#plexus lean

[trenchgardens-ooc-ooc-ooc-ooc]

Plexus' ancestor, the Skewered, was a famed performenxecutioner in his time. Known for his oversized masks and incredible balance, he would use spring loaded blade stilts as his strife specibus, and his costumes would drape over them in ways that made it look as if his limbs were different lengths, as bodies were impaled more and more unevenly.

clowns am i right? lets all be glad that plexus went a different way.

the hands and boots arent affixed ysee? so the hands slide along the blades as they get pushed back. like the opposite of one of those fake push daggers. instead of the blade receding back, the hilt does.

[lay-z]

sugar plum promises | 1

SYNOPSIS: SIMON RILEY, WHO DISCOVERS (AND ACCEPTS) THAT HE HAS A RAGING MOMMY KINK, MUCH THANKS TO YOU.

PAIRING: SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY x FEM!READER

WARNINGS/INFO: 18+ | Mommy kink; VIRGIN!SIMON; dom/sub dynamics; cussing; strangers to lovers; hurt/comfort; eventual smut [Please mind the warnings for each part!]

➥ BASED ON THIS BLURB × | [ SPP MASTERLIST ]

It’s Saturday, his first day off base since returning from a three month long deployment just the day before yesterday, when he meets you in the supermarket around the corner of his flat, where you click your tongue at him in reprimand, ogling him shamelessly like no one ever has before while he’s minding his business and checking out the new flavours of instant Ramen noodle cups.

And his spine goes rigid, when you suddenly address him directly.

“Big lad like you needs a proper meal,” you remark, pushing your grocery cart full of fresh meats, produce, and other healthy goodies past him. “In my humble opinion.” You add, nearly cooing at him as he dares a side glance from behind his balaclava.

Within seconds, his eyes flicker to your left hand on the cart, immediately checking for a wedding band, checking for anything that could help him figure out who you are, really.

His fingers dig into the plastic cup that looks comically tiny in his hands, fingers nearly denting the fabric as he tries to come up with a witty, dry remark to keep you from leaving, to start a bloody conversation for once, but then you hit him with a “Have a good day, love,” and his breath catches in his throat like someone punched his solar plexus.

By the time you round the corner to the next aisle over, his cock is so painfully chubbed up in his jeans, Simon fears he might faint from the sudden rush of blood down south.

And he doesn’t quite know what he’s feeling in this moment as his body decides to act on autopilot, boots squeaking on the linoleum floor as he turns on his heels to give chase like an abandoned pup who might have just imprinted on his new mommy.

Oh, perhaps this time, Simon’s going to get that proper meal, one way or another—hoping that maybe, you’ll let him have your sweet cunt for dessert.

He follows you discreetly through the supermarket like a man on a never-ending mission, silently stalking like a cat in a mouse chase down the aisles. His eyes are locked on you like a heat-seeking missile, noting every move you make, watching how every step sways your curves in the right fashion, nearly causing him to run into a display rack at his momentary distraction.

He nearly growls when some random bloke blocks his path to you and to ask you a question on top of that. He doesn’t quite manage to pick up the words, but it’s enough for him to clench his jaw and tighten his grip on the abused instant noodles cup. A deep huff escapes from behind his balaclava, and he resumes his discreet surveillance as soon as the man saunters his merry way.

Simon watches as you throw a pack of biscuits into the cart, your body turned away from him, your back facing him while you lean over. His eyes land on your round, firm rear like a magnet drawn to the iron. He can almost see the way your muscles move under the jeans fabric—

His thoughts are rudely interrupted when an elderly woman approaches the same shelf, and he has to step into the next aisle and pretend to browse, stomach twisting as he loses visuals on you.

As the woman moves her squeaky cart on wheels down the lane, his eyes flicker nervously before he catches sight of you again, chest heaving with a sigh of relief as he sees you browsing the frozen goods section, and his fingers twitch around the plastic cup, itching to touch you, to grab your hips and grind himself against—he shakes his head with a low grunt, trying to rid himself of that thought. He's already painfully hard enough.

It’s wrong, Simon knows that. He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t use his skills to basically stalk you for making a nice, yet throwaway remark in his direction, but he somehow can’t keep his eyes off your body, his gaze glued to your every move—until you obviously pick up on the surveillance.

You do notice him. He’s like a looming shadow sneaking after your own, and for a moment, you wonder if you should’ve just kept your mouth shut for once when you’d spotted him initially.

He’s built like a bloody tank, wearing a balaclava and matching gloves with a skeleton pattern. What the bloody hell were you thinking?

All bark, no bite. That’s what you were thinking, and Wonder if he’s as tough as he looks or if he crumbles like a fresh scone with a few buttery words—like many other “scary dog privilege” men before him.

Slowing your steps, you eventually come to a stop, heart thudding as you glance over your shoulder, only to see him a few feet away, staring right back at you in a way that’s as adorable as it is eerie.

Simon’s feet freeze on the spot, his gaze locking with yours across the freezer cabinets, eyes wide. He didn’t expect to be discovered so easily, and he stands there like a deer caught in the headlights of a Humvee with an RPG attached to it—that he hopes will shoot him on sight.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly under the fabric of the balaclava, his mind racing for an excuse, a reason, though he comes up with nothing. The seconds feel like hours as the two of you stare at each other, before he finally blurts out:

“I...” His voice is hoarse, a low grumble that betrays his own surprise.

Oh. You almost laugh out loud at the sight before you, though you manage to suppress it, lips pursing in amusement instead.

No bark, no bite, actually.

He looks like an awkward little boy who’s been caught with his hand in the secret candy drawer in the living room.

“Yes, you?” you ask teasingly, wanting him to continue, to stammer and try to come up with a proper yet easily punishable lie. Raising an eyebrow, you turn towards him fully, keeping one hand on the shopping cart while your other rests on the curve of your hip casually.

“Well?”

Simon’s brain short-circuits as he desperately tries to come up with a plausible excuse, but all his mind supplies is a loop of caught, caught, caught like a broken record while he merely stands there like a fish washed out on the shore. He clears his throat awkwardly and straightens up, attempting to look innocent.

“I... I was just... uh...” he stammers, his voice wavering as the words refuse to come out. He mentally curses his lack of social skills, the years of isolation making him stumble like some twonk.

“Just doing some shopping,” he eventually mutters gruffly, his eyes flitting away from your gaze for a moment before darting back, unable to resist another look. There’s a hint of defensiveness in his voice, mixed with a tinge of embarrassment.

You nod slowly. “Doing some shopping,” you repeat, amusement glinting in your eyes as you glance down at the single cup of instant Ramen he’s still clutching in his hands like a lifebuoy. “Right.”

You notice how utterly still he is; no shuffling, no fidgeting, broad chest barely moving as he breathes, dark eyes flickering the slightest bit whenever your gaze catches his.

He’s a different breed of man, that one, you muse.

Clicking your tongue, you shift on your feet. “You call that shopping?” You nod your chin at his hands. “Like I said, you need to be fed a proper meal, love. Is your wife out of town or something?”

Simon bristles at your comment, his shoulders tensing as your words hit a nerve, a bit too close to home. He glances down at the cup of Ramen in his hands, feeling a mixture of shame and stubbornness.

The truth is that he’s so bloody touch–and attention-starved that your simple words, your simple presence, make him feel flustered, his frayed nerves now on edge.

“I don't have a wife,” he mutters, words edged with a hint of bitterness. He knows he’s being judged, but there’s a baser, hidden part of him that simply revels in the attention, in the fact that someone as classy and obviously put-together as you, has noticed him at all.

“And I can feed myself just fine.” He adds dryly, raising the cup defiantly as if to prove a point.

You swallow another pleased smile as he confirms what you've expected while the word brat burns on the tip of your tongue at this display of attitude.

Glancing back at your full shopping cart, you lick your lips briefly in thought, pondering and weighing the risks before looking back at him. He hasn’t moved an inch, simply keeps observing like you’re the odd ball here.

Pulling on the shopping cart, you slowly start walking backwards towards him, approaching like someone would a strange street dog.

“Tell you what,” you say as soon as you’re an appropriate distance away from him, and it’s then that you notice how tall and broad he truly this is up close. “If you help me carry these groceries to my car, I’ll cook you a proper dinner tonight.”

His mouth drops open, eyes wide and bewildered by your audacity. He simply stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded, grappling with the unexpected situation. You’re trying to coax him with a treat like one would do with an animal to gain its trust, and Simon is furious about the tiny part inside his brain that’s thrashing to jump on this opportunity.

“You... You’re serious,” he finally manages to sputter, his brain struggling to process that you, that a woman like you, a stranger, is actually proposing this to someone like him.

“Why would you do that?” His eyes narrow in suspicion, though beneath the hardness of his expression, there’s a hint of curiosity, a hint of longing for a chance at this offered piece of normalcy.

Sensing his—understandable—apprehension, you give a small shrug in return, finally offering him a tentative yet genuine smile.

“Because you look like you could use it, love.”

You let your eyes roam once more, looking him up and down from boot to mask, heart giving a curious flutter as your gaze locks with his; tawny eyes so dark, you know you could get lost in them if he lets you in.

Then you reach into your purse slung over your shoulder and you notice how his broad shoulders tense and how his fingers flex as if he’s bracing himself for an attack.

As your hand disappears into your purse, Simon’s defensive instincts kick in automatically, his muscles coiling tightly in anticipation. His sharp senses on high alert, he blinks, slightly taken aback but not surprised by his own reaction, though he can’t help it; years of experience and survival training already hard-wired into his responses.

But he relaxes incrementally, when he sees you withdrawing your hand—now holding a purple ball pen and small note pad, and the sudden burst of adrenaline fades to a steady thrum in his veins as fast as it came.

“I...” he begins, but the words feel caught in his throat, his mind suddenly blank.

Covering his little slip-up with your own feigned nonchalance, you start scribbling away on the first blank page of your notepad before ripping it out and holding it out for him to take, thus offering a different treat—secretly hoping he’ll like this one.

“My name,” you explain, deciding that it might not be as self-explanatory as it would be for any other man you’ve previously met, “and my phone number.”

When he eventually takes the slip of paper with due care, his eyes keep flickering between your hand and face as if still expecting you to pull a gun on him, until you take a polite step backwards.

“Call or text me for that meal if you change your mind,” you add confidently.

Simon’s gaze follows your hand warily, taking the note from you with a slow, measured movement, his gloved fingers feeling uncharacteristically clumsy and uncoordinated as he grabs it. He stares at the slip of paper in his hand for a moment, brows furrowing behind his balaclava as he takes in the sight of your phone number and name written in neat, cursive handwriting, reading the words slowly in an almost mechanical manner, committing them to memory as a precaution.

His fingers twitch involuntarily, and for a wild, fleeting moment, he wants to raise the paper to his nose and inhale the faint scent of your perfume that clings onto the paper. And then you take a step backward, giving him space, and he takes an unconscious step forward, like a puppet on a string, not wanting to put that space between you again while his eyes stay glued to yours with a touch of desperation.

You’re leaving the ball in his corner and he doesn’t know how what to think, how to act.

As you adjust the straps of your purse on your shoulder, you drink in his subtle reaction with a mixture of sympathy and glee.

“Alright then?”

Simon watches in awe as you readjust your purse like it’s the most interesting action he’s ever seen, and when he opens his mouth to respond, his thoughts tumble over each other like leaves in a breeze. A simple yeah or a sure would’ve been the logical answers, but none of this is logical to him right now.

“You’re not worried,” he observes, the words nearly sounding accusatory, “about having a stranger over for dinner?”

He almost wants to call you daft, reckless; giving a man like him your number and name, offering your kindness up so easily. Can’t you tell what kind of man he is? Don’t you know what he can do with the intel you’ve already provided him with so willingly?

Simon wants to reach out and shake you, but his fingers are trembling and his cock is still throbbing, still semi-hard in his pants—and he can’t quite tell which is worse.

There’s a long pause between you as you regard his question with a light crease between your eyebrows, and you catch yourself wondering again what this poor man could’ve possibly been through for him to be this bloody suspicious.

From your experience, almost every other man would’ve jumped on this opportunity already, presented on a silver plate. You’ve been flirting with him since you spotted him entering the supermarket. However, you can only admit to yourself that his cautious reactions are merely heightening your curiosity and the urge to unravel this beast of a man completely.

“Most people start out as strangers,” you answer eventually, gauging his next reaction carefully, “and usually one takes the initiative to get to know the other if they’re interested, you know?” You flash him a disarming smile. “This is me taking that initiative here, mister.”

He takes a step forward, invading your personal space, and the height difference between you two becomes more painfully (arousingly) clear. Simon towers over you, his body vibrating with suppressed tension while he looks down at you with a stare that usually has his rookies quiver in their boots—not you, though.

“And what if I’m not interested?” he responds too bluntly and not as playful as he intended to, his voice lowered, nearly growling at you. He’s picked up on how other men talk to women at pubs, has eavesdropped and heard how Soap and Gaz talk to the birds they end up taking back to the barracks, and yet he can’t quite get his own tone right.

He certainly doesn’t like the fact that you’re making his heart race, that you’ve piqued his curiosity without even trying. It feels unfamiliar, dangerous, and somehow, he finds himself craving more of it in the same heartbeat.

Tilting your head owlishly, you regard him with a half-puzzled, half-amused look.

“Then I'll go on my merry way, love,” you reply with a breathy chuckle that obviously leaves him feeling even more lost judging how his eyes widen. “And then we move on after having a basic human interaction at a supermarket. Life’s beautiful, innit?”

Something about the way you talk, with the casual pet name, ‘love’, thrown in every second sentence, or the way your laugh makes his skin prickle in some foreign, exciting way, drives him mad with primal want and the unfamiliar urge to keep you here with him, keep you talking.

But he also feels like a damn fool in this moment, and on top of that, his face feels so hot under his balaclava, too. You’re not reacting the way he expects you to, not at all, and it’s throwing him off-guard.

He clears his throat again. “You’ll just... move on,” he repeats incredulously, like it pains him to say the words. “Just like that.”

You shrug, flashing another smile. “I mean... yes. What else is there to do? I’m not running after a man who’s not interested in me. I’m too old for games like that.”

Simon’s eyes narrow again. The thought of you giving up so easily, leaving, not even giving him a second thought—it pisses him off, for some reason, because it’s making him desperate. How the bloody hell does Garrick make it sound so easy and suave every time?

“How old are you?” The words burst out without him meaning to, his tone still gruff and defensive.

You snort softly. He’s so bratty, so rude, it’s almost endearing for a man looking like him, and it pokes your curiosity, causing the urge to take care of him to blossom even more hotly behind your ribcage as you drink up the tension in his body and fatigue clinging behind his wary, bottomless gaze.

“Old enough to know what I want, love.” It’s a curt response that has the desired effect judging by the way his jaw ticks under his odd mask. You smile again as you put the pen and notepad back into your purse, turning halfway around to your shopping cart to signal your departure.

“Anyway... my ice cream is melting, so I’ll be heading to the cashier. Thanks for the chat. You have a good day now.”

Just like that.

Simon is reeling internally as you prepare to leave, and he can’t help but admire the subtle power you wield with the way you carry yourself and the nonchalance you display so bloody effortlessly. Suddenly, he is torn between letting you go and the fierce need for you to not walk away. His chest tightens and his fingers twitch, and he suddenly feels like a child lost in this bloody supermarket, scared of being abandoned again.

However, he swallows the plea festering on the tip of his tongue, the words asking you to wait, stay, and talk more. No, Simon falls back, clutching the bloody Ramen cup in one hand as he stares after you while you simply move on like you said you would, as if you didn’t just throw him off balance completely with this whole interaction.

When his other hand balls into a tight fist, he hears the crumpling of paper, and when he glances down at his open palm, his heart nearly drops with relief.

You’ve given him your number. He’s never gotten a girl’s number in his life.

It was real. It is real. Everything that just happened is real, and he wasn’t simply daydreaming it up this time.

His fingers close around that scrap of paper like a life line, his mind racing once more with possibilities, the scenarios, the what-ifs.

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

wonder what will happen first. me finishing the (first) teshes fic and publishing it, or tapas reaching That Chapter.

