#tips pragmatic

[batri-jopa]

Heart hunting for love

I think it might look nice on a t-shirt but I never made one. And now it doesn't fit my AroAce mood any more😉

[devintrinidad]

*screams in delight*

I don’t usually splurge for extravagant gifts for myself, but I just had to! A few days ago, I got myself three new ink refills for my pens for professional use, but I got myself five new pens that are just too adorable!

They all have black ink with tips that are 0.5mm and my gosh!!! They write so well!

The little girl mascot is so adorable and I love the pastel colors for the exterior of the pens! Plus, gotta love the acrylic (is that what it’s called???) little things at the top of the pen that also functions as a clip so I can attach it to my notebook or whatever.

So adorable!

There was also a Spy X Family themed one, but I was already spending too much and I’m more of a casual watcher anyway.

[aydascomprehendsubtext]

I feel like many people are not loving this recent nva ep but I think while tonal and tactics critiques make a lot of sense to me I personally am just not convinced that stay and talk it out is a viable strategy when facing the traumatized members of a doomsday cult

[moondirti]

ANGEL OF SMALL DEATH [ john price x f! reader ]

: he sees you when his vices take hold. little love, invented. chimeric, he assumed - until you're not.

mdni. noncon; addiction (nicotine and alcohol); SSRIs; intoxication; breeding kink; daddy kink; hallucinations; kidnapping; drugging; objectification; slut-shaming; sexual harassment; violence; bondage; vomiting; guns; suicide, murder, pregnancy, spanking and branding mentions. 7k.

a/n: have yall seen ruby sparks? yeah imagine that but worse

John's always had his fixes.

He remembers the hysterics. Five and wet behind the ears, lungs scoured raw of anguish when his mum hadn't let him sup the vanilla extract. It's not what you'd expect, hun. But the child-sized idée fixe, destructive in its naivety, turned its head at the implication. He stuck his nose to the bottle's cap, got a whiff of it unfiltered, and revolted; how could it taste like anything but the ambrosia it promised?

Or, who was she to deny he try?

(His resistance to authority can be spoored there. A miasmic trail back to youth, stinking something foul. It had been a Sisyphean effort, pyrrhic, when he enlisted. Burnishing odour only to find, without it, there was nothing left for them to make use of.)

So – red-faced, tousled pyjamas at 2200, balanced atop a chair as his parents snored soundly on the couch – he snuck a teaspoon for himself.

It was foul, of course. A calcine irritation that clawed on its way down his throat, baring raw tissue in its wake. He hid his coughs behind his sleeves, vision cloudy with tears as he put everything back where it belonged – not disappointed so much as he was committed, he thinks. Because the very next night, he came back to try it again.

And again, and again.

Like clockwork, he tipped the small vial up onto his tongue and hoped it would pass into something different. Obsessive. Ruinous monomania. His dreams sprung into caliginous visions that detailed nothing but the phantom touch of it to his tongue; this taste, syrupy sweet like nothing he would find in comfits and puddings and pies.

(In hindsight, all it did was teach him how to embrace the burn.)

It only stopped when his mum woke to him voiding his guts in an old popcorn bowl. Poison control, buoyant levity clipped over the rotary phone, told her that it happens all the time. Kids go looking for a midnight snack and think vanilla will hit the spot. Our suggestion is to settle for alternatives until he's old enough to know better. Hydrate in the meanwhile.

– know better.

It's hard to say he does.

His wants still have wants, have asinine wants, that which keep him so late into the night that it's dawn before he falls comatose. Sunk into a leather wingback, the space of his parlour more smoke than it is air, contemplating keeping a warm body in these hinterlands. Helplessly soft, pretty. Fixated on that faceless something, burrowed beneath his sweet tooth again.

But on the wrong side of forty, he's honed prudence like a well-oiled firearm. Custom so things run smoothly, though not one he finds necessary if it weren't for convention. He knows his job would cut in on the upkeep, month long absences like a disease to whoever he manages to snare. It'll kill them, slowly, holed up in this home alone.

(When his parents did away with the extract, he tore the curtains and scribbled on their walls. A boy's green version of withdrawal, deprived of his favourite vice. He's never considered sobriety for that very reason – he's bad even with a maduro in hand.

And the thing about people, they're never so easy to replenish.)

Age besets everything. Counters them, grown as he is. Pragmatic.

Still. To say he knows better is... faulty, flawed. Not when he fists his cock to those fantasies and stirs on all the ways he can bring them to light. Early retirement (a prompt no; he's just as dependant on the field), or multiple little loves to keep each other company, his house turned an Arcadia of nymphs (though he tires to think of wrangling more than one, and the idea diffuses like sugar steeped in tea.)

It's on his fourth- fifth iteration that John starts to see it for what it really is. That this – a darling wife to curl between his legs – is like the imagined taste of vanilla extract. Too good to ever be made true. At least for a man of his ilk, whose bloody hands slip around nirvana. Unearned. Chained to purgatory so long as he weighs sins against the greater good. He wasn't meant for the finer things in life.

So he sticks to what he has. Old familiars. Noxious inhibitors, palmed for upwards of ten pounds, crafted for old dodgers like himself. Tobacco, dry whiskey. Nicotine to spout fire to his hindbrain. Cheap, easy accesses that sate the itch behind his eyes, so long as he lights another.

Ouroboros. It feeds itself and lasts.

(Until you come off the tail end that is, and sever the loop with your own, clever little hands.)

You pose a different kind of problem.

It starts after Serbia. Hounding across the Carpathian mountains for the better part of a winter has detrimental effects, see. And though he eventually locates the bunker Laswell's informants alerted them to, he comes out of it changed – head fixed the wrong way around, skin flaking over off a mulish swell of anger. Going back home is an ordeal when his body acclimatised to find warmth in the frost, talking to Stygian shadows like comrades. Necessitated madness revoked.

Because all of a sudden, everything is too comfortable. Vibrant. Nothing hurts enough to match the stress still ricocheting within him, and the imbalance threatens to capsize. The doctors prescribe SSRIs, tell him to keep it separate, Captain, when their eyes skim that part of his file that notes him as a habitual drinker – so he switches from bourbon to Canadian whiskey, like the ABV will make a difference.

(That inveterate defiance, rearing its ugly head once more.)

And really, he doesn't get what all the fuss is about.

The static in his head flatlines, white noise taking its slot. It's the greatest peace he's found since his bunkmate at boarding school stuck a joint between his teeth and told him to suck. Like fog wearing over a hill, his thoughts grow muddied, loose and abandoned once he can't tell which way is up or where the sky ends.

And the wants, the very same he's long since buried, come back with a vengeance. Unchanged, for the most part (he doubts they were ever dead in the first place) yet manifested differently, like they're privy to the scepticism that killed them last.

(Reveries no longer disembodied, shuddering old film onto the backs of his eyes, but projected into the dark corners of his house, instead.)

He hears your laugh, first. It is early March and easter endorsements already shade the telly in garish joie de vivre, corporations fighting for a foot in your spring celebrations! Buy an egg-dying kit and get one free, hurry before it's too late! John doesn't remember turning it on, can hardly feel the remote in his hands, but that acedia ebbs once the sound of it meets his ears. The sound of you–

Jingle-bell mischievous, he knows it has no place amidst the foolish ditties of spring. He turns the T.V. off, sitting upright in his chair, ears piqued in every direction as he waits for it again.

From the kitchen: another breathless titter, tapped from a chest too delicate to be mistaken for the howling winds outside. When he rises to inspect the source, he swipes the spare gun he uses to foot a broken table, trigger finger dangling bonelessly by the grip. Good to have it there, just in case, though he's confident he won't need to resort to such measures to neutralise you – not if you equal the Zephyr-like quality of your voice.

(Paranoia, it seems, is another effect of downing his meds with Crown Royal. Had he been less inebriated, he would have remembered that his doors are double bolted, and that there's no one out for miles.)

But what he expects to find, luminous between the birch cupboard rows, is not there. His kitchen is as empty as it's always been.

So, they might have warned him about it. He might have avoided this whole thing had he listened. But things snowball when he grasps what's happening. Calamitous uptake; it invades his dreams again, and his dreams invade reality.

(If he cannot have what he wants within the provident constrictions of life, then what's the harm in indulging himself, if only a little.)

Soon enough, he sees glimpses of you wherever he looks.

Sylphic figure come to haunt him. Light bounces through you, your flesh gossamer-like. Diaphanous. He thinks you cannot be crafted that way if not to accent the dark, wet rims of your eyes. The lightning-branched veins etched to all four extremities. Nipples like petals, touched alluringly to your breasts. He thinks you cannot be fictitious – he's never been an inventive man, and the impish flick of your lips reads as familiar, somehow. Dancing on the tip of his tongue, or a song he's heard once and never again. Like he's taken to it before–

His memory swishes like watered nectar in this state. It's impossible to place.

Still–

So long as you continue to appear as fine mist does, chasing the throttles of his high, John's a happy man. He need not tell you anything; you already know his name, what it is he likes. You sway to imagined tunes (later, he couples it to the erratic drumming of his heart) and jump nimbly around his legs, winding and tangling and falling right through them when he wishes to see you stumble.

You don't talk much, either. He has yet to whet the finer points of your being, work out what makes you tick or how you'd enunciate your words. It's an eggshell process. Fragile. Some nights, he'll imagine you with a cadence that doesn't quite fit, and you'll stutter like a faulty motor before shattering from view. To avoid disillusionment, he has to be careful. Extend a platter of properties for you to choose from, picky thing, and watch as you notch them on your tongue, testing.

You'll get this look on your face as you do. Contemplative, lips pursed for a moment before you shrug and slide down to decorate his feet, arms stretched across his ottoman like willow branches over a creek. It would put him off if it were anyone else, but he's eternally endeared to you.

The first time you speak, it's to call him out on that.

'Naturally.' You giggle, twirling your phantom fingers in the tufts of his leg hair. 'You have to like something in order for me to present it. Or is that not how it works?'

He doesn't think so.

"You tell me, little one. If that were the case, why disappear when I try something you aren't keen on, hm?" His words are slurred, strung together hastily, like his tongue hasn't the strength to articulate each in full. You understand him anyway, of course, scrunching your nose.

'I don't know.'

"Think, then."

You shuffle straighter on your knees.

'Maybe I want to be just right for you, daddy. Not all your ideas are great.'

John jerks his leg admonishingly, the joint of it passing right through you. It causes you to blink out of existence for a second, and his throat twists uncomfortably around the new darkness. Loneliness hurts more, harrows deeper, now that he's unused to it.

But you come back, straddling his hips this time. You always do

(So long as he keeps sipping, the glass in his hand sweating cool condensation into his skin. His cigar slowly smoulders away in a nearby ashtray, waiting for the uptake.)

"Mm, thought I lost ya." And if you were there – really there, he thinks – he'd wrap your hair in a fat fist and angle your head roughly down onto his. His arms lay flat to his sides, however. Restless.

'No.' You don't exhibit the same discretion. You smooth down his bare chest, ironing his scars until he feels brand new again. Whole as a kid. 'Haven't you heard? I have a tongue now, and all I wanna do is talk.'

"Is that right?" He hums, half-lidded eyes watch the space between your knees widen. Like Artemis in her waters, cursing Actaeon to the jowls of his dogs – you love teasing him when you know he cannot do anything about it, destined to be torn apart by his inborn desire.

'Well, what else is there?'

And if not for that one thing, John would be content to live like this forever.

(Two, if you count his prescription quickly running out.)

Routine lasts about a fortnight, if his taking of time is to be trusted.

Staged courting, you call it. A production of how typical romances go. When the sky bruises, opening up like the ripe flesh of a plum, he'll knock back two tablets using the last dregs of his afternoon whiskey and wait for you to come home to him. You look stunning when you arrive; naked, your body soft and creased and effulgent. And while it depends on how his day's been, more often than not, you'll imitate rubbing his feet as he tells you about everything – paperwork and the taskforce and state secrets (does confidentiality count towards figments of his high?) – before he's settled enough to cut to the chase.

Yet he runs out of patience for it as time hauls on. Avidity amasses, tumorigenic need cramping his chest. One day, he stops you from kneeling at all. 

"No need for that, sweet thing." He orders with a stiff grunt. There's no justification as to why, though it's clear you sense it already. The fraying strings of his sanity, that which you bat at like a playful kitten, have started to unravel dangerously close to what is holding it all together. "Just do what you do best, hm?"

(The best you can do–)

'Yes, daddy.'

