#Pathways to Inner Calm

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HIS AWAKENING

• NATE JACOBS x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Nate Jacobs embodies the quintessential all-American quarterback—athletic, commanding, and effortlessly attractive. Beneath the surface, however, lies a man riddled with inner conflict. His outward bravado conceals a fragile core shaped by toxic societal expectations, a broken family dynamic, and a deep struggle with his own identity. Nate's carefully constructed image masks a storm of repressed emotions, his intimidating presence serving as both armor and a warning to those who might venture too close.

That is, until Y/N entered his life. Strikingly handsome and unapologetically bold, Y/N exudes a magnetic confidence that demands attention the moment he walks into a room. His blend of charisma, sass, and fearless energy challenges everything Nate thought he knew about himself—and about the walls he's built to keep others out.

WARNING! FLUFF. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing.

WORDS! 10.8k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Sorry for the delay—this is quite a long fic that I had to break into two parts. Now, I know some people feel about the immensely complicated Nate Jacobs, however, I wanted to show a different side of him and give his gay awakening.

NEXT PART! HIS AWAKENING — PART 2

The late afternoon sun bathed the campus in a golden hue, casting long, uneven shadows across the pathways. Y/N stepped out of the administrative building, a folder clutched tightly in his hands, filled with room and board information, dormitory rules, and a map of the sprawling university grounds. His mind buzzed with anticipation and a hint of nervousness as he mentally ticked off the steps to get settled. The day had been a whirlwind of check-ins and introductions, and all he wanted now was to find his dorm, unpack, and get a moment to breathe.

Lost in his thoughts, Y/N barely noticed the bustling crowd of students around him until it was too late.

Without warning, he collided with what felt like a brick wall. The impact sent his folder slipping from his grip, papers scattering onto the ground.

"I'm so sorry—" Y/N began, crouching to gather his things, but his apology was cut short by a sharp, irritated voice.

"Maybe you should watch where you're standing," the stranger snapped, his tone clipped and unforgiving.

Y/N froze mid-reach, his gaze snapping upward to meet the source of the hostility. He was greeted by the sight of a towering figure, broad-shouldered and radiating a palpable air of arrogance. The guy was wearing a football jersey, the bold number on his chest practically screaming athlete. His jaw was set, and the way he loomed over Y/N gave off a distinctly entitled vibe.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, straightening up slowly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Didn't realize this was your sidewalk, Mr. Quarterback. Want me to bow next time you grace it with your royal cleats?"

The guy's face darkened, a flicker of irritation flashing in his eyes. His jaw tightened as he took a small step forward, towering over Y/N even more. "What's your problem, man?"

"No problem," Y/N replied smoothly, his tone calm but laced with amusement. He dusted off his papers and tucked them back into the folder before glancing back up. "Just don't appreciate being plowed into like I'm part of your warm-up drills. Or is that how you flirt?"

That comment landed like a slap, throwing the quarterback off balance. His brows furrowed, and his mouth opened slightly as if to retort, but he hesitated. Finally, he muttered, "Yeah, not interested, thanks."

Y/N smirked, unbothered, his sharp eyes scanning the guy with calculated precision. There was something about his tightly wound demeanor, the tension in his shoulders, the barely contained frustration in his voice. It was fascinating in a way that made Y/N want to push a little further.

"Relax, big guy. You're not my type either," Y/N said, his smirk widening. "Too much bottled-up rage under all those muscles. But hey, therapy exists for a reason."

The quarterback growled under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. "You don't even know me," he bit out, his voice low and simmering with frustration.

Y/N shrugged, already stepping to the side as if to end the encounter. "Don't have to. You've got 'walking anger issues' written all over you." He turned back briefly to add, his tone almost lighthearted, "Oh, and next time you want to storm through a crowd, maybe pick someone who won't call you out."

The quarterback's patience snapped, his voice lowering into a growl as he took a step forward. "What makes you think I won't—?"

Y/N didn't miss a beat, spinning on his heel to face him again, his smirk sharp and dripping with confidence. "Fight me? Go ahead, QB. But fair warning—I fight dirty. And I don't lose."

For a moment, the two stood there, tension crackling between them like a live wire. The quarterback's fists remained clenched, but he didn't move. There was something flickering in his eyes—something unreadable, caught between frustration and intrigue.

Without waiting for a response, Y/N turned on his heel and walked away, his steps confident as he rejoined his waiting parents by the car.

As Y/N disappeared into the crowd, the quarterback remained rooted to the spot, watching him go. His fists slowly unclenched, but his mind raced, replaying the encounter over and over.

What Y/N didn't know, as he laughed with his parents and carried his things to the dormitory, was that the guy he had just clashed with was none other than Nate Jacobs—his soon-to-be roommate.

The dormitory hall buzzed with the energy of move-in day, a cacophony of shuffling boxes, shouted instructions, and the occasional crash of something fragile being dropped. Parents bickered over furniture placement, wide-eyed freshmen struggled to find their rooms, and the air smelled faintly of fresh paint and sweat. Y/N navigated through the chaos with a box tucked under his arm, its contents rattling with every step. His other hand gripped the edges tightly—his track gear was in there, and he wasn't about to let it spill everywhere.

When he reached the door to his room, he paused, his gaze sweeping over the space. It was compact, the two beds crammed against opposite walls, a small shared desk wedged between, and a closet barely big enough to hold his shoes, let alone his wardrobe. Functional, sure, but it was far from luxurious. Still, Y/N's mind was already buzzing with ideas for rearranging the space as he crossed the threshold and set his box down near one of the beds.

"Guess this'll have to do," he muttered to himself, surveying the drab beige walls with mild disinterest.

As he began unpacking, the sound of heavy footsteps thudding down the hallway pulled his attention. The steps grew louder, and then the door creaked open wider behind him. Y/N turned, his curiosity fading into sharp recognition when he saw who was standing there.

Nate Jacobs.

The guy from earlier—the walking brick wall in a football jersey. He stood in the doorway with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his sharp features framed by the dim light from the hallway. His hoodie hung loosely over his broad frame, but the edge of his jersey peeked out, making it impossible not to identify him as "QB." Their eyes locked, and for a moment, neither said anything.

"Oh, great," Y/N said, breaking the silence as he dropped a shirt onto his bed with an exaggerated sigh. "It's you."

Nate's brow furrowed, his face twisting in mild disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath as he stepped inside. He dropped his bag with a heavy thud onto the empty bed opposite Y/N's, rubbing the back of his neck. "Of all the people on campus..."

Y/N leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms as his lips curved into a smirk. "Didn't think the universe hated me enough to make you my roommate, but hey, here we are."

Nate shot him a look, his irritation obvious. "Trust me, I'm not thrilled either. Last thing I need is to share a room with some loudmouth track star who doesn't know when to shut up."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Loudmouth? Big talk coming from the guy who growled at me like a pissed-off grizzly bear earlier."

"You were the one running your mouth first," Nate countered, his jaw tightening as he crossed his arms.

Y/N straightened up, walking to his stack of boxes with a casual air. "Right," he said, tossing a look over his shoulder. "And you were just minding your own business, Mr. 'Maybe you should watch where you're standing.'"

Nate scoffed, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "Look, let's just get through this without killing each other, alright? I've got enough on my plate without you adding to it."

Y/N paused, one hand resting on the box he was about to open. For a moment, his smirk softened into something more contemplative. "Fine by me," he said lightly. "As long as you don't turn this place into a football locker room, we're good."

"Deal," Nate replied, though his tone carried the faintest hint of skepticism.

Satisfied, Y/N returned to his unpacking, pulling out a stack of books and arranging them on the small shelf above his desk. "You're not gonna do the whole 'alpha male' thing in here, are you?" he asked without looking up.

Nate frowned, clearly caught off guard by the question. "What the hell does that mean?"

"You know," Y/N said, waving a hand in Nate's direction without turning around. "All the posturing, random yelling, punching walls when your team loses. That sort of thing."

Nate's glare could have cut through steel. "Do I look like the kind of guy who punches walls?"

Y/N turned to face him, his gaze raking over Nate's broad frame. "Honestly? Yeah, you kinda do."

Nate opened his mouth to argue but stopped, clearly deciding it wasn't worth the effort. With a low growl, he turned back to his duffel, pulling out a stack of neatly folded shirts.

Y/N chuckled under his breath as he returned to his own unpacking. "Relax, QB," he said with a grin. "I'll stay out of your way if you stay out of mine. Fair enough?"

Nate didn't look up from his bag, but his response was low and clipped. "Fair enough."

For a while, the room was filled with the sound of zippers, rustling papers, and shuffling clothes. The tension between them hadn't disappeared, but it had simmered down enough for them to coexist—for now.

As Y/N placed a framed photo on his desk, he threw a sly glance in Nate's direction. "By the way," he added, his tone casual but teasing, "you should work on your comebacks. 'Loudmouth track star' isn't exactly cutting it."

Nate's jaw tightened again, his hands pausing mid-fold. But this time, he didn't rise to the bait.

"Welcome to the dorm, Nate," Y/N said with a grin, leaning back against his desk. "This is gonna be... fun."

Nate didn't respond, but as he turned back to his bag, the faintest twitch of a smirk crossed his lips—though it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

The sun hung high in the sky, its relentless heat radiating off the manicured grass of the university's sports complex. Sweat clung to the air, sticking to every athlete who dared brave the afternoon heat. The track team had just wrapped up their grueling practice session, their laughter and chatter filling the space near the bleachers.

Y/N stood in the center of his group, casually stretching out his legs. His running shorts were impossibly short, exposing the full expanse of his toned thighs, every muscle seemingly sculpted to perfection. A light sheen of sweat glistened on his skin, catching the sunlight as he leaned into a stretch, completely unbothered by the attention his appearance drew. Y/N was always confident, effortlessly commanding the room—or in this case, the field—without even trying.

Not far away, the football team was mid-drill, their coach barking orders as they ran through their routines. The rhythmic thuds of cleats on turf filled the air, accompanied by the occasional grunt of effort. During a water break, Jake and Ryan, two of Nate's teammates, wandered toward the sideline, their eyes drifting to the scene by the bleachers.

Jake nudged Ryan, nodding toward Y/N. "Man, look at those shorts," he said with a snicker. "I swear, are those even legal? Dude's got more leg on display than half the cheer squad."

Ryan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Right? He's just out here showing off. Like, we get it—you've got legs. Congrats or whatever."

Standing a few feet away, Nate overheard the exchange. He rolled his eyes, tossing a football absently into the air and catching it. Normally, he tuned out their locker-room banter, but today, for some reason, he couldn't resist chiming in.

"Maybe he thinks the shorts make him faster," Nate said, his tone deadpan as he spun the football in his hand. "Aerodynamics or something."

Jake laughed, emboldened by Nate's comment. "Yeah, or he just likes the attention. Look at him. Bet he spends more time flexing in the mirror than running on the track."

Unbeknownst to the trio, Y/N's sharp ears had picked up every word of their conversation. His smirk widened as he straightened up, casually brushing a hand over his shorts as he turned to face them.

"Aw," Y/N called out, his voice sweetly mocking as he strode toward them with deliberate ease. "I didn't realize the football team was so interested in my thighs. Should I start charging for the view, or are compliments enough?"

Jake and Ryan froze mid-laugh, their faces flushing with embarrassment. They exchanged panicked glances, unsure how to respond.

Jake stammered first, trying to recover. "W-We weren't—"

"Oh no, please," Y/N interrupted, holding up a hand as he stepped closer, his smirk wicked. "Don't stop. It's flattering, really. I had no idea my legs were such a hot topic. Maybe next time, though, you could focus on your drills instead of gossiping like high school mean girls."

Ryan muttered defensively, "We weren't gossiping—"

"Sure you weren't," Y/N cut in smoothly, raising an eyebrow. "By the way, if you're gonna talk about someone, maybe be a little less obvious. Your whispers are about as subtle as a marching band."

Jake opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He looked like a fish gasping for air, which only made Y/N's smirk grow.

Finally, Y/N's attention shifted to Nate, who was still standing there, the football frozen in his hand. "And you," Y/N said, his tone growing sharper as he cocked his head. "I'm surprised, QB. You had a whole two cents to throw in, but it's funny—I don't remember asking for your opinion."

Nate blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He wasn't used to being directly challenged, especially not by someone like Y/N. His faint smirk faded into a defensive glare. "I didn't say anything worse than what they said."

Y/N tilted his head, pretending to consider this. "True. But unlike them, I thought you had a spine. Guess I was wrong."

Behind Y/N, the track team, who had been watching the interaction unfold with barely contained glee, erupted into muffled laughter. Jake and Ryan didn't dare respond, their embarrassment palpable.

Satisfied with their stunned silence, Y/N tossed one last smirk over his shoulder as he sauntered back toward his team. "Don't worry, boys," he called out breezily. "Not everyone can pull off confidence and shorts. Better luck next time."

Jake muttered under his breath, "Dude's savage."

Nate didn't respond, though his grip on the football tightened. His gaze lingered on Y/N as he rejoined his group, laughing easily with his teammates as if nothing had happened.

Something about Y/N got under Nate's skin, and it wasn't just the sass. It was the sharp wit, the unapologetic confidence, and the way Y/N had absolutely no fear of putting him in his place. It irritated Nate—but it also intrigued him, in a way he couldn't quite shake.

"Jacobs!" the coach yelled, jolting Nate from his thoughts. "Back on the field!"

Nate turned sharply, tossing the football to a teammate with more force than necessary. But as he jogged back to join the drills, his mind stayed stubbornly stuck on Y/N, replaying the encounter over and over.

The silence between Y/N and Nate had become suffocating, stretching across days with no sign of breaking. The tension hung heavy in their shared dorm room, in the classrooms, even on the fields where they practiced their respective sports. Y/N had made it abundantly clear—he wasn't interested in speaking to Nate, or even acknowledging his existence.

For Nate, the lack of interaction was an unfamiliar and deeply unsettling feeling. He wasn't used to being ignored, especially not like this. It gnawed at him in ways he couldn't fully explain, like a splinter lodged too deep to reach but impossible to forget.

It started off as the first rays of dawn spilled into the room, bathing it in a warm orange glow. Nate lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind replaying their last conversation on the field. Y/N, as usual, was up early, moving quietly around the room as he pulled on a fitted t-shirt over his toned frame. His movements were precise, methodical, and entirely devoid of unnecessary noise—a courtesy Nate was beginning to resent.

As Y/N grabbed his backpack and water bottle from the desk, he glanced briefly at his phone, scrolling through notifications. He didn't so much as glance in Nate's direction.

"Morning," Nate offered, his voice low and tentative, breaking the stillness.

Y/N didn't respond. The only sound that followed was the click of the door as it shut behind him.

Nate sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. It was going to be another long day.

By the time class started, the lecture hall buzzed with muted chatter as students trickled in, taking their seats and pulling out notebooks or laptops. Nate entered behind Jake and Ryan, scanning the rows instinctively until his eyes landed on Y/N. He was seated a few rows ahead, angled slightly toward a classmate he was chatting with.

Without realizing it, Nate chose a seat a few rows back, perfectly positioned for an unobstructed view.

Y/N sat with one leg crossed over the other, his notebook balanced on his knee as he scribbled notes in the margins. Every now and then, he leaned toward the person next to him, whispering something that earned a quiet laugh. Nate couldn't hear the words, but he didn't need to. The easy smile on Y/N's face, the relaxed way he carried himself—it was a stark contrast to the cold shoulder he'd been giving Nate.

Nate's eyes lingered. The way Y/N tapped his pen against the desk, the slight furrow of his brow when he focused, the unconscious habit of brushing his fingers through his hair when he stretched—it was all maddeningly distracting.

"You okay, man?" Jake asked, nudging Nate's elbow.

"Yeah," Nate muttered, tearing his gaze away and forcing himself to focus on the professor's droning voice. But even as he tried to take notes, his eyes kept drifting back to Y/N.

As the heat of the afternoon sun bore down on the sports complex, baking the grass and filling the air with the faint scent of sweat and turf. Nate was supposed to be focused on running passing drills, but his attention kept slipping to the track just beyond the field.

Y/N was sprinting, his powerful strides eating up the distance effortlessly. His movements were fluid, almost graceful, and the way he slowed to a stop after his lap left Nate momentarily frozen.

"Jacobs!" the coach's voice barked, snapping Nate out of his thoughts.

"Focus!"

"Yeah, sorry, Coach," Nate muttered, catching the football mid-air and throwing it with a little more force than necessary.

As he jogged back into position, his eyes darted toward the track again. Y/N was standing by his team, his chest heaving as he took a long swig from his water bottle. One of his teammates said something that made him laugh—a loud, easy sound that made Nate's chest tighten.

It was infuriating how completely oblivious Y/N seemed to his presence.

By the two made into the dorm, it was quiet, the air heavy with unspoken words. Y/N entered first, tossing his bag onto his bed without so much as a glance in Nate's direction. Nate followed, shutting the door behind him with a little more force than necessary.

For a while, the only sound was the faint rustling of Y/N unpacking his gear. Nate leaned against the door, his eyes fixed on him. The silence was unbearable.

"Are you ever gonna talk to me again?" Nate asked finally, his voice cutting through the stillness like a knife.

Y/N didn't even pause. "Didn't think there was anything left to say."

Nate's jaw tightened. "You're really this pissed about what I said on the field?"

Y/N snapped his head up, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Pissed? No, Nate. I'm disappointed. I thought you were at least capable of being decent, but clearly, I overestimated you."

Nate frowned, stepping closer. "I was joking!"

Y/N shook his head, his voice calm but biting. "Oh, I got the joke. It's just not funny coming from someone who doesn't know the first thing about respect."

Nate opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself. Y/N had already turned away, pulling a fresh shirt from his drawer and pointedly ignoring him.

A knock on the door broke the tension. Y/N walked past Nate to open it, revealing one of their neighbors leaning casually against the frame.

"Hey, you two coming to the frat party tonight?" the guy asked.

Y/N glanced over his shoulder at Nate, his tone dismissive. "I'll be there," he said. "Can't say about him."

Nate bristled. "I'm coming too," he said firmly, stepping forward.

Y/N raised an eyebrow but didn't respond. Instead, he turned back to the neighbor with a small smirk. "Guess we'll see you there."

The door closed, leaving them alone again. Y/N grabbed his things and left without another word, the silence in the room now suffocating. Nate stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door, wrestling with his frustration—and something far more complicated that he couldn't quite name.

The bass reverberated through the cramped frat house, shaking the walls and drowning out any chance of meaningful conversation. The air was thick with the mingling scents of cheap beer, sweat, and an overzealous amount of cologne. Multicolored lights pulsed in time with the music, casting flickering shadows over the packed rooms. People were crammed into every corner, laughing, drinking, and dancing, their movements chaotic but full of life.

In the middle of it all, Y/N commanded the makeshift dance floor in the living room. He wore a cropped black graphic tee emblazoned with a bold design, the hem cutting off just enough to reveal his toned stomach. His low-waist black jeans hugged his hips perfectly, emphasizing his every movement. The outfit, combined with his easy confidence, made it impossible not to watch him.

Y/N moved like the music was a part of him, his arms swaying above his head, his hips rolling effortlessly in time with the beat. His friends surrounded him, hyping him up with loud cheers and playful shouts as he spun and struck teasing poses. A playful grin danced on his lips as he leaned into the energy, the kind of carefree charisma that lit up the entire room.

Across the space, Nate stood with a group of his football teammates near the beer pong table. A red Solo cup dangled from his hand, barely touched, as his gaze kept drifting toward the dance floor. Specifically, toward Y/N.

"What's got you so distracted, man?" Jake nudged Nate's arm, his voice cutting through the din.

"Nothing," Nate muttered, his tone clipped, though his eyes remained locked on Y/N.

Jake smirked but didn't press.

The situation shifted suddenly when a tall guy with dyed hair and a silver chain stepped confidently into Y/N's circle. The stranger's movements were smooth, his intentions clear as he joined Y/N in the rhythm of the music. He leaned closer, his hand brushing Y/N's hip as their steps aligned.

Nate's grip on his cup tightened, the cheap plastic creaking under the pressure.