[p1utofairy]

holy shit, the glow-up vibes are potent as fuck in this pile! people are going to be in absolute awe of you, pile one. your energy, your body, your face card, and your personality are going to have people bowing the fuck down to you. i'm not feeling any sense of arrogance or conceitedness either – you're just truly about to step into your most powerful and authentic self. this was always destined, pile one. this innate magnetism was always inside of you, but you just never truly knew how to wield it entirely. it's like you were dipping your toes in and out of the water, not sure if you should fully submerge yourself in it and become who you've always known you were, or stay digestible and dim your light so others around you could shine. no more of that. this is, and will continue to be, all about you, pile one. you are shedding the people-pleasing tendencies that have held you back for so long.

you are reclaiming your power. you have such a kind heart with a fierce spirit, and you've been suppressing that fierce side of you in fear of what others may think of you or say about you. too many times, you've had your back kicked in at the expense of sparing another person's feelings, and your spirit guides are getting restless from the sidelines watching you repeat these same situations time and time again. they're giving you the green light to boss the fuck up and show these people what you're made of. they're telling me that this is a rebirth for you.

i see you experimenting with your wardrobe and appearance: more sexy, more bold, and more alluring. dark eyeliner, sheer stockings, red tops, lace, denim, corsets, etc. showing more of yourself but still keeping it classy. i'm being drawn to alexa demie, 2000s meagan good/megan fox, and gabriette. very siren-like and hard to miss. this is going to be completely new to you, but it's going to feel sooo good and rewarding. a lot of what you used to say yes to is going to turn into straight no's.

you're going to notice a shift in the people, opportunities, and love offers you attract as well – more fruitful and abundant. they align more with the lifestyle you've always wanted for yourself now that you're rejecting the projections and expectations that no longer serve who you are at the core. you will not be settling for less, pile one, that's for sure! i'm hearing that it's basically giving your pinterest boards come to life lol. i love that for you. things that you've been specifically journaling about and manifesting for yourself are going to come to you with no effort – it's almost going to be alarming. it's like you've been waiting, waiting, waiting, thinking someone was going to come along and shift your reality for you, when really you were the key all along.

i'm seeing a lot of yellow and orange, so your solar plexus and sacral chakra are going to be so fucking activated. you're going to be very selective and protective of your energy, as you should. you'll just be like, wow, what took me so long to lean more into this side of myself? it was necessary, though, because it opened your eyes to the world we live in and how you have to operate and not short-change yourself in spite of what others want or expect from you. some people might not like this transformation of yours, but that's simply not your problem, and those people are not on your same frequency. you already spark a lot of jealousy, but this energy shift right here?! whew. hoes mad, pile one! i'm like seeing tiktok edits in my head of the hot villainous characters like katherine pierce and jennifer check lmao. you're winning, and they're not, my loves!

OTHER CHANNELED MESSAGES:

ashwini, ballin' by partynextdoor, unhealthy codependency, anuradha, tall in height, 1st house, neptune energy, neptune-asc, blick sum by latto ft. playboi carti, manifest it, shatabisha, fashion/modeling industry. scorpio, aries, aquarius.

things have been seeming very redundant lately, pile two. you've been craving change for a while now. i'm picking up that you're really at your wits' end in regards to the job you're currently working at and/or all the responsibilities you have on your shoulders. you've been pushing yourself so hard, but you're starting to wonder if any of it was worth it because you're not seeing the payoff just yet. you might be feeling overlooked or undervalued at the moment, but i definitely see things changing for you.

i see a new job/financial opportunity making its way to you, and it aligns more with what you love to do. it's an offer definitely worth taking, pile two! this is the beginning of something that's going to catapult you to the next level. i see this one opportunity leading to an elevation of your life. it's a chance of a lifetime. you're closing out this current cycle of stagnancy and getting the ball rolling on your desires and the lifestyle you've always wanted for yourself. this isn't on a small scale either, this is huge. it's damn near like whiplash – so sudden and unexpected but very well deserved.

i see you gaining more friends and networking with people that advance you and pour into you as much as you pour into others. this is oddly specific, but i feel like some of you have some very mean-spirited co-workers around you. do not tell these people your plans or anything personal, because they really don't like you (projection because they really don't like themselves lol), and they're secretly sending you the evil eye. if you don't have an idea of who specifically this could be, just know they definitely smile in your face and pose as someone who likes you but say things behind your back that prove otherwise. they're not stopping shit though, so your spirit guides want me to tell you that you have nothing to worry about.

for my singles, i was also picking up on a new romantic suitor having their eyes on you. this person could have a charming and bit of a cocky vibe going for them – they usually like to be chased rather than do the chasing, but something about you is intriguing to them. for some of you that have just gotten out of a relationship, i see you have a couple of options to choose from. there's this energy of being amused and entertained. a lot of people are going to find you to be very irresistible, and the way you carry yourself so gracefully will have many heads turning.

for those of you that are in a committed relationship, i see you two becoming even closer and more vulnerable with each other. any walls you've built around yourself in fear of disappointment or regret will finally be dropped as you learn to trust not only yourself but your partner fully as well. one more thing i will say is that you should make sure you're budgeting your finances properly and remember to take care of any debts you may owe, okay? 444 on the clock. everything is working out in your favor you shall soon see.

OTHER CHANNELED MESSAGES:

6th house, krittika, dark skin, when one door closes another one opens, revati, transformation, jyestha sprung, ideal partner/dream person, taurus, pisces, scorpio moon, nasty by tinashe, fever by dua lipa & angèle.

you've really been keeping to yourself huh, pile three? you could be clashing a lot with your parents/family or just feeling misunderstood by the people closest to you. i feel like things have been a bit chaotic and unstable in your life, especially in regards to your home environment. one minute things are good, but when things get bad, they get pretty fucking bad. ugh, pile three.

i feel like you're very sensitive to your environment, and whatever is going on around you, you absorb it like a sponge. there's inner child wounds that you're working on, and it's really not easy, but your spirit guides want you to know that they're so fucking proud of you. you're doing the work that others weren't brave enough to do in order to heal yourself and your bloodline. some of you might have a very dysfunctional family, and it weighs heavy on you; most times you have to tiptoe around your emotions in order to keep the peace.

i'm also picking up that some of you might have older sibling syndrome – there's immense pressure and expectations put on you since you were a child. whatever the case may be, i feel like you actively doing the work is going to unlock a part of yourself you never really knew was inside. i can feel the passion, the dedication, and the motivation buzzing off you, pile three. 2025 is gonna be your year. the martian energy is strong in this pile. i feel like you had to learn the lessons and really sit back and observe the dynamics around you to come to the realization that NO, you do not want that for yourself and the ones that come after you. you want something stable, something emotionally fulfilling, something that makes you feel free in so many ways than one. you're a very compassionate and selfless person, and you will find someone who will pour equally into you as you do them.

this person that you're attracting is deeply committed, patient, financially secure, thoughtful, and extremely grounded. you'll never be an afterthought when it comes to this person – they'll support you and guide you (if you need them to) every step of the way. you're so used to figuring things out on your own and having to think for others, but this person wants you to simply relax and just be. i can see you pacing back and forth, venting to them, and just going on and on, listing every single thing you need to get done and do for this one and that one. and i can just see them sitting but rising to their feet and slowly walking over to you with this calm demeanor, putting their hands on your shoulders, and it's like everything melts away. they want me to reassure you that you're not alone – they want to carry the weight and release the burdens off of you because they recognize that no one has truly showed up and out for you the way you do for others. this is very beautiful energy, pile three.

as you step into this new chapter, you’ll realize that some of your past connections were often just bandaids for wounds you hadn’t healed yet. there’s a lot of clarity about your self-worth here. some of you might be working through daddy issues, and this healing is part of why you’re ready for a deeper love now. this is very specific and may not apply to all, but i keep picking up on pregnancy energy, so if you're ready for that, i do see potential for that with this person you're attracting. if not, then just be mindful of that lol. on the flip side, the person could have a kid, but again, this is just some scenarios i'm picking up on for a small fraction of you. i do see you getting long-awaited closure with a specific person or family member. when that happens, it’s going to feel like a massive weight has been lifted. pile three, this is your time to heal, grow, and attract the life and love you deserve. it’s so beautiful.

OTHER CHANNELED MESSAGES:

faking it by calvin harris ft. kehlani & lil yachty, bharani, pussy power, all of the answers are within you so trust yourself, big d energy, a father, purva ashada, having receipts, dhanishta, capricorn, aquarius, pyrmaids by frank ocean, sagittarius, aries, coffee fucking by miguel ft. wale.

mind over matter...hm. that's what i keep hearing, pile four. i feel like you're in your head about something regarding your work-life balance. it's like you deprive yourself of going out and having fun because you worry you'll be overspending or won't have enough time; but i feel like this mentality is causing you to miss out on some really fun moments and memories, especially with your friends.

you're very responsible (almost to a fault, according to your spirit guides lol), and because you're so practical and matter-of-fact, you don't give yourself enough room to be spontaneous and open. for example, if you just got off work and a friend invites you out, you might think about the laundry you could be doing or some work you could be catching up on instead of just saying, "fuck it, yeah, let's go have some fun." gatekeeping yourself isn’t going to get you very far, pile four.

you're meant to be seen, and you're meant to let your inner child run free and have fun. keeping yourself tucked away in your room or isolating yourself is doing more harm than good - your spirit guides really want you to know this. there are potential love interests you don’t even notice because you're not putting yourself out there enough! some of you might have bad social anxiety, and being around new energies might feel overwhelming, but your guides want you to know you can work through this, slowly but surely - you've just got to start somewhere.

your quirkiness could open so many doors for you, and you don’t even realize it yet. there are so many people you're destined to meet and connect with on a soul level because you have such a unique spirit. you have this way of making people feel seen and heard. if you're single, i feel like your next romantic connection will be incredibly healing in so many ways. some of your past lovers or friends might have made you feel misunderstood or undervalued, but that’s going to change. this is just a quick sidebar, but i feel like you’ve got people (unbeknownst to you) talking about you or your personal business. so, be careful who you confide in because not everyone is your friend, especially in a work or school environment. even if they don’t know anything about you, it seems like they’re speculating and gossiping about you with others.

but anyways i feel like this "mind over matter" mentality comes from wanting to control situations and outcomes, and while it’s great to have self-awareness and discernment, it can also be debilitating: if you let it. i feel like you’re about to start challenging yourself to socialize more and just not give a fuck. wherever the day or night takes you, it takes you. it doesn’t always have to be a club or party, but even if it is, you’re still giving yourself the freedom to have fun and live in the moment.

your job will still be there the next day, okay? your laundry too. but memories? they last forever. so please don’t deprive yourself of the good ones, pile four. you are so worthy of them.

OTHER CHANNELED MESSAGES:

hit me hard and soft album by billie eilish, vishaka, want more for yourself, magha, pay attention to the signs, moon energy, this person is manifesting you, pisces moon, purva phalguni, co-workers gossiping about you, leo, scorpio, libra, 11:11.

[hairmetal666]

The first time Steve meets Eddie Munson they're booked for a little indie wrestling show in Rhode Island.

Eddie is--scrappy, untested. It's obvious the only kind of wrestling he's ever done is of the backyard trampoline variety. But. There's something there; they can all see it.

He doesn't like Steve much, but then Steve can't blame him. The Harrington's are a legacy wrestling family. His dad, uncles, even his mom was a famous valet and manager before getting married and retiring. So, he's got this name, and this look, and--earned or not--a reputation, and Munson doesn't like him.

Steve tries not to take it personally.

In between tours and indie bookings, Eddie starts as a trainer at Hopper's gym, and they start doing demonstrations for the kids together. Eddie's good, really good. Even though it's just for teaching, their styles and energy match.

They get booked in their first match against each other at a local show a few months later. The energy they had at Hopper's is nothing compared to this. Sure, there's only about 200 people packed into this high school gym, but it doesn't matter. It's electric.

Eddie's long, curly hair, lean muscles, and tattoos caught Steve's eye the moment they met, but it never flourished into anything because of how much Eddie hated him.

Now, though, they're spending time together, talking, rolling around in a wrestling ring all day, and Steve's only human.

There's a Ring Of Honor pay-per-view, it's the first time that Steve and Eddie have wrestled for a large audience. Anticipation for the match burns in his stomach.

This is Eddie's first appearance in ROH, and no one quite knows what to expect. He only gives a little Cheshire Cat grin when asked. So, Steve is genuinely startled when the arena lights go out, less so when Master of Puppets blares through the speakers.

The lights come up and Eddie stands at the end of the ramp. He's shirtless, hair in damp, loose curls around his shoulders. He's wearing pleather wrestling pants with mesh cutouts across his thighs and shins. Steve thinks he might die.

Eddie slips between the ropes to wild cheers, and Steve stops thinking about how hot he looks.

The first time they tangle up, Steve leans extra close, whispers, "that was amazing." And Eddie gives him this smile that's part menace and part joy. Steve's heart leaps, and their bodies crash together. It's the best time he's had in the ring in years.

Steve's crush aside, he thinks it was relatively normal until he catches up to Robin backstage.

"What the hell was that?" She hisses.

"Huh?"

"Oh my god, Steve. You were all over each other."

"Yeah? We were wrestling?"

"Is this wrestling?" She pulls up the picture from the beginning, of Steve leaning close and Eddie's smile.

It's, uh, way more intimate than Steve realized in the moment. His ears heat. "It wasn't like that," he says.

Robin rolls her eyes. Of course she sees right through him. "Tell that to the 5.1 thousand people who've already liked and reposted this picture."

"It's not going to be a thing," he tells her. He's certain of it.

It becomes a thing.

There are memes, fan art, fan fiction. People ship them--a couple of their trainees, Max and Erica, show them all the fics about them on ao3.

They're a hit.

They're booked against each other again, and this time, Eddie grabs Steve by the back of the head, pulls him in until they're almost kissing, until Steve stops breathing, feels his eyes going starry at the proximity.

The crowd is screaming so loud he can't hear anything, not even what Eddie is saying, even though they're so close. He leans in, unthinking, and Eddie stutters.

"They're eating this up!" Eddie shouts.

And they are, totally captivated. Which is why Steve presses their cheeks together for a several seconds before punching Eddie in the solar plexus.

Their next match, someone starts yelling "kiss, kiss!" and then it's the whole arena. Steve has to hide his laughter against Eddie's shoulder.

They lean more into it. They're having a blast. It even sort of helps his crush a little bit, to kind of make it into something the fans are in on.

He debuts on AEW against Hangman Page. Steve gets the win, and as the ref lifts his arm, he takes a blow to the back of his head. He has a second to see Jason Carver's signature letterman jacket before he goes down. He tries to curl up to protect himself, but still takes a boot to the stomach and more hits to the face and head.

The crowd is already in a frenzy, but when the noise goes up to a fever pitch, he knows Eddie's running down the ramp. He hears the thunk as Jason goes down, then Eddie is hauling Steve up by the shoulders.

They don't leave the ring right away. Instead, Eddie holds him there, brushes his hand over Steve's forehead before cupping his cheek.

As they slip between the ropes, walk to the back, his ears ring. He doesn't think it's from all the cheering.

---

In their next appearance on AEW, Jason attacks Steve backstage. The cameras cut to them right as Steve is thrown into a brick wall. It's supposed to be violent, supposed to get bloody. When he crashes into the corner of a backstage crate, he lets it catch him just above the eyebrow.

The blood starts flowing, warm, down his eyelid and nose just as he hears Eddie burst through the door. There's yelling, the sound of Jason running off, then a warm hand is on his back.

"Steve?" Eddie yells. His voice breaks. "Stevie?"

Hands are on his face, his shoulder, pushing back his hair, pressing against the cut above his eye.

"Ed," he mumbles.

"I'm here, I've got you. Paramedics are on the way, okay? You're going to be okay."

The cameras go down, and the medical team rushes over to patch him up.

Eddie's waiting for him when they're done.

"You're okay," Eddie says. "There was blood everywhere."

"Yeah, I'm alright. Crate got me a little more than I meant for it to."

"Can I?" Eddie asks. He reaches towards Steve, like he wants to touch.

"Course." Steve's voice is thick.

Eddie gently presses his hair back, revealing the butterfly bandage on his forehead. He hisses in a breath. "Got yourself good. I--I don't like seeing you hurt," he says, soft. "I didn't expect--I mean, I know it's not--I didn't like seeing you hurt."

Their eyes lock, the air between them charges. Not like when they're in front of an audience, the cameras. It's just them, alone; just them, standing too close.

Eddie's eyes dart to his mouth, and he leans forward until their breath mingles. Steve's eyes drift closed as the warmth of Eddie's mouth ghosts over his own.

A door down the hall bangs open with a clatter. Eddie and Steve spring apart, the moment fizzling.

Later, Steve tells Robin he thinks he imagined it.

---

Steve isn't on TV the next few weeks, the story is that he required surgery to repair internal bleeding and ended up with a grade-3 concussion. His timeline for return is unknown.

Eddie is set to wrestle Jason at the next pay-per-view, Revolution.

During Steve's two week break, he gets a text from Eddie. "Miss you, Stevie. Not the same here without you."

"Miss you too," he says back.

He's so in love with him.

---

The night of Revolution dawns, nerves thrumming in his stomach. He stays low-key, out-of-sight. He isn't going to make an appearance for a while, and he and Eddie agreed to not see each other before the match to make the reunion all the more real.

So, he hangs out in a backstage room, watching the show on a small TV, and psyching himself up for what's to come.

He makes his way to gorilla position as soon as Jason and Eddie finish their entrances, watches the match play out on the producers' monitors.

It's an even fight at the beginning but it gets nasty at the first appearance of weapons. Eddie takes a steel chair to the face, Jason sets up a table and Eddie dives from the top rope to crash him through it. That mat is littered with thumbtacks and sticky with blood, and then Jason grabs a chain from under the ring, wrapping it around Eddie's throat.

