#A TEMPORARY ESCAPE FROM DAILY LIFE

[bl-bam-beyond]

MISEINEN: MIJUKUNA ORETACHI WA BUKIYO NI SHINKOCHU (2024, JAPAN)

Episode 6

Post 1 of 4

On a trip to visit his mother Hirukawa Haruki (KAMIMURA KENSHIN) and Minase Jin (MOTOJIMA JUNSEI) have a talk.

Haruki has changed by falling for Jin.

The adoration and love in their eyes when they look at each other. A moment together before they decide to give themselves to one another in an intimate way. Perhaps Haruki preparing to lose Jin.

Is Jin leaving for America?

Once they return home, circumstances and Haruki taking the blame for a friend Haruki himself lead down a bad path when his circumstances were different. Before Love Took Over His Heart.

@pose4photoml @just-another-boyslove-blog @wanderlust-in-my-soul

[indecisivemuch]

Scandalous

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: The reveal of a scandalous detail about yours and Luke's relationship left you both flustered and everybody else gaping. Inspired by one line from So It Goes - Taylor Swift (fluff, established relationship).

Warning: allusions to sex, but no explicit details.

Word count: 2k

You and Luke have been going out for well over a year now. Yet, he never failed to make you feel like it would be an eternal honeymoon phase: whispers of sweet words about a lifetime’s worth of promises, delicate and sacred touches, looks filling in for unspoken words.

Loving Luke was as easy as having a daily routine - so natural and almost like a grounding thing from the life of a Demigod.

Currently, Luke was training with Percy. You were not too far away either, sparring with Clarisse. Despite the area being occupied by many other Demigods engaging in similar activities, Luke could not help but frequently glance over at you.

Luke has always been mesmerized by the way you combat, which he metaphorically compared to a ballerina. So precise, yet deadly. Every move was with intention and purpose. 

The way sweat glided down the side of your face, your cheeks flushed from fighting, eyes darting with strategy, heavy pants in between dodging and attacking your opponent, the smirk hinted on your face - all of it made Luke’s mind grow flustered. Somehow, he found everything you do attractive.

If he was honest, his mind seemed to be doing nothing lately but think of you, especially when you’re not beside him. The memories he has harvested over your time together only transformed his brain into a cinema, which constantly played montages of you. Every morning, he’d wake up from a dream about you to the sight of you in his arms - that is before he had to sneak out of your cabin back to his. You constantly occupy every cell in his mind, like an uncontainable virus spreading. Yet, for some reason, he was not scared. He welcomed this feeling with his whole arms wide open.

You broke eye contact with Clarisse to look at Luke. Almost instantly, your eyes melted into ones filled with adoration and his own eyes mirrored the same emotions - if not tenfold. 

You were absolutely enamored with how Luke looked at you. Even before dating each other, people have mentioned the eyes he was giving you. But being oblivious, you did not see what they were talking about. However, it all became clear when you started dating. You started noticing how he would look at you like you were a rare artwork he would most likely never see again or a shooting star - a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence kind of thing that left him in awe all the time. He would do it so endearingly as if it would help to absorb every detail of you and imprint them into his memory. His looks have always made you feel loved - like you were the only thing that mattered to him, as if he has not told you this verbally and through actions already. Usually, you’d feel slightly insecure if somebody was staring so intensely at you, but he did it in a way that made you feel like your flaws were created to be loved for. 

However, a gasp escaped your lips as Luke was showered by a wave of the ocean. Everybody else also drew their attention to the head of Hermes’ cabin and the newly claimed Poseidon kid.

When Luke looked back at Percy, he was faced with a sheepish grin.

“I had to get your attention somehow. I tried calling your name like ten times already,” Percy shrugged his shoulder with feigned innocence, but the glint of mischief told Luke that the kid was anything but feeling guilty about soaking him from head to toe. 

“Percy,” Luke groaned as he could feel the fabric of his clothes cling to his body. Percy bashfully chuckled and offered another sheepish look to the counselor who was meant to train him. 

The cool water did offer a temporary fix to the boiling summer heat. But mixing that with sweat, combat, and Luke's long-sleeved shirt underneath was disastrous. The Hermes boy sighed as he slowly took off the bright orange camp shirt. After struggling slightly, he managed to pull the shirt off from over his head. However, the gray shirt he was wearing underneath got pulled up more than slightly from the extra friction between wet fabrics, revealing the majority of his back to Percy and others. 

He did not think much of it until gasps - including yours - could be heard as this happened. Chris even whistled as he and everybody else spotted what Luke did not notice.

“What?” Luke asked as he pulled down his gray shirt and started wringing his camp t-shirt, trying to rid it from being as wet as possible. 

“Damn, did you get mauled by a minotaur or something?” Percy asked. 

Almost immediately, Luke paled at Percy’s words as he realized what the kid was talking about.

Indeed, as Luke’s gray shirt underneath got pulled up, which revealed the majority of his back, this had also put on display the scratches down his back left from nights that he spent with you. Some were evidently old and healing, as seen by how Luke’s skin was patching itself up and matching closer to his skin tone. Others were somewhat freshly red, while a few were like wounds being reopened. To make matters worse, they could spot the occasional crescent shape bruises that were indentations of your nails. 

Considering your guys’ relationship was not a secret, there was no room to deny it if somebody pointed fingers at you. You blushed as people now averted their eyes to you as if this was the most scandalous thing all year. Clarisse and Chris, on the other hand, were both smirking. 