Jake, noticing, glanced toward the dance floor. "Looks like your roommate's got himself an admirer," he said with a teasing grin.

Nate didn't respond, but his jaw clenched as he watched the stranger say something to Y/N, earning a laugh. Y/N threw his head back, his carefree laugh cutting through the music as he spun into the guy's arms. Their faces were close now—too close.

An unfamiliar irritation churned in Nate's chest, sharp and insistent. It wasn't jealousy. It couldn't be. He didn't even like Y/N like that. So why did seeing him with someone else feel like a punch to the gut?

"You good, man?" Jake asked again, his tone more curious now.

"I'm fine," Nate said shortly, his voice harsh as he tore his gaze away. He tipped his cup back and took a long swig, trying to focus on anything else.

But his resolve faltered almost immediately. His eyes found their way back to the dance floor, where Y/N now had his hands in the air, his body leaning into the guy's. Their movements were perfectly synced, like they'd been dancing together for years. The crowd around them seemed to blur, leaving only the two of them in Nate's focus.

"What's your problem with him, anyway?" Ryan chimed in, noticing Nate's growing tension. "You've been weird about Y/N since day one."

"I don't have a problem," Nate snapped, the words coming out sharper than intended.

Jake raised an eyebrow. "Right. And the way you're glaring at that guy right now is totally normal."

Nate scowled, his knuckles whitening around his cup. "I'm not glaring."

"Sure," Ryan said with a smirk. "Whatever you say, QB."

Nate ignored them, his attention snapping back to Y/N just as he threw his arms around the stranger's neck, laughing again. The easy intimacy of it—the way Y/N could just be himself, confident and unbothered—grated on Nate's nerves.

It wasn't just the dance. It was the way someone else was getting Y/N's attention, his laughter, his energy. It was the way Nate couldn't seem to draw that out of him anymore, no matter how hard he tried.

Before he could stop himself, Nate muttered under his breath, "What's so great about that guy, anyway?"

Jake burst out laughing. "Oh, this is gold. Jacobs is jealous."

"Shut up," Nate growled, shoving Jake lightly, though his flushed face betrayed him.

Jake kept laughing, but Nate didn't care. His focus was entirely on Y/N, who seemed to sense Nate's eyes on him. Y/N glanced up, his gaze locking with Nate's for the briefest moment.

Y/N's expression was unreadable, but the smirk that tugged at his lips wasn't. It was sly, teasing, and far too knowing, as if Y/N could see right through him.

Nate's stomach twisted.

Y/N turned back to his dance partner, but not before throwing Nate a look that seemed to say, I see you watching.

Scowling, Nate tipped his cup back again, downing the rest of his drink in one go. He tried for the rest of the night to focus on his teammates, on the beer pong game, on anything other than Y/N. But no matter what he did, his thoughts kept circling back to him.

And that damn smirk.

Soon the party had shifted into its final stages, the once-deafening music now muted, replaced by the hum of lingering conversations and occasional bursts of laughter. The crowd had thinned, but pockets of energy still buzzed throughout the house. In the corner near the door, Y/N leaned heavily against the wall, his cheeks flushed, his eyes slightly glassy from one too many drinks. Despite his clear intoxication, he retained that magnetic, carefree air, laughing easily at something the guy next to him said.

The guy—a tall, confident-looking student with a cocky smirk—leaned in close, his lips brushing against Y/N's ear as he whispered something that made Y/N giggle. Y/N swayed slightly, his balance unsteady, and the guy placed an arm around his waist, guiding him with ease. Y/N leaned into the touch, his body language loose and trusting as the guy began steering him toward the front door.

From a few feet away, Nate watched the scene unfold, his grip tightening on the edge of his Solo cup. For the past ten minutes, he had been quietly observing, his irritation building with every second. Jake and Ryan stood nearby, but their banter barely registered as Nate's attention remained fixed on Y/N.

When he saw the guy's arm slide more firmly around Y/N's waist, something inside Nate snapped.

"Where are you going?" Nate's voice cut through the air as he stepped forward, his tone sharp and commanding.

Both Y/N and the guy turned to face him, the sudden interruption catching them off guard. Y/N blinked, momentarily confused, before a lazy smirk spread across his face. "Hey, QB. Didn't know you cared," he drawled, his words slurred just enough to betray how drunk he was. He leaned more heavily against the guy, his body swaying slightly.

Nate ignored Y/N's teasing and turned his full attention to the other guy, his piercing gaze hard and unwavering. "You can leave," Nate said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "He's not going anywhere with you."

The guy frowned, holding up his hands defensively. "What's your problem, man? We're just leaving. It's not a big deal."

"It is if he's drunk," Nate snapped back, stepping closer. His voice was low and edged with a quiet intensity that made the guy falter. "Find someone else to bother."

Y/N chuckled, clearly amused by the exchange. "Relax, Nate," he said, his voice thick with amusement and alcohol. "I can handle myself. Not my first rodeo."

"You're wasted," Nate retorted, his eyes narrowing as he reached out and gently but firmly pulled Y/N away from the guy's hold. His hand rested on Y/N's arm, steadying him as Y/N stumbled slightly. "You don't even know this dude."

Y/N looked up at Nate, his expression shifting to one of annoyance and mild curiosity. "Wow," he said, his tone biting. "Since when are you my babysitter?"

"I'm not," Nate shot back through gritted teeth. "But I'm also not letting you do something stupid."

The guy, clearly irritated now, stepped forward. "Look, man, it's none of your business—"

"It is now," Nate interrupted, his voice dangerously low. His glare alone was enough to make the guy hesitate. "Go."

The guy looked between Nate and Y/N, his frustration evident, before scoffing and throwing up his hands. "Whatever, dude. Your problem now." He turned on his heel and disappeared back into the thinning crowd.

Y/N pulled his arm free from Nate's grip, his movements unsteady but deliberate as he glared at him. "Seriously, what is your deal?" he demanded. "I was having fun."

"You call that fun?" Nate shot back, crossing his arms. "Getting blackout drunk and going home with some random guy?"

Y/N smirked, but it was weaker now, less sure. "Jealous, QB?" he teased, though his voice lacked its usual bite.

Nate's jaw tightened, his gaze darting away for a moment as he struggled to find the right words. "No," he said finally, though even to himself, it sounded unconvincing. "I just don't want to deal with you getting into trouble and me having to explain it to the RA."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, leaning closer as his smirk returned, sharper this time. "Right. Totally about the RA," he said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity, "and not because you can't stand seeing me with someone else."

Nate's eyes snapped back to Y/N's, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, neither of them said anything, the silence stretching between them thick with tension.

"You're drunk," Nate said finally, his voice softer now, almost reluctant. "Let's just get you back to the dorm."

Y/N sighed heavily, leaning back against the wall. "Fine, QB," he muttered. "But only because these shoes are killing me."

Nate rolled his eyes but stepped closer, steadying Y/N with a firm hand on his shoulder. "Come on."

As they made their way out of the frat house, Y/N mumbled something incoherent about his shoes and the terrible music, his head lolling slightly against Nate's shoulder. Nate kept his grip steady, his chest tightening in a way he couldn't quite explain.

It wasn't about the RA. He knew that much.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop pretending otherwise.

The dormitory door slammed open with a loud bang, the sound echoing down the quiet hallway as Nate strode inside, his steps purposeful and heavy. Draped over his broad shoulder like an unruly sack of potatoes was Y/N, who groaned loudly, his legs kicking weakly in protest. Despite his best efforts to wriggle free, Nate held him firmly, his strength making any escape attempts laughable.

Y/N had made a valiant, if poorly coordinated, attempt to run away halfway back to the dorm, weaving unsteadily down the sidewalk in a way that had Nate's patience snapping. Without a word, Nate had hoisted him up with an ease that left no room for negotiation.

"Put me down, Nate!" Y/N shouted, his voice muffled against Nate's back as he bounced slightly with each determined step. "I don't need your help!"

"You're drunk," Nate replied flatly, his tone devoid of amusement as he kicked the dorm room door shut behind them with a sharp thud. "And you almost ran into traffic, so yeah, you kinda do."

Y/N let out an exaggerated groan, his fists weakly thudding against Nate's back in a half-hearted attempt to protest. "I hate you," he grumbled, his words slurring slightly from the alcohol still coursing through his system.

"Sure you do," Nate replied dryly, his voice tinged with sarcasm as he moved across the room. Despite his curt tone, he lowered Y/N onto his bed with far more care than he wanted to admit, making sure the other boy landed softly.

Y/N sat up almost immediately, swaying slightly as he jabbed a wobbly finger in Nate's direction. His expression was a mixture of annoyance and defiance, though his flushed cheeks and glassy eyes robbed it of any real weight. "I don't need your hero complex right now, okay? I can take care of myself."

Nate crossed his arms, his broad frame looming over Y/N as he raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Really? You couldn't even walk in a straight line five minutes ago."

Y/N scowled, his hands fumbling with the hem of his crop top as he attempted to smooth it out and reclaim some semblance of dignity. "Doesn't mean I needed you to carry me like I'm some damsel in distress," he shot back, his voice petulant. "I'm fine."

"Fine?" Nate repeated, his tone heavy with disbelief. He stepped closer, leaning down until they were at eye level. His piercing gaze locked onto Y/N's, refusing to let him look away. "You're a sweaty, drunk mess who tried to ditch me in the middle of the street. That's not fine, Y/N."

Y/N opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. The closeness between them was almost suffocating, the intensity in Nate's expression enough to leave him momentarily speechless.

"Exactly," Nate said after a beat, his voice softer but no less firm. "Now sit still and stop trying to act like you've got this handled."

Y/N opened his mouth, ready to fire back with another slurred but defiant retort, but before he could get a word out, Nate moved. In one swift motion, he reached forward and tugged Y/N's crop top over his head, leaving the smaller boy momentarily stunned.

"Hey!" Y/N squawked, his arms flailing wildly as he tried to grab the shirt back. His movements were clumsy and ineffective, his balance still shaky from the alcohol. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Getting you out of this," Nate replied matter-of-factly, his tone steady and unbothered. He held the damp, sweat-soaked crop top between two fingers as if it were offensive before tossing it unceremoniously onto the floor. "You're gonna feel like crap in the morning if you stay in it."

For a moment, Y/N could only blink at him, his brain scrambling to process what had just happened. He crossed his arms over his now-bare chest, his cheeks flushing a deep pink—not entirely from the alcohol. "You could've asked, you know," he muttered, his tone more flustered than annoyed.

Nate smirked faintly, crossing the room to rummage through Y/N's drawer. "Yeah, because you totally would've cooperated," he shot back, pulling out an oversized t-shirt that looked soft and well-worn.

Y/N glared at him, the heat in his cheeks only intensifying as Nate approached with the clean shirt. "I could've done it myself," he muttered, but the bite in his tone was weak.

"Sure you could've," Nate replied dryly, kneeling slightly to pull the shirt over Y/N's head with surprising gentleness. His hands brushed against Y/N's skin as he adjusted the hem, the warmth of his touch sending an unexpected shiver down Y/N's spine.

Y/N froze for a split second, his heart racing inexplicably as Nate leaned back to survey his work.

"There," Nate said, straightening up. His tone was softer now, almost satisfied. "Better."

Y/N shifted on the bed, his arms dropping to his sides as he glanced down at the oversized tee now hanging loosely on his frame. He tried to ignore the way his pulse was pounding, instead narrowing his eyes at Nate in an attempt to regain some semblance of control.

"Great," he muttered sarcastically, crossing his arms again. "You've played dress-up. Now leave me alone."

But the way his voice wavered slightly at the end betrayed him, and Nate's smirk deepened just enough for Y/N to notice.

Nate ignored Y/N's protests, dropping to a crouch at the foot of the bed and reaching for his shoes. The laces were tangled, no doubt from Y/N's stumbling attempts to leave the party earlier. Nate tugged at the knots, his fingers moving with a practiced ease, his expression calm despite the grumbled complaints coming from above.

"Seriously?" Y/N said, his tone a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. He tried to sit up straighter, wobbling slightly as he propped himself up on his elbows. "I can handle that."

"Uh-huh," Nate replied without looking up, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he slipped off one shoe, followed quickly by the other.

Y/N scowled, his brows knitting together. "I'm not completely useless, you know," he muttered.

Nate finally glanced up, his piercing eyes locking on Y/N's. "Right. Because you've been handling everything so well tonight," he quipped, his tone dry. Then, as if it were the most casual thing in the world, he added, "Do you wanna try taking your pants off yourself, or are you gonna make me do that too?"

Y/N's face turned a deep scarlet, his mouth falling open in disbelief. "Excuse me?" he sputtered, his voice pitching higher than usual.

"Relax," Nate said, rolling his eyes as he reached for Y/N's legs, pulling him closer to the edge of the bed with little effort. "It's not like that."

Y/N froze, momentarily too stunned to respond as Nate's hands moved to the waistband of his jeans. With a flick of his fingers, Nate unbuttoned them, the sound of the zipper loud in the otherwise quiet room.

Nate worked with practiced efficiency, sliding the jeans down Y/N's legs and tossing them aside in one smooth motion. Left in nothing but his snug boxer briefs, Y/N instinctively crossed his legs, his flushed cheeks now impossibly red.

"Happy now?" Y/N muttered, avoiding Nate's gaze as he tugged at the hem of the oversized shirt Nate had put on him earlier.

Nate didn't respond immediately. He stood, his full height towering over Y/N, and for a moment, his gaze lingered. It wasn't just exasperation anymore—there was something softer in his expression, something unspoken that made Y/N's heart stutter in his chest.

"There," Nate said finally, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. "You're good."

Y/N looked up at him, his lips pressing into a thin line as he tried to ignore the heat rising in his face. "You're really annoying, you know that?" he mumbled, though there was no real malice in his tone.

Nate smirked, taking a small step closer. The corner of his mouth quirked up in that infuriatingly confident way, but his voice carried a hint of warmth. "Yeah," he said, his tone low, "but you'll thank me in the morning."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, meeting Nate's gaze for the first time. "Doubt it," he shot back, his voice softer than he intended.

For a moment, the air between them shifted. The playful tension from earlier dissolved into something heavier, more charged. Nate didn't move, and neither did Y/N, their eyes locked in a silent exchange that seemed to stretch on forever.

The sound of Nate's steady breathing filled the small space between them, his presence overwhelming. Y/N could feel the heat radiating from him, his own pulse racing as he fought to keep his expression neutral.

Nate leaned forward slightly, his smirk softening into something more tentative, more vulnerable. Y/N held his breath, his gaze flickering to Nate's lips before quickly snapping back to his eyes.

But then Nate straightened, stepping back with a barely audible sigh. "Get some sleep," he said, his voice quieter now, almost reluctant.

Y/N didn't respond, his heart still pounding as he watched Nate retreat to his side of the room. The unspoken tension hung in the air long after the moment passed, leaving Y/N staring at the ceiling and wondering why he couldn't shake the way Nate had looked at him.

The dormitory bathroom was dimly lit, its harsh fluorescent lights buzzing faintly in the stillness. The quiet was broken only by the sound of Y/N brushing his teeth, the rhythmic scrape of bristles against enamel filling the otherwise empty space. He leaned lazily against the sink, still groggy from the remnants of sleep and the unsettling memory of a strange, vivid dream he couldn't quite shake.

After rinsing his mouth, he splashed cold water on his face, hoping to clear the lingering haze in his mind. Grabbing a towel, he dabbed at his skin, his thoughts elsewhere. When he turned to leave, he froze mid-step, his breath catching in his throat.

Nate stood in the doorway, his broad figure filling the frame, one shoulder casually propped against the wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, the muscles in his forearms tense, and his expression unreadable. He didn't move, blocking the exit as his piercing eyes bore into Y/N.

"Jesus, Nate," Y/N said, his voice muffled as he tossed the towel aside onto the counter. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack? What are you doing here?"

Nate shrugged, his eyes flicking away for a brief moment before locking back onto Y/N. "Bathroom's on the way to my room," he said casually, his voice steady but lacking its usual bite. "Didn't know I needed permission to stand here."

Y/N narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the sink. "Right. Because loitering outside the bathroom at midnight is totally normal behavior."

Nate didn't reply immediately. Instead, he studied Y/N with an intensity that made the air between them feel heavier. The silence lingered too long, his gaze dipping slightly before snapping back up.

Y/N's expression shifted, his brow furrowing as he straightened slightly. The teasing edge in his voice was gone when he spoke again. "Alright, spill. Why did you really stop me from leaving with that guy at the party?"

Nate's posture stiffened, his arms dropping slightly as he stood up straighter. His jaw worked for a moment before he finally spoke. "I already told you," he said, his voice clipped. "You were drunk. You could've done something stupid."

"Uh-huh," Y/N said slowly, tilting his head as if trying to see through Nate's words. His tone was skeptical, almost mocking. "And I'm supposed to believe it had nothing to do with... jealousy?"

Nate let out a bark of laughter, but it sounded forced, too sharp to be genuine. "Jealousy?" he repeated, shaking his head. "Trust me, I wasn't jealous. You're not that special."

Y/N raised an eyebrow at that, his lips curving into a sly smirk. "Oh, really?" he said, his tone dripping with amusement. "Then why were you staring daggers at him all night?"

"I wasn't," Nate snapped, his response too quick, too defensive.

Y/N pushed off the sink, taking a step closer. The distance between them was shrinking, and with it, the tension in the room thickened. "You sure about that, QB?" Y/N asked, his voice low, teasing. "Because if I didn't know any better, I'd say you didn't like the idea of me with someone else."

Nate's jaw tightened further, his fists flexing at his sides as if he were trying to keep them still. "Don't flatter yourself," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm straight, okay? You're not my type. At all."

Y/N paused, studying him closely, his smirk fading into something softer, more curious. His eyes searched Nate's face, lingering on the tight line of his mouth and the tension in his brow. "Right," Y/N said finally, his tone quieter but no less pointed. "You're straight. That's why you've been acting weird around me since day one."

Nate stepped forward, his height casting a shadow over Y/N as he closed the remaining space between them. "I'm not acting weird," he said firmly, his voice lowering. "You're the one making this into something it's not."

Y/N didn't back down, his chin tilting slightly as he met Nate's gaze head-on. For a moment, the room felt impossibly small, the charged silence pressing in on both of them.

"Okay," Y/N said finally, his voice calm but tinged with something knowing. "If that's what you need to tell yourself." He moved past Nate, his shoulder brushing against him as he stopped at the doorway. Y/N paused, glancing over his shoulder with a faint, almost teasing smile. "But just so you know, people who are totally straight don't usually get this worked up over their 'not-my-type' roommate."

Nate didn't move, his fists clenching at his sides as he watched Y/N disappear down the hall. His chest felt tight, each breath harder to take as Y/N's words echoed in his head.

I'm straight, he told himself, gripping the edge of the counter as he turned toward the mirror.

But as he stared at his own reflection, the doubt that flickered in his eyes told a different story. For the first time, Nate wasn't sure what he believed anymore.

The countertops were cluttered with stray utensils and empty mugs, evidence of late nights and hurried mornings. The air was thick with the mingling aroma of freshly brewed coffee and whatever leftovers Nate had just pulled from the fridge.

Y/N stood by the counter, the picture of effortless ease. He leaned back casually, his mug cradled in one hand as steam curled lazily upward. His other hand drummed a slow, steady rhythm against the counter's edge, as though he had all the time in the world. His eyes flicked to Nate, who was bent over, half inside the fridge, rummaging noisily.

"Move," Nate said abruptly, his tone more gruff than polite as he turned, balancing a carton of milk and an apple in one hand. His shoulder bumped Y/N's in an impatient nudge.

Y/N, unfazed, merely smirked. He didn't shift an inch. "Say 'please,'" he drawled, his voice teasing, laced with just enough challenge to be infuriating.

Nate huffed audibly, clearly not in the mood for games. He stepped closer without hesitation, closing the already minimal gap between them. His broad chest brushed against Y/N's back as he reached over the counter to grab the half-empty box of cereal perched precariously near the edge.