Steve runs down the ramp and the crowd goes insane, distracting Jason and allowing Eddie to scurry free. Jason disappears over the barricade and into the crowd, but neither of them go after him. Instead, Eddie runs around the ring, pulling Steve into a tight embrace. The fans scream.

They hold each other tight, the roars from the stands washing over them until they coalesce into one word, "kiss."

"Should we give the people what they want?" Eddie asks. His eyes are bright.

It's not real, Steve knows it's not, and maybe this will hurt more than landing in a pile of thumbtacks once it's over, but he nods. He's smiling so hard his mouth hurts.

He expects a stage kiss, a quick peck, but Eddie's hand cups the back of his head, draws him in slow, their lips meeting in a gentle press.

Everything around them melts away and he sinks against Eddie, lets the kiss carry him away. He wants more, wants to taste, wants anything Eddie will give.

"Guys," a voice says next to them. "Guys, you gotta ease up. We have to re-set for the main event."

The audience noise comes back to him in a tidal wave chant of their names and "They're in love" accompanied by a rhythmic clap.

They walk backstage together, close but not touching, and Steve thinks he can't be disappointed if it was only for TV. It was the closest to bliss he's ever been.

In the bustle of backstage, Eddie pulls him into a quiet hallway, hands immediately going to Steve's face.

"I meant it." He says. "The kiss. I meant every second."

For their second kiss, no one is there to tell them to stop.

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

fornication.

(tipsy!viktor x tipsy!gn!reader, nsfw-ish)

author’s note: just a little something to tease you with while i’m working on my bigger projects. patience, my dears. requested by my beloved @daniushka.

word count: 800~

—

He tastes of Madeira and pure nonsense, of love letters curdled into lumpy saliva and pushed down one’s throat in an incoherent babble, the ultimate flavour of forthcoming summer, of all the time in the world at thy squandering disposal, rushing into your mouth like a tart omen of excitement in a sloppy flick of his kiss. And you’re tugging at his nape, fists full of soft chestnut—a clumsy plea for a breather, a feverish, trochaic jerk: kiss him, choke on him, pull away. 

Viktor obliges, and when he does, his heavy lids flutter with ossifying tears, his hollow cheeks the colour of faint, tipsy punch. He may claim that he’s perfectly sober, but, by the looks of it, Madeira must’ve long become his tenth bodily fluid. 

You exchange lopsided smiles. The world around you stops moving. It’s just you, him and a dusty floor of the mildewed closet in the very heart of the city of progress, and you’re muffling the revel around you with the vigour of horny teenagers pawing at each other vice-like. 

“You’re drunk.” 

Your accusation spilled against his chest, crumbling as your reddened nose poked into the plexus of his neck and shoulder, his wool vest tickling at your senses, igniting a wet, fierce sneeze. Viktor responded with a damp coalescence of cough and chuckle. The wine had thickened his voice to a rasp. 

“I’m positively intoxicated,” he corrected, aiming to pinch your hip, but his drunken brain must’ve mixed up the signals, locking his fingers in a gentle squeeze instead. You shuddered nonetheless, face plastering against the swivel of his mole-speckled neck. It smelled of sex and candy—a cologne-ish whiff of what’s to come. Or who’s to come, more like. If either of you manages to get your cotton limbs to complete that progression. 

“You’re not doing this right, then,” you countered, throwing your numb calves astride his thighs: they fell asleep in the distorted tangle of your unwield bodies, and you tried to stretch them as far as the oubliette of the closet allowed. 

Viktor took note of your strained hiss. His hands abandoned your hips, stroked a trembling route down to under your knees and rubbed your senseless skin live again. You murmured a tart ‘Thank you’. 

“Is there some ultimate pact of proper inebriation that I’m not aware of?” He chuckled once again. 

“We’ve just graduated, Viktor. We’re supposed to drink till we’re senseless.”

“Ah. You see, I prefer senselessness for other endeavours.”

“Like what?”

“Fornication.”

And he must’ve transmitted his wet laughs to you. Because when you leaned backward, head thumping against the wall, the air was shaken with thickened, raspy spurts of agape mouths—a contagious prelude with more frothy, salivated kisses to follow. And more handfuls of skin, too. Necks, and hips, and shoulders. Whatever you (or he) could reach: no soft swivel in the way would be spared the penalty of sweet kneads. His involuntary groans bid no protest.

He smiles his best shaky smile when you finally part tongues. Watches you close your lips around the rim and shamelessly wishes that he were the bottle, more so when you avidly chug down the remnants of Madeira, spilling a glistening drop in the haze of your greed. But he doesn’t let it roll under your collar. His tongue strikes again and obscenely seizes the bittersweet fugitive on its way down your neck, licking up your sweat and crisp, smoky splendour. His taste buds, scabrous as a cat’s, tickle a rapt moan out of you. The bottle clicks to the floor and rolls out of your reach, escaping the pornographic tableau. 

Viktor doubles down, looking up with a bashful grin. The vermillion heat from his cheeks creeps through your clothes. You can only imagine the shade of hot, fitful red hiding inside his underwear. 

The world around you obligingly stops again, as if helping you find your words in the confines of tense silence. The back of your throat tingles. 

“For someone who’s claiming to be so reluctant to get wasted, you sure are not above desperate measures.” You mutter, running your fingers over the wet, sticky trail on your neck.

“I’m not one to waste good liquor. Every drop must be lapped up.”

“How frugal.”

“Yes, indeed. And besides, slight intoxication is such a good catalyst for confidence. After all, one must feel suave enough to commit…” He bit his tongue, searching for a decent euphemism. Unfortunately, he made the mistake of equipping you with just the ammo.

“Fornication?” You chided, bowing your head.

And Viktor went for the kill, cupping the abandoned throb between your thighs.

“You don’t even know.”

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

naming rights

madney/bucktommy, post 8x15, 1k cleaned up on ao3 here

inspired by all the naming-kids-after-the-dead posting (and this post by @beanarie in particular, for one specific line). as someone named after a dead grandparent myself i think some of y’all are overestimating how heavily it weighs on the soul, but i acknowledge that this shit hits different in fiction.

.

The odd mood doesn’t really register for Buck at first. And even then, once he notices the tension in Maddie’s shoulders, how Chimney’s a beat late to cracking a joke Buck doesn’t get, he credits the mood to Tommy’s presence. This is, after all, the first time he’s brought Tommy to the Buckley-Han household since they agreed to start again, to take this seriously. It annoys him a little, but it’s not like he doesn’t get it. Maddie and Chimney saw him at his lowest, missing Tommy. If they want to hold a bit of a grudge, that’s their business.

And then Chimney blurts out, “Buck, if you want dibs, just say the word.”

Buck blinks, looking down at the plate of cheddar herb biscuits he’s been hovering over. There are five left. It’s not exactly a dibs-worthy scenario. “What?”

Maddie sets a hand on Chimney’s shoulder, letting out a strained little laugh at the defeated look on his face. “We were… talking about names, last week,” she says, “and it occurred to us that there might be a name you would like to… reserve. For future use.”

It hits like a punch to the solar plexus, heart-stopping, the way reminders of Bobby always do. Buck makes himself breathe slow and even, and then the implications of the offer are a follow-up punch to the gut. He gasps, helpless. “Wha—Chim, he died for y—” Chimney winces, and Buck wants to smack himself. Stupid, thoughtless—like he needs that reminder! “W-what I mean is, I can’t ask you to do that for me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m asking if you want me to anyway.” Chim shrugs, a sad little smile on his face. “Not to brag, but I’ve lost a lot of loved ones in my time, Buck. Plenty of people I could memorialize in a name.” He leans into Maddie’s side, looking fondly at her. “Then again, Jee-Yun’s already named for my mom. Maybe it’s time we honor someone Maddie lost.”

It takes Buck a second. Daniel. Oh, jeez.

For a moment, he thinks about it.

But just for a moment.

Buck shakes his head. “Mom and Dad—”

“—can deal with it,” Maddie insists.

Buck smiles—he’d love to see her say that to their faces—but doubles down. “Do you really want to risk it, though? Another kid they can’t help but treat differently?” He sure doesn’t want to have to see that. Even though they’d be able to tell his nephew why Grandma wants to run away and cry when she says his name, he knows from experience how little difference having an explanation makes.

Maddie winces, and he knows she gets it.

“No,” Buck says, firmer now, “if you guys want to name your kid after Bobby, you should do it. You have my blessing, or whatever.”

The tension drops out of the room so abruptly Buck feels stupid for failing to notice it sooner. Maddie smiles, relieved, and Chimney says a solemn, quiet word of thanks, and he feels like such a heel for considering any other answer for even a second.

“Besides,” Buck jokes, fiddling with a biscuit, “it’s not like I even—I-I mean, who knows if I’ll… if I’ll ever.” He stops, the unfairness of it all strangling his voice, making his heart stall out in his chest.

Because even if he does, someday. Whoever, however, it doesn’t matter—a name is the most substantial thing he can give them of Bobby. And that’s nothing, it’s just a word, a pair of sounds. Two syllables. Compared to everything he should be able to give—!

Tommy gently extracting the crushed biscuit from Buck’s hand snaps him back to reality. “Hey,” he says, just as gently, wrapping his hands around Buck’s.

“Hey. Sorry about—” Buck cuts himself off at the familiar look this gets him. He sighs. “I have nothing to apologize for, I know.”

“Good,” Tommy says. He glances between Maddie and Chimney, stricken, and Buck, surprised by his grief yet again. “Not that anyone asked, but my two cents? I don’t see why anyone needs to declare dibs here.” He squeezes Buck’s hand, a move Buck has come to recognize as a sign of an incoming anecdote that means more to Tommy than he’ll let on.

Buck gives Tommy his full attention.

Tommy averts his eyes.

“Like, my cousin’s wife? Her family is huge, but you can tell which is the firstborn kid in each household because they all have basically the same name. Marianne, Marion, Marvin (middle name Andrew), Marybeth (middle name Ann)… all after their shared grandma, who died twenty years before any of them were born.” Tommy shrugs. “Sure, it gets a little confusing when they’re all in the same place and you’re trying to get one’s attention, but… I don’t know, I think it’s kind of beautiful? That woman was so loved, you can see her impact on a whole generation.”

He meets Buck’s eyes at last, and it’s almost unbearable how earnest Tommy looks as he asks, “Why shouldn’t Bobby get as many namesakes as he has people who love him?”

Buck blinks. Looks at Maddie and Chimney, who barely share half a glance before they’re nodding at him.

Buck smiles, kisses Tommy, wipes tears from the corners of both their eyes with his free hand, and turns back to Maddie and Chimney. “So what were you thinking, Robert Daniel?”

Maddie shakes her head. “I thought about it, but I don’t want Jee-Yun feeling like the odd one out. So I went looking, and there are a couple Korean names that start with Bo…”

As she goes on, listing names and their pros and cons, her husband watching with hearts in his eyes, Buck leans closer to Tommy. “So what name are you considering, then?” he murmurs. “You have something already picked out that goes nicely with Robert?”

Buck doesn’t take his eyes off Maddie, doesn’t let go of either of Tommy’s hands. They’re taking this seriously, now, or at least that’s what they said. If Tommy meant it, if he means it, he can answer this question without flinching.

All the same, Buck’s readied himself for a neutral-at-best reaction.

He’s entirely unprepared for Tommy to immediately respond, “Nah. It’s kinda old-fashioned, but I’ve always liked the name Roberta.” And he hums, a little off-key, the first line of a song that Buck’s heard a dozen times or more, in the background of quiet, comfortable dinners at Tommy’s place.

Buck grins, his heart starting to race.

[internetdaddy98]

The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 8

Previous | Next

[Series Masterlist]

Content Warning: small hints of pining ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She brought him coffee one afternoon.

Not the crap from the break-room pot either. Real coffee, strong, dark, hot enough to burn the sleep off his tongue. It was in one of those overpriced paper cups from the café across the street, with a lid that clicked shut like armor and a handwritten "Dr. R" on the sleeve.

He stared at it like it was a bomb.

“It’s not poisoned,” you said, leaning her hip against the nurses’ station. “Though I thought about it.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I know.” She shrugged. “But you looked like you were about to start biting people‘s heads off before.”

He took it. Their fingers didn’t touch, but it felt like they did.

“…Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She turned to leave, and he found himself watching the way her brown hair bounced behind her, like that moment in the supply closet hadn’t taken up real estate in his brain all day.

She hadn’t looked at him the same since.

The Emergency Room was relatively quiet for hours. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Robby just couldn’t hear it over the sound of her. The way she moved between beds. The way she checked on a kid with a broken wrist and made him laugh within three minutes flat. The way she nodded thoughtfully at residents, giving them time to figure out the answer instead of barking at them the way he always did.

She worked differently than he did—softer around the edges—but with a sharpness beneath it, like a scalpel wrapped in silk.

He tried not to look.

But failed.

And when he did catch her gaze across the nurses' station, it was like a punch to the solar plexus. Not painful. Just impossible to ignore.

She held it for a beat too long and smiled. Then went back to her notes.

Around 5 p.m., they both found themselves in the lounge room. Again.

She was curled into the arm of the sagging couch, eating crackers from a vending machine bag, one foot tucked under her. Her stethoscope was draped across the other chair, and her hair had half-fallen out of its tie.

He paused in the doorway.

“You can sit, you know,” she said without looking up. “I don’t bite.”

“You’ve got jokes today,” he muttered, sinking into the couch.

“I’m sleep-deprived. My brain’s mush.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Comfortable, almost.

Then she said, “You've been tense today”

He glanced at her. “Have I?”

“You have that look like you’re running a hundred tabs in your head at once.”

He smirked. “That’s just my face.”

“I don’t think so.”

And damn her, she said it so gently. No challenge, no pressure—just curiosity. Just Y/N, sitting there like she hadn’t peeled back a layer of him and left it exposed on the breakroom floor.

“You always this observant?” he asked.

“Only with people who pretend they’re unreadable.”

His jaw tensed slightly. He looked away.

He didn’t like being seen. Not like that. Not too much.

She didn’t press, though. Just leaned her head against the back of the couch and closed her eyes.

They stayed like that for a while—her breathing slowing, him sipping the coffee she’d brought like it meant something more than caffeine. He didn’t know what he was doing, only that he didn’t want to leave.

And when she dozed off lightly, head lolling to the side, he watched her for a moment longer than was appropriate.

He stood, moved to cover her with his hoodie, then froze.

Bad idea.

Stupid idea.

His fingers brushed her shoulder anyway.

She stirred, eyelids fluttering open. “You don’t have to do that,” she murmured, voice sleep-soft.

“Go back to sleep,” he said, gruffly. “Ten minutes won’t kill you.”

She blinked up at him. And this time, he didn’t look away.

The air between them shifted again, thick and tight, full of the kind of things that had no place in breakrooms or hospital halls.

“You’re not as scary as you pretend to be,” she whispered.

And before he could say a word—before he could remind her that this was dangerous, that he’d already crossed more lines than he meant to—she closed her eyes again.

[spookyrea]

Been a While Since I've Held Anything

When a picture of Loki's soulmark goes viral, his mood takes a dramatic turn. He's moody, rude, and trying to ingratiate himself to you in bizarre ways. Maybe it has something to do with the anonymous love letter you sent him while trying to build up the courage to tell him how you really feel… Maybe it has something to do with the fact that your soulmarks match.

Chapter 1 / 3 - read on AO3

A soulmate-identifying mark AU - no warnings, though epilogue will contain smut

(chapter 2) (epilogue)

Dear Loki, you wrote. You’re vile.

The picture was uploaded to Twitter on December 12th at exactly 3:43 pm. It was terrible quality, taken in a dimly-lit bar. Loki’s head was bowed to hear his brother over the din, his hair drawn up for all the heat in the packed bar. A perfect storm of circumstance to allow his shirt collar to ride low on his shoulders, exposing the elegant slope where his neck met his spine - and about three quarters of his soulmark. 

Loki’s mark was a delicate thing. Twenty-two dots of varying sizes, curved in a crescent shape along the top of his spine to disappear into obscurity. It was a shape so familiar that you could have traced it blind – because it was also yours.

I don’t have the words to describe how you make me feel. You make me feel stupid. You frighten me. 

Someone like him left the public particularly susceptible to match hysteria – a phenomenon where infatuated individuals became convinced they were a match despite the obvious fact that they weren’t - and within a matter of hours the Avengers Tower was inundated with love letters. Pepper immediately benched him to the auxiliary rota, essentially dooming Loki to a few weeks of house arrest until the fervor could die down.

I hate your mouth, and your hair, and your eyes. Everything about him made your skin ache, ultraviolet hot like a sunburn. On a good day, Loki was charming; on a bad day, he could bring countries to their knees with a smile. On the rare occasion that that attention had been turned on you, you understood keenly why he was called Silvertongue – it was difficult to remove yourself from the fantasy that he might be interested in you when he leaned in so closely, spoke with such intimate conspiracy in his voice.  I hate how vulnerable you make me feel. 