Ever-dutiful, despite the monotony. There are no arguments with you, no taming and fights unless he's in a particularly aggressive mood. The only indication of your disappointment (not yours so much as it is his in himself) is the wet flutter of your lashes, the poking harlequin pout.

Both disappear from view when you turn your back to him and bend at the hip, small hands stretching to dig into your behind. His cock is out in no time – was practically tearing at his pant's seams, really – thrumming painfully hard, leaking onto his stomach when you pull apart either cheek like dough.

Your pussy spreads, glimmering under a matting of wiry hair. Arousal (feigned, imagined, projected–) webs your thighs together, swollen clit budding at the end of your mons. Apple of Eden; his jerks are awkward, uncoordinated, in comparison. Human. There's a twinge in his wrist from working himself almost daily.

His teeth taste like tobacco and spice, sleep clinging to the roof of his mouth. Would you eclipse it with your sweet-sour tang? He pictures taking you; stuffing his nose right below the tight rim of your ass so his tongue can lave over your slit. Working you open with his tongue. You'd soak the hair around his lips, and he'd press harder in response.

John spoils you rotten in his dreams. You know it, too, toes wiggling where you stand a few feet away. How cruel that he shouldn't get the chance to, then – that he has to consume his fixes to stop them from taunting him, and you're God's way of saying that he can't always get what he wants.

Carrot on a fucking stick. He's made an arse of. And worse yet–

He can't cum, no matter how enticingly you stand there. His palms are too calloused, nerves grown bored of their rough drag. Every jerk is a barely-there sensation. Surface level. Shallow. Like a rock skipping across a lake that never manages to sink.

(It never did amount to what you do to him in his head. But it seems as though his body has finally caught on to what the rest of him already knew.

That this – this tragic, autogenous slaking of carnal desire – can not continue on forever.)

He groans, paralysis needling painfully up his neck. It echoes like anger and holds none of the punch.

Breaking position, you twist to assess the newborn tension.

'Shhhh,' You coo. There's no judgement in your glassy eyes, none that can perceive (or wants to see). Rather, it's all pure love, a whisper of distress, and devotion. His little love, so perfect besides this one thing. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry.'

"Not your fault." Hoarse. Broken.

(Who has he become?)

'I'd help you if I could. Let you take whatever you wanted from me, you wouldn't even have to ask.'

He'd been the one to initiate it, but the prospect of his orgasm is long abandoned when you perch on the armrest, laying your head near his. He has nowhere else to put his hands, so he keeps them cupped between his thighs – and if he suspends utilitarianism for long enough, can almost believe that they're yours, instead.

"That's nice, little one."

He imagines your warmth, the soft comfort of your bosom, as sleep encroaches on his periphery. You'd cup the tired weight of his head and lay it on your lap, there to stay until he awakes to birdsong. There in the morning light.

Thus the minutes tick by in quiet melancholy. He's halfway layered in the pelts of hypnagogia before you speak again.

'You should visit town tomorrow. Mail something home for Mother's Day maybe, and stop by the grocer's for eggs. You're all out.'

He hasn't seen greater society for almost a month.

A wicked hangover splits his skull, worming its claws into the soft matter of his brain. John had initially set out to do as you bid him – find a nice present for his mum and stock up for the next few weeks' hibernation – but the throngs of people crowding home goods and the jewellers make his condition worse, so he resolves to call her on the day and heads straight to the market instead.

Eggs, you said. He needs a lot more than that. Water and red meat and perhaps something that leaks grease when fried. Cucumbers, yoghourt, granola, too. Milk or juice, never both because he can't commit to finishing them before their best-by date. Fruit. Cookies.

The list grows exponentially as he surveys the colourful aisles, under eyes tender to the touch. If it weren't for the cart carrying most of his weight, he would have toppled over already, his chest dipped over the handle, wheels barreling forward. The store's empty enough that he doesn't worry about clipping someone's ankles. For now, it's just him.

Always that. Just him, and–

"Ah!"

Fuck.

"Are you alright?" He defaults, lurching to pluck the rolling oranges off the floor. It necessitates far more exertion than he can handle at the moment. The woman he ran into catches what bowls from his reach.

"Oh, yes! So sorry, that one's on me." She laughs, nervous. The nature of it – gentle, shaky like the beat of a butterfly's wing – rouses a near Pavlovian response in him, pleasantries crystallising between his teeth, hard as pearls. He coasts a suspicious look up, but her head stays bowed as she piles everything into her basket, arched baseball cap obscuring her features. "I insist on carrying everything, see, then it gets too much for me and the baskets are the nearest thing, and you know how heavy those can get if you do some serious shopping, don't you?. Honestly, I never learn. How silly."

The wonder shatters. He cringes, eyelids pruning shut to gather his sore thoughts in the sudden clammer. Talks too much, too loud. He finds it hard to tolerate anything but singsong whispers these days.

(On him, he knows.)

Unceremonious, they both stand. John extends the final orange, appraising the products she tucks it between rather than look back up at her. Sugar, butter, eggs, flour. And a hefty heap of citrus, of course. Odd.

She seems to think the same, breaking the awkward lull first.

"Big family?" The question is clearly well-intentioned – posed to the stacked contents of his cart. No well-adjusted man would hoard as many perishables for himself, not with the grocer's as accessible as it is. But John is not well-adjusted in any sense of the word, especially in the past few months. All her prying does, then, is inflame the irritation dusting his throat, kneading salt into the wound.

How incredibly unfortunate timing.

"Gingivitis?" He clips back. His hangover makes regret a hard thing to reach, though given she doesn't take offence to his snipe.

"Ouch, okay." She laughs, more lighthearted than before. It reminds him of you (you, is anything its own thing anymore?) and John feels a fire light his heels. Agitation to get back home. "No, I'm making orange shortbread for the old folks at the nursing home. Needed to replenish a few things. I haven't baked in a while."

"How nice."

"'Tis the season! Erm– I mean. Y'know, with Mother's Day."

(Later, when he's staring at his fingers, sozzled like a cat on cream, he replays this conversation over in his head like he'll be able to change its outcome. Had he been alert, he'd have picked up on it by now. Christmas platitudes in spring – who else did he know with such transgressive peculiarities?

Captain Price wouldn't have missed it. Unfortunately for him, he left that intensity between powdered ice and silver firs.)

"Anyway." She coughs. He didn't realise he was expected to respond, stare lingering on the exit some distance away, keen to see this end. In his periphery, her cap tips down, supply list clutched in fidgety hands as she reads down the line of ingredients. He forces his attention back to the moment, training his eyes on the curve of her skull. "Just one thing left. Um, should be down hereeeee–"

Her head tilts up again, searching for the aisle markers overhead.

And it's–

Painful. Like the rip release of every organ seizes simultaneously, domino discharge down his spine. Ribs flush suddenly into the flaring muscle of his heart, which thrashes wildly against the corral, desperate to see itself out. To reach across this empty space and leech on to the delicate features that come into view. His brain – startled out of its judiciousness – blares I told you so's to the hot rush of blood behind his ears. Marrow melts to oil his joints, unmooring their structural integrity, and his breakfast threatens to disgorge and make for a foul first impression.

(John always thought revelations came kindly, that they blossomed in the neglected forks of life. Like a summer boscage, or the gentle, prying hands of a monarch escaping its cocoon. How can divulgence be anything but soft, and refined? How would the world grapple with them if otherwise?

He sees it now for what it is.

The world would have no choice.)

"Vanilla extract." You shake your list, smiling at him – a vivid, honest smile – before you brush right out of view.

He tells himself this doesn't change things. No matter how you like to argue the opposite.

'I don't see why not, daddy. Don't you want me, too?'

More than he'd like anything else in the world. But it's back again, that reaper of dreams poison control once foretold. Know better. He does, at least to the extent that bringing you here – tying you to his bed posts like he so desperately wants to do – is not the best idea. His age, his job, his incessant fucking wants, all pave their own desire paths; some more practical than others but less tempting as a result.

He knows how loneliness kills. At least he's built for it, but you?

"Work complicates things, little one."

John finds it all unfurling before him, the coffin housing his fears unhinged.

(You, dead by your own hands or worse, made vulnerable to the brutes he works against. Not a possibility when you're linked to him like this, hallucinatory, unreal, but you – the you he saw earlier today – aren't any of those things.)

'You don't really believe that, do you?'

You're never so argumentative. He sucks his teeth, waving a hand through your hips. And it must snub you so, for you disappear like smoke beneath a cloudburst of rain.

No matter. He doesn't need the temptation finding him.

(That is, until an answer finds him first.)

He phones home for Mother's Day, and she asks for updates for any lucky miss he would call his.

In the borders of his vision, you're hunched over the persian rug that was a gift from an associate for a job well done. Your feet cross over each other, fingers working idly at pretending to braid the fringed edge. The sight gets the better of him, adorable, and he briefly considers switching his answer from the usual – wish you'd stop fretting, it's not doing your health any favours – until sense catches on. He wouldn't know how to deal with the questions.

"No."

"What a shame. I know you're busy with that job and all, John," Because his mother never addresses the big risk to her son's life by name. "but you really should work on making me some grandbabies, before I pass on to the earth."

"Please, mum. Don't start with that nonsense–"

"No! It's any day now, you know it as well as I do." She tuts. He remembers her hands – tracing cool patterns onto his scalp that night, back when he was five and only concerned with the best taste his mouth could fathom. He remembers, and thinks of the wrinkled stretch of them now. "Take this as my last word of wisdom! Family will be the one thing you have when those milking tosser's decide to do away with you. Family, John!"

He chokes back a sigh.

"Yeah. So you've said."

Family. So bloody simple, isn't it?

Iron-wrought key, right under his nose this whole time.

His last two pills frown at him from behind their orange confines, two-toned and unassuming. He could get more if he so pleased, but the hope is that they won't be necessary after tonight.

Carried by the bourbon that blazes down his gullet, they go down smoothly. Soon enough, you appear, summoned, as he laces his boots.

"Does it hurt you, sweet thing?" He finally asks, punching an arm through his windbreaker's sleeve. April showers carry bracingly after dusk, weatherproof attire a functional choice. 

That is to say, the towel in his pocket isn’t for him. 

You gain that elvish look to your face, of the same variety he fell in love with when you first appeared to him. He often forgets how otherworldly you can be; radiant, inhuman vision. Your mirror isn't so... remarkable. Frizzy hair, fleshly, bleeding behind round cheeks. Perhaps that's the appeal.

'F'course not. It is me, after all.'

"Is it?" The front door clicks behind him, new-washed breeze pushing it into place. It feels final, like casting his decision in stone.

'Hmm,' You pretend to think for a long, long while, prancing a solid two paces behind no matter what speed he sets. A new moon blights the fields around his home, sparse raindrops reflecting only your glowing figure. It lights the way until he reaches the skirts of town, when street lamps bleed gold down onto him. Only then do you speak again. 'I should think so, yes. Take a left here.'

John does as you say.

'Though she won't be as receptive to it all. Right.'

He turns right.

'You’ll have to decide how to deal with that.'

"I'd appreciate a few pointers."

'What do you think I'm doing, daddy?' You murmur, materialising before him as he comes up on an avenue known for its nightlife. 'Take a right here and keep going.'

"And you?" He asks, though he already knows the answer.

'I'll be there.' 

You are. Though you’re not alone. 

Two cretins crowd you into a brick wall, lanky arms anchored by your head to form a flimsy aviary. John hears their badgering a block away; crowing voices, placatory promises they wouldn’t be able to uphold even if they knocked back a viagra each. The wind carries it, works their whispers into fine dust. Powder. Negligible. He’s seen this dance before – this dreadful caper, a little bit of force behind what is otherwise an insipid show – but he’s usually above such drama. The men he keeps know not to ask for what they want. Not when it hazards a bird flapping out of reach. 

You’ve got to clip their wings, first.

Though you look like you’d be indebted to any sort of hero. The hem of your dress rides up your thigh, snapping away from restive hands. Shortening what is already… He resolves to admonish you about it later, traipsing closer to the scene. Given your ornament, he can’t blame these men beyond covetous reason, but he won’t topple it onto you either. 

Everything flays out before him. Of the bunch, you demand the slyest hand.

“C’mon, love. It isn’t that far of a walk.”

“Yeah. You’re pissed out of yer mind a’ready. Can’t go home now, huh?” 

“Would be so cute between us both.” 

“The best. Look at those wide eyes.” 

“Busy checkin’ out the arse on her, but I’ll get to her eyes in a minute.” 

