#Precision Wheel Alignment

[pmt-fleet]

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[astra-ravana]

Sigil Magick: Illustrating Your Intent

Sigils are a cornerstone of contemporary and chaos magick and function as keys to unlock the doors of reality and bend it to one’s will. These potent symbols serve as physical embodiments of one’s intentions, cast into existence through the fusion of art and willpower.

The crafting of a sigil begins with a clear and focused intention, which is then worked into a unique symbol through a creative magickal process. The magick practitioner inscribes deep personal meaning and style into their designs, making each unique to its artist. Sigils are ideal tools for manifesting your desires, imbuing objects with specific purpose and energy, protecting spaces, and communicating with the spirit world and should be used responsibly.

Origins

The practice of crafting sigils traces its roots to the ancient world but was modernized in the early 20th century by the works of Austin Osman Spare, an occultist and artist. He introduced the method of creating magical symbols by condensing letters of a desire into an abstract design. Aleister Crowley, too, influenced the practice by intertwining sigils with ceremonial magick, embedding them with a rich esoteric significance.

Some occult grimoires employ sigils as a means of contacting spirits, for example; Ars Goetia, The Book of Oberon, and Pseudomonarchia Daemonum.

Basics of Sigil Magick

Sigil magick emerges from the belief in one’s ability to manifest their focus into reality. Through a process of creation, a sigil becomes much more than mere ink on paper—it is the illustrated essence of desire. Individuals can use sigils as focal points for their will, empowering these symbols through meditation or ritual to enact change. The universe of sigils is vast and varied, types of sigils include:

• Pictorial Sigils: Intuitive symbols drawn from the subconscious

• Runic Sigils: Combinations of runic alphabets that resonate with specific energies

• Word Sigils: Derived from statements of intention, where letters are crafted into a unique symbol

Correspondences also serve a purpose in this class of magick, in order to help align one's intent to universal energies. As an artist crafts their sigil, they intertwine traditional symbols with personal significance, creating a bridge to the metaphysical world. Some relevant correspondences are:

• Numerology: Numbers carry vibrations that can enhance a sigil’s purpose.

• Zodiac Signs: Celestial influences infused to fine-tune the focus.

• Elements: The classic forces of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water lend their power to sigils, grounding them in natural harmony.

Sigil Creation

Before you take pen to paper, first envision your intent with clarity and purpose This may involve some deep introspection into the true nature of your desires. A precise intention lays the foundation for the sigil's power. Once ready, write out your intention and cross out any duplicate letters. From here a couple different methods can be utilized. Naturally you could always draw your sigils from pure instinct, creating spontaneous shapes to represent your intentions, but there are other techniques available.

The Wheel

This method employs a wheel to be used as a map for drawing your sigil. Simply start at the first letter of your intent and draw lines to each subsequent letter. Example:

My Method

I make my sigils by breaking up the letters to create shapes. I will often decorate with extra shapes, symbols, and pictures as well. Here is a simplified example of my sigil creation process:

Next you must charge your sigil. Charging is the act of infusing the sigil with energy. The creator might enter a meditative state, focusing intently on the sigil while envisioning their intentions intertwining with the design. This act of focused concentration serves to embed the intention within the sigil, making it a beacon for the desired change.

Passive and Active Sigils

Intentioned sigils fall into either the passive or active sigil category based on how that sigil's energy is best utilized. Passive sigils are usually drawn on the body, item, or surface and then left alone to release their power over time. Active sigils involve some action to trigger the release of the sigil's energy, such as burning, burying, soaking with water/oil, and more. Some sigils can be used both passively and actively, but most will fall into one category.

Spirit Sigils

Many spirits and deities have sigils that represent them and these can be powerful catalysts for interacting with these beings. If the spirit you're working with doesn't have a sigil made for them (or even if they do) you can design your own symbol to connect with that spirit. Follow the same process, but instead of focusing on your intent, focus on the spirit/deity and connecting with it. You can even perform a ritual and provide an offering to invite the spirit into your space. This will allow you to draw divine inspiration straight from the source. Here are some examples of spirit/deity sigils, as well as some I created:

[mistytarot0919]

⏰⏳🕒How to predict timing with tarot cards?

©mistytarot0919 - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, alter, or repost my work.

Please REBLOG if you find this information useful! ༄˖°🪐.ೃ࿔*

While Tarot cards can provide insights and guidance on a situation, predicting precise timing can be difficult as the Tarot operates on a more intuitive and spiritual level rather than a literal timeframe.

It's important to remember that Tarot readings are meant to provide guidance, not concrete predictions. Trust in the process and allow the messages from the cards to unfold in their own time.

If timing is a crucial aspect of your question, consider seeking additional clarification from the cards or a professional Tarot reader.

Traditional tarot timing correspondences

WANDS - rapid action(hours to days), noon and spring

SWORDS - quick but not as fast as wands(days to weeks), morning and spring

CUPS - somehow slow( weeks to months), evening and autumn

PENTACLES - the slowest of all(months to years), midnight and winter

Note: If you want me to create a deck regarding timing feel free to send me an ask!

you can do it in a calendar spread and look for the first card that is the most representative(THE LOVERS, 2 OF CUPS, 9 OF CUPS - wish card, any of THE KNIGHTS, ACE OF CUPS) - in case if you wonder if a relationship will appear in future

the first card will represent the current month when is possible for the relationship to start/appear

if 2 of Cups is the 5th card - a relationship will appear in 5 months from now

you can also look at what sign the card represents and the relationship can start in that sign period

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅��� ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Answer to “When?’’ Question According to Major Arcana Tarot Cards

The Fool - When you make a leap of faith, spontaneously

The Magician - When you are ready to manifest it, quickly

High Priestess - You already know when, trust your instinct, night, a new moon; Unrevealed

The Empress  - When factors align, 9 months

The Lovers - When you make a decision

The Chariot - Fast moving card / When you are determined

Strength - When you believe in yourself

The Hermit - Slow moving card/ After a period of self reflection/solitude

Wheel of fortune - When the divine timing is ready, anytime & without notice, soon

Hanged Man - Stagnant, this situation will require your patience. When you change your perspective or surrender and accept, undetermined

Temperance - Things may happen slowly. Patience and moderation

The Tower - Suddenly, unexpectedly, abruptly, immediately

The Sun  - Summer, a year

The Star - When you believe

The Moon - A month

Judgement - Winter, stormy weather

The World - When the divine timing is ready, slowly

Lots of lower numbers - long time

8, 9, 10 cards - rapid conclusion

Using the numbers of the minor arcana it can be an indicator of when an approaching event may be likely to happen. By using a simple mathematical formula, we can arrive at a projection. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟnumber + suit = timing

For example, if the outcome card is the 2 of Wands, we could deduce the following: 2 + days = 2 days

This may suggest the event may happen in two days, or that it will last for two days.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Asking the right question & Reading the cards first:

By focusing on more specific questions and considering the potential story or sequence of events, you can gain deeper insights into the situation.

When encountering multiple reversed or negative cards, it could indicate obstacles or challenges that need to be addressed before progress can be made. It's all about understanding the nuances and layers within each reading to uncover the underlying messages and guidance.

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Minor Arcana Timing Methods - Season Method

Each suit in Tarot is indeed associated with one of the four elements, which in turn correlates to one of the four seasons:

Wands (Fire): Associated with the element of Fire, symbolizing passion, energy, and creativity. This suit corresponds to the season of Spring, where growth and new beginnings are prevalent.

Cups (Water): Representing the element of Water, Cups signify emotions, intuition, and relationships. This suit is connected to the season of Summer, reflecting nurturing and deeper emotional connections.

Swords (Air): Aligned with the element of Air, Swords signify intellect, communication, and mental clarity. This suit is linked to the season of Autumn, where critical thinking and decision-making are emphasized.

Pentacles (Earth): Tied to the element of Earth, Pentacles represent material aspects, stability, and abundance. This suit correlates with the season of Winter, symbolizing practicality, grounding, and financial matters.

The number method in tarot can provide additional insights into timing within a reading.

By considering the numbers on the cards drawn, you can make predictions about when an event may occur.

For instance, if you draw the Six of Wands and the Six of Cups in response to a question like "When will I find love?" the presence of the number six in both cards could indicate a time frame ranging from 6 days up to 6 months for the event to unfold.

This method adds a layer of specificity and helps in understanding the potential timing of future events based on the cards drawn.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Major Arcana Timing Methods: Zodiac Sign Method

Astrological correspondences can also be used to predict timing in tarot readings, particularly with Major Arcana cards. Each Major Arcana card is associated with a specific astrological sign or planet, providing insights into timing and potential events.

By understanding the astrological correspondences of the Major Arcana cards drawn in a reading, you can gain insights into the timing and potential influences of celestial energies on the situation at hand.

The Fool: Aquarius (January 20-February 18)

The Magician: Gemini (May 21- June 20)

The High Priestess: Cancer (June 21-July 20)

The Empress: Taurus (April 21-May 20)

The Emperor: Aries (March 21-April 20)

The Hierophant: Taurus (April 21-May 20)

The Lovers: Gemini (May 21-June 20)

The Chariot: Cancer (June 21-July 20)

The Strength: Leo (July 21- August 20)

The Hermit: Virgo (August 21- September 20)

The Wheel of Fortune: Four fixed signs (Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, Aquarius)

The Justice: Libra (September 21-October 20)

The Hanged Man: Pisces (February 21-March 20)

The Death: Scorpio (October 21-November 20)

The Temperance: Sagittarius (November 21-December 20)

The Devil: Capricorn (December 21-January 20)

The Tower: Scorpio and Aries (October 21-November 20) (March 21-April 20)

The Star: Aquarius (January 21-February 20)

The Moon: Pisces (February 21-March 20)

The Sun: Leo (July 21- August 20)

The Judgement: Scorpio (October 21-November 20)

The World: Capricorn (December 21-January 20)

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡ ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡oopsie you already reached the end ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡

[paladin--strait]

thrill of the game - jack hughes

reader has to make a decision. keep her job as an equipment manager for the devils and keep her relationship with jack a secret, or she could quit and let the whole world know how much she loves him.

tw!: none, just the occasional kiss

-

i stand in the team equipment room, a big pad of paper and a pencil in my hand as i check things off. i pick up a pair of dougie's gloves, noticing the misplaced seam on the strap. i frown, marking down to get him a new pair in that color and size, throwing the gloves in the bin of damaged equipment.

i hum a little tune as i continue to check things off, whipping my head around when i hear the door open. it's jack, walking towards me with a smile. "hey hughes, what do you need?"

he shuffles over to me, still in his gear. "i need a kiss from my favorite staff member." he says, placing his hands on my hips, pulling me closer.

"jack...someone could walk in..." i whisper, looking up at him.

"then we should be quick." he whispers back, taking off a glove and using the now free hand to cradle my cheek up, leaning down to press a kiss to my lips.

i giggle into the kiss, placing my hands on his shoulders. the kiss is gentle but needy and it's clear he's been thinking about me based on the urgency of his lips on mine.

i pull away, looking up at him. "now, what did you tell them you were coming for?" i ask, laughing softly as i take step back, putting some distance between us just in case someone walks in.

"i told them i needed my skates sharpened." he says, taking a seat on the bench and unlacing his skates. "which isn't a lie, it's been a while since i got them sharpened last."

i take the skates from him, smiling as i walk over to the sharpening machine. i put on some protective goggles, listening as the low hum of the sharpening machine fills the small room as i carefully place the skate onto the machine. it clamps the blade securely into place, the blade perfectly aligned with the wheel that grinds the blade. with a press of a button, the wheel begins to spin, its rough surface gliding over the steel with a single smooth motion.

as the wheel makes contact with the blade, a fine spray of metal shavings fly into the air, the sharp edges of the skate slowly being reshaped with precision. the machine whirrs quietly, the grinding wheel creating a just the right curve on the blade that would give it the perfect amount of bite on the ice.

i watch as the blade shifts ever so slightly with each pass, the machine expertly sharpening both edges until they're sharp, perfect, and ready for the ice. the final polish leaves the surface of the skate gleaming, as if the skate had just been made for the first time, and i can’t help but smile.

i lift the skate off the machine, feeling the sharpness of the blade through the palm of my hand. i flick my thumb over the blade, checking the sharpness of it before i wipe off the metal shavings from the rest of the skate.

i repeat the process with both skates, turning around with a smile. "alright hughes, here you go." i hold out the skates to him, watching him stand up with a smile.

he takes the skates from me, leaning down to press a peck to my lips, quick but affectionate. he thanks me as he sits down, carefully putting the skates back on. "so, what do you want to eat for dinner later? i'll pick it up on my way to your place after practice."