The whole camp knew you were the one who left those scratches there, and you sincerely wish you could dig a hole to hide yourself from all the attention right now.

Luke’s eyes darted to you, and you offered him an awkward smile as your face grew a darker shade of red.

“No, seriously, dude, you gotta get it checked out at the infirmary. How did that even happen?” Percy only continued, somehow actually clueless about the cause of those marks. You could see Annabeth sending Percy a somewhat side-eye from nearby at his words while Grover let out a deep sigh. 

You started approaching the two, hoping you could intervene and save the both of you from this situation.

“Uhm…well,” Luke started, unsure how to even answer the kid or divert the attention elsewhere as his cheeks flushed and ears tinted pink from trying to ignore memories of what you two had done the night before.

The Hermes boy has jokingly sweet-talked you before on how he might walk out shirtless after one of your rendezvous to show off the marks you left on him. Never would you two think that that idea would ever happen like this.

“Yeah, I reckon you should get that checked out,” you decided to say as you reached Luke, settling your hand on Luke’s lower back and greeting Percy. “Thank you for worrying about him.”

“Yeah, no problem. I mean, it must have been quite a minotaur to land that much of a number on him,” Percy somehow carried on and was utterly oblivious to Clarisse and Chris, who almost bursted out laughing at his latest comment. You, on the other hand, squinted your eyes at the kid. You turned to Luke and you could see it in his eyes that the boy was on the verge of laughing as well. You were sure he would have done so if it were not for your glare.

“Well, we best go heal those wounds now, right Luke?” you gave your boyfriend a look, hoping he would get the message to play along.

“Right,” he agreed almost instantly. 

“Alright, bye, Percy,” you hastily spoke, before dragging Luke by his hand away from everybody's eyes.

“Bye guys,” you could hear the kid’s voice as the both of you retreated. It felt like a walk of shame as the semi-crowd parted ways for you two to leave the scene. You immediately let out a deep breath as soon as nobody was near anymore.

“Gods, that was so embarrassing. The kid basically repeatedly called me a minotaur.”

“I mean…you can be my minotaur?” Luke cheekily jested, trying to tease you a bit more over the situation.

“Oh, no, no, no, we’re not making that a thing. No, absolutely not are you ever gonna make that a nickname,” Luke only laughed at your reaction before wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you into a hug. As he did so, you wrapped both your arms around his waist, face colliding with his chest the way it would usually do when you guys cuddle. He gave you a few peppered kisses on your forehead, close to your hairline. 

“They’re never gonna let us live that down, will they?” You asked after letting out a muffled groan against his chest.

“Nope,” Luke admitted. Despite the Hermes boy usually easing away your worries, even he knew this would be the talk around camp for a while. Nevertheless, he unwrapped his arms around you and cupped your face with both hands. Using his callus-filled hands, yet gentle touch, he soothed your furrowed eyebrows by rubbing over them to urge you from scowling.

“But…you know what? I’m kind of glad this happened. Sure, it might be awkward and a tad bit embarrassing. But now, they finally get to see how lucky I am to have been given a chance by such a gorgeous and sweet Demigod. And…” he paused, giving you a quick kiss. “This way, any guy potentially still after you know to keep their hands off.” He cheekily winked at you after saying so. 

Gods, you remember how jealous Luke would get before you were together. It was lowkey hot to see him so riled up. Though, after the both of you got together, you have always reassured him that you had eyes on him and only him. 

“I guess that also means any girls still thinking they could steal you from me would know they have no chance?” you questioned, smiling ear to ear when he nodded eagerly at your words.

“Exactly. That’s a win-win in my book. I’m not embarrassed they saw what you left on me. They could talk for all I care. So stop worrying, or else you’ll start getting wrinkles,” he lightly flicked the area between your furrowed eyebrows. As you were about to complain, he quickly kissed you right where he previously flicked you, and that immediately melted away any bit of feigned irritation you had with him. He chuckled at the sight of your furrowed eyebrows untangling itself.

“Thank you,” you muttered, showing your gratitude towards Luke. 

If Luke had a superpower, it would probably be calming you down. He has always managed to tame your emotions whenever they were drowning you. He was like an anchor to you, always grounded you during chaotic times. Sometimes, you wonder how you got so lucky. 

You peered up at him sweetly, and the look alone made him lean down to capture your lips with his again. You chuckled at his action and kissed him back with just as much passion as he was leaving on your lips. Your hands started playing with the hair close to the nape of his neck. He let out a content sigh while still showing your lips just how much he loved them and you. However, he abruptly pulled away before dropping a question. 

“Are we really going to the infirmary?” Luke hesitantly asked, bringing up your words from earlier. He watched as you gave him an amused look.

“What did you think?” As soon as his eyes met yours, he knew exactly what you wanted. He gave you a sheepish grin before the two of you quietly giggled to each other before walking further away from the training grounds.

Let's just say you two did not follow through with your words of going to the infirmary, and neither were you tending to his “wounds”.

——————————

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[soullessdianthus]

have you written anything for a perv!gromsko? he is my favorite and i would love to see you write for him!

A/N: I decided to write him in the most stereotypical way which is misogynistic (men in Poland are like this fr *COUGHS*). Just because I gave myself a pass to do that bc I'm Polish, okay? *Muah* to this anon for Polish reference! (づ￣ ³￣)づ

Warnings: misogyny, sabotage in workplace, nsfw (overstimulation, darcyphilia, cockwarming, throat training, dumbification maybe?)