Your face crumbles in on itself. He’s closer now. Can make out the mascara painting black tracks down your cheeks, lips smeared by the rain – or, the alternative, pecking vultures having claimed them already. Either way, a green-eyed serpent seethes in the curls of his gut, blood imbued venom coursing. He feels it wind, poising for attack, strength compressed into a tight ball of anger. 

Then, when one of them – ginger, juvenile – snakes a hand between your legs, it strikes. 

He rips his gun from the inner lining of his coat. The other kid is shorter, more on edge, so John doesn’t worry about the force it’d take to daunt him. When the cold press of his muzzle fixes to his companion’s temple, he dashes away with a pathetic screech, tripping over the loose ends of his shoelaces. Par for the course. Weasel.

The ginger isn’t so lucky. 

“You get off on scaring defenceless girls, lad?” He barks into his ear, one hand gripping both floundering wrists. The boy cringes, fear rattling his throat. Any response he tries to shape turns out a nasally wheeze. 

“P-Please-”

“Shut your fucking trap. You’d have a better shot at mercy carving your little cock off.” 

“I w-wo– we were just-t having fun. No harm… harm done, right?” The pleas recourse to you. In his periphery, John registers your frown. Half-hearted. Scared still – of both the unfamiliar, violent men. He peels the commotion two steps back to show he means no harm. 

(To his narrow definitions, of course. His plans for you constitute harm in anyone else’s book. He’s sure that, if you were wise to them, you’d slip in the other direction.)

“She doesn’t seem to think so.”

“No! No, p-please, p–” He silences the boy with a pistol-whip, blunt end of the gun breaking skin off his jaw. The message couldn’t have been clearer – twice now, he’s demanded silence – but no one seems to listen. His cries peak, out-of-tune in the pitter-patter shower. Tortured, like a mangled cat.

“Here’s what you’re going to do, yeah?” The air flutters around you. He’s trained to tread carefully, like you’ll disappear at any moment. Better make this quick, then. “You’re going to go home, lock your windows, and try to sleep with an eye open tonight. The young lady’s welfare matters more than your fate, but I don’t forget. There will be a time where I come to break every finger off your hand. Enjoy them in the meanwhile.”

Perfunctory, he shoves him to the muddy floor. Blood joins the streams sluicing to the sewers, inky swirls of gore a welcome sight. He hasn’t felt this alive since–

Well, since Serbia.

And the boy must see the predatory gleam in his eyes. The dead, inbred callousness. Shark out of the water. Knows what’s good for him as the fin breaks the surface, rows of teeth just underneath, because he runs off before they can snap around his clumsy legs. 

(You, on the other hand, don’t have that instinct. Instead, you blubber, seal on a floating icecap. 

And dive headfirst into his jowls.)

“T-Thank you, I can’t thank you enough. I- My friends left me and I didn’t have a ride home and no one was picking up my calls so I thought it would be safe to ask them, but I couldn’t have predicted how nasty they’d be. Really, they seemed like nice guys–” 

John censures you with a stare. 

“You should know better than to be out at this time.” 

He’s gotten good at imagining your responses. He needn’t hear what you have to say next. Before you can even open your mouth, the chloroform-doused towel in his pocket is out and pasted to your pretty face. 

There’s a brief pause where he expects you to fall through to the floor. But your body slumps, ragdoll boneless, right into his arms.

That’s what brings him here. 

Here: cotton rope hitching your elbows together behind your back, a column of square-knots parallel to both arms. It was what he managed while you were unconscious. Could have managed more – so much more, tick off the beginnings on a cosmic index of all the things he wants to fucking do with you – if it weren’t for patchy effort. He went a little rabid, see. Clipped off the leash, chain to the doghouse broken. Saw the time better spent fondling your supple curves, your body lax beneath his. 

Weakened or willing, it doesn’t matter so much as you’re corporeal. That he can.

(A book he bought as a much younger man details seven different ways to harness a chest. If he had a grip, he would have seen to it – your breasts purpling, ensnared in a lattice of his own construction. It’s this new, foul fascination. How many ways can a body bend before it breaks? He’s never been mindful of the line before, on the field, but he’s got one to do with as he pleases, now.) 

Little one. New toy, fix. His wife.

You process it all in your own time, sleepy eyes peeling open to find that you’re no longer in some dingy alleyway. Though your hair has yet to dry, he’s made good work of paring the damp dress off your form, the steady warmth of a fireplace making for a gentle come-to. John takes it as encouragement when a tired yawn splits your mouth, lips quirking up. Smiling. 

“Look at you.” He hums, thumb working quicker over your clit. With legs notched apart, your cunt’s been made vulnerable, bared to every ministration he couldn’t wait to inflict until after you woke. Thus you’re already weeping a steady stream of slick, folds lacquered in arousal. Leaking down the line of your ass, too. Desperate thing. He scrutinises the sloppy mess of it, doughy and swollen and wet, shoulders flexing over the possessive swell in his throat.

It’s comical, the turnaround. Reality overruns your face, peaky infestation from his carcass to yours. Your eyes well with teary distress as you take him in. What a monster he must make; frothy longing turned savagery, held too long under the blighted mass of his tongue. Festered. Ugly. He sees it himself in the contrast of his skin and yours. Where you’re satin, all incandescent sweat-slicked stretch, he’s 60 grit sandpaper. Sun-hardened leather and crooked scars.

“Hnmphh!” 

But he can ignore that. Doesn’t have to concern himself with rejection, not when the bit gag between your teeth renders you mute. Simple knot sandwiched by your molars. Subtle. He doesn’t want it to hurt today – not any more than necessary, at least – but conversation has gotten old. There’s a reason he brought you home. Why thick fingers work your hole, breaking it to house something bigger. He isn’t interested in soft-soaping anymore.

(The two of you have had your honeymoon already.)

No. Purpose, he thinks. His mum laid it all out for him. A family to bear you company during those long weeks he isn’t home. Family, linchpin to making this all work. To crowd this house with not just one, or two, but multiple sweet things that’ll extinguish the lonely flame at its hearth. He celebrates it already – boisterous corners, crowded kitchens, the cable he pays for finally being put to use. 

And you–

“Promise I’ll suck that pretty pussy like I promised, little one. Just– fuck- daddy just has to do something first, yeah? You gonna be good for me?” John huffs, shucking his trousers to fish himself out of his pants. 

Your muffled protests launch into something else entirely, feral defiance compelling your limbs like electric shock. It’s fusillade, violent devastation. Your legs flail, unhinged, compensating for the lost mobility in your arms. He manages to slip his fingers out of your clutch and tuck a hand under either knee, but not before your heel connects to his jaw. As is true on the field, adrenaline primes a strong kick. Metallic warmth swathes the inside of his cheek, strength waning for a second.

And through it all, you have the audacity to cry. 

When he regains his bearings, anger has supplanted care. He hoists your thighs up onto your chest, calves upright in the air, and pushes a knee forcefully into the space exposed. It flattens your cunt with the pressure, clit crushing in on itself. Agony bulges fine lines at your temples, veins bloating as a miserable scream tears from your throat.  

“I’ll cane your ass raw if you keep up with this. Strike your hole until all you’ll feel for weeks is your punishment. That what you want, mm? Want the memory of our child’s conception to be filled with pain?” 

His nose fits to yours, beard tickling the canyon of your upper lip. It's intense, the proximity. Heat flush between you, sustained fire you can’t pull away from. John watches the hesitancy flit over your eyes, the reluctance of a burn, breaths erratic and shallow. You didn’t breathe, before. Didn’t need to. But he finds that he likes the new rhythm of it. Like watching the life drain from a quarry, game bleeding out into Serbian snow. He never thought he’d miss hunting for survival – not until he had you pressed to his side, lured from those other predators into something much worse. 

(And perhaps that’s what’s been absent, all along. You used to come too easy, allowed him to grow permissive and lazy. But this– 

His skin fits the moniker again. Captain, revitalised in his bones.)

You shake your head no, just as he rubs his cock along your entrance. 

The feeding is effortless. You practically draw him in, needy for it, walls conforming to the fat intrusion until his head nestles against a hard spot. Steel-wool pubes tangles in your own, scratching the sensitive hood of your clit as he adjusts to the balmy suffocation. Tight. So fucking tight, more so than he could have imagined, your struggle working against you as it contracts the muscles around the area. 

His teeth knock into yours, borderline bruising kiss closing the gap. Should he give it a moment’s breath, his lips would swell blue. But he keeps you to him, your reluctant mouth slow against his own – impeded by the gag and your own stubbornness, snivels sucked into his gluttonous abyss. It tastes like seawater and vanilla, the wires crossing in his brain. 

This, he thinks, is the taste he’s been searching for all his life.

This petty space separating you, a carpet of chest hair laid over our thighs. Breathing one another in, memorising the scars behind your cheeks. Pistoning into your cunt, making room for himself in the years and years to come. He’ll never get enough of you. You’ll never get enough of it – once you learn to embrace the pleasure wrought out of you. 

In due time.

He batters parallel to your cervix, plunging deep as he can go. You’re slippery with the effort, wet where you thrum fierce, depravity stringing the oscillating gap of your mons and his pelvis. Binds you to him like gauze on a day-old wound, sticky and raw, and you must be a masochist if the stiffening of your joints is anything to go by. Your pupils roll, stupid, to regard the back of your head. Fucked dumb. Nerves snapping, limbic system miswiring. 

“Can’t wait to see my seed take, have you grow round and glowing.” He growls, speaking into your cheek. The faint hints of your cologne, long faded under rain and sweat, cram temptingly into his synapses. It’s all he can do not to take a whole bite of you, now that he can. Wants to see the evidence of his ownership mark your skin; violent, a little bloody. Physical. Carnal. Imperfect presence honing in the fact that it is better than none at all. 

“Mmmmff,”  

“Yeah? Want me to keep you pumped full of my cum? Think that would be nice. Plugging you shut. Maybe suspending you upside down so it’s a sure process. How does that sound, sweet thing? Y’like it?” 

Your feet thump weakly on his back.

“Then cum. Go on, be a good girl f’me.” 

And with the orchestration of it all; your already tense pelvic floor, the rippling liquid of your eyes, the stifled voicing of your plight– 

John can’t tell whether or not you do. 

You tire yourself out, eventually. 

It’s much later; the rise of a new morning flooding his home in sheer blues, illuminating last night’s mess. Without the orange glow of firelight, it looks a lot less romantic. Torn clothes, cotton fibres. Body fluids matting the pelts he uses to break up the floors. He would have it in him to blanch at the forfeiture of his self-control, cringe a little for appearance sake. He’s grown, now. Should know better.

But there’s no one around. No one. Just him, christening a loveseat instead of his wingback, and– 

You, knocked out on his lap, rope burns raw up your arms.

(When you wake again, he’ll make it official. A passing of the torch, so to speak, from one fix to the next. He hasn’t a band, or really any certification to make it legal. But–

The lit end of his cigar should do. Touched, fittingly, to the proximal length of your ring finger.) 

John’s always had his fixes. 

He finds he’s finally had his fill when you cradle his child close to your breast, and reach out a hand for him, too.

i do not have a taglist. to be alerted when i post / update, please follow @moondirti-archive and turn on post notifs.

[charmedreincarnation]

Success story navigation

I've been getting so many asks with questions that feel like they can't be answered any differently than things I've already covered. It's as if I'm receiving the same queries over and over, and I understand the frustration that comes with feeling unheard. I've also received numerous messages from people who are really at the end of their journey, feeling lost and defeated. Whether it's because you've seen no progress despite your efforts, you've been at it for years without tangible results, or you've tried everything with no success, or perhaps your life has even gotten worse with the law or other obstacles – I get it, I truly do.

I want to address the overwhelming sense of despair that comes when you've exhausted every option for so many years and still see no light at the end of the tunnel. To those of you who feel like you're standing at a billions crossroads with nowhere to turn, to those who feel like you’ve put in years to this journey, to those who feel like you’re life has gotten worse even with the law, know that you're not alone. It's incredibly difficult when you've invested so much of yourself only to feel stuck or worse.

That's why I'm going to link success stories that I believe align with the mindset you likely have. By following their journey and tweaking it to suit your circumstances, hopefully, you can find the success they did.

There's nothing more I can say that I haven't already answered or said, but I hope these stories can provide a new perspective and the encouragement you need. May they guide you in finding the path that leads to the success you seek. Remember, it’s often at our lowest moments that we find the strength to rise again.