"hmm...surprise me." i giggle, picking up my paper and pen. "i hate that we have to sneak around like this, jack..." i whisper, a twinge of sadness in my voice.

jack sighs, finishing putting on his skates. "me too, but you know it's not allowed for us to be together." he stands, looking at me with a frown.

i huff, "i know...i just hate having to hide my feelings for you. it's hard, jack. i have to watch other girls throw themselves at you and i can't even do anything." i say, gripping the pad of paper a little tighter.

jack takes a step closer, guilt and...fear, maybe, in his gaze. "i'm sorry, sweetheart. i really am. i wish i could show you off to everyone as mine, watch you in stands in my jersey." he whispers, sadness in his tone.

"we'll figure it out, i know we will. but for now, you need to get back to practice before it gets even more suspicious." i say, crossing my arms.

"fine, but...i want you to wear this and tell everyone that you have a boyfriend, just don't tell them who it is." he says, reaching up and pulling off the yellow gold chain, handing it to me. "it's long so it's been pretty hidden under my uniform. people shouldn't recognize it. it's cartier, if anyone asks."

"jack...this is so expensive. what if i lose it or break it?" i say, holding the chain in my hand. "i don't want to mess up your things."

"if you lose it, i'll buy you another one." he says, taking a step back. "don't worry about it, honey. i promise i won't be upset if anything happens to it." i sigh, mumbling an 'okay' as i put it on, watching him smile as i clasp it together. he walks to the door, looking at me. "it looks beautiful on you, my love." he whispers, walking out of the room.

my fingers linger on the chain, the cold metal a little wet from either his sweat or some water. it's a little gross, but it's okay. i get right back to my job, going back to taking inventory. i finish up, setting down the paper pad and grabbing my bag. i walk up to the front desk and clock out, walking to my car.

i unlock the vehicle, getting in and connecting my phone, playing some music as i start the twenty minute drive home. i sing along to the music, bopping my head to the tune as i drive. once i finally make it home, i make my way up to my apartment and leave the door unlocked, knowing jack will probably be here soon anyway. i call out to alexa, asking her to turn on my chill playlist.

i hear the music fill my apartment as i walk to my bedroom, taking off my work clothes and slipping into some comfy, around the house clothes. i put on some fluffy socks, the soft material somehow managing to warm my whole body up. i sit on my couch, watching a random nhl game on my tv. it's the lighting and the senators.

i sit and watch, wincing and whispering a small curse at the occasional hard hit of a player against the boards. eventually, the door to my apartment opens, the sound of bags and shoes walking in. "hey jack!" i smile, turning around to look at him. "we can eat on the couch today, i wanna watch the game."

jack kicks off his shoes, shuffling over to the couch and setting down the food on the coffee table, throwing off his jacket and sitting down. "who's playing?"

"lightning and senators, it's a close game." i say, looking back at the screen, the score 3-4 with the lightning winning. "if you don't wanna watch, that's okay."

"no this is fine, i kinda wanted to watch this game anyway." he laughs, opening the bags full of takeout. "i got chick-fil-a, didn't feel like getting out of the car."

i laugh, taking my food from him as he hands it to me. "thank you, sweetheart." i smile, opening the sandwich box. i reach over and turn down the volume on the tv, "so, how was practice?"

"it was good, nobody questioned why i was gone so long when i had to get my skates sharpened." he says, sitting back on the couch. "but i'm glad nico's back, we were a mess without him. how was work?"

"yeah, i could tell the team dynamic was a bit off. and it was good, i left not long after you got your skates sharpened." i say, taking a sip of my drink. "just had to finish up doing some inventory and that was about it for the day."

jack nods, his mouth full of food. "i wanf tawf wif youf abut somefing."

i look over at him, my brows furrowed and a laugh leaving my mouth. "honey, don't talk with your mouth full."

"sorryf mom." he says, rolling his eyes playfully. he finally swallows his food, "i said, i wanna talk with you about something." his expression suddenly turns serious.

"sure, what's on your mind?" i shift in my seat, turning to face him while i continue to eat my dinner.

he sets his food down on the coffee table, turning to face me as well. "well, we've been together for a few months now and we love each other, right?" he asks, to which i nod my head with a smile. "i was thinking...and if you don't want to. that's okay too, but i was thinking you quit your job? if you do that, then in a few weeks we can finally stop hiding our relationship."

i sigh, setting my food down as well. "i guess i'm okay with that..." his face lights up a little, "but jack, i don't want people thinking i'm only with you for your money, me quitting my job won't help with that."

"i don't care what people think. we love each other and we know the truth, that's all that matters." jack says reassuringly, placing a hand on my knee. "but if you don't want to quit, i understand. you seem to really love your job and i don't want to take that from you."

i contemplate his words, taking a deep breath. "i guess if i quit my job at the arena, then i can take up part time with my friend at her bridal store. i've helped her out there a few times when it got really busy, it was pretty fun."

i see jacks face light up, a large smile gracing his face. "that sounds awesome! and if you go part time, you can still come see games and go on roadies with me!" he suggests.

i smile wide as well, "then it's settled, i'll quit my job tomorrow." i say as jack cheers, throwing his arms around me. "wait...that part time job won't be enough to pay for my apartment...i'll have to find a smaller apartment."

"no! come stay with me and luke, we have an extra room, or you can stay in my room with me!" jack says, looking at me with a pleading look. "luke loves you anyway, i can't tell you how many times he's suggested me and you get together."

i laugh, "are you sure? i don't want to intrude and i have a lot of stuff."

"i'm positive! the extra room is pretty big and what you don't want to keep we can sell. actually...i know dawson's looking for a new place. you could probably leave quite a bit of it here for him if he wants to buy, if that's okay with you." jack says, looking around the main room.

"actually, that sounds great! i like dawson, he seems like a pretty good guy." i say, watching jack pull out his phone and click on the phone app. "wait, who are you calling?"

"luke," he says, clicking on his contact, the silly photo of luke filling the screen as the phone rings.

"hey jack, where are you?" luke asks, his voice coming through the phone.

"i'm at my girlfriends place, we need to start getting the guest room ready? she's gonna start living with us soon." jack explains, and i wonder why he wants me to move in so quickly. "also, don't tell anyone about me having a girlfriend, you're the first person to know about her and we want to keep it on the low for a little while longer."

"who is she?" luke asks, the sound of doors opening and stuff moving around coming through. "i don't want some random hooker in our apartment, jack."

"don't worry, it's just y/n." jack says. "we're not allowed to date because she's a staff member, that's why it's a secret."

i hear a crash come though the speaker, then luke speaks. "y/n! why didn't you tell me sooner? am i on speaker? can i say hi? when is she coming?"

luke's questions come out rushed, and i can't help but laugh. "hi luke!" i say, leaning closer to the phone.

"hi y/n! i'm so excited you and jack are together!" he says excitedly.

we continue to talk a little bit, deciding all start packing tomorrow before i go to work and turn in my resignation. i text my friend, asking if the position was still open for part time and i smile when she says it is. i take the job from her, smiling as i look over at jack.

-

a week and a half later, i stand in my newly decorated room in jack and luke's apartment, watching luke attempt to hang my large picture frame on the wall "no luke, to the left! no, that's the right!" i laugh, hearing jack let out a sigh as he walks over to help him. "there! don't move it!"

jack and luke carefully take their hands off the frame and back away, "finally. thought i was gonna have to kick you out for all this hassle." luke says, laughing as we all walk out of my bedroom and into the living room.

i sit down on the couch, "again, thank you guys so much for letting me move in." i smile, taking jacks hand in mine as he sits down.

"don't even worry about it, we both love you." luke says, "jack just...has a different kind of love for you." he jokes, making all of us crack up laughing. the doorbell rings and luke stands up to go answer it.

i look up at jack, who's already looking down at me with a smile. "i'm so happy we don't have to hide anymore. when should we tell everyone? i'm down for anytime, as long as you're comfortable."

"hmm...maybe tomorrow at the game? i'll wear your jersey." i smile, "also, i still have my season tickets that i got at the beginning of the season before i got the full time job at the arena. my seats are right beside the bench."

"sounds good to me. i'm glad you're able to watch us now, not have to sit in that stinky equipment room. you couldn't even watch us play..." jack says, pouting a bit.

"yeah, good thing i was sneaky and able to watch some in the hallway." i giggle, rubbing jacks knuckles with my thumb. we sit in silence for a bit, before luke walks back in, and he's not alone. nico and timo follow behind him, their brows furrowing when they see me. "oh, hey guys!" i say, jack and i standing up to greet them.

"y/n! we miss you at the arena, the new guy sucks." timo smiles and walks over, giving me a hug. "what are you doing hanging out over here with these idiots?"

i laugh, "well..." i look over at jack, seeing him give a small nod with a smile. "i love one of those idiots." i say, leaning on jack with my hand on his back.

i see nico's eyebrows lift in surprise, "you two? you and jack? wow...i never expected that." he laughs awkwardly.

"yeah, when i would go get my skates sharpened, or get some kind of new gear because my other stuff 'ripped', i was actually just going to see her." jack replies, smiling wide. "she just moved in with us."

"is that why you quit your job? because it's not allowed for staff and players to date?" timo asks, sitting down on the seat beside the couch. "makes sense now that i think about it...jack always seemed to be a little distracted when you were around."

i laugh as they begin to realize all the signs, a wide smile on my face. luke comes back from the kitchen with a glass of water in his hand. nico looks over at me, "y/n, are you coming to the game tomorrow?"

"of course! my season tickets are still valid so..." i smile, "i'll be there!"

"in my jersey and my chain." jack says smugly, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "beside the bench, so i can look over and flirt with her anytime i want."

i roll my eyes at his proud smugness, a hearty laugh leaving my mouth. remembering that the yellow gold chain is still around my neck. "i can see it now, jack hughes making kissy faces at me on the ice."

my words cause the whole room to erupt into laughter, my gaze settling on jack, who's smiling happily at me with a look that says, 'i'm glad we're free.'

-

the next day, i'm sitting in my seat, watching the guys play. the game is thrilling, and i'm on the edge of my seat every second. i wince at each hit, complain with each dumb call, and most of all, cheer on jack.

the devils are down one, with only two minutes left in the game. my leg bounces up and down anxiously, my bottom lip tugged in between my teeth.

i've almost lost hope, when suddenly, i see jack get the puck on a breakaway, heading down the ice. i stand, my hands on the glass with wide eyes as i watch him weave through the few players ahead of him. jack makes it all the way to the goalie, shooting, and scoring.

a scream erupts from my lips, a smile on my face as i jump up and down happily, jacks chain bouncing on my neck. i smile even wider when he skates over in my direction, completely skipping the celly and launching himself at the boards.

he smiles at me, his hands against mine, with only the glass separating him from me. i see his lips pucker up like he's blowing me a kiss, reminding me of my words from yesterday.

and in that exact moment, i realized i made the right decision. jack hughes is not only the thrill the game, but he's also the thrill of my heart.

[bratzkoo]

our three year plan pt. 2 | wonwoo

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: chaebol heir! wonwoo x chaebol heiress!/ nurse! reader Genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut Rating: PG-15 to NC-17 Word count: 3k~ Warnings/note: wonwoo's pov that i wanted to write so treat this as chapter 1.2

summary: you think your life is ruined when your parents announced that you’re marrying the heir of a tech chaebol; jeon wonwoo. so you offered him a plan, pretend to be in love until you can fake a catastrophe to break the engagement.

jeon wonwoo thinks his life just got better when his parents announced that he’s marrying the heiress of the medical group. his long time crush and basically the woman of his dreams. so when you offered him your plan, he’s going to use it to make you fall in love with him

masterlist | prev. part | next part

The first week of cohabitation passed in a strange dance of politeness and careful boundaries. Y/N and Wonwoo established routines that minimized awkward encounters—she took early morning showers, he preferred evenings; she often worked night shifts, he was typically gone before dawn for early meetings. When their paths did cross, conversation remained cordial but superficial.

Wonwoo cooked dinner most evenings he was home, leaving covered plates in the refrigerator with neatly written reheating instructions when their schedules didn't align. Y/N found herself oddly touched by this thoughtfulness, though she reminded herself not to read too much into it. This was, after all, a business arrangement.

