#page object pattern

[reiding-writing]

What about a cold!reader where Spencer gets jealous this time?

Like they meet another police team and they also have a "Spencer" who's dorky and they don't really listen to his rambling so she's kind to him (in her own cold!reader way) Spencer is like "???? The fuck is this exactly?"

SILENT TREATMENT. /spencer reid/

spencer’s not sure if you made the right decision by choosing him. you know that you did.

s10!cold!reader 3.1k flangst series masterlist. main masterlist.

a/n | i fear i missed the ‘police team’ part of the first request and made spencer 2.0 a pathologist instead, oops-

The air in the precinct is heavy with stale coffee and tension. You stand at the whiteboard, arms crossed, eyes scanning the photographs pinned to it—victims, maps, timelines.

The others are seated around the table, all mid-discussion, but you’re quiet. Not checked out. Just… precise. Listening without indulging the noise.

You speak when necessary.

“Victim three deviates from the geographical pattern. If it was opportunistic, the UnSub’s comfort zone is widening. If it wasn’t—he’s accelerating.”

Rossi nods, pen tapping against the table. “Could be staging, too. Make it look random.”

“Could be.” You don’t elaborate. You don’t fill silences. You let them speak if they have something worth adding.

No one pushes for more. They know how you operate. They know you don’t soften things. Not for comfort, not for camaraderie. You’re professional, respected—and emotionally distant, even now, even years into working with them.

The only exception to that is sitting three feet away from you, pretending to read a file he’s already memorised twice.

Spencer is quiet. Quieter than usual. His gaze flicks to you every so often, like he’s trying to time something—his words, maybe. Your reactions. Your temperature. Whatever it is, he’s trying to gauge where you’re at without having to ask.

“Spencer,” you say without looking at him, “page twelve. The blood spatter analysis.”

He’s already on it, of course. He lifts his eyes quickly. “Right—uh, yeah. The cast-off patterns indicate repeated strikes from a blunt object, likely with some torque. There's arterial spray on the west wall, so the blow that killed her came from the left side.”

You give a small nod. “Thanks.”

That’s it. No warmth. No smile. But Spencer straightens a little like it meant something. Like he’s grateful for being asked.

Emily side-eyes the two of you, not subtle in the least. “Is it just me, or has Boy Wonder been extra clingy lately?”

Morgan grins over his coffee. “You noticed that too, huh? He’s been on her like a puppy. Following her around the crime scenes, sitting next to her at lunch, hanging on her every word…”

JJ chimes in, amused. “It’s kind of cute. He’s like one of those Victorian ghosts—you know, all sad eyes and emotional repression,”

“Hey,” Spencer protests, not quite looking at any of them. “I don’t—cling,”

You don’t react. You never do when they tease him. And Spencer doesn’t look to you for help either, but you can feel the tension in his shoulders beside you.

Still, they’re not wrong.

He’s been… off lately. Not in a way most people would notice, but you’re not most people. He’s always been close to you, but recently, he’s orbiting you in smaller, tighter circles. Sitting closer. Waiting longer when you speak, like he's hoping you'll say something more.

The team has picked up on it. Of course they have. But they don’t know. Not really. They just think he’s crushing harder than usual. No one suspects what’s actually going on—because you’ve made sure of that.

You and Spencer aren’t the kind of couple who touch hands under the table or exchange soft smiles across briefing rooms. You’re not a couple that does anything in front of people, really. You’re together, but that truth stays tucked away between you and him, guarded in the quiet moments that happen off the clock.

Moments no one else sees.

“You doing okay?” you ask him quietly as the others begin packing up for the next site visit.

Spencer looks startled. “Me?”

You don’t repeat yourself.

He nods, quickly. “Yeah. Just… yeah,”

You hold his gaze for a second longer than necessary. A flicker of something passes between you. Reassurance, maybe. Or a silent understanding.

Morgan watches the exchange from the other side of the room, eyebrows lifting. “Okay, seriously, what is that?”

You ignore him. You grab your coat.

Hotch glances at his watch, then at you. “You and Reid head to the ME’s office. JJ, Emily, and Morgan—head to the victim’s apartment.”

Spencer immediately moves to follow, a bit too fast, a bit too eager.

Emily catches your arm on the way out, voice low. “You’d tell me, right?”

You pause. “Tell you what?”

She gives you a long look. “Never mind,”

—

The mortuary is colder than usual, the sterile, humming kind of cold that seeps through your coat and settles deep in your bones. You don’t shiver. You just pull on a pair of latex gloves and nod at the technician who leads you and Spencer toward the back.

The morgue table is already prepped, and the body is covered with a clean white sheet. It’s clinical. Organised. Efficient.

Spencer walks beside you in silence, his hands folded in front of him, shoulders set in that way that means he’s wound a little too tight. You don’t ask why. You already know. He’s been tense since yesterday—since you listened to the young tech at the crime scene rattle off chemical compositions and possible causes of decomp with the kind of enthusiasm Spencer usually reserves for classical literature and obscure physics.

Now, you’re both here again, about to meet another new person excited to talk about death.

The doors swing open, and in walks a man who can’t be older than twenty-eight. Blonde hair slightly ruffled, round glasses sliding down his nose, blue gloves snapped on too tight. He’s grinning before he even says hello.

“You must be the agents! I’m Tyler, the newest forensic pathologist on-site.” He says it like he’s giving a TED Talk. “Technically I’m still finishing my fellowship, but I’ve done two post-grads already, and I’ve been shadowing Dr. Karlsen for the last three months—”

Behind him, a woman in her sixties, presumably Dr. Karlsen, sighs audibly. “Tyler,”

“Right, right,” Tyler says, waving her off. “Back on track. Let’s begin,”

He peels back the sheet with a reverent kind of gentleness, like he’s revealing a masterpiece, not a victim of a homicide. You don’t react, not outwardly. You observe the bruising around the throat, the defensive wounds along the forearms, the way one wrist seems just slightly dislocated from the rest of the body’s alignment.

Spencer shifts beside you, already piecing things together.

Tyler claps once, low but excited. “So, cause of death was asphyxiation due to manual strangulation, but what’s really interesting is the laryngeal cartilage—you see here?” He gestures with tweezers, careful not to touch. “This fracture on the right side of the thyroid cartilage? It’s called a hyoid crush. Super rare, but it suggests a significant amount of pressure, possibly done from behind. Also—if you look just under here—”

Spencer speaks up, voice dry. “That damage could also occur post-mortem if the body was handled roughly during movement. Depending on the timeline, it’s not definitive,”

Tyler blinks. “Yes—true! Great point. But in this case, time of death aligns pretty tightly with the estimated bruising pattern, which I can show you in just a moment. And did you know—” He turns toward you now, eyes bright behind his glasses. “—that the thyroid cartilage, especially in females, doesn’t always ossify the way it does in males? That’s why injuries here can be harder to spot unless you’re really looking,”

You nod once. “Interesting.”

He beams, clearly encouraged. “Oh! And even cooler—well, not for the victim, obviously—but cool from a physiological standpoint—is that the arterial pressure around the carotid sinus can trigger something called a vagal response. It can actually kill a person instantly. That’s why sometimes you see victims with minimal signs of struggle. Their heart just… stops,”

You don’t interrupt. You just let him go on, standing still, arms crossed loosely over your chest. Your face is unreadable, but you’re listening. Not because you’re overly impressed—his information is nothing Spencer couldn’t rattle off half-asleep—but because it’s rare to see someone talk about this stuff with that kind of earnest joy. It’s not affection, not interest. It’s more like watching a dog with a brand-new toy. Mildly amusing. Harmless.

Spencer doesn’t see it that way.

He’s standing rigid beside you now, arms crossed, jaw set tight. You can practically feel the radiating jealousy off him like static. Tyler’s voice is all you can hear in the room, but Spencer’s silence is louder.

Dr. Karlsen cuts in after a minute, clearing her throat.

“Tyler. You’re wandering,”

“Right, right, sorry,” he mutters sheepishly. “Okay. So, other injuries: mild contusions to the upper back, inconsistent with the ligature pattern on the neck—suggests those came before the primary attack. Or from an external for e,”

Spencer murmurs, almost too low to be heard, “Or the UnSub simply pressed her down with a knee to control movement,”

You glance at him. His eyes aren’t on you—they’re locked on the mortician, unblinking.

Tyler continues without noticing. “I’ll upload full reports to the BAU’s system. But if you’d like to stay, I’ve got the next autopsy scheduled in twenty minutes. It’s unrelated, but the skull fracture’s really unusual—he fell into an industrial lathe, if you can believe that—”

“Thank you,” you interrupt, voice calm. “But we’ve got another scene to process.”

Tyler deflates a little but still smiles. “Of course. Good luck with the case,”

Spencer doesn’t say goodbye.

—

Back at the precinct, the team regroups. Photos scatter across the table, evidence logs updated, and reports uploaded. It’s a flurry of movement, conversation, caffeine.

Spencer stays quiet.

Even when Garcia calls in with a list of potential suspect matches, even when JJ reads off new victimology data—he’s present, but distant. Contributing, but subdued.

The turning point comes when you’re scanning Tyler’s preliminary report again, eyes catching on something he’d mentioned in passing—about the bruising pattern not matching the ligature marks.

You frown. “This doesn’t make sense.”

Hotch looks up. “What is it?”

You pull a photo closer. “The bruising on the victim’s upper back was dismissed as unrelated, but if the UnSub had control of her neck from behind, these could be from bracing his knee. Except the angles are wrong, which means she was restrained by someone else beforehand. Or there were multiple offenders.”

A beat.

Morgan leans in. “Multiple Unsubs? Are you sure?”

Reid is already flipping through crime scene notes, pulling up maps, rearranging the timeline.

But you know the shift started with something Tyler said. A stray, almost off-hand detail—one Spencer had dismissed. And now, it’s cracked the case wide open.

You glance over at him again.

His expression is neutral, but you know him. Know the set of his jaw, the small twitch of his fingers against the folder, the way he suddenly won’t meet your eyes.

He’s not okay.

And the silence keeps going.

And going.

Spencer doesn’t sit next to you at the precinct. He doesn’t offer up extra information unless someone asks directly. He doesn’t bring you your usual coffee without saying anything, doesn’t lean over your shoulder to glance at your notes, doesn’t linger when you leave the room.

At first, you don’t even notice. Not really. You’re used to space. You need space. Silence doesn’t alarm you—it comforts you. If he wants room, you’ll give it. That’s part of being with someone, right? Letting them breathe.

But then it starts to feel like something else.

Something heavier.

His eyes avoid yours. His steps fall behind the team, not beside you. His voice, when he speaks, sounds smaller. Not quieter. Smaller.

And the team—well, they notice.

They notice fast.

“What do you think happened?” JJ whispers, leaning toward Morgan at the conference table.

Morgan lifts a brow. “Between Doctor Genius and Miss Ice Bath?”

JJ nods. “They haven’t said more than five words to each other in two days,”

“Maybe they had a fight,”

“About what? Reid would agree the sky was red if she suggested it,”

“Exactly,” Morgan mutters, “maybe that’s the problem,”

JJ laughs under her breath. “Or maybe Spence is just tired,”

Morgan chuckles. “Either way, something is weird,”

—

You keep your head down. You do your work. And when Spencer doesn't sit beside you, you let him be.

Because you figure if he needed you, he'd say something.

He doesn’t.

Not until four nights into the case, in a borrowed office space at the local PD. It's late. The rest of the team has gone back to the hotel to get some sleep, but you stayed behind to finish typing up victimology reports. Spencer stayed too—though he hasn’t said more than three words to you all day.

You assumed he was just buried in research.

He isn’t.

He’s pacing now, just behind you, his arms crossed tight like he’s trying to hold himself together.

You finally look up.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He stops pacing, stares at the wall for a moment, then turns to you, blurting out in a rush:

“Do you want to be with me, or would you rather be with someone else who’s… easier to deal with?”

You blink, slow. “Excuse me?”

He exhales, harsh and shaky. “I—I’ve just been thinking about it, okay? Since the morgue. Since that guy.”

You’re still. Watching him carefully.

He keeps going, words unraveling fast.

“He was like me. He talks like me. He got excited about the same things I do, and you—you listened to him. You didn’t tune him out, you didn’t tell him to focus, or cut him off, or roll your eyes. You actually looked like you didn’t mind. Like you liked hearing him talk.”

“Okay—”

“And that’s fine, that’s—I get it, he’s younger, he’s less complicated, and I’m not trying to make this into something dramatic, I just—” He cuts himself off, swallows. “You could have someone like him. Someone who doesn’t have… all of the— baggage, that I come with,”

He gestures at himself. Like he is the problem. Like all the things that make him him are some burden you’ve quietly been carrying.