✧°. Gromsko is a misogynistic kind of pervert. Born and raised in a traditional Polish family he grew unaware of his deepest, darkest desires. Until.

✧°. When you enrolled into the SpecGru forces, he couldn’t believe something as delicate as a girl found herself here, within the private military company. Of course Sobiesław knew women were stronger than it seemed, but not in a fucking battlefield. In his opinion they should worry about hearth and home not a bloodshed. 

✧°. Obviously he had been working with some scary women before, but never with someone like you – still young, perhaps naive even. Your pretty body untouched with little to no scars. You were definitely a description of a delicate flower in his eyes.

✧°. His mother and grandmother raised him well – he would never risk the life of a devoted woman in a place like this. So since the first day Kościuszko saw you enter the gym hall, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

✧°. Perv!Gromsko would stare from his spot, surrounded by his friends, yet it was you who got his full attention. How your body flexes and muscles stretch while working out or how your breasts bounce as you run on the treadmill. Dear God, don’t give him ideas.

✧°. He was already dreaming of you riding his cock into oblivion, naked while he was in full uniform. Sobiesław’s coarse hands pressing down onto your hips, making you sink further against him and his girl mewling from pleasure.

✧°. Sneaking behind everyone’s back Perv!Gromsko would do everything to be assigned with you while on a mission. Sobiesław very carefully sabotaged your work just for the superiors to punish you. 

✧°. Why? Because he would defend you in front of them, telling them you need another chance, that he would guide you. And since he was an honored soldier within the company, they made him your temporary superior as he had a higher rank than you. From now on, he was responsible for you and your doings. 

✧°. Gromsko had you where he wanted to since the very beginning – vulnerable and dependent. 

✧°. Perv!Sobiesław believed it was meant that way, because women should listen to their husbands, right? First thing he wanted to change in your training routine was cardio. 

✧°. Your comrade told you to show up at his dorm’s door in the evening. Without much thinking of it, you came straight to him, thinking he would take you to gym – how foolish.

✧°. A loud gasp escaped your mouth, when the man that was supposed to help you with your training session was pressing your face into the bedroom’s wall as his huge hands were groping your breasts! Perv!Gromsko would correct your stamina by relentlessly thrusting into your tight cunt, causing you to beg for a break with tears streaming down your eyes. 

✧°. Evening sessions with Sobiesław became an almost daily occurrence. The man would bend you in different positions on his bed, thrusting deep into your pretty pussy until you couldn’t cum anymore. Perv!Gromsko would mock your lack of stamina and threaten he would not allow you to go on a mission if you hadn’t tried harder.

✧°. So he began training your throat breath by telling you to keep his cock in your wet mouth for a good while, sucking gently from time to time. Of course your tears and sobs were causing him to feel pity for you, but Sobiesław was doing this to help you become better! :( 

✧°. He was reading a book, the one from his grandma, while you were laying between his toned legs, keeping his throbbing member warm. You would whine from time to time from the lack of enough oxygen. But then Gromsko would simply caress your pretty, silly head and tell you how good job you’re doing. <3

✧°. “Such a good girl f’me.”

✧°. “No dalej, dasz radę, Mała [pol.: Come on, you can do this, little one].”

[itsasilentreader]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 — 𝐇𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧, 𝐇𝐚𝐧 𝐉𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Roommate!Hyunjin x fem!reader x Roommate!Jisung

𝙂𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: smut, tiniest bit of angst, a little bit of fluff

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 4.8K — 32 𝙢𝙞𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙

𝙏𝙒/𝘾𝙒: written in 3rd person pov, (brief mentions) of grief and death, alcohol consumption and allusion to substance abuse, threesome, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (be responsible guys!), pet names, a bit of a praise kink, creampie, swallowing lmk if I missed anything

𝘼/𝙉: Got this idea when I listened to things song the first few times. It took me a while to write it and it is still not edited or proof-read so please bear with me. English is not my first language!

⤷ 𝘏𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘑𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.

⋮ 𝗠𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Uh, she was always dealing with the devil

Grief can make life feel unbearable, especially after losing someone so dear to you. 

She knew this. It was consuming her whole, leaving her with a pain she couldn’t seem to numb in her daily life. The loss brought a new sense of pain she didn’t know one could feel.

In her attempt to escape the harsh reality, she kept drinking and drinking. But now, even the alcohol’s buzz no longer numbed the pain; she had grown used to it. It only brought her more agony, yet that didn’t mean she’d stop trying to numb it.

She had once mentioned wanting to try something else—another method to get a temporary fix, just a brief moment of relief from the pain. 

That’s why she was here tonight, with her friends, trying to dull the ache grief had left behind.

Shot after shot, Jisung and Hyunjin stayed by her side. 

Already buzzed from pregaming at their shared apartment with their other friends, they couldn't stop thinking about what she had said before.

She was always into taking those chances, yeah

The apartment Y/N shared with Hyunjin and Jisung was, yet again, the designated pregame spot. She needed another night out to drown out the pain she felt, so she suggested getting together with their friends, drinking a lot of booze, and going out afterward.

As the hours went by, the alcohol ensured they were all tipsy and gave her a rush of confidence she wouldn’t have otherwise.

“I just need to get laid again,” she said, sipping her mixed drink. Catching the wide eyes of her roommates over the rim of her glass, she smirked. Her intention became more obvious to them as she continued.

“Y’know, I’ve always wanted to try a threesome. Have any of you tried it?” she asked the guys as innocently as possible, but her two roommates caught her underlying tone.

