scene six.

[rethesun]

[acutecoral]

Transcript for Quackity's recent stream

[Quackity start talking around 1:03 in, but before he speaks you can hear him breathe and sniffle a little]

Quackity: Hello everyone, uh…uh, I'm just waiting for enough people to get here. This is a very important stream. So I'm just going to wait a little bit.

Quackity: Um…[sharp intake of breath] Hello! I hope everyone is having a good night. I'm doing an urgent stream. Only to keep everyone updated on everything that's happening.

Quackity: I wanna apologise for this scuffed stream. I'm not on any of my set-ups right now, I wasn't expecting to stream right now so I don't even have a camera. But I wanna to let everyone know, that I've been out and I'm catching up on a lot of matters right now…

Quackity: Including a statement, that was just now, made without my approval.

Quackity: I've been notified, about an ongoing situation regarding Quackity Studios and I want to address it. Please bear with me as I'm barely catching up on a lot of these matters.

[He sniffles again]

Quackity: One gathering is that volunteers for Quackity Studios: are not being paid and are being given too many hours of activities.

Quackity: I wanna let everyone know that I was aware of a voluntary position, and I was under the assumption that there was a process volunteers would go through, to integrate themselves to the team with a fully paying job. What I was not aware of, is to what extent and conditions were being required from the volunteers.

Quackity: And I wanna thank everyone who brought this to my attention, because it is very clear to me that I need a much deeper involvement in the administrative part of my team. Something I have not been very involved with recently.

Quackity: I'm gonna perform a deep investigation, personally, on this matter as to see exactly what's happening. But one thing is very clear to me.

Quackity: There are going to be very drastic changes in QSMP moving forward. From the administrative perspective, and from the creative perspective as well.

Quackity: My responsibility relies on knowing what is happening in the project I am running. And for not being more involved? I want to deeply apologise. This should have never happened, and I am extremely disappointed.

Quackity: From here on out, I wanna make one thing clear: Everybody involved in Quackity Studios will be paid. And if at any point my own funds are not sufficient enough to pay workers or maintain the project? Then the QSMP cannot continue and it will close down. That's how committed I am to this project.

Quackity: So I wanted to make that extremely, extremely clear as to where I stand on this.

[Quackity in the next line sounds choked up]

Quackity: And this…n-next topic is very difficult for me to process, and it's an extremely sensitive thing, and I was waiting for the correct time for me but…that can wait, no longer. And I need to let everyone know that Wilbur is no longer a part of the QSMP.

Quackity: Lastly, I wanna thank everyone for their patience. This…year…has been very turbulent…for me. And I'm going to be very open; it's been one of the saddest years of my life.

Quackity: I'm trying to move forward and give everyone the best version of myself, and I'm very, very sorry if I've disappointed you.

Quackity: But…nonetheless, I gotta keep moving forward and I'm gonna keep working hard and I'm going to do what's right. And I wanna make this very clear.

Quackity: So thank you everyone. And um, yeah, I hope everyone has a good night. Thank you.