You stare at him for a long moment.

Then you speak, slowly.

“I have no idea what you’re on about.”

Spencer looks confused. “What?”

“I’m going to assume you’re talking about the ME, and tell you that you’re being ridiculous,” You stand, stepping closer to him. “I was focused on the case. On the victim. Not on whether the guy liked explaining arteries.”

“But you let him—”

“Because I let you talk like that,” you say. “So why would I shut someone else down for doing the same?”

He doesn’t say anything.

Your voice softens a fraction—not warm, but honest. Quiet. Careful.

“You’re who I’m with.”

His brows draw together. “That’s it?”

You nod. “Yes.”

He’s still not sure how to process that. “But I’m—difficult.”

“I know.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

You sigh, stepping just close enough that your knees brush his. “Yes*.*”

You pause.

Then, carefully, you lift your hand and rest it on his knee. Not possessive. Not performative.

Just steady.

It’s one of the few times you initiate touch. He notices. His eyes flicker down, then back up again, and something in his posture shifts—like the weight on his shoulders finally loses a fraction of its heaviness.

He’s still spiralling a little, you can tell, but you add, gently, “You spiral. You overthink. You get jealous. You shut down.”

A pause.

“And I don’t care.”

His throat bobs.

You reach up, fingers brushing lightly against the edge of his hairline, tucking it back behind his ear. He leans into it instinctively, even though he’s still blinking like he can’t believe what just happened.

You look at him flatly.

“If I didn’t want to be with you,” you say. “then I wouldn’t be here,”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a week.

Then, finally, he nods.

And for the first time in days, his fingers curl around yours.

—

The next morning, everything is back to normal.

Or, at least, it seems like it.

Spencer sits beside you again at the precinct. He hands you your coffee, shoulder brushing yours. He leans over your notepad to make a quiet joke about the new crime scene tech who mislabeled three evidence bags, and you give a low, dry chuckle that makes Morgan do a double-take.

Emily stares. JJ narrows her eyes.

Something’s changed.

But it’s subtle. Maddeningly subtle.

There’s no hand-holding. No long, longing stares. Just… a shift in air pressure.

“You feel that?” JJ murmurs to Morgan as you and Spencer walk out of the room together, shoulders aligned.

Morgan sips his coffee. “Pretty boy’s silent treatment didn’t last long,”

“No,” JJ says slowly, “apparently not,”

They both fall silent, watching you disappear down the hall with Spencer beside you.

“You think they’re—?” Morgan starts.

JJ shakes her head. “No idea.”

But they’ll keep guessing.

They always do.

And you?

You’ll keep things exactly the way you like them.

Quiet. Private.

Yours.

[grandline-fics]

Terms of Endearment

DESCRIPTION:  You call them by a term of endearment without realising 

WARNINGS: none that come to mind.

CHARACTERS: Law, Kid, Shanks, Marco, Zoro | Ace, Sabo, Luffy

WORDS: 2,943

A/N: I decided to use Zoro as the final character. Since he and Ace tied in the poll, I might make a second one of these and use Ace and any others people may want.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

———————

LAW

He knew it was irrational to be jealous of an inanimate object. Law knew that it’d be childish to use his Devil Fruit to take it out of your hands and claim your attention for himself. While he had enough restraint to not do that, the temptation to do so was still there. His eyes zeroed in on the book in your hand. He glowered and wondered if it was really that good, did it really deserve such intense, rapt attention that you were giving it. Your eyes were alight as you took in the words, your fingers already tucked behind the next page and ready to turn it as quickly as possible. Law watched you carefully, almost praying for your expression to turn to one of sudden boredom but it didn’t come. 

He supposed he was to blame this time, a lot of this was new to him. While your relationship had only turned to a romantic one recently, you’d both been close for a lot longer. Long enough for you both to be able to spend time together while doing entirely separate things. You only pulled your book out because he had medical charts to look over and update. Law made a mental note to try a bit harder from now on to make the time you had together one of quality.

Finally he sat back in his seat and rubbed his eyes, letting them relax from pouring over the extensive pages now neatly piled on his desk. Slowly he stood and walked to the sofa you were perched on, unmoving and seemingly unaware he was approaching. Law tried to bite back his jealousy once more, wondering how annoyed you’d be if he ‘accidentally’ sent that blasted book out into the depths of the ocean. 

When he sat down in the space beside you, he smiled softly when you leant back so you were against his side. One of your hands dropped to rest on his arm that was around your waist, your fingers lightly making soothing patterns against his tattooed skin. Law supposed this did count as quality time since it meant he could relax with you in a way he couldn’t with anyone else. He allowed himself the time to settle further against the cushion and press his lips against the back of your head. “Don’t forget you and Bepo are on duty tonight.” He reminded you, still having to act as your Captain when necessary. 

“Yes, love.” Your answer was light and casual that he didn’t realise what you’d said at first. Then it echoed in his head ‘love.’ His eyes widened and he peered at the back of your head. There was no way he misheard that. You’d called him love, not Law, not Captain. Love. There was no mistaking the way his heart skipped a beat in reaction. It sounded so right, so effortless the way you said it and he found himself wanting to hear it again. It was also clear that from your lack of reaction, you hadn’t realised what you’d called him because you were partially distracted. Law smirked and for a moment reconsidered his earlier distaste. Perhaps your book wasn’t so bad after all.

KID

Kid didn’t want to admit it but he was powerless against you. He was stubborn and hotheaded and did what he wanted even if someone had sound logic to convince him whatever he had planned wasn’t wise. If anything if someone did attempt that nonsense with him, he’d be even more extreme with his conviction to do as he wanted and would even think of a way to make his actions even more outlandish and dangerous. Even Killer had a hard time keeping the captain in a somewhat mature state of mind. You however were a different story. Anything you wanted, it was yours all you had to do was ask. 

Kid just never knew how to let you know that was the dynamic between you both. He was never afraid to speak his mind, if anything he yelled it to ensure everyone knew his thoughts. Yet he seemed to bite his tongue from confessing how he truly felt with you. He’d much rather have you beside him every day and enjoy the playful teasing and jokes than make things real and risk you not seeing him that way. Killer had told him one night to just confess already and trust that you felt the same. Kid had rolled his eyes and promptly kept his feelings buried in his chest. It was better, they were safer there than spoken out loud and unable to take them back.

He walked into the kitchen one evening to see you and Killer preparing the crew’s dinner. You looked over at the sound of his naturally heavy steps coming closer and smiled in greeting to see him stop in the doorway. “Here to help, Captain?” You asked, already knowing the answer before it came. Your smile grew when Kid let out a loud laugh and made a show of folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the doorframe. 

“Not unless you want me to poison the crew.” He smirked.

“You’d nurse us back to health if you did infect us though, right?” You joked before looking back to the food you were meant to keep an eye on instead of getting distracted by your handsome Captain. You had to keep reminding yourself to behave and actually respect the chain of command. To let yourself imagine he may genuinely feel the same as you did would only lead to heartbreak in the long run but still you flirted and teased him whenever you could. You supposed you were just a glutton for punishment. You slowed in stirring the food and looked around for the seasonings only to see the small jar on the counter near Kid. 

“Could you pass me that?” You asked nodding your head at what you needed. Kid followed your gaze and immediately pushed himself away from his comfortable position to lift the tiny item. He stepped forward and passed the seasoning into your waiting hand, hating and loving how the brief moment of his fingers skimming against yours brought him such a burst of joy. “Thank you, darling.” You smiled, turning back to the stove. While you hadn’t noticed what you’d said Killer did and he stopped cutting the vegetables to look Kid who was frozen in place, his eyes wide and cheeks turning the same bright red as his hair. 

Darling? The fuck did you mean darling?! Kid’s mind was short-circuiting as he scrambled to gather his wits together and make sense of it all. Had you called him that subconsciously because  was it possible that you felt for him too? God he hoped so because getting to hear you call him something so sweet again would be perfect.

SHANKS

One of the great things about sailing with an Emperor of the sea like Shanks was the fact that there were many islands under his protection. Any time you landed at one for a visit or even for the excuse of resting from a long stretch of sailing, the locals welcomed you all so warmly that it turned into one big celebration. None of you needed to worry about night watches, chores or other duties and could just sit back and enjoy the peace until Shanks decided he wanted to get back on the waters again. 

As a crew, you were all used to just passing out and sleeping wherever you were at that time and waking up with aches from the uncomfortable positions you’d all ended up. However the town you were staying in was large enough to provide some rooms for you all in one of their inns. Some of you still needed to double up but the beds were extremely comfortable and who were you all to refuse such generosity? One night when the drinking and partying was only just beginning you slowly rose from your seat with a stifled yawn and forced yourself to finish your drink. Shanks was first to notice your movements. “Going for another round of drinks already?” he asked, coming across casual but he knew you weren’t yourself. 

“Nah, I’m turning in early.” You announced, playfully flipping off the crew when they started to boo you for being boring. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Blame Beck, alright. I haven’t slept the last two nights. Goodnight.” You gave no further explanation and disappeared up the staircase to claim a room to sleep in. Shanks looked towards his righthand man with a small scowl. He hoped you hadn’t implied what he thought. Beckman could sense his Captain’s silent interrogation and waved away his worries. “Calm down Cap, you know I’d never make a move on them. It’s just been bad luck we’ve had a share a room together and I snore…apparently.” He explained with a shrug and long drink of his ale. 

Shanks had accepted the answer, knowing Beck would never lie to him. Yet as innocent as it all was, he couldn’t ignore the way he’d felt sick at the thought of you being with another of the crew.  While nothing had exactly happened between you both, it was painfully obvious that there was something there. A playful dance you both engaged in without making an actual step forward into committing and admitting you’d had feelings. Roughly Shanks rubbed his eyes, now wasn’t the time to be thinking on such things, not with alcohol in his system and you not being there to talk to like the adults you were. 

The rest of the night had helped to take his mind off things but it was all undone by the time he entered the room he’d been staying in the entire stay and saw you sleeping soundly in his bed. He was the only one in the crew that didn’t have to share his room with anyone else so why were you here? He approached the bed and shook your arm, watching your eyes crack open and he immediately felt guilty. You really did look exhausted. “Why’re you in my bed?” He asked, trying not to laugh as your eyes slipped closed again. 

“Furthest room…no snoring. Please honey, lemme sleep.” Your voice was thick with sleep and your breathing was growing deeper again. Shanks might have appeared calm but that was the first time you’d ever called him something like that and as far as he knew you’d never called anyone else on the crew something similar. That all but cemented his decision that things needed to be talked about when you were both awake and rested enough to deal with things. Finally he let out a sigh and climbed into what would be his side of the bed while keeping respectable space between you both. “Fine, only because it’s you.”

MARCO

Your relationship with the ship’s doctor was a fairly new one. You had both known each other long enough to know the general likes and dislikes and the atmosphere on the Moby Dick among the crew was always one of familial harmony so there was never any uncomfortable tension. You were both content to just take things easy and enjoy things as they developed naturally without needed to force things into a certain timeframe. Marco’s personality being so relaxed and carefree was infectious in general and it was no different in your relationship.

Marco stood from his desk and stretched, ready to find you and enjoy the rest of the day with you now that all pressing tasks he’d needed to complete for the day was done. He was just about to leave when Izou entered to talk about organising a banquet for Ace’s birthday. As the two were discussing everything you appeared and smiled at them both before entering the room. 

“Babe, did you see my-�� Anything else that came out of your mouth was unfortunately drowned out by the increased heart rate in Marco’s ears. Instead he could only watch as you were busy looking for whatever it was that you’d lost. Marco would have considered himself steady and able to handle most situations but hearing you call him babe for the first time had certainly thrown him and you seemed oblivious to the fact that you’d done so. The only person who truly reacted was Izou, his laugh snapping Marco out of his trance and catching your attention too. “Babe, huh? Didn’t realise things were so serious with you two. Maybe we could plan the wedding too.” Izou teased. 

“What are you talking about now?” You asked with a small smile. You were used to Izou’s teasing like a brother figure would but sometimes he just didn’t make sense. When Izou saw that you weren’t aware of your subconscious slip-up he grinned wider. 

“You called Marco, babe.” He explained. You rolled your eyes and let out an amused laugh. As far as jokes went, it wasn’t the worst one he’d told you but he could do better. Suddenly you became concerned when Izou’s smug grin wasn’t slipping and you had to think. What had you said to Marco when you entered the room? Slowly you pulled your gaze to your boyfriend and he nodded. “Well looks like you two lovebirds need some alone time.” Izou all but sang as he left, no doubt hurrying off to tell Ace and the others about Marco’s new nickname.