You hoped that, by getting the awfulness of lovesickness out on paper, you could eventually begin to draft a real love letter. Something to slip through his mailslot alongside the deluge of adoring fans. He would never read it – Loki had made his thoughts on the public’s “meagre attempts at poetry” quite clear. (Though that didn’t stop his preening at the absolute magnitude of letters - and how each one seemed to raise Tony’s blood pressure just that little bit higher).

Yours,

You signed the letter with your name and slid it into a nondescript envelope for the formality of it all, sealed with a lick to the underside, and tucked it away in a junk drawer to be forgotten about.

You would write a dozen more love letters. They would range from sweet to obsessive, pouring onto paper every ounce of affection you felt. You fought gods and monsters and would-be bank robbers; if you could survive having your solar plexus shattered and four-weeks of bed rest, you could mail off one silly letter confessing that your coworker made your brain go fuzzy.

You eventually picked one and mailed it off -- anonymously -- along with your heart and every anxiety you had ever owned. 

(You almost believed it when you told yourself that this put you one step closer to actually telling him to his face.)

You would find that very letter in a drawer, seven weeks later. Untouched. Unsent.

“Look alive, agent.” Steve knocked you with his shoulder. He was too big for the backseat of the smart car you’d rented at the airport, meaning he had to crane his neck to avoid hitting the roof on every speed bump. “Simple extraction mission: escort Loki to the cargo, he’ll do his little magic trick, and we’ll be warm and on our way home before Santa comes.”

Steve wasn’t particularly devout; he didn’t go to mass on Sundays, and he swore like a sailor and drank twice as much (to little effect), but he took Christmas incredibly seriously. He had been compiling lists of possible presents for months and, despite the team running the gamut from Muslim to Jewish to Literal God, everyone would be getting a gift tomorrow morning.

Loki, though not as broad as Steve, was also suffering in the backseat to your right. His legs were folded ungracefully in the meager space behind the passenger seat, twisted to press up tightly to yours. There was nowhere to run between Steve and Loki, so you had to endure the terrible pleasure of the weight of Loki's thigh against yours for the entire ride.

It made the soulmark on the back of your neck burn. You wondered, as Clint took a turn too hard and Steve's weight forced you into Loki's side, if Loki felt that same itch. If the dots scattered down his back also sang whenever your hands brushed.

“Here we are,” Loki growled. The car rolled up two blocks away from your destination - a bank where an artifact said to be able to “control the minds of the weak-willed” was being stored in a safety deposit box. According to FRIDAY, the artifact was warded with a powerful magic that would unwind all but the most powerful sorcerers at the seams.

 (It’s just energy, Tony had grumbled, give me a few days and I can figure it out. 

Loki, with a terrible sneer, responded: Or you could just let the expert handle it.) 

You were there to provide backup should the plan go South. Your super-strength meant you could go toe-to-toe with most armed guards, holding off the worst of it until Steve, Nat and Clint could come to your rescue.

“Shall we, pet?” One of his gloves hands laced through yours. “Try not to get us killed, hmm?”

“What are you going to do about your,” you waved your free hand in front of your face.

His seidr sighed, crossing over him with a light hand; his features didn’t change (same sharp nose and cock-sure smile, though maybe a touch more gaunt) but his hair shortened and lightened to a pale auburn. He fixed you with a doe-eyed stare, dark brown eyes peering up through a fan of pale eyelashes; his attention – preternatural in its intensity – lit something inside of you that made you nervous, made you shy. Because despite the pale hair and the dark eyes, despite the freckles – it was still Loki. Still the most devastating smile you had ever had the pleasure of seeing.

When he spoke, he laid on a thick accent - Brooklyn, maybe. “Who would ever suspect me now?”

Your crush on Loki was basically public knowledge on the team; you could hardly stand to be in the same room as him some days because of how embarrassed he made you feel. It dissolved all human poise and reduced you to animal instinct, it seemed, because every time he turned to you at a party, or at breakfast, or in the backseat of a quin-jet in the early morning hours, you lost any ability to form full sentences and found yourself blinking cow-eyes at him until you could excuse yourself. If your avoidance bothered him, Loki never commented, but he did make an impressive effort to lord over as much of your attention as possible. Rare was the occasion when Loki was not teasing you, or asking after you, seeming to revel in your infatuation.

“Of course,” he continued. “My real soulmate would be able to recognize me based on shape alone. Which is demonstrative of how ridiculous the entire farce is, anyway – it took a picture for these souls to finally realize I was their match? Laughable. I have spent aeons tangling the threads of lovers – why should I trust the Norns to be kind to me?”

Loki stepped out of the car and hauled you along behind him. “Rest assured, pet – no number of pretty things claiming that my heart belongs to them will ever draw my eye. They are but window dressing in my already magnificent life.”

His mark was a heavy iron weight on the back of your neck. “That’s a terrible accent,” you blurted out.

His smile dropped away, affront evident in the way his nose tipped upwards; there was a lingering static charge to him, and you could feel his seidr humming in your back teeth. In his regular voice, he said, “I thought it was alright.”

“No one from Brooklyn talks like that.”

“Well, maybe you’ll appreciate it more once you see the accessories.” Loki drew from thin air a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, which he adjusted to sit high on his nose. “Don’t you think they make me look scholarly? What a gentleman.”

You weren’t sure how to respond. 

“What? You don’t like it?”

“I don’t think I have time to like it. We need to move, now.” A job was at least a welcome distraction; despite the way your skin crawled when Loki looked at you, you could narrow your attention to the work at hand. 

Loki conjured an armful of paper bags for the two of you, masquerading as a pair of Christmas shoppers. He ushered you into the bank with a hand on your back before stepping into his charming persona, plastering on the widest grin you had ever seen.

Getting into the bank vaults was easy enough; Loki prattled on about honeymoons and pre-nuptials and getting your valuables in order to a clerk who was clearly quite taken by him. As soon as she left the two of you alone in the back room, Loki leapt into action.

“Tony said we were looking for–”

“I know which one it is.” With a snap of his fingers, the security cameras overhead sizzled and drooped.

“How long do you think it will take them to notice the cameras are down?”

Loki’s seidr pried the door off one of the safety deposit lockers like it was made of plastic and not reinforced steel. “If they’re not completely incompetent? My guess would be a couple of minutes.”

“I’ll keep an eye out, then.”

“You do that.”

You watched him work with a certain kind of love in your eye, admiring the outline of his profile as he unknotted the ropes holding the cargo together. It had been swelling, some sweet thing, in your chest now for some time – your match, it would whisper, growing frantic by the day, you were meant to be!  

If only you could get over the fear; the fear of rejection, of ridicule, or worst of all – patent indifference. The idea that Loki might look at your neck and not laugh, not sneer, but merely shrug, repeating his disinterest in letting fate choose for him.

“Pet,” he drawled. “Are you going to help? Or would you prefer to stand there and glower all day?”

You leaned backwards into the hall, craning your neck to see if anyone was coming. “I don’t glower.”

“Glare. Sneer. You may pick any synonyms you wish. Now, fetch me the gauntlet from my bag before we’re discovered and I have to invent some new ruse to whisk ourselves off to safety.”

He said it all with a scowl. It was rare to see him smile as of late; he seemed to follow the team around the tower like a perpetual storm cloud, sticking his nose into business he had no right to be implicated in; making snide, snobbish comments whenever possible. You imagined it had something to do with his soulmark being revealed; despite his boisterousness, he was a quiet, private sort when intimate details were concerned. He would prefer to keep the public - even his friends - at an arm’s length, lest he need to extricate himself quickly. 

To have something so personal broadcast so carelessly – well, you were sure it was chewing at him.

You handed him the metal glove, which he strapped around his wrist and forearm with a medical precision. His seidr hummed with each tug of the fastenings, speaking in hymns too old for you to understand. A startling quiet overcame Loki’s expression, before he flicked his wrist, conjuring sparks of green at his fingertips, and slowly sank his hand into the packing material in the box.

“You feel any different?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Please. This is child’s play compared to some of the tricks I played on Thor. I’m not sure I even require the gauntlet, honestly.”

Despite his lofty attitude, dread needled at your ribs. The box gave off a similar energy as Loki did, something that smelled like sea salt and ozone, and the two competing forces were making you feel a bit nauseous. If he needed help, you wouldn’t be much help – it would tear you in two without an afterthought – so you could only trust that he had it under control.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m going to die.” Terribly slowly, Loki twisted his arm and began to dredge the artifact up from its packing material. “Have some faith.”

It was the strangest sensation; as soon as the gauntlet - tech that Tony had drafted to interrupt other forces from interacting with Loki’s seidr after a nasty run in with a witch - was removed, you felt a sparkling, smacking kiss on your temple, as if to placate your anxiety. You glanced around but found no potential source of a draft.

“Are you playing some sort of trick on me?”

Loki shot you a glare. “Why would I do that?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

He didn’t deign to respond. The two of you abandoned the safety deposit box the clerk had pulled out for you as well as most of your pretend shopping bags and began navigating the halls at random, trying to find an exit in the unfamiliar layout. It was pure luck that the holiday meant the building was understaffed; you somehow made it to a fire exit without being accosted, though you could hear the beginnings of a commotion picking up now that the dead cameras were being discovered.

Beyond the fire escape, there was a familiar flash of blue-and-red as Steve swept past the bank, the brim of his baseball cap pulled low enough to hide his face from an unsuspecting crowd. You threw your shoulder against the door, which dented with a grating crunch. An alarm began to wail overhead.

“You coming?”

Loki’s grin was repugnant and bleeding innuendo – the most attractive thing you’d ever seen, really. “I hope so.”

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“I’m afraid you make it too easy for me to tease.”

Loki shoved the artifact into a bag (not trusting it off his person in some pocket dimension or another) and then the two of you tried as surreptitiously as possible to blend into the sea of Christmas shoppers.

“Howdy, agents.” Steve tapped you with his elbow, the only physical acknowledgement of your presence. He kept his eyes faced forward, a calculated disinterest in his pursed mouth; if you didn’t know him so well, you would almost believe him to be talking on the phone through some hidden earbud. But then he glanced, side-long, at you and managed to convey everything you needed to know: you’ve been compromised, a car was coming, survive until then.

He grunted. “You got everything?”

You were not nearly as adept at subtle communication. “Yep. No issues.”

“One issue,” Loki growled. His hand curled around your elbow and yanked you backwards just as a convoy turned the corner, crawling down the snow-heavy street. Steve veered right, crossing the road with his shoulders pulled high; you would have made to follow if Loki hadn’t elbowed you aside, out of the sight lines of the convoy, before slinking off ahead. You watched his bright red hair melt into the crowd – and then a great boomerang of green light rocketed off a lamppost, giving you just enough time to scurry down an alleyway and through a chainlink fence.

Loki’s seidr hung heavy in the air, swelling like a thunderstorm. Even as you put one, two, five blocks between yourself and the bank, you could still hearing is humming in your ears; headlights on parked cars would spring to life without prompting; window displays would glow radium-green in your periphery. You had no doubt that Loki was having the time of his life causing a distraction… though you worried what the consequences of too much fun might be if his disguise was discovered.

You kept walking. The city began to recede, thinning out to apartment buildings and stretches of public park lawns. There wasn’t much room to hide out here; you turned a random corner and tried to retrace your steps from a couple of blocks over.

Panic brushed up on you like a hungry stray when another glossy convoy rolled down the road, close enough for you to make out the heavy brow of an enemy agent behind the wheel. You tamped it down and tried to gather your bearings, searching for a street sign – anything that might allow you to collect your bearings. You crossed a road and hurried into an alley; maybe you could climb a fire escape and get to higher ground to await extraction.

A hand closed around your hip, yanking you backwards. You startled, half turning, fists raised to defend yourself, when a staticky sensation licked up your cheek in greeting.

“You’re like a skittish cat,” Loki growled. His fingers pinched the same spot that his seidr had touched you. “Is that what I should call you? Kitten?”

Your heart tripped over itself. “Rude.”

“I can be ruder.”

“Do you know where we are?”

Loki curled, his body one long line of crooked confidence, around you, tipping his head to speak in your ear. “Absolutely no clue.”

“Okay.” The closeness made you a little dumb. You blinked at him, admiring the way the snow caught on his pale eyelashes and didn’t melt. Though his skin felt warm, almost humanly-so, it must have been an illusion. Just one more layer of pretense, like how he and Thor blinked less frequently than normal people, or the strange cadence they adopted when speaking in private. “Do you think your seidr gave you away?”

“Maybe.” 

You weren’t sure why you were whispering. “I hope that disguise of yours is good enough.”

“Not even my soulmate would recognize me, kitten.”

Loki followed you with a hand fisted in the fabric of your coat; the streets were wild, requiring you to dart around passersby at random intervals, and it was safer to stay in pairs than to break off on your own. Occasionally, you thought you caught sight of Steve or Natasha, but neither you nor Loki was willing to stop moving to check. You walked a complicated knot, turning at random, ducking into department stores like every other couple on Christmas Eve. This close, you could hear his seidr rumbling, that tinny sound bouncing off of telephone poles and street lamps in his excitement. 

You eventually found some quiet in a side street a few blocks off the main drag, tucked between two apartment blocks with plenty of exit strategies. You leaned against a short fence, pausing to catch your breath. “You can let go of me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Loki vanished the shopping bags he had been holding in both hands. “I’m not touching you?”

As he blinked back at you, you felt the distinct impression of five warm fingerprints soothing over your lower back. The twinkling sound returned, followed by a humming in your molars that betrayed the presence of magic. “You’re sure about that?”

You expected some snide comment or witty response, but Loki’s head only titled. He raised a finger to his lips; his eyes were narrowed, cast to the side as if to focus. A wave of green light glanced off his hand; the air around you warped and bent like a mirage, just in time for a silver drone to zip by over your heads.

Your breath felt a little thin. “Good catch.”

“I have some decent qualities.” A pause drew on between the two of you. “If we stay like this… we should be able to avoid detection.”

You shifted your weight, leaning ever so slightly away in order to calm your racing heart. This seemed to upset Loki; the phantom hand on your back wriggled, urging you deeper into his personal space.

This close, you had little choice but to admire the shape of him. There was a military poise to him, a rigidness to his shoulders that gave the impression that he was wearing heavy plate-armour and not a wool coat. 

“Why red hair?”

“In your myths, I’m sometimes depicted as a red-head. I might have worn this version once or twice on my excursions as a youth.” He eyed you strangely. “Come now, kitten. Do you like what you see? This new Loki, he’s– sweet. He’ll even hold doors open.”

It was different, definitely – the light hair made him seem softer somehow, younger maybe, and he had topped the disguise off with a smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose. It sent a secret thrill of delight through your chest when, upon closer examination, you discovered the shape of his soulmark scattered among them. Like fingerprints and tree rings – something innate, a secret coded in his DNA.

“Hmm…” You tried to feign nonchalance. “I think I like my usual Loki better.”

His mouth tipped up in one of those rare smiles, the quiet kind where the creases beside his eyes kissed, the slightest curve of shyness in his slanted brows. His hand, which was trailing a lazy path up and down your forearm, circled your elbow and gave you a squeeze. “Your Loki?”

“Our Loki,” you corrected. “Loki-Loki. You.”

“I could be anything, really. It’s all an illusion.” He drew you in by the sash tying your winter coat shut. You had a sneaking suspicion that, if you wore pigtails, he would be tugging on those too. “You seem to like this version. You certainly talk to it more. So come now, tell me – what is this version of me like? This fair-haired gentleman.”

“He’s nice, I guess.”

Loki nodded, his eyes fixed on your mouth. “I could be nice.”

“Nice?”

“Mhm. I can be anything at all.”

The streetlamps overhead sighed in the presence of magic. Loki’s seidr was a living thing swelling in the space between you; you felt it like a phantom mouth over yours, sliding over your skin, adoring and exotic. It seemed to thrill Loki, who leaned in even closer, his pale eyelashes fluttering, heavy with snowflakes and the weight of an almost-kiss.

“It doesn’t really matter what disguise you wear,” you mumbled, turning your face to the side. A car ambled past the mouth of the alley, digging deep wells in the snow. “You already know you’re hopelessly handsome.”

“Careful now,” Loki said quietly. “It almost sounds like you’re starting to like me.”

You scoffed – understatement of the century. When you gathered the courage to look back at him, Loki was frowning.

“I do like you,” you said quietly.

“You have a very strange way of showing it.”

“I like… how clever you are.”

“I like how I feel when you look at me.” Even in a moment of vulnerability such as this, Loki watched you like a wild animal. His hand walked a lazy path from your elbow up to your bicep. His eyes tracked the entire journey until he reached your shoulder, where his hand flattened and ghosted up the curve of your neck, so the tips of his fingers laid across the highest notches of your spine. A sigh escaped him, unbidden, coloured with a flush of wanting. An ardent sound. “ Ketlinkr… Kome nhér. Kis kis kis kis…” .