“I have! You guys gotta try it!” Changbin, already very intoxicated, yelled out.

The rest chimed in with, “No, you didn’t,” “What was it like?” and the most-asked question: Was it with two women or with a man and a woman?

Grinning at the commotion she stirred up, her eyes drifted back over to her two roommates. They were huddled together, having a hushed conversation.

Jisung glanced at her with an almost pathetic and desperate look in his eyes. Quickly averting his gaze back to Hyunjin, his mind started to wander because of her statement.

Maybe they should ditch the substances tonight and try a different form of relief. Maybe even two different forms?

It was no secret to her, or any of their friends, that her two roommates were attracted to her. They, however, were oblivious to her attraction towards them, but the rest of the group wasn’t.

“Maybe we should ask her tonight,” Hyunjin quietly said to the younger boy next to him. 

Jisung pursed his lips and nodded. “Maybe.”

“I mean, she said she’d always wanted to try it,” Hyunjin proceeded. 

“And we both want to try it. So maybe we should do it.” Jisung nodded again at his friend. Lust crept in and clouded his mind. 

Man, he needs another drink. 

“What are you boys talking about?” Your voice pulled both boys out of their hushed conversation as if they were getting caught doing something they shouldn’t. 

“Uh–just uh, nothing special,” Jisung stammered out, mentally face-palming himself for his stupid cover-up. 

Hyunjin gave him a pointed look and averted his eyes back to yours. 

“Just sharing some thoughts,” he said as he gulped down his drink all at once. He set his glass on the table and wiped his mouth with his long fingers. 

The gesture did not escape her, her eyes fixed on his fingers. Hyunjin observed her as her eyes glassed over, still fixated on his hands. He watched her as she took her lower lip into her mouth and softly bit down. The look spreading on her face could only be described as horny.

It made him smirk, and now it confirmed for him that tonight was the night he’d show her another way of pleasure with Jisung.

Then she fell in love with a pill that could take away all her pain, uh 

Then she fell in love with a whole new drug that could fill her veins, and then

She kept chasing that high. The euphoric feeling blocked out all the pain she felt, pushing it further down the black box of grief and mourning. The box she didn’t want to open up and allow herself to feel with all the emotions at once.

She didn’t want to just feel, she just wanted to feel. Feel the ecstatic rush, the euphoric sensation, and just block out all her thoughts of the real world. She wants to be in this moment, in this delicious bubble of ecstasy, surrounded by her people.

Swaying her hips to the beat of the music, she let her hands roam her body. Featherlight touches as if teasing her skin, leaving a trail of hot, tingling sensation in its wake. She let her head hang back, closing her eyes while she felt the dopamine rush coming in.

Strobing lights flashed through the area, and she could only see flashes behind her closed eyelids. Lost in her pleasure out on the dance floor, two pairs of eyes followed her every move. 

Their eyes glued to her body, viewing how her hands teased her soft tummy, fingers trailing up, up, up to her tits. Gentle fingers teased her mounds through her top, making the two pairs of eyes glaze over with lust and excitement.

As if their gazes burned holes in her tingling skin, she looked over at her admirers. A sly smile clear on her face as she continued to fondle her tits.

They all knew what would happen tonight, even though they hadn’t said it out loud yet. By the way they had shared lust-filled looks, they knew how the night would end. 

Jisung downed his drink in one go, setting his glass back on the bar as he wiped his mouth. His eyes were still fixated on her sultry-moving body as his hand approached Hyunjin’s shoulder. He clasped his shoulder and nodded. 

The older boy broke out in a sly grin as he looked over at her swaying hips and lust-filled eyes. Jisung walked over to her, her eyes lighting up as she saw him approach her. 

Her hands pull him in as soon as he’s within arm's length of her, her body ignited by his touch alone. 

His hands pulled her closer to his body, as he watched her with a smirk on his face. Then, she felt another pair of hands on her body from behind her. 

She didn’t need to turn around to know whose hands were on her. Hyunjin’s scent infiltrated her senses. 

“Let me show you another way of pleasure, please baby?” Jisung asked her gently, as he leaned closer to her and she felt his hot breath on her ear. “We can show you another way, angel.” 

Hyunjin observed from behind her and pulled her body closer as she nodded at the younger boy. The music was so loud, but both boys could hear her sultry voice clear as day, “Show me.”

She's high (high)

She lives in the sky

Grinding her hips against Hyunjin’s groin, his hands travelled up her body. Roaming around, touching her skin so deliciously, it left a tingling sensation. Her head spinning, she let it fall back on his shoulders. Her neck is now exposed to the two boys wanting to dive in and satisfy her every need.

Jisung stood in front of her, his eyes glued to her exposed neck and how her top showed off her tits just right. Stepping forward, his hands went to her hips, grabbing them and guiding her movements on the older boy’s body. One hand grabbed Jisung’s shoulder, pulling him closer to her until her chest pressed up against his. Her other hand came up to Hyunjin’s hair, pulling at it out of pleasure.

Jisung’s gaze darkened, travelling from her face to her neck, and watched how Hyunjin slowly pressed his plump lips against the exposed skin. A gasp left her lips, as she felt delicious slow kisses on her neck. Her eyes locked with Jisung’s and her hand travelled from his shoulder to his neck, pulling him closer until their mouths ghosted over each other until he finally caved in first and pressed their lips together for a soaring, lustful kiss.