“So…” You cleared your throat nervously and gave a small laugh. “Want to forget that happened? I swear I didn’t realise I’d even called you that.” The last thing you wanted was to make Marco think you were forcing him to a point he wasn’t ready for. Thankfully his broad smile was enough to make you relax, his naturally warm aura soothing your brief worries before they had a chance to escalate. Marco stepped closer to you, settling a hand on your waist. “Well even if you stop now, I bet all the others will start. Honestly I’d much rather hear it from your lips. Can I hear you say it again?”

ZORO

Zoro kept a firm hold on your shoulder as you stumbled, trying to twist weakly out of his grip. Any other instance he would release you if his touch made you uncomfortable but this was a completely different situation. After defeating a group of lackeys, one managed to make one last attack before falling unconscious. You’d been quick enough to intercept whatever it was he threw towards you and Zoro but when it was destroyed it still released a cloud of strange smelling gas. Zoro had been a safe enough distance but you weren’t so lucky. 

At first you’d insisted you were fine but after walking a few paces your balance started to sway and your mind was beginning to cloud. Zoro became concerned by the glazed look in your eyes as you tried one more time to pull out of his unwavering hold, glaring at him. “Jus’ let me go! I don’t know you.”

His eyes widened at your declaration, not only because you sounded so dazed and confused. It was not like your usual bright and familiar way of speaking that made him happy to hear but it was also because hearing you say you didn’t know him filled him with more concern than he was willing to admit. He needed to find Chopper quickly to treat whatever it was you’d been hit with. For now he had to try and keep you calm and prove you were safe with him. “Course you know me. We’re crew-mates, remember? It’s Zoro.”

Abruptly you stopped and bumped into his chest, lifting your head to stare at him, trying to force yourself to focus on his face. Your hand reached out and clumsily gripped his face, tugging him forward enough for you to see his features better. Zoro could see your pupils were blown wide, whatever had been in that vial was some sort of hallucinogenic and he hoped that that was all it was. It could be better dealt with than a poison. Not that seeing you so wary and untrusting of him was any better. Your suspicion didn’t subside when you finally let go of his face and shook your head. 

“You’re not Zoro.” You finally declared, trying once more to get away from him. This time you succeeded only enough to make it a couple of steps but without him there to keep you stable you fell forward. If Zoro hadn’t been there you would have landed face first into the pavement but he caught you swiftly around the waist and lifted you to settle you over his shoulder, deciding that this way of carrying you was the best option. “Definitely not Zoro.” You weakly grumbled into his back as he began walking again. 

“Oh yeah, why’re you so sure of that?” He asked, deciding to at least play along.

“You’re too grumpy…” You explained and added as you fell unconscious. “Zoro’s grumpy but he’s a sweetheart. My sweetheart.” Immediately the back of his neck heated and he froze in place but he couldn’t say or do anything else because thankfully Chopper, Usopp and Nami appeared to regroup and find Luffy. Zoro quickly explained to Chopper that you’d been hit by something but offered no further details. 

“Did you get hit too, Zoro? You’re looking really red.” Chopper asked in concern. Quickly Zoro cleared his throat and shrugged as he laid you on the ground so Chopper could treat you. 

“Uh yeah, might have been. Don’t worry about it though.”

[derinwrites]

Plotting a story -- inductive and deductive plotting

When it comes to plotting habits in writing fiction, there’s a scale. Most people label the ends of this scale ‘gardener’ and ‘architect’, although the terms ‘plotter’ and ‘pantser’ are also in use. If you’re a writer, you probably know this scale, but I’ll briefly explain for those who haven’t and then get into my model.

An architect, or plotter, is a writer who thrives with a lot of planning. Like an architect planning a house, they assess what story they’re telling in advance and what needs to happen to tell it. They assess the materials, plan and measure the acts (if they’re using an act structure), decide on the climax and how the characters will develop and map those onto the plan. Then, with a plan, they write.

A gardener, or pantser, by contrast, writes ‘by the seat of their pants’. Pantsers may or may not know where their story is going in broad terms, but they certainly don’t know in any detail beyond ‘this’ll be a cool scene if I can get it there’. To these people, writing is less like architecture and more like gardening – you can build your beds and plant your seeds, but a whole lot of what’s going to happen next depends on how the plants grow, and all you can do is keep an eye on them and prune or train them as necessary. You can dream about what your garden will look like in the spring, but you won’t know until you get there.

Plotters and pantsers are not two distinct categories of writers, but ends on a scale. The writer who ad libs sentence by sentence with no goal at all is extremely rare, as is the writer who starts from an overall view of the plot and cuts it down and down until they’re planning on the sentence level. Most writers tend towards one end of the scale to a greater or lesser degree, but very few write completely using one method and none of the other.

The plotter/pantser scale is one that many writers find incredibly useful to help them understand their own process. By knowing where you are on this scale, you can better understand how you write and better understand how the habits and advice of other writers may or may not be useful to you. (A pantser trying to meticulously plot their story in advance following some formula they found in a writing advice book is wasting their time.) However, this model has little utility beyond that, which is why I find it more useful to address the phenomenon not as a scale, but as the manifestation of two separate skills, that I like to call deductive and inductive plotting.

In logic, deductive reasoning is when you take broad rules or generalities and apply them to specific circumstances to predict things – you start big and go little. “Things fall when you drop them, therefore if I drop this rock it will fall” is deduction. Inductive reasoning is the opposite – you start with small observations and build them into a pattern to predict something bigger. “I dropped seventeen objects and they all fell; therefore, perhaps when you drop things, they fall” is induction. (There’s also abductive reasoning, but that doesn’t fit into our plotting skill metaphor.)

In my experience, these skills match to the habits of plotters and pantsers. Plotters, or architects, assemble a big picture of the story they want and then deduce their individual scenes and fill in the lines to map to their overall general picture. They are deductive plotters. If you ask a deductive plotter to start writing without an outline, they become lost and their output seems directionless and erratic – how can they know what to write if they don’t have an outline to break things down from? Deductive plotters tend to think of stories in terms of overall structures and themes that can be broken down into characters and events and put on the page.

Pantsers, or gardeners, are the opposite. They’re if-then writers, and build the plot upwards from the individual actions of their characters and create the story from the sum total of those interactions. They are inductive plotters. Brandon Sanderson often describes a pantser’s first draft as just a really thorough outline, and he’s not wrong; a pantser needs the scene-by-scene minutae to know what happens next. How are they supposed to build an outline if they don’t know what happens next? If you ask an inductive plotter to build and follow a thorough outline, their writing often comes out as wooden and arbitrary as they have to force the actions of the characters between the restrictive rails of predetermined plot. Inductive potters tend to think of stories in terms of characters and discrete events that build up into something bigger with a consistent mood or theme. Inductive plotters sometimes complain of their characters having a life of their own and defying the plot – this is the effect of their moment-by-moment if-then reasoning of the character’s next action not matching their initial predictions, and surprising them.

Again, the vast majority of writers have some rudimentary skill in both inductive and deductive plotting. A strong deductive plotter (architect) can usually sit down and infer line-by-line a scene that their outline lists as “the three characters meet in the coffee shop and share evidence, Rosemary sees Harold’s notes and realises where the gun went.” Similarly, a strong inductive plotter (gardener) usually has some idea of where their story is headed next even if they don’t know how long it’ll take to get there or what complications will pop up in the meantime. But I’ve never met a writer who is equally strong in both inductive and deductive plotting; most writers specialise heavily in one, and tend towards one end of the scale. I think this is because there’s such a huge overlap in utility; when we start learning to write, we start plotting in whatever way is easiest for us, and train that specific method over decades. There’s little reason to invest even more decades into getting just as good with the other method when your favoured method already achieves everything you want.

I find that viewing this scale as the result of two skills, inductive and deductive plotting, can be very helpful in understanding specifically how we write. Thinking of myself as a heavily inductive plotter with rudimentary deductive plotting skills has really helped me understand why some methods of writing work for me and others don’t, as well as help nail down specific weaknesses in my writing. I also find it useful to think of writing styles and strategies not as some unchangeable characteristic we were born with (as the plotter/pantser scale is frequently envisioned), but as skills that can be built. You don’t write the way you write because you happen to be a plotter or pantser – you write the way you write because that’s what you learned to do! And it was hard! And you did it! Be proud of your skill!

[acmeangel]

Levi’s love language is acts of service.

Levi noticed that on Sunday nights, you unwind by taking a long, warm bath. A few weeks into this pattern, he draws the bath for you, without saying a word. When you ask what he’s doing, his excuse is that you “always end up wasting too much water when you do it yourself.” That, however, doesn’t explain the single lit candle and your favorite book placed on the counter.

Levi, after noticing you’d been having a particularly hard week, learns to bake your favorite treat. He grumbles to himself the entire time (“What the hell is semisweet chocolate? Isn’t all chocolate sweet?” “How the fuck do you cream butter?”) but it’s worth it when he sees the smile on your face. The dessert comes out… just alright.

Levi’s hand always finds the back of your neck when you two are on the couch, unwinding at the end of the day. He’s never been one to initiate much physical touch, but this is different — he’s concentrated on reading his book, a faint furrow in his brow, as his hand gently kneads the tense muscles in your neck because “your posture is deplorable.”

Levi heard you gripe about doing the laundry one time, and, really, you were just having a bad day. But ever since then, you catch him meticulously hanging clothes on the clothesline outside, before you even have the chance to get to it first.

Levi noticed that you always keep a fresh bouquet of flowers by your bedroom window. He asked you one time what kind they were, and then found himself at the florist asking for “I don’t know, the pink ones.” He’s shown up with a different type each week since, and you never correct him.

Levi asks — or, borderline threatens — the doctor to make a house visit whenever you have even the slightest cough, runny nose, or sore throat. You’ve tried to object once or twice, telling him it’s just a cold, but quickly learned that any efforts at protesting at are futile. He needs to know that you’re okay.

Levi, ever the pragmatist, never truly understands why you need to journal through your feelings before making big decisions. But, when he notices your journal is running out of blank pages, a brand new one mysteriously appears on your bedside table.

Levi learned long ago not to get attached to material things. But, when he sees how upset you are after you break your favorite necklace, he spends hours tediously fixing the broken clasp for you.

Levi, who is not good with words, who will never really get used to physical affection, who simply wants to deserve you, still always, always finds ways to show how much he loves you.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

I kind of want to build some of these out into longer fluff pieces, so let me know if that would interest any of you!

Masterlist

Requests are open!

[actuallybean]

Truth Hurts* | Part One

When a witch curses you to spill the truth and nothing but the truth, your biggest secret slips—you're hopelessly, shamelessly into both Winchesters. Good news? They’re just as into sharing as you are. *Contains sexual material: Minors DNI, threesome with brothers Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester Part Two Tag List: @mostlymarvelgirl Supernatural Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The motel room smelled like cheap coffee and gun oil, and the rain outside tapped against the windows like a metronome counting down the moments before everything came undone.

You sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping through a local police report on your laptop. Sam paced behind you, reading aloud from the thick journal he’d been annotating since breakfast. Dean was slouched in the armchair by the window, polishing one of his pistols with casual precision—and absolutely not looking at your bare legs, even though you were sure he had at least three times already.

“Weird symbols carved into the chest,” Sam muttered, flipping a page. “Victim found in a locked room. No forced entry.”

“Witch,” you said, not looking up.

Dean smirked. “You say that like it’s your personal vendetta.”

“It is.” You looked over your shoulder at him. “You weren’t the one who spent three hours coughing up beetles the last time we dealt with one.”

Dean wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, yeah. That was gross. But I did hold your hair while you threw up, so I think I deserve partial trauma credit.”

Sam snorted. “That’s not how trauma works.”

Dean gestured vaguely with the gun oil rag. “Tell that to my dry-cleaning bill.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart warmed. This was your favorite part of the job—quiet, close, the three of you orbiting each other like gravity didn’t apply anywhere but here. You felt safe with them. Anchored. Loved, in a way that had never been spoken aloud but radiated from every shared glance, every brush of Sam’s hand when he handed you a file, every cup of coffee Dean slid silently across the table when you looked tired.

Still, the unsaid things weighed heavier than the salt rounds in your duffel.

Like how Dean’s gaze lingered a beat too long on your mouth when you smiled. Or how Sam’s fingertips would rest against your lower back for just a second more than necessary when you passed each other in tight spaces. Or how your heart ached for both of them, in different ways—but equally, deeply, stupidly.

You were too afraid to ruin it. So you didn’t say a word.

“Okay,” Sam said, snapping the journal shut. “There’s a pattern. Victims all worked at the same antique shop downtown. We go in tonight, after hours. Check for hex bags, maybe a cursed object.”

Dean cocked his gun and stood. “Cool. Witch-hunting on a Wednesday. Guess I’m skipping karaoke night.”

You laughed, stuffing silver bullets into your belt. “Since when do you sing in tune?”