The contact was brief but electric. Y/N's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly, a small hitch in his breath betraying him before he quickly smoothed over the moment with a practiced veneer of nonchalance. He tilted his head just slightly, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Careful, QB," Y/N said lightly, his tone deliberately playful. "Buy me dinner first."

Nate recoiled as if burned, retreating a step too quickly. "You're annoying," he muttered under his breath, his voice low and clipped. He kept his gaze fixed on the counter, avoiding Y/N's eyes entirely as he busied himself pouring cereal into a bowl with far more focus than the task required.

But the flush creeping up Nate's neck was impossible to miss. A faint pink dusted his cheeks, standing out against his otherwise stoic expression.

Y/N noticed, of course. He always noticed. A slow, self-satisfied grin spread across his face as he turned back to his coffee, taking a deliberate sip. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he pretended not to notice Nate's embarrassment.

The gym was quieter than usual, its usual cacophony of clanging weights and rhythmic grunts reduced to a distant hum. The faint smell of rubber mats and chalk lingered in the air, mingling with the sharper scent of sweat. Y/N lay stretched out on the bench press, his fingers curling around the cold metal bar, the plates on either side gleaming faintly under the fluorescent lights.

Nate's shadow loomed over him, breaking his focus. "Need a spot?" he asked, his tone casual but carrying a slight edge, the way it always did when he was talking to Y/N.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His lips quirked into a lazy smirk. "Didn't know you cared."

Nate crossed his arms, rolling his eyes but unable to hide the faintest hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Someone's gotta make sure you don't drop the bar on your face," he shot back, stepping closer. His hands hovered just above the bar, ready but not intrusive.

With a small huff of amusement, Y/N settled back into position and began his reps. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, muscles contracting and releasing as he powered through each press. The bar creaked faintly under the strain, but Y/N's focus didn't waver. Nate, however, wasn't as disciplined.

Despite himself, Nate's gaze kept slipping—drifting over the line of Y/N's arms, the way his biceps flexed with each upward thrust, the tautness of his shoulders under the weight. The faint sheen of sweat on Y/N's skin caught the light, highlighting the sharp lines and curves of his body. It was distracting, far more than Nate would ever admit, even to himself.

"You gonna stare all day, or are you actually spotting me?" Y/N teased, his voice breathless but carrying that familiar sharpness. He didn't even look up, but the smirk in his tone was unmistakable.

Nate jerked slightly, caught off guard. A faint flush crept up his neck, and he quickly averted his eyes, his focus snapping back to the bar. "Focus on the bar," he muttered, his voice tighter than usual.

Y/N chuckled, a low, knowing sound that Nate found both infuriating and—he'd never admit it—amusing. With a controlled motion, Y/N lowered the bar back onto the rack, the clanging sound reverberating through the gym. He sat up, rolling his shoulders and reaching for his water bottle, his grin still firmly in place.

"Whatever you say, coach," Y/N said, the words dripping with playful mockery.

Nate didn't reply right away, his jaw tightening as he busied himself adjusting a nearby weight. He could still feel the heat creeping up his face and silently cursed himself for it. Meanwhile, Y/N leaned back against the bench, casually stretching his arms overhead, his grin widening as he watched Nate's back stiffen ever so slightly. The unspoken tension between them hung in the air, heavy but electric, as Nate fought to maintain his composure.

"You done admiring me, or should I grab the dumbbells next?" Y/N quipped, breaking the silence with another laugh.

"Shut up, Y/N," Nate muttered, but his voice lacked the usual bite, and Y/N only laughed harder.

The library was nearly deserted, the silence broken only by the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of paper. Rows of bookshelves stretched out in every direction, casting long shadows across the polished wood floors. At one of the large study tables near the back, Y/N and Nate sat side by side, an unintentional arrangement born from choosing the same spot at nearly the same time. Neither had moved, both too stubborn to concede the table to the other.

Y/N was sprawled comfortably in his chair, a picture of effortless confidence. A few loose papers and an open notebook were scattered in front of him, but he wasn't exactly focused on them. Instead, he leaned forward to grab a book from the far corner of the table, the movement causing his cropped hoodie to ride up just enough to expose a strip of skin along his waist.

Nate noticed. He hadn't meant to, but his eyes flicked downward, caught for a moment too long on the sliver of skin and the faint shadow of muscle underneath. His jaw tightened as he quickly looked away, his fingers tapping out a random rhythm against the keyboard of his laptop, but it was too late.

Y/N straightened up slowly, his sharp eyes catching Nate's fleeting glance. A smirk spread across his lips, equal parts amusement and challenge. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, the motion making his shirt ride even higher.

"See something you like?" Y/N asked, his voice low and teasing, the tone carrying just enough edge to make Nate freeze.

Nate's ears turned bright red, a telltale sign he was flustered despite his attempt to maintain a neutral expression. "Your shirt's just... short," he mumbled, awkwardly gesturing toward it with one hand, his eyes resolutely fixed on the table now.

Y/N's smirk only deepened. He tilted his head, leaning slightly toward Nate as if to close the already narrow space between them. "Yeah? Guess that's why you can't stop staring." His tone was light, almost casual, but there was a deliberate weight behind his words that made Nate's discomfort palpable.

Nate cleared his throat, his fingers suddenly flying across his keyboard with an intensity that suggested he was trying to summon every ounce of focus he could muster. "Focus on your work," he muttered, his voice gruff. He didn't look up, but the slight jiggling of his leg under the table gave him away, a nervous tell he couldn't quite control.

Y/N chuckled softly, the sound barely louder than a whisper in the quiet library. "Whatever you say, Nate," he drawled, leaning back even farther in his chair, his arms still crossed. He watched Nate out of the corner of his eye, clearly enjoying the way the quarterback's posture grew more rigid with every passing second.

The door to the bathroom creaked open, and Nate stepped into the room, steam trailing after him like a veil. His hair was damp, darkened by water, and clinging messily to his forehead. A towel sat low on his hips, barely secured, revealing the sharp cut of his hip bones and the lean muscle of his torso. Droplets of water traced erratic paths down his chest and abs, glinting under the soft glow of the desk lamp in the dim dorm room.

Y/N, seated at his desk with his laptop open, barely registered the movement at first. But as Nate leaned casually against the doorframe, the sudden presence was impossible to ignore. Y/N's gaze flicked up instinctively, his eyebrows shooting upward in a mixture of surprise and exasperation.

"What?" Nate asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence, though the smirk curling at his lips betrayed him. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning more comfortably against the doorframe, the motion emphasizing the play of muscle under his skin. "Never seen someone fresh out of the shower before?"

Y/N scoffed, forcing his attention back to his screen even as his ears burned. "Boy, please. You could... put some clothes on," he said, his voice coming out more strained than he intended.

Nate didn't miss the tension. His smirk widened, and he pushed off the doorframe with deliberate slowness, walking across the room to his side. Each step seemed to echo, purposeful, and exaggerated.

"Oh, what's the matter, Y/N?" he drawled, his tone rich with teasing. "Afraid you'll see something you like?" His voice dipped just enough to make the words hang in the air, playful but laced with challenge.

Y/N didn't look up, his fingers hovering over his keyboard as if pretending to type. His shoulders were stiff, his neck tense, and his face was turning a shade of red that Nate couldn't help but notice.

"Shut up," Y/N growled, the words coming out more flustered than threatening. His eyes stayed glued to his laptop screen, though his focus was clearly elsewhere.

Nate chuckled, the sound low and satisfied, as he finally pulled open his dresser drawer. He took his time grabbing clothes, moving as if he had all the time in the world. Every so often, he threw a glance over his shoulder, catching the way Y/N's jaw tightened, the way his hands fidgeted in his lap.

Revenge had never tasted this sweet. For all the teasing Y/N had put him through, Nate was finally getting his moment, and he was enjoying it far too much.

"I'm just saying," Nate added, his voice light and casual, "if it bothers you that much, you could always move to another room."

Y/N didn't respond. His screen was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world, though the pink flush creeping down his neck gave him away.

Nate grinned to himself as he pulled a shirt over his head, the satisfaction of his victory lingering in the air like the faint mist from his shower.

However, victories can only last so long.

The music pounded through the packed frat house, the bass vibrating through the floor and reverberating in Y/N's chest. The dim, colorful lights shifted and spun, casting the room in flashes of blue and red as bodies swayed to the rhythm. Y/N was in the center of the makeshift dance floor, moving effortlessly to the beat, his hips rolling with a confidence that was impossible to ignore.

His low-waist jeans clung perfectly to his figure, dipping low enough to reveal the faintest hint of skin between the waistband and his cropped graphic tee. The shirt, short enough to tease his toned stomach, shimmered slightly under the lights. Every movement, every turn of his body, seemed to draw eyes his way.

Across from him, a frat guy stepped closer, emboldened by Y/N's easy energy. His hands inched toward Y/N's waist, a sly grin on his face as he leaned in. Y/N let it happen, his lips curling into a mischievous smile as he played along, his movements slowing to match the guy's. The moment lingered, electrified by the heat of the crowd and the pull of the music.

But from the edge of the room, Nate stood frozen, his grip on the Solo cup in his hand tightening with every second. He hadn't touched the drink in over ten minutes, his focus entirely on the scene unfolding in front of him. His jaw was set, his chest rising and falling as he fought the growing frustration gnawing at him.

When the frat guy leaned in even closer, his hand brushing against Y/N's hip, Nate's patience snapped.

He pushed through the throng of dancers, his broad shoulders cutting a path as he moved toward Y/N. Without a word, he reached out and grabbed Y/N's wrist, his grip firm but not rough.

"Hey—what the hell?" Y/N yelped, stumbling slightly as Nate yanked him away from the dance floor.

Ignoring the frat guy's startled protests and Y/N's struggles, Nate dragged him through the crowd and up the stairs. The music faded to a dull thrum as they reached the second floor, the noise from the party below muffled behind closed doors. Nate shoved open the door to an empty room, pulling Y/N inside before slamming it shut behind them.

The sudden silence was jarring, broken only by Y/N's heavy breathing as he wrenched his arm free.

"Seriously, Nate? Again?" Y/N snapped, spinning to face him. His chest was still heaving from dancing, his hair slightly damp from the heat of the room. "What is your problem?"

Nate stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, his eyes dark and unreadable as they bore into Y/N. "What the hell were you doing with that guy?" he demanded, his voice low and strained.

Y/N scoffed, throwing his hands up. "Dancing? Flirting? Having fun? You know, normal things people do at parties?"

"That guy wasn't—" Nate started, his voice rising, but Y/N cut him off.

"Oh, don't even start," Y/N said, stepping closer and jabbing a finger at Nate's chest. His voice was sharp, each word like a dagger. "Straight people don't get to interfere in their gay roommate's love life just because they're feeling territorial. You've got no right to—"

"Shut up!" Nate barked, his voice rough and cracking at the edges.

Y/N froze for a beat, his eyes narrowing. "No. You shut up, Nate," he snapped back, his tone fierce. "I don't know what's got you so wound up, but I'm not gonna let you treat me like I'm some kind of—"

"I don't know what I'm doing, alright?" Nate interrupted, his voice suddenly softer, almost desperate. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room in agitated strides. "I don't—this isn't normal for me. I've never felt like this before."

"Felt like what?" Y/N asked, his voice losing some of its bite as he crossed his arms.

"Like this!" Nate snapped, stopping abruptly to face Y/N. His eyes were raw with emotion, his composure slipping with every word. "About a guy. About you."

The confession hung in the air like a thunderclap, the weight of it pressing down on both of them. Y/N stared at Nate, his expression softening but his guard still firmly in place.

"You're kidding," Y/N said finally, his voice quieter but still edged with disbelief. "You, Mr. I'm-Straight-As-An-Arrow, have feelings for me?"

Nate exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging as he looked away. "I don't know what this is," he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. "I didn't let myself think about it."

"Think about what?" Y/N pressed, his tone gentler now, the anger replaced by curiosity.

Nate's gaze snapped back to Y/N's, and for the first time, his vulnerability was laid bare. "You," he said simply. "How you make me feel. How much it pisses me off to see you with someone else. How I can't stop thinking about you, no matter how much I try."

Y/N blinked, stunned into silence as the words sunk in. For the first time, he didn't have a quick comeback.

Before he could respond, Nate crossed the room in a single step, his hands cupping Y/N's face as he leaned in.

The kiss was hesitant at first, almost unsure, but the moment their lips met, everything else fell away. Y/N's hands instinctively found the front of Nate's hoodie, gripping the fabric as he kissed back. The hesitation dissolved into something more certain, the kiss deepening as weeks of tension and unspoken feelings spilled out between them.

It was messy and unpracticed, their movements slightly clumsy but real. When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together as they struggled to process what had just happened.

"Wow," Y/N murmured after a beat, his voice soft but tinged with amusement. "Didn't think you had it in you, QB."

Nate let out a shaky laugh, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Yeah. Me neither."

[sugarcoatedcherry]

Reach Turiya (Void state) in sleep

Words used alternatively- Pure consciousness/Turiya/Void.

Reaching the Turiya state (the "fourth state of consciousness") through sleep is a profound spiritual practice rooted in many traditions, including Vedanta and Tantra. Turiya is a state of pure awareness beyond the three conventional states of waking (jagrat), dreaming (svapna), and deep sleep (sushupti). It represents transcendence and connection to universal consciousness—the formless, eternal aspect of reality.

Turiya is the underlying state of wakefulness, dream state and deep sleep. Experienced yogis and meditators find it easy to transition from wakefulness and Turiya. For the rest of us, transitioning from the other two states is easier.

In sleep, Turiya can be accessed by cultivating awareness during the transitional states of dreaming and deep sleep phases, where ordinary consciousness is dissolved but awareness remains. Here's a detailed explanation of how to use sleep as a pathway to Turiya:

Key Concepts of Turiya and Sleep

1. Waking, Dreaming, and Deep Sleep as Portals:

In waking (jagrat), the mind is tied to the external world. In dreaming (svapna), the mind is absorbed in internal projections. In deep sleep (sushupti), the ego and mind dissolve, but there is no awareness. Turiya exists as the witness behind all these states, observing without being bound by them.

2. Sleep as a Natural Entryway:

Sleep provides a fertile ground to access Turiya because the mental activity reduces significantly, and the ego temporarily dissolves. With training, awareness can be sustained during the transitional phases and deep sleep.

3. Awareness as the Key:

The critical difference between ordinary deep sleep and reaching Turiya is awareness. Normally, in deep sleep, consciousness is inactive. To experience Turiya, one must retain awareness as they transition into and through sleep.

Steps to Reach Turiya through Sleep

1. Preparation Before Sleep:

Meditation: Before lying down, meditate to calm the mind and detach from sensory distractions. Focus on your breath or a mantra to center your awareness.

Intention Setting (Sankalpa): Set a clear intention to remain aware as you fall asleep. A simple affirmation like, "I will remain aware as I drift into sleep and beyond" can help.

Body Relaxation: Practice body awareness or progressive muscle relaxation to ease tension. This creates the foundation for effortless transition into subtle states.

2. During the Hypnagogic State (Between Waking and Sleep):

Observe the shifting mental states as you fall asleep. Be a witness to the random images, thoughts, or sensations without becoming attached to them.

Focus on a mantra, breath, or inner sound (nada). This acts as an anchor for your awareness.

Stay relaxed but vigilant, avoiding active engagement with any arising mental content. The goal is to observe without being drawn into dreams.

3. Cultivating Awareness in Dreaming:

Practice lucid dreaming techniques. By becoming aware in your dreams, you begin to dissolve the boundaries between dream consciousness and the witnessing state of Turiya.

If you become aware that you are dreaming, remind yourself that you are the witness of the dream. This awareness is a step toward accessing Turiya. Follow one of these.

4. Maintaining Awareness in Deep Sleep:

In deep sleep, there are no thoughts, forms, or perceptions—only pure stillness. To reach Turiya, the goal is to remain aware during this formless state. When people say they "woke up" in void, this is what they mean.

5. Practice Witnessing the Transitions:

Pay attention to the gap between wakefulness and sleep, between dreams and deep sleep, and between sleep and wake fullness. These gaps are portals where the ego dissolves, and pure awareness/void can be glimpsed.

Challenges and Solutions

1. Falling Asleep Completely (Losing Awareness):

Solution: Strengthen your practice of mindfulness during the day. The more aware you are in daily life, the easier it becomes to retain awareness during sleep.

2. Restlessness or Overthinking:

Solution: Practice calming pranayama (like Nadi Shodhana) before sleep to quiet the mind. Or switch between direct and indirect techniques.

3. Difficulty Transitioning into Deep Sleep Awareness:

Solution: Focus on the witnessing state during meditation daily. This helps train your mind to maintain awareness even in non-ordinary states. Or use Lucid dreaming techniques instead.

Vijñāna Bhairava Tantra is an ancient Hindu scripture that reveals 112 techniques to enter the void state. Let me know if you want a post on that.

(this is not the guide/challenge I was talking about, this is only a informational post. The other one will be out by tomorrow)

[thejournallo]

Witchy hacks: The movement of your body.

You probably heard this phrase too many times, but it is important to keep your body moving not only to increase your physical health but to improve your mental health too. But there is more. The movement that our body can make can actually release energy, and it can give us a lot of boosts in many ways.

In spirituality, movement is often seen as a way to release, channel, and harmonize energy within the body. Different spiritual traditions and practices emphasize various types of movement to achieve these goals. Here are some ways energy is believed to be released through movement in spirituality:

1. Yoga

a. Asanas (Postures)

Energy Flow: Yoga postures are designed to open energy channels (nadis) and centers (chakras) in the body. This facilitates the free flow of prana, or life force, enhancing physical and spiritual well-being.

Grounding and Balance: Specific poses help ground the practitioner and balance the flow of energy, aligning the body with the earth and promoting inner stability.

b. Pranayama (Breath Control)

Breath and Movement Coordination: Coordinating breath with movement helps regulate and release energy, purifying the body and calming the mind.

2. Tai Chi and Qigong

Chi (Qi) Flow: These ancient Chinese practices focus on slow, deliberate movements combined with deep breathing to cultivate and balance chi, the body's vital energy.

Energy Circulation: Movements are designed to enhance the circulation of chi through the meridians, or energy pathways, removing blockages and promoting overall health.

3. Dance

a. Ecstatic Dance

Expression and Release: Ecstatic dance involves spontaneous, freeform movement that allows individuals to express emotions and release pent-up energy. It’s often accompanied by rhythmic music that guides the flow of energy.

Trance States: The repetitive nature of dance can induce trance states, facilitating a deeper connection with the spiritual self and the collective energy of the group.

b. Cultural and Ritual Dance

Ceremonial Movements: Many cultures incorporate dance into spiritual rituals to honor deities, celebrate life events, and connect with ancestors. These movements are often symbolic, representing the flow of spiritual energy.

4. Martial Arts

Energy Control: Martial arts like Aikido, Kung Fu, and Capoeira involve movements that cultivate and direct internal energy. Practitioners learn to harness this energy for physical strength, mental clarity, and spiritual growth.

Mind-Body Connection: The discipline and focus required in martial arts enhance the mind-body connection, aligning physical actions with spiritual intent.

5. Breathwork and Movement

Holotropic Breathwork: This practice combines intense breathing with movement to access altered states of consciousness and release stored emotional energy.

Rebirthing: Involves rhythmic breathing and movement to release traumas and blocked energy from the body, leading to spiritual healing and transformation.

6. Shamanic Practices

Drumming and Movement: Shamanic traditions often use rhythmic drumming and dance to enter trance states, journeying into spiritual realms to retrieve knowledge and healing.

Ritual Movements: Specific movements in shamanic rituals are designed to summon, direct, and release spiritual energy for healing and transformation.

7. Meditative Movement

Walking Meditation: This practice involves slow, deliberate steps coordinated with breathing, enhancing mindfulness and the flow of spiritual energy.

Dynamic Meditation: Developed by Osho, this form combines vigorous movement, including shaking and dancing, with periods of stillness to release suppressed emotions and awaken spiritual energy.