Softly, with a tentativeness you didn’t know him capable of, he closed his lips over your bottom one. A great tenderness swept over you; though both of his hands stood still, curved around your sides, a phantom sensation whispered over your neck, your temples, your cheeks, giggling in tiny, electric bursts, as if Loki’s emotions had spilled over and been animated by magic.

“In my most lecherous dreams, as of late, it’s my mark on your neck. Did you know that?” He drew himself closer, a slave to some innate gravity, and pressed his next words into the clammy skin where your pulse thrummed. “Do you ever think of me like that?”

It was half innuendo and half heartbreak. There was attraction, definitely, burning a hole in your skin where his hand was drawing a complicated figure-eight over your shoulder. But beneath that, sticky and nefarious like tar, was a desperation for validation. 

His lips slotted against yours again, firmer this time, at such an angle that the tip of his nose dug into your cheek. Strange magic welled, pooling in the hollow between your ribs – matched, you matched! 

You pulled away without finesse, sputtering. Loki followed as if to silence you, lurching, just missing your mouth to kiss the corner instead. “Wait– wait, stop,” you started.

Loki snatched himself away, his expression tense. “I can be nice. I have been nice, as of late.”

You were still a little fuzzy, disoriented by the kiss; your blood seemed to be rushing backwards, pumped out through your veins and back through your arteries. “What?”

“Do you really loathe me that much? Not even a new face can sway my – my vile image?”

“I feel left out of this conversation. I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“You don't look at me.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair, vanishing the red from it to wisps of smoke until his natural hair colour returned, startlingly dark against his pale skin. “You turn your face. You find excuses to leave the room. You don’t do that with anyone else.”

You tilted your cheek to hide the heat creeping up under your skin. “I don’t turn away.”

Loki crowded up against you, taking your face between both his hands and manoeuvring you to look him in the eyes, green eyes, the glamour forgotten. Frustration carved a deep line between his brows; he opened his mouth as if to barrel on – before a self-deprecating laugh rushed out of him and he sank back on his heels. “There are hundreds of creatures pouring their love for me through my mailslot and I’m out chasing the one woman who wants nothing to do with me.”

“That’s not–”

“What’s not fair is that when I’m a perfect gentleman, you look away. No matter what face I put on, or how docile a creature I become, you slink off like you don’t trust me. I’m good. I have a purpose.” He threw his hands up in frustration. “What do I have to do to prove myself? Perhaps you’d prefer it if I prostrated myself on the ground?”

“I don’t not like you. I never didn’t like you.”

“I frighten you.”

“Yes!” You chewed on your lip. “Of course you do.”

He walked you backwards, a dangerous energy roiling in the air between you. Cold brick bit into the small of your back where it brushed the strip between your jacket and your jeans. “I can be anything. I’ve been many things, worn many faces. I’m good at it. Good at pretending. Just tell me how to act.”

“You frighten me because I like you.” You stumbled over your words in a rush. “Because I’m attracted to you.”

The phantom mouth was back; his seidr slid up the column of your throat, whispering a staticky sound just under your ear. “Because you don’t want to be.”

“Because we–” You cut yourself off. For all your waiting, for all the days spent agonising over how you wanted to tell him that you were soulmates - this was not how you wanted it to go. It was a hollow confession. “Because we match.”

His terrible expression stilled. It was a particular cruelty to reveal it in a moment such as this, but what other reason could you have given? It was the truth, plain and simple: you matched. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, then raked the same fingers through his hair. “I see.”

“Loki–”

“Bendr. The Asgardian word for soulmate. It translates to ‘wound’. Our ‘mortal wound’.”

“That’s morbid.”

Loki laughed. It was not a nice sound. “It’s true though, isn’t it? A soulmate is only one more flaw in my armour to have to account for. It– norns, this hurts. ”

Loki drew from thin air a piece of paper. One of the innumerable love letters he’d received, written on green parchment. Crinkled, weakened in the middle from how many times it had been opened and then refolded. 

"What is that?"

"You," he said gravely. "Wrote me a letter."

Your stomach twisted; you had written him a letter, but you were certain you hadn't signed it. It was all complimentary, though maybe a little over-the-top. You'd waxed poetic about his smile, and his sense of humour, and how every time he looked at you you felt like your heart was learning to beat all over again.

“Dear Loki,” he began. “You’re vile.”

It wasn’t a love letter – or at least, it hadn’t had the chance to be. Too embarrassed by your feelings, you’d struggled to put into words anything other than despair. You couldn’t conjure up clauses to any of your statements - you’re vile in a way that makes me laugh. Handsome in a way so infuriating that I can’t help but steal glances. Terribly witty. 

“... I hate the way you make me feel. I hate your mouth, and your hair, and your eyes….”

It wasn’t a love letter, yet Loki had kept it all the same. Folded and unfolded it. Ruminated on your poor opinion of him.

“A cruel joke,” he continued. “I thought you were shy, at first. I thought – I thought, perhaps, that I could charm you with jokes, or with some severe attentiveness. You're so skittish... Maybe I could prove I was worth the hassle, or… Make you see – I’m not sure what. I haven’t changed. I’m exactly the same insecure bastard that I always have been.” He winced. “And then I read your note.”

“I must’ve written a dozen letters.”

“All equally as eloquent, I'm sure.”

“I didn’t mean to send that one. The one I wanted to send was nice.”

He laughed - hollowed out. “We match.” 

“Loki…”

Tires crunched over fresh snow; a dark green jeep pulled up at the end of the alley. Loki took one step sideways, inserting himself in between you and the car, before his shoulders bent and drooped under a sudden weight. Natasha leant out of the driver’s side window, a knitted cap balanced on top of a mop of red curls. “Morning, strangers. You wouldn’t happen to know the way to the airport, would you?”

Strange magic – that's what people said about soulmates. It’s that strange magic. Like disappearing car keys or an extra spoon in the cutlery drawer. It was strange magic that placed that letter in front of Loki. Strange magic that hummed and chewed at you now, watching Loki fold himself into the back of your getaway car. 

Fate wasn’t kind to Loki, and it definitely wasn’t kind to you.

You didn’t leave your room all morning. Curled up in your bed, you traced the photo of Loki’s mark with your fingers and wondered at the mess you’d made. 

Loki had left you a letter the day following your return; he’d made himself scarce after, and seemingly bribed FRIDAY into refusing to disclose his location.

Thor and and I were born with star maps across our backs. On Asgard, this meant that we were destined to fight side-by-side. Thor was born with your Midgardian Ares – the ram. His letter began.

Mine Ours is one of Asgard’s constellations. Canavirna-hundr - the beast. 

He had included a drawing. You weren’t aware that he could draw, but it would later occur to you that he was thousands of years old, and so likely had mastered every art form to exist. A huge creature with sharp ears and the saddest eyes you had ever seen, outlined by the curve of twenty-two dots.

There was a wolf more beautiful than any other. A wolf with fur like seafoam and eyes as black as the darkest night. Hunters from every corner of the galaxy coveted her – but she was quick, too quick for even my father Odin to pursue. He chased her for three days and three nights by following the tracks left by her mate, Canavirna-hundr, a hulking beast too large to ever catch up. But love makes fools of even the most graceful creatures, and she slowed her pace.  

At dawn on the fourth day, when her mate finally fell in step, Odin struck. Blinded by guilt and fear for his beloved, Canavirna-hundr leapt ahead and let the arrow pierce his heart instead of hers. Moved as they were, the gods put him in the sky to watch over her 

The constellation pictured was your soulmark – yours with a capital Y, belonging to you and Loki. Twenty-two dots of varying sizes, the largest at the farthest point on the left.

This was my favourite of the constellations as a child. I fancied myself a hero, to one day be memorialized in the stars next to my brother. I wondered - what would be my legend? When generations referred to Loki, the constellation - would I be exalted for love? 

It doesn’t exist anymore – none of them do. Destroyed by Ragnarok. Like my friend Atlas, I carry a little piece of my planet everywhere I go.  

I’ll stop pretending. Maybe one day I won’t frighten you any longer. 

Yours, 

He didn’t sign his name. But then – he didn’t have to. You would know the impression of him anywhere.

[dobbie-doo]

˗ˏˋ ꒰THAT BEAUTIFUL NIGHT꒱ ˎˊ˗ wanderer

✧ warnings — MDNI !! smut , fem !! reader , gentle sex/sex with feelings, a bit dirty at the end a/n — I'm so sorry I was absent for so long.. School is killing me. And what about my fanfic with yandere scaramouche.. The next chapter will probably come out after the session ? Before I warn you that there may be translation errors...enjoy ✧ minors do not interact. !!

They say that it is partners who truly love: a mother loves you because it is her duty as a parent; a son will love you because you are a mother; your pet loves you because you feed it and shelter it in your home…

And only your partner loves you despite all the shortcomings and imperfections. Simply because he chose you.

But why did he choose you? Why did he open up his feelings again, which he once buried inside himself, to some mortal lady like you?.. Apparently the Archons decided to play a cruel joke on him again.

You are pulled out of your thoughts by a hoarse, familiar voice, which flows as calmly as a summer rain outside the window. He plops you down on the bed and lies down next to you on one side.

"Now relax."

You feel the cold lips of the wanderer when he leaves a timid kiss on your cheek.

—"let me caress you from below a little…"

— "Wanderer… enough…"

"hmh.…" - Wanderer slides a cold indigo gaze over you as he begins to unbutton your blouse. You watch the shine of his blue hair that shimmers aesthetically under the moonlight in the room. The Wanderer tenderly begins to cover your hot chest with gently kisses: from the collarbone, right along the solar plexus, then begins to cover your stomach with cold kisses, slowly, timidly even, until he descends to your groin…he painfully slowly kisses your clitoris, through the thin fabric of your panties making you let out a quiet squeal, he circles it with his tongue and kisses, he twisted these actions until he felt your wet crotch.

Puppet notices how you are shaking, he rises to you,smiles slightly at the weakness of the human body and at the same moment helplessly presses himself against you to share the warmth of his own body, but you do not feel the warmth. His skin is cold, smooth, as if not alive… When your skin is warm, human, elastic.

"Mine, mine…" - The Wanderer whispers to himself, as if he is convincing himself. So quietly that even if he were saying it into a microphone, no one would hear him anyway. But you heard what he said only because you know all his habits.

We have no one else except each other to know someone else's habits.

You know that every morning he drinks bitter tea on the balcony, watching the passers-by in Sumeru, drowning in his thoughts about the past, which is stained with black spots and mysteries. You know that all his sharp as a knife words are in no way compatible with his true feelings for you, a love that is deeper than the roots of any tree, even deeper than the roots of Irminsul…

You know that he never takes his eyes off you, always staying close like a calming shadow, he is always close, protecting, defending. He has survived three betrayals, and if you leave him, he will definitely turn the whole of Teyvat inside out, even though he promised you that he left his cruel past behind.

…

The puppet fiddles with the clothes on your body that are bothering him, when you turn your head to the window: evening, rain, slush, the thirties of August.

What could be worse than the end of summer and warm days? Probably only the end of the deepest feelings.

Wanderer frantically strokes your waist, hips, lower back, but he himself has not undressed, firmly intending to please only you. You close your eyes when he carefully directs his thin gloved hand down, under the blanket, this prankster knows that you are ashamed to do such things without a blanket..

The former harbinger leans his forehead to yours and tenderly kisses your lips, gradually picks up the pace with his hands, involuntarily causing you to gasp, bordering on pleasure. your beloved, does not allow himself to be rude, only softly but assertively moves one hand inside you, with the other he gently caresses your cheek, your head is spinning from the contrast of the cold of his skin, and at the same time the passion that you rarely get to see. What a romantic wanderer can be..

He presses himself close to you, too close, his hand cupping your cheek. The puppet whispers caresses in your ear, admiring you and your body, not missing the slightest tremor of yours. He always paid special attention to your "luxurious hair" - You can't even find an explanation for this. He always said that your hair is his weakness. The wanderer deftly bends his fingers inside you, when you barely squeal from the pressure. He smiles contentedly.

And here is another kiss, demanding, dominant but soft, like a light breeze. He pulls away and chuckles.

"Spread." - The wanderer says briefly and sternly when he notices how you try to bring your trembling legs together and run away from the pleasure that he generously gives you.

You shudder slightly from his abrupt change in tone, he seems to notice your surprise and squints his eyes, quietly chuckling with satisfaction when you, without thinking twice, slightly spread your legs, he ran a gentle glance at the exposed flesh between your legs and you again bury your face in his shoulder when his fingers again continued their rhythm, bringing you to the edge again and again.

"Stop being so reserved.My job is to satisfy you, yours - is to get pleasure. So be a good girl and keep moaning for me like that. More, love? "

"Mhm..Yes please.. "

His hands tightly squeezed your hair, while you buried your face in his shoulder in an attempt to muffle a moan. Over time, his fingers began to move more intensely and deeper, until a third finger was added, forcing you to scream and whine with satisfaction, while his hand still tightly squeezed your head, holding you in place.

Finally, you moan indecently loudly, the pleasure coursing through your entire body. Your young body trembles with pleasure. You lick your plump, bite-filled lips, squeezing your eyes tightly. Your thighs tremble as you release your pleasure right onto the puppet's fingers. He hums softly but contentedly, letting go of your hair and pressing his lips to your hot forehead before his fingers slowly slip out of you, leaving you breathless and trembling.

[lunaroracleofvenus]

The Best Way You Can Spiritually Protect Yourself - PICK A PILE

What is Spiritual Protection? Spiritual protection is about being protected from what may harm us spiritually.

how we protects ourselves spiritually is very personal to one's own source of magic, ancestors, and spirit guides. let's divine to see what is your unique method of spiritual protection.

LEFT TO RIGHT

P1 -> P2

P3-> P4

Pile one

Tending to your emotional state is the best way to protect yourself spiritually. You might be a person that overthinks, procrastinates, and has a lot of anxiety. Anxiety and mental health is very human and very natural. You can protect yourself more spiritually by tending to these issues, nourishing yourself. it ‘s okay to have a bad day. It matters more how you bounce back. Connecting more to the divine will also amp up your spiritual protection. Whether that’s praying more to your god, ancestors, or spirit guides. Just pure connection will amp up your protection. Fill up your cup, and walk towards the dreams that exist within. If you ever feel you are unprotected spiritually, do something you enjoy or nourish your mind.

Pile two

Tending to the connection you have with your inner child is the best way to protect yourself spiritually. Moving forward with a more childhood innocence will protect you. You know the saying ignorance is bliss? Well, pile two ignorance is certainly your bliss in this circumstance. The energy of charting forward, with fierceness, strength, and faith is how you can best protect yourself spiritually. Embody this energy and mindset. The sun archetype is very strong in this pile. Strengthen your I AM, and solar plexus or even research more about Christ consciousness. This is an ethereal energy of confidence, strength, fierceness, and lightness. This energy feels good and makes me want to dance pile two lol. You might be the type to overthink spiritually, relax into the energy of spiritual ignorance. You do not need to know everything, and you won’t. That’s okay. Of course there’s balance, always do your research but not to the point of exhaustion, anxiety, and fear. You are most protected, and safe when you lean more into this child archetype spiritually. 

Eternal Beings - Gayathri Krishnan

Phenomenal -  Janelle Monae

Pile three

Stillness, contemplation and meditation are the best ways you can protect yourself spiritually. You might be bombarded with lack of progress, delays and obstacles. Attempting to force what does not fit. I am hearing you are being protected by these alleged delays, and to rest more. When you lean into this energy, things pan out better for you and thus you are more spiritually protected. You are getting the fruits of divine alignment and protection through stillness and introspection. Through apparent delays you are becoming stronger in mind and gaining greater patience. These attributes may be very important in creating more abundance for yourself. Do you have Saturn in the 2nd or 6th house? Anyway, just keep your mind focused on what you desire and relax. You will get what you want. This is only a saturnian delay. Where Saturn delays but never denies. So if you ever want to feel more protected spiritually, just stop and meditate. Go within. Perhaps visualize. 

Pile Four

You may need to check out pile one, there are some similarities here. You are spiritually best protected by breaking old traditions and doing what makes you happy. There is something here about family or ancestral traditions. You may need to break some toxic patterns or follow your own path spiritually. There is also a lack of stability here. You are best protected spiritually, by following your personal joys. Your unique path is divinely protected and ordained. You are enough. You are enough as you are, and your path doesn’t need to look like others. Your authenticity is self protection. Connect more to the moment, and connect more to yourself. Going outside and being in nature might be highly effective for your spiritual protection as well.

[saintlucretia]

Wrong Company For A Teenage Girl

Pairings: James Patrick March x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence. Death. Mentions of rape. Attempted rape. Alcohol. Smoking. Blood. Murder. Gore. The one and only James Patrick March.

Summary: Y/N is meeting Mr. March who wants her to become his protégé.

A/N: You can read this as a prequel to Melancholy Of A Sinner or as an independent work.

I wasn’t planning to kill him. It's not that I haven't thought about it though. But it still was an accident. It was his fault, not mine.