Dean held a hand to his chest. “Wounded.”

Sam slung his bag over one shoulder. “Don’t worry. You can sing to the witch.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “That a kink I didn’t know about, Sammy?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get this over with.”

You grabbed your jacket, walking between them, hyper-aware of the heat that radiated from their bodies on either side of you. Dean opened the door and you stepped into the rain, your skin already tingling—not from the cold, but from the tension hanging thick between the three of you. Fragile. Unspoken.

Something was about to break.

And you had no idea that in less than 24 hours, you’d spill every secret you’d tried so hard to swallow—and they’d both be there to catch every single one.

✦

The antique store sat at the corner of a quiet block, shadowed by overgrown trees and cloaked in moonlight. The sign above the door was barely visible, letters faded and warped: Griffin’s Relics – Est. 1889. The air felt thick here, like something ancient was watching.

Dean jimmied the back door open with practiced ease while you and Sam kept watch, guns loaded with silver rounds just in case. The second you stepped inside, the hairs on your arms stood on end.

“This place smells like regret and lavender,” you whispered, nose wrinkling.

“Definitely witchy,” Dean muttered, flashlight cutting a path through the gloom.

Sam nodded toward the far corner. “Back there. Office space. That’s where the last victim was found.”

You moved as a unit—sweeping, scanning, breath tight. Glass cases lined the walls, filled with dusty jewelry, doll heads, rusted blades. The air hummed with residual magic, and you could feel it crawling along your skin like static.

“This place is a freakin’ cursed-object buffet,” Dean said, shining his light over an old porcelain mask. “I vote we torch it and grab burgers.”

You crouched beside a display case. “Hold on. These runes—they’re Norse. Protection and binding magic.”

Sam joined you, brow furrowed. “Definitely witch work. But why those? Protection for what?”

That’s when the trap triggered.

The second Dean stepped over the threshold into the office, the air snapped—like a rubber band pulled too tight. A sigil on the floor flared crimson, and an invisible force slammed the door shut behind him. You and Sam rushed forward, but it was too late—the room was sealed.

“Dean!” you shouted, hands on the doorknob. It was burning hot.

Dean’s voice was muffled from the other side. “I’m fine! Just pissed off—son of a bitch warded the room!”

Sam turned to the wall of shelves, searching for anything remotely magical. “There—look!”

You followed his gaze to a wooden idol—small, horned, its mouth carved open in a twisted grin. You both reached for it at once, and the moment your fingers touched it, a shockwave pulsed through the room.

Your knees hit the floor hard, vision swimming. You could hear Sam calling your name, feel Dean pounding on the door—but none of it made sense. There was a rush of heat, then cold, then—

Your chest heaved as the pressure faded, and Sam knelt beside you, wide-eyed and pale.

“You okay?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Just… dizzy.”

Dean burst through the now-unguarded doorway, eyes wild. “What the hell was that?!”

You stood shakily. “It was cursed. Some kind of defense charm.”

Dean looked you over. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I… I think so,” you breathed, blinking. “Everything feels weird.”

Sam hovered beside Dean. “It was a curse. Some kind of magical tripwire.”

Dean’s hand slid to the back of your neck, grounding. “What kind of curse?”

You looked at them, heart pounding, and tried to say “I don’t know.” But what came out was: “I ate the last slice of pie last night and I blamed it on Sam.”

Dead silence.

Dean blinked. “…What?”

You clapped your hands over your mouth. “That’s not what I meant to say!”

Sam’s brow furrowed, curious. “Wait. Try again. Say something you know isn’t true.”

You hesitated. “I hate coffee.”

You tried, but instead what came out was: “I once stole one of Dean’s flannels and sleep in it when I miss him.”

Your eyes widened in horror. Dean made a sound that was absolutely not appropriate for the middle of a witch hunt.

“Okay,” Sam said carefully. “You’re cursed. It’s a truth-binding spell. Classic magical compulsion—you can’t lie.”

You groaned, dragging both hands down your face. “This is bad. This is so bad.”

Dean looked entirely too amused. “So, just to clarify… you did eat the last slice of my pie.”

You glared at him. “And I’d do it again.”

Sam chuckled under his breath, but you could see the tightness behind his eyes—the worry. He wasn’t laughing at you. He was already working through how to fix it.

“We need to break the curse,” he said, scanning the shelves. “There’s probably a totem somewhere. Something binding the magic. If we find it—”

Dean nudged you gently, leaning in close. “You okay handling this until then? We won’t push.”

You nodded. “As long as no one asks me anything deep, I should survive.”

Dean smirked, but didn’t press.

Sam gave your shoulder a brief squeeze before stepping toward the back room. “Let’s find the source before you start telling us how you really feel.”

You smiled tightly, following them. They didn’t know it yet—but that was exactly what scared you most.

[thestarsaboveme]

Lads men x Reader who's really into horror movies

masterlist

this was a request from a kind anon.

summary: reader who really likes horror movies.

xavier | rafayel | zayne | caleb

sylus x reader | fluff

The room is dim. Just the glow from the projector and the shifting shadows on the walls. You sit forward as the scene plays out, dim lighting, an eerie stillness, then a sharp cut to a reflection. The victim sees themselves on screen seconds before impact. The screen goes black.

You don't react with a gasp or a flinch. Instead, you slap the pause button and spin toward Sylus with wide eyes.

''That. Was. Brilliant.''

He blinks slowly. ''The murder?''

''No!'' you grab the notebook, which is hanging on by one duct-taped corner, and flip it open in your lap. A folded page falls out. A post-it note sticks to your elbow. ''The reflection shot. The timing. The way the character becomes both observer and object. That is pure cinematic horror logic.''

Sylus watches you sift through the avalanche of scribbled diagrams and timestamp notes. ''I thought horror logic was people making bad decisions and tripping on air.''

You snort. ''That's surface-level stuff. I'm talking deep technique. Look,'' you tear out a page and spread it in front of him. ''See how the visual symmetry forces the viewer into complicity? It's not just a kill shot. It's a narrative trick. A loop of helplessness.''

He glances at the mess of arrows and shaky frame stills. ''This looks more like a tactical briefing than film analysis.''

''Same thing, honestly,'' you mutter, eyes still scanning the page. ''Predict the pattern. Anticipate the strike. Horror's just chess with blood.''

That makes Sylus pause. He leans back slightly, staring not at the notebook, but at you.

''…You really mean that.''

You look up, surprised by the softness in his voice. ''Of course I do. Horror is structure wrapped in chaos. You just have to be patient enough to unravel it.''

Sylus gives the smallest huff of breath. It's almost a laugh, which in his language might as well be a full-body chuckle. ''Sounds awfully familiar,'' he mutters under his breath. He glances at the paused screen again, the dim flicker of it reflected in his eyes. ''I never liked horror,'' he admits, still watching the frozen frame. ''Too irrational. People running toward danger. Splitting up for no reason. Poor decisions everywhere.''

You shoot him a grin. ''That's half the fun. The chaos. But that's only on the surface. Good horror has structure. Rhythm. Cause and effect.''

Sylus hums low in his throat. ''So you find logic in disorder.''

''Exactly.'' you point at him, pleased. ''Horror is controlled chaos. Like, okay, jump scares? They only work if you know how to set them up. They're math. Tension beats. Timing. It's practically music.''

He's quiet again, but this time, it's not dismissal. He's processing.

You tap your pen on your notebook. ''You look like you want to disagree.''

''I don't,'' he says, finally. ''I think I just…underestimated how methodical fear can be.''

The way he says it makes you glance at him, really glance. His voice calm, but there's something underneath it, like a wire stretched too tight. He's not just talking about films anymore. He rarely does.

You offer him a soft smile, shifting to sit cross-legged. ''I think that's why I love horror. You can understand fear. Control it. Break it down. It's never just violence. It's always saying something.''

Sylus looks at you, and for a moment, something flickers in his expression. Not surprise. Not amusement. Maybe something closer to…respect.

''I like the way your mind works,'' he says simply.

You blink, and for once, you're the one without words. Your pen slips slightly in your grip. The projector hums in silence.

And Sylus, without ceremony, leans forward to pick up a loose sheet from the floor. He holds it up to the light.

''…You've miswritten the year here. Nosferatu was released in 1922, not 1923.''

You gasp, scandalized. ''Disqualified. You're banned from horror club for nitpicking.''

''You run the club alone.''

''And you were almost vice president.''

A ghost of a smile lingers on his lips, and his eyes stay on you a moment longer before he sets the paper down and says, ''Continue. I'm listening.''

And just like that, your rambling resumes, animated and delighted, while Sylus sits in his quiet stillness, absorbing every word like it's data he never knew he needed.

[astra-ravana]

Types Of Divination

Divination is the practice of seeking knowledge of the unknown or future through supernatural or symbolic means. There are hundreds of divination methods used across cultures and time periods, each utilizing different tools, elements, or techniques. Below is a categorized and comprehensive list of various divination practices.

Classical & Symbolic Divination

These methods use symbols, numbers, and abstract concepts to gain insight.

A. Alphabet & Writing-Based Divination

• Abecedarian Divination – Using letters of the alphabet in random patterns for messages.

• Onomancy – Divination through names.

• Graphomancy – Analyzing handwriting for hidden meanings.

• Lexomancy – Opening a book randomly and interpreting the first word or passage seen.

• Spirit Boards(Ouija) - Spirit divination using an alaphet board and planchette to spell out messages.

B. Number-Based Divination

• Numerology – The study of numbers and their mystical meanings.

• Arithmancy – Using numbers associated with names or events to predict outcomes.

• Geomancy – Casting marks on the ground or sand to form patterns for interpretation.

C. Sound & Speech-Based Divination

• Echomancy – Interpreting random or accidental sounds.

• Oinomancy – Using the sounds and bubbles of poured wine for divination.

• Geloscopy - Divination using the sound of someone's laugh.

• Cantiumancy - Drawing messages and predictions through music.

• Phonomancy - Divination through people's voices and speech.

Elemental & Nature-Based Divination

This category includes divination methods that rely on natural elements like fire, water, earth, and air.

A. Fire Divination

• Pyromancy – Divination using flames.

• Capnomancy – Studying smoke patterns.

• Causimomancy – Burning objects and interpreting how they react.

• Spodomancy - Divination using ashes.

• Ceromancy - Interpreting the patterns/shapes in melted candle wax.

B. Water Divination

• Hydromancy – Scrying or divining using water.

• Pegomancy – Studying the movement of sacred wells or springs.

• Aspidomancy – Scrying with whirlpools or moving water.

C. Air & Wind Divination

• Aeromancy – Divination through atmospheric conditions.

• Anemoscopy – Studying wind direction and patterns.

• Chaomancy – Observing air currents and swirling dust or leaves.

D. Earth Divination

• Lithomancy – Casting and reading stones or crystals.

• Geomancy – Reading marks or patterns in soil, sand, or earth.

• Spatalamancy – Divination through cave formations.

• Halomancy - Divination using salts.

• Abocomancy - Divination based on interpretation of the patterns in dirt, silt, sand, or dust.

Animal & Plant-Based Divination

These methods rely on interactions with living things and biological matter.

A. Animal-Based Divination

• Ornithomancy(Augury) – Observing bird flight patterns.

• Ailuromancy – Watching the behavior of cats.

• Myomancy – Interpreting mouse or rodent behavior.

• Ophiomancy – Observing snakes.

• Ichthyomancy - Divination using fish.

• Zoomancy - Divination through the actions of wildlife.

• Alectromancy - Using roosters or hens to make predictions.

• Apantomancy - Interpreting chance meetings with animals, such as the familiar black cat crossing your path.

• Myrmonancy - Discerning the future through observing ants eating food.

B. Plant-Based Divination

• Dendromancy – Divination using tree bark or branches.

• Botanomancy – Burning plants and interpreting the smoke.

• Xylomancy – Interpreting patterns in fallen branches or wood.

• Tasseomancy - Gaining wisdom by reading tea leaves

Object-Based Divination

Using objects, artifacts, and physical tools to gain insight.

• Bibliomancy – Interpreting messages from the open page of a fallen book.

• Rhabdomancy – Divining with rods, wands, or sticks.

• Belomancy – Throwing arrows and interpreting where they land.

• Oomancy - Divination using eggs.

• Crystallomancy – Scrying into crystals (e.g., crystal ball gazing).

• Curiomancy - Divination by casting random or obscure objects.

• Catoptromancy - The art of scrying with a mirror.

• Psychometry - Scrying of a held or touched object.

• Astagyromancy - Divination performed by tossing dice.

• Dactylomancy - Using a ring suspended on a cord/chain or a pendulum to divinate.

• Papyromancy - Folding paper into shapes, then interpreting the forms and shadows created.