On Friday morning, Y/N was enjoying a rare day off when her phone chimed with a message from Wonwoo:

My parents are expecting us for dinner tonight. 7 PM. I can pick you up at 6:30.

Reality crashed back. Of course their arrangement would include family obligations. She texted back a simple confirmation, then spent the next hour staring at her closet, suddenly aware that she had no idea what to wear to dinner with her fake future in-laws.

Another text from Wonwoo arrived as if he'd sensed her dilemma:

Casual elegant is fine. My mother appreciates understated sophistication. Don't worry too much—you'll impress them regardless.

Y/N wasn't sure if she should be grateful for the guidance or unnerved by his perception. She settled on a simple navy dress with subtle gold accessories—professional enough to show she took the dinner seriously, but not trying too hard.

At precisely 6:30, Wonwoo's Tesla pulled into the driveway. Y/N had expected him to honk or text, but instead, he came to the door, knocking politely as if he were picking her up for a real date rather than a performance for his parents.

When she opened the door, she was momentarily taken aback. Gone was the casual Wonwoo she'd grown accustomed to seeing around the house. In his place stood the corporate heir in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his usually tousled hair styled neatly, his round glasses exchanged for contacts that somehow made his gaze more intense.

"You look nice," he said, his eyes briefly taking in her appearance with what seemed like genuine appreciation.

"So do you," she responded automatically, then caught herself. This wasn't a date; there was no need for compliments.

The drive to his parents' estate was mostly silent, but as they approached the imposing gates, Wonwoo cleared his throat.

"Before we go in, we should discuss how we met."

Y/N blinked. "We've known each other since childhood, haven't we? Through family connections?"

"Yes, but that doesn't explain how we fell in love," Wonwoo pointed out. "They'll want the story. My mother especially."

Love story. The words hung between them, a reminder of the lie they were about to perform.

"What do you suggest?" Y/N asked.

Wonwoo's hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. "The closest to the truth is usually the most convincing. We reconnected at the tech-medical conference last year. The one your father keynoted."

Y/N vaguely remembered the event—a three-day bore of corporate networking that her father had insisted she attend. "I don't recall seeing you there."

Something flickered across Wonwoo's face. "I was there. We even spoke briefly during the reception." At her blank look, he added, "You were more focused on the doctor from Johns Hopkins who was discussing rural healthcare initiatives."

The specificity of his recollection surprised her. "You remember that?"

"I notice things," he said simply. Then, returning to the matter at hand: "We could say we reconnected there, kept in touch, and realized there was something more than friendship."

It was as good a story as any, Y/N supposed. "Alright. The conference it is."

As they pulled up to the house, Wonwoo reached into his pocket and withdrew a small velvet box. "One more thing."

Y/N's heart skipped uncomfortably. "Is that—"

"An engagement ring," he confirmed, opening the box to reveal a stunning platinum band with a modest but flawless diamond. "My mother will expect it."

When Y/N hesitated, he added gently, "It was my grandmother's. It seemed better than something impersonal from a jeweler."

The sentiment behind the gesture caught Y/N off guard. Using a family heirloom for their fake engagement felt wrong somehow, more deceptive than she'd anticipated.

"Wonwoo, I can't wear your grandmother's ring for this."

"Why not?" His voice was soft, his expression difficult to read in the dim car interior.

"Because it means something to you. It's... too real."

Wonwoo was quiet for a moment, then said, "Maybe that's why it's perfect. The more authentic elements we include, the more convincing our story will be."

His logic was sound, yet Y/N couldn't shake her discomfort as he took her left hand and slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made for her. The weight of it felt foreign, intimidating.

"Ready?" Wonwoo asked, his hand lingering over hers for a moment before he pulled away.

Y/N took a deep breath. "As I'll ever be."

"So, Y/N," Mrs. Jeon said as they settled in the dining room, "Wonwoo tells us you reconnected at last year's innovation summit. How romantic."

Y/N glanced at Wonwoo, who gave her the smallest encouraging nod. "Yes, though I must admit I was quite focused on the presentations. Your son had to be quite persistent to get my attention."

Wonwoo's eyebrows rose slightly at her improvisation, but he recovered quickly. "Y/N was the only person there more interested in the actual innovations than the networking opportunities. It was... refreshing."

The warmth in his voice sounded so genuine that Y/N almost believed it herself.

"And now here we are," Mr. Jeon said, raising his wine glass. "To new beginnings and stronger alliances."

The business-like toast reminded Y/N of the true nature of their arrangement, grounding her. This wasn't about romance; it was about corporate synergy.

Dinner proceeded with surprisingly little interrogation. The elder Jeons seemed content to discuss business matters, occasionally drawing Wonwoo into the conversation but largely ignoring Y/N except for perfunctory questions about her family.

It wasn't until dessert was served that Mrs. Jeon turned her attention fully to Y/N. "Wonwoo mentioned you work as a nurse? How... unusual, given your background."

The slight pause conveyed volumes of judgment. Y/N felt Wonwoo tense beside her.

"I find direct patient care deeply fulfilling," Y/N replied evenly. "There's something irreplaceable about being on the front lines of healthcare."

"Surely there are more appropriate ways for someone of your position to contribute," Mrs. Jeon suggested, her smile not reaching her eyes. "Board work, perhaps, or fundraising."

Before Y/N could respond, Wonwoo cut in. "Y/N's practical experience makes her uniquely valuable. In fact, her insights have already helped shape some of our medical technology initiatives." He turned to her, his expression softening. "Her perspective is precisely why she's so important—to the company and to me."

The declaration, delivered with such conviction, momentarily stunned Y/N. It was a masterful performance, supportive yet plausible within their fabricated narrative.

"How sweet," Mrs. Jeon murmured, clearly unconvinced. "Still, once you're married, priorities naturally shift. Children, social obligations..."

"We're in no rush for children," Wonwoo stated firmly. "And Y/N's career is as important as mine. That's non-negotiable for both of us."

The tension around the table thickened. Mr. Jeon cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should discuss the engagement announcement. We're thinking next month's charity gala would be an appropriate venue."

Y/N barely registered the rest of the conversation as Wonwoo and his parents discussed event details. Her mind was caught on Wonwoo's defense of her career—delivered with such natural conviction that even she had momentarily forgotten it was part of their act.

Later, as they drove home in silence, Y/N finally spoke. "Thank you. For what you said about my nursing."

Wonwoo kept his eyes on the road, his profile illuminated by passing streetlights. "I meant it."

"You did?"

He nodded. "Just because our engagement is arranged doesn't mean I don't respect what you do. My grandfather was saved by a dedicated ER nurse once. I understand the value."

It was the most personal thing he'd shared with her, and Y/N wasn't quite sure how to respond. "Still, thank you. Your mother clearly had other ideas about a suitable daughter-in-law."

"My mother has many ideas," Wonwoo said with a slight smile. "Fortunately, this is our arrangement, not hers."

The "our" lingered between them, a reminder of their strange alliance. Y/N twisted the ring on her finger, still uncomfortable with its presence.

"I can get you a different ring if that one bothers you," Wonwoo said, noticing her gesture.

"No," Y/N said quickly, surprising herself. "It's beautiful. I just... I'm not used to it yet."

As they pulled into their driveway, Y/N realized this was true of more than just the ring. She wasn't used to any of this—the house, the pretense, the strange intimacy of sharing space with a man who was simultaneously a stranger and her supposed future husband.

"My mother will call you tomorrow," Wonwoo said as they entered the house. "She'll want to schedule lunch, probably with your mother too. To discuss wedding plans."

Y/N groaned. "Already? We just got engaged."

"In their minds, we've been together for months," he reminded her. "And big weddings take planning."

The reality of their situation hit Y/N anew. This wasn't just about living together and attending occasional family dinners. There would be an actual wedding—a ceremony, vows, everything.

"I need a drink," she muttered, heading for the kitchen.

To her surprise, Wonwoo followed, reaching into a cabinet she hadn't explored to produce a bottle of expensive scotch and two glasses. "I think we've earned this."

They settled at the kitchen island, the warm amber liquid burning pleasantly down Y/N's throat. "I'm starting to think three years isn't going to be as simple as I imagined."

Wonwoo swirled his drink thoughtfully. "Nothing worth doing ever is."

"Is that what this is? Worth doing?" Y/N challenged, emboldened by the scotch and the surreality of the evening.

"For me, yes," Wonwoo said simply, his eyes meeting hers with unexpected intensity. "Is it for you?"

The question hung between them, heavier than it should have been. Y/N broke eye contact first. "It's necessary. That's enough."

Wonwoo nodded slowly, accepting her answer without pressing further. They sat in companionable silence, sipping their drinks, until Y/N's curiosity got the better of her.

"Why did you agree so easily? To my plan?"

Wonwoo considered his glass for a long moment before answering. "Let's just say it aligns with my own interests."

"Which are?"

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Three years is a long time, Y/N. You'll figure it out."

There was something in his tone—a certainty, almost a challenge—that sent an odd shiver down Y/N's spine. Before she could pursue the matter, her phone chimed with a text from Seungcheol:

Emergency at the hospital. All hands on deck. Multi-car pileup on the highway.

Y/N was on her feet immediately. "I have to go. There's a major trauma situation."

Wonwoo stood as well, concern evident in his expression. "Do you want me to drive you?"

"No time. I'll call a taxi." She was already heading for the stairs to change into scrubs.

"I can be ready in two minutes," Wonwoo called after her.

Y/N paused, surprised by the offer. "You don't have to do that."

"I know I don't have to." Something in his voice made her turn back to look at him. "But I want to. Partners help each other, fake or not."

The sincerity in his expression gave Y/N pause. Maybe there was more to Jeon Wonwoo than she'd initially assumed. "Okay. Two minutes."

As promised, Wonwoo was ready and waiting when she rushed back downstairs in her scrubs. They drove to the hospital in focused silence, Wonwoo navigating Seoul's late-night traffic with calm efficiency.

When they reached the emergency entrance, Y/N unbuckled her seatbelt, then hesitated. "Thank you."

"Text me when you're done," Wonwoo said. "I'll come get you, no matter what time."

It was such a simple offer, yet somehow deeply touching. "You don't need to wait up. I can—"

"I'll come get you," he repeated firmly. "Be safe."

Y/N nodded, strangely affected by his concern. As she rushed toward the ER doors, she caught sight of Seungcheol waiting for her, his expression changing from relief to confusion as he noticed the Tesla pulling away.

"Was that Jeon Wonwoo?" he asked as she approached.

"He gave me a ride," Y/N explained, already focusing on the chaos of the emergency department ahead. "What's the situation?"

Seungcheol studied her for a moment longer before switching to professional mode. "Five critical, twelve moderate injuries. Two ORs running simultaneously. We're assigned to Trauma Bay 3."

Y/N pushed all thoughts of Wonwoo and their complicated arrangement from her mind as she entered the familiar controlled chaos of the emergency room. Here, at least, she knew exactly who she was and what she was meant to do.

Yet even as she worked alongside Seungcheol with their usual seamless coordination, a small part of her remained aware of the unfamiliar weight on her left hand—the grandmother's ring that she hadn't thought to remove before rushing out.

Seven hours later, exhausted but satisfied after a successful mass casualty response, Y/N stumbled out of the hospital into the pale light of early morning. She had texted Wonwoo that she was taking the subway home, not expecting him to actually come at 5 AM after a single text.

Yet there he was, leaning against his car in the parking lot, two cups of coffee in hand.

"I said I'd come get you," he said simply, offering her one of the cups. "No matter what time."

Y/N accepted the coffee, too tired to argue and secretly grateful not to face the subway. As she slid into the passenger seat, the events of the previous night—the dinner, the ring, their conversation—seemed dreamlike compared to the visceral reality of her hospital shift.

"How was it?" Wonwoo asked as they pulled away from the hospital.

"We saved everyone," Y/N said, sipping the coffee—prepared exactly as she liked it, she noted. "One patient was touch and go for a while, but pulled through."

Wonwoo glanced at her, genuine admiration in his expression. "What you do... it matters. Real, immediate impact. That's rare."

The simple acknowledgment of her work's value touched Y/N more than she expected. Her parents had never understood her choice to practice nursing rather than pursue administration or medicine. To have Wonwoo, essentially a stranger, recognize it so easily was unexpectedly validating.

They rode in comfortable silence, Y/N fighting to keep her eyes open as exhaustion caught up with her. By the time they reached the house, she was half-asleep, roused only by the gentle stop of the car.