Summary

In spirituality, movement is a powerful tool for releasing, channeling, and harmonizing energy. Practices like yoga, tai chi, dance, martial arts, breathwork, and shamanic rituals use specific movements to enhance the flow of spiritual energy, promote healing, and achieve higher states of consciousness. These practices underscore the profound connection between physical movement and spiritual well-being.

[rin-and-jade]

Guide on Amnesia [Fixes and Solutions]

To check what types of amnesia are there, click on this post prior reading! This is a compact, straightforward post to keep amnesia at bay.

General amnesia

Caused by: major disruption such as a concussion or huge shock/realization How it works: disorganizes or disrupts neuron firings as a whole, causing past and present memories to fleet away temporarily Solution: bring yourself back to a regulated state, things like grounding techniques, vagus nerve stimulation, do calming activities, or go to somewhere safe and quiet to recollect oneself

Localized amnesia

Caused by: psychological defenses, or disruption within a specific region How it works: Same as general amnesia, though more region-based Solution: focus on de-stressing, assure yourself it will pass and don't force on remembering. Your brain will open up the pathway when you're in a better state

Selective amnesia

Caused by: intentional selective inhibition How it works: the prefrontal cortex and limbic region actively search for highly emotional/stressful memories to repress them and create temporary stability Solution: use coping mechanisms, or create plans to avoid overwhelming feelings from disrupting your memory and thinking. The better you can handle stressful situations, the less inclined it feels about repressing memories to protect you

Emotional amnesia

Caused by: dissociation How it works: the amygdala and prefrontal cortex stops "communicating" for safety reasons , thus creating an emotional gap within a memory Solution: create a safe space to uncover how you truly feel within the memory, you were protected from overwhelming feelings through dissociation so you can still observe and understand what happened. Only until it feels safe and in a collected state, to be able to process the emotions

Continuous amnesia

Caused by: a perpetual state of anterograde amnesia How it works: stress and other disruptions causes worsened abilities to form and recall memories, whatever stress/trauma that is impeding the process will continue to cause amnesia until alleviated. The hippocampus is severely compromised due to it Solution: quickly get out of the loop by grounding, and resolve the ongoing stress or triggers that is causing dissociation and involve calming methods to regulate both your mind and body back to balance

Fragmented amnesia

Caused by: dissociation, stress, and missing sensory information (sight, hearing, tactile, etc) How it works: dissociation/disruptions and incomplete sensory input causes gaps, which then disjoints and makes it impossible to integrate a sense of time or flow. causing separate bits of short memories Solution: often needs long term investment to create higher stress resilience, better coping methods, and other solutions that doesn't need dissociation to solve. Find what you need to work on, and what best suits as solution (Like DBT, etc)

To solve amnesia barriers, see the post on splitting and fusing, which also touches the disconnection between alter's memories and feelings and how to lessen them.

For inner-communication issues, see the post here which covers everything relevant on this topic.

--

What do you guys think? Feel free to say your inputs or your own advices on how you keep your amnesia at bay!

For questions about amnesia and how to handle them with more detail, please don't be shy to contact or ask anything related about it.

- j

[cowboygenesis]

2: a sweet brew | din djarin x reader

part 2 of the "brown eyes" series: masterlist and spotify playlist. | buy me a coffee?

pairing: din djarin x reader chapter warnings: none. word count: 6.4k series summary: din settles on the distant planet of lazure prime while seeking a safe-haven for his son. unbeknownst to him, the choice leads him to unforeseen threats—and a deeper connection he never thought possible. notes: welcome to part 2! i've been having so much fun with this fic, and i hope that you stay with me for this ride... thank you so much for the love on part 1! edit: chapter 1 and 2 have been revised. enjoy!

The walk home is comfortably silent.

Your boots tap rhythmically against the stone pathway when you exit town. Momentarily, you cringe as the sound seems noisier than you'd like in the calm of the afternoon; especially when compared to the near-silent steps of the man trailing inches behind you.

He trots a few paces back, his presence palpable yet inconspicuous, and though you’re painfully curious, you don’t once muster the confidence to glance over your shoulder.

And now, you can picture him surveying the area, ever-vigilant within the safety of his armor as you lead the way in nothing but commoner clothes. When you make the mental comparison, you’re urged to turn to him and say: ‘You can relax, it’s safe here. When we arrive, I’ll cook you a hearty meal, and you’ll feel at home for a while’ — but you know it’s out of line, so instead, your eyebrows furrow.

It’s not an appropriate trail of thought to have about a stranger, yet you recognize it’s been years since you got to care for someone the way you’re afforded to now. Picturing it feels more foreign than reality suggests, and so you bite down on your lip to shake the memories away. Another time, you think.

The soft hum of the floating orb is the only thing to break your inner monologue. For that, you thank it silently. You managed to take a single good glance at it when you were handing him his purchase back at the market, and you’ve been wondering about the contents ever since.

You catch its sleek, metal exterior from the corner of your eye with a slim line running horizontally along its length, and yet again think it has to be some kind of storage unit. On the contrary, you haven’t seen him open it once, even now as five paper parcels crowd his arms.

Briefly, you imagine it to be a weapon. Maybe multiple. You wouldn't put those options beyond a bounty hunter, especially one of his stoic, careful mein.

Weapons. The kind that can hurt or kill you if placed in the right— or wrong— hands.

With that, you realize it’s a tricky game you’re playing, perhaps even dangerous— yet you’re unafraid. It’s a small town you live in and if the man were truly out to get you, word would spread fast. In fact, it’s not a scenario you’ve been bothered by at any point of your leisurely, albeit unusual, walk. You exhale sharply.

"That… floating orb you carry," you begin, but your head doesn’t turn to him. You’d need a load more confidence for that, something you can’t be afforded just yet. "What’s inside?”

The question hangs in the air, and for a brief moment, you regret asking whatsoever. Perhaps you had overstepped a boundary or poked your uncouth nose into some seriously perilous business, but before you can retract your words, his response comes.

"Something precious," he says, and the modulated voice offers no further detail to your searching mind.

You nod, yet the wonder threatens you to push on it further and ask more, ask more, ask— you don’t let it. Instead, you breathe in gradually to soothe the savage beast that is your curiosity.

You offer a small, earnest smile, hoping that even though he’s unable to see it, he might just hear it in the way you speak to him. "Must be important to carry it everywhere."

“It is,” he counters without a beat, and that’s the end of it; no further explanation, no jokes, nothing. With just two words he has deemed the conversation over, and you heed it.

You sneak a quick glance at the orb floating beside him, and the answer echoes in your mind—something precious. But what could a man like him consider precious, anyway?

But you know better than to ask. Over the course of your life, you’ve learned that some mysteries are meant to stay unsolved, and some questions are better left unanswered.

Finally, your house comes into view in the distance, just beyond a thicket: the quaint little cottage you know and adore, standing between two apple trees and greeting you silently with its familiar picket fence. Your pace quickens gradually, legs eager to reach the friendly comforts of home.

The quiet presence behind you feels heavier now, a fact you notice with the man’s footsteps becoming sparse as you approach.

You push open the gate and pause at the threshold, turning to him for the first time since leaving town. His visor turns to you, briefly reflecting the golden sunlight that seeps into your eyes. You squint and quickly glance away, blinking the sunlight from your vision. His helmet remains fixed on you, unreadable as ever, and the silence stretches just a little longer than feels comfortable to you.

“Here we are,” you finally say, your voice soft as you gesture toward the cottage behind you. The words feel a little weak, but you mean them— it’s not much, but it’s yours.

You stand at the brink of the curb, waiting for any sign of what he might be pondering. Instead, he merely steps closer, the buzz of the metal orb following him.

He halts just before the gate, his visor tilting slightly toward the house before coming back to you. For a heartbeat, you think you see something shift in his stance, some subtle change in his posture, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears.

Your heart skips a quiet beat and you inhale deeply.

Are you… are you feeling insecure? It’s not the first time you’re having guests over, yet something about this specific encounter makes you double-check your whole presence. In the heat of the moment, you choke it up to a fear of the unknown, and leave it at that.

“Come on in, then,” you continue, pushing open the fence gate. It creaks softly, reminding you that its goal has always been a bit more decorative than practical.

At some point during a hot summer’s day, you decided to adorn the wood with an assortment of painted flowers. The job was hasty and improvised, yet the final product looked good enough to snag you a few compliments from your neighbors. Of course, you doubt your new buddy even notices.

He hesitates, and you realize he’s probably waiting for you to enter first. You want to chuckle— it’s not like you’re exactly a threat to him in your current state, but he’s definitely not one to risk such a thing one way or another.

You give him a tight-lipped smile, nod, then step in. As usual, you hear his quiet footsteps trailing behind you, down the stone path and up the porch stairs. The wind chimes rustle with the wind, and you notice it’s picked up since the morning. It’d be good to get some rain today, you think, you’ve missed the way the air smells then.

“I hope you don’t mind the mess, I wasn’t expecting… guests,” you explain with a polite chuckle, tugging on the door handle and letting it swing open with your weight.

You drop the customs this time around and walk in first, breathing in the familiar scent of caf leftover from your breakfast. As you’re about to offer him some, you remember that a meal is probably in order first and foremost. Besides, considering how long you’ve had the box in your pantry, it’s probably better he avoids drinking it at all.

You give him a short glance, then point to the living room area. It’s quaint, with a soft couch, large loveseat, and a coffee table— naturally, on it sits your small audio system, transmitting a rowdy, laughter-filled conversation between two talk hosts.

“Do you know how to use a HoloWave? It’s not that fancy of a model, but the signal is good enough to reach most of the Outer Rim,” you shrug, untying your cloak and hanging it by the doorway. “Feel free to switch the channel to something you like; my Huttese is pretty rusty, anyway.”

He looks at you, and you offer him a soft smile in return before pivoting towards your stove. If you’ve learned anything about your guest, is that he’s a man of very, very few words. You trust him to occupy himself while you do your thing in the kitchen.

You roll up your sleeves and rinse your hands in the sink. The cool water feels refreshing, and you opt to splash some on your face.

In the background, you hear the sudden flicker of the Holo signal. It buzzes, breaks, and you suddenly realise the man must’ve taken you upon your offer.

You hear him skim through the channels, letting most run a few seconds before moving ahead.

A small, satisfied smile creeps onto your lips, and you take a few pots and pans from the cupboards. He hasn’t requested anything specific for the meal, and… as a matter of fact, he hasn’t requested anything at all. The lunch offer ultimately came from you, and the stranger was nice enough to go along with it.

You sigh, then open your cooler. Inside, you spot an open jar of your preserves, some paper-wrapped meat, vegetables, and a large variety of homemade sauces lining the shelves. You’ve always enjoyed cooking, but your meals tend to be simple and homely, which you deem unworthy of a brand-new guest.

You start unloading the contents of your cooler onto the counter when a steady stream of conversation from the HoloWave catches your attention. Two men chat in Basic, discussing something that momentarily piques your curiosity.

“Nevarro?” you repeat aloud, echoing the talk-show hosts’ words. You keep your back to the man behind you, who now seems engrossed in the broadcast. “That’s light-years away.”

You try to recall the rudimentary information you have on the desolate planet. It’s a hell-hole, for one. Two, it doesn’t take too kindly to regular folk. Finally, the Empire dabbles in a ton of secrecy and has long ago claimed it as its special ops base.

He remains silent as the conversation on the HoloWave continues, mentioning recent disruptions on the planet caused by a bounty hunter linked to some infamous syndicate. The details are murky and mostly alien, making you assume the channel might be covering something more specialized or regional. You wonder if your guest was seeking out this channel on purpose.

Could he be connected to this, somehow? No, no. You shake the thought away and deem it unfound paranoia. After all, there was no reason for people of his kind to visit planets like Lazure— safe-havens for peaceful folk like you to live out their lives in harmony.

Unless he had an active hit.

You never knew much about bounty-hunting guilds, as they were more a figment of folklore where you grew up. Regardless, you didn’t need a formal education on this topic to understand that people in his profession made it a point to keep quiet and subtle while on the job. But, you knew nothing of him— matter of factly, you weren’t even certain he was a bounty hunter in the first place.

“What’s your name?” you speak out, eyes widening at how stern your voice sounds after your inner musings.

You turn around, hands on the counter as you press your spine against the edge. The man looks at you with a curious tilt of his helmet and seems to study you for a moment before making any haste decisions.

You give him time— to study you, to think, to answer at his own pace. The air between you is lax, and although he’s silent, you wait patiently for a chance to listen.

“Din,” he finally sounds out, and hearing his modulated voice after such a long period of your own monologuing makes electricity shoot down your back. Is it a real name, or a clever alias to shield his real identity from a stranger? You decide to indulge the fantasy that he trusts you for now.

Din. You want to test the name on your lips, know how it sounds with your accent, your lilt, yet you abstain for now. Once he’s gone, you’ll have all the time in the world to muse over it.

You give him a curt nod before slowly turning back to your cutting board. Once you do, your lips widen into a pleased smile. Din.

Then, you give him your name. It’s quiet when it leaves your lips, yet you’re certain it reaches him even through the thrum of the talk show. Just like you, he doesn’t question it or ask for more; yet you imagine he mutters it under his breath from within the privacy of his helmet. The image, albeit fabricated, makes you warm.

You go back to focusing on your task, unwrapping the meat from its delicate parcel and chopping it at a leisurely but practiced pace. As you work, you let the talk show hosts’ voices serve as a quiet backdrop to your jumbled thoughts. Most of the terminology drifts past you as you tune in, but you listen regardless.

Once you’ve finished preparing the ingredients, you hear the channel flicker again, its signal briefly interrupted before fading back into a soft, nostalgic melody.

The instrumental starts with a quiet guitar solo that slowly transitions into a fiery soul piece. The hearty voice of your favourite singer erupts from the Holo, and the lyrics spring to your mind like a mantra. As the robust tune fills the room, you’re instantly swept up in its acquaintance.

As your fingers move deftly across the skillet, you begin to hum along with it, stirring the vegetables as they soften and caramelize.

The chorus begins, and for a moment you shift somewhere far away. The recollection is hazy at first, but soon, you remember it vividly.

Then, it all comes pouring down on you without a warning: your body stiffens as a memory dug deep in your brain begins to claw its way out of the crevices.

You see your old quarters.

Your ex-bunkmate is there, her familiar figure draped in nothing but a fluffy towel, damp strands of hair clinging to her neck as she sits cross-legged at your shared desk.

The air smells of fresh soap. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, chewing absentmindedly on the eraser end of a pencil as she puzzles over a half-finished crossword. Starlight filters through the narrow viewport, casting her in a soft, silvery glow, and in the background, that same tune plays quietly through your old HoloWave. It’s a different model, yet the music is unmistakably and painfully paralleled.

She hums, her voice breathy compared to your honeyed one now, matching the melody as it drifts through the cramped room. It’s ordinary—peaceful, even—but now, as you stand idly over your stove, it feels heavier than ever.

For a fleeting moment, you can almost hear her voice again. If you concentrate enough you know you’ll recall the way her lips would quirk up when she solved a puzzle, and the way she’d look at you afterward with a satisfied grin that made the rest of the universe disappear— if only for a second.

Your chest tightens, and the hum dies in your throat.

You’re about to excuse yourself to your bedroom when a voice sounds out from behind you.

“Hey,”

When you spin around with wide eyes, you see Din sitting at your two-seat dining table, visor pointed at you, and his body surprisingly relaxed.

“Hey,” you greet back with a nervous smile, hands shaking as they return to stirring the pan absent-mindedly. Despite your body going through a sort of shock, you feel your mind slowly withdrawing from the dark as he seems to look at you. You thank the Maker for his timing.

“How far is it to the capital from here?” he questions, voice pleasantly husky as his gloved palm smooths the surface of the table mindlessly.

You drop the chopped produce into the hot skillet with a satisfying hiss and puff your cheeks in thought. The moisture hits the surface and crackles, the sizzle filling your ears alongside the melody from the Holo. It’s a different one now, a mellow orchestral you’re unfamiliar with.

“Mon Kilim is a three-day walk from Terrine,” you explain, tilting your head to look at him once in a while. “We’re a bit unfortunate to be cut-off from the main roads, though, so you’d have to make a trek through the forest. There’s a river that takes you there if you follow it down-stream, but because the treeline is so thick, it gets real dark at night.”

As the vegetables begin to soften, you open a jar of your preserves. The lid pops off with a soft click, releasing the rich, fruity fragrance into the air. You spoon a generous portion into the skillet, the thick jam coating the ingredients and melding into the sizzling mixture. The scent is mouthwatering—sweet, savory, and just the right amount of spice.

You catch Din’s helmet tilt downwards as he seems to ponder your words. You sigh sympathetically.

“…But our head merchant, Poiko, has an old speeder at his disposal,” you elaborate, and watch Din’s visor meet you again. “He makes a trip to Mon Kilim once every moon cycle, so if you’re patient and good enough at bribery, you might be able to catch a ride with him.”

“When will he travel again?”

“Well… he’s away as we speak. Left this morning. I think he’s planning to stay overnight this time, too, so you’re out of luck. Sorry, Din.”

He stays silent for a beat. For a moment you worry you might have said something wrong.

“So it’ll be another month until he travels again?” Din asks, and you hum in acknowledgment.

You take a deep breath, savoring the rich scents. Quietly, you wonder if the stranger, still in his helmet, can smell the decadence you’re cooking up for him. Could he smell the flowers in your garden when you stood on the porch? The worn corduroy of your couch?

“And before you ask, I doubt he’ll let you borrow it. I’ve heard it cost him a small fortune, so he’s understandably a little protective,” you chuckle softly, “Plus, it’s an old Imperial model. The fuel is expensive and the spare parts are virtually unattainable, so most mechanics refuse to take care of the thing.”

You hear Din begin his retort when suddenly, you feel a tug at your skirt. You dismiss it as your imagination playing tricks on you at first, but almost on cue, the pull comes again.

You look down, and your eyes widen.

There, on your wooden parquet floor, sits a creature—light green with large, black eyes and comically big ears. It blinks up at you, cooing softly as its three-fingered hands tug at the hem of your skirt.

For a moment, it seems like both you and Din are rendered speechless at the sight. You drop the wooden spatula into the pan and instinctively crouch down to take a closer look at the strange critter.

“Hey, there,” you grin, extending a finger towards it. It looks like a youngling, but not one you’re familiar with. For a moment, you deduct it must be one of the neighborhood children, one you’ve perhaps omitted.

The child coos at you again, moving one of his grabby hands to your extended digit. His skin is velvet-like to the touch.

“Kid—” Din hisses, seemingly awoken from his shock. You catch him in your peripheral, shooting up from his chair and crouching down next to you. …Kid?

His gloved hands work quickly, grabbing the creature and placing it in his arms. Somehow, you don’t feel alarmed. The man’s hold is benevolent from what you can tell, cradling the little one’s body with an apt softness you wouldn’t expect from someone like him.

“Is he…” you begin, suddenly noting the proximity between you and the armored man. The green creature squirms in his hold, looking up at him with what you can only describe as mischief. “Is he yours?”

Din’s visor levels with you, and you can’t help but squint. You’ve never been closer, and somehow you hope to catch a glimpse of whatever is underneath that Maker-forsaken helmet.

There’s a moment where everything around you goes silent. Something in the air around you becomes apparent, and you can’t quite place it, but it hums underneath the surface, electric and taut.

“Yes,” he replies quietly, “he’s mine.”

You can’t help but connect the dots. Big eyes, green skin… is that what Din looks like underneath all that metal? Where would his ears even go in that helmet?

A chuckle rips from your throat at the image, and you aimlessly try to mask it with your palm over your lips.

His helmet tilts in question, and you shake your head dismissively.

“I’m sorry, I just thought of something,” you explain through your giggling fit, inhaling deeply to recall your calm mein. “He’s adorable. Snuck up on me without any noise, but I guess he learned from the best, so it’s no surprise.”

Din ponders your comment for a moment, looking down at his child. The little one is glancing at the counter now, reaching his hands towards what you assume he wants— the dinner you’ve been preparing. You mentally browse your cupboards, thinking whether you still have those child-friendly plastic utensils your friend left over years back.