Death & Spirit-Based Divination

Methods focused on communicating with spirits, ancestors, or the dead.

• Necromancy – Summoning or consulting spirits of the dead.

• Oneiromancy – Interpreting dreams.

• Psychomancy – Communicating with spirits and being able to hear their voices.

• Osteomancy – Reading bones or skeletal remains.

Energy & Psychic Divination

These methods rely on intuitive abilities or the reader's energy field.

• Morphic Resonance - Using the concept of collective memory and patterns from the past to predict future patterns.

• Aurascopy – Reading auras and energy fields.

• Cryptomancy - Supernatural insights through secret signs and omens.

• Intuitive Counseling - Offering guidance based on intuitive feelings.

• Remote Viewing - Psychically perceiving a distant or unseen target.

• Energy Scrying - Divining information about a person’s physical or emotional state through their energy.

• Channeling - Mediums communicate with spirits to convey messages or predict future events.

Popular & Modern Divination Systems

These systems have structured methods and are widely practiced.

• Cartomancy/Tarot – Using cards to interpret the past, present, and future or speak to spirits.

• Runecasting (Runology) – Reading ancient runes for insight (Futhark, Ogham, Witch Runes, etc).

• I Ching (Yi Jing) – Using hexagrams derived from coin or stick throws.

• Astrology – Studying celestial bodies and their influence on human affairs.

• Palmistry - Reading the lines on a person's hand.

[blluesiide]

To Grin At You Once More

abstract: you braid spencers hair. title from Scrub by Henri Bardot, highly recommend. song is total opposite vibe lyrically in comparison to this but I was listening to it while writing! long hair reid, my beloved. my sweetheart.

You roll your shoulders a bit, feeling the tightness after a long day at work. Spencer's shoes are resting nearly by the front door, one of those rare nights he gets to sleep in your bed.

"Spence?" You call out softly, setting your things down.

"Bathroom!" He shouts, and you realize you can hear the sink running.

You step down the hall, tracing the wall with the tip of your fingers until you reach the open door, and you see him sitting on the lid of the toilet, pajamas on and hair towel gently dabbing at the excess water.

You inhale deeply, "It smells so good in here." You sigh.

"Hi." He grins at you, arms lowering as you approach, stepping between his legs to hug him.

"Hi," you reply, letting out a breath of relief.

"You smell so yummy." You comment, and he chuckles affectionately.

Your hand comes up to cup the back of his head, damp curls slipping between your fingers.

He smiles up at you, eyes watching your face with a mix of curiosity and adoration. You let him stare for a couple seconds before you lean down and press your lips against his forehead.

His eyes close automatically, leaning into it, and you murmur softly against his skin, "Can I braid your hair?"

"Only if you're gentle."

"I'm always gentle."

He hums, hand on your waist as his fingers slip just under your shirt to touch your waist. The smile resting upon his lips is easy, natural. You have that effect on him.

He swallows, glancing down at your lips, and you oblige, bending down even if the angle is slightly uncomfortable, just to kiss him.

His hand is warm, wide as it splays across the expanse of your cheek. You kiss until the twinge in your back causes you to lower to your knees, and Spencer follows, tilting down to meet you in your new position, his other hand pushing your hair back, hand holding your hair in place by your ear.

When your lungs finally object and force you to part, Spencer lets out a bashful breath. No matter how long he's been dating you, it will never fail to fluster him, how easily he loses himself in you, how it feels like the first time every time.

Your hand rests on his knee, mindful of the still-healing bone beneath skin. Your thumb brushes gently over it, and the corner of Spencers lip quirks up. "Go get cozy? I'll be in soon."

He nods once, holding his hand out to you so you can stand and then help him stand.

By the time you enter the room, Spencers hair is mostly dry, and he's sitting up, finger tracing down the pages of a book you know he's read a million times over. He sets it aside when you approach.

Spencer liked to be present when you were around. Not preoccupied by case files, or books. He'd gladly sit, content just to breathe with you. He didn't always enjoy silence, but with you it never felt empty. With you he welcomed it, finding a solace be never thought he'd be granted again.

Your fingers work carefully against his scalp, weaving thoughts of love, safety, and comfort into each section of the braids. When it's finished, he gently tugs at them with his fingers, the smooth pattern weaving itself into his memory. He turns, smiles at you, soft, relaxed and ready for bed. He thinks about the ring box in the back of the top drawer of his dresser, blinks softly at you, and pulls you under the covers with him.

You press a gentle kiss between his brows, one on his nose, and he mirrors your actions, pressing his own kisses to your skin before you both meet, lip to lip.

It's short, and when he presses his forehead to yours and softly says, "I love you." Your heart soars in your chest. "I love you." You return. He breathes it in, like it's the only thing he's ever needed.

Maybe it is.

[syntheticsymp]

is Nikto's pet allowed to have hobbies? Pets need enrichment too

Nikto didn't think this through when he first stole you away. When he's home, he doesn't do much of anything other than stare at the wall and wait for the next mission. So, the hours you spent alone don't even cross his mind, until he starts noticing the little ways you start to unravel.

It quickly becomes clear that you need something to do, other than him. There are certain hobbies you picked up during your solitude. Particularly, birdwatching. Being out in the woods, you like to take note of the animals that pass by. You even start drawing, since you don't know the actual names of the birds. Once Nikto sees the small, labeled sketches lying about the house, he starts to ask about them. He loves listening to you talk, and it definitely beats starting conversation himself. Hearing your voice blocks out his own rambling alters, replacing their toxin with something sweeter.

"I call this bird the 'yellow-guy,'" you explain, holding the thin papers in your hands as you sat in Nikto's lap. "I call her that because she's yellow, obviously. I didn't have any colored pencils, though, so it's hard to capture--"

"We will find you colored pencils by tomorrow."

You looked up from your little notebook. "What?"

"We will find you colored pencils," he repeated, leaving no room for you to object. Then, pointed to the next page. "What is this one?"

Your smile was just as brilliant as the first time he had seen it. "I call this one the 'annoying-loud-bird.' Because he has an annoying chirp has woken me up on multiple occasions."

He continues listening to you for hours, his attention never wavering, his terrifying blue eyes never leaving you. He's making a mental note of all the birds you dislike; he'll make sure they will never ruin your view of your pretty favorites ever again.

It hurts a little, knowing you need more than him, but he wants to keep you alive physically and mentally. The amount of time you spend asleep, just waiting for him to come back, is concerning. So, he encourages anyway you find to entertain yourself.

He starts giving you small things he finds on the way home. Little toys for you to play with while he's gone, items to show his affection because he cannot express it. Knick-knacks, rubix cubes, even a little plush bear. The plushie quickly got booted after you started snuggling with it more than him, but other than that, he didn't mind the games.

A classic chessboard sits on the coffee table at all times now, pieces ordered carefully for your next match. You are learning, brushing up on techniques whenever he is away. Nikto has to admit, your tricks on the checkerboard are pretty impressive. He doesn't mind you beating him, because you're playing with him. It's like taking you on a walk, letting you stretch your legs to get your energy back. It's like it was before you shut down, you interact with a smile and sometimes wager a kiss on the cheek that you know you will give him regardless of who wins the match.

Almost instantly, he sees the difference. You seem more awake, your soul coming back to you. Just alive enough to move again. Coming back to him, his perfect little pet defrosting.

So, he continues his gift-giving. You don't always understand what he gives you at first, but you make do. There isn't much else to do around here.

But your favorite thing he has given you is a sewing machine. He pretty much just typed 'hobbies' into google and did what he could with that. The sewing machine was his mother's, still perfectly in tact when he went to get it from his family's old lockbox. Nikto wasn't sentimental, but he remembered the fondness his mother had for the machine, and he figured it would give you something to do. And, like the smart little thing you are, you taught yourself to embroider for hours on end, stitching little flowers and unique patterns into the tears of his shirts. It definitely wouldn't be appreciated if he wore that button up to KorTac, but you are just so proud of it that he doesn't care what people think. He wears it regardless, and promptly has to beat up the recruit who attempted to make fun of the cute detailing. Nikto later that night asks you to hem the rip in the fabric he had gotten from the fight.

He also gives you a pair of knitting needles, once he trusts you enough not to stab his eyes out. You're halfway done making him a bright blue scarf, having chosen the color specifically to match his eyes. You want to get it done by the winter, so he won't get cold while hunting. The deadline is self-imposed, Nikto couldn't care less about how long it takes for you to finish your project, but you like to keep a schedule. It's the little things that keep you sane.

[marithempressz]

Scorpio Full Moon: What transformations are knocking at your door?

Today is a significant moment in the collective energy. I've not only heard that it's going to be something big and profound, but I'm already feeling it. That’s why I felt called to do this reading and help you gain some insight into this moment. Take what resonates, and enjoy the reading!

Pile 1 - Black Swan Pile 2 - Ex_Machina Pile 3 - Catwoman

Pile 1

The Empress, The Star

I see a hurricane or tornado. It seems that things are really going to shift for you, huh? A radical change in your life and life perspectives. You might feel like everything is being destroyed—or maybe you already do—and that’s a normal scenario when things are changing so profoundly.

Scorpio’s ruler is Pluto, and this guy is not only a powerful force of destruction but also a source of strength to rebuild something brand new, completely different from what needed to die.

Look, there’s nothing to be afraid of. There’s a clear path for you to follow—very practical and objective. This path will lead you to success, fortune, and the fulfillment of your dreams. The transformation knocking at your door is going to change the course of your life for the better. However, you need to commit to yourself. Be serious about it—it’s time to grow up.

Earth is strongly present here, so themes of practicality, objectivity, and building a solid foundation are being emphasized. This transformation is asking you to commit. The Empress represents commitment, so what’s the most important thing in your life right now that needs your loyalty and perseverance?

Also, your feminine aspect is asking to be heard. You need to be in touch with your intuition and emotions while dealing with these earthly matters. This transformation isn’t asking you to be completely rational—but rather to use your intuition alongside your rationality. For example, if you’re structuring a routine, try to feel what works best for you. Get it? If you’re working on something important, be open to ideas that come “out of nowhere”—because they do come from somewhere, and that “somewhere” is trying to help guide you through this.

With The Star, there’s definitely a message about growing up—letting the shadow side of innocence go, and discovering the real world, where it takes time for some dreams to be built. Right now is the perfect moment to be honest with yourself. Don’t delay your evolution—it will only make things harder. Just be real. There are more beautiful things in the real world than you might imagine.

Pile 2

The Hanged man, Page of Coins

I see a bird��maybe an eagle or an Andean condor. Whichever one resonates with you, birds are messengers. I feel more drawn to speak about the condor. In Andean culture, condors are seen as intermediaries with the spirit world. They're a type of vulture, which deepens their symbolic connection to death, rebirth, and transformation.

I feel something stirring in the chest area—likely a transformation related to your relationships, how you view love, and how you see yourself. There’s also a sense of deep exhaustion, a feeling that you can’t live like this anymore. That’s powerful, especially since this full moon is all about releasing everything that no longer serves you. You don’t have the energy—or the time—to keep dealing with these same issues.

Even while you may feel hopeless or defeated, there’s a spark you can’t ignore—a sense of renewal, of rebirth, something completely different from what you’ve known. Interestingly, there’s also an eagle in the Hanged Man’s card. The card depicts the myth of Prometheus, who defied Zeus and was punished: an eagle would eat his liver daily, and it would regenerate, only to be eaten again. Eventually, Prometheus is saved—but only by Zeus’ permission.

This tells a story of divine permission, divine timing. It reflects the moment when your higher self knows it’s time to break a pattern, time to be free. This feels like something you’ve been waiting a long time to heal from. But now, finally, you are free.

There is hope here. There is trust in divine will, and trust in yourself—for holding onto faith along the path. No more torture. 

Also, don’t forget that you have learned something through these dark times. 

Pile 3 

The Empress, Death, Page of Wands

A change in the way you see the world around you is happening. The third eye chakra is being activated. I saw a mountain—Everest, perhaps? A peak. A place where you can retreat from society for a while to reconnect with your true self. Afterward, you return—ready to share what you’ve learned.

This reminded me of Mikao Usui, the founder of Reiki. He meditated for 21 days on Mount Kurama, and it was there where he channeled the Reiki technique. For this group, there's a profound spiritual transformation taking place.

If you feel called to pick Pile 1, trust that instinct. Go ahead—follow what you’re feeling. The Empress appears here again, which suggests that both piles are connected.

Now, there’s something really fascinating in this message. In the Death card, we see the ruler of the underworld—Pluto, or Hades. The word “Pluto” comes from the Greek Plouton, meaning wealth or riches. In mythology, when people died, they had to carry coins to cross the River Styx and reach the underworld. Without the coins, it was said they would suffer at the river's edge.