"Come on," Wonwoo said softly. "You need rest."

He walked beside her to the door, close enough to catch her if she stumbled but not touching her. The consideration in the gesture wasn't lost on Y/N, even in her fatigue.

Inside, she headed straight for the stairs, pausing at the bottom to look back at him. "Thank you. For the ride. And the coffee."

Wonwoo nodded. "Get some sleep. I'll be quiet when I leave for work."

Y/N started up the stairs, then turned back again, a question that had been nagging at her finally surfacing. "Wonwoo? At the conference last year... why do you remember me focusing on that rural healthcare presentation? We barely spoke."

A shadow of something—vulnerability?—crossed his face before he composed it into his usual calm expression. "Like I said, I notice things. Especially things that matter."

Before she could process his answer, he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Y/N with the distinct feeling that there was much more to Jeon Wonwoo than their arrangement had led her to believe.

In her room, she removed the engagement ring, studying it in the morning light. Beautiful, valuable, with history and meaning���yet ultimately a prop in their elaborate performance. As she placed it carefully on her nightstand, Y/N wondered if she was making a terrible mistake.

Three years was indeed a long time to pretend. What if the lines between pretense and reality began to blur? What if this arrangement cost her more than just her freedom?

What if Jeon Wonwoo had ulterior motives she couldn't begin to fathom?

These questions followed her into sleep, where she dreamed of warm eyes behind round glasses and a voice that said, "I notice things. Especially things that matter."

Especially you, the dream voice added, though the real Wonwoo had said no such thing.

Across the hall, in his own room, Wonwoo sat at his desk, adding another entry to his journal:

Day 8 of Our Three Year Plan.

She still doesn't remember me from the conference, but that's alright. I remember enough for both of us. The way she challenged the speaker about resource allocation. The passion in her voice when discussing patient dignity. The fact that she was the only person in a room full of executives who cared more about outcomes than optics.

She wore my grandmother's ring today. It looked right on her hand, just as I knew it would.

Three years is a long time, but I've waited longer than that already. I can be patient for what matters.

And she matters. She always has.

He closed the journal, unaware that across the hall, Y/N was dreaming of him, the first cracks already forming in the wall she'd built between their arrangement and her heart.

[theonlyonesora]

The Quiet Equation - End

Toto Wolff x You

Harvard in the fall had its own kind of romance—amber leaves underfoot, lamplit library windows, the faint burn of coffee and stress in the air. But even surrounded by ivy-draped buildings and brilliant minds, you’d find yourself glancing at your phone, checking for his name.

And it was always there.

Daily messages. Evening calls when the time zones aligned. The rare voice note—low and intimate, wrapped in that unmistakable Austrian cadence.

“I saw a young engineer today with your kind of fire. But no one has your quiet precision.” “I miss your questions.” “Come to Silverstone.”

You blinked at the last one.

Just a short message, no fluff. Typical of him. But there was weight in it. An undercurrent. Like an open door.

And so—you said yes.

.

Silverstone was louder than you remembered.

The paddock was a maze of bodies and camera lenses, fans screaming, engines roaring to life behind guarded garages. You wore your guest badge tucked under a zipped black team jacket and oversized sunglasses. Incognito. Or so you thought.

Toto met you by the hospitality unit.

He didn’t hesitate. He never hesitated.

Arms around you. A kiss—cheek first, then forehead, lingering a second too long. His hand slid down your back in that way that made your lungs forget what breathing was supposed to feel like.

“You’re here,” he said softly, as though confirming it to himself.

And when you looked up and smiled, he exhaled like he hadn’t allowed himself to hope that you’d really come.

You spent the race in the garage. Right next to him.

You wore the headset. Listened to the radio. Watched as engineers scrambled and strategies were made and unmade. His presence beside you was calm and commanding, his body close enough to feel the heat from his skin.

At one point, the camera panned across the garage.

You knew it was live.

You also knew the angle caught you beside him, Toto’s arm casually behind your chair, his eyes flicking down to you like gravity pulled him there.

It didn’t feel secret anymore.

And weirdly… that didn’t scare you.

The internet wanted to know who you were.

There were TikToks and Twitter threads. Speculation. Screenshots of that exact moment, that glance. Reddit digging. Comments about your age, your looks, your smile. Some gentle. Some cruel.

You scrolled for a while in the car after the race, curled in the front seat of his blacked-out SUV, your fingers scrolling silently while Toto drove with one hand on the wheel and one on your thigh.

“They’re curious,” he said, finally breaking the quiet.

“I didn’t think it would feel like this,” you admitted. “So... exposed.”

“I can make it stop,” he said. “If it ever feels like too much. I’d protect you from it. I’d protect you from everything, if you let me.”

Your heart broke open, quietly.

“You don’t have to protect me,” you whispered. “I just need to know I’m not doing this alone.”

His hand tightened gently.

“You’re not,” he promised.

.

Back at his house—his real house, not the hotel—the atmosphere shifted.

The quiet was warmer here. More settled.

You kicked off your shoes by the door and sank into the soft leather of his couch while he poured wine in the kitchen. He moved like he always did—measured, intentional, elegant even in his socks and rolled sleeves.

He handed you a glass. Sat beside you.

You talked. Laughed. His hand found yours, fingers laced.

The wine made everything feel softer.

The way he watched you? That made it electric.

“I don’t want this to be something temporary,” he said suddenly, voice low.

You looked up, your pulse stalling.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured,” he continued. “You’re young. You have your life. I’m not trying to take anything from you. But I’d like to give something, if you’ll have it.”

You set your wine glass down, turning toward him completely.

“What are you offering?” you asked, almost breathless.

“Something real,” he said. “Something that might last. I want to build it slowly, honestly. But only if you want that too.”

Your reply came not in words, but in movement—your fingers gently curling into the front of his shirt, pulling him in.

“I want to try,” you whispered. “I want us.”

The first kiss that night wasn’t hurried. It was reverent. Familiar. Like two people who already knew how the other felt and were finally letting their bodies echo it.

He kissed you like he had all night.

Like he wanted all night.

Fingertips along your jaw, your throat, brushing down your sides like he was mapping the parts of you he’d only imagined. His hands were large, warm, grounding—lifting your shirt slowly, sliding it over your head with a careful reverence that made your breath catch.

When you reached for his belt, your fingers trembled.

He noticed. Caught your hand.

“You don’t have to,” he murmured.

“I want to,” you answered, eyes never leaving his.

It was slow.

Deliberate.

Not just lust—though there was plenty of that too. But more than anything, it was tender. He touched you like you were something rare, kissed your neck like it held secrets he wanted to spend years unraveling.

When you gasped, he smiled into your skin.

And when you pulled him down to meet you fully, there was nothing left unsaid.

After, you lay tangled in sheets and each other, sweat cooling, heartbeats steadying.

His hand traced lazy shapes along your hip. You buried your face in his chest, sighing contentedly as his other arm curled around your shoulders.

“I want mornings with you,” he said into your hair.

“You can have them,” you murmured, already half asleep. “You can have everything.”

[snowseasonmademe]

In your hands

warning ‼️: smut

word count: 4,991

pairing: william saliba x black female reader

summary: on a nice, innocent pottery date you can help but desire for you to be in william’s hands instead of the clay

tag list: @sucredreamer @irishmanwhore @whoevenisthiz @iamquiantrelle @dexastres @coffeevacation @goldenngt @btslover117 @kennasutopia @jessnotwiththemess

note: my first william fic🥳 the girls and i had a timeeeeeee with that pottery video so i had to write something because it was really making me ✨tingle✨. as always enjoy and tell me what you think!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The warm glow of the studio lights cast golden hues over the room, reflecting off the damp sheen of the spinning clay. The air smelled of earth and something faintly musky—maybe the clay, maybe the lingering scent of William’s cologne. Either way, it was intoxicating.

You had both been waiting weeks for this pottery date, but between his matches and your packed schedule, the timing never aligned. Until tonight. And now, here you were—knees touching as you both sat in front of the wheel, hands trembling slightly as you tried to center the clay.

William let out a low chuckle, watching as the mass of clay wobbled under your uncertain hands. “Let me help you bébé” he murmured, his deep, accented voice sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could protest, he reached for another chair, dragging it behind yours. The scrape of wood against tile barely registered before he settled in—his long legs bracketing yours, his chest pressing flush against your back. His presence engulfed you, surrounding you in his warmth, in the scent of him—clean, rich, subtly spiced. It made your pulse stutter.

His hands found yours, covering them with ease, his fingers warm and firm as they guided your movements. The clay was soft beneath your touch, pliant, shifting under the gentle pressure of both your hands.

“Just like that bébé” he whispered, his lips dangerously close to the shell of your ear. His voice was low, smooth, almost teasing. “You have to keep it steady, or it will fall apart.”

The words, innocent in context, settled deep in your stomach, curling like a slow-burning fire.

You swallowed thickly, forcing your focus back on the clay, but it was impossible when every breath William exhaled ghosted over your skin, sending sparks of heat straight to your core. His fingers laced with yours, guiding them up and down the spinning strangely cylindrical shaped clay. Smoothing, shaping, molding. The way the unshaped clay leaned to the side reminded you of the curvature of William. How he hits some many unknown spots inside of you.

Your mind drifted, thoughts slipping into dangerous territory. His hands were large, skilled, his grip both firm and delicate. You imagined them elsewhere, imagined those same fingers dipping inside you with the same careful precision. The way his chest molded to your back, the solid weight of him behind you, how easily he took control.

A sharp inhale betrayed you, your breathing shifting ever so slightly. William must have noticed because his grip on your hands tightened, just a little. His thumb brushed over the back of your knuckles, slow, thoughtful.

“Faster” he murmured, instructing you to press the pedal.

You did, and the wheel spun quicker, the clay stretching, lengthening beneath your touch. But you weren’t thinking about the vase anymore. No, all you could think about was the way his voice dropped an octave when he spoke in your ear, the way his body heat seeped into yours, the way his fingers still moved over yours, teasing, coaxing, controlling.

His breath was heavy now as he tried with a small amount of strength to keep the clay in the middle of the wheel. He let out a few grunts that sent you down a spiral. Each exhale a low rumble near your ear. You weren’t sure if it was the effort of keeping your hands steady or if he could feel the same tension building thick in the air between you.

Then, his voice dipped lower, darker. “Get it wet for me”

The instruction was innocent enough—he wanted you to add more water to the clay before it dried out. But the second the words left his lips, your stomach clenched, heat rushing through you in waves.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the bowl, scooping up water and letting it drizzle over the spinning clay. But in your mind, all you could hear was the weight of those words, all you could think about was how wet he was making you.

For a moment, you let your eyes flutter shut, let yourself get lost in the sensation of his hands over yours, the steady rhythm, the quiet intimacy of it all. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the strength in his arms as he held you still, the way his breath stuttered ever so slightly when you shifted against him, his heartbeat steady on your back.

A low hum vibrated in his chest. “Bébé?” His voice was softer now, laced with amusement. “Y/n? You can stop the wheel now—we got the shape you wanted”

Your eyes snapped open.

The clay had transformed—what had once been a messy, phallic-shaped lump was now a perfect, smooth vase, ready to be fired and painted. You had no idea how long it had been like that, how much time had passed while you were caught up in everything else.

William was quiet for a moment, but you could feel the smirk on his lips before you even turned to look at him. His fingers lingered over yours, his chest still pressed to your back, his breath still warm at your ear.

“Alright, they said we just leave the pieces on the wheel and they come and pick them up” he murmured, his tone knowing, teasing, promising. “Ready to go?”

Your pulse thrummed.

Yes. Yes, you were.

William stayed close behind you, his chest still pressed against your back, his hands still covering yours. The wheel had stopped spinning, the clay was molded perfectly, but the tension in the air hadn’t settled—it had only thickened, stretching between you like an invisible thread ready to snap.

Finally, he exhaled, slow and controlled. “Come bébé” he murmured, his voice deep, rough around the edges. “Let’s clean up”

His hands slid from yours, trailing lightly over your wrists before pulling away completely. The loss of contact left your skin tingling, hyperaware of the warmth that was no longer there. You swallowed and stood up, but your legs felt unsteady—whether from sitting too long or from the way his voice had been in your ear all night, you weren’t sure.

William noticed. Of course he did.

A smirk played at the corner of his lips as he straightened to his full height, towering over you. “You okay baby?”