Hyunjin kept kissing her neck, pulling enticing sounds out of the girl in his arms. Now grinding his restrained cock against her ass to the rhythm of the music surrounding them. She let out another erotic gasp, allowing Jisung to slip his tongue into her mouth.

Wet, obscene sounds could be heard from the trio that stood in the dark corner of the club. 

Pulling away from the eager pair, her sultry eyes took in the two breathtaking boys in front of her. Grabbing their hands, she pulled them towards her and made her way through the crowd. 

She stopped in front of a door, kissing Hyunjin first before pulling her puffy lips away and pulling in Jisung. Ghosting her lips over his, a desperate whine left his mouth. Smirking slightly she pushed her lips on his. 

Then she took them both by their hands again and pushed open the door. The dimly lit, small bathroom was empty. She turned around and motioned the boys to come in and close the door. 

Jisung followed her first, Hyunjin trailing behind them and locking the door. Jisung’s lips were already back on hers, as he lifted her and sat her down on the bathroom sink.

Hyunjin quietly walked over to the pair, lost in each other. His eyes took in her body, how it reacted to Jisung’s touches and the sounds she made. 

His heartbeat sped up as the arousal spread in his body, blood rushing to his cock. 

His hands reached out to her as Jisung kissed his way down her body. Hyunjin touched the soft fabric of her top, and Jisung fumbled with her denim skirt. Slowly, Hyunjin pushed down the straps of her top, letting them fall off of her shoulders. Her hazy eyes met his, and a seductive smile formed on her lips. 

Jisung tapped her ass to lift, and he slid her panties down her legs. His boba eyes roamed her body, drinking in every single detail as if she could slip through his fingers.

Both Hyunjin and Jisung felt as if she was their drug, addicted to her taste already, even though she only touched their lips. At this moment, staring at her as if she was the centre of their universe. 

This is exactly how she wanted the two boys tonight. Willing to show her different ways of pleasure.

Tonight, she's satisfied (satisfied)

Rolling back her eyes

Spreading her legs as she was propped up on the bathroom sink, Jisung kneeled in front of her. The sight of her wet cunt bare in front of him made his mouth water. Then, he leaned forward and teased her with soft kisses on her inner thighs. 

A loud whine came from above him, her desperate sounds begging him to do something — anything. He looked up at her through his thick lashes, the dim light of the small bathroom dancing hand in hand with lust in his boba eyes.

Still teasing her, he gave her a featherlight kiss on her aching heat. A soft but erotic gasp escaped her lips and the sound drove him insane. He dove right in and flattened his tongue against her wet cunt, pulling another obscene sound from her chest. Her hands flew to his hair to pull him even closer to her aching core, grinding onto his tongue.

Hyunjin grabbed her face into his hands, forcing her eyes to be on him as Jisung pleasured her with his mouth. His thumb glided over her lips, forcing them to open and wrap around it. Her half-lidded, lust-ridden eyes stared up at him while her tongue swirled around his thumb. 

His cock was already painfully hard but the feeling of her wet mouth around his fingers made him lose his mind.

Her hands were tugging on Jisung’s hair, making him groan out in pleasure against her cunt. The vibrations of his groans added to the pleasure she already felt. She felt his fingers now prodding at her entrance, gathering the wetness of her arousal and his spit with his fingers. Teasingly, he slid between her folds, watching in awe at how her body was reacting to his touch.

Then, he slid one finger into her pussy, feeling her walls immediately clench around his finger. The stretch of his finger already felt amazing, she couldn’t wait until she would feel the stretch of his cock — and Hyunjin’s cock.

She felt Jisung slipping another finger into her pussy, fingering her open. Her eyes rolled back and she kept sucking on Hyunjin’s thumb. Seeing her experience pleasure by getting fingered and eaten out, Hyunjin couldn’t contain himself and his restrained cock any longer.

Pulling his thumb out of his mouth, he pulled her in for a hot, open-mouthed kiss and swallowed all her sweet sounds of ecstasy. “Please let me fill you up, pretty girl,” he moaned against her soft lips. She nodded frantically in response to Hyunjin’s question. 

He made quick work of his pants and boxers, hurrying to push them down far enough so his cock sprang free. Her eyes were glued to his cock, a bead of precum leaking out of the tip. She immediately grabbed his cock in her hands. Pumping it a few times as Hyunjin connected their lips again in a passionate kiss. 

Hyunjin moaned against her lips, her soft hands working on his shaft. Maybe it was because it had been a while for him or maybe it was because of the erotic scene playing out in front of him, but he felt like he could come any second by her touch. 

Entranced Jisung watched her as he still lapped at her cunt, feeling his cock harden at the sight of her kissing Hyunjin and pumping his cock while she got eaten out. Curling his fingers in her pussy, he felt her walls clench down hard on his fingers. She pulled back her lips from Hyunjin’s, a trail of saliva following their lips, as she felt the knot in her stomach tighten more and more. 

Hyunjin needed to slow down and calm his erratic heartbeat and his cock as he wasn’t done with the night yet. As she pulled away from his lips, he gently stopped her hands from stroking him, otherwise he would come already, 

She let out a whine in protest but soon was already lost again in the arousal and pleasure she felt because of Jisung’s mouth and fingers. 

Her moans echoing and bouncing off the walls of the small bathroom, she hung her head against the mirror behind her as she kept chasing the orgasm Jisung was about to pull from her with his fingers and his tongue. 

“Gonna cum on my fingers angel?” Jisung teased her, his fingers still pumping in and out of her and curling just right at that spot. 

She cried out at his words, biting her lower lips so hard she almost drew out blood. 