The ultimate success story with everything you need, mindset, tips, LOA, and Edward Art

For people who struggle with intrusive thoughts and mindset and want to use that to their advantage

My personal favorite success story

Simple Success story for those who prefer to affirm and persist

Very easy pragmatic success story (maba shortcut)

Age and years it took to succeed doesn’t matter success story

You can shift with desperation and bad circumstances success story

Yes you only need your imagination success story

Everything is possible stop asking

It's easy to feel alone, but remember that whatever you're going through, someone else has also faced similar challenges. We all start in different places; some may have an easier beginning than others, but we share the same equal potential to achieve greatness. It's important to acknowledge that while our journeys might differ, our ability to overcome obstacles and reach our potential is universal. Embrace the shared human experience and take comfort in knowing that you have the power within you to rise above and become the best version of yourself. Realizing this is just as important as becoming the richest hottest bitch with the mastery of the void and shifting okay. You’re not alone, you’re very powerful, and you CAN do it. Everyone has the potential to do it, you’ll have hurdles but where in life do you not!? You can struggle here with those journey or just struggle with the life you don’t want like everyone else. Nothing in life is easy, choose the hard path to get where you want so you can be happy forever, I promise it’s worth it.

This covers all the asks I’ve gotten. I really hope the struggle comes to an end for you guys. I know how hard all of you work, and I am truly happy and grateful to see how much you all love yourselves to put yourselves through an amount that sometimes seems pointless and fake, but it will be worth it. That’s just something you have to allow yourself to understand.

[runthepockets]

When The Fugees said "But if I fall asleep and death takes me away don't be surprised son I wasn't put here to stay" I felt that.

[ravens-two]

PAC: How will the aftercare be like 18+

This reading includes:

how the aftercare will be like

The extended reading includes:

what you'll think/feel after sex

what your person will think/feel after sex

Disclaimer: this is just for entertainment purposes, and as a pick-a-card reading it may not resonate for everyone. Also, this content is 18+ only!

TIPS | BOOK A READING WITH ME | PATREON | LINKTREE | SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC

Pile 1

Seven of Pentacles, Page of Swords - White Light

Hi pile 1, the first thing I'm getting is that you're probably going to feel very tired after sex. Perhaps one of you falls asleep quickly. I'm even seeing that for some of you, you might take a nap and then cuddle and talk after that.

This pile seems to feel really connected to their partner after sex. It's like you two are on the same wavelength and can understand each other perfectly during this moment. I think that despite this tiredness that came up, you two are going to talk a lot after sex. There will be a lot of pillow talk. I just got the words "performance review" lmao, so you two might talk about what you enjoyed or didn't enjoy. Maybe even what you'd want to try next.

In general though, this is such a sweet pile. I see a lot of cuddling, holding each other, soft kisses and caressing each other. There's a funny energy here because it seems that one of you is very practical and pragmatic, like wanting to clean up and sleep because you need to wake up early the next day, while the other is romantic and dreamy and just wants to hold on to their partner for a little longer.

Check out the extended reading on patreon

Pile 2

Ten of Pentacles, Three of Swords - Phoenix

Pile 2, with the Phoenix card here sex with this person is a very intense experience for you, almost transformative. It's almost as if you feel like you get broken down and then put back together again, stronger. For some of you this could even be related to BDSM or a rougher type of sex that needs some more attentive aftercare. I get that there may be physical pain here that somehow helps with any emotional pain that you may be going through.

Your person will take very good care of you. They will be so gentle and loving with helping you to clean up and make sure that you're not hurt. I see them talking a lot to you, making sure to get verbal confirmation that you're alright. They're also very loving with their words, telling you how much they enjoyed it, how well you did, etc.

During sex your partner might have been a bit "mean" to you, so it's important for them to reestablish a loving connection with you again. They will want to hold you in their arms and make sure that you feel safe and loved. In general, this pile is very, very intense and you might be crying after sex.

Check out the extended reading on patreon

Pile 3

King of Swords, Four of Pentacles - Shoots

Pile 3, the energy here is slightly colder in comparison to the other piles. Your partner seems to be a bit more distant or not so emotional as they usually are after sex. They seem like the kind of person who withdraws a little bit to process their emotions and feelings. Still, your partner has a big caregiving energy. Not to be weird but this is daddy energy, to be honest.

Your partner seems like the kind of person that is more worried about your physical needs, rather than emotional. I see them bringing you food and water, helping you to clean up. With the King of Swords here too there's this energy that your partner is trying their best to be fair and make sure that you're feeling good, but most importantly that they made you feel good. They seem like the type of person who wants reassurance about their performance.

Something just a little unrelated but this pile seems very fertile, if you or your partner can get pregnant please be careful with that. This emotional distance might also be because this relationship is still in its early stages and your connection is still growing. I can see that it grows stronger every time.

Check out the extended reading on patreon

Pile 4

Six of Swords, Three of Wands - Time

Hey pile 4, your partner seems like someone who isn't used to aftercare or someone who tends to "run away" after sex. They might have a bit of trouble in being vulnerable at first, it takes them time to open up and adapt to your needs. For some of you though, it's your person that needs more aftercare than you or it may be you who does more aftercare naturally. I have a sense that, in general, your partner is exhausted, maybe emotionally, after sex.

For others, your partner leaves you absolutely exhausted. Sex is probably very long-winded and your partner always wants to go again and again. They only stop when you physically can't keep up. Because of this they may end up giving you massages or massaging certain parts of your body that are sore. I'm seeing mostly hips and back.

Your partner also seems like they're the type of person who wants to bask in the afterglow. You know in the movies with the guys kicking back with a cigarette? That sort of vibe. Well, they may actually want to smoke afterwards. No matter what, your person doesn't want loose that feeling of calm and relaxation. They won't want to talk about anything too deep or potentially upsetting.

Check out the extended reading on patreon

[neptunes-sol-angel]

Can they match your freak? 👀 Think of a person that you're interested in, then pick the picture that you feel drawn to the most to find the corresponding message about how the sexual chemistry would be like between you guys.

Paid Readings | Botanica | Tip Jar

Pile One

The person on your mind comes across as formal, polite, but not interested in being in everyone’s face or being the center of attention. They could be considered a bit odd, maybe the timeline in which their beliefs, speech, and hobbies are not common in their age group. They could be assumed as a nerd because of how serious they take most things, like if you were to joke with them or use sarcasm, they’ll turn what’s not supposed to be literal into something pragmatic which is kind of cute in an innocent way. But they’re not rude or dismissive, because if you stick with them long enough they’ll eventually catch up with your sense of humor, even if the jokes don’t land, the fact that they’re trying makes it hilarious. They’re great at guiding people and teaching someone without looking down on others. They could come from a big family and are actually really nurturing and considerate which leaves them feeling more selective with who they choose to be their friend or romantic partner, and are content with spending a lot of time alone. They’re really “slow moving”, they don’t like to be rushed in anything, and for a good reason. They don’t like to compromise their stability, and love to have a work-life balance, even if they are an overachiever.

When it comes to doing the deed, it feels like intimacy is heightened because it feels as if you’re with a whole different person. Their sexual energy feels electric and eccentric. I feel like they’re a music junkie. They’re a lover of all genres, but pay attention mostly to the artists and bands that don’t get a lot of appreciation. I keep picking up on music theory, which could of course hint more about what they like to learn about, but I see this more as them effortlessly knowing the right note, the right rhythm, and the right scale to successfully lead their partners into an orgasm. They’re absolutely magical with their fingers, but feral with their stamina. They’re competitive when it comes to showing their partner who can go round for round, and they’re determined to make sure they’re at the top. Speaking of top, they love to be dominant in the bedroom. Their sex talks chains and whips! Just kidding, but it’s an art for them to see the many ways in how pain brings their partner pleasure. They’re down for almost anything in sex, as long as it’s consensual. Outdoor sex could be a favorite of theirs. Should you have sex with them? I feel that sex with them will be better than anything if you’ve had with anyone else, which can be addictive. Make sure that the relationship is something solid with this person, if it’s a situationship, it can be problematic, especially around issues with possessiveness, unhealthy attachments, and a lack of boundaries.

Pile Two

Sol cherubs…I’m sorry but I’m going to have to roast this person. I feel like they’re the kind to wine and dine a person. Dinner dates are nice, yes, but this person is very cheap, and likes to do the bare minimum while thinking that the other party should give them something back in return. They talk themselves up a lot, and could even get carried away with dirty talk in the bed because THEY think they’re doing something. Like this person could think that they’re a total freak, but their sex talks vanilla…They do basic positions, they’re repetitive, which is not the problem, the problem is that it’s not doing anything for the other person, and the only thing freaky about them is their gross personality. They’re self-serving, it’s not to say that you can’t experience pleasure with this person in sex, but if you expect for them to care about making sure that you finish too, don’t. They’re cheap with their wallet and in the bedroom. DO NOT have sex with this person, you won’t feel satisfied, and their energy in general is creepy and the epitome of what a loser looks like. If they’re a man, they have a toxic patriarchal mindset, weak in reality, but prowls for individuals who they think that they can control. They’re an energy vampire. Sex is an ego booster for them. It excites them more when they come across a person who’s strong in personality, or harbors a lot of potential to be a star, so that they can seduce them in order to feel better about themselves.

Sex should be an equal thing, where both parties are respected, having fun, and feeling good. You should both feel empowered rather than seeing it as taking power from another person. I’m also getting the feeling that this could be a past person for certain individuals. The message is also for you guys to know that sex isn’t supposed to be a shameful thing either if you’re still in regret about giving it to the wrong individual or even individuals. You’re not less of a person because you had sex so don’t let anyone try to punish you for it, and that includes yourself. Heal the negative beliefs you have about sex within yourself by not seeing yourself as a body count, limiting yourself to people who don’t satisfy you, and to trust in yourself to keep your stance in not doing something if you don’t want to just because someone gave you something and speaking up about what you want and how you want to be treated.

Pile Three

The person on your mind is spontaneous. You could play hard to get with them on the outside, but on the inside they’re very alluring to you, and lowkey they know this. Your chemistry in general with this person is breathtaking, if you aren’t a couple, people wonder why you aren’t one yet because of how close you guys are with each other and how obvious your attraction towards one another is. There’s heavy sexual tension here, partly because of how racy things get when you guys flirt with each other or how compatible you guys are to the point where you feel comfortable just yapping about almost anything, and the other part being the elephant in the room, which is something just feels forbidden about this relationship. Maybe this is a coworker which I understand why it wouldn’t be appropriate. You could consider this person a goofball, someone you always have fun with, or can count on to put a smile on your face, but the friendship between you guys is strong. Y’all get each other emotionally and are generally supportive, I would be shocked if you guys weren’t best friends. I’m not even picking up their individual sexual energy, my intuition just keeps pointing to how it would be if you guys were to ever have an encounter. I just keep getting “yes, yes!, YES!” go for it with this person, because it doesn’t feel at all like something you would regret. Ya’ll complete each other in so many ways that it just feels right. The sexual chemistry would be stable, you wouldn’t get bored of each other because it brings you guys closer rather than apart. This won’t be for everyone, but some people in the pile might have a theme of knowing right then and there that this is the person that they would want to spend the rest of their life with. Be wary though if you aren’t in the position of wanting to have kids or having enough to support a child, because you guys are going to be on each other like rabbits.

[secretlovezz]

1k! 1k! 1k!

Reader is from another agency or department and is helping the BAU team out on a case and they have strange thinking habits. Spencer keeps finding the reader while doing these habits.

Ex. Sitting in a dark storage closet, somehow sitting on top of the break room fridge, upside down, walking around in circles, etc

Vampire

Spencer Reid x reader

Warnings: I'm pretty sure there's nothing but fluff here

Wordcount: 692

A/N: love this request cause I sit in weird positions when I'm thinking lololol hope I did your idea justice 🫶🩷

"Wha- uh wh-what are you doing?"

Spencer knew that people had their own ways of getting themselves to focus on a certain task, I mean he certainly did. He'd done plenty of research on it at some point in his early college life. Sometimes he'd pace around the room he was in fingers tapping against each other in deep thought about whatever the current case was about until Hotch or Derek snapped him out of what seemed to be a trance. Once in a while, he'd simply take a deep breath in and out to rid his mind of other troublesome thoughts to focus on work but this- your thinking habits- though he logically understood we're so very odd to him.

For example, he's just walked in on you sitting with your legs crisscrossed on a chair while your eyes are closed and brows furrowed... in the dark... in silence.

"M' tryin' to see if I can figure out how the dump sights link together- 'cause I mean I know they do, there's like no way they don't- he even..." Spencer swears that he's listening he always does when it comes to you but as he stares at you, your eyes are still closed despite him turning on the light when he first walks in, his own brows start to crease in confusion. His lips part dryly wanting to speak up about his thoughts on your oddities but decided against it as you were still speaking.