The way he said it—low, teasing, laced with something smug—made your breath hitch.

You rolled your eyes, trying to act unaffected, but he saw right through it. He always did.

The two of you moved to the sink, side by side, hands covered in clay residue. The water ran warm over your fingers as you rinsed off the mess, but the real distraction was William—how he stood so close, how his arm brushed against yours, how he watched you with darkened eyes through the mirror above the sink.

“Pretty good for your first time” he murmured, voice smooth as silk. “I liked watching you work”

His gaze flickered down, slow and playfully, and the way he said it made it clear—he wasn’t talking about pottery anymore.

Your breath stuttered. “Glad I could entertain you”

William smirked, reaching for a paper towel. Instead of handing it to you, he took your wrist gently, turning your palm up as he slowly—too slowly—wiped your hands dry, his touch lingering over your fingers. His thumb brushed over the sensitive skin of your wrist, pressing lightly against your pulse.

“Always do” he murmured.

Heat coiled in your stomach.

You knew you needed to leave before things spiraled right here in the studio, but every second stretched out, every movement felt drawn-out, and teasing.

Finally, you both grabbed your coats, the fabric sliding over your skin like an afterthought. He helped you with yours, pulling it over your shoulders, his fingers grazing your bare collarbone before smoothing the lapel down.

“Ready?” he asked.

Hell yes. You thought.

But you nodded anyway.

As he led you toward the door, you reached out, grasping his arm—needing the connection, needing to feel him under your fingers. His muscles flexed slightly under your touch, but he didn’t say anything, just let you hold on as he opened the door and led you outside into the cool night air.

The walk to the car was slow. Tension curled between you like thick smoke, wrapping around every step, every glance. The air was crisp, but it did nothing to cool the heat simmering between you.

William opened the passenger door, stepping aside to let you in. But before you could move, he leaned in close, one hand bracing against the car beside your head.

His scent wrapped around you—something rich, something warm, something distinctly him. His lips hovered near your ear, his breath warm as he murmured, “Get in bébé”

It was a simple request. But the way he said it—commanding, full of promise—made your entire body shiver.

You swallowed hard and slid into the seat, your thighs pressing together instinctively. He closed the door with a soft click, rounding the car and slipping into the driver’s seat with effortless grace.

The car was silent as he started the engine, but the energy between you was deafening. The air felt thick, heavy, charged. You shifted slightly, trying to find some semblance of control, but when William’s hand landed on your thigh—casual, but firm—your breath caught in your throat.

His fingers flexed slightly, his thumb brushing along the inside of your knee.

“You’re quiet” he mused, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as he pulled onto the road. “Something wrong?”

You turned to look at him, his profile sharp under the glow of the streetlights. His jaw was tight, his grip on the wheel firm. He looked composed, relaxed even—but you knew better. You could see it in the way his fingers drummed lightly against your skin, in the way his chest rose and fell just a little too calculated.

You exhaled slowly. “Just thinking about… getting home.”

William let out a soft hum, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Yeah?” His fingers inched higher up your thigh. “What about it?”

Your pulse thrummed. “Just that I’d rather be there right now”

That did something to him. His fingers twitched against your skin, his grip tightening slightly. His jaw clenched, and for the first time, he broke eye contact with the road for a brief second, flicking his gaze toward you.

Dark. Heated. Possessive.

His foot pressed just a little harder on the gas.

The rest of the ride was silent, but the tension didn’t fade—it only thickened, crackling between you like static electricity. Every glance, every breath, every small shift in your seat felt loaded, stretched taut.

By the time he pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, you were already reaching for the door handle. But before you could move, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist.

“Aye aye wait, let me get your door” he murmured, sounding slightly confused as to why you would ever reach for your door when he always does.

You turned to him, your breath catching when you saw the look in his eyes—dark, hungry, filled with all the things he hadn’t said yet.

Slowly, he reached for his own door handle, stepping out first before rounding the car. He opened your door just as slowly, offering his hand.

You took it.

The second your fingers laced together, he pulled you up—too fast, too sudden, too intentional. You barely had time to react before you were against the car, his body crowding yours, his hands bracing on either side of you.

“Still thinking about getting home?” he asked, voice a rough whisper.

You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding against your ribs. “Not really. No”

A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips. “Good”

And then—finally—he kissed you.

It was soft at first, teasing, like he was savoring the moment. But then you sighed into him, pressing closer, and something in him snapped.

His hands gripped your waist, his body pressing into yours, deepening the kiss with a slow, consuming hunger. His fingers traced along your spine, his grip tightening like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed more.

By the time he pulled back, his breathing was uneven, his forehead resting against yours.

“I��ve been wanting to kiss you like this for hours” you murmured.

Your lips tingled, your whole body alight with want. “You don’t have to wait now” he whispered, trailing his fingers up your arm, across your collarbone, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, vibrating against you.

And with that, he led you inside and to your bedroom—where waiting was no longer an option.

A slow, heavy silence settled between you, thick with anticipation. William’s grip on your wrist lingered, his thumb stroking over the delicate skin just above your pulse, tracing slow circles that sent a ripple of heat straight through you.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

His dark eyes roamed over you, taking in the rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips parted slightly as you tried to steady your breath. His own breathing was measured, deep, his broad chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt too controlled—like he was holding something back.

Your skin prickled as he finally moved, his free hand reaching up to toy with the lapel of your coat. His fingers, long and warm, ghosted over the fabric before he slipped one button free. Then another. And another.

Each movement was excruciatingly slow.

Your breath caught as the last button came undone, the heavy material sliding apart. His hands, now unhindered, spread the coat open, his fingers grazing over the thin fabric of your top beneath. The contrast of warmth against cool air sent a shiver down your spine.

William smirked. “Cold bébé?”

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “No”

His smirk deepened, approval flickering in his gaze. He slid the coat off your shoulders, the weight of it disappearing as it pooled at your feet with a soft thud.

For a moment, he simply looked at you.

His gaze swept over every inch of exposed skin, dark and intense, lingering on the way your nipples strained against your top, the way your thighs pressed together like you were already trying to contain the tension thrumming through you.

Then, he sat down.

Spreading his legs, he pulled you between them, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs, firm and possessive. The heat of his palms burned through your jeans, his thumbs tracing lazy circles just beneath the curve of your ass.

He leaned in.

His breath, warm and steady, fanned over your clothed stomach as his lips hovered—so close, yet refusing to touch. His hands squeezed gently, fingers digging in just enough to make you feel him, grounding you in the moment.

Then, he lifts your shirt slightly and pressed his lips to your skin.

Soft. Slow. Controlled.

A sharp inhale escaped you as his mouth moved lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your hip bones, his tongue flicking out to taste, to tease. Each kiss lingered, warm and wet, the faintest hint of teeth grazing your skin before he soothed the spot with his tongue.

You clenched your fingers into his hair, not pulling—just holding. Needing something to keep you tethered.

William inhaled, then exhaled against you, his voice a deep murmur vibrating against your skin. “You smell so good” he mused, pressing another kiss, this time firmer, just above your waistband.

His fingers toyed with the button of your jeans, flicking it open with a practiced ease. Then, just as slowly, he dragged the zipper down, the sound loud in the quiet room. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband, brushing against your lower stomach, teasing but not rushing.

“Lift” he instructed, voice low, smooth as silk.

You obeyed, shifting just enough for him to tug your jeans down your hips, dragging them over your thighs, your calves, before discarding them somewhere behind him. The cool air kissed your newly exposed skin, making every nerve stand on end.

His eyes darkened as they trailed over you, lingering on the damp spot forming on your panties. He didn’t comment, but the way his jaw tensed, the way his hands flexed against your hips, told you everything.

Then he moved again, gripping the hem of your top and pulling it over your head in one smooth motion. Your arms instinctively crossed over your chest, but William tsked, catching your wrists and gently pulling them away.

“Laisse-moi te voir chérie” (Let me see you darling)

The way he said it—low, reverent, like he was asking and demanding all at once—made your stomach tighten.

His fingers traced over your bare skin, the lightest touch, following the curves of your waist, up to the swell of your breasts, stopping just shy of touching where you wanted him most. His eyes flicked up to yours, gauging your reaction, watching the way your breath hitched.

He didn’t say it out loud but his eyes told you how beautiful he thinks you are. How much he admired you, in every way.

Your skin felt hot, your whole body thrumming with the weight of his attention. “William…”

He hummed, pleased by your breathlessness.

Then, swiftly, he guided you down onto the bed, following until he hovered over you, his weight pressing into you just enough to make your breath catch.

His lips found your throat, pressing slow, lingering kisses before his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin. You gasped as he sucked, harder this time, leaving behind a mark you knew would still be there in the morning.

His hands mapped your body, fingertips tracing, memorizing. His soft palms scraped lightly against your soft skin, the contrast sending a delicious shiver through you.

One hand drifted lower, teasing, testing, before slipping between your thighs. His fingers brushed over your panties, feeling the heat, the dampness, his breath hitching slightly against your neck.

“Déjà si mouillée” (Already so wet) he murmured, voice thick with approval. “I haven’t even touched you yet”

Before you could respond, he slid your panties down, taking his time, his fingers grazing over your thighs as he discarded them. His gaze stayed locked on you, dark, smoldering, as he traced a single fingertip along your inner thigh, moving achingly slow toward your center.

Then—finally—he pushed one finger inside.

A sharp gasp slipped from your lips as he moved, slow, measured, his other hand pressing against your stomach to keep you still. He worked you open, thrusting in and out at an unhurried pace, watching your every reaction. You could already hear your juices drenching his finger.

“Look at you” he murmured, almost to himself. “So perfect for me”

A second finger joined the first, stretching you just enough to make your back arch, your thighs trembling around him. He curled them, pressing up—hard—against that spot that made your whole body jolt.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “How does that feel mon amour?” His voice was rough, almost teasing. “Are you gonna cum for me bébé?”

You couldn’t answer—not with the way your breath hitched, your body responding to every slow, devastating movement.

Then, just as you teetered on the edge, William withdrew his fingers.

A whimper of protest left you, but he only chuckled, sitting up slightly. He lifted his fingers to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste you. His eyes locked on yours the entire time, as he wrapped his lips around his fingers.

Your breath hitched, heat pooling in your stomach all over again.

Then—he pressed those same fingers against your lips.

“Open”

The single word sent a shiver through you. You obeyed, parting your lips as he slid his fingers inside, letting you taste yourself on him. His gaze darkened, his smirk deepening as he watched you suck them clean.

He hummed murmured, voice thick with approval.

And then—he reached for his belt.

His eyes stayed locked on yours, his smirk promising something slow, something devastating, as he murmured, “Let’s see if you can take more bébé”

You lick your lips, anticipation thrumming through your veins as you watch him undress with a torturing slowness. His fingers grip the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head, revealing a chiseled torso adorned with tantalizing muscles and glistening skin that catches the dim light. Each ridge and contour of his abdomen flexes as he unbuttons his pants, letting them drop to the floor with a soft thud. His boxers follow suit, sliding down his thick, toned thighs, leaving him completely exposed. Your eyes widen as his dick springs free—thick, veined, and proud. Its light brown shaft contrasts against his skin, the pink tip flushed and needy, curving slightly to the left as it pulses with arousal. Your breath catches, and your mouth waters at the sight of him.

“I can take more” you murmur, voice trembling with desire, the words a plea that escapes your lips. “I need more”

His eyes darken, filled with an insatiable hunger that matches your own. Slowly, he lowers himself between your thighs, the warmth of his skin searing against yours as he presses your legs wide, framing his hips. His hands trail up the soft curves of your thighs, spreading you open as he dips his head to capture your lips. His kiss is deep, consuming—his lips melding with yours in a passionate dance, tongues tangling as if he’s tasting you for the first time. His mouth moves with an urgency that leaves you breathless, every kiss more demanding than the last, like you’re the only thing sustaining him.

His lips trace a scorching path down your neck, his breath hot against your skin, making your pulse flutter wildly beneath his touch. When his mouth finds that sensitive spot just below your ear, he sucks gently, his teeth grazing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. A soft moan escapes your lips, but it quickly turns into a desperate whimper as he positions himself, the head of his dick pressing insistently against your entrance. Slowly, achingly slow, he pushes inside, stretching you open, inch by torturous inch, until he’s fully seated within you.