“Yes, yes— right there Sungie”, her eyes rolled back and her mouth hung open as she felt the knot in her stomach tighten, ready to snap at any moment.

“Come around his fingers princess,” Hyunjin whispered in her ear seductively, as his hands came up to her neck. His large hand wrapped around her exposed throat, his hand tightening just enough to add to the pleasure she already felt. 

Their names spilt out of her lips like a mantra, as her orgasm washed over her, eyes rolled back. 

Her heavy breathing as she came down from her high was heard together with the wet sounds of Jisung still teasing her walls with his fingers and Hyunjin groaning at the sight of her. 

His lips captured hers once more. Jisung gently pulled out his fingers, making her whimper against Hyunjin’s mouth. 

Hyunjin pulled back, breathing heavily as he nudged Jisung to move. Jisung smirked and got up. While maintaining eye contact with her, he licked his fingers clean. 

She moaned out at the sight of Jisung enjoying her taste on his lips and fingers. 

Hyunjin stood between her legs, stroking his cock a few times before positioning himself in front of her wet cunt. Slick with her arousal and Jisung’s saliva, Hyunjin teased her aching hole with the tip of his cock. 

Slightly rubbing up and down, her back walls clenched around nothing. “Please Hyune,” she moaned, begging him to do something. 

Her hips shifted slightly as his hand came up to grab her waist. Holding his cock at the base he gently eased himself into her core. 

Hyunjin closed his eyes and groaned out loud at the feeling of her walls wrapping around his dick. It felt so soft and warm, so heavenly. Her moans reached his ears and he opened his eyes to see her face contorted by a twinge of pain from the size of his dick. 

Even though Jisung prepped her for Hyunjin and his cock, Hyunjin was still bigger than she was used to. 

Halfway in, he pulled out gently before pushing in again. She felt him go a bit deeper and the twinge of pain turned slowly into pleasure. Bottoming out, his other hand came up to her neck and pulled her in for another kiss. 

“Please– fuck, move,” she moaned out against his lips and he was happy to oblige. His hips snapped into her at a brutal pace, one hand holding her soft waist as the other held a firm grip on her neck. 

This position allowed him to pull her back on his cock and watch as his cock disappeared into her tight hole. 

He saw her fingers sneak their way down and she began rubbing tight circles on her clit. 

“Are you gonna cum again princess? Come all over my cock?” Hyunjin’s voice was deep, and sultry and sent another wave of pleasure through her body. 

His cock was hitting the right spots and she felt the tension in her core creep up again. 

“Yes, yes, yes–”, she cried out in ecstasy, her head falling back against the mirror. 

Hyunjin kept his brutal pace and snapped his hips against hers, hitting just the right spot. She moaned out his name over and over again as the pleasure kept building in her core. 

Hyunjin leaned down, kissed her once more and took her lower lip between his. The slight pain of his teeth on her lip made her cry out in pleasure.

“Come for me baby,” Hyunjin gritted out against her lips, and she did. 

Her orgasm hit her hard, seeing white spots in her vision as she closed her eyes tightly and let her head fall back. She kept rubbing furiously as she rode out her orgasm. 

Her body almost went limp as Hyunjin kept fucking her through her orgasm. 

“Good girl,” he kissed her once more. His pace slowed down to sharper thrusts.

Jisung had pulled his pants down and was stroking his cock at the sight of her getting fucked by Hyunjin. Her skirt and panties were discarded on the dirty bathroom floor, and her top was pulled down so her perfect tits were bare.

All the sweet sounds she made went straight to his cock. 

He didn’t know he could be so aroused by seeing her come undone on another man’s cock. 

Her head rolled to the side and her half-ridden, pleasure-filled eyes locked with Jisungs. Her free hand reached out to Jisung, “Please Sungie,” she motioned for him to come closer.

Hyunjin looked over at Jisung, but the younger one was focused on her body and how she responded to Hyunjin’s cock hitting all the right spots.

“You wanna get filled up by Jisung now, princess hm?” She nodded and bit her lip in response, but he wanted to hear her say it.

“Use your words, princess.” He gave another sharp thrust into her sensitive walls. 

“Y-yes, please-” she whimpered out. 

He gave her one last sharp thrust, before pulling out and leaving her aching for more. 

He stepped aside so Jisung could take his place, while Hyunijn wrapped his own hands around his cock. Using her wetness as lube and jerked up and down as he watched her and Jisung. 

Jisung pulled her in for a kiss, a bit softer than how Hyunjin pulled her in. Gliding his tongue over her bottom lip, she gasped as she felt him pick her up. 

He set her down gently and spun her around. Bending her over the small bathroom sink, the action was rougher than how he picked her up. Her face was pressed against the fogged-up mirror. 

Jisung spread her ass cheeks and dropped a glob of saliva from his lips, on top of her used hole. The slightest touch already had her whining and withering around. Her eyes closed and biting her lip. 

Jisung guided his tip inside of her, the feeling of her walls engulfing him almost made him cum on the spot. 

She was getting impatient and tried to back her hips back up onto his cock. 

Jisung shook his head and tutted. “Angel, you have to be patient. Be a good girl.”

The pet name made her cry out, and Jisung slid his cock into her with one motion, bottoming out immediately. 

While Hyunjin’s cock was longer, Jisung’s was thicker. Her pussy got fucked open by Hyunjin but she still felt a slight sting because of the girth of Jisung’s cock. 