He was almost begging to be killed. I mean, I saw it in his eyes. Anyway, he should have watched his mouth. And hands. It’s not my fault that he was a jerk. You can’t harass a girl and think there would be no consequences.

So there I was, standing in the hotel room with a knife in my hands and the dead body of my brother on the floor. We weren’t blood-related though. I had never known my real parents. I never really had a family. So I guess it’s not a big deal that I killed him. The world should say ‘thank you’ because I rid it of such a bastard.

He looked pretty dead, but I decided to check his pulse in advance. I stepped closer and bent over the body. Dark blood was still flowing pulsatingly from the wound, where I stabbed him, right into the throat. It looked fascinating. He wasn’t breathing. I watched his face for a few seconds and spit on it. He died too quickly. Maybe I should have cut out his tongue while he was still alive? It would be symbolic. Or perhaps I should have chopped off his arms? It would probably satisfy me. 

I leaned closer and plunged the knife into his chest with both of my hands. I pressed it with my whole body and the knife went into his solar plexus with a squelch. There was no actual sense, I just wanted to pierce this motherfucker once again. I took a few steps away from his body. Masterpiece. 

“If you wanted to reach his heart, you should have struck a little to the right.” A deep voice behind me said, making me jump in place. I quickly turned around and saw a man, dressed like he just walked out of the black-and-white movie. 

The man smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile. “I am impressed.” He said as his eyes scanned my body “You handled this whole situation quite well for a little girl like you.”

I felt myself shaking a little, as I looked him up and down. Pale skin, black hair, a pencil mustache, perfectly ironed clothes. And this odd accent. He didn’t seem like a cop.

“Who are you?” I demanded, taking a step back.

“My name is James March, I own this hotel.” He smiled charmingly, stepping closer. “And can I know the name of the lady?”

I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to tell him my name. How the hell did he enter? He was tall, towering above me, but it wasn’t his height that made me nervous, it was his eyes. They were dark and intense, like two pools of cold black water. No, I can’t go to jail.

“It was an accident, sir, I swear.” I managed to mumble weakly glancing at the body. “I was so scared-”

“Oh, don’t act coy, I saw the whole scene. You shoved the dagger into his throat with animalistic hunger.” He was enjoying himself. I felt my body tense up at his words. It sounded like he relished in my violence like he was admiring a great work of art.

“You’re sick,” I said, more to myself than to him.

He laughed, a deep, booming sound that echoed in the empty room. “Oh, darling, I don’t think you are in a situation to say that. Look at you, you are head to toe covered in blood.”

I looked down at my body. My clothes were stained with drops of red, blood made my hands sticky. 

“What do you want from me?” I asked, almost whimpering. Maybe a fake hysteria could convince him of my innocence.

He took another step closer, and I could smell his scent. It was a mix of tobacco and something else, something unfamiliar, masculine, and intoxicating. I felt dizzy.

“No need to be scared, darling,” He said in a low, soothing voice. “I want to help you.”

“Help me? Why?” I watched him intently.

“Because I appreciate great work.” He nodded toward the dead body. “There is nothing to be ashamed of, that pathetic parody of a man deserved such fate.” 

“You think it was a great work?” I asked, my voice a bit trembling. It wasn’t fear, it was shock.

“Indeed.” He chuckled softly. “Now, let’s clean the mess.” 

He whistled and in a few moments, a maid walked into the room. “Did you call me, sir?”

“Please, Ms. Evers, get rid of the body, while I am taking care of our guest,” said James, gently taking me by my shoulders and pushing me toward the door.

He led me out of the room with a firm grip. I was too stunned to protest.

I stumbled after him, my knees trembling like jelly. The hotel hallway was deserted. The sound of our footsteps echoed between the walls.

“Where are you taking me?” I croaked, finally finding my voice.

“Room, where we can discuss the whole situation. You don’t have to worry, darling, I have no intention of hurting you.” 

I wanted to believe him, he sounded convincing. I had nowhere to go anyway. Maybe it wasn’t that bad.

I followed him meekly as he led me through the elegant corridors of the hotel. The silence was deafening. Well, at least they didn’t call the cops. Probably, Cortez had a reputation as a killer-hotel for a reason.

Finally, we arrived at the room and James opened the door. He ushered me inside.

“Please sit down, darling,” He said gesturing toward the armchair, as he closed the door.

The room was spacious and luxurious, with dark red walls and a large four-poster bed covered with silky black-and-silver bedding. It was filled with vintage furniture. Quiet jazz music was coming out of the record player. I sat down, feeling small and insignificant. 

James walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of whiskey. “How old are you, exactly?”

“Eighteen,” I answered slowly, gaining confidence.

“Ah, you truly are a miracle. Such a fire in a fragile body. You are ravishing, my dear.”

I glanced at the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. My blood-stained “AC/DC” t-shirt and jean shorts made my reflection look comic in such a luxurious atmosphere. 

James smiled, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Are you... uncomfortable?”

I clutched the fabric of my shorts nervously, feeling self-conscious. “I should change my clothes-”

"Don't be silly, darling. You look just fine." He purred, pulling out a cigar. 

“What is going to happen?” I asked, carefully looking around the room. I spotted a little knife on the desk. Envelope opener. Bingo. 

“I want to talk with you. It’s rare to meet such a person. You intrigue me.” He answered, giving me a charming smile. He looked like a sick pervert. Handsome and gentle, but yet.

“Can I have a glass of water?” I tried to sound pitiful.

“Of course.” James walked to a small table in the far corner of the room, turning his back to me.

I silently rose from my chair. My sneakers didn't make a sound on the terry carpet. I took a few steps and reached for the knife on a desk already turning to return to my seat. I grabbed the knife and hid it behind my back. My heart was pounding in my chest as I quickly settled back in my chair. 

James turned around, a glass of water in his hand, and walked toward me. He handed me a glass and took a seat in front of me.

He leaned back in his armchair, and took a sip of his whiskey, watching me intently. He didn't say a word, he just watched me. 

"Have you ever killed anyone before?" he asked finally, breaking the silence.

“No.”

"So it’s your first time. My congratulations." He chuckled, his eyes scanning me again. “And so eager to kill again, hm?”

“What-”

“Darling, I saw you taking the knife. I’m not stupid.” He smiled, taking a drag of his cigar.

I tensed, my heart rate increasing as he called me out. I gripped the envelope opener tightly in my hand, feeling a pang of panic.

"I..." I began, trying to come up with a lie. “I’m scared…”

James chuckled and took another sip of his whiskey.

"You are incredible," he said, his eyes never leaving my face. "Such talent of manipulation in a fragile little body. I think you are just the right one."

I swallowed hard, looking down. He was smarter than I expected.

“Right one?” I repeated.

James nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Yes, my dear. I have a... proposition for you."

He leaned forward in his seat, his gaze unwavering.

"You have a certain talent, darling. A talent that needs to be nurtured, not wasted. You can become a legend." He continued. “In your tiny little heart, you know, you are a killer.”

James' eyes glistened with excitement, and I could feel the intensity of his gaze. There was something dark and dangerous in how he looked at me.

"Did you enjoy it?" He asked, his voice low and almost intimate. "Did you enjoy the thrill of watching the life drain from his eyes?"

I glanced at him. His voice was hypnotizing. I nodded carefully, I didn’t want to admit it out loud. James chuckled, noticing my reaction.

"Yes, you did," he said, sipping his whiskey. "But let me ask you this, darling, do you feel like it’s not enough?"

He leaned forward again, his eyes fixing me. James smiled as if he had seen something in my gaze.

"Yes, darling," He said, his voice soft and soothing. "It's never enough, is it? The first killing gave you satisfaction for a few moments, but the adrenaline and the rush faded quickly."

He leaned back in his chair and took a deep drag on his cigar. I felt a chill run down my spine. How could he know so much? I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“How can you know that I felt that way?” I whispered.

“Because you are just like me.”  There was something in the way he said it that made me shiver. I slowly looked up, meeting his gaze.

"Like you?" I repeated, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.

James chuckled.

"Yes, darling, just like me," he said, his voice low and sultry. "We both have a taste for violence and destruction."

He stood up and walked over to me, looking down at me with a dark smile. I felt intimidated by his proximity, but I didn't move. I kept my eyes firmly on his, trying not to show my nervousness. 

“I had it all once. Fortune, fame. But nothing satisfied.” He placed his hand on the back of my chair. “But I found a way to stimulate. It's rather an odd one, but… exhilarating. Murder.”

I could smell the whiskey and cigar smoke on his breath. I felt trapped, yet his words sounded intriguing.

“How many people have you killed?” I asked.

“More than you would believe, darling.” James chuckled, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. “I began my career in early 20’s-”

“How is that possible?” I interrupted him.

“Well, dear, technically I am not alive. A ghost, if you prefer.”

I frowned.

“I was forced to end my life in 1930, due to problems with the police and since that day I am a spirit of this fine establishment.”

I was too tired to argue. But I suddenly remembered something.

“Wait…  are you saying you are The 10 Commandment killer?” 

He smiled. “I’m flattered that you heard about me.” 

Of course, it was him. That's why he seemed so odd. I read a few articles about him in high school. James Patrick March. A notorious serial killer, who lived in the Golden Age of American crime. Dubbed 'The 10 Commandment Killer' because he killed his victims on the basis of the Ten Commandments, as a form of destruction of religion. Extremely wealthy and charismatic, a true psychopath.

For some reason, he didn’t seem dangerous. I was alone in the room with the ghost of a serial killer, yet I had never felt safer in my whole life. Sign of a really shitty life.

“What exactly do you want from me?” I asked, my voice low and uncertain.

He chuckled again, clearly enjoying the effect his words had on me.

 "If you heard about me, you probably heard that I unfortunately hadn’t finished my… work." He took another drag on his cigar, blowing out a cloud of smoke. The room was filled with the heavy scent of it. “And I’ve spent the whole time after my death, finding a protege.”

“You are telling me that in almost a hundred years you couldn’t find anyone better than me?” I looked up at him skeptically. 

“You remind me of myself when I was your age." He smiled. “Very feisty… Returning to your question. Of course, I had my amount of successors, but they are no longer with us. So now the place is vacant.” He chuckled.

“Are you trying to...recruit me?” I asked, feeling a mixture of confusion and curiosity. 

James puffed on his cigar, contemplating my question. He looked like a living, breathing enigma, a shade of the past. It was hard to believe that he was a ghost. But it was James Patrick March, no doubt.

“Not exactly. Think of it as a...mentorship.”

I frowned, processing his words. 

“Mentorship?” I asked.

“I offer you my unique knowledge. If you are worried about money, I can provide you with anything you might need. Food, clothes, equipment, pocket money.” He circled my chair, hands behind his back. “It would be better if you lived here, in one of the rooms, but if you insist, I can consider you living outside.”

“I am an orphan. I have a small bag of belongings and 60 bucks. Your offer sounds more than just good for me.”

James smiled with a satisfied smile.

“Good.” He walked back to his seat and settled back into it, looking at me intently. “You wouldn't survive for long out there in the cold, cruel world. You should be here, under my... protection.”

I shifted in my seat, still on edge. But his words made sense. I had no one who would even look for me. And staying here sounded like a dream, a much better alternative to the streets or some dirty motel with bed bugs and men ready to have fun with young meat. Also, he already spared me from hiding the body. That’s a great start. He seemed pretty nice.

I relaxed a little, the fear subsiding. I looked at him, trying to appear calm and composed.

"So you want to mentor me…" I said slowly. "Teach me to be a killer like you. Finish your work."

James chuckled, sipping his whiskey.

"That is correct, my dear. I will guide you and show you the way. I have plenty of experiences to share.”

I nodded, feeling a strange excitement bubbling up inside me. 

“So, darling, tell me. Men or women?”  James asked, boring his gaze into me.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “What?”

He chuckled. “No need to become so tensed up. I meant killings. With whom would you like to start? Or do you have no preferences?”

I frowned, feeling stupid and hoping he didn’t notice my confusion. 

“No need to feel flustered, dear. It’s a simple question.”

“Men.”

He smirked. “Why?”

I shrugged, struggling to find words “I don’t know. Feels like they are more… They usually deserve this.” 

James leaned back in his chair, a smile playing on his lips. 

“You are surprisingly observant, young lady,” he said, swirling his glass of whiskey. “Men tend to underestimate the threat of younger women. It is a common mistake, one that can prove to be quite lethal. Especially when dealing with you."

I met his gaze, not sure if I should be pleased or concerned by his words.

"You make me sound like some sort of dangerous predator," I said.

James chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "Oh, you are, darling. You just haven't realized it yet."

“It was self-defense.” I reminded him in a harsh tone.

“Of course, dear. You had no other choice. I understand.”

James' voice was smooth, soothing even. It was hard to tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic. 

"You are a survivor. Don't be ashamed of it." He continued, his eyes never leaving my face. “Be proud.”

"Proud," I repeated, testing the word on my lips.

Suddenly someone knocked on the door.

“Excuse me.” James stood up and went to the door. I also got up to see who could come this late. It was the maid that was supposed to get rid of the body. She looked somewhat nervous, keeping her gaze low, focused on the floor. I could see her hands trembling a little.

"What is it?" He asked, his voice calm and carefree.

“Everything is done, sir.”

“Great. Now tell me, do we have any loner male guests on this floor?” By his tone, it was obvious that he was excited. 

“There is a middle-aged gentleman in room 70. Probably waiting for his mistress.” 

“Thank you, Ms. Evers, you are free to go.” James chuckled and turned to me. “Time for your first lesson, darling.” He walked to the wooden drawer and opened it. I watched him pull out different objects from the drawer and lay them on the table. There were a few knives, a couple of sets of keys, some tools, a bottle of liquid, and a black leather bag.

“Come here, dear,” James said, gesturing to the table.

I approached him, feeling a sudden mixture of excitement and nervousness. He looked at the tools on the table and then back at me. 

“Pick one.”

I looked down at the table, my eyes flickering over the assortment of tools. For a moment, I considered the small knife, its blade glistening in the dim light. But then I spotted something else that caught my attention.

"What about this one?" I asked, picking up a black stiletto. 

James chuckled. “Ah, I see you have a taste for the more elegant weapons. Good choice.”

I examined the stiletto, feeling its weight in my hands. It was a beautiful weapon, slender and deadly.

"Now, let me show you something." James picked up the black leather bag and undid the strap, revealing a collection of small glass bottles.

“What’s that?”

"Tools of the trade." He smirked, “This one is chloroform, it works wonders with the weaker types.” March picked up a bottle of clear colorless liquid and placed it in my hand. I studied it carefully.

“And other bottles?”

“This one is a sedative. It has a much swifter effect than chloroform. And this one,” He picked up a small blue bottle, “is a mixture of drugs. A perfect choice for heavier sleep.” 

“But be careful with it," He added, “Use too much and you might end up with a very dead man before the fun even starts.”

He looked me up and down “Do you have clean clothes with you? I'm afraid our friend from room 70 won't be happy if he sees you covered in blood sooner than we want him to.”

I shook my head. I only had a few pairs of spare underwear with me. I remembered that my bag was still in that room.

“I need to take my bag-”

“Worry not, my dear, Ms. Evers will bring you everything you might need.” He suddenly stopped and looked me up and down. “How tall are you?” 

“About 5’4.”

“That’s just great.” 

I stood there confused but didn’t ask any questions. I just stared at him stupidly. Probably women threw themselves at his feet when he was alive.

March walked to the door and shouted. “Ms. Evers!”

In a couple of seconds, the maid appeared in the doorway again. She didn’t look annoyed or tired, it looked like she was very glad to please him. 

“Bring a set of clean clothes for our young friend here. And her bag. You will find something suitable in Elizabeth’s old dresses.”

The maid glanced at me, her look seemed contemptuous to me. Then she nodded and quickly vanished behind the door.

I stood there, a little flustered by the whole situation. 

“Who is Elizabeth?” I asked James.

“My wife.” He answered, his smile faltered.

“Oh…” I said, not sure if I should say something else. That was unexpected. 

“Don’t worry, darling,” James said, his voice back to its usual cheerful tone. “You’ll look wonderful in her things. Much better than the current generation girls.”

Huh.

I said nothing and just waited for the maid to return. The silence wasn’t awkward though, rather soothing.

In a few minutes, the maid returned with my stuff. Quick.

“The young lady's belongings.” She said, her hands trembling slightly as she handed me my bag and a pile of folded clothes. 

“Thank you, Ms. Evers,” James said, dismissing her with a nod. The maid gave me one last glance and left.

“You should try them on, darling,” James said, pointing to a half-ajar door, suggesting a bathroom behind it.

I closed the door behind me and inspected my clothes. It was an old-fashioned black dress, mid-length. 

I took off my clothes, washed blood stains from my skin, and slipped into the dress. It was a little tight in the hips and was loose on top. His wife had great boobs. Despite the old-fashioned look, it was actually very flattering. It hugged my figure in all the right places, showing off my, well, curves. The black color gave it a touch of elegance. I twirled in front of the mirror feeling a little silly and excited at the same time. 