Symbolically, this means that Death requires something from you in order to pass through and reach a new beginning. You must leave something behind to receive what comes next. You can’t fully embrace the new if you’re still holding onto the old. And again, this full moon is all about letting go of what no longer serves you.

Interestingly, Scorpio rules the 8th house, which—just like Pluto—also deals with money and wealth. On a deeper level, it’s in the underworld, in the unconscious, where true riches lie. Real transformation. Real gold.

The Empress also appears alongside the Death card. Her theme is abundance and creation—she’s pregnant in the card, representing new life. The Page of Wands is present too, which symbolizes fresh energy and beginnings. Together, these cards speak of a powerful spiritual rebirth. A big one.

At the same time, you may feel uncertain, even fragile—like something just born. And that’s okay. Just as a mother cares for her child, The Empress reminds you to nurture whatever new energy, ideas, or insights are coming to life for you now. You don’t need to share everything with everyone—protect what’s growing.

Take care of what’s being born. And have a beautiful journey.

[crguang]

like threads of silk

Yugu likes her protagonists malleable and willing, with perhaps a touch of naivety. And you’re as sweet as a freshly plucked dandelion.

Or, Yugu loves to reenact the various smutty romances she writes about.

smutty, afab!r, dom/sub undertones, guided masturbation, one sided relationship (yugu likes toys not attachments </3), 3.5k words

A/N: i’ll say what i said on ao3 okay; im just a horny lesbian with english as a second (third?) language so dont expect my writing to resemble ptn’s in any way alright </3 writing this was embarrassing enough…. i wrote it before her interro with one hand in my pants, so her way of speaking is less flowery than it is in game. ok byeee

A soft hand presses against your shoulder and sends you falling into luxurious satin sheets with a gentle push; your body, no longer entirely yours, obediently follows the silent command. You suck in a sharp, involuntary breath. Yugu’s orders are generally indirect, teased and planted as seeds into your unsuspected mind until you behave exactly the way she wishes you to, and she seldom requires touch for her plot to unfold with the same minutiae she crafts it. If it weren’t for the gleam in her eyes, this simple gesture would betray her excitement for what she has planned next. Her gaze lowers to the pages in her hand and she steps away from you to reclaim her seat at the foot of the bed.

“…Taken by surprise, the maiden’s breath escapes in a sweet gasp, the sound intimate in the quiet of her bedroom and laced with poorly concealed anticipation. She sinks into the plush bedding, silk sheets grazing her skin like a tender caress, yet her deepest desires lie in the the object of her affection—“

Yugu’s eyes rise to meet yours through her long lashes, a teasing smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

“—The one she craves sits prettily a mere distance away, separated from her anxious hands. They curl into the sheets in a show of admirable restraint. The maiden feels this yearning in the bowels of her heart where light doesn’t reach, and all that beats is red stained flesh and longing. It is a pulse that only makes itself known in the presence of her beloved. It beats timid confessions best understood with an ear to her bare chest and, oh, there isn’t another more skilled in the language of her body.”

The taleteller’s coy voice permeates your mind and, though low in volume, resonates between your ears. The draping canopy above creates a veil between your shared space and the world, not unlike the thin fabric covering the lower half of Yugu’s delicate features stands as a barrier between the two of you. Lit candles illuminate her graceful silhouette and not much else, their aroma subtle yet pleasant to your senses. In the dimmed light, you’re still able to see her clearly. She likes her lighting ambient to match the charged, romantic scenes she delights in writing. You are cut off from the tangible world, caught in her careful schemes and the intensity of her stare. You find yourself unable to care about the vulnerable positions she so easily places you in throughout her various plots, you trust her to handle you with the grace of a writer until you are merely sweet words past her glossy, rosy lips. And she always, always does. Her control is seamless and is in the form of a warm hand cupping your cheek while you stand as a flightless bird lost in the sky of her eyes, oblivious to her fingertips plucking at your feathers.

Yugu’s mouth moves and your limbs follow suit, eager to please and exhilarated by her focused attention on your every move.

“Under the lighted gaze of her dearest, the maiden is aflame. The sensation licks at her skin, along the curve of her calf and further up to the tremble of her thigh. Unable to resist, tentative fingertips lightly retrace the smooth pattern of her beloved’s eyes on her body, now dulled to a lustful cyan as she observes the erotic scene. And what a scene indeed: nestled between ample pillows and expensive sheets, pinned where she lies with a heated stare, her right hand leisurely travels across the enticing landscape of her thigh…”

Compelled, you sprawl on the bed and bring her book to life, tracing a path from your bent knee to the apex of your thigh before repeating the motion in the opposite direction. Yugu’s smile shifts to a pleased one. She elegantly reclines against the wooden four poster bed frame and the book’s intricate cover hides her pretty lips from view when she raises it to her eyes. You fleetingly wonder whether she takes the instant to regain composure over herself, perhaps too eager for what comes next, and then she speaks and her silky, honeyed narration drifts the thought away like dainty petals in the morning breeze.

You are the papyrus and she the quill, each spoken sentence is recreated on your body as your heart thrums in your chest, spurred by the prickly feeling of anticipation. Fingers slowly trail upward, past the curve of your stomach to reach the pliable flesh of your breasts. The touch is brief, light, before you’re sensually mapping out your exposed collarbones and the slope of your neck. You feel your pulse under your fingertips, erratic despite what little actions have been taken so far. Nearly drowning in Yugu’s fixed gaze, you momentarily forget that this touch is your own. Occasionally she will cast a cursory glance at the next passage then meet your lidded eyes once more, but by the time your hand is brushing the dip of your pelvis on its way back down your body, you’re no longer sure if she’s truly reading the writing on the page.

“Her darling sits entranced, the perfect picture of composure were it not for the desire written along the lines of her beautiful visage. The maiden’s intimate gasps and soft shivers are fuel to the embers in the pit of her belly, near incandescent through her eyes.”

These two lines and her inability to look away as you caress your skin are the only insight inside Yugu’s guarded thoughts that she generously shares with you, if only through the pretense of a fictive role. She stays put, a hand holding onto the manuscript and the other’s fingertips unhurriedly drumming a melody you don’t recognize on her thigh. An intoxicating haze settles over your mind and dulls your own thought process, which is why it takes your blood rushing to your ears to realize that she is playing out the rhythm of your heartbeat. Like this scene— the lighting, the props, your heavy eyelids and parted lips and content sighs— it is crafted by her hand. Submission tastes best directly from your lips.

Your body burns brighter at the lewd script streaming from her tongue. Yugu meticulously studies your movements as your fingers close around a supple breast, over your clothes, and the flesh fills your palm easily. They squeeze tentatively after another indirect order. Your dearest is a predictable woman with a penchant for slow burn; oftentimes she will have you in the same position you find yourself in presently and will refuse you further pleasure than your own hands on your sweaty flesh whilst she watches your slow descent into lust induced madness. Her twisted amusement has lasted long enough to prompt fat, salty tears of frustration from you and soft coos of faux concern from her before, so you’re surprised to find a trace of restlessness in her posture. Her patience for a good show can hardly be rivaled with, yet her fingers tap her thigh and she furtively peers at the pages to refresh her mind of this particular script like she doesn’t want to miss a single shift of your body. The shift feels like nothing, would feel like nothing to one less accustomed to her mannerisms and delights, but you haven’t glanced elsewhere since she picked up the book and you feel the anticipation of this implication in the bowels of your abdomen.

The air is thick with longing, your desires for her slender hands on your skin and her own subtle yearning for the same thing. You are undressed at the pace Yugu sets, starting with your loose shirt. It gets discarded to the side where neither of you care to look. Your palm is flat on the plane of your stomach as it shifts downward to take care of your troublesome pants. You do so slowly, at Yugu’s vague request, and relish in the desire she cannot hide. There is plenty your beloved excels at, hiding the glimmer in her eyes whenever something deeply pleases her is not one of them. Her teasing smile stays the same, her composure nearly perfect, but those gorgeous eyes of hers betray her at every turn.

“In a lust driven haze, the maiden’s nimble fingers slip past the offending undergarment to tease the stiffening peak of her breast, letting out a gentle, relieved sigh. With her heartbeat between her thighs and a thumb toying at her sensitive skin, she makes for a perfectly debauched sight.”

“Ah, you’re making me speed up?” You ask after a breath, softly biting the inside of your cheek at the pleasant sensation of your digits around your nipple.

Yugu’s smile widens half an inch. “Desire’s language requires no words. It speaks through restless touch and shared breath, sweaty bodies and rough murmurs. The maiden’s heated skin alone translates all that she wishes to utter, and its smooth allure is near impossible to resist— the first contact of her dearest’s touch on her calf draws forth a surprised gasp, and the glide of those talented fingers along its curve brings implicit understanding.”

Yugu’s fingers curl around your ankle and glide upward in a lazy caress that raises the hairs in its path. Her touch is soft, has been calculated long ago, but its premature appearance so early in the story means she’s totally discarded the book in her hand. She still holds on to it but you’re fairly certain that she isn’t entirely faithful to her written word. Her hand slides up to your knee then follows the path down your calf, stimulating the ache between your legs and your need to be touched properly. You stifle a moan as you pinch your nipple between two fingers, already desperate to take your bra off to make your ministrations easier.

“I need this off…” you tug at the band of your bra, the hint of a plea in your quiet request.

“Mmm…” Yugu lifts the book to her face and sweeps over the sentences, then turns the page. “It’s written here that you still have two pages before you get your way.”

The displeased crease between your brows earns an airy laugh from her.

“Patience, little muse.”

She says, yet continues to narrate the revisited plot she’s making up as she goes. Her hypocrisy is no bother to her, her entertainment takes priority over petty behavior. She recites in detail exactly how she wants you to touch yourself, whether your fingers should dig into the flesh of your inner thigh or tug your hardened nipples in unison. She stays true to her word and eventually allows you to unclasp the uncomfortable undergarment once she’s had her fill of your struggles to find better stimulation. Your body is almost bare before her hungry gaze, but she doesn’t seem too eager to have you completely exposed just yet. You feel arousal dampening your underwear, the thin fabric starting to stick to your slick lower lips with every premeditated touch of Yugu’s on your leg. It would be embarrassing what little she has to do to reduce you to a poodle of need while she remains dressed and disciplined if you cared enough to think about it any longer. There are times where she doesn’t need to touch you for you to end up a panting mess on her velvet sheets, thighs slick and trembling. She’s especially proud of those.

Yugu’s attention is intense and arousing, she caresses your leg and stares at the bent fingers on your chest with the same smile stretching her lips. Her voice has shifted from sugary to sultry, a sign of her own arousal.

“A meek plea bubbles up the maiden’s throat, her lips parted in silent pleasure as she plays her body like the dulcet tones of a melody composed for this passionate moment.”

You swallow thickly. “…Please… feel all of me.”

You’re tempted to disregard the plot altogether and shove a hand underneath your panties to relieve the throbbing of your cunt, but Yugu likes you to be aware of your own submission. She won’t completely pull you under her illusions so that you know you’re merely a character in her stories and her the narrator you have no choice but to trust. This sense of control brings her a satisfaction not easily found elsewhere. Your thighs spread under her stare and her fingers pause on your skin as the evidence of your desire is made obvious. You tweak your nipples once more, heady and wanting, and silently present yourself to her in the small chance that she’ll indulge you this once.

“Oh, my. It seems our protagonist is trying to get ahead of the story. Let’s see…” Yugu takes her touch away to flip the book’s page before resuming her reading. “Drifting lower, eager fingers catch onto soft cotton and travel down to the center of her raging impulses…”

You release a grateful sigh and lower your hand to your dripping cunt, sliding a finger over the sticky material of your underwear. The gesture feels nice as the digits brush your pulsing clit back and forth, and you get wetter by the second. Yugu watches you masturbate with rapt attention and her touch goes farther than your knee this time around, going up to knead the meat of your thigh. A sweet mewl escapes you when you selfishly apply more pressure to your clit, the sensation sharp along your limbs. Arousal seeps through your panties and coats your skin, which makes it easier to glide down your covered slit. Impatient, your hips rise to meet every stroke. Your crescent shaped gaze and parted lips give you an intoxicated look that Yugu will never tire to witness.

The pleasure is electrifying and can be felt deep in your belly, coiling tight yet not enough to burst. You add on to the stimulation with another pinch of your nipple and a moan readily tumbles from your lips. Yugu is far from quiet, spewing sweet and lewd words alike, spurring you on to greater heights while she observes her plot unfolding to perfection. She savours every crease of your brow, every quiver of your lip and twitch of your muscles as you touch yourself for her, desperate to close your fluttering eyes yet obediently upholding eye contact with her. She deviates from the script on a whim to have you roughly grope your breast and reproaches you for the same offence a second later when you let out a breathless moan.