Grabbing her hips, he felt her pushing back onto his cock. He groaned out at the feeling of her fucking herself onto his cock. 

His eyes look down at how his cock gets swallowed by her pussy. Her mouth hung open in ecstasy and she felt his hands trail up to her shoulder blades and her neck.

His hands tangled in her hair as he roughly pulled at it, lifting her face from the mirror. Hyunjin stepped closer, still stroking his cock as he wiped the mirror in front of her face. 

“Look at yourself angel, look how pretty you look-” He murmured in her ear as he kissed her neck. “All fucked out,” Another heating kiss on her neck. 

“Cumming so prettily for both of us, doesn’t she?” Hyunjin’s voice seductively asked them both, and Jisung groaned in response. “So pretty.”

Her eyes took in her reflection and she whimpered at the sight of her make-up smeared, mascara under her eyes and lipstick smudged. Her hair was sticking to her face. 

Then her eyes flicked over to Hyunjin’s, locking their eyes as she felt Jisung pound into her aching but sensitive hole. 

“H-harder – please Sung–”, she cried out as she dug her fingers into the sink to hold her steady. 

More than happy to oblige her request, Jisung thrust harder into her wet core. He tugged at her hair again and kissed her shoulders. “Pussy feels s’good angel,” he whined, hot breath on her skin.

Hyunjin felt his orgasm creeping in but tried to hold it off until she came again for them. “Are you gonna cum again princess?” he asked her as she tried to hold herself up against the sink. Her legs wobbling as Jisung kept pounding into her. 

She nodded and let her head fall against the mirror. Whining out, she felt another rush of arousal spread through her body. The feeling kept bubbling and Hyunjin’s words added to the pleasure she felt while Jisung kept fucking her. 

“Shit– fuck, angel,” the words spilt from Jisung’s lips sending the bubbling feeling over the edge. She tried to hold herself up but the feeling of Jisung’s strokes and words was becoming too much. 

“Oh my god-” Flushed and sweaty, she sobbed through the sensitive feeling of her walls clenching around Jisung’s cock.

“I’m gonna cum, where do you want me to cum?” Jisung grunted as he tried to keep his pace steady. 

“Inside – please inside Sungie”, Jisung moaned loudly as he heard her words, his steady pace faltering. With a few more sloppy thrusts, Jisung came loudly, moaning her name as his cum painted her walls. 

The warm, sticky feeling made her moan out in pleasure. Jisung let his head rest on her shoulders and placed a soft kiss there. “Thank you angel.”

Hyunjin couldn’t hold his orgasm at bay any longer, seeing Jisung’s cum dripping out of her pussy as he pulled out with a hiss. 

She turned around and gave him one last kiss before pulling away and locking her eyes with Hyunjin. 

“Now it’s your turn to cum baby,” her voice was sultry, eyes still full of desire and cum was dripping down her legs. But she still went down on her knees and took Hyunjin’s cock in her hands. 

She moved her hand up and down slowly, seeing how Hyunjin watched her every move. She then took him in her mouth, her lips wrapping around the tip of his length. 

A strangled sound left his lips as his hands tangled in her hair to guide her on his shaft. Her hot mouth sucking him in, hallowing her cheeks. Her hand stroked the rest of his length that didn’t fit in her mouth.

“Just like that princess,” his hips moved along with her movements, eyes locked on his. 

“God, you’re gonna make me cum.” He bit his lower lip as she kept sucking him and taking him deeper into her mouth. 

Breathing through her nose, she almost took all of him in. Hyunjin felt his abdomen tighten as he felt her gag slightly on his cock. 

“Are you gonna take it all like a good girl princess?” he chased that feeling in his abdomen, travelling down to his cock. 

One of her hands came up to cup his balls and palm them while she bobbed up and down his length, the other still stroked the rest she couldn’t fit. His hands were still in her hair, he pushed her head down a little harder, which made her moan around his cock. 

The vibration of her moans sent Hyunjin over the edge and spurts of his hot cum painted her throat. And just like promised, she took it and swallowed all of it. 

“Good fuckin’ girl, princess,” Hyunjin gasped out as she released his dick with a pop and smiled up to him. Showing her tongue, she swallowed every last drop he gave her.

Blissed out, silence fell over them as the bass of the club's loud music penetrated through the walls. 

Hyunjin helped her up while Jisung picked up her clothes from the ground. Hyunjin turned on the faucet to wet a piece of toilet paper. With this, he helped her clean her sensitive core. 

Jisung helped her put her denim skirt back on and put her top on right again. 

She still felt like she was on a rosy cloud of dopamine. Her two roommates, both of whom she had wanted for a long time, finally showed her another way she could also get a rush of dopamine without turning to substances.

A dopey smile spread out on her face. Jisung caught her staring at how the two boys gave her some aftercare, even though they were still in the dirty, small bathroom of the club. 

After he adjusted the straps of her top on her shoulders, he leaned in once more to give her a soft peck. “Thank you,” she murmured against his lips. 

“Any time angel, just let me–us know.” Jisung smiled softly as she leaned back with still a blissed-out look on her face. Hyunjin took one of her hands in his and left soft kisses on the back of her hand. 

Both boys were at either side of her, as she spoke up after a minute. “Wanna go home and go again?”

Hyunjin and Jisung looked at each other, words unspoken. 

They would be happy to help her again and again get that temporary fix, a dopamine rush, pleasure. 

Because she just went to heaven and back.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Ⓒ︎ 𝗶𝘁𝘀𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿. 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥. 𝗗𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵.