A guttural groan rumbles from deep in his chest, vibrating against your collarbone as he buries himself to the hilt. His forehead rests against yours, eyes closed, breathing ragged and heavy. “No matter how many times I’m inside” he murmurs, his voice thick and gravelly, fingers threading through your hair tenderly, “better every time” His eyes open, locking onto yours with an intensity that steals your breath away, his gaze filled with raw, unspoken emotion.

He stays still, letting you adjust, the fullness of him sending sparks of pleasure rippling through your body. Then, he begins to move—slow, languid strokes that drag against your walls, setting every nerve ending ablaze. He moves with expert precision, each thrust deeper than the last, his hips rolling in a sensual rhythm that leaves you gasping for air. His eyes never leave yours, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face, memorizing each soft moan and breathless sigh.

But soon, his restraint wanes. He shifts, lifting both your legs with effortless strength, draping them over his broad shoulders. The new angle sends him deeper, the thick length of him pressing against that perfect spot inside you, making your back arch off the mattress. He leans forward, folding you in half beneath him, his chest pressing against yours, his skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat. His thrusts grow harder, more demanding—each one a powerful surge that forces desperate cries from your lips.

Your nails dig into the thick muscle of his biceps, fingers clutching desperately as he pounds into you with an unrelenting rhythm. Every stroke is deep, precise, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. His body is a furnace above you, his skin burning against yours, slick with sweat. You can feel the heat radiating from him, every flex of his muscles, every slight shudder of restraint in his body as he pushes deeper, stretching you to your limit.

“Oh William” you whimper, voice breaking as the intensity of his thrusts robs you of breath. Your head falls back against the pillows, but he doesn’t let you escape—his large hand cups your jaw, tilting your face back toward his. His dark eyes are hooded, half-lidded with lust, locked onto you with a gaze so heated it makes your stomach coil tighter. He watches every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face, drinking in each gasp, each moan, each helpless whine that spills from your lips.

“This what you wanted baby?” His voice is rough, laced with desire, the deep timbre vibrating through your very core. “Fucking you nice and hard, just like this, yes?” His words are punctuated by a sharp thrust that knocks the air from your lungs, makes your toes curl, makes your back arch into him.

“Yes” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper, barely coherent through the pleasure wracking your body. Your fingers slip down his arms, nails dragging over the sculpted ridges of his forearms, gripping at anything you can hold on to. “Oh, yes—please.”

A dark smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, but his expression is wrecked with need, his body trembling slightly as he tightens his grip on your thighs. His fingers sink into the soft flesh there, anchoring you beneath him as his pace quickens. His hips snap forward with a bruising force, slamming into you over and over, deeper and harder, until the pleasure borders on unbearable. The room fills with the intoxicating sound of your bodies colliding—wet, fevered, the slap of skin against skin mixing with his deep, husky grunts and your breathless cries.

His dick drags along your inner walls, each thrust hitting every single perfect spot inside you, making your vision go dark at the edges. But it’s the way his pelvis grinds against your swollen clit with each deep stroke that sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating through you, your body wound so tightly it feels like you might snap.

Your breath stutters, chest heaving, every muscle in your body tightening as the pleasure mounts higher, higher, until you’re teetering on the edge. The coil in your belly twists, tighter and tighter, heat pooling low in your stomach until you feel like you’re about to burst.

“Uhh baby—I’m cumming,” you gasp, your voice raw, trembling. Your hands fly to his back, nails digging in, desperate, as your entire body locks up beneath him. “Please don’t stop”

He groans at your words, his thrusts growing more erratic, more desperate. His head falls forward, forehead pressing to yours as he slams into you, driving you over the edge. And then it hits—your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, white-hot and all-consuming. Your body shakes, your walls fluttering around him, gripping him so tightly that he lets out a strangled groan, his pace stuttering as he fights to hold on.

But he doesn’t stop. He rides you through it, fucking you harder, deeper, until you’re a trembling, breathless mess beneath him. The overstimulation has you gasping, your body writhing as he wrings every last drop of pleasure from you.

A few more hard, punishing thrusts, and then he’s pulling out, scrambling up your body. His hand wraps around his dick, stroking himself furiously, his jaw clenched, his muscles glistening as he hovers over you. His breaths come in sharp, ragged pants, his eyes locked onto you—your heaving chest, your sweat-slicked skin, the way your body glows in the aftermath of your orgasm.

And then—he breaks.

A desperate moan rips from his throat as he spills himself over you, hot, thick ropes of cum painting your chest, your stomach, even reaching your neck. His entire body shudders, his hips jerking as he milks the last of his release onto your skin. His head falls back, eyes squeezed shut, the sheer force of his orgasm wracking through him, leaving him trembling above you.

When he finally comes down, his chest still heaving, his dark eyes meet yours once more. You hold his gaze as you dip your fingers into the sticky warm mess on your skin, gathering it up and bringing it to your lips. Slowly, you suck each finger clean, savoring the taste of him with a teasing smirk.

The sight has him groaning again, his head falling forward as he watches, utterly wrecked, utterly mesmerized. His hands drop to the bed beside you, as if he needs to brace himself, as if the sheer filth of you licking him off your fingers is enough to make his legs give out.

“Fuck” he breathes, voice hoarse, shaky, still dazed from the intensity of it all.

Leaning down, he captures your mouth in a slow, languid kiss, tasting himself on your lips, his tongue sweeping across yours in a possessive, lingering claim. Finally, he pulls back, collapsing beside you, strong arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you against his chest.

His fingers trace lazy patterns along your spine, and with a breathless chuckle, he murmurs, “Maybe we should do dates like this more often. You laugh shyly into his chest “I don’t think we’ll make it out of the parking lot if we go on another date like that”

The afterglow settles between you like a warm, lazy haze, your bodies tangled together beneath the soft sheets. His strong arms stay wrapped around you, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your bare back, grounding you in the quiet intimacy that lingers after the storm of pleasure. Your heartbeat is still erratic, your body still thrumming with the echoes of his touch, but in this moment, you feel nothing but contentment. William presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and tender, a stark contrast to the way he had just ravaged you. His scent—deep, musky, unmistakably his—surrounds you, mixing with the remnants of sex in the air, making you never want to leave this bed.

[allmondbuttergirl]

BTS COMEBACK 2025 READING

✨ Tarot Reading: Energy, Direction & Outcome ✨

+ Special Note: A Message to ARMY.

Note: Not gonna lie — the cards did not want to come out at first. The energy was heavy. Like something big was building behind the scenes. But once they dropped? Oh, they had something to say.

Card 1: What is the current energy around BTS’s next comeback?

🧿 What the Cards Say: Judgement, King of Swords, Wheel of Fortune

This is a comeback born of destiny, clarity, and purpose. Judgement speaks of awakening — a karmic call, a moment where past, present, and future converge. It’s not just a return — it’s a rebirth. The King of Swords gives this moment structure: it’s being approached with wisdom, maturity, and a sharpened message. This isn’t about chaos or experimentation — it’s calculated, and clear. The Wheel of Fortune spins behind it all — timing, fate, alignment. They’re stepping onto a stage the universe has quietly been preparing. This comeback feels inevitable. Not a return — a redefinition.

Card 2: What direction will they take creatively or conceptually?

🧿 What the Cards Say: The World (reversed), Queen of Wands, VI of Wands + Fly-out: The High Priestess

This isn’t about closing a chapter — it’s about rewriting it. The World reversed suggests unfinished business, creative echoes they’re bringing into the light with new voice. Expect a callback to past selves — but reimagined, not recycled. The Queen of Wands brings fire: this comeback will be bold, magnetic, and unapologetically confident. They’re reclaiming their creative center, with flair. With the Six of Wands, they want to be seen, fully — not just as idols, but as individuals rising in triumph. And then comes the High Priestess, uninvited but insistent. She whispers of secrets, intuition, and emotional depth. There’s more to this comeback than what’s on the surface — hidden meanings, spiritual evolution, a quiet vulnerability beneath the roar. The duality is striking: fire on the outside, water on the inside. Power and mystery, working in tandem.

Card 3: Will their next comeback be successful?

🧿 What the Cards Say: Ace of Wands, King of Pentacles, VIII of Pentacles

Yes — and then some. The Ace of Wands signals ignition: new energy, renewed passion, a flame catching in real time. It won’t just work — it’ll excite, inspire, and move people. The fans will feel the spark immediately. The King of Pentacles shows the industry’s response: respect, trust, and long-term impact. This comeback won’t be just a moment — it’ll be a statement of power and sustainability. Financially and critically, it will ground their legacy even deeper. And then, VIII of Pentacles — the card of craft, devotion, and hard-earned mastery. This comeback is a result of dedication, not luck. Fans will see the effort. Industry professionals will see the precision. It’s not just successful — it’s well-built, deserved, and lasting.

💭 Final Energy Check:

This isn’t just a comeback. It’s a cosmic checkpoint — a convergence of who BTS has been, who they are now, and who they’re about to become. The energy is mature and intentional, the creative direction is fiery yet deeply intuitive, and the outcome points toward both immediate ignition and long-term respect. They’re not chasing trends. They’re rewriting the narrative.

Message from BTS to ARMY

“Spoiler: it absolutely does work out for you — and even better than you anticipated.”

This isn’t just a comeback for the group. It’s a gift wrapped in patience, laced with intention. They’re telling ARMY: you’re not just witnessing this moment. You’re part of it.

May 21st , 2025.

[madehellline]

Sooo... i never posted anything in here... it's my first fic after so much time, 'cause i heard the song called "Peligrosa" by Urias and i was like, yep i think i'll try something :) ... i hope you guys like :) English is not my first language, so i beg you pardon for any errors

🏁 Street Racer!Reader x Police Officer!Geto Suguru

Title: “Peligrosa”

The city pulsed like a hot engine at 3AM. Skyscrapers sweated neon and smoke. The asphalt vibrated under her steps — black combat boots, steel soles.

“She’s here.” Someone whispered in the crowd, but no one dared to approach. Everyone knew who she was. (Y/n), queen of the street races. Or, as they called her in illegal betting circles: Peligrosa, for her iconic Brazilian-made car.

Hood down, red lipstick on, she leaned against her ride — a matte black 1975 Chevrolet Chevette with burnt pink accents. Painted by hand, scarred by every race she’d ever won.

The radio hummed a deep, slow beat — sensual, heavy. The same beat echoed inside her chest: heart racing, adrenaline pumping.

— “The road’s mine tonight.” she said, without even glancing at anyone.

— “She’s racing Yuki?” — “They’ve got history.”

(Y/n) smirked. The streetlights caught her eyes like headlights in the dark.

Tonight was for vengeance. Or redemption. Or maybe just another race where the world could end — and she wouldn’t care. After all, she knew the city streets like the back of her hand. And if he showed up again, she’d know exactly how to drive him mad in the chase.

(Y/n) spotted her rival pulling up in her Nissan Silvia. Friends, yes — but rivals tonight. In this underground world, respect was earned with rubber, speed, and risk.

(Y/n) slid into her seat and aligned her Chevette to the starting line. A notification lit up on her phone — the route for tonight’s race. She glanced at it and smiled: tight curves, perfect for drifting. Her specialty. Her obsession. Her pleasure.

She’d built her car for nights like this.

Yuki pulled up beside her, revving hard and cutting the limiter, sending the crowd into a frenzy.

Takuma Ino, brown-haired and sharp-eyed, stepped forward. He waited for the green light from the hackers — the ones hijacking the city’s security cams and police scanners.

The signal came. Time to start.

— “Ready?” — 3... 2... 1... GO!

(Y/n) slammed into first gear. The front wheels lifted off the ground. Her entire body vibrated with the engine's roar. Each gear shift was a hit of dopamine. Each drift, a shot of fire to her veins.

She was alive.

She reached the main road — Shibuya — the legendary curve where Mr. Han from Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift had his “fake death.”

She honked hard. Pedestrians screamed and scattered, mesmerized by the spectacle of her car carving the curve with precision and fire.

But then — the sound.

Sirens.

— “Of course he’s here,” she smiled, almost fondly. — “This is his district, after all.”

Her phone rang.

— “It’s Geto, right?” — “Yeah,” Ino replied. “He’s got backup this time. Guess he’s still mad about the last chase. Be careful.” — “When am I not?” She chuckled. — “Is he alone again?” — “Yup. Ever since your last escape, the white-haired guy doesn’t ride with him anymore.” — “Hmmm… perfect. Might play a little.”

— “Gonna live up to the name Peligrosa?” — “Always.” — “Take care.” — Click.

— “Ok Google, call Yuki.” — Calling Yuki...