“Oh, God…”

“Heh, getting off script, are we?” Her teasing chuckles reach your ears a little late. “Your next line is actually ‘Indulge me, my love.’”

“I-Indulge…” You struggle to comply, resisting the urge to bite your lip. You spread your slick all over your underwear with eager strokes on your pussy and can barely think of anything but your need to sink a digit into your fluttering cunt. “Ah…”

“Oh, come now. You can deliver a line better than that. Do you need some help?”

Instead of using her ability to shape your mouth to form the plea she wants to hear, Yugu closes the book and lays it down on the mattress. She adjusts her position on the bed, bending low between your thighs, and her skilled tongue darts out to lick a broad stripe up your inner thigh. She leaves a wet trail of saliva in her wake, your skin burning where she touched it. Her tongue on your body has you making a pitiful choked sound, your next inhale catching in your throat.

“Hah— Does that happen in the book?” You managed to ask through quivering lips.

“Hehe, I’m inclined to write an edited version… You sound so sweet.”

Yugu laves your sweaty skin with the flat of her tongue a second time like she’s tasting an icy treat, holding up your thigh for better access. You rub firm circles on your clit and wish she would let you sneak your fingers into your panties for a more direct approach, but it seems like she has no intention of it for now. You toy with the sensitive bud as she watches the show with heavy eyelids, hoarding the best seat in the house, her cheek pressed to your thigh. She aims to have you begging and will get her wish very soon because you feel your pleasure steadily mounting within you, and it won’t be long before you forgo embarrassment for the delicious sensation of release. A hand squeezing your breast and the other needily swiping over your clit, you’re a mess of quiet mewls and breathy cries, sinking further into silken sheets.

“Please,” you rasp, “I think I’ll…”

You’re used to waiting for permission to come by now, but your cunt clenches around nothing and the coil in your stomach is almost painfully taut, and you don’t want to wait any longer. Your engorged clit throbs, begs for relief from your relentless attention, and you know that you’ll tip over the edge just from the heady feeling of it being played with. Your mind in a daze, you don’t immediately register Yugu’s pondering expression.

She brings an index finger to her chin, “Ah, I don’t actually remember when I’m supposed to let you finish.”

“Yugu…!”

“Hehehe, what? I’m certain it’ll come back to me any moment now.”

Her head turns to the side to sink her teeth into your skin, her soft lips pressing a gentle kiss on the indents she just made. Another involuntary sound of pleasure leaves your mouth. Yugu murmurs a passage into your thigh and your hand speeds up on your clit, nearly enough to taste this long anticipated high she’s drawing you towards using only her words. You roll a stiff nipple between warm fingers. Release is a couple steps ahead and you can’t help the little whines that fly past your lips.

“The maiden drowns in a daze of pleasure, her muscles taut and straining to let go. As she savours the exhilaration rousing every inch of her body, her mind, now leagues away, is briefly brought back to this suspended moment. And then— ecstasy.”

You gush into your panties with a stifled cry, lifting the back of your hand to your mouth to muffle the rest of your gasps as you come hard under your fingers. Your thighs tremble from the pressure on your clit and your chest heaves with broken breaths but you greedily keep teasing the nub to reach an even higher high. Your hips jerk further into your touch on their own accord, seeking more and more stimulation until you’re too sensitive to directly brush your twitching clit. Your hand is sticky with the cum that’s still seeping through your underwear, submerged in a pool of your arousal.

It takes a moment to come down to earth as Yugu hums into you and tastes the release that coats your inner thigh with her tongue, licking up thin trails of cum before stroking the roof of her mouth in appreciation. She allows you to catch your breath for a few instants, then meets your veiled eyes with a pleased smile that promises trouble.

“What a mess…” she hooks a finger beneath your panties and tugs the garment to the side, exposing your aching cunt to the cool air. “Look at you, still pulsing despite being so sensitive. The chapter doesn’t end here, you know.”

“It doesn’t…?” Your throat is dry and you have to swallow a couple of times to reply weakly.

“Oh, no. The maiden finds herself deeply incomplete without her lover’s touch, achingly empty. And so, she takes matters into her own hands— literally— and attempts to fill that void herself until she’s spent and trembling, to no avail.”

“Why is the lover not doing anything?”

“Because, little muse, this is the true essence of submission, do you not agree?” Yugu’s narrowing eyes shine with a darker shade of glee. “To willingly unravel yourself before the gaze of your beloved, to put yourself in the most vulnerable of positions and yearn to exhaustion for their affection, come what may. As for why her lover doesn’t give in… Hehe, these are simply the kinds of stories I like.”

What she doesn’t say is that for some, control is as blinding as an orgasm. That’s why Yugu has your hand slithering back down to your drenched pussy, sinking between your pussy lips to reach your entrance. It’s why she resumes her tale of a maiden— you— fucking herself to exhaustion under the stare of the person she would do anything to please, in the hopes that she’ll get a scrap of the attention she so desperately longs for. You come around your own fingers, your heartbeat nestled between your thighs, again and again in any position Yugu desires, and she simply watches your eyes roll back into their sockets while a thick trail of saliva clings to the corner of your lips. She revels in your stuttering chest and helpless cries; they pair so beautifully with the digits plunging deep inside your used cunt. But most of all, she finds her satisfaction within your lingering hope that she’ll give in and finally, finally offer you the relief of her touch after each orgasm. She doesn’t.

[objectheadzine]

The theme of the eleventh Object Head Zine is “MAGIC AND FANTASY”.

(Illustration by TheHoleyness, concept/sketch by Potentialforart) Embrace the swirling magic inside as you summon power from the depths, awaken the sleeping strength to battle strong foes, and venture forth to adventure - this year's zine wants you to pull forth your imagination and seize fantasies beyond your wildest dreams! Feel free to pick whatever genre you'd like; there's plenty to choose from!

This book will feature 35 people I’ve selected, plus 35 open slots available to the public for a total of 70 participants! This year’s zine is a PAID OPPORTUNITY of $115 USD per page (an increase from previous years!). Participants will be paid as soon as they complete their piece  (give or take a week for PayPal to transfer funds). There will be a pre-order sale to cover the costs of printing and shipping.

The 35 pre-selected participants are:

Potentialforart | Corviday | Kimberly Wang | Louise Kay Uy | Cosmicloak | jeong | theHoleyness | Nighto | Blacklimes | Autumn Haynes | Jenny Park | Shibara | Juliette GMM López | Lemonjuiceday | Cacoethic + Lenalis | Vetiverfox | Caitlin Ono | Inktrashing | Jackarais | Pastachyan | nauma | april | siins | Kosse | PigDemonArt | CHRISQI | R-GIE | BunnyangelArt | K_Duffles | 1000 Dead Draculas | Rainboopz | Krispy | Feefal

The guidelines are as follows:

Illustration-quality works in either digital or traditional mediums. Both colour and b/w acceptable; background required. *BG can be as simple as a pattern or colour block!

6”x9”, 300 DPI illustrations with a 1/8th inch bleed (FINAL DIMENSIONS SHOULD BE 6.25” x 9.25”) Works must be in CMYK, and in a vertical format only.

At least one (1) work in progress picture should be sent in with your final illustration.

For consistency’s sake, keep faces to a minimum (You can have eye(s) or you can have mouth(s) but don’t have both in a humanoid arrangement.)

Original characters only (yours or your friends’).

You can include humans or other creatures, as long as there’s a 1:1   object head to non-object head/human ratio.

This book is for all ages. PG-13 content at the most! Cartoon violence and blood are acceptable, but realistic gore is NOT. Use your common sense. If you’re unsure, run the idea by me.

Completed illustrations must be sent as a flattened psd or tiff file

TO APPLY, FILL OUT THE GOOGLE FORM HERE

There  are only 12 slots for comics available due to page count space so if you apply for a comic space, and you are selected, you may not be picked for comics but instead illustration!

If you have any questions about the zine, feel free to send an email to objectheadzine(@)hotmail(.)com. I’ll do my best to reply promptly. If you haven’t received a response from me, please feel free to send it again. There are a few essential questions answered over at the FAQ. There is also a Twitter account for the zine for frequent updates and WIPs of the book!

Applications are due June 2nd, 2024, 11:59 PM, PST.

Edit: The google form was not letting people submit applications, I've remade the form - let's hope it works now!

[vigilskeep]

various and sundry artbook tidbits i found interesting (SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THE VEILGUARD ARTBOOK. obviously)

faction & location stuff:

a sketch page from the very early days exploring shape languages for factions like elves, dwarves, wardens, the necropolis, tevinter, and rivain, also includes concepts for the mages’ college and the ben-hassrath

early rivain concept arts have npcs with a similar armour patterning to duncan’s, suggesting it’s a mark of his rivaini heritage like i always thought!

the depiction of the ““creation story”” suggests elves were mimicking the bodies of dwarves when they formed their own, not humans like i think mythal says in game flashbacks, which would make more sense timeline wise

there’s concept art of the city of ventus, which i believe is of particular relevance to mercar players? it’s right on the border of arlathan forest, and surrounded by magical statues holding out raised hands forming a ward along the tree line to keep it from encroaching

the home base was going to be a lovable fixer-upper of a ship given to us by isabela, named the dumat. this didn’t fit the spy theme they were originally going for, so they tried really really hard to make it a submarine without feeling anachronistic by making it sort of sea monster shaped. there are a lot of cutaways and schematics. they were going to give it a mystery engine that you would get light fetch quests to feed random objects: “ten dried lavender flowers, five quail’s eggs, three brass belt buckles, etc.....” the submarine then turned into an undersea mansion on the back of some giant shambling sea creature you would never get a good look at

later on there were some funny takes on the lighthouse specifically, like bringing back the sea creature theme to put it on the back of an interdimensional veil whale, or having it be the true location of the black emporium with a collection of eluvians that xenon the antiquarian lets you use

there’s a tiny concept art for a “high-speed aravel chase” in a canyon like a western

tevinter gladiators are mentioned a couple times. we WEREEE going to get to see the minrathous proving grounds :( there’s also a dwarven embassy concept art somebody take me out back and shoot me

there are a lot of ghilan’nain creature designs that didn’t make it into the game which is a shame but i can see why they would have been resource heavy

the antiva concept arts are so gorgeous. a lot of it got through! and definitely the overall Vibe made it. at some point it seems to have been antiva city itself; they don’t call it treviso and they mention the circle of magi as a major landmark

“The entrance to the Necropolis is like an inverted Tower of Babel. They seek knowledge in the grave instead of heaven.” <- this just rules as a line

for arlathan: “To differentiate it from previous forest and jungle locations in Dragon Age, we went with an autumnal colour palette. It has the benefit to feeling ominously like the end.”

the veil jumpers have a “skull halla” symbol that “implies their willingness to risk death”. did that end up in the game?

“With each faction, we explored a range of aspirational fantasies. For the Wardens, this ranged from knights in shining armour to butal tanks to a Nietzche quote: ‘Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster.’”

there’s this concept among the warden armours for an insane orlesian noblewoman look with the winter palace morrigan corset and a piled high wig, but the skirts torn knee length and a serrated fan in hand. i’m kind of obsessed

“To bring more life to the world, we thought about what industries would keep the Anderfels afloat. We took the prominent Warden blue colour and envisioned an industry harvesting flowers, creating dye, and then weaving copious amounts of blue fabric.” this is probably where the flower quests in the hossberg wetlands started off conceptually? v cute

character stuff:

in completely different early versions of the game, solas had a “bad cop” right hand woman called reva

imshael the desire demon/choice spirit from the masked empire and inquisition was going to be a two-handed weapon warrior companion, and also sexualised now while in largely feminine form, which would have been a Choice. there is one art of him in masculine form, also sexy but still not showing as much skin as the feminine one

as i said, neve was going to be calpernia

taash was a rogue. (they’re still a light-armoured dual wielder so that checks out.) it seems like davrin was briefly a mage. at some points harding seems to have inherited bianca

saarbrak, another qunari companion, seems to have lastest the longest of the abandoned concepts. he’s the only non-canon one who got as far as having a place for him sketched into designs of the lighthouse: “saarbrak’s planning room”. mentions and sightings of what might be him are sporadic and i think you only see his name on that sketch, but i’m connecting it to the description “a potential qunari companion evolved from saarebas to dapper qunari spy, offering a deeper look into qunari culture”

the embroidery on harding’s clothes is how she passes the time while “waiting for days in a sniper perch” on missions. i just thought that was cute

[darlingdreadwrites]

cozy holidays

pairing: Ticci Toby x GN!Reader

summary: After coming back to the cabin, Toby finds you reading on the couch.

contains: fluff, cuddles, christmas elements

word count: 873

masterlist

The warmth radiating from the fireplace rivals that of the soft blanket that drapes over you as you read. The cabin was cozy and quiet, free from the rowdiness of its usual inhabitants. But, you admit, you did miss one of them. You continue to read as the music coming from the radio and the crackling of fire make you feel more relaxed.