[ghostbsuter]

"Here," Danny slides his business card over, and Victor fries takes it.

"Contact my parents, go to Amity Park. They can explain and answer every question you have, Mr. Fries."

Victor, still in his suit and staring, frowns. "What about Nora?"

"I can promise you, she will be alright. I'll give you daily news of her condition and make sure everything is on top condition."

Mr. Fries hesitates, glancing at his frozen wife. He contemplates it, the decision and its cost if he were to trust.

"Nora can't handle transportation in these conditions, but with me here, she will get enough ectoplasm exposure that will make her liminal." Danny explains carefully, eyes crinkling as he looks at the man.

"She will turn into a ghost and come back. Anger may be stronger than love, but love is one of the main emotions one will form in the Infinity Realms."

Victor exhales shakily, breath tinted white from the cold.

"The same will happen to me if I depart to amity park?"

"Yes." The halfa nods. "You will be exposed to ectoplasm like every other civilian there, but unlike here with Nora, my parents will make sure you understand every little thing about this process."

"And if she does come back as a ghost... how long...?"

Danny bites his lip. "I'm not sure. Once her ghost forms, she will be under my protection, many know to not go against me. She will learn of her new culture and then of the traditions."

He explains slowly, making sure Mr. Fries is concentrated and on line with every word he tells.

"Her memories will slowly trickle in, but she will remember and most likely go and find you."

Victor, the ever careful man he is, tilts his head. "How will she come back?"

"My parents again, they have a portal. She will be led to it by associates and friends safely. You will meet her at Amity Park, that's why I suggested moving in the first place. She won't be strong enough to leave amity at first."

"Why me? Why us? This program is not public, and you can not possibly be joking either."

"Valid," Danny shrugs at his gaze. "Call it fondess or maybe attachment, but Nora really grew on me despite... not being very expressive."

—

(They talked for so so long, until Victor Fries aka Mr. Freeze finally agreed and left.

Danny gave them the privacy needed for their temporary goodbye, he would help them, he'd promised so.

And Phantom doesn't break promises.

So he helps Mr. Fries escape Gotham, made sure he arrived at the meeting place with Jazz, and gave updates on Nora in her cryochamber.

He would buy flowers for her, talk, throw jokes, despite no answer.

Aunt Nora's life would flicker at a time, and sooner than later, Danny knew her time was up.

He left when Victor came back, got her out of her sleep, and held her for her last moments. He was here when Victor departed again, ready to prepare his new apartment at Amity for Nora's arrival.

He felt unbridled happiness when the news came back months later that Nora managed to get back. She became a winter spirit like he is, more alive than she was in the last live.

Danny was happy for the Fries family.)

[mysticheathenn]

Messages From Your Mental Prison

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is about your mental health and the state of how you view the world and everything that is going on in your life. This could be about your depression, Anxiety, or even suicidal thoughts. Read with caution as this reading may have triggers.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help. Tarot should be used as entertainment and not a for sure answer to your problems but as a guide, a sense of hope, and amusement.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

MasterList

Patreon Link

TW Ahead Read With Caution

Pile l:

Messages From Your Mental Prison. Tarot: 8 of Pentacles (Reversed), 9 of Swords, 4 of Swords (reversed), 10 of Cups (reversed), Justice

This reminds me of the TikTok clip of the voice screaming "It's not fair. It's not fair." reminding me of how many people have probably told you that you handle stress and everyday life so well but little do they know your mental state is literally one inconvenience away from having a mental breakdown. Stress and anxiety practically camp out in your mind on a daily basis pile l. You can't seem to escape it, it's all you have known for quite a while and you're tired. There is a saying that "There is no sleep for the wicked" Well in your case "There is no sleep for the poor or those who lack the resources to pull themselves up in their life." All you want in life is enough to pay your bills and a little extra for savings and be able to do something with your life like try a new hobby without feeling guilty for spending money that isn't on "important" things like survival. You probably have been in survival mode for quite some time now and wondering when will you see a breakthrough. You're tired of being tired. You're tired of practically playing Russian roulette with your bills of which one can you not pay for this month. One thing I will say pile l is even though things may seem bleak please don't give up, I sense things will get better financially for you. Sometimes in life you just need to find your footing for things to take off.

Extra Messages: Tea Tree Leaf Oracle: Seek out information that will help you out, A Journey either physical or mental, unsettled times. Need to plan ahead, Announcement, Get back to the basics.

Pile l your extra message oracles make me believe that you feel lost, maybe even stuck for some of you with no clue in the world of how to better your situation or go about life. You have the get back to the basics card which sticks out to me like a sore thumb letting the game know that I sense you may be the type who always tries to do those get-rich-and-quick schemes like drop shipping or anything else you see that pops up on your social media feed and it never works out for whatever reason. You want to know why....it's because you aren't supposed to be doing that. That's not your path to riches. You have the 8 of Pentacles and 10 of Cups card but it's reversed meaning you are meant to have emotional and financial fulfillment you just need to stop and get back to the basics. What basics mystic? What is it that has been drawing or calling you in? What is something you keep putting off or not doing because you believe based on society and family it won't make you any money? For most of you, this is what you need to be doing. For others of you, you will be going on a journey where you need to find this out. Figure out what feeds your soul that you would do for free and do that but add tax. You are meant to freelance and be your own boss, not working for other people. Overall this is a journey process for you pile l. You will deal with more hard times as you figure this out but remember this journey is temporary to where you want to be, so keep pushing. An answer if