You glance over at the little baby again, giving him a warm smile. So kriffin’ cute. “What’s his name?”

As usual, Din fills the air between you with silence before he speaks. You imagine that every time he does that, it’s because of caution. You know what it’s like, yet it still fascinates you.

“Grogu,” the man finally speaks, placing the kid on the floor again. He looks at his father in question. “He was orphaned before I took him in.”

Ah, an adoptive son. Your theory was wrong, after all.

“Grogu,” you repeat with a smile, and the child turns to you with a squeak. You can’t help but laugh at the reaction, and that seems to urge him to waddle towards you.

His movements are confident, yet the sack wrapping his body seems to restrict his movements enough to make it a hassle. Your hands reach out, and you’re ready to crouch down and embrace him when Din’s hands wrap around him again, pulling him back into his arms much to Grogu’s dismay.

Your grin drops to a lingering smile as you watch Din stand up, his kid tucked firmly under his elbow. “Alright, that’s enough.”

You follow suit, standing up with a soft sigh before returning to the stove. You bring the meat-filled chopping board to the pan and tilt it, letting the juicy pieces fall into the vegetable medley.

As you stir again, you catch Din walking towards the mysterious orb he had left in the living room. From afar, you watch him tap something on his gauntlet, the metal whooshing open seconds later. He mutters something to Grogu, placing the boy in— what you now know to be— a cradle.

“Is he ever a handful?” you tease with a warm chuckle as Din returns to the dining table. He sits back in the same chair, letting Grogu hover beside him in the now-open cradle. You watch the child gaze curiously around the room, his wide eyes drinking in every detail.

"Sometimes," he admits, voice low and quiet.

"You seem to handle him well," you say, glancing over your shoulder. Grogu has his eyes locked on you now, and when he catches your gaze, his little hands reach toward you again, a gurgling coo escaping his mouth.

You smile. If it wasn’t for Din watching over you, you’d probably be acting on your surge of cuteness-aggression at this very moment.

Din shifts slightly, his posture stiff. "He’s… special," he says finally. "Unpredictable."

You raise an eyebrow, sensing his apprehension to answer. But again, you don’t press.

"Oh, yeah?" you murmur, eyes softening as you look at Grogu. He’s settled down now, content to sit in his cradle, his big, soulful eyes still trained on you. You can’t imagine him to be a troublemaker, but again, you’ve never taken care of children of your own. Life simply had different plans for you, and you never thought yourself a family gal, anyway.

You turn your attention back to the meal, and when you taste-test a chunk of cooked meat, you finally deem the feast ready to serve.

"All done. I’m sorry it’s a little plain, I didn’t have much to work with, unfortunately," You stir the pot again, "It’s a quick twist on Karkan ribene, if you’re familiar. This was a hit with my friends back when I—" You stop yourself, realizing you’re teetering on private memories. "Back in the day," you finish with a small, tight smile. You’re a little disappointed, letting something so private come close to slipping out.

No curiousity bubbles up from his lips, and you appreciate it silently. He’s giving you the same respect you give him.

Din nods, and you start preparing the table. You set down three glasses and two sets of cutlery— one plastic, bright blue, and adorned with yellow stars— a fact you hope Grogu is old enough to appreciate.

“How old is he?” you suddenly question, withdrawing a half-full pitcher of sweet brew from your fridge. Finally, you place two bowls down, omitting your own. The breakfast has been keeping your belly full.

He tilts his helmet to you. “I don’t know. A friend of mine speculates he could be around fifty.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Fifty?” You repeat, filling each glass with the golden-brown drink. “Fascinating.”

Din nods at your comment as you raise the pan from your stove. With the spatula, you fill each bowl to the brim and murmur in satisfaction when you realize you’ll even have some leftovers for yourself.

You watch as Grogu attempts the first bite, his small hand knocking the spoon against the bowl with a soft clink.

“Is he older than you?” you question with a hint of mischief, putting the pan back on the stove and taking a seat in the chair opposite from Din. Your hands wrap around the textured glass, and you take a sip.

He tilts his head slightly, the movement almost hesitant— but your smile stays steady, warm, and inviting, and after a brief pause, he finally speaks.

“Slightly,” he admits, his voice carrying a note of amusement you hadn’t expected.

You blink, letting the information settle in, and your curiosity emerges anew.

“Really?” you say, leaning forward just a little, unable to hide the intrigue in your voice. You feel comfortable enough to toy with the idea of teasing him but finally decide against it.

Instead, you let a soft chuckle slip. “Well, he’s doing pretty well for a fifty-year-old,” you joke, glancing over at Grogu as he slurps happily at his bowl of stew.

The kid looks up at you, eyes blinking. His chubby hands fumble with the spoon, barely managing to get a bite into his mouth, but you find his spirit more than makes up for his lack of coordination.

“You think so?” Din questions, and you struggle to peg the question as serious or otherwise. Still, you let yourself chuckle again.

“Of course,” you nod, eyeing the little creature, “Quite a lifespan he must have. He’s… he’s a baby, right?”

I mean, it’d be awkward to find out he’s actually a grown man after you had given him that cute, star-speckled set of cutlery.

“He’s still a child, yes,” the man nods, joining you in watching over Grogu as he eats. “His species can live up to a millenium.”

Your jaw drops. Millenium? Surely, you’ve misheard.

“Millenium? Like, a-thousand-years-millenium?” you question, looking to Din with a shocked grin.

You hear a muffled sound coming from his helmet. Now that you think about it, it does obscure his communication just a tad. You don’t mind.

“Yes, one thousand years,” he affirms, tilting his head when Grogu coos at a piece of meat. “His species is rare, so there’s little else I know about his life cycle.”

You nod, taking a sip of your sweet tea. It’s pretty incredible, you’ve met plenty of alien species in your life, yet none of them quite as mysterious as little Grogu.

“Must be a big responsibility, taking care of such a rare baby,” you joke half-heartedly, looking over to Din with a grin. He’s still looking at his child, fist rapping at the edge of the table.

He shifts in his seat, and though he remains still, you sense something stir behind the visor.

“He’s worth it,” he says, breaking the silence with his resolute tone. It sends a jolt down your spine.

You meet his gaze—or at least, the blank stare of his helmet—and something unspoken passes between you. There’s more to this, you know it, but such is the case in every story. Even your own.

For a moment, you let the air between you settle. The cool breeze sends your thin curtains flying, the scent of your meal lingering warmly in the space between you.

After a few more bites, you break the quiet again, this time with a gentler tone. “How long has it been since you took him in?”

Din nods, though you imagine there’s much more he could say if he wanted to. “A while,” he affirms.

You nod, and the weight of his words tells you he probably lost count of the days. If anything, you wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t count the days at all, as you couldn’t really imagine him crossing squares off a calendar, or worse, writing down important dates for him and his son. 21st, Grogu’s birthday. 3rd, secure bounty. Your lips curve at the fantasy.

Din’s visor turns toward you, and you wonder, for just a moment, what expression might be hidden beneath. Maybe there’s a trace of a smile on his face, one that mirrors yours.

“He seems happy,” you hum earnestly.

You feel a breeze stir behind your window, picking up speed and swirling the trees nearby.

“I try,” Din says simply, and the words, yet again, hang in the air as you both watch Grogu slurp down the last of his stew.

The quiet moment lingers, and you glance over at Din’s own untouched portion. The bowl is still steaming gently, so you look back up at him with a quirked eyebrow. “Are you not hungry?”

He shifts in his chair slightly, glancing down at the hefty portion. For a split second, you hope it’s to his liking.

“I… can’t,” Din replies quietly, his voice tinged with apprehension.

Your curious eyes connect with his visor, and he takes a moment to collect himself before granting you an explanation— one he doesn’t owe you at all, you realize.

“My religion demands I keep my face hidden from any living, breathing thing,” he trails, taking a brief glance at his child. The boy plays with his utensils, clicking and clacking them together and glancing up at his dad as if looking for a hint of approval. “…Except him.”

“I understand,” you nod, giving him a reassuring smile. You’ve never heard of such a doctrine in your life, yet the universe holds many secrets, religions, and philosophies. It’d be unwise of you to denounce something you don’t understand in its full capacity.

“I appreciate the meal, but I can’t eat with you.”

“Din,” you finally speak his name out loud, and it feels so natural rolling off your tongue. His helmet seems to fix on yours again, more attentive than ever. You repeat your question, this time with a gentle insistence. ”Aren’t you hungry?”

He sighs through the modulator, a sharp, metallic wheeze. “I’ll eat on the ship.”

But the answer doesn’t satisfy you.

Without another word, you rise from your chair. The old wood creaks softly beneath you as you grab your half-finished glass of sweet brew and look at him with a warm smile. You need not look at his face to know he’s puzzled.

“I’ll wait in the garden. You can close the windows, shut the blinds… even lock the door, if you like,” you trail, approaching the doorway and sliding into your woven slippers. “And if you’re comfortable, take your helmet off. Eat your fill, have a drink— take a break, if only for a little while.”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence that befalls you after your suggestion drops. His gaze is still on you, watching, scanning, considering.

And finally, when you catch his nod, you smile.

Your eyes gleam when they catch Grogu’s, his hands extending towards you in… curiosity? Farewell?

From a distance, you glimpse his little face splotched in bits of sauce.

“Bye, baby!” you chuckle, raising a hand to wave at the child. Your gaze moves to Din, and the smile on your face softens. “Take your time. I’ll be out front.”

He nods again, watching as you open the front door with a gentle creak. Your stares linger on each other, and you’re almost compelled to stay… nope. Nothing good ever came from overeagerness.

With one last look at the pair, you step into the outside world. The air hits your face, reddening your cheeks and mussing your hair.

You take a deep breath, letting the floral fragrance settle around you as you walk down the porch steps. Turning right towards the apple tree, you spot the wooden swinging bench beneath its canopy.

A patterned, purple blanket covers its length, and you grab it unceremoniously with your free hand. With a sigh you settle onto the bench, feeling it rock gently with your weight.

You drape the blanket over your shoulders and shimmy around. The warmth of the fabric is a satisfying embrace, and you take a few sips of your cool, sweet brew to even out your body’s temperature.

Your eyes wander over the garden, taking in the verdant greenery. To your delight, the coreberries you planted last season are pushing through the soil, tiny, unripe fruits just beginning to show. The fruit is tart on its own, but perhaps sweetens through maceration— it’s something you have never tried, but make sure to take a mental note for later.

Inside, you hear the subtle rustle of Din closing the blinds, and you smile when you realize he leaves the window open; perhaps it’s just to let in the fresh, afternoon air, yet your mind likes to conjure another reality, one that makes your heart and body warm.

You sip your brew again, savoring its sweetness. The garden lights begin to cast a gentle, ambient glow as twilight slowly approaches. The soft rustling of the wind chimes mingles with the distant hum of insects, creating a soothing soundtrack that harmonizes with your mood.

You lean back on the bench, gazing up at the sky as it shifts from golden to hues of pink and purple— an ordinary end to a most peculiar day.

The glass in your hand is empty now, condensation beading along its rim. You’re just starting to lose yourself to the soft sounds of the evening when the door to your house creaks open again.

From the corner of your eye, you catch the soft hum of the hovering metal sphere as it emerges. Grogu, nestled safely inside, peeks out at the world with half-lidded eyes, his tiny hands resting on the edges of the crib as though the meal had lulled him into a food-induced stupor.

Moments later, Din steps through the doorway, his armored form unmistakable. You tilt your head slightly, the bench swinging gently as a small, contented smile tugs at your lips.

Din spots you immediately, and surely enough, his helmet is right where it belongs; perched comfortably on his shoulders. Briefly, you feel a pang of dismay at the fact.

“We’re leaving,” he declares, walking down the porch steps and approaching you. He keeps a distance, but even from your position, you can tell his posture seems lax compared to when he first stepped into your home.

“Okay,” you reply, your voice steady though your heart tightens a little at the words.

There’s a beat of silence as Din nods. His visor remains fixed on you, lingering for longer than usual, and you realize your eyes are locked on it as well. Embarrassed, you clear your throat, glancing away briefly to collect yourself. The last thing you want is for this moment to end so soon.

“I’ll make sure to prepare this little guy’s favorite next time around,” you chuckle lightly, your gaze drifting to Grogu, his eyes drooping.

“I don’t think he’s got a favorite,” Din says, his voice carrying an unusual softness. If you didn’t know any better, you might think he was at ease. “He’s like a womp rat—eats anything that moves.”

You gasp in mock horror, looking at Grogu with raised eyebrows. “A womp rat? The audacity!”

And then, you hear it. Laughter.

It’s brief, and could probably be written off as a trick of the mind, but you swear by your intuition. Soft, rolling laughter, rich and dark like caf, but oh, so sweet.

“Thanks for the meal,” he nods, breaking you out of your haze. You look up at him hurriedly, yelping when the glass in your hand almost slips away.

You’re stupefied. The sound rings throughout your hazed mind, the soft baritone making you exhale sharply— a reaction you’re terrified to overanalyze.

He offers one final nod, and despite your heart’s silent prayer, this time he doesn’t linger.

His steps are purposeful as he turns toward the picket fence, long shadow stretching across the yard as the brightest hours of day ebb into the evening. The familiar creak of the gate reaches your ears as he leaves, the sound echoing through the now-quiet pocket of the planet.

As the soft breeze beckons a melody of the wind chimes, you exhale.

The last thing you catch before he disappears behind the thicket is the wide-open, curious gaze of the little green child staring right into your very soul.

—

Dusk slips over the sky, painting it in fading hues of gold and violet, and with a quiet sigh, you finally muster the energy to return inside.

As you step out of your slippers, your eyes fall on the dining table, dimly illuminated by the soft glow of the fading day. Two bowls rest upon it—one messier than the other, but both empty.

The quiet of the night surrounds you as you sit at the table alone, and with every bite you take of your own meal, a gentle smile finds its way onto your lips.

For tonight, this is enough.

[grimoirey]

🔮 Color in the Tarot 🔮

Red

Passion, courage, action, desire, and life force.

Characters dressed in red often represent energy and assertiveness, like the Magician. Red can also indicate challenges that require strength, as seen in the red sky of the Ten of Swords.

Examples:

The Magician: Wears a red robe, symbolizing willpower and creative drive.

The Lovers: The angel’s red wings represent passion and the life force guiding the union.

The Emperor: Sits on a red throne, indicating authority and control.

Eight of Wands: The red sky reflects energy and swift action.

Orange

Energy, enthusiasm, creativity, and transformation.

In the Strength card, the orange background suggests a creative force and life energy. Orange also appears in the clothing of characters, connecting them to vitality, ambition, and the balance between instincts and higher consciousness.

Examples:

Strength: The orange background signifies vitality, creative power, and gentle courage.

The Sun: The orange banner held by the child represents joy, energy, and life force.

Eight of Pentacles: The orange clothing shows enthusiasm for one’s craft.

Three of Wands: The orange landscape represents anticipation of growth.

Yellow

Optimism, enlightenment, intellect, and joy.

The yellow sky in the Sun card reflects positivity and clarity. Yellow also appears in characters like the Fool and the Magician, representing potential and enlightenment.

Examples:

The Sun: The bright yellow sun in this card symbolizes joy and clarity.

The Fool: Yellow background conveys optimism and enlightenment on his journey.

The Magician: Yellow background emphasizes clarity and the spark of creation.

Page of Pentacles: Yellow field suggests excitement for new beginnings.

Green

Growth, fertility, nature, and healing.

Green landscapes or clothing, like in the Empress, symbolize abundance and growth. Green connects cards to the natural world and suggests fertility and healing.

Examples:

The Empress: Sits in a green field, representing fertility, nurturing, and abundance.

Knight of Pentacles: The green landscape reflects growth and stability.

Two of Pentacles: Green background hints at flexibility needed for balanced growth.

Four of Wands: Greenery around indicates celebration and flourishing community.

Blue

Calm, intuition, truth, and the subconscious.

The High Priestess’s blue robe represents spiritual insight and calm intuition, while blue skies or backgrounds offer a sense of calm and openness.

Examples:

The High Priestess: Her blue robe reflects intuition and divine wisdom.

Temperance: The angel wears blue, symbolizing harmony and balance.

The Chariot: Blue tunic represents emotional stability guiding the journey.

Six of Swords: Blue water symbolizes an emotional journey toward peace.

Grayish Blue

Introspection, doubt, contemplation.

Grayish-blue is found in the sky of cards like the Four of Swords, representing introspection, solitude, or recovery. It conveys a contemplative or restful mood, balancing between blue’s calmness and gray’s neutrality.

Examples:

Four of Swords: Grayish blue setting represents solitude, rest, and introspection.

Eight of Cups: The grayish-blue background conveys resignation and moving on.

The Moon: The pathway and mountains have gray-blue tones, reflecting mystery.

Five of Cups: The sky is grayish-blue, showing the emotional tone of loss.

Indigo (Dark Purple)

Deep spiritual insight, psychic ability, inner wisdom.

Seen in elements like the High Priestess’s robe, indigo connects the character to deep intuition and esoteric knowledge, enhancing the mystery and spiritual wisdom within certain cards.

Examples:

The High Priestess: Her indigo robe represents her connection to spiritual mysteries.

The Hierophant: Wears deep purple, symbolizing spiritual authority and wisdom.

Justice: The purple robe conveys her wisdom in judging fairly and impartially.

King of Cups: His robe is dark purple, showing wisdom in compassion and empathy.

Purple

Wisdom, spirituality, power, and divine connection.

The Hierophant often wears purple, symbolizing spiritual authority. Purple in a card indicates deep spiritual awareness or power.

Examples:

The Hierophant: Wears purple to indicate spiritual authority.

Justice: Wears purple, symbolizing fairness and insight.

The Empress: The purple robe shows her powerful connection to earthly and spiritual realms.

King of Cups: Purple clothing reflects his compassion and emotional wisdom.

Pink

Love, compassion, kindness, and gentleness.

Although not as common, subtle pink hues can appear in the sunrise or flowers (like those in the Ten of Cups) and suggest harmony, unconditional love, and emotional warmth.

Examples:

The Ten of Cups: Pinkish sky reflects family love and happiness.

The Lovers: Subtle pink in the background evokes unconditional love.

Two of Cups: Pinkish hues symbolize the beginning of a heartfelt connection.

The Empress: Pink flowers enhance her nurturing and loving nature.

Brown

Earthiness, grounding, practical concerns, stability.

Seen in earthy scenes or clothing, like the brown soil in the Suit of Pentacles, brown connects cards to the physical world and practical matters. It often represents the grounding force of nature and tangible, reliable outcomes.

Examples:

Knight of Pentacles: Brown ground and horse signify grounded and practical action.

The Hanged Man: Brown tree shows his connection to the physical world.

Four of Pentacles: Brown elements symbolize focus on material stability.

Ten of Wands: Brown earth underfoot represents work and responsibilities.

White

Purity, truth, spiritual insight, innocence.

Often seen in robes or skies, white suggests purity of intention, spiritual connection, or clarity. For example, the Fool wears a white tunic, indicating innocence and potential.

Examples:

The Fool: Wears a white tunic, indicating innocence and openness.

The High Priestess: Sits between white pillars, showing clarity in spiritual knowledge.

The Ace of Cups: The white dove symbolizes divine love and purity.

Death: The horse Death rides is white, representing purity in transformation.

Gray

Neutrality, stability, transition.

Gray skies or backgrounds, like in the Tower card, represent moments of upheaval where clarity is yet to come. It’s often seen in cards that show indecision or transformation.

Examples:

The Tower: Gray clouds represent transition and instability.

Eight of Cups: The figure walks into gray, showing resignation in moving on.

Four of Swords: Gray chapel interior suggests contemplation.

The Moon: The gray path reflects uncertainty and mystery.

Black

Mystery, endings, transformation, the unknown.

Black backgrounds or elements, as in the Death card, don’t necessarily signify something negative; rather, they indicate transformation or the unseen.

Examples:

Death: Black armor and flag signify the mystery of transformation.

The Hermit: Black cloak shows his connection to inner wisdom and solitude.

Nine of Swords: Black background conveys anxiety and darker emotions.