I fixed my makeup with tissues. My eyeliner was smudged, so it looked like smokey eyes. I looked like a young rich socialite, except instead of Gucci shoes I was wearing red Vans.

I smiled at my reflection, feeling the adrenaline rush. I looked damn good in this dress. I was a predator. At least I felt like it. 

I opened the bathroom door and stepped out, seeing James still sitting in the armchair. His eyes fixed on me as I walked out.

I saw his gaze wandering all over my body, as though trying to memorize every inch of it. I wasn’t sure if I should feel creeped out or flattered.

“You look marvelous, my dear,” he said, standing up. “Ready for the hunt?”

I nodded, feeling my heart beating faster. I was ready. Ready to prove myself to him, to show that I wasn't some scared little girl who happened to kill someone. I was wild. I was dangerous. I was a hunter too.

I took the stiletto and folded it. 

“You’re going to do just fine. Shall we go and make our friend acquaintance?” He chuckled, extending his hand to me. I took it.  The touch of his cold dead skin felt strangely reassuring. 

We walked down the long corridor in silence. I could still feel the adrenaline rushing through me, making my hands tremble slightly. Maybe I was dreaming? It could be a dream. A nice dream.

“You have complete freedom of action, darling. Now we are just testing your abilities. And don’t even think about feeling guilty, good people never stay in Cortez.”

Finishing the sentence, he suddenly disappeared. I looked around, finding myself in front of door number 70. With the stiletto hidden in my palm, I raised my other hand and knocked on the door.

A few moments passed, and then I heard footsteps inside. My heart skipped a beat. I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I was standing outside an unknown man's room in an evening dress. 

Seconds later, the door slowly opened, revealing a middle-aged man standing in the doorway. He was tall and quite attractive to my surprise. He looked like a stereotype of an “older guy” from Pinterest.

“How can I help you?” he asked, looking me up and down.

I put on a polite smile and looked up at the man, trying to hide my nerves. “Good evening, sir. I'm terribly sorry to bother you so late in the night, but I seem to be having some trouble. May I come in for a moment?”

The man looked at me for a few moments, his eyes wandering over my figure in the tight dress. I could see his mind working to make a decision. Probably not a typical sight in this hotel.

“Of course,” he finally answered, stepping back to let me in. “Are you alright?”

“Someone was following me, I was so scared…” I said with a trembling voice, entering the room.

The man led me into the room and closed the door behind him.

"That's terrible," he said, sounding sympathetic. "Can I offer you a drink?"

I smiled.

"It would be lovely, thank you." 

The man poured us both a glass of whiskey and handed me a drink. I could sense his eyes fixed on me as I took the glass. 

“Please sit down,” he said, gesturing to the coach. “Can I know your name, love?”

“Myranda,” I answered taking a sip. I had no idea why I chose this name.

“You alone here, Myranda?” He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on my exposed legs.

“Yes, unfortunately,” I answered. “My friends ditched me at the last moment.”

“It can be very unsafe in a place like this, especially for a young girl.”

I pretended to look worried at his words.

"Yes, I know. That's why I'm so glad I ran into you," I said, my voice slightly trembling. "I was so terrified."

To my surprise, he looked worried. “I can call you a cab or give you some money. Do you have someone to walk you home?” I was almost taken aback by the genuine concern in his voice. It wasn't what I expected. I shook my head.

“No, it's fine,” I answered, giving him a small smile. “I just need a place to rest for a bit. You know... to calm my nerves. Thank you.”

“Of course, you can stay here for as long as you need.”

"You're being so kind to me." I smiled gratefully, taking another sip of whiskey. It was burning my throat, but I kept a straight face. 

“My daughter is about your age, I know it can be harsh to be a young girl, love.”

His words brought back memories of my stepfather. I hoped he was burning in hell.

"Your daughter is lucky to have you," I said, my voice a bit more emotional this time. God, how should I kill him? He is just a good man.

He looked a bit surprised to hear the suddenly emotional tone in my voice.

"Oh, thank you," he answered, a look of sadness passing across his face momentarily. "We don’t see each other too often now."

He smiled sadly, taking another sip of his drink. "How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?" 

“I’m 18.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprise in his eyes.

"Only 18? That's even more reason for you to be careful, love."

He got up from his chair and walked over to the minibar, refilling his glass.

I can’t kill him. I can’t kill him. I can’t kill him.

I bit my lip, watching as he topped up his drink. He was probably a good person, a decent man. That thought was driving me crazy. 

I could just leave, walk out of the room, and pretend none of this ever happened. James would probably be mad. I couldn’t kill him, not now, not after he had been so nice to me. 

“Can I ask you something?” I asked quietly, my voice a little shaky.

He looked up at me, his eyes meeting mine for a moment before he took a seat next to me on the coach. 

“Of course, love. You can ask me anything.”

I took a deep breath, trying to sound as natural as possible.

“I don't mean to be rude, but... why are you here alone? You don't have a wife or something?”

His expression darkened slightly, a sad smile appearing on his face.

“Ah, my wife…” he said quietly, taking a sip of his drink. “We've been divorced for quite some time now. It wasn't a good marriage, to be honest.”

He looked at me and smiled again, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"You know how it is, love. People change, they grow apart. Though I miss having someone to love me."

I nodded. 

“Can I use the bathroom?” 

“Of course.”

He pointed to a door on the other end of the room.

I smiled, standing up and walking towards the bathroom. As soon as I closed the door behind me, I leaned against the cold surface, taking a deep breath.

How the hell was I going to do this?

I glanced around the bathroom, my eyes scanning the small space. My gaze landed on the mirror above the sink. I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection - a young girl pretending to be a femme fatale, wearing a ridiculous black dress and holding a stiletto. Maybe I was in a coma? Maybe I was dead? I hoped so.

I felt dizzy. I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face, trying to clear my head. But the reality of the situation was still there, mocking me cruelly. 

"I can't do this," I whispered to my reflection. "I'll go insane." I already was. 

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heartbeat. I looked at my reflection again, the cold water dripping down my face. It was my own face staring back at me, but it felt like I was looking at a stranger.

I will walk out and pretend it never happened. I took one last glance at the cold stiletto in my hand, then quickly hid it in the tight sleeve of the dress. I felt nauseous for no reason. My legs felt bubbly. I took another deep breath before walking out of the bathroom, forcing a smile on my face. 

As I walked out the room was empty. I froze for a moment, looking around the room. The man was nowhere to be seen. 

Before I managed to turn around something grabbed me from behind. I let out a gasp, startled by the sudden movement. A hand covered my mouth, muffling any sound I was about to make. A strong arm wrapped around my waist, holding me firmly in place. 

“Be quiet, love.”

The man's voice was a quiet hiss in my ear, his breath hot against my neck. I could feel his body pressed against mine, trapping me completely. What the fuck?

I tried to struggle, but it was useless. Alcohol made me weak, or maybe he mixed something in my drink. Anyway, he was much bigger and stronger than me. I let out a muffled scream against his hand, which was still covering my mouth.

“You better stop fighting or I will have to hurt you,”

I whined. Stupid stupid stupid. I never hated myself more in my life. I started crying. 

He pushed me roughly. My face pressed into the bed. I felt his weight on my back. 

“Please,” I begged.

“Shut up. You think you can walk to the man during the night dressed like the slut and drink here with no consequences?”

I managed to pull out the knife out of my sleeve, but he was faster, grabbing my hand, and making me drop the weapon. 

“What a bitch you are.”

He unzipped my dress. I regretted that I pulled out the knife in front of him, I should have stuck it into my throat. He wouldn't have time to stop me. That way, at least I wouldn’t have to suffer. I shut my eyes.

In a second I heard the sound of flesh being pierced. I felt something hot and wet on my back. Blood. The grip on my body loosened and I immediately turned around. 

James was standing there with a dagger in his hands. The man was lying dead on the floor. I felt so relieved that I couldn’t even say a word.

“You alright, darling?”

I nodded, my body trembling. He helped me to get up. 

“It’s okay. You did quite well for the first time, don’t worry, you are safe now.”

My legs seemed to refuse to hold my weight, my knees buckled and I almost fell. James’ hand wrapped around my waist, supporting me.

"He seemed nice," I whispered. 

“Well, don’t let fool yourself next time. Won’t you?”

I shook my head. 

“What now?” I mumbled, my voice still shaking. I guess I was in shock.

I leaned against him, my head resting on his chest. 

“You should rest.”

I nodded. I felt like I might pass out at any moment.

“Okay," I whispered. “I guess I failed the first task.”

James chuckled softly, his hand caressing my head. 

"Don't be too hard on yourself, dear, everyone can feel hesitation," he said gently. "You did well, considering the circumstances. You'll get another chance. There are plenty of men here."

He walked me out of the room. I followed him without a word, still clinging to him for support. The corridor outside the room was quiet, the only sound was the hum of the air conditioning.

“Just remember to never drink anything from others, okay?” 

“Mhm,” I mumbled as we walked into another guest room.  It wasn't as luxurious as his room, but I would be grateful even for a storeroom.

“You can stay here. I promise it’s safe. Ms. Evers will bring you anything you might need.”

I nodded, still feeling quite shaken. I sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to steady my breathing. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, darling,” he replied, taking a seat next to me on the bed.

“You watched me in his room...” I began, my voice quiet and a little shaky. “Why didn’t you step in sooner? You could have saved me from the beginning.”

"Well, I wanted you to have a chance to save yourself. You had chances, darling. Just remember this: never let your guard down. Always be prepared, even when you're surrounded by comfort. It's a harsh world, but you should be harsher."

I nodded slowly, understanding his words.

"I won't make the same mistake again," I said remembering the eyes of the dead man.

My mind was slowly drifting away from me. I laid on my back. Everything was spinning. He planted a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“Sleep well.” The last thing I heard before falling into the darkness.

I hope you enjoyed! Have a nice day/night <3

A/N: I am thinking about making this a series, but I dunno yet.

tags: @jazz-berry , @madmagicalheathen , @dustypastelrose

let me know if you want to be tagged in the next works!!

[eclipse-msoul]

Bully/mean girl reader x mafia batboys, reader doesn't know who's she messing with

Good taste, my lovely darlings!

( Art is from Pinterest, I own the writing)

" Wrath of the sun in chains"

Bully !Reader X mafia!Dark yandere batboys

You walked down the hallway, with your shoulders broad and head held high. The door banged open and you walked in. Every single person paled and bent their head down.

“What do we have here?” You remarked.

The atmosphere dropped and everyone stilled. One of the students trembled, his fingers shook while the paper of his notebook crumbled. You scanned your prey and your eyes locked at him.

Look at him trying to hide his figure.

How adorable.

Just perfect for you.

You made your way to him slow, like preparing to hunt down a prey.

Your hand came crashing down on his table and the the pencil in his finger fell. Your voice whispered like a Sleathering snake,” You dare to ignore me..?” he jerked back,“ I-”, you caught his collar and pulled him toward you.

Your narrowed eyes looked at his without an ounce of mercy. The table got pushed to the side - a punch came in his solar plexus.

He crashed on the floor, holding his abdomin, coughing in pain. Your leg came and kicked his head - it made a cracking sound. You got on top of him. Your arms wrapped around his neck.

He looked at you with paled and mortified gaze.

You smirked.

“What is going on in here !?” A elderly voice came from behind. You face snapped back. The head-minister had a vein ready to bulge, his pupil was dilated. Your eyes flickered to the shadowy figures standing behind.

Looks like the game was over.

You dusted your clothes and got up. You winked at the head-minister and flashed a smile. “ What brings you here Sir?”

He looked ready to hit you. But you noted how he took deep breath and with a tightened jaw tried to smile back at you. The pot was about to smoke.

“Ahemm-” His eyes shifted from you to your little victim. They shook slightly, and you understood. Turning back at the beaten boy, you extended a hand and prevented him from bolting back.

Your body pulled him up and you Pat on his shoulder. “ If you speak a word…” His shoulder quivered. You smiled, “...Good boy.”

Then you spinned around and walk out the door.

Four pairs of eyes stared at you.

You met them head on.

“ Y/n.” The head minister called.

You scoffed, making out an almost polite bow before walking away.

Bastard. _________________________________

“ Thought the rooftop was my spot.”

You eyebrow mildly arched and you say up from your spot. Looking at the man, he was built like a tank. A lean muscular body, and a pretty face. And those pretty green eyes looked at you without even blinking - even those glasses couldn't mirror that.

You sighed - there was never any peace and quiet - and held your hand over your face. You could almost see the headache coming ,“ What.”

He remarked, looking at the books spread out. “ You're studying”

“ Yeah-” Your fingers turned over the next page. “Now get lost.” you said getting back to your book.

He didn't.

His body laid back against the frame of the wall as he let out a yawn. Then you heard a thug and your face turned quicker than a tornado.

He had fallen over.

You perked up and walked to him.

Your eyes trailed over him and you grinned.“ Got ya~” The sleep bomb leaped over the air and you caught it. Your shadow sat over the man.

Your hands quickly got rid of his clothes and you almost let out a small gasp, looking at his body. Scars covered his skin from the torso to the back.

Your fingers trailed back.

Something came in your hand and you blinked.

A gun?

You lifted it up. It was legit. How rich was he to have a freaking gun in school? This would be fun.

You looked at him, he was snoring.

“... Like a child…” You mumbled dazed.

-flash- a camera clicked. “ she's calling Jason a child. ” a sound of laughter came.

You turned, your eyes widened. Four men walked in, each taller and looking sharper than the other. The one holding the camera flashed you a smirk. “ Cheese~”

The light flashed.

You blinked dazed, your mind didn't understand what was going on. Another one of them eyes the paint painting his brother and he lazily yawns. “ She got him good.. ” he smirked.

“ Jay looks like joker the fluke.” duke jokes.

“ Tsk, your jokes are as outrageous as your personality Thomas.”

“ I know you love me dami.” Duke winked.

" If my brain goes dead." Damien darted back.

“ Break it apart you two.” Tim, the boy with blue and tired eyes. “ Fuck off drake-”

“ Tim stop him-”

“Dick stop them.” Tim sighed, holding his hand over his forehead.

The one you now realised as Dick, clapped his hands and while grinning like a child ready to slaughter a lamb, looked at you and said.

“ stop all of you.” He said and only silence followed afterwards.

That's before you finally spoke.

“ What the hell is going on-”

Damien scoffed,his green eyes grimming. “ Get up already, Todd. The show's over.”

You felt an arm over you, they wrapped around your waist. You yelped. “ h-”

“ You sure went overboard with that prank..”, he turned to face him. The paint looked more menacing at his face. Wasn't he supposed to stay asleep?

“ You look cute jay.”

“ Shut it , dickhead-” He said looking at the one with pale blue eyes. “ Dami, he's being mean.”

“ You deserve it here Grayson.”

“Duke!” Dick whined.

“ He's right, you know.” Duke ticked.

“ All of you shut it.”He said before taking your hand in his, your eyes widened, “ T-” He kissed your lips.

Your arm fought trying to cut you loose from the man, but in doing so you opened your mouth to argue only for him to push his tongue into your mouth.

You struggled, “ Mpm-” But he didn't stop. Your leg tried to hit in between but he caught your leg. His tongue got you drowsy. You couldn't breathe.

When he finally let you go. You collapsed on the floor due to hypoxia. “ W-who the fuck are you!” You growled.

You heard only sounds of chuckle, a scoff and another yawn.

Turning back, you stilled

They looked at you, like you were some kind of bug. Like they didn't care.

Just like how you looked at everyone at school.

You heard a trigger on your back, and then all you felt was pain. Your hand pressed on the blood gushing out. You muffled in agony.

“ Replacement. “ You heard Jason say. He bent down to your level and met your petrified eyes. They flickered to where the gun had shot you.

His hand pressed on the wound,“ You did good for once.”

The man with a thinner frame than the rest, smiled back. “ You can compliment without the insultJay-” he said, “ Besides it wouldn't do for her to try and escape.”

" Her display of strength earlier doesn't need to be underestimated."

“ True.” Jason said, gazed back at you. “ But, she wouldn't try that, would you angel?”

You growled,“ W-W..what..do you want from me…?” The tears formed under your eye. His fingers flicked them away before they could fall,“You.”

Your jaw clenched, while the hold on your wound tightened by your hand. “What if I don't want to?”

“ T-t, Todd your one needs some reeducation."

" Shut it demon brat. " Jason shouted, " Duke. " He added, his voice low - you didn't know why but you felt the dread increase.

Duke tossed the camera to Tim and he flipped on the picture Duke took. You stared at them in horror and then felt a smell of metal with gunpowder over your head.

Dick spun the gun over his fingers before bending down and smiling. “ The choice is yours little bird.” The gun head jerked over to your side.

Five pair of eyes stared at you.

“ Jason or…” , the gun pressed over your head.

Your heart beat fastened, and you knew with every fibre of your being. The answer was decided.