You smile, “So what do you think?” Spencer frowns and tries to recall the words that had so smoothly left your lips.

“Um… I- about what?” His voice is soft with shame at his lack of concentration on a conversation seemingly involving information of the current case and when your shoulders slump, eyes creasing at him his shame only intensifies and aches deep in his gut. “Sorry- It’s just- well I… sorry.” His head hangs while his fingers tap against the file in his hands.

Focus.

Your silence is just as unusual as his own, it almost scares him, he thinks the air has just condensed around his form; it suffocates him forcing the release of a vomit of words he had just been repressing. “You were in the dark and while pragmatically I know it’s probably your way of getting yourself focused and your mind running so you can efficiently do your job- I mean i’ve read plenty about the many practises one does to anchor themselves- I just thought it was a little weird the way you went about it- not that you're weird! ‘Cause you're not! I would never say anything like that about you because you're great and you do your job amazingly. I just- I just um… was curious I guess.”

No matter his IQ Spencer was sure he had never felt so dumb, hating the unavoidable fact that only you could make him stumble this way. He sighs before letting his teeth find his pink bottom lip to chew on. His fingers tap faster against his file creating a light thump sound to echo around the otherwise stomach churning-ly silent filing room.

The heating flush he feels when the corners of your mouth start to tip upwards in amusement colors his cheeks with a rosy hue that has him further trying to hide his face by staring at the floor.

Your smile widens at his shyness, “it's okay I can admit it is a little weird,” the small chuckle that enveloped your words made his heart flutter aggressively in his chest, “my friends even compare me to a vampire since the sun is clearly my weakness.” Your fingers and brows wiggle in a way that makes Spencer laugh abruptly that gorgeous smile of his over taking his blushed face.

“Clearly.”

You pat the seat next to you with a welcoming and teasing smirk.

“Come sit down so I can tell you what I was talking about since someone renowned ‘Boy Wonder’ had his head up in the clouds.”

The grin never leaves the young doctor's face as he makes his way to you.

“I promise to pay attention this time.”

[dilatorywriting]

Heroes vs. Villains : Octavinelle [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Octavinelle vs. Rielle Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. Octavinelle Version, Part 2 ie. Your red-headed hero arrives at Night Raven College and your other aquatic friends are less than enthused.

[PART 1] [PART 2]

The VDC is going to be one of the biggest events in Night Raven College’s history. It’s going to be spectacular, awe-inspiring, one for the history books. And somehow, by the grace of the Gods (or, well, Vil and Professor Crewel) you have tickets.

So naturally, Azul wants you to work through the entire thing.

“I know you don’t like people,” he’d smiled, as if he was offering you salvation on a silver platter. “And just think of it—all those crowds of sweaty, screaming, humans running around. It only seems right that I, as your employer and friend, do my due diligence to keep you safe during all of it, hmm?”

“We’re just thinking of your wellbeing,” Jade had piped in, a gloved hand pressed to his chest all innocent-like. You weren’t fooled for a second.

“And think of all the extra Thaumarks you’ll earn in tips!” Azul chirped. “I know being in a new world has been difficult for you in more ways than one, and that the financial burden in particular has been terribly unpleasant. So really, we’re just doing everything we can to assist you!”

Lies about being considerate for your ‘delicate mental health’ aside, money was good. Money was great. And besides, all you really cared about was the Choral Competition. As long as you could sneak away for that one, camping out in the Lounge didn’t actually seem like the worst idea in the world. The food was excellent, the atmosphere soothing, and the company was—

…Well.

‘Less than desirable’ would probably be an understatement. But Azul always let you take home the leftovers at the end of the night, and sometimes on colder nights Jade would make you a cup of cocoa with no mushrooms in it or anything. So maybe you could excuse a bit of sadism here and there.

So the VDC came and little, poor, you were squirreled away behind the gilded doors of the Mostro Lounge. Aside for the influx of costumers (and subsequent ‘event price hikes’), it was hardly different than any of your other shifts. The one notable difference was how often Azul swapped your station. Normally you were on door duty, or acting as part of the wait staff. But every time a group of RSA students strutted by in their fancy white uniforms, the Octo-Mer would shuffle you off to the kitchens. Or the bar. Or even his office sometimes, demanding assistance with clerical work.

Someone called your name and you lifted your head from your cloud of misery and menial labor—only half paying attention to the people you were ushering in towards the seating area. But instead of another unfamiliar blob waving you down, you actually recognized this guy. Him and his brilliant shock of red hair that you wouldn’t be able to miss from a mile away.

Lo – it was fork dude.

Or, well, Prince Rielle Tidal of Atlantica. But whatever. Man had pushed a utensil into your hands and told you to brush your hair with it. There was no coming back from that.

Your sun-kissed savior swerved through the line to greet you, nearly bowling you over in his enthusiasm. His RSA uniform was a blotch of bleached brightness against the sea of Night Raven’s black ensemble. Normally your rival academics seemed to travel in packs—safety in numbers and all that. But Rielle was weaving through the mass of grumpy NRC faces like he was perfectly at home.

“I decided to pop by to see Azul and his business—because, you know, he was always so smart and pragmatic so I knew it’d probably be really cool and whatever—but wow! It’s really you!”

“It’s really me,” you repeated, fighting to keep the chirp in your customer service voice. “So, would you like a table or—"

“Wait a second—Azul has you working during the festival?!” Rielle gawked, as if he was just realizing that he had stepped into a place a of business, and that you were wearing the uniform of said establishment. “That’s so cruel!”

Yes. Yes it was. But Azul was nothing if not cruel. And if this guy actually knew anything about him at all, he should be perfectly aware of that.

“Someone has to do it,” you shrugged. “Anyways, can I get you something to—”

“Wah, look at this! Shrimpy’s slackin’ on the job!”

Maybe you could put your head through the wall. That would probably be less painful.

Floyd, Jade, and Azul materialized behind you seemingly out of thin air. The terrible trio greeted your dour frown with varying degrees of spiteful glee. And… something else? There was a sort of tension about them that didn’t mesh with their usual haughtiness. It had cropped up for the first time a few weeks ago—that day at the beach. And subsequently the hours after when Jade had pulled Azul into his office to whisper all kinds of nonsense that was apparently ‘too delicate’ for you and whatever tolerance you’d built for these sociopaths.

“Actually, it’s my fault!” Rielle blurted, stepping smoothly in front of you with all the chivalry of a knight. You wanted to warn him that dipping into Floyd’s bite radius was a terrible idea, but at the same time, you were tired, and hungry, and very curious to see how this would all play out. “And I was just wondering—well… I—I mean…”

The young Prince was starting to splutter, his cheeks burning that same, hot, pink that they had all those weeks ago at the beach. He took a moment to clear his throat, compose himself, and then grasped your hands with both of his very neatly manicured ones.

You thought you heard someone gasp. Like in a period novel.

“I actually heard that you were at Night Raven too! And I’ve been looking all over for you! So—I—Would you—” More throat clearing. Floyd’s teeth were grinding together so loudly it almost sounded like a buzzsaw. “Do you want to get something to eat with me?”

There was a deafening crack and you watched as Jade nearly put Floyd through the floor in an attempt to keep him from lurching forward. You observed the scene before you with pleasant sort of surprise as the trio across from you erupted. Or, well, Floyd had erupted. Jade just had that perfectly polite smile on his mouth that let you know he was planning someone’s murder. And Azul looked like he’d just taken physical damage.

Huh. Interesting.

Then again, you’d known they were a proprietary bunch. And you also knew that you were the favorite chew toy around these parts. No one else was sturdy enough for the role, apparently.

“Oi, Princey,” Floyd snarled from behind Jade’s gloved fingers. “What do you think you’re—"

“I—” you interrupted, stepping between the rabid Merfolk and the would-be-mincemeat. “—would love to.”

Silence.

“…What?” Azul squawked.

“I’m due for my break anyways,” you shrugged, enjoying the horrible little surge of satisfaction warming your gut. Take that, you obnoxious fucks. You weren’t sure why Rielle and his crimson-monstrosity of a hairdo had set the three of them off so terribly, but you’d been on your feet for hours now. And missing all the food stalls, and your other friends, and you were going to take this petty revenge where you could.

You turned to Rielle with a polite little smile that you hoped looked more demure than scheming, and his eyes sparkled.

“You don’t mind eating here, do you?” you asked before shooting Azul an award-winning grin. “I’m sure having a Prince dining in would be great advertisement.”

“But of course,” he grit out. “Who would I be to turn down such a ringing endorsement.”

Rielle tossed an amiable arm across your shoulders and laughed that tinkling, church-bell, laugh of his. Floyd’s lip twitched and Azul snagged his arm quicker than a snake could strike. The snarling behemoth was promptly dragged off into the depths of the Lounge—Azul muttering something frantically under his breath that you couldn’t make out. He looked hunched, panicked. And whatever he was saying must have been serious enough to snag Floyd’s fickle attentions, because the too-tall henchman stayed firmly at his boss’s side. The pair of them vanished into the kitchens, the door slamming behind them.

“Just this way then, if you’d please,” Jade beamed, positively glacial.

“This’ll be great!” the Prince preened, keeping a loose grip on you as you both trailed a very stiff Eel through the front parlor. “I get to see all of Azul’s awesome accomplishments and have lunch with you at the same time!”

“The Mostro Lounge is a lovely place to dine,” you chirped, repeating your familiar, scripted, server prompts from memory. “There’s something for everyone.”

“Is that so?” Rielle hummed, as if in deep thought. “That’s very considerate of them.”

Plenty of people at this school liked to insult your intelligence, and you in turn liked to remind certain someones (Ace. Sebek.) that it was best not to throw stones in glass houses. But this was—you may have really found an actual, factual, ditz. Was this how Azul felt all the time? Looking down at you mere mortals with his superior IQ and cunning? Listening to Rielle’s innocent rambling made you feel like Einstein. It was… sort of nice.

My God, you were going to have be responsible for him, weren’t you? Is that was parenthood felt like?

Jade led you to a quiet booth in the back—the one with a direct line of sight to both the kitchens and Azul’s office. The one reserved for problem customers. You folded yourself neatly onto the cushioned bench and Rielle followed, sitting at your side rather than across the table. Something in Jade’s jaw twitched.

“What do you recommend?” Rielle asked you cheerfully, practically radiating enthusiasm. “I’m sure everything is fantastic!”

“Hmm… How about the Mixed Seafood Platter to start I think,” you grinned, turning your polite beam back on your unfortunate server. “With the Unagi, please.”

Beneath all that bubbling irritation, something in those bi-colored eyes gleamed with the barest hint of respect.

“But of course. If you’ll excuse me.”

Once Jade had retreated, Rielle relaxed back into his seat with a theatrical sigh. He brushed his neat swoop of hair off his forehead, like he was wiping away sweat from a workout.

“Phewf! Not that Azul’s friends aren’t nice and all, but they always give me a bit of the heebie-jeebies.”

That was the kindest word for ‘intense murderous aura’ that you’d ever heard.

“A bit, yeah,” you agreed easily enough. “So how do you know Azul?”

“Oh!” he perked right back up. “We were classmates! When we were younger. He was always really quiet, but also really smart! Is he still like that? Quiet—I mean. Reserved.”

A memory struck you then—of standing at Azul’s side in the lobby of the Atlantica Memorial Museum. You remembered his hesitant determination as he replaced his old class photo on the wall. The picture of a tiny, rounder, Azul standing off to the side—hunched, grey, and miserable amidst a sea of laughing faces. You couldn’t remember if there had been a brilliant slash of red mixed in there anywhere. You hadn’t even bothered to check. Because why would you have even deigned to look at the faces of a group of bullies?

Something soured in your gut.

“I wouldn’t say that, no,” your smile sharpening a bit at the edges. “He’s actually very talkative. It’s hard to get him to shut up most of the time.”

“Really?” Rielle gaped. “Wow! That’s awesome!”

Jade slithered by to drop off your appetizers, and if he noticed the slight drop in your mood he didn’t mention it. He was in and out in a flash. You could just see the whisps of his teal hair disappearing back into Azul’s office.

“Enough about Azul though,” Rielle waved off, reaching for the platter. “Tell me about you!”

“Me?” you echoed, bland. “But isn’t Azul your old friend?”

The Prince waved you off once more, cheeks pinkening all over again. “I can talk to him whenever. I’d much rather hear about you! You’re—You’re interesting!”