The Devil: Black background represents the shadow self and material entrapment.

Silver

Moon energy, intuition, reflection.

Silver isn’t as prominent in RWS but can be inferred in some moonlit scenes and water reflections. It suggests the reflective, intuitive qualities of lunar energy and enhances the feminine or receptive aspects of certain cards.

Examples:

The Moon: Hints of silver in the moonlight reflect mystery and intuition.

The High Priestess: Implied silver elements suggest intuition and inner wisdom.

Ace of Cups: The reflective silver waters represent emotional depth and divine love.

Queen of Swords: Silver-gray clouds reflect clarity and intuition guiding judgment.

Gold

Divine wisdom, abundance, wealth, enlightenment.

Gold appears in the halos of cards like the Hierophant and the Temperance angel, symbolizing spiritual illumination. Golden objects, like the pentacles in the Suit of Pentacles, represent material and spiritual wealth, success, and abundance.

Examples:

The Hierophant: Holds a golden staff, representing spiritual wisdom.

Nine of Pentacles: The coins represent material success.

Ace of Pentacles: Golden coin shows material and spiritual prosperity.

Temperance: Golden path in the background signifies enlightenment.

[thelittlesupernova]

Fluorite, the stone of intuition

💜 Fluorite is a colorful mineral composed of calcium fluoride. It is known for its wide range of colors, including purple, green, blue, yellow, and even colorless varieties, due to impurities and radiation exposure. Fluorite often forms cubic or octahedral crystals, making it popular among mineral collectors. This mineral has significant industrial uses, such as in the production of hydrofluoric acid and as a flux in steelmaking. Fluorite's optical properties, including fluorescence under ultraviolet light, make it valuable in lenses and microscopes. Its name is derived from the Latin word fluere, meaning to flow, referring to its use as a flux in metalworking.

🩵 Fluorite has a rich history dating back thousands of years. The ancient

Egyptians used fluorite to carve statues and scarabs, while the ancient Chinese carved

it into ornamental objects.

💜 Fluorite is used to help clear the mind of confusion and enhance concentration, making it popular among those who meditate or practice mindfulness. It will aid in decision making and bringing order to chaotic thoughts.

🩵 Many believe that fluorite can absorb and neutralize negative energy in the environment or from a person's aura. It is often used for spiritual detoxification and to provide a shield against psychic interference.

💜 Fluorite is known for calming anxiety and relieving stress. It is said to stabilize emotions and promote inner peace, making it a supportive stone during emotional upheaval or trauma.

🩵 Different colors of fluorite are connected with different chakras. Green fluorite is often used for the heart chakra, while purple fluorite is linked with the third eye chakra, aiding in intuition and spiritual awareness.

💜 Some practitioners use fluorite to strengthen their intuition and spiritual insight. It is believed to open pathways to higher consciousness and aid in spiritual communication.

[sleepy-space-bah]

may I get a headspace pack with rose/arcade vibes? (for the arcade part I specifically want like arcade rhythm games like the kind you would find at a place like Round1 or smth)!!✦

》 Leyla / @peach-soda-divers

In your updated request you mentioned wanting a starry night brownie, which I 100% mixed up with the chocolate chip cookie- so now you get both lol.

Rose Arcade Headspace Pack 彡

The Arcade ☆°⋆

Welcome to the arcade ৲

Flashing lights make for a room full of colour, rhythm games to play. Plushies to grab and wheels to spin, endless games to play.

The arcade is practically endless, all sorts of arcade games and anything you could think of with an emphasis on rhythm games and all the sort. there are colourful neon lights of all shades around and fun carpets galore. the two exists are the employee's only room and a large square archway.

The Connecting Theatre ☆°⋆

Welcome to the theatre ৲

Through the square archway is a room of great lengths, made with marble floors. Bright lights and concessions, hidden paths every way, a hundred different doors.

Through the arcades archway you reach the connecting theatre, a large room with many doors leading to all sort of places. some other rooms, others maybe exits, some just theatre rooms to watch movies. one however is large and made of glass, leading outside.

The Meeting Room ☆°⋆

Welcome to the meeting room ৲

Through the door labeled employees only, a room for all to meet. This place resembles a birthday party room, isn't that a treat?

Entering the arcade's employee's only room you reach the meeting room, though it appears more like a kids birthday party room. The floors have that nostalgic arcade carpeting and the tables are always packed with some sort of birthday themed treat for everyone to enjoy during their important discussions.

The Pathway ☆°⋆

Welcome to the pathway ৲

Now to make our way outside, the roses will retreat. softly you walk through this grove, a place where two worlds meet..

Out the glass door of the theatre you'll find the pathway. You'll be surrounded by roses of all kinds, flower petals falling and blowing with the breeze.

The Front Garden ☆°⋆

Welcome to the garden ৲

Past the path and hidden with care, a clever hideaway. Something feels both calm and right, as if enchanted by fae.

Hidden through the pathway is the front garden, a front room that feels like a dream. To the left is a waterfall hidden by the trees, to the right a pathway to a gate, leading to other parts of the inner world and other various front rooms for more specific quests. Benches are scattered around, statues and flowers as well.

hope this is what you wanted :p here's the playlist lol

[razzledazzledo]

HELL AIN’T A BAD PLACE TO BE - PART ONE

CultLeader!Geto x Non-Sorcerer!Reader

This is my first fic, holy smokes! It's a bit shite, but I wanted to have a crack at some writing again (with added art made by yours truly!) I've got a number of chapters in the making, and I will continue to pump out the arty farty stuff too. There will eventually be sm*t so 18+ ONLY

Word count: 2k

Contents: angst to ? ;), enemies to ? ;)), geto being an ASS, reader taking it like a CHAMP, deffo no lovin' in this one (or the next few chapters most likely), introductions to the story premise, rusty writing and art lol, may be some inconsistencies in story compared to canon timeline

Warnings: depictions of violence, s*icide and d*ath, Geto's choice of words when describing non-sorcerers (monkey)

MDNI

The trickle of blood from the gripping of your palms makes this a reality - this was not a dream, rather a nightmare that you are unfortunate enough to call reality. The flesh of your inner cheek between your teeth keeps you somewhat grounded as you observe your surroundings. Thumping rings in your ears as you stand motionless on the exterior steps of his territory.

It appears that you have arrived at the gates of Hell.

Eyes trail you, as you trail them back, head unmoving as you do so. Keep your cool. They’re watching you - the followers - and intensely at that. You're sure you heard a snicker too. Fantastic. 

You avert your eyes back to what's in front of you as you stiffly take the stairs up, ignoring the glares of others. A cobbled pathway appears that leads to his chambers, or rather, your eventual prison.

Breathe. 

It could be worse - well actually this is pretty terrible -  but reminding yourself of that may have a placebo effect, which you could use to calm yourself down right now.

You were cursed, but not in the literal sense (unfortunately.  At least that would have been a more sane reason to be here than what you’re really here for). It's a sick joke  - the first non-sorcerer to be born in your family of sorcerers, and you’re the one to appease him of all people? Yeah, this is terrible. The placebo effect isn’t working.

You have been assigned to that man for protection, so long as he receives funding from your family. It’s a liability that you are unable to use sorcery, thus to protect the family from potential dangers or threats, you stand in this disastrous position. They call it an agreement for the sake of your safety, you call it a public execution. You almost laugh out loud at the absurdity of the situation, but you hold out on losing your sanity for a while longer - clutching onto whatever shred of dignity you have left.

It's not even the fear of him that has you wavering. It's the uncertainty of what is to come, the unknown. It’s frightening to the point you have to force a cough out to gain control of the trembling. You’re having to prove yourself more than you ever have by walking into this territory and surviving. You’re used to it - being tossed aside, looked down upon. ‘No cursed energy, and you cannot even see them so what use is there for you?’ It's been a consistent reminder etched into your life. Regardless of the obvious restrictions, you continued to fight and train. But it was never enough, and it never will be. To them, and most certainly to him, you are worthless.

Breathe. 

The aroma of bamboo on the sliding door brings you back to reality as you lean on it, palm sweatily resting on the latch. This is it. You squint your eyes shut, pull the door aside, and walk inside, and you can feel it: his aura. It is suffocating, like a thick sludge clogging your airflow and poisoning you in the process. It accelerates your flight response, but you know better: running was never an option. You open your eyes and focus on the floor before tentatively bringing your head up, only to be locked in his sight. Suguru Geto, one of the most feared curse users, is standing in the same room as you.

Passing comments throughout the years provided some insight into the monster in front of you; growing up in a sorcerer household exposed you to the world of curses in a way that few others of your kind had. You knew two things for certain: his cursed technique and his unfathomable hatred for non-sorcerers. It was not unusual to hear about his crimes, which instilled fear throughout Japan. He was cold, calculated, and meticulous with his leadership. Despite this, he was strong, arguably one of the strongest, and having his insurance would ensure your family's protection  - you, however, disagree greatly to that perspective.

His gaze penetrates your soul; it's terrifying how unclear his expression is as you stare back silently. He talks after what seems like a lifetime, with a monotone and direct tone.

“I assume you’re the one that has asked for protection?” You swallow dryly, before responding.

“Not myself personally, but my family, yes.” You try to hide your disdain towards the situation, but he clocks the tension behind your words. The corner of his mouth lifts up slightly in what appears to be a smirk.

“Oh? You don't think you need protecting?” He sounds somewhat amused at your response. Great.

You pause before responding honestly “...I don’t.” The smirk from his lips widens and your stomach drops to the floor.

“How pitiful. Not only are you a mere monkey in comparison to us, but a delusional one too. You should know better coming from a family of sorcerers.” He tuts at you before shifting his stance by placing his thumb and index finger under his chin. “Tell me, why has your family come crawling to me for protection if you are so sure of yourself? Entertain me.”

You clench your fists slightly, not wavering your gaze towards him as you ignore his mocking tone. “I have my ways of fighting despite my limitations. They don’t believe me, which is why I’m here. It shouldn’t be their responsibility to protect me, I don’t want to be a burden-”

 

“And yet here you stand in my territory, abiding by your family's wishes. Delusional and spineless too? What redeeming qualities you have” he interjects sharply, huffing out a laugh before sighing “I suppose it's to be expected from your kind.” Your eye twitches in response to his comment, and he adjusts position again. He takes a seat on the tatami flooring, reclining on his side, holding his head up with one hand while pointing his finger at you with the other,  closing his eyes. He speaks almost as if he were bored:

"If you didn't want to be a burden, you should have offed yourself instead of agreeing to this, no? At the very least, you'd have done something to make the world a little better."

His statement clearly reveals the shock on your face. He's not entirely wrong; you've considered doing that more than you'd want to admit. Regardless, you maintain your composure and answer harshly, standing up to your own beliefs and shrugging off any seeds of doubt.

"I want to survive. I want to show that I am capable of holding my own in this disgusting world.”

He looks at you calmly before smiling and opening one eye, pointing to the sky. "Well, if you're so sure that's what you want to do-" His aura shifts to something more sinister "-then survive."

The clap of force against your face and the spring air rushing into your nostrils makes you aware that you've been attacked, your body thrown outdoors into the courtyard. You fall to a shaky landing, still reeling from the event. The warm trickle of blood from your nostril puts things in perspective: Geto has unleashed a cursed spirit for you to combat. That fucker - you should have known something like this would happen.

You let the blood flow down past your lips and drop off your chin while you concentrate. You quickly reach behind you for your weapon, which is securely connected to your back. A four-part staff releases with a crack, chains clattering and angled blades on the ends gleaming in the sun. You swing them about, producing momentum and, at the same time, a barrier between yourself and the invisible force as you plot your fighting strategy. At this stage, you're relying on your senses and predictions of its strikes. You don’t even know what grade this entity is.

“If you die that’s not a problem, I have my ways of finding alternative funds.” Geto casually states as he walks out of his chambers through the hole formed by the propelled attack, arms placed  in his sleeves. Some followers gather, clearly alerted by the commotion.

Now is not the time to concentrate on him, you reason as you close your eyes and focus on your senses. You sense it approaching from your right side and whip your beams towards the aura, hearing a solid smack - a decent hit. You turn about and aim for another hit with greater strength, now knowing where it is - it lands again, pushing the aura further away from yourself. If you can maintain this dynamic, you may have the advantage in the fight.

The fight continues in a similar manner, with you sensing the location of the curse and smacking it with your staff. It works initially, but after your last strike, it begins to learn your tactics and responds by redirecting your spears to the side, then landing a direct hit to the stomach, pushing you backwards once more. You stumble to the ground and wince at your injury, coughing up blood, before steadily returning to your combat posture. You slap your spears together, and they form a pole, holding it out in front of you in preparation for their next attack. Despite this, you were unprepared for what was to occur.

An abrupt shift in the fight throws you off-guard. A little girl runs into the battle towards you, completely unaware of the danger, while another girl of similar age gleefully chases her. They rapidly discover they've entered a dangerous zone and freeze behind you, but it's too late to back out. You hear the shrill cries of the followers, and you react.

The cursed spirit hits again, but this time you take a defensive stance, forcing the curse against your weapon. You're grunting from the strain of attempting to keep the spirit at away with your brute power. You shout, temporarily increasing the strength in your arms as you push the monster away from yourself and the children behind you. Once you believe there is enough distance between them and the threat, you immediately reach out to detour the girls away from the area, only to be confronted by Geto. He looms over you, standing between the children and you. He firmly grips your outstretched arm, squeezing your wrist tightly, and looks down at you with underlying rage in his cold, purple irises.

"Don't touch them" His voice is tinged with venom as he continues to look you down, feeling like prey caught in the predator's snare. You freeze in place, and then realise that the curse's aura has vanished; he must have released it. He throws your wrist to the side and turns his back on you, resting his hands on the girls' heads. The blonde girl is sniffling, and the other, brunette, is staring at you with an unreadable expression.

He speaks over your shoulder in a harsh tone, "Manami will accompany you to your chambers. Leave, now.” Before you realise, a lady appears beside you and it startles you. She holds a tablet in hand, and carries an intense blue gaze focused in your direction. She takes one look at you, noticing the twitch in her eye, before turning around and walking away. You assume to follow her, so you carefully disengage your weapon and walk (or rather limp) behind her. You look over your shoulder towards Geto as you leave the vicinity.

"Laure, take the girls to their rooms," he says unusually calmly. A male figure appears next to Geto, with blonde hair and an intense physique. He effortlessly picks up the girls and exits the area in another direction, nodding.

"Everyone else, please stay” He smiles. “It appears that some of you need a reminder on what happens when rules are broken.” You turn a bend, losing sight of the courtyard. All you hear in the coming moments is the spine-chilling screams from that direction, alongside the sensation of multiple monstrous auras, which makes your blood run cold. You turn to face Manami's back as you follow her towards your chambers, silently coming to terms with the reality that your life is in the hands of Suguru Geto from this point forth.

Breathe.

Thanks for the read guys <3 I will draw out readers weapon and some other scenes from this part alongside finishing off the second part - stay tuned and much love

[slytherin-paramour]

~Once a coward, always a coward~

Ominis Gaunt x MC *With a hint of pining Puffskein Dunkein* SLIGHT NSFW in this part!

The door slammed behind you with a reverberating clash as you stepped out onto the cobbled stones that lined the street in front of your home. You were angry. Infuriated. You stormed along the pathway, turning to move into the alley way that lead to the Leaky Cauldron on Charing Cross Road, the old brickwork of the building calming your racing heart a little as it came into view. You did so love the ancient little pub.

Stepping through the threshold, you took a sobering glance around the room at the clientele, an eclectic range of witches and wizards old and young, (mostly old, if you were being honest) gossiping amongst their groups and laughing jovially. More than once, you witnessed sprays of liquid sloshing out of silver goblets and splattering over the tables (and people). The sight caused you to chuckle, momentarily forgetting your fury. You soured once more, thinking back not fifteen minutes ago to the heated argument that you'd had with your obstinate husband.

Ominis wasn't usually the type to become angry, especially not toward you. And especially not over something as god-damned insignificant as an owl from Duncan Hobhouse.

You scoffed incredulously to yourself, pulling up your long, green skirts in order to slide comfortably into a quiet booth in the corner of the pub. Resting your chin in the palm of your hand, your eyes scanned around the stuffy room again. The fingers on your free hand tapped against the wood , betraying your inner irritation. You thought of Ominis again and to the cause of your argument with a grimace.

*Earlier that day*

He stepped through the door of your lovely London apartment that morning, after quite a gruelling night shift at the Ministry, making his way through to your earthy and open kitchen. He could smell the strong scent of fresh basil leaves, knowing that you loved to grow the little herb and dot them about the place.

You smiled as you saw him enter the room, moving into his space gently to lean up and press a soft kiss against his sparsely freckled cheek.

A sigh left his lips, and he wound his arms around your waist with a smile, resting his face into the crook of your neck and inhaled your floral scent. He pressed his lips against the pulse at your throat, and your heart rate increased rapidly.

"Rough night, my love?"

Ominis pulled his mouth away from your skin reluctantly, and you took his cool hand in yours, leading him over to sit at the little table in the corner of your kitchen. He sat down, another sigh falling from him as he ran his long fingers through his fair hair.

Ominis worked in the Muggle Laison Office, ensuring that any official business of the Wizarding World that may or may not affect the day to day life of muggles passed by smoothly and without issue. As of late, he'd reluctantly taken over a few jobs that had required him to work overnight, hence the early arrival that morning.

"You have no idea. Fenwick bloody Taylorson somehow managed to reveal something quite confidential to some lower members of the muggle parliament whilst rip-roaringly drunk on a drink that they call 'gin'. Obviously, he neglected to obliviate the muggles, and I was called in to hunt them down again and perform the task! How he's still employed in our office I shall never understand."

You squeezed his hand sympatetically, a chuckle falling from your lips as you moved to the stove, the whistling sound of the teapot that sat there drawing your attention away.

"Fenwick is a bit of a dullard, always has been. What on earth is he doing getting drunk with muggles? That's a dangerous combination right there."

You removed the teapot from the heat, hissing slightly when you accidentally brushed your thumb over the burning steel. Ominis snapped his head in your direction, sensitive hearing alerting him to the sound of your pain.

"Did you burn yourself, darling? Are you alright?"

You smiled over at the exhausted man, affection flooding through your veins at his attentiveness. You continued to pour the hot water over a tea strainer into your favourite teacups, a beautiful little set that you'd received from Poppy Sweeting as a wedding gift. They were a white china adorned with tiny little golden snidgets, swirls of green and gold leaf patterning swirling around the birds and ending at the handle.

"You worry too much, Ominis. I only grazed the pot."

The blonde wizard scoffed a little from his seat, undoing the buttons of his forest green waistcoat as you carefully placed his earl grey tea down in front of him.

"My dear, given your track record and penchant for reckless behaviour, I do believe that I am quite entitled to "worry too much" about you. Remind me again what it is that you'll be undertaking at work in the morning?"

You laughed then, not even able to counter his 'reckless' comment. Given your affinity with magical creatures during your more turbulent years at Hogwarts, you had chosen to work with the Beasts Division of the Ministry. It seemed to fit. You never had fancied working inside a stuffy office, much preferring the great outdoors, not afraid to get your hands dirty.

"We need to help our female Graphorn give birth to her calf and then introduce the father to its new baby. Come now, Ominis, that hardly counts as reckless!"

You took a sip of your tea with a sigh, relishing in the citrus tang that hit your tongue. Ominis tutted stubbornly.

"Oh yes, I'm sure that dealing with one of the Wizarding Worlds most dangerous creatures, whilst in the throws of giving birth, will be as safe as gathering some honking daffodils!"

Your face shone with amusement as you pulled out your ebony wand, flicking it to the window to open the curtains there, letting in some of the morning suns rays. The warm beams of light hit your face, and you closed your eyes, feeling quite content.

"You know that I'm always careful, darling. I know what I'm doing."

You looked to your husband again, who was now leaning back against the wall, also basking in the warmth of the sunlight. Your heart flipped a somersault. Gods, he was beautiful.

"I know that you are perfectly capable at your job, MC. However, I do sometimes wish that all you had to deal with was something as simple as a puffskein."