— “Geto?” Yuki answered immediately. — “Geto.” — “I’m out,” she laughed. “Good luck with your cop boyfriend.” — Click.

(Y/n) looked to her left. The flashing lights got closer. There he was.

Geto Suguru. Perfect as ever. Brown eyes sharper in the night. Black hair tied back. Uniform fitted, flexing over his arms.

He pulled up beside her in the modified police car — his usual Nissan GTR, only louder. Meaner.

She grinned.

💭 Flashback: Their Last Chase

The night it rained, the city blurred around her.

(Y/n) flew through the narrow tunnel in Meguro. She knew he’d follow. He always did.

She left breadcrumbs. She wanted to be caught.

The GTR’s siren wailed behind her, closer and closer.

She drifted cleanly into an alley between two buildings. Tight. Too tight for him.

But Geto tried anyway. And got stuck.

(Y/n) parked down the block and walked back, smug.

— “Again?” he groaned.

She leaned on the hood of his car, grinning.

— “You should know my style by now, Suguru.”

He climbed out, furious and gorgeous.

— “You think this is funny?” — “No,” she said, stepping closer. “I think you’re funny. Bringing a boat to a knife fight.”

He stared at her — frustration burning, but something deeper flickering underneath.

— “One day, you won’t get away.”

She tilted her head, eyes glinting.

— “Maybe that day isn’t today.”

She turned and ran back to her car, leaving tire smoke and tension in the air.

🚨 Present: The Almost Kiss

Now, in the dark heart of Roppongi, he was right behind her.

She drifted sharply into a hidden side road — no cams, no traffic. He followed.

She slammed the brakes and stopped the Chevette sideways. The GTR skidded into a stop, centimeters from her door.

Both stepped out.

— “What the hell is your problem?!” Geto shouted.

She met his fury with calm fire.

— “Same as yours. We don’t know how to stop.”

He stepped closer. Too close.

— “Should I arrest you now?”

— “Do it,” she whispered. “Cuff me.”

He reached up, hand curling under her jaw.

Breaths shallow. Lips almost touching.

Then—

Crackle. “Officer Geto, backup needed in Shinjuku. Level 3.”

He closed his eyes. Stepped back.

— “One day, you won’t get away.”

(Y/n) leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

— “And one day, you won’t let me go.”

She vanished into the city once again. Leaving him standing under neon light, tasting the memory of her — like smoke, gasoline... and the thrill of almost.

[entheognosis]

The Great Pyramid of Khufu harbors a mystery that often goes unspoken among historians and archaeologists. It is universally acknowledged that the pyramid comprises approximately 2,400,000 rock blocks, each weighing between 2 and 70 tonnes (4,400 to 154,000 pounds). These blocks were placed with extraordinary precision, with a margin of error of only 1 centimeter (0.39 inches) at the base and an alignment deviation of merely 1 degree to the north—a level of accuracy achievable today only with laser-guided technology. However, the astounding precision of the pyramid's construction is not the central mystery. Nor is the focus on the methods of transporting these massive blocks. The critical question is: how long did it take to build the pyramid? If Egyptian workers managed to cut, transport, and place one block each day, it would have taken 6,575 years to complete the Great Pyramid (2,400,000 blocks divided by 365 days per year). This timeline suggests that construction would have started around 9,000 B.C., far earlier than the commonly accepted date of around 2,500 B.C., when the pyramid is said to have been completed in just 10 years. To finish the pyramid in a decade, workers would have needed to cut, transport, and place one block every minute during 10-hour workdays. This implies an unimaginable efficiency: 1 block every 60 seconds, continuously for 10 years. Considering the tools of the time, primarily soft copper and the absence of the wheel, this scenario seems implausible.

Ancient Road

[stevebattle]

LAMI (1980) by Patrick Sommer, Daniel Roux and André Guignard, Laboratory of Micro-Informatics of the EPFL of Lausanne (LAMI). "First offered by IEEE in 1978, the [Micromouse] contest was taken over by EUROMICRO and took place in London in September 1980, under the name "Amazing Micromouse Maze Contest". A team from the Laboratory of Micro-Informatics of the EPFL of Lausanne (LAMI) (Patrick Sommer, Daniel Roux and André Guignard) participated in this competition with a dozen other competitors from 4 different countries and won the Originality Award in mechanical construction. The turtle is perfectly operational (despite its relatively slow speed) in a maze built with severe tolerances. Unfortunately, difficulties arise when the maze is less precise." – ELEMICRO 110, March 1981.

"LAMI was a high precision, innovative entry from the Laboratoire de Microinformatique, Swiss Federal Institute of Technology of Lausanne. Rather than turning, it could move its square symetrical body equally well in all four directions, due to a special wheel design by Jacques Virchaux. There is a wheel in the centre of each side, parallel to that side. Each wheel has 16 tiny wheels spaced around its perimeter, each axis tangential to the rim. The large wheels are powered, while the tiny wheels rotate freely. To move forward, the two side wheels propel, while the tiny wheels on the front and back are turned by the floor. To adjust sideways in the passage, the front and back large wheels are turned slightly. The sensors were five LEDs on each corner, set up to find walls and correct position whether moving forward or sideways. It would move rapidly to the centre of a square, and then oscillate a bit to check its readings before dashing to the next square. The team claimed that it could explore a 16 by 16 maze in about fifteen minutes, and then would run the shortest path in thirty seconds. The usual starting sequence was that the "mouse trainer" aligned the mouse, and then counted down from five, so that the timing official could synchronize the clock. When LAMI was about to start, the official thought there was a language problem, and so repeated the instructions. The trainer, standing several feet from the mouse, then counted down, and the mouse started without being touched. The audience liked that! It turned out that a ten second initialization period was a side effect of the software. The problem with precision-built LAMI was that it was built for equally precise mazes. On the first run it moved twenty squares, and then became confused on a taped floor seam. On its second, it touched a side wall and in the trainer's words: "lost synchronization"." – On Micromice and the First European Micromouse Competition, Wayne H. Caplinger, AISB Quarterly issue 39 December 1980.

[pmt-fleet]

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[echantedtoon]

A Wizard's (Matchmaker) Apprentice

Sofia notices that Mr. Cedric happens to be particularly nervous around one particular maid after some sisterly advice she decides to not only be his apprentice but a little matchmaker too.

There was a few things she was absolutely sure she was good at. Jump rope, hopscotch, and baking her mother's favorite cookies to name a few however she wasn't so good at practicing magic spells. Turning a ruby to a rock, a line into an emerald, and a show into a perfect glass slipper was perfectly fine for her to do but she was having difficulties with the new potions Professor Merryweather had assigned to her class 

Luckily she knew exactly who to turn to for help!

Mr. Cedric the King's sorcerer! He helped her once before and surely he could help her learn how to make these complex potions! So when she had turned up to his courters requesting to become his apprentice again he was eager to agree. By now she was familiar with how Mr. Cedric liked to have his books aligned and how he liked his potion bottles lined up from tallest to smallest or how he wanted just a few cobwebs to remain to give off that creepy sorcerer's lair without all the dust making him sneeze.

However unlike the last time she had been his apprentice she had noticed something strange about the place. It was much cleaner than the last time she visited him. Did he learn how to organize his space better? Or did he use some kind of cleaning spells? No. No that wasn't the case at all really and she'd find out why quickly on her first day of being an apprentice again.

"Remember measurements ARE important!," the resident sorcerer stressed with his back turned to her and one hand pointed upwards. "The reason why you can't get your levitation potion to work is because you kept putting in too many teaspoons of dried dove feathers."

The small mini cauldron heated over the small bunsen burner bubbled and boiled at the precise temperature needed for the recipe. Turned on by her and adjusted properly by Mr. Cedric to correct her before scolding her of having to learn how to regulate heat on the cauldron as well. 

"Right!" This time she made sure to put two spoonfuls of the white powdery substance in the cauldron instead of three from the small jar she held turning the bubbling water from a blue to a white in color. "Got it! What's the next step Mr. Ceedrick?"

"It's CEDRIC," he corrected her yet again with an annoyed tone before sighing. "Continuously stir the cauldron for exactly five minutes! Any second more and it'll turn into a flying potion instead of a levitation potion."

"There's a difference?"

"Yes! Levitation is just hovering in one place while flying means you're constantly moving about in the air. No wonder you needed guidance. Who gave such a young child this assignment anyways?"

Before she had the chance to answer there was a loud knocking at the door that had caught both of their attentions.

The wizard sighed again annoyed. "Good graces what now? You may enter!"

Sofia's eyes turned and blinked as the door opened up and in squeaked a cart. The kind that the butlers would use to bring dinner to the table. It's squeaky wheels filled the spaces with loud creaks followed by the clacking of heels as a maid walked in however she didn't recognized who it was although she was very pretty.

The woman smiled friendly at the sorcerer who had frozen upon seeing her. "Good morning, Mr. Cedric." Then she turned to her and bowed lightly. "Her highness. I've been informed about the princess taking up temporary apprenticeship here, so I brought along breakfast for the both of you."

Her arm gestured to the cart which she just now noticed was covered in silver covers probably containing the food underneath judging by the smells it was fried eggs, sausage, and maybe pancakes. A pitcher and two glasses were set beside the covered plates. 

"And of course I brought along something for your lovely raven."

"I'm a crow!.. But I'll let it slide for the mealworms and corn," wormwood muttered but only she could understand that as he excited awaited his silver bowl of food.

"His feathers seemed to have gotten glossier since starting his new diet," she commented gazing fondly at the crowd before turning to sorcerer. "Shall you be needing anything else, Mr. Cedric?"

"U-U-Uh-..." He shook his head before clearing his throat and turning away. "N-No. You may go now. As you can see we're quite busy."

She bowed. "As you wish. I'll come by again at noon with your lunches."

Without further ado, she left leaving the young princess to watch her in awe. "..Who was that?"

Cedric waved her off with a sour expression. "Oh that. She's not one re-really." He stuttered which had her raising an eyebrow at him. "Baileywick convinced King Roland that my part of the castle was behind in upkeep and hired new maids to keep it in shape. He even dated to have one assigned to clean my lair."

"Oh. And she brings you meals too!" She smiled getting up from the boiling cauldron to make her way over to the cart. Lifting up the silver covers lead her to happily discover perfect pancakes with her sausage and eggs.

"Actually...No. I made the mistake of skipping a meal just once in front of her and of course she had to inform Baileywick of it so now she's tasked with bringing me two meals a day! It's annoying to say the least."

"Mm! Call it annoying all you want! If I get this delicious food twice a day I won't complain," Wormwood muttered from between beakfuls of food.

She didn't complain either. She had pancakes! And the pitcher was orange juice. She was happily digging in when Cedric cried out from the cauldron boiling over from being unattended. Oops. They'd have to start all over again after they ate breakfast which was delicious!! He was still cleaning up the mess with some rags when she returned again with the cart, this time with what presumably was their lunches. But paused at the sight of Cedric frozen mid scrub on his hands and knees and Sophia still stirring the cauldron.

"Oh, dear. What happened?"

"I-I-I-I-..W-Well you see-. Hmm." He had stuttered out before freezing up again much to Sophia's growing confusion.

"The potion bubbled over," she explained in his stead still stirring. "So we had to redo it and clean up."

"Oh." She pushed the cart to the side. "I'll was going to mop in here anyways. Let me go get a mop and bucket and I'll help you."

"N-NO!" Cedric shouted from the floor. "You don't-..I-I me-me-mean I don't ne-need-"

"Don't strain yourself please. It's what I'm here to do. I'll be right back."

She walked away causing the sorcerer to facepalm himself and Sophia to tilt her head even more confused. What was all that about?

"What was that all about?"

"HA! You really don't know?" She jumped turning her head back to Wormwood as he flew down onto the cart and began just poking at the small bowl of cornmeal for him on the cart. "And here I thought you were smart enough to notice."

"What are you talking about?"

"Listen, Kid. You ever see a boy at your school get a crush on some girl?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Sure. Sometimes."

"Well that's what's going on here." He paid no more attention as he dug in.

Her eyes went wide. "Mr. Ceedrick has a crush on the maid?!" Her awed look turned back to the sorcerer whom was muttered to himself and stood up- Only to skip on the spilt potion and fell onto his behind back hitting the shelf and causing some books to fall on him.

"Ha! The drip fell the moment he laid eyes on her months ago and just kept falling. It's not like he'll ever get up the courage to fess up anyways, so why bother paying attention to it?"