“... Y…es..” , they smiled and you felt pain in your neck. Oh, your thoughts said as you faded into the abyss.

Karma always had a way of catching up.

taglist : @animegoddess15

Heck yes! I finally finished this one!

( I'm so proud 🥺 ) pss- I know this is trash but a little appreciation for me. ( yes I'm deluding myself) COMMENT FOLKS ( My motivation comes from your comments, ideas and likes. So don't be shy, even a small comment from you would make my days and fill me with ideas)

Anyways, enjoy 🩷

And as you all know, love you all byeeee🪿🩷🩷🩷

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Stealing her Thunder (dp x dc)

Sam really hadn't meant for the night to derail so much. She hadn't even meant to be out tonight, this was all Paulina's fault.

"This is the worst senior trip ever," mumbled Paulina from where she was sitting with her back against the wall, next to Star and Sam. Despite having been essentially kidnapped, she looked just as beautiful and perfect and put-together as she had when she'd come down from her hotel room. Oh, how Sam hated her.

"Maybe if you hadn't snuck into a club while underaged-" Sam hissed to her.

Paulina's shimmering green eyes flashed. "Oh I'm sorry, Susie Nobody, why were you in the club, then?"

"Trying to prevent something like this, you dimwitted, spoiled little princess!"

Paulina's shiny lips opened again to say something equally as inane, and Sam was gearing up to retort when Star elbowed her friend.

"Guys, stop!" Star whisper-shouted. "This is not the time to flirt."

"We're not flirting!" Both girls exclaimed at the same time.

They immediately shut their mouth as they realized they had been much too loud but by then it was too late. With an ominous creak the door to their temporary holding cell was pushed open, and a blond woman walked in as if she owned the place.

"Now, now, girls," she said as she strode towards the three bound girl. "It's not very polite to make a ruckus in someone's home."

Sam couldn't help her snort. The woman raised an eyebrow and Sam smirked.

"That is one ugly ass home," she said as she made a show of looking around the bare cement floor, dirty walls and heavy metal door.

"As much as I hate to agree with Loserville over there, she's right" Paulina sneered, somehow the expression making her look just as attractive as she always was. "This is the ugliest place I've ever been held hostage."

"Maybe if you added a skylight or like, a few prints-" Star added kind-heartedly.

"Enough," the woman said, though her smile had vanished. "I don't have time for this."

Then in just a few strides, she was face to face with Sam. She raised a hand just in front of the girl's face and gave her a smirk as her long silver nails started to lengthen more and more under their eyes.

"That is some free edge," Star mumbled, as her eyes widened.

"I have this fun ability," the woman ignored the blond girl, "where my blood," she looked at her ever elongating nails, "lets me bestow gifts on people."

"Yeah," Sam dragged out as the weird silvery trails started approaching her face. "Not interested."

"I don't even ask much in exchange," the woman said, as she leaned towards the goth teen. "Just a little obedience."

Sam was now struggling in earnest, doing her best to lean back in the restrained space, only just avoiding the weird silver things. "Get away!"

"Get your hands off her, you bottle blond bitch-" she heard Paulina's voice spit out when there was a large boom and a portion of the wall blew open.

The woman was blown back, the silver nails retreating back into herself as she turned to face the newly made hole. And from the hole walked in a woman dressed in a yellow and black reinforced suit.

"Step away from the children, Looker," the new arrival said.

"Thunder," their kidnapper answered with a sneer and that was all that was said before the newly-dubbed-Thunder descended on the woman with a kick, that was evaded.

Not so easily evaded however, was Thunder's punch to the kidnapper's solar plexus that sent her crashing right into the metal door, and falling through the half-opened doorway.

The black-and-yellow-decked woman turned towards the bound teens, and kneeling next to Sam, she ripped apart the girls' restraints as if they were spider's web

"You girls ok?" she said, looking into Sam's eyes.

And here, for the first time in her life, Sam found herself tongue tied. Feeling her cheeks grow warm, she quickly looked down before opening and closing her mouth a few times, until finally-

"A-okay," Sam squeaked out before immediately wishing the ground would swallow her up. A-okay?? Could she be anymore lame?

But Thunder only chuckled and Sam chanced a look up to see the woman smiling at her, and her lips pulled up, feeling shyer than ever.

"We're fine," Paulina's sharp voice cut through, "no thanks to you." Sam turned to see her lips were pulled back in a sneer.

"Paulie, she literally just saved our lives," Star said as she rolled her eyes, while massaging her wrists.

"Yeah, why don't you try being a little grateful?" Sam bit out.

Paulina just sniffed as she crossed her arms and lifted her nose higher. "I'll show you grateful," she mumbled under her breath.

"Ugh," Sam let out. When she turned back towards the hero(?) was looking from Paulina to Sam with a weird little smile on her face.

"What?" Paulina barked, having obviously also noticed it.

"Nothing," Thunder said, the smile still in place, as she got to her feet. "I'm glad you girls are alright. I have to go, but the police should be here soon ok? Just stay in here and you'll be safe"

Sam nodded and she could hear the other two make noises of assent, though Paulina's sounded more like a scoff than anything else. Thunder then clapped her hands together and the wall opposite to them crumbled down. With one last wave, she was off.

Sam watched her go with wide eyes as she heard Paulina grumble.

"What a poser."

[ninibeingdelulu]

I’m sorry

synopsis: he forgot your birthday, so he apologizes in his own way

a/n: i wish re2 leon was real :((

The apartment you share with Leon is utterly unrecognizable when you finally drag yourself through the doorway well past sundown.

What typically greets you is a spartan, almost militaristic level of bare minimalism thanks to your boyfriend's by-the-book personality and rigorous hours with the RPD.

But this evening? The entire open-concept living space has been transformed into what can only be described as a veritable birthday wonderland - complete with vibrant streamers zig-zagging across every available surface and those ridiculously oversized metallic balloons bobbing precariously from every corner.

You halt mid-stride, mouth literally agape as you drink in the burst of kaleidoscope colors and thoughtful homespun decor adorning the length of the kitchen countertops as well.

A deliciously decadent layered cake topped with your favorite indulgent frosting blend...an assortment of neatly wrapped packages in that signature sky-blue wrapping paper you always tease Leon for using at every gift-giving occasion...even a chilled bottle of your go-to celebratory bubbly chilling beside a fresh bouquet of your most beloved flora.

The sheer tenderness of this entire scene hits you like a sucker-punch straight to the solar plexus - eyes stinging with unshed tears even before finally trailing towards the center of the room.

There slouched on the sofa with elbows braced on splayed knees and face cradled in his upturned palms sits Leon himself in a pose of utter guilt-ridden dejection.

"Leon..." You haven't even stepped fully inside yet before his name slips past your lips - instantly shattering whatever uncomfortable reverie he'd been absorbed in brooding towards the floor.

Those endlessly soulful icicle-blue irises you've always adored finally lift to meet yours with the weight of a thousand apologies shining within their stormy depths.

"Hey, doll..."

God, he does sound like a lost puppy while using that feather-soft endearment you normally melt over.

"Look, I...I know I massively forgot your birthday yesterday and I—"

"Leon, you really didn't have to—"

"No, no. Please...just...lemme get this out while I'm on a roll here?"

He interjects quickly, palms lifting in a placating gesture before the briefest quirk of boyish insecurity tugs at the corner of his sensuous mouth.

"I'm not always the best at expressing myself the way I should, but that never means the important stuff gets overlooked or taken for granted...not with you."

The sincerity reverberating through every syllable sends your pulse into an erratic staccato against the hollow of your throat as Leon rises languidly to his full towering height and begins stalking towards where you linger.

There's an undeniably intent yet hopelessly tender hunger now darkening his eyes into bottomless pools of stormy silver. Paradoxically pinning you in place while simultaneously setting your insides ablaze...

"You're the most important person in my entire world, y/n...the reason I wake up fighting each morning and the thought I cling to whenever everything feels hopeless."

Leon murmurs - now near enough you can taste the subtle citrus zing of his aftershave mingling with the adrenaline roaring in your ears.

"Nothing and no one will ever make me lose sight of how goddamn priceless you are to me again...not when you're the sole force keeping this old cop's battered heart from completely shattering apart."

And with his final confession, those rough palms you've spent countless blissful hours mapping finally settle upon your waist while he leans in and just barely brushes the plush seal of his lips over yours in a tantalizing preview of what's to come once you've both recovered from this initial swell of unbridled emotion.

"So how's about we celebrate your birthday properly this time around, sweetheart?"

You can actually feel the rumbling timbre vibrating from Leon's chest straight to your molten core as he seals his vow with a bruising, breathtaking kiss destined to leave you utterly drunk and delirious for hours to come...

[natalyarose]

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓴𝓻𝓪𝓼 & 𝓑𝓸𝓭𝔂 𝓛𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮

Many moons 🌝 ago, I used to offer online readings. Chart readings, tarot readings, and drawings lol- but my favourite type of readings to do, were intuitive chakra readings. I loved doing these the most, because it felt like the insight I could offer was a very direct, hands on way of helping others. Astrological readings can be incredibly helpful and even life/perception altering, but chakra readings are just so- personal, hands on. I love the calm and simplicity of: 'okay, here's the problem energetically and here's how to fix it.' No need to get too philosophical or thoughts-y about it, your body knows what's up too. Which brings me to what I set out to write about!

Aside from intuition, one of the glaringly clear ways I've gone about reading people's chakras and identifying blockages, is through body language and tension. Every human being has a unique story, a delicious buffet of personal experiences spanning throughout lifetimes that informs the way they conduct themselves. In my eyes, there's no one rulebook on how energy (chakras in particular) behave, but I can talk about things I've noticed.

There's a lot talked about in the way of Chakras & the energetic body directly correlating to forms of illness, but not as much conversation relating to everyday noticeable ways in which people carry themselves. I love to bridge Spiritual information directly into the physical realm. Connecting esoterica with scientifically known truths in our world, and directly understanding Chakras through body language seen and interpreted with the naked eye feels so natural to me.

So generally, when a chakra is blocked, we're going to see body language and tensions conveying that: clear signs of muscle tension in that area, a look of being closed off or uncomfortable on that part of their body, sometimes body language and conversational hand gestures that seem as if they are trying to distract someone from seeing that area of their body. As humans, we really prefer not to draw attention to our vulnerabilities & wounds. Some people might portray a sense of 'shrinking into themself' in that area. Posture issues. Then of course we're going to see health issues relating to those areas. We're going to see external life experiences and events manifested by that blockage- but that's another story.

I'm going to go through each of the primary 7 chakras and detail physically observable body language signs of blockage:

DISCLAIMER: some of these things alone of course do not immediately point to a chakra blockage, use discernment. Also, you don't need to relate to these things to still have a significant blockage. These are just observations.

Root Chakra ~ Muladhara

This is a difficult chakra for me to keep balanced in my own energetic body, so I'm very familiar with the signs here.

restless legs- someone who's very fidgety, seems a little flighty in their movements, can't seem to sit still or get comfortable.

leaning against walls and feeling a need to sit down a lot - when the Root Chakra is struggling, it can feel like an uphill battle just holding your own physical weight as the Root is meant to be the energetic pillar.

when sitting in chairs, rarely having both feet on the ground- someone with a blocked Root Chakra is quite literally going to struggle to keep their feet still and calm on the physical ground. They're going to be swinging their legs around, sitting on one foot, etc. just things that signify they're not feeling totally grounded and connected to the Earth.

Sacral Chakra ~ Svadhisthana

You know how you get those dudes, usually teenage/early 20s boys who walk around with their pelvic area kinda jutted out? Think of the rappers back in the day who would wear the super baggy pants lol. It sounds odd to explain, but like their core area is sunken in and there is an emphasis on the hip area. That's a sign of an overactive Sacral Chakra to me- or more accurately, an underactive Solar Plexus Chakra & the Sacral energetically compensating (ie. a lack of purpose, will, drive and instead indulging in sex, intimacy, and other pleasures in an addictive manner). A blockage in the Sacral Chakra is going to look like the opposite of this.

withdrawn pelvic area posture-wise. Sometimes the Solar Plexus might overcompensate, so the posture will be strong and even overbearing in the core area, giving a very controlled look visually.

physically standing very seperate distance-wise from others even in intimate conversation.

very rigid, controlled movements. Robotic movements. someone who is struggling to get into a calm, flow state emotionally is going to reflect that in the way they conduct themselves.

often the Throat Chakra is also affected when the Sacral is blocked since the disconnection from flow state will often make a person very restricted with what they say and how they express themselves. So often these people will hang their necks low or hold tension in that area.

Solar Plexus Chakra - Manipura

The Solar Plexus Chakra is the seat of our will, known as the 'seat of the soul'. Manipura relates to the words manipulate, manifest. The Solar Plexus is responsible for animating our being, enlivening us with the energy and drive required to fulfil our chosen purpose. In general, as you can imagine, someone with a blocked Solar Plexus is going to look tired, very sad and dejected, like the energy has been sapped out of them. More specifically, we're looking at:

as mentioned earlier, sunken in core area and sometimes an over emphasised hip area in body language-wise as sometimes when a chakra is blocked, the chakra(s) on either side will become more active or at least seem more active since the system is out of balance.

sunken shoulders- our core area is largely responsible for all of our upper body strength, so when the Solar Plexus Chakra is blocked the shoulders can be very sunken and the arms can look very flimsy, sort of like puppet. It kinda makes sense- if we are lacking the strength in Manipura (connected to the words manipulate, manifest) required to effectively manipulate our own energy and direction, we become like a puppet, easily manipulated.

Heart Chakra ~ Anahata

When the Heart Chakra is blocked, we see a person who has become somehow jaded in their perception of love. I always love using the word 'jaded' to describe a blocked Heart Chakra, because a healthy Heart Chakra is a vibrant, vivacious green.

closed off heart-space physically- bunching the shoulders around the chest area. It always gives me this visual of almost like creating an energetic cave.

tense shoulders and upper back

not meeting people halfway in conversation (like leaning closer to hear better, conversational body language mirroring).

not a lot of use of hand gestures in conversation or if there is, the gestures are punchy and unpleasant rather than gently and graceful.

often with a blocked Heart Chakra, I see the Throat chakra overcompensating, so the posture might look like the head/neck area is jutted out. The neck area may look very red like it's hot (too much energy in the one place). Socially we're going to see a person who is fairly over-opinionated, not very willing to listen to others, callous in their opinions.

Throat Chakra - Vishuddha

The Throat Chakra is the energetic centre correlating to self expression and communication. When this is blocked we're going to see a person who is having a difficult time communicating their truths, needs & desires. We're often going to see:

neck hung low, sometimes shoulders by extension too

hearing issues and frequent miscommunications in conversation

TMJ (jaw tension). Teeth grinding can also be a sign. Just any signs of lack of balance in the whole neck/mouth/jaw area.

classic social anxiety signs such as nervousness maintaining eye contact.

stuttering, forgetting what you were saying in the middle of saying it.

Third Eye Chakra - Ajna

This one gets a little more elusive because of where the Third Eye Chakra is situated, but like with others; often I can sense a blockage when there is a sense of overactivity in surrounding chakras. We'll see issues with the physical eyes sometimes. The third eye is all about perception, perceiving the 'space in-between'. A person who is open to all possibilities and free from bias is naturally going to be fed a consistent stream of intuitive information. Often blockages in the Third Eye actually have more to do with blockages in lower Chakras... eg. someone with a blocked Root may perceive the world as a scary place and lack trust, so they may misread situations, be impatient and skittish and close themselves off to seeing possibilities beyond their fears. You can have a very open Third Eye but tainted perception from other Chakra blockages. Some physical signs of disturbance in this area:

blurry vision, tunnel vision

holding a lot of tension in the brow area, constant furrowing the brow- this however can also be a sign that the Third Eye is overactive (compensating).

Similarly to the Heart Chakra, the energy in the Throat Chakra can sometimes compensate for a blockage in the Third Eye so again we may see someone who physically, posture-wise, etc. puts a lot of emphasis on their Throat area.

Alternatively, the Crown Chakra can overcompensate and we can see someone who bypasses seeing/perceiving their own raw authentic experiences by laying it all down to a higher power.

Crown Chakra - Sahasrara

The Crown Chakra represents our overall connection to the divine on Earth, higher realms, spirit, etc. While the Third Eye is our ability to perceive these things as well as Earthly things, the Crown is our overall connection to the Universe, to God. The Crown Chakra is deemed to sit at the Crown of the head, some say it kinda hovers above the head (I personally feel it to be affecting the entire area). So here are some clues in body language pertaining to a potential blockage:

hanging the literal crown of one's head down low is the main physical body language/postural symptom I can think of right now - I'll edit to add more if I think of it, but like the Third Eye Chakra, the Crown Chakra is more 'elusive' and mental/spiritual in nature.

Thankyou for reading, and I hope this has been interesting or even helpful to someone out there! <3 Energy work & other spiritual matters don't have to be super 'up in the air' and like I said, I love grounding the knowledge. Heaven and Earth aren't as seperate as we think!