A light flickered in your brain at his mention of the little fluffy creatures, eyes widening a fraction. You turned to pull open one of the kitchen drawers whilst Ominis was busy taking a sip of his tea. He could hear the rustling of papers and clinking of the various bric-a-brac that were muddled together in there.

"Aha! There it is."

You pulled out a neatly folded bit of parchment and opened it up, stepping towards the table and sliding it across the wooden surface so that Ominis could read it. Ominis placed his teacup back on its saucer and picked up his wand, preparing to go over the contents of the letter.

"It's from Duncan Hobhouse! You must remember him?"

Those were the words that started it all.

You continued to speak, failing to notice the rising iritation in your husband, his wand glowing red at its tip as he ran it over the parchment with a little more force than usual.

"He's asked if I'd meet with him tonight at The Leaky Cauldon for a catch-up. He actually works at a different branch of the Beast's division in Wales, believe it or not! Though I never took him as someone who'd end up working with creatures, if I'm honest."

You finished wiping down one of your side counters as you spoke before noticing Ominis' silence. The letter wasn't particularly long, so he should have finished reading it by now.

"You declined, I presume?"

He spoke with such a tone of finality that it halted you where you stood. You looked at him incredulously, trying to understand the meaning behind his assumption. He was frowning down at the parchment, fingers gripping into it so tightly it seemed as if he were holding back from ripping it up into tiny pieces.

"I did not decline, actually. It's been a good long while since I've seen him, and we were good friends at Hogwarts."

Ominis was glaring in your direction now, seemingly just as surprised at your answer as you were of his own. He crumpled the letter up in his palm and pointed his wand at its edge, muttering incendio. The parchment lit up in flames, disintegrating into nothing.

"You're not going, MC. I shan't allow it. Why on earth would you want to acquiesce a request to spend time with Puffskein bloody Dunkein!?"

It was your turn to frown now, your eyes narrowing in ire. Firstly, it irked you to no end that Ominis presumed that he had any say over whom you could meet and speak with.

Secondly, you had always hated that god-awful nickname that poor Duncan had to endure as a student. Yes the poor lad was known to be a bit introverted and afraid to step out of his comfort zones, and perhaps his fear of Puffskeins was a little bit silly, but you found the bullying to be completely unwarranted.

This was the reason that you had agreed to assist the boy when he'd approached you in the Defence against the Dark Arts tower that day. You'd completed the task at hand (not without a few stings left over from all of the bloody Devils Snare that lined the walls in that place) and handed over the largest Tentacula leaf that you'd ever come across. Of course, you'd also advised him with a smile that he should ignore all of the idiots that made fun of him in the halls, and perhaps it wouldn't hurt for him to learn to be a little braver. He'd thanked you profusely, face noticeably a shade darker, and then ran off to Merlin knows where.

You were brought out of your memories by a short, cold laugh from Ominis.

"I wonder if he's still as much of a coward as he used to be? If there was ever a reason for you to meet up with him again, it would be to find out that bit of gossip!"

You slapped the washcloth you were holding down onto the countertop, the reverberation causing the drying dishes there to clink together loudly. The sudden noise startled Ominis into silence, a sharp tension forming in the room as you glared at your husband dangerously.

"Ominis Gaunt."

Your voice was short and dangerous. You really disliked this side of the blonde man and only used his full name when you were particularly upset with him.

"Do you honestly still hold such animosity towards a fellow that you haven't even seen in over ten years? I know that you had some sort of issue with him at school, but I would like to remind you that he was, in fact, a good friend of mine. And I shan't listen to you slander him."

You folded your arms over your chest, awaiting his response. You did hope that he would relent in his behaviour. However, the part of you that knew your stubborn husband all too well was dubious about this.

Ominis scoffed loudly, shifting in his seat. He flattened his palms against the table to push himself into a standing position. He could feel the pressure of his wedding band digging into his finger as he did so. The frown had deepened into a scowl, his gaze boring into you from across the room.

"And what exactly, pray tell, do you believe was Hobhouse's reasoning for requesting MY wife's company this evening? And do not tell me that he simply wishes to "catch up" with you, as you stated. We both know that his intentions are below the board."

As much as a small flame ignited in you at the possessive way in which Ominis proclaimed you as his, you seethed with indignation at his underlying implications and stomped over to the tall man, jabbing a finger into his well toned chest.

"Just what are you implying, darling? Come now, don't be cryptic about it. You know that I have no patience for dancing around the issue. Say what it is you mean to say, for goodness sake!"

Your finger continued to press at his front, anger still evident all across your features. Ominis couldn't see your anger, but by Merlin, he could feel it. He brought a hand up to wrap around your petite wrist that was accosting his sternum, halting its movement. He dragged your hand up to his mouth and pressed his lips against the pad of your forefinger softly. It was barely a touch, but your traitorous body shivered involuntarily.

"MC, you must know that Hobhouse fancied you back in Hogwarts?"

He ghosted his mouth over your middle finger, and you tried to remain focused on your anger.

"You're being ridiculous, Ominis. Even if that were remotely true, why would that be an issue now? Do you think I'm going to take one look at the felllow and fall madly in love with him? Merlins beard! Prepare me a thestral and carriage, we're to elope at midnight!"

Ominis' face hardened, and he gripped at your waist tightly with his free hand. Even the hypothetical talk of Dunkein laying his lecherous eyes on his wife was enough to turn him into a ball of possessive rage. He leaned down to mouth a kiss at the thin skin along your wrist, the tip of his tongue running wetly across your quickening pulse. The hand at your waist pulled at your hips until they were pressed firmly against his, where you could feel his growing desire for you, pushing against the junction of your thigh.

You swallowed deeply, trying to will away your own arousal that showed its tell-tale signs in your abdomen. There was no way you were letting him fuck his way out of your bad books.

Taking a step away from the solid press of Ominis' form, no easy task due to his vice grip, you took a sobering breath and spoke firmly up at him.

"I've already replied and accepted Duncans request, Ominis. I'm heading out to meet him this evening at around seven. I would appreciate your understanding, at the very least."

~End of PT.1~

[damnatiomemoriae4]

Heyyyyy, I'm a huge fan of your OC! How did she and Sukuna meet? What kind of powers does she have?

Thank you so much for asking!!! I am going to be a teeny bit cagey only because I have a full fic in the works and I don't want to spoil too much story wise, but!! First meet: During the Heian period, he tries to kill her (she was minding her own business, mind you lol) Abilities: She is a curse-user/sorcerer like the others. Her main ability is Cursed Speech. Her tattoos/markings are related to that, though unlike Inumaki, with a good deal of practice and conditioning she is able to speak freely. Additionally, her cursed speech is stronger/moreso tied to singing which was a hobby of hers to begin with, and she can compel people with as little as humming-- like a siren. Her overall aura is unnaturally calming and creates a sort of fabricated inner peace or forced ease in those in her vicinity. There are two main ways she tends to use her ability: Humming: humming a melody can lull a target or multiple targets into a relaxed complacent state, making them docile and obedient as they are both drawn to her and in a semi trance. In this state they're significantly less reactive and easy to manipulate or compel Speech: her cursed speech is a harsh hissing whisper sound of multiple overlapping voices and pitches speaking as one, usually a single word but can be a short string as well. It's an order or command most similar to Inumaki's show usage Additional:

-As she is the first/one of the first cursed speech users to pop up in that time period, most people are unaware of her ability and thus makes it very easy for her to catch them off guard-- this is helped by her presence being generally very soothing.

-Due to having a large pool of cursed energy at her disposal, she can also use higher cost commands with little feedback/punishment.

-Unlike Inumaki's version of cursed speech which can be blocked by shielding the ears and pathway to the brain to avoid processing his words and render the technique moot, the frequencies produced by her ability pass through bone, and that can allow an override for some commands at a slight cost to effectiveness, regardless of shielding from the target.

-she can't stand disrespect and collects tongues as a price for those who are incredibly rude. She'll make you pull it out yourself and hand it to her. Bit of a sadistic streak haha

also her name is Umi ;v; tysm again for the ask!!! 💜💜

[galasriniel817]

Tuesday Teaser

A Rookanis snippet from a long fic I've been working on for a few months. I plan to upload it to AO3 once completed.

Snippet below the break.

----------------------------------------------------------

Rook’s dry, absurd humor was a balm in and of itself. Whenever he began to tread the dark pathways in his mind, she was there with a ridiculous joke or funny observation to pull him back out. She never addressed it, and he had no idea how she knew when he began spiraling, but she was there. Rook calmed him. She never treated him differently despite his being an abomination. She never treated him differently despite his moniker as a mage-killer. She simply treated him like a man. 

That easy acceptance of his struggle, of the inner war with Spite and his newfound freedom, was a revelation in and of itself. He found himself watching her even as she watched him. While he continued flirting with Neve, it was empty and they both knew it. The way she softened around the templar—Rana—was all the evidence he needed that they were just passing time. It was easy, meaningless fun. It asked for little and required nothing. 

Even knowing that, he didn’t miss the little furrow between Rook’s brows or the way her hands tensed at their banter. She never said anything, of course. Whenever she faced them, it was with an easy smile and a lightness that was too practiced to be genuine. 

A small part of him was pleased to know she cared—that the flirtation irked her was all the evidence he needed of that. Even Spite would crow with glee whenever he saw those signs. Of course, the demon would then hound his host to “leave the other” and “talk to Rook. Make Rook laugh. Make Rook’s cheeks burn. Rookrookrookrook…” 

He did neither. 

Lucanis slowly came to expect Rook’s compassion, her awful jokes, the determination underpinning her optimism. At first he wondered if she was a fool to implicitly trust that they’d win against actual gods. The more he studied her, the more he realized it wasn’t foolishness that drove her. She bolstered them all with her unrelenting good humor. He’d noticed her go from pensive rumination to funny, supportive, and bright in a blink when one of the others approached her. He noticed the way she gathered her cheer like armor when going into their rooms and deflated upon leaving. 

It seemed that she was determined to carry all their burdens in addition to her own. 

He grimly promised to keep an eye on her lest she break.

The first crack in her facade appeared when he wandered into the library late one night (or so he assumed; the others had retired long before and the sky had darkened a bit in some imitation of nighttime), weary and in need of something engaging to read so he could remain awake. He found Rook asleep in an armchair, a book open in her lap and neck at an uncomfortable angle. Lucanis winced in sympathy at the ache she was sure to have upon waking. Several other books were stacked beside her, some with bits of paper sticking out and littered with her notes. 

Curious, he plucked a sheet of her notes from the mess and perused it. She was studying elven legends, her notes laying out what they knew and theorizing the magics intended to rend the Veil once and for all. Blood magic—brutal and far too powerful—paired with the gods’ own powers over the sun and moon and Blight was her main theory, and she had notes detailing her study of that particular art as well. He quietly chuckled at her asides (the one about a particularly nasty ritual making her “regret having eyes to read it with” was particularly amusing) before moving to tidy the clutter. 

He stacked books according to topic and slid her sheets of notes into the top book of each pile before turning to peer at the woman in question. 

What struck him first was how weary she must be to sleep so soundly in a common area. In sleep, a light frown furrowed her brow and turned down the corners of her mouth. She never allowed herself to be less than upbeat while waking—granted, some of her jokes were dry or dark, but she made it a point to project confidence and hope. Now, without the pretense, he could see the toll the war with the gods was taking on her. 

A few strands of silver ran through her mass of dark curls, something that was carefully hidden with her usual ponytail. The fingers holding the book open had scabs and red, torn skin around the nail beds. Signs of anxiety. Rook was not as assured as she tried to seem. 

Spite appeared then, cocking its head as it stared at the sleeping mage. “She dreams. Do you feel it? She fights in her sleep, worries and twists. Feels like me. Driven like you.”

“Leave her be,” Lucanis murmured, not unkindly. “We shouldn’t wake her.” 

“Won’t happen. Deep in the Fade.” He crouched down to peer at her face and Lucanis tensed. “Want to know her dreams?”

‘Yes.’

It lingered on the tip of his tongue, eager and heavy, but every instinct held him back. Don’t get too close, don’t get too attached. It was advice as old as the Crows.

Instead, he said, “That would be rude.” 

“Don’t care about rude or not rude. She dreams of blood and dark. Like Lucanis.” 

“Enough.” 

Rook stirred at his sharp hiss and they both froze until she settled once more. He hoped the hard edge to the word would suffice. Quelling Spite was something he was still learning, especially with so many new people around to interest the demon. “We don’t invade people’s dreams, especially people we like.” 

“Like Rook.”

“Si. She may choose to tell us, but we do not make the choice for her, understand?” 

“No, don’t understand. But we like her. Make her tell.”

“Her choice, Spite, not mine.” With a shake of his head, he crouched by the sleeping mage and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Rook, wake up.”

She came awake at once with a sharp breath, eyes flying open and muscles tensing under his touch. “Lucanis, what—is something wrong?” 

“No, everything is fine,” he said gently, dropping his hand like he’d been burned. His skin was too hot and too tight where he’d touched her. “You fell asleep in the library.” 

“Oh. Right.” Rook winced as she stretched her neck. “Reading esoteric, centuries-old books is officially a better sleep aid than any tea I’ve tried.” 

He huffed a laugh, unsurprised to find her using humor to distract and deflect once more. “You don’t have to pretend, you know.” 

“Pretend what?” She tugged a curl over her shoulder and began wrapping it around her fingers.

Lucanis noted the nervous tic and committed it to memory. It was part of his job, he reasoned. Knowing every tell in the people closest to him was key to living a long life as a Crow. Bellara talked faster and interrupted herself more when nervous; Neve would cross her arms and get defensive; and Harding’s cheeks and ears reddened and fists clenched when needled. Rook picked at her fingers and twisted her hair. It was simple. Calculated. Assessing. Not at all because he liked her.

That his hand still tingled where he’d touched her was harder to dismiss.

He leveled her with a look that had her deflating and didn’t say a word. 

“I know, being little miss sunshine is a load of shit,” she grumbled, gaze darting away from him and shoulders rounding. “But I have to. If I have any doubts, show any fear, it will infect the team. I can’t give you any more reasons to fret—it’s on me to be there for all of you. No one will rely on a leader who can’t handle her own fears.” 

“Confidence is key,” he agreed. “That doesn’t mean you can’t lean on your team even as they lean on you.” 

Rook slanted a glance at him from beneath her dark lashes, lips quirking with amusement. “I thought you were a Crow, not an owl handing out wisdom.” 

Lucanis shrugged, allowing himself to smile. “A healthy dose of good advice never hurt anyone, even a Crow. Now come, you must rest.” 

He rose then and offered a hand to help her up. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, he reasoned, and had nothing whatsoever to do with stealing another touch. She took the proffered hand and stood with a groan, joints popping with the movement. 

Lucanis blinked when he realized just how tiny she was as they stood close. He wasn’t a tall man, and Rook stood a few inches shorter than him. It was easy enough to miss when she was at full force, laughing or fighting with all the passion and power she contained. Sheer force of personality made her loom large. 

But here in this moment of calm, the thought of the world resting on those slight shoulders was almost too much to bear. 

[talonabraxas]

Invoking Archangel Gabriel Talon Abraxas

In times of turmoil and uncertainty, seeking inner peace becomes essential for our overall well-being. One powerful way to invite tranquility into our lives is by invoking the angelic presence of Archangel Gabriel. Known as the bringer of messages and a celestial being closely associated with peace, Archangel Gabriel can guide us on our journey towards serenity. In this step-by-step guide, we will explore the understanding of Archangel Gabriel's significance, the importance of invoking archangels, and how to prepare for a successful invocation. Whether you are new to angelic invocation or have experience in connecting with the divine, this guide will provide you with the tools and knowledge to invite Archangel Gabriel's peaceful presence into your life.

Step-by-Step Guide to Invoking Archangel Gabriel

Beginning the Invocation As you begin the invocation, take a moment to ground yourself. Plant your feet firmly on the ground and envision roots growing deep into the earth, connecting you to its nurturing energy. Feel the stability and security of this connection.

Close your eyes and allow your breath to become steady and calm. With each inhale, imagine drawing in pure white light, and with each exhale, release any tension or worries that may be weighing on your mind.

Communicating Your Intentions Next, clearly state your intentions for the invocation. Speak directly to Archangel Gabriel, addressing them with respect and clarity. Share your desire for peace and ask for their guidance and support on your path towards tranquility.

Feel free to express any concerns or challenges you may be facing, allowing yourself to be vulnerable in the presence of Archangel Gabriel. Trust that they are listening and will provide the assistance you seek.

Ending the Invocation As you reach the conclusion of the invocation, express gratitude to Archangel Gabriel for their presence and guidance. Acknowledge their immense power and capacity to bring you peace in times of need.

Take a few moments to sit in silence, allowing any insights or messages to settle within your being. Trust that Archangel Gabriel's energy will continue to support you even after the invocation comes to a close.

By following this step-by-step guide, you can open a pathway to invoke the peaceful energy of Archangel Gabriel into your life. Remember that this process is a personal and sacred journey, and each invocation may yield unique experiences. With practice and dedication, you will develop a stronger connection with Archangel Gabriel and be able to tap into their peaceful presence whenever you need it. Embrace the power of angelic intervention and embark on a path towards inner peace and serenity.

[grimoirey]

🪐 Astrological Planets 🪐

Visualization Exercise:

Astrology Journey through the Planets

This visualization exercise is a journey through the essence of each planet in astrology, helping you connect directly with their energies to gain a personal, intuitive understanding of what each represents. By immersing yourself in these cosmic personalities, you’ll feel how the Sun inspires confidence, the Moon invites emotional reflection, Mercury sparks curiosity, and so forth. This experience allows you to explore the unique qualities each planet brings to your personality and life path, creating a deeper and more relatable understanding of their roles in astrology. Let this journey deepen your connection to the planets’ influences, making their meanings more vivid and accessible.

🌞🌛🌞🌜🌞🌛🌞🌜🌞🌛🌞🌜🌞

Setting the Stage

Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and let yourself settle into a peaceful state. Imagine a swirling pathway of stars and light stretching before you, each sparkling step leading you toward the cosmic personalities of the planets. You’re about to meet each one and feel their unique influence, directly touching your personality, relationships, and journey.

💫 The Sun

Your Core Self and Vitality

As you take your first step, you’re enveloped in a warm, golden glow. The space around you radiates with the energy of the Sun. It’s bright, powerful, and feels like it’s lifting you up, encouraging you to embrace your truest self. This light reminds you of your core identity, the parts of you that shine the brightest. You feel a surge of confidence and vitality, like you’re standing on stage under a spotlight.

With the Sun’s energy flowing through you, you hear its gentle, empowering voice: “Stand tall in who you are. Embrace your strengths and unique spirit—this is the essence that makes you truly you. Show the world your light.”

💫The Moon

Emotions and Inner Needs

Moving forward, you step into a soft, silvery glow. It feels cool and comforting, like a gentle embrace. This is the Moon’s space, representing your emotional world and what makes you feel truly at home. The atmosphere is serene and reflective, pulling you inward. Here, you feel free to explore your feelings, to honor the side of yourself that craves comfort, connection, and understanding.

The Moon whispers softly, “Let yourself feel. Your emotions are your inner compass, guiding you to what fulfills you. Take time to nurture yourself; your sensitivity is a gift.”

💫 Mercury

Communication and Thought Process

As you leave the Moon’s calming presence, you enter a bright, lively space filled with sparks of energy. Mercury appears, quick and curious, radiating a playful and sharp energy. The space buzzes with ideas, thoughts, and words, inviting you to engage, learn, and communicate. Mercury’s essence encourages you to ask questions, to seek out new ideas, and to think on your feet.

Mercury’s voice is quick and lively: “Stay curious, keep learning, and communicate openly. Your words are powerful tools—use them to connect, to express yourself, and to explore new ideas.”

💫 Venus

Love, Beauty, and Relationships

Stepping further along, you enter a space filled with soft hues of pink and green, a gentle fragrance of flowers in the air. This is Venus, embodying love, beauty, and the way you connect in relationships. The energy here is warm, inviting, and filled with a sense of harmony. Venus wraps you in a sensation of affection and grace, encouraging you to appreciate beauty in yourself and others.