The door of the cabin creaks open, a rush of cold sweeping in with it. You would have been pissed if you hadn’t seen that it was Toby stepping in, brushing off snowflakes from his jacket. His shoulders twitch, a tic causing his head to jerk to the side.

“C-c-cold as h-hell out there,” he mutters as he pulls down his mask. He’s not really fazed by the cold, but the weather still makes his movements a little sharper – more restless. You can’t help but smile at how pink his cheeks and tip of his nose look.

“Hey, you,” you greet him.

He glances at you, his fingers twitching at his sides before he rubs his palms on his pants.

“Uh, h-hey.” He’s hesitating for some reason, you can tell, so you go back to reading.

His eyes flick to yours, softening as he takes in your comfortable position on the couch. The corner of his mouth quirks up, though his jaw ticks as he suppresses another movement. He hovers awkwardly by the door for a moment, before crossing the room to sit beside you. He almost sinks into the worn couch, his knee bouncing briefly. He puts a hand in his left jacket pocket, feeling the poorly-wrapped gift. He begins to pull it out to fiddle with the crinkled edge of the wrapping paper. Toby reaches out to nudge your leg with his hand.

“Wuh-what’re you reading?” he asks.

“A book,” you tease, a playful grin spreading across your face. That earned a huffing laugh from Toby, though his shoulders twitch in response. Your attention is brought to the object in his hands. You nod toward it. “That my present?”

“Yeah, but don’t… get your hopes u-up,” he replies. He looks sheepish for only a moment, scratching at the back of his neck. Cute.

Toby suddenly grabs the blanket, his movements decisive but clumsy as he lays himself on top of you. You adjust to him resting his head on your chest, and he lets out a contended sigh. His fingers tap lightly against your arm—a tic that persists even when he’s relaxed.

“Your r-reading time’s over n-ow.” There’s a faint smirk on his face that you trace with a finger.

You roll your eyes but throw the blanket over both of you anyway. After it covers the two of you comfortably, you brush your fingers through his hair. His breathing evens out, and the occasional clenching of his jaw accompanies the sounds of the living room – the sounds of the fire, the rustling of pages, and the gentle melodies coming from the holiday music.

Toby shifts just slightly, his head still resting on your chest. His gaze wanders over the Christmas tree twinkling in the corner and the decorations.

“Doesn’t-doesn’t it bother you? All the light and… st-stupid music?”

You glance down at him, your hand gently tracing idle patterns along his hairline. “Admit it—you secretly love the lights. And I heard you humming Jingle Bell Rock last week. You can’t fool me.”

Toby jerks his head up, offense etched on his face as he protests. “I-I d-did not!”

“Sure, sure.”

Toby grumbles something under his breath but sits up, his fingers fidgeting nervously as he pulls out the small package he was fidgeting with earlier.

“It’s, uh… it’s nothing b-big.” he stammers, avoiding your eyes as he holds it out to you.

The wrapping paper is crinkled and uneven, and the tape is clumsily placed. But you could tell that he honestly tried – for you. You can’t help but it gingerly, wanting him to see how much you appreciate it. Inside is a keychain with your name on it with tree designs—probably stolen—and a rock he painted over and drew flowers on. Your bottom lip juts out, and your brows furrow at how undeniably cute the gifts are—how perfectly Toby they are.

“They’re perfect,” you say sincerely, and Toby’s face flushes. He shrugs, brushing off your compliment.

The two of you settle back into your comfortable positions. Toby rests his head against your shoulder this time, and you kiss his head. The fire crackles softly in the background as his body finally starts to unwind. His breathing grows slower, his tics less frequent, as he starts to drift off. You begin to hum softly under your breath, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder while the other brushes through his locks.

“Y-you’re humming… that Christmas sh-shit again,” he murmurs, voice slurring with sleepiness.

You smile, leaning down to press a light kiss to his forehead. “Maybe I’m trying to convert you.”

“’S not work-working, but I l-love you…” he confesses.

The fire’s glow dims, but the warmth between you remains. Toby’s breathing evens out completely, and you feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he fully relaxes into sleep.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How to Edit Poetry

A poet’s work is a personal expression that uses figurative language to create imagery with words. But as with any creative writing process, poetry requires careful editing to ensure you’ve conveyed the theme you envisioned in a clear, concise way. Once you’ve finished your first draft, it’s time to begin the poetry editing process.

Tips for Editing Your Own Poems

Whether you’re submitting your first book of poetry to literary agents or self-publishing your own poetry collection, editing your work is an important part of writing poems.

Put the poem away once you’ve written a draft. Just like writing fictional short stories or novels, poetry writing is hard work. When you’ve put all the words down on the page, the first thing you should do is put your poem away and take a break from the creative process for a few days. Come back to it with fresh eyes and a fresh mind. This helps you approach your poem more objectively as you begin to edit.

Review your whole poem. One of the first revision strategies you should do is simply to read the poem in its entirety. When you’re done, jot down the first thoughts that come to your mind, like any words or lines that feel off. Think of the reader’s experience with this poem. What would they come away with? Did your theme come across? Is your writing clear? Whether you wrote in a particular poetic form—like haiku or free verse—determine whether the poetic structure worked or if you want to rewrite your poem in a different form altogether.

Read your poem aloud. Editing poetry is as much about revising for readability as it is for its oral quality. How does your poem sound? Listen for rhythm, flow, and the placement of breaks throughout each line. As you scan the lines, see if the meter works well with your words. As you make changes, read your edits aloud to make sure the revised poem is good on paper and pleasing to the ear.

Go over every line. Good poets craft verse that is unified by a central theme. As you read, make sure you’ve crafted lines that support the meaning of the poem, creating a consistent point of view. If a line doesn’t fit, rework it until you find the best words to create a strong, coherent verse.

Begin and end with powerful lines. Pay particular attention to your first line and last lines of your poem. The opener will set the tone and mood of your poem, the last line should leave a lasting impression.

Look over your language. Poetry is a medium of few words, but each one contributes to the bigger picture a poem creates. Review your word choice to make sure each one is a fit for the theme, structure, rhythm, and rhyme. If you have to, pull out a thesaurus to find the right words for the story you’re trying to tell.

Incorporate poetic techniques and devices. When writing poetry, get creative and take different approaches in how you put words together. Use poetic devices in your work—like alliteration and consonance. Play around with language to assemble words in ways that give your poem new meaning.

Test your line breaks. Look at the end of every line. Review how one line ends and a new line begins. If each thought is complete at the end of a line, marked with a period or semicolon, your lines are end-stopped. If one thought continues from one line to the next, you’re using enjambment. Read the poem through to hear how your poem flows from one line to the next. If the poem feels clunky, try the opposite type of line break to see if it’s a better fit with your words and rhythm.

Look at your poetry on the page. Poetry has an aesthetic quality in addition to the imagery and emotions it evokes. Print out your poem and look at its layout on the page. Notice the amount and shape of white space around the poem. Look at the stanza breaks. Poems that follow a metric pattern should have lines of similar lengths.

Do a final pass. You might have to work through several drafts before you finally feel like every word and every line is in place and your poem is complete. Before you submit the piece to literary journals or get it published, do one last round of proofreading as the final step in your revision process, reading it aloud for good measure.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[theveil-and-thepath]

Mini PAC n° 3: Three things that will be solved before the end of mercury retrograde

Pile 1 (red) - Pile 2 (orange) - Pile 3 (green) - Pile 4 (blue)

You can pick more than one! Just follow your heart!

The current mercury retrograde period ends on december 15th 2024, so this may also be read as 3 things that will soon happen to you.

*This is a source of entertainment, your destiny is in your hands.*

Pile 1

1 - Three of Wands , Four of Swords, XVI Thunderbolt (The Tower). Ring , Lily , Sun. Jupiter in Virgo – Patience

2 - The Lovers , Ace of Swords. Seven of Water (cups) - Projections. Fish , Clover , Ship. Moon in Virgo – Order

3 - The Chariot , Seven of Pentacles, Ace of Clouds (swords) - Consciousness. Fox , Stars , Whip. Venus in Virgo – Discrimination

🌸 You will hear news of someone who has been far away or hasn't been in touch for a while. Good for people in long distance relationships or who are waiting for your partner to return from a trip. The waiting time will be over.

🌸 Arrangements for a long awaited trip will be successful. The money for a trip will appear. A friend or partner may help you in these. You may receive good news from abroad. Some of you will receive a package or be able to ship something that may have been stuck (if you have a business and a customer had issues with their order, it will be resolved).

🌸 You will call out on someone, or pass judgement on them, vocally make a criticism towards them, after you have been observing their behaviour for a while. You may remove things or paperwork from your room/ or your life after you see it no longer aligns with your values. You can declutter your house and your life. You may be very black and white or extreme when it comes to deciding the objects that stay or leave.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Pile 2

1 - King of Wands , Four of Pentacles, Queen of Clouds (swords) - Morality. Ship , Coffin , Anchor. Mars in Libra – Choice

2 - Five of Swords , Nine of Cups, XII New vision (The Hanged Man). Tree , Man , Book. Jupiter in Scorpio – Manipulation

3 - Page of Swords , The High Priestess, Queen of Clouds (swords) - Morality.Stork , Dog , Tower. Sun in Aquarius – Idealism

🌸 I think you may change jobs, or decide you want a different boss, or go solo in business. You will decide to invest money in yourself and your future. You learn that clinging to your present self will not give you stability. You let go of your resistance to change.

🌸 You will undergo deep learning of some sort. It can be an argument you have, or a man in your life may bring something up that you hadn't noticed before. This can be self realization of your own patterns or about their behavior or someone else's behavior. It is a moment to be awakened and see which relationships are toxic in your life, or the bad habits you have, you will decide to be smarter from now on.

🌸 Sorry about the repetitive message, but you will decide to change your life in order to live according to your standards. You will raise your standards or realize that what you once dreamed and seemed far is, in fact, an achievable goal. After a period of introspection, as soon as mercury turns direct you may witness yourself changing your own life. This makes perfect sense for mercury retrograde in sagittarius, you will use all your intellect and intuition to enact change and give birth to a new life for yourself. Coming from the page to the queen of swords, you mature a lot and decide to bring a stable foundation.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Pile 3

1 - Three of Cups , Five of Swords, Ten of Clouds (swords) - Rebirth. Ring , Child , Moon. Venus in Cancer – Birth

2 - Seven of Cups , Eight of Cups, Knight of Fire (wands) - Intensity, Stork , Crossroad , Fish, Mars in Virgo – Criticism

3 - The Emperor , Six of Cups, Three of Rainbows (pentacles) - Guidance, Heart , Lily , Sun, Venus in Scorpio – Secrets

🌸 You will solve a problem with your mother or family. You either get the reconciliation you thought impossible, with them bringing a peace offer to you; or you break up and end a relationship to start anew. A new life or a new relationship may start after the old is gone.

🌸 If someone is rude to you or overly proud, you may turn your back to them temporarily. You will assess some of your life choices and chase only what makes you feel good.

🌸 The third thing that will be solved is that you will no longer feel lonely because you may discover someone at work has feelings for you. Or someone at work will be very gentle and nurturing and teach you or assist you with something. A man also has sexual intentions towards you, but you will see this as something to bring you great joy. I'd say a situation with a crush may be resolved or progress.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Pile 4

1 - Six of Wands , Queen of Wands, XXI Completion (The World), Rider , Key , Lily, Venus in Capricorn – Convention

2 - King of Pentacles , Eight of Wands, Four of Water (cups) - Turning in, Child , Fox , Clover, Venus in Cancer – Birth

3 - Nine of Cups , Ten of Wands, XXI Completion (The World), Heart , Sun , Crossroad, Mercury in Taurus – Resistance

🌸 You will successfully complete something that was difficult or that you depended upon someone else's input to conclude. The other person does their part, or you manage it yourself, but it is solved brilliantly. Something you do during this period will bear a LOT of fruit, and i think people will even compliment you, say you are perfect at something, they will look up to you, and all eyes and attention will be on you. You can be seen as beautiful as well, or a suitable and attractive person for marriage.

🌸 You will receive a surprise opportunity. I think you will spot, very cleverly, an opportunity. For some, you will set your eyes on a new romantic prospect. For others, you will find a way to speed up something that may have been slow.

🌸 You may second guess or start to question your relationship. Alternatively, you will ask yourself "Am i truly happy with all of these accomplishments? Was it all worth the effort?". You will take time to think if what you seem to love truly brings you joy.