A crush huh? Mr. Cedric? She watched as he muttered under his breath while starting to pick up the books and put them back on the shelf. As much as she'd like to admit it Wormwood was right. There's no way Mr. Cedric would tell the pretty maid how he felt...And Idea lit up in head mind as she stared back down at the cauldron just finishing the potion. Unless...She had a very good idea.

"Hey, Mr. Ceedrick-"

"Cedric," he corrected without looking up at her.

"Since I finished my potion, can I ask you to demonstrate a different one?"

"Did you even test the levitation potion?"

She blinked at him before quickly dipping her spoon in the cauldron, pulled it out, and watched as it levitated out of her hand. "Yes. It's working wonderfully! But back to my question. I was wondering if you had a truth serum." 

"Of course I do. Every king's sorcerer has one on hand in case the King's in dire need of it." He turned back to her wig a raised brow. "But why do you ask?"

"Well, one of the potions we're studying happens to be a potion that tricks others so I was wondering if a truth serum could cancel that out."

"Of course it can."

"Can you show me how?" His brows rose higher. "Please?"

He sighed but placed the book he was holding down and walking on over to a tall shelf. She watched with mischievous eyes as he looked around the many potions placed there before he reached a hand to the highest shelf and pulled a very small beaker containing an almost silvery, glittery liquid. Humming in satisfaction at the find, he turned back towards her and presented it out to her.

"Behold! The truth serum. Just a few drops on your skin will make any living creature tell nothing but the truth for the next ten hours," he explained proudly at her.

"Fascinating! Can you show me how it works? Please?"

"Oh. Alright." He was none the wiser as he carefully removed the cork and dropped just two of the silvery droplets on his palm before placing the cork back in it. "Now ask me a question and I'll try to lie?"

"Ok." She hummed again looking around the room. What to ask? Eventually her eyes landed on Wormwood still eating. She smiled and pointed at him. "Is it true that Wormwood's feathers are black?"

"NNnnnnn-" A loud drawn out n sound left his mouth as he attempted to say no but his mouth refused to say the vowel o. "I mean he issssssssn-" Again his mouth strained to try say the T sound to say isn't but no dice. All that was left was him making a strained funny face like he bit into a lemon making her giggle. Giving an frown he cleared his throat and turned to put the potion back. "Yes. Well now you can see why every king finds it crucial to have." 

"Fascinating. And it lasts for ten hours?"

"Two drops does. The more you use the longer it lasts. If you drank the entire potion you might as well forget ever having secrets." 

Perfect.

"Well then." She got off the stool and made her way towards the door just as the pretty maid came walking in. "Since I finished the potion I guess we're done for the day then."

"Yes, yes." He waved her off with a hand. "I'll see you now doubt tomorrow for that invisibility potion."

"Ok!"

She waited until the maid lady walked past her mop and bucket in hand until she placed down the bucket and dipped her mop into the bucket in the middle of the room. Only then did she shimmy on over to the door and only stepped out until her head was peeking in. 

"Oh. Mr. Ceedrick-"

"Cedric!"

"One last thing." He looked deadpanned at her. "Is it true that you're in love with the maid in the room?"

"Yes-"

A loud smacking sound went off as his two hands launched up and covered his mouth quickly. He stood there shocked and wide eyed... Before he looked at the maid that was also staring at him with a similar expression.

"Ok. Just wanted to know. I'll see you tomorrow. Bye!"

She left them with just the sounds of the door closing.

******

[talonabraxas]

VISUAL NARRATIVES

In the realm of religious symbolism, Hindu and Chaldeo-Jewish diagrams stand as captivating landmarks, offering profound insights into their respective cosmologies and philosophical underpinnings. These visual narratives, far from mere aesthetic flourishes, serve as intricate maps guiding the seeker towards understanding the divine tapestry of existence.

Hindu diagrams, like the mandala, explode with vibrancy. Concentric circles cradle dancing figures and blooming lotus blossoms, each element resonating with symbolic depth. The mandala becomes a microcosm of the universe, reflecting the interconnectedness of all beings and the cyclical nature of samsara, the endless dance of life, death, and rebirth. Another emblematic diagram, the samsara wheel, charts the celestial journey of the soul, acting as a poignant reminder of the impermanence of earthly existence.

In stark contrast, Chaldeo-Jewish diagrams unfold with geometric precision. The Kabbalistic Tree of Life, resplendent with ten luminous Sephiroth, meticulously maps the emanation of God's divine attributes into the manifest world. Each meticulously arranged geometric form speaks of cosmic order and structure, inviting the seeker to contemplate the grand mechanisms of creation. The Merkabah, a fiery chariot ablaze with mystical symbolism, transcends its literal depiction to represent the soul's arduous ascent towards divine union.

Though their visual languages diverge, both Hindu and Chaldeo-Jewish diagrams converge in their pursuit of ultimate understanding and liberation. The cyclical dance of samsara and the Kabbalistic ascent of the soul, despite their contrasting styles, resonate with a shared yearning for the ultimate union with the divine. By navigating the intricate pathways of these sacred symbols, the seeker embarks on a transformative journey, striving to align with the cosmic order and achieve liberation, whether through samsara's cyclical dance or the Merkabah's mystical ascent.

Ultimately, venturing into the realm of these diagrams transcends mere academic inquiry. It is a comparative pilgrimage, enriching our understanding of diverse spiritual traditions while revealing the unifying tapestry woven from our collective human yearning for knowledge, self-realization, and connection with the divine. So, let us cast aside the shackles of rigid categorization and embrace the beauty of these ancient symbols. Within their swirling lines and luminous forms lies a hidden language, waiting to be deciphered and whispered to the soul.

Finally, Hindu mandalas' vibrant dance and the Kabbalistic Tree's luminous wisdom whisper across vast chasms of time and culture, finding surprising echoes in early Christian art and mystical thought. Clearly, these fascinating parallels suggest a shared history woven from universal questions about the divine. Let's embrace the whispers, appreciating the beauty of interwoven threads as we explore the boundless canvas of human spirituality. --Rethinking our connection with the Divine Creator

[pleb-the-original]

Well here he is! My beautifully beloved yet be-loathed box daughter. Now for this one, all I had to go off of was the white screen surrounding Mind's lips. There was also the fact that I clocked the idea that "this Mind guy sounds like he would be a hypocrite" which like good on past me for being right on the money which led to this box robot. The screen face also opened up a lot of fun ideas if I ever get to animating these guys. And once again, as I discovered the rest of CCCC I didn't really see fit to change the design much. Fun Facts: He is transfem but still goes by he/him pronouns as "its more logical to align myself with Whole's identity". His default height is actually right at the base of Heart's eyestalks so whenever he wants to see "eye to eye" with Heart he'll either just extend the stand up or just grab Heart's eyestalks to bring them down to him. He actually has 4 wheels, the other 2 are behind the first set. He has knives as his main weapon because I felt they fit him the most as wielding a knife as a weapon requires precision and calculation (no matter how much he hates using them). Also this isn't noted in the ref but the wrist slits also house his drumsticks. He uses small cameras to see which can also project holograms. The knife detail is meant to be gold kintsugi like details but when making the ref I realized they also resemble lightning. He is completely hydrophobic (for certain Juno related reasons) He can actually teleport like Soul but only subconsciously as he'll just appear somewhere despite it being impossible. Now then, there's actually a second ref for this round: Overthrown Mind!

So this gets more into the writing side of things but essentially: whenever Heart is having an emotional breakdown, his emotions are so powerful they actually overwhelm Mind and completely take him over (mainly represented by the depression snakes but that's for another time). This mainly represents how potent emotions can actually drown out higher thinking in times of crisis, at least for me. In this form Mind is basically lost to the whims of Heart's feelings which usually result in trying to attack Heart. This of course terrifies Mind as one of the major things with my version is that he NEEDS to be in control and Heart's ability to do this completely jeopardizes that as he fears if he lost that control that he'll be cast aside as useless. For places where this form actually shows up, I like to believe the second voice in the second chorus of Ruler of Everything is Overthrown Mind and the part where Mind is singing along with Heart's breakdown in Just Apathy. Fun Facts: The eyes are just light projections. The claws are actually an addition I added just because of recent cover redraw by @ranciddrobbie (which goes incredibly hard). Despite being holographic, they are still solid and capable of causing pain.

[bruxadehekate]

Recently i came across a beautiful game that had me questioning a few things. When learning tarot i always stuck heavily with books' and instructions' help, a considerable amount instead of pure intuition (but of course there were some, or else it wouldn't be tarot). Other than that, i also kept constantly in mind that tarot was purely therapeutical and guidance rather than fortune telling, as many wiser Witches taught me.

This game however, showed me a completely different vision on how to read the cards, with very simple yet effective spreads and much more confident interpretations. I also have strong reasons to believe this is Hekate's idea.

TL;DR: I wanna try fortune telling instead of therapeutic tarot

Edit: i figure out some of my doubts and uncertainties, see reblogs!

Confidence, i think it's the keyword. When i started this blog, even if i wanted to stick with the guidance tips tarot i was taught, many people came to me asking things about their future and not much insights about themselves, and that made me so nervous because, obviously, i didn't want to make a wild, ambicious prediction and it be wrong, to disappoint the requester, nor did i want to bring the bad news. So to avoid it, i was the first one to bland it out and make it not a big deal. The grain of salt.

It is wise from a point of view, one's future is theirs to make their own, but constantly telling myself "I can't go too far" might have limited my own intuition power.

Of course a game is but a game, it is scripted and has the limitless of fiction, however i do firmly believe there are talented, gifted people out there that can predict the future through divination magic with precision unmatched (oh, the stories i heard), but it's something wlse entirely, much harder to believe i could be one of those.

Even if i am unfortunately not very constant with my tarot craft, because it doesn't pay my bills and all that, i do feel a strong connection with my decks and the things i learn through the little sessions and readings every now and then, therefore trying out a new thing could be doable

When im not in tune during a session, my cards kinda "refuse to work" until we fix the vibes, the question, etc, and when everything is aligned it flows with incredible accuracy and meaning. I never "predicted the future" per see, however many, dare i say most, of my readings sooner than later came to be true, the ones i had been close to watch it unroll, so it might be possible to channel that energy into something similar, bolder.

The more i think about it, the stronger is my feeling to dive into this possibility, because i know if that's something my decks are not okay with, they will give me the proper queues, leaving my on read, so back to insightful readings it is.

Just like i do with my hair, a little bit of experimentation will not hurt anybody

My idea is to go deeply into bold fortune telling, let my intuition go wild, align it with my current knowledge (and future, because that's never too much) and allow myself some creativity freedom, read the cards with my third eye and present the consultant with very different outcomes one might never have considered an option.

About Hekate's insight, this month i admit to have failed my duties more than other months, it got me a little sad, because it's partly due to work and rest routine that I'm terrible at organizing. But during one of my hunting sessions for games to relax, I came to find that game by paths i usually don't trail (navigation wise) and played the demo that instantly made me purchase the whole thing.

I have reasons to believe Hekate lead me to it, silently with a few odd clicks, just the way She initially lead me to tarot years back, with a simple instagram ad (an opportunity to take the first step, after many days of me pondering about it). The game, The Cosmic Wheel Sisterhood, has a beautifully written script, nice game mechanics, pretty art and designs and wild interpretations of Witchcraft, a great piece of fictional entertainment watered with valuable pieces of basic information Witches should know about.

This totally wakened my senses, as i said, sadly not constant with tarot, i felt intrigued with the mechanics and possibilies, and after lots of research on the matter, my conclusion is yes, fortune telling could be possible for me, if im brave enough the flourish it.

Like the game protagonist, I'm a bit scared of what may come out of this, seen like i had a very turbulent past that made me insanely afraid of what the future holds (cough cough ptsd cough subject for another day), this can be a healthy way of helping deal with it.

I shall make a briefer post later, but my idea is to reopen tarot requests, making it explicit that this is a beta testing fortune telling kind of deal.

Although i feel strongly Hekate is the one once again showing me the way, i feel like gathering some additional sources to aid this possible journey, and read more into Apollo's devotes and their experience with clairvoyance is on my list, maybe i might be blessed with His dodgeball gift of prophecy red ball in the face, so if any of Apollo's fortune tellers, messengers or followers have any tips regarding prophetic matters I'd love to hear about it!

Hopefully I'll be back soon with news, thank you so much if you read until here, have a blessed week ✨