Now, that was probably a genuine compliment. You doubted Rielle actually meant to slight your friend companion boss by implying that the most ambitious, intelligent, cunning, and well-dressed merman on campus wasn’t interesting enough to converse about—that all of Azul’s efforts to bring himself out of the shadows and onto center stage were still wanting. But that bitter thing in your stomach was raring for a fight.

So you ruffled around in your uniform pocket and pulled out the little notebook you used to tally orders. You shot Rielle the brightest, sweetest, smile you could and watched his stupidly pretty face light up redder than his hair.

“Actually,” you giggled—giggled. Like a freak. “I’d love to hear about you.”

.

.

.

“He’s going to say something!—”

“What doesn’t Shrimpy already know, huh?” Floyd griped. “And I mean, didn’t you steal Ramshackle? You really think bubble-butt out there can do anything to make the Prefect hate you?”

Azul paced. And paced. And paced.

“It’s not about hating me,” he hissed, fighting the urge to wring his hands. “It’s about realizing there are better options out there, and—”

“Bubble-butt is a better option?!” Floyd cackled.

“Stop interrupting me!”

“Then stop whining,” the eel droned, flopping his head back against the couch. “You shoulda just let me squeeze ‘em.”

“We do not need to spark an international incident in my restaurant,” Azul repeated. Though it sounded less like he was trying to convince Floyd than himself.  “Rielle Tidal is a Prince—”

“—a shitty, turd, leftover, Prince—”

“—who we must treat,” Azul grit out, “as such.”

There was a firm rap against the door and Jade slipped inside. Azul had to fight the reflex to pounce on him immediately. Instead he took a moment to pause and straighten his suit jacket. His fingers were shaking and he was sure that Jade would have seen, but thankfully there seemed to be a single shred of mercy left in his Vice-Warden’s cold, withered, heart, and the trembling limbs were not mentioned.

Jade cleared his throat and Azul leaned forward, anxious.

“I think you may be overthinking things,” he said, calm as a cucumber, and Azul wanted to scream.

“It’s not paranoia, it’s being prepared,” he snipped. A pause. “But why do you say that? What happened? Did something happen?”

Jade smiled that placid smile of his. “No.”

“No?” Azul repeated, flabbergasted.

“No,” Jade shrugged.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Floyd piped in.

Azul was just about to turn and remind his wonderful subordinate just how terrible he could make his existence when there was another knock at the door—lighter than Jade’s but just as familiar. Not a moment later, your head popped through the crack and you peaked inside wearily.

Azul hastily cleared his throat and Jade’s grin turned smug.

“Pr-Prefect! Can I help you with something?”

Floyd snickered under his breath and Azul mentally added another three hours onto the bastard’s nightly dish duties.

You stepped inside and tossed a tiny notebook down onto his desk.

“Here,” you said, with a grumpy sort of frown on your face. “All of Prince Rielle of Atlantica’s stupid wants, hopes, and dreams. You better be able to put this to good use you stupid mafioso wannabe, because I’ve been listening to this guy ramble on about himself for ages now, and I’d rather get drowned by Jade and Floyd again.”

You turned without another word and slammed the door behind you.

Azul gaped wordlessly at the pile of tiny pages splattered across his desk, and the familiar curl of your handwriting filling each and every one of them.

“Oh,” he breathed.

“Oh indeed,” Jade grinned.

[zorosdimples]

꒰ OKKOTSU YUUTA X ITADORI YUUJI X READER ꒱

minors do not interact—i will block you! cw: threesome, anal, cunnilingus; reader has a vagina. note: brief okkoita fluff—but make it sexual (thank for rotting my mind @yutaleks❕)

None of you are going to last long.

It’s impossible, you think to yourself, as you ride Yuuji’s flushed face. Rolling your hips with fuzzy, heavy-lidded contentment, you watch Yuuta prep the younger man with three lithe fingers that glisten with lube and desire.

Bone-deep devotion licks its way up your spine and curls around your ribcage, prying open your chest and settling in your heart. Witnessing your partners love one another—and you, by extension—fills you with a giddy delirium more precious than gold. Ambling honey fills your lungs and makes each breath cloying.

Pleased with his work, Yuuta positions himself and teases Yuuji’s stretched hole with his cockhead. He eases inside with careful, measured strokes, cool digits rubbing soothing circles onto Yuuji’s freckled hips. Muffled whimpers and moans sound beneath you, resonating in your core to send quaking tremors through your limbs.

Just as you lose balance and begin to tip forward, Yuuta catches you in an embrace; your lips surge to meet his in a sloppy kiss with too much tongue. You share a breathless chuckle—forehead to forehead—when your teeth click together.

When your mouths finally part, Yuuta presses Yuuji’s knees to his shoulders, folding him in half. Yuuta fucks hard and deep, jet mane falling over his face. Caught up in his own euphoria, the man beneath you parts from your pussy to babble demandingly: “M-more, hard—harder, faste—”

“Yuuji.”

The endearment (reserved for only the tenderest moments) is clipped and authoritative; it holds little of Yuuta’s usual warmth and softness. His eyes are harsh, a rogue, unforgiving wave amidst a calm sea. It’s a pointed warning: finish what you started. And it’s effective. Yuuji swallows a whine and flushes mottled rose down to his collarbone, a picture of unfettered need.

You reach a hand back to tug at Yuuji’s dusty strands, grinding down on his face. You gasp his name as he suckles on your folds and plays with your entrance before returning to your clit. A pleased hum rumbles Yuuta’s pale chest.

“Good boy,” he praises while pushing his hair back. “Keep it up and I’ll fill your cute ass.”

(Yuuji’s hole flutters at the thought.)

Yuuta has always been the most composed of you three: polite, intelligent, kind, pragmatic. But there’s a vulnerability that you and Yuuji coax out of him; you encourage him to live in the moment, to abandon decorum and to lose himself in pleasure. And if his creased brow and ragged breath is anything to go by, he’s clinging to composure by a thread.

The air is stifling—heady and ripe with the heat of three intertwined bodies, each seeking their own end. Yuuta thrusts and Yuuji licks and you ride until it feels like your thighs are going to give out. When Yuuji finally slips a few fingers into your heat and suckles gently on your clit, you fall apart at the seams, arousal coating his hot, greedy tongue.

After wriggling free from Yuuji’s bruising hold, you climb off of his face and grasp his neglected cock. It’s heavy in your hand and mauve at the tip; when you tug his foreskin down, you’re rewarded with a fat pearl of pre. You lean down and hold his gaze through wet eyelashes as you press a wet kiss to his tip. Then, you settle beside him, whispering filth in his ear (loud enough for Yuuta to hear and nearly orgasm to).

Only moments after you begin stroking his shaft, Yuuji crests with a throaty cry. In the aftermath, he seeks the warmth of your lips. Yuuta enjoys the scene—his two lovers with tears shimmering on their cheeks, messily swapping spit—before spilling his seed. He fucks Yuuji through his high until his spend drips into a frothy pool on the sheets.

You relax into Yuuji’s side and smear kisses against his neck before resting your eyes. Movement on the bed causes you to stir; two men hover over your prone form, fisting their still-throbbing cocks.

“You didn’t think we were done—did you?”

[reasonandempathy]

The weird radical/revolutionary politic larpers on this site are so allergic to political pragmatism I swear lmao. I am definitely left of the Democratic Party and I am certainly voting for Joe Biden in November. Not because I like him (I don’t). He is absolutely horrific on Gaza and that’s only the top (and priority considering there is a genocide going on there) of a list of complaints I have about him. I even voted uncommitted in my state’s presidential primary (the Pennsylvania one; I had to write it in) to protest. However, I’m still thinking pragmatically. Trump has said things that make me credibly think he will be worse on Gaza (insane that being worse on Gaza than Biden is possible but it is unfortunately), and that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Project 2025, the potential for him to appoint more deeply conservative justices, more of his aggressively screwing over poor and middle class people with his tax policies. And does anyone else remember the spike in hate crimes after the race was called for him in 2016? Before he was even inaugurated? Whether people vote or not in November we will still have to deal with one of these two men in office come January unless all of the internet ancom larpers overthrow the government by then (doubt), so I’d rather deal with the one who will be marginally less bad and who didn’t try to overthrow the government. Can’t have your revolution if nobody’s alive cause you kept pushing off politically participating because there was no perfect option. 👍

Political pragmatist anon, sorry for ranting in your askbox but I feel like I lose brain cells watching these people talk. The other day I saw someone say Biden is bad because Roe v. Wade fell under his administration… even though the reason for that was Trump appointed justices. 💀 (2/2)

Fucking insane. Sincerely.

It's a completely, flatly binary choice for anyone with a brain stem and sincerity. It's distilled into the two below images:

Where all major third party candidates are even on the ballot

How many electoral votes the largest of those (green party, a.k.a. Jill Stein) would win if they won every single state they're on the ballot for.

They are literally, legally, incapable of winning the election. They are not on enough state ballots to win and Jill Stein would need to somehow win California and Texas to even "win" all the states they're on the ballot for. Which, again, would still not be enough to win the presidency and throw it to the currently existing Republican House of Representatives. Which would put Trump in office.

It's that straightforward. That simple. That BLARINGLY obvious to literally everyone except these people.

On the one hand you have:

Significant and continuous support for Israel and it's genocide

Record levels of pardons for low-level drug offenses

the gearing up of the strongest anti-trust regime since the early 20th century

the most aggressive NLRB I've seen in my lifetime, with massive wins and institutional changes to help workers

Including getting Rail strike workers a week of sick-leave that gets paid out at the end of the year, which is better than NYC and LA sick leave laws

Millions of people (not enough) getting student debt forgiveness

Some trillion dollars (not enough)of investment in renewable resources and infrastructure

Proposed taxes on unrealized capital gains (a.k.a. how billionaires never have any money but can still buy Kentucky, Iowa, and Twitter)

Effectively an end to overdraft fees

The explicit support of leftist world leaders like Lula de Silva. Who he has explicitly worked with to expand worker rights in South America.

Has capped (some, not enough, only a tiny amount really but it's something) some drug prices, including Insulin.

Reduced disability discrimination in medical treatment

Billions in additional national pre-k funding

Ending federal use of private prisons

Pushing bills to raise Social Security tax thresholds higher to help secure the General Fund

Increasing SSI benefits

and more

vs

Said Israel should just nuke Gaza and "get it over with"

Personally takes pride in and credit for getting Roe v Wade overturned

Is arguing in court that the President should be allowed to assassinate political rivals

Muslim Ban Bullshit, insistently

Actively damages our global standing and diplomatic efforts just by getting obsessed with having a Big Button

Implemented massive tax cuts on ich people, tax hikes on middle class and poor people, and actively wants to do it again

"Only wants to be a dictator for a little bit, guys, what's the big deal"

Is loudly publicly arguing that the US shouldn't honor its military alliances after-the-fact

Tore up an effective and substantial anti-nuclear-proliferation treaty with Iran

Had a DoEd that actively just refused to process student debt forgiveness applications that have been the law of the land for decades now

Has a long record of actively curtailing and weakening the NLRB and labor movement, including allowing managers to retaliate against workers, weakened workplace accommodation requirements for disabled people, and more

Rubber stamped a number of massive mergers building larger, more powerful top companies and increasing monopolistic practices

Fucking COVID Bullshit and hundreds of thousands of unnecessary deaths

Openly supporting fascists and wannabe-bootlicks ("Very fine people" being only the beginning of it

It's really not fucking close.

[pearl-tarotist]

PAC: Your green flags ೃ⁀➷ In this PAC, related to self, I will look into your most positive (green) aspects: generally and in love.

PILE 1: Green flags:

-Generally:

You are confident and lucky enough to not fear the unpredictable and predictable changes in our lives. You are someone with a positive mindset that does not get easily disappointed with alterations.

You are able to learn easily from everything: mistakes, lessons, karma debts… You understand that everything is an opportunity to learn, to close cycles and to improve yourself and your life.

Furthermore, you are not scared to alter your life if it is for the best. Some people usually get trapped in the past, routine,and old relationships that are dead. You are not like those, you are not scared to be proactive and erase the people, actions or situations that could disappoint you.

Wheel of Fortune/ 5 of Shells.

-In love ❤️

In contra-position to your lightly approach to life and about letting every event pass trough you, when you are in love you are methodical. When in love, you want the best for your partner, and you will take a time-out before acting in love, you will plan every date and detail. You will think about who you want to go out with and about what you feel for your partner.

You will want deep conversations and you will commit to them, easily taking responsibility on your shoulders for the common good. You will create new opportunities for both of you, to be able to achieve what you want.