Venus’s voice is soft and loving: “Embrace love in all forms, cherish beauty, and nurture your connections. When you value yourself and others, you create harmony and joy.”

💫 Mars

Drive, Action, and Courage

Moving on, the air suddenly warms, charged with a bold and fiery energy. This is Mars, the planet of drive and action. The space around you feels dynamic, full of movement and potential. Here, you’re encouraged to go after what you want with confidence and determination. Mars’s energy stirs up courage within you, igniting your passions and empowering you to take action.

Mars speaks with strength: “Don’t hold back—go after what you want! Your passions are your fuel. Move forward with confidence and face challenges head-on. You’re stronger than you know.”

💫 Jupiter

Growth, Luck, and Optimism

As you step further, the space opens up, and you feel an expansive, uplifting energy. This is Jupiter’s realm—a place of growth, opportunity, and boundless optimism. You feel lighter here, as if anything is possible, encouraged to dream big and to trust in life’s journey. Jupiter’s energy fills you with a sense of hope and encourages you to explore beyond your limits.

Jupiter’s voice is warm and wise: “Expand your horizons and embrace new experiences. Trust that the world is filled with abundance. Stay optimistic—your journey is full of possibilities.”

💫 Saturn

Discipline, Structure, and Responsibility

You step into a calm, steady space, with a feeling of groundedness and quiet strength. This is Saturn’s presence, where discipline, responsibility, and growth through patience come into focus. The energy here is purposeful and wise, inviting you to reflect on your goals and the steps required to achieve them. Saturn’s energy reminds you of the importance of commitment and resilience.

Saturn’s voice is firm yet kind: “Build with care, and respect your commitments. Discipline brings true strength. Take pride in what you create through patience and perseverance.”

💫 Uranus

Innovation, Freedom, and Change

Next, you’re swept into a space charged with bright, electric energy. This is Uranus, the planet of innovation, freedom, and change. Here, the air feels alive with the potential for new ideas and breakthroughs. Uranus encourages you to think outside the box, to embrace your unique perspective, and to let go of outdated ways of thinking. You feel a sense of liberation, an invitation to express yourself authentically.

Uranus’s voice is bold and inspiring: “Break free from what holds you back! Embrace change, be open to new ideas, and trust in your individuality. Freedom is found in authenticity.”

💫 Neptune

Imagination, Dreams, and Spirituality

Stepping onward, you enter a space filled with soft, dreamlike energy. This is Neptune’s realm, where imagination, intuition, and spirituality are heightened. The energy here feels mystical, as if you’re walking through a dreamscape, encouraging you to connect with your inner world and let go of rigid boundaries. Neptune invites you to explore your dreams and your deeper spiritual self.

Neptune’s voice is soft and soothing: “Allow yourself to dream, to imagine, and to connect with the unseen. Trust in intuition—it is a source of deep wisdom and magic.”

💫 Pluto

Transformation, Power, and Rebirth

Finally, you enter a dark, intense space with an energy that feels both mysterious and powerful. This is Pluto, the planet of transformation and rebirth. The atmosphere here is thick with potential, urging you to face your depths, confront what needs to be released, and embrace transformation. Pluto’s energy is empowering, guiding you through the process of letting go and renewal.

Pluto’s voice is deep and resonant: “Embrace change on the deepest level. Release what no longer serves you, and let yourself be reborn. There is strength in transformation and growth in embracing your truth.”

🌞🌜🌞🌛🌞🌜🌞🌛🌞🌜🌞🌛🌞

Returning to the Present

With the wisdom of each planet now a part of you, take a moment to absorb their insights. Let each planetary energy settle within you, infusing your being with its unique guidance and inspiration. When you’re ready, bring your awareness back to your body, feeling grounded and connected.

Open your eyes, carrying with you the wisdom of the cosmos as you walk your path, inspired and supported by the celestial energies that shape your life.

[ridingtorohan]

𓇻 ft. aela the huntress x werewolf gn reader 𓇻 content. graphic murder and werewolf transformation, gore. 𓇻 summary. after being inducted into the Inner Circle and blessed with the werewolf curse, Aela comes forward to request your help with hunting some members of the Silver Hand. 𓇻 extra. crossposted to dA + ao3. this one was written in 2015 and unedited. descriptors like e/c were used so feel free to use the custom reader insert tool. 𓇻 enjoy! feel free to like, share, reblog or send in asks!

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‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ───※ ·❆· ※───‎‏‏‎

You jostle yourself awake when you hear the door creak open. Your muscles twitch tightly in alarm, before a familiar scent calms you. Pine needles, sweat, and feathers from arrows seem to be Aela's trademark scent, only all the more prominent the day you tasted her blood on your lips - a fierce stab of bitterness that you'd never have guessed. She stands in the doorway, staring into the room, scowl prominent on her face. Ria and Njada were sleeping already, Torvan was snoring away, whereas Athis watched from the safety from his bed.

"(y/n)," Aela says, voice scratchy from trying to be so quiet. Usually she was loud and rambunctious, ever throwing taunts and offering to brawl with you, not caring if one of you got hurt. She had only started acting this way when she gave you the werewolf blood, because she knew you could handle it.

You say nothing to the Dark Elf as you get up from your bed, knowing he is watching and may or may not tell Kodlak later, depending on if it suited him. You dress quietly into your armour, only looking up after you tie your boots, only to notice she is gone. It makes no difference; you can always follow her scent trail - fresh and enticing, always setting your blood roaring when you were near her. You would have been able to locate her blindfolded.

The cool night air presses against you, cooling your warm body. Ever since you were given the wolfblood, your body heat was remarkably high - which wasn't so great when you had to wear heavy armour and thick clothes to persuade the other companions not of the Circle that you were very much affected by the cold.

You pass through the streets of Whiterun, nodding at the night guards patrolling, who seem to recognize you and utter a simple and curt, "Companion," as a way of a greeting.

You spot Aela beside the well, arms crossed and looking almost like an indistinguishable shadow, although you would never have doubted it is her.

The guards let you two pass through the gates; the walls are too high for you to climb over them, even when transformed, and with these guards around, you do not risk it. You aren't particularly fond of accidentally killing innocents either, when your bloodlust controlled you - or at least, not anyone that you knew.

Aela is quiet as you both trek down the pathway and beneath the archways that guard the entrance to Whiterun; it is only after you two pass the stables that she rounds on you, eyes remarkably bright in the starlight. "Can you feel it calling, [sibling]?" she smirks, fingers noticeably twitching.

"I have followed you, haven't I?" you respond, cocking your head in an arrogant way. She bares you her teeth, but you recognize it as a more primitive smile. She turns away from you and breaths in the air, her breath puffing out in front of her when she exhales. You blatantly stare at her, waiting for her to respond.

“The wolfblood cannot be controlled,” she says, finally, voice rising despite the fact that this requires high levels of secrecy. But a quick sniff of the air lets you know that you are alone with her, even though you are both standing beside the road, just upwind of Whiterun Stables. “Some nights, Hircine calls us to hunt for him. Vilkas and Farkas ignore this,” she continues, sounding remarkably upset with them. “Skjor and I are the only ones who accept this.” She eyes you out of the corner of her eye, her expression unreadable. “Then you came along. You take to the wolfblood remarkably well.” There is praise in her voice, and it takes you a moment to realize that you are leaning in towards her. “Will you run with me tonight, (y/n)?”

“Of course.”

She flashes you a triumphant look, arrogance and pride flashing through her emerald eyes. “Good,” she says, mouth twitching into a slight smirk. “Come with me; the road is far too open a place,” she frowns then, eyes darkening. Without so much as another word, she saunters off, feet stepping silently across the stones with practiced ease, starlight glinting off of her auburn hair. There is no moon tonight - not that either of you need it to see.

“Why didn’t we transform in the Underforge?” you dare ask.

She doesn’t spare you a glance over her shoulder when she responds, “It would have drawn too much attention.” She doesn’t elaborate, and you suppose that is alright.

It takes far too much time to get to a shielded area, with trees lining the sky and shadowing your steps. You only have so much time left, you know. Something inside of you feels more at ease, beneath the shelter of the tree tops, an insatiable hunger gnawing at you. “Aela,” you try, but she has already stopped, face pointed towards the tree tops, shoulders hunched. She knows.

“You can hear him call to us,” is all she says. She strips herself of her armour, underclothes doing little to stop your mind from wandering. The pieces of cloth are dumped unceremoniously onto the ground with a soft whump. “We will bring him glory, [sibling].”

She looks over her tanned shoulder at you, her eyes glinting an inhumane yellow. She does not cry out in pain; she only folds herself backwards with an echo of bones snapping, vertabrae making themselves visible along her spine. She falls forward, russet hair draped along her front this time.

All you see is her backside; her body visibly breaks out into a sweat, shivers overtaking her form. The crackling of bones that once sounded sickening are deafening loud on your heightened ears. Gore is what meets your eyes next as she sheds her human skin; it is enchanting to watch, no matter how sickening it is to see. You turn away when she looks like some form of twisted monster.

You have to shed your own clothes; you are stark naked, the air of Skyrim breezing through your hair and over your shoulders and in other nameless places. You pull on that instinct that is roaring fiercely in you; when nothing happens, you think of asking Aela -- even though she is underway of her own transformation and isn’t likely to understand you at the moment -- when your knees snap backwards and you fall forward, ankles twisting before reverting back then twisting again.

You let out a shrill noise of anguish, because nothing could ever describe the pain that is transforming. You muscles are constantly contracting and relaxing, knuckles popping and moving in a jarring sensation. Your stomach empties itself, contractions fiercely stabbing through your body. You’ve only had a few transformations that you could count on one hand, and it never gets any easier for you, no matter how smooth Aela or Skjor tell you it is.

Whatever noise you are making is cut off when your vocal cords shred themselves, blood convulsing past lips that are no longer your own. The pain almost blacks you out, the darkness would have been comforting.

Hircine is not a merciful Daedric lord, however; you are aware of every sensation that tears through you, although it all blurs together in blacks and reds. You are not aware of what happens for the rest of the duration, but the next moment you are aware and conscious of what is happening, you are still hunched over, long limbs in your vision.

Aela has never been one for comforting, but a soft growl still meets your keen ears, (y/n)? You shift your weight backwards onto your haunches and hindlegs, strong muscles rippling beneath your skin.

Blood and human skin litters the ground - your sharp nose detects it both easily. Your long fingers grapple at the ground, digging through the soil that once felt hard underfoot that so easily tore now. You pivot unsurely, awkward and gangly as you peer over at her.

Aela? you ask. Her green-yellow eyes glint at you, even through the darkness. Recognition floods through you. Aela.

The wolfblood was always hard to control at first; but recognition had flooded through you faster than when you had transformed with Skjor. Your muscles twitch, remaining in your hunched position as your trot over, snout poking at her shoulder.

Aela, Aela, Aela, Aela, you repeat, sounds vibrating through your throat with each jab of your snout at her shoulder. She does not retaliate; she only watches you with keen eyes. If you had ever thought she was beautiful as a human - which you have thought many times before, admittedly - you thought she was stunning now. She was in her element, tall and lanky, reeking of power and bloodlust. She was more confident in this body than she ever was as a mortal. Your wolfblood keeps thinking alpha, alpha, and your conscious self felt inclined to agree.

[Sibling], is her response, and she tips her muzzle briefly to your own, ears flickering. You do not speak to each other in the sense that you would as mortals - you growled out sounds at each other, words and meanings heard beneath each grunt and whine. It was a language just between you two. An intimacy that you loved to share with her.

We honor Hircine tonight, she reminds you, when she catches your eyes wandering. We will tear a group of Silver Hands asunder, her lips peel back in a feral grin. You return the gesture. In a fortnight, I will help you attack another; Skjor will go ahead of us. Do you understand? She has spoken to you of this mission a couple times before, but now was not the time to worry about it.

Hunt, hunt, kill, kill, comes the simplist mind of the wolfblood, demanding sacrifice. You would never deny Aela though, so you give a jagged nod of your head. Let us taste their blood on our tongues, and smell the fear from their bodies, then, comes a jagged noise that would have amounted to a wolfish laugh.

She turns tail and lopes off, picking up speed as she went along. You chase after her, easily catching up to her, the unfamiliarity of running on four limbs almost causes you to stumble, but you catch yourself numerous times. The wind whips across your [h/c] fur, the chitters of the flying owls and clacks of nearby mudcrabs whistling in your ears. Freedom tastes sweet on your tongue, face turned toward the sky as you run with her, both of you free.

* * *

There they are, cowering like cravens, Aela sneers, hunching over the encampment of the Silver Hands. There are only five of them; young blood by the smell of it, with one older. It is likely that they are new recruits with the older man teaching them the warning signs of the lycanthrope. Hah! Do they not know of us here? Are they really so ignorant? [Sibling], shall we go and give them a greeting? She turns to you, eyes not wavering from your face.

Yes, you grunt, blinking slowly at the few mortals; only a few of them were awake. They would be easy prey. Yes; let us hunt them, Aela. You tense your muscles along your haunches, coiling your muscles and leaning forward. Your steps are light as you tear down the slope, giving out a warning howl.

The Nords jostle themselves, raising cries of alarm and surprise. You jaws are parted; their fear tastes like victory in your mouth, and it is easy to tear through their flesh, blood tasting like copper running through your jaws and past your teeth. It is satisfying, seeing the young Nord’s eyes go bright with feverish fear and an instinct for survival, a pleasing crunch of bones meeting your ears as you grip his forearm tighter and wrench backwards. His muscles spread apart like sinew, and the shrieks that wrench from his lips are delicious. If the three others were slumbering before, they were surely awake now as your victim screamed.

It is easy for the wolfblood to grow tired, though. You tear through his jugular and take sick pleasure in seeing his blood pulse outwards, matting your fur and blood spraying across your muzzle.

Aela is already on her next victim, gnawing on his ear in a teasing way before she sprints away, leaving a raspy survivor in her wake. She pivots on her sharp-toed feet and slashes her persuer across the face, claws marking his face like a grave. He instinctively drops his weapon and raises his hands to his face, a guttural cry of surprise rising. She lunges forward and wrenches his ribcage open, gore spreading across the ground in a matter of seconds. He is dead within minutes.

The remaining two try to make a run for it. You give chase, jaws snapping at their heels as they scampered away like scared deer. The eldest of the group suddenly turns and brandishes a blade, sinking it into your shoulder and wrenching a surprised howl from your maw. How dare he!

The silver burns like liquid fire through your veins. You growl at him, springing backwards in high leaps, blood pulsing from the wound, heat flashing through you.

How dare you, you growl out, furious and ferocious all in one heartbeat. You lunge towards him and snap at the hand that bears the blade, snapping it in a quick twist of your jaws. He gives a half-hearted jerk, although there isn’t much of a surprised scent coming from him. The blade catches the corner of your lips, a red hot fire bleeding through you.

He will pay. They will all pay for hunting down your kind.

You tear into his face, blood blinding you; hot and sticky dampening your face further before you retreat. A quick snapping sound resonates through the clearing, and you pivot, [e/c] eyes blinking in surprise at the sight of another Silver Hand going limp, eyes rolling into the back of her head.

Aela stands tall behind her, hand clenching from where the other’s neck was moments before. The Silver Hand had held a silver dagger, dangerously close to where you were, blinded and incapitated. She would have killed you if Aela hadn’t been there.

Thank you, you say, more of a breath than actual sounds or words. Aela tilts her head, before she turns. You both leave the bodies, trekking through the forest. The smell of gore is still fresh in your mind, although that could also be due to the fact that it was smattered across your maw and between your eyes.

Aela is always a few strides ahead of you. You do not demand to stride beside her. Protect the alpha, is what your blood sings of.

The wolfblood is what made you mercilessly kill the Silver Hand, you know. Or at least you hope so. It is what comforts you when you think of what Aela asks of you, at least.

The wolfblood is also what whispers to you - things that you think you wouldn’t otherwise think of the Huntress. Protect, is what is echoing, deep in your flesh and bones. The instinct is not unwelcome; it gives you strength, the power to be brave and courageous and every bit of the Companion that Aela seems to think you are.

You nearly bump into her, so deep in your thoughts you are. Aela? comes your whine. She says nothing, only lopes forward again and splashes into the river that you recognize as the one that tears into the earth beside Whiterun.

There isn’t much cover nearby, but at least it is close to where you two transformed. She sinks beneath the shallows, or at least, as much as she can. She has no shame in rolling over to get her back, and as soon as she deems herself clean enough of the gore that had once stained her fur, she instructs you to wash off as well.

You emerge soaking wet, fur matted close to your body. Aela gives a sharp bark of laughter at the sight of you, even though her russet coat isn’t much better.

The sun will rise soon, she explains as she moves again, silent as ever. You pad alongside her, tail brushing against the undergrowth as you let out soft huffs of air. The other Companions will suspect something if we are not back soon. Especially Athis, you respond, thinking of how the Dark Elf watched you leave. She looks over at you, making a quizzical sound but does not otherwise question you.

When you arrive at the site of where you transformed, you both simply stand quietly. Aela quickly becomes restless and moves around the clearing, simply enjoying the last bit of freedom she has before she transforms.

You like being a werewolf, you observe.

Yes, she responds without looking at you. Her gait quickers before it stops altogether, and she turns her snout towards you. There is no worry of how others will react to what I say or do. I am my own person. I own everything; nobody can hold me back. I am free. You decide you have nothing to say to that, so instead you return to watching her pace.

You do not know how much time has passed before she suddenly stops and looks at you, an amused glint in her eyes. You are always watching me, [sibling]. Am I? I haven’t noticed, you reply wryly, offering a quick session of barked laughter. ..It is hard not to.

She hesitates, eyes keenly watching you. You are interested in me, she says boldly, although with a very confused accent underneath.

You are an interesting person, you confirm, although you know that is not what she meant. Her ears fold and she bares her teeth. She trots forward, a warning growl ripping from her throat.

Your ears fold and you tuck your head quickly, wolf instinct whispering harshly, alpha, alpha. You are tired of it telling you what to do, what to think of her. You never let yourself be subjected to your more primal nature; it tells you to rebel and challenge her, even though it remembers her as alpha. You wish to be her equal, in more ways than one. She has always called you [sibling], or even, once with a sneer, ‘pup’. Aela is an enigma; power in her movements and grace in her steps. She is mistress only to Hircine, daughter of the wild. She is untameable, untouchable, unreachable. These intimate night strolls with her is all you have to seeing her carefree gestures, the only time you listen to her howl freely and without care. Subconsciously, you had been watching her - judging her movements, watching her reactions. The primal instincts first saw her as a challenge, a rival for prey and territory, but now it saw her beyond the folds and safety of the pack. She has since achieved the title of ‘alpha’ - surpassing even Kodlak. She was the only one you answered to.

She was the one who had given you the wolfblood; she was the one whose blood coursed in your veins. She was always there, scent thick and choking, something that you reveled in. As your forebear, she was more intimate with you than anyone else could be.

Aela, you say, and this time she flickers her ears. This time she listens to you. She tilts her head, eyes narrowing. Aela, Aela, Aela, you say, her name rolling through your throat and past your lips. You are dizzy with the sensation of knowing that only Skjor and you have the privilege of hunting with her. Of being with her. You are the only one who I could be interested in.

She offers a wolfish grin, and lopes a bit closer to you before bumping muzzles with you. I am inclined to agree, [sibling]. She does not elaborate, and while your blood hums with the knowledge that what she’s just said implies means that she feels the same doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s carved in stone.

Tonight, you are alive. Tonight, all you want to do is live with her, in this moment where you are eternal beings and only the moon is your witness.

I am glad to hear that, Aela, you rumble back. Taking the initiative, you continue, There is still some moonlight left; do you want to walk with me, still?

She laughs, ears folding and lips peeling back in a grin. There is nothing that requires my assistance. Let us go.

The night welcomes you like lost lovers, your blood roaring to know that you are safe with Aela by your side. There is nothing that could stop you; just the inner wolf roaring and making you twine beside each other as you pace the earth.

For now, all is well.