There's not a sense of passiveness in the way that there's in your general life. You allow yourself to learn the lessons of the events that the cycle of life throws at you but you won't accept it in your love life.

In your love life, you are in a position of power and command.

2 of Roses and The Magician

Tip Me / More Pacs

PILE 2: Green flags:

-Generally:

You have a really great approach to work and love/rest. One of your general green flags is that you are not someone that goes overboard with the things that happen in your life.

You are able to keep a 50/50 effort on things, what at long-term, is the cleverest thing to do.

On the best sense, you do also not involve yourself directly with things…you rise over pettiness, blame and guilt. You can separate yourself from your feelings and own perspective to gain a clear view of every situation. You are fair and just.

You are able to see the good and the bad, to be responsible but still keep some time for love and relationships, to be passionate but understand that every situation has clear limits.

You allow yourself to be free without hurting anybody. It's a beautiful sign to see.

Song: "Like we just met" by NCT DREAM.

3 of Gems, Judgement and Ace of Roses

-In love ❤️:

You are someone strong and compassionate. You are always open to understatement and to speak, you are emphatic and able to sacrifice some of your security for the adventure that love is.

You do sacrifices for the people you love even when it could be scary and hurtful, you are strong enough to keep the pressure of what being a partner to someone is.

I do believe that you do also have the talent to calm your partner with your words and attitude, you can calm their insecurities and fears. They do not have to doubt your love when you, so passionately and strongly, show it to them.

Strength and The Moon

Tip Me / More Pacs

PILE 3: Green flags:

-Generally:

You are someone mature and realistic.  You are a good leader and you always treat everybody that helps you with respect and gratitude. People can trust you and be confident with the projects you are proposing as they will be well-put and efficient.

You are natural, sensible, pragmatic and committed. It feels like earth energy with a bit of water. You are open to interact with everybody, no matter their status or origins.

You do not easily obsess with things, and if you do, is realistic and you create a plan to achieve it long-term.

-In love ❤️

You are the most natural lover. Your own attitude and personality make your habits perfect for the place of a lover. You do naturally take care of people, and I think you do the perfect amount of physical touch…it feels super reassuring to your partner.

Your best green flag is that your love feels natural and not forced, as if you were the final piece of a puzzle. It's beautiful and it makes your partner feels as if they were in the right place.

Your partner will always know that you love them, that's your biggest green flag. You will always find a way to show it, or you are so transparent with your emotions that they just know.

9 of Roses, 6 of Shells, Ace of shells.

Tip Me / More Pacs

[holy-puckslibrary]

just a lil firefighter!sid fluff for y'all :)

gif from @ehghtysevenarchive + per this ask and others

Surely, the chief of Canada's oldest fire department has more important things to do on a crisp morning, the last one preceding a fresh week, than this. He most definitely does. And, yes, Chief Crosby is known for his pragmatic approach to, well, everything.

But neither carries weight here—not when she calls.

Leaky faucet, dead car battery, unreachable spider... It doesn't matter. One ring, and he's rushing home. He can't pin-point when the pattern began, likely sometime shortly between the day you moved into town and his first off-day, but it's a routine he's come to enjoy despite the extra strain on both his schedule and his body; Sidney never thought sharing a property line could be so tedious or time-consuming.

He knows he shouldn't enjoy the distraction as much as he does. You aren't together, Sidney doesn't ever allow his imagination wander that far, but he can't help it. He can't help but help. He rarely turns down anyone in need, which has done wonders for his reputation within the community, but with you... With you, it's different, and embarrassingly so.

He doesn't have the words to explain it. Not that he needs to, it's written plainly across his face.

There's a reason you're regular fixtures in the town's gossip column.

When he arrives on scene—not ten minutes after his F-Series crawled down the gravel drive—Sidney shakes his head and laughs. Collecting his cell and his radio, he slips out of the truck, watching as you fret like a mother hen.

Still in your slippers, you're stood at the base of a decently-sized red spruce wedged between his yard and yours, your crumpled face angled up into the yellow-green needles. You're the very picture of worry, wringing your trembling hands and muttering to yourself.

A stray kitten caught in a tree, that's what's got you in a such a state.

"Well, this is a new one," he bellows in lieu of a greeting, slamming the door shut as his boots hit the ground.

Briefly, your glassy eyes dart in his direction. You're midway through your customary apology when he arrives at your side and quiets you, just as he always does.

"They're more than capable of holding down the fort for however long it takes to rescue our new friend, okay?"

"I know, but what if—"

"But nothing," Sidney huffs, and he dares to take you by the shoulders. And, externally, he ignores the way you shiver under his palms. "If I didn't think it was safe for me to step out for a couple of minutes, I wouldn't. You believe me, right?"

You nod, bottom lip pinched between your teeth.

"Good. Now, how 'bout you keep an ear on this," Sidney sets the clunky satellite radio in your hand, "—and I'll grab the ladder from the shed?"

He doesn't really need your help monitoring the channel, but he knows you'll feel better if you feel like you're doing something. Like him, you find comfort in your utility.

In less than a minute, Sidney re-emerges, rounding the corner with a ladder in hand. You're in the same spot, now fidgeting with the radio, anxiously dumping it from one palm to the other and back again. He follows your gaze to line up the simple equipment necessary for the rescue operation.

Sidney's heart swells as you quietly step forward to spot him.

Lucky for everyone, the ball of orange fur is on the branch nearest to the ground. Sidney needs only to step up onto the first wrung to safetly coax the frightened creature into his waiting hands, he's back on the ground not long after.

He gives the kitten a gentle parting scratch under the chin, then transfers the purring fluff to you. The soft bundle takes to you immediately, nuzzling into your chest like that's where it wanted to be all along.

"I think he likes you," Sidney observes with a cheek-numbing grin.

Your lips are tipped up at the end and there's fan of happiness rooting itself around your eyes. Your mouth opens to reply, but before the words come—

"Well, would you look at this?"

Across the quiet street and a few houses to the left sits an audience of two. Both of which are now cooing as loudly as two ladies in their sixties can manage. Coffee cups in one hand and their cellphones propped up in the other, they fawn over the two of you as if it's live theater.

Sidney curses their sons, who he'd completed the explorer program with as teens, for enabling this technological torture.

"Smile, you two! Oh, Denise is just going to eat this up," one of them, a spitfire in a 4'11 frame by the name of Mrs. Bouchard, exclaims to her co-conspirator, Ms. Johnston.

Then, to no one's surprise and Sid's chagrin, they giddily type out their respective messages to the local paper's equally-nosy editor-in-chief.

"Looks like we're front-page news again," you hum bashfully.

The tabby mewls in your arms. You curl into the little bundle of fur, lips landing between its delicate ears.

Sid studies you in his periphery as he slips in and out of heady contemplation, ultimately deciding he doesn't mind as much as he once did. "That we are..."

—

eek! wait, why do i luv them already 🥹

as always, i would really appreciate if you reblogged my work, left a comment or dropped by my inbox w some feedback :) fandom runs on engagement, and so do writers!! thx a mil in advance!

READ MORE OF THEM HERE!

[astrojulia]

Astro Observations from the Deep Sea #4

~Taurus houses edition

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♀⟶11th house Taurus approach to friendships is pragmatic. They seek out individuals who share common interests and values, forging lasting and meaningful connections. While their social circle may not be vast, they hold a deep appreciation for the relationships they cultivate.

♀⟶12th house Taurus possess a serene and forgiving nature when at ease, which is complemented by their strong work ethic in a comfortable environment. In times of emotional challenge, they may grapple with bouts of depression.

♀⟶2nd house Taurus are gifted with a natural talent for handling money, and their reputation for dependability in financial matters precedes they. When it comes to investments and savings, they have a realistic and grounded approach. Yes, they can be a tad stubborn when financial advice is offered, but that stubbornness has often protected their wealth in the past.

♀⟶10th house Taurus+Virgo Rising harbor a deep-seated drive to achieve professional goals, often displaying intense focus on their work.

♀⟶While 3rd house Taurus may enjoy the occasional short trip, they find comfort in staying close to home for their business endeavors. Their warm and outgoing personality endears they to friends, family, and neighbors alike. Their relationships are a source of joy and fulfillment, and they make sure to keep in touch regularly.

♀⟶8th house Taurus may currently experience emotional discomfort, stemming from a sense of disharmony and insecurity in their life. This unease may have surfaced during challenging experiences with loved ones, awakening possessiveness and inflexibility within they.

♀⟶For 5th house Taurus singing is more than a pastime; it's an expression of their soul's deepest desires. They take their time to savor and create the finer things in life.

♀⟶In social circles, 9th house Taurus are the reliable friend who approaches situations with a level head and offers practical solutions. Their down-to-earth nature and commitment to success are their secret weapons.

♀⟶While they're open to new perspectives, there's a firmness in 3rd house Taurus beliefs that can be both reassuring and unyielding. Precision and attention to detail are their allies, making they a natural fit for fields like finance and mathematics.

♀⟶While 9th house Taurus might take a bit longer to reach their goals, they're unwavering in their commitment to their own pace, finding fulfillment in the progress they make. Their steadfastness is a guiding light that helps they surmount any obstacles that cross their path.

♀⟶4th house Taurus inviting personality makes they a beloved family member, and they take immense pride in creating a cozy haven that reflects their earthy and sensual nature. Loved ones bask in the tranquility they provide.

♀⟶Practicality and pragmatism are 2nd house Taurus guiding lights when it comes to managing their finances. Security and convenience are their companions on this monetary journey.

♀⟶Although 9th house Taurus path may meander before settling into a clear direction, they have an unwavering belief that they'll eventually uncover a practical solution that suits they. While stepping out of their comfort zone may not be their forte, when they do, they navigate new experiences with straightforward gusto.

♀⟶6th house Taurus begin their tasks with a deliberate, measured stride, often at a slower pace than others. Stress and tension are strangers to they, as they possess a calm and worry-free demeanor even in the face of challenges.

♀⟶The driving force behind 8th house Taurus actions is a strong desire for material possessions and pleasures, fueled by a thirst for power and control. Yet, this material focus can sometimes lead to chaos and destruction, leaving they feeling anything but secure.To overcome these inner struggles, they must find a source of security within theirself that cannot be easily taken away. By releasing their grip on material possessions, they can begin to lessen the negative impact of possessive tendencies.

♀⟶The accumulation of possessions, particularly in monetary terms, is a significant measure of success for 10th house Taurus. Careers in financial realms, such as accounting, stocks, bonds, or banking, hold great potential. Additionally, their artistic and creative talents could provide financial gains or enhance their reputation.

♀⟶Change may be met with resistance to Taurus Rising, but it's essential to keep an open mind. New ideas and experiences can enrich their life's tapestry in ways they can't even fathom. Trust their instincts, honor their values, and they'll continue to craft a life that's not just well-integrated but deeply fulfilling.

♀⟶Artistic expression flows through 3rd house Taurus effortlessly, and pursuits like music, painting, and sculpting call to they like old friends. Consider nurturing these talents, perhaps even pursuing a formal education in one of these fields.

♀⟶7th house Taurus from 10º to 19º possess a magnetic ability to attract supportive companions who share their drive and ambition. Their partnerships and friendships often stand the test of time, offering mutual benefits.

♀⟶Once they establish theirself in a profession, 10th house Taurus value control and are unlikely to change career paths. Work and relaxation alternate in their life, and they possess qualities such as purpose, resistance, tolerance, narcissism, and mistrust.

♀⟶12th house Taurus invites they to transcend the material world and delve into the realm of the subconscious. To ensure a harmonious life, it's crucial to steer clear of legal issues and negative conflicts with others. This is especially significant if they've achieved financial success, as envy and undermining behaviors may surface. Even in matters of the heart, jealousy can rear its head, potentially causing turbulence. It's vital to approach relationships with honesty and openness to maintain equilibrium.

♀⟶While 11th house Taurus may encounter challenges in finding their place in society, their sense of security and fulfillment is derived from personal relationships. They select their associates carefully, recognizing that the right friendships can pave the way for wealth accumulation and promising opportunities. Their approach to building and nurturing relationships is a key factor in their overall happiness and success.

♀⟶10th house Taurus+Cancer Rising possess a capacity for hard work, but they also treasure leisure time, enjoying holidays and entertainment.

♀⟶When 7th house Taurus from 20º to 29º make a commitment, they do so with a profound dedication. Even in challenging times, they remain resolute in maintaining strong bonds. Their environment and surroundings greatly influence their relationships, and they deeply appreciate those who uplift and support they.

♀⟶Time spent with friends is enriched by creative activities that bring 11th house Taurus joy and fulfillment. Their friendships play a crucial role in their journey toward success, as they understand the power of collaboration and mutual support.

♀⟶7th house Taurus from 0º to 9º commitment to nurturing close relationships is unwavering. Remember to strike a balance between their needs and those of their partner, fostering openness to compromise.

♀⟶In matters of the heart, 7th house Taurus are a believer in the slow burn of love. Quick flings and superficial attractions do not satisfy their soul. They understand the importance of taking their time to build a meaningful connection that transcends the physical realm. However, be mindful of their inclination to hold onto a relationship even when its flame flickers. Their attachment can sometimes hinder their growth, especially if the connection wanes in the realm of intimacy. Their sense of security is most profound when they're in the company of a dependable, loyal partner who cherishes commitment as much as they do.

♀⟶6th house Taurus unhurried approach, while it may take longer to accomplish tasks, bestows upon they a daily routine steeped in peace and enjoyment. Yet, this leisurely pace can impact their physical health, leading to extended recovery periods from illnesses and colds.

♀⟶7th house Taurus colleagues find solace in their calming influence. Patience and common sense are their tools for resolving conflicts, making they a cherished team member. Their dedication to long-term relationships extends beyond the personal realm, as they value love and affection above all else. Marriage, in particular, is a sacred commitment they approach with utmost seriousness.

♀⟶If solitude and isolation beckon to 12th house Taurus, consider pursuing a spiritual path, such as joining a monastery or embracing religious beliefs. While they prioritize security, they may not always invite it into their life as readily as they should, which can create an illusion of instability.

♀⟶6th house Taurus resilience and high resistance to ailments are remarkable. Their body can handle demanding physical activities when necessary. It's worth noting that their hearty appetite and fondness for rich foods can sometimes lead to overindulgence.

♀⟶11th house Taurus objectives are pursued with patience and planning, driven by the knowledge that hard work and determination will lead to their desired outcomes. Along this path, their close friendships provide not only support but also opportunities for growth.

♀⟶A harmonious home is 4th house Taurus top priority, and they express their creativity through the art of home decor. Music, a cherished companion, fills their family life with harmony, and they love sharing this passion with their kin.

♀⟶2nd house Taurus desire for wealth is fueled by an appetite for luxurious and valuable items. They may occasionally indulge in impulse purchases, but overall, their approach to money is practical, and they excel in business. With their financial acumen, quick monetary gains are well within their reach.

♀⟶4th house Taurus are a nurturing cornerstone of their family. Cherishing traditions and the comforts of home, they embody the essence of warmth and reliability.

♀⟶10th house Taurus charming demeanor and sensual allure make they stand out in professional circles. While they maintain close friendships, it's essential not to rely too heavily on them for their sense of security.

♀⟶9th house Taurus dedication to their studies has yielded academic success, and they've developed a wealth of patience and persistence through worldly experiences.

♀⟶8th house Taurus> possess a remarkable ability for stillness, which serves as a valuable coping mechanism once true healing begins. In matters of intimacy, they approach emotions directly and calmly, viewing sex as a physical and sensual connection. To build lasting sexual bonds, it's crucial to first find comfort within their own skin and gain a profound understanding of theirself.

♀⟶As 4th house Taurus age, tranquility and relaxation hold even greater appeal. Their natural intuition for financial and real estate matters is a precious gift to their family. Accumulating wealth and valuable possessions to provide for their loved ones is a legacy they proudly carry forward.

♀⟶Taurus Rising loyalty and commitment to both relationships and possessions are a testament to their admirable character. They prioritize authenticity, and fulfilling their obligations is a sacred duty. In their heart, there's an unshakable stamina and endurance, especially when it comes to those they hold dear.

♀⟶Learning something new may take time to 3rd house Taurus, but their commitment knows no bounds. Once they embark on a learning journey, they see it through to the end, retaining the knowledge for life.

♀⟶10th house Taurus+Leo Rising please consider learning to delegate tasks to others rather than taking everything upon theirself.

♀⟶Childhood memories for 4th house Taurus are filled with love and joy, motivating they to recreate this atmosphere for their own family. Safety and security are paramount, and they thrive in spacious, nature-connected environments.

♀⟶While 5th house Taurus may initially be captivated by a luxurious lifestyle, they're not one to remain stagnant. They seek new experiences once the initial excitement wanes. Their pleasant personality and positive outlook make they a magnetic presence in social settings, and their artistic talents earn admiration from peers who share their interests.

♀⟶Taurus Rising approach to life is deliberate and methodical. Every decision, every step, is taken with utmost care and consideration. Their inner world is a place where every thought, every feeling, is carefully weighed and placed in its proper position.

♀⟶Trusting their intuition has served 2nd house Taurus well, yet expanding their financial knowledge, especially regarding institutions like banks and brokerages, could open new doors to prosperity. Their heart beats with a deep passion for the arts and entertainment industries, promising potential financial success.

♀⟶There's a natural sensuality within 5th house Taurus that draws others like moths to a flame. Their steady and deliberate nature exudes a magnetic charm, igniting passion in those fortunate enough to cross their path.

♀⟶7th house Taurus seek someone who not only supports they but also shares their unwavering sense of loyalty. While financial success is not the sole factor in their quest for love, it certainly holds an allure. The ideal partner for they is sensual, someone who can sustain a long-term relationship built on trust and commitment.

♀⟶Taurus Rising possess a remarkable moral compass, a guiding star that steers they towards what truly matters in life. Stability and dependability are their constant companions, and they're motivated by the comforting embrace of material security. But, oh, the siren song of comfort can be alluring, and they must take care not to become too complacent in their cozy nest.

♀⟶3rd house Taurus communication style is engaging, and their words carry a weight of thoughtfulness that captivates those who listen.

♀⟶5th house Taurus childhood was likely filled with moments of indulgence and relaxation, shaping their preference for a leisurely approach to creative pursuits. When it comes to children, their nurturing nature shines through. They may have high expectations, but they are always balanced with their kind and caring demeanor.

[catcze]

⠀「 Grocery Shopping *ೃ༄ 」 

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

「 FEAT : 」 Kazuha, Xiao, Thoma, Ayato, Alhaitham

「 ### : 」 gn reader, domestic fluff, established relationship, modern au

Reposted from my secondary blog !!

⠀「 KAZUHA*ೃ༄ 」

An absolute sweetheart who insists on pushing the cart or carrying the basket for you !!

Sticks pretty close to your grocery list, though if something interesting catches his eye he might pick it up and show it to you in hopes to convince you to get it.

His choices in food are of the healthier variety, I feel like. Mostly goes for organic choices, and is pretty well-learned in knowing which fruits, veggies and fish are the freshest and which are the closest to spoiling.

Tbh grocery shopping with Kazuha is so ?? Chill? Like, little to no stress, swear.

It’s just very easy and relaxing, walking through the aisles at a leisurely pace and plucking stuff off of shelves. You two talk about whatever you want as you walk, or sometimes you sing along to the music that plays from the speakers.

If something is too tall for either of you two to reach there’s no problem!! Kazuha can jump pretty damn high so he can reach the tip-top shelf easy peasy ♡

I feel like Kazuha also has a secret sweet tooth? Nothing too wild, but you’d catch him eyeing a pack of marshmallows every now and then, or staring a little too long at a tub of ice cream.

If you seamlessly pluck up whatever sweet he’s debating on getting and put it into the cart, he’ll literally light up and give you a sweet smooch on ur nose :((

⠀「 XIAO*ೃ༄ 」

To his credit !! He’s pretty damn decent as a grocery buddy. 

Xiao’s a little introverted, typically choosing not to be around other people for very long periods of time, so him actually volunteering to come with you nearly moved you to tears.

He also pushes the cart from you and keeps track of your grocery list, crossing stuff out for you without you even having to tell him.

Xiao doesn’t talk much, which isn’t very out of the ordinary, but he does give some helpful suggestions when you’re indecisive about something. And he’s very pragmatic and straightforward when he helps you make your decisions, too, so it’s very time-efficient having him with u ♡

He barely asks for anything that isn’t on the list tbh? I dunno, I guess he just doesn’t feel the need to. Not to mention, he’s not particularly picky when it comes to his meals either, so he’s content to sit back and let you take the reins for restocking the fridge. 

If his eyes sparkle a little when he sees you picking up ingredients for almond tofu, you choose not to tease him about it.

Definitely the one to try and bring all the grocery bags to the car in one go. And??? He somehow manages it to ??? You have no idea how, or how the guys somehow managed to hold your hand while also toting all those grocery bags but ?? Hey, you’re not complaining. 

⠀「 THOMA*ೃ༄ 」

I shit you not Thoma is the best person to go shopping with. Hands down.

Thoma doesn’t go to the supermarket for his groceries, actually. Or at least not all of them. For some stuff that have to be imported or that are a bit harder to come by locally, he goes to the groceries and such.

However, when it comes too food shopping, his first stop are the farmers markets!

He’s already a regular at the local farmer’s market. Old grannies love to pinch his cheeks whenever they see him and they always coo over you two being an adorable couple.

Thoma leads you by the hand all around the farmer’s market the entire time you’re out, knowing which stall to go to for the freshest produce and the most decent price. 

Knows how to bargain with the locals without being disrespectful! And he always manages to net really good discounts. If you ask him how he does it, he’ll wink and tell you that it’s just his charm. And you can’t fully disagree.

Definitely brings around his own eco-bags, too. He’s used to carrying all the groceries on his own, but if you offer to help he’ll thank you with a kiss and a smile.

At one point while you two separate to cover more ground, he passes by a stall ran by an old couple and their grandkid that sells flowers. He gets you a bouquet— nothing too big that’s hard to carry around, but something small and cute that you can press between your books and display.

When you reunite and he gives you the gift, he looks so goddamn precious holding out the flowers to you with his smile that u just wanna give him a kiss ♡

⠀「 AYATO*ೃ༄ 」

If Thoma is a god-send to be with when grocery shopping, Ayato is… nicely put, the exact opposite.

Listen I don’t blame the man. He’s rich enough that he’s never really had to do his own groceries before, so he’s a bit out of his element when he accompanies you to do it one day, but it’s still cute that he cleared a part of his busy schedule to help you out with this. He’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit (and a pretty face, which helps.)

Motherfucker picks up some incredibly overpriced caviar, looks at the price tag ( $95 !!! For 30 grams what the fuck !!! ) nods to himself like he remembers you having that shit on your grocery list (you do not) and would have plunked it into your cart if you didn’t catch him in time.

He reasons that he’s tried this brand before and that it’s a very delicious-tasting one that you should try yourself, and his reasons are honestly pretty sweet, but it doesn’t change the fact that you don’t need the goddamn caviar. When you try to tell him that you don’t have the budget for it, he offers to get it for you which, again sweet and it makes you want to kiss him, but that’s not the point Ayato !!

Aside from his ignorance inexperience with how much a typical grocery run costs, there’s also the fact that this guy can’t cook for shit. As a result, if he’s not tossing rich person food into your cart, he’s placing shit that should under no circumstances be mixed together in the cart, claiming that he thinks the combination sounds nice to consume.

Ayato, dearest, I love you, but what the fuck is a Cheeto mango shiitake salad ?????? 

⠀「 ALHAITHAM*ೃ༄ 」

The mf who makes a detailed shopping list, complete with the specific brand of the item you’re looking for, the exact amount, the exact price for said amount plus quantity, and then several alternate brands if the one he was aiming for sells out. All of these are entirely researched before hand.

Well, he either does that, or he goes for he most outrageous expensive shit you’ve every seen.

And no half of the time he doesn’t even throw in the $60 per kilogram cheese because he likes it— he does it because he kinda enjoys pissing off a certain blond architect who invites himself over to sleep on your couch rather often.

It’s usually up to you to cross your arms and stare Alhaitham down, quietly judging him for a petty bitch while he crosses his own arms and stares back at you, one eyebrow raised in the way that makes you not sure if you want to punch him or kiss him.

Sometimes you win and with a sigh, your boyfriend quietly turns and goes off to acquire the next item on his incredibly detailed list, leaving you to put his purchase back as you victoriously fist pump to yourself.

Other times, he wins and you throw your arms up, rolling your eyes so hard as you try not to look at his smirk for fear of actually punching him (or, you know, kissing him and flagrantly having public displays of affection.)

Fine! You say to him with a huff that’s not actually angry. Keep your goddamn parmigiano reggiano. 

You can never feel huffy about it for long, though— not when you find an extra tub of your favorite ice cream later as you put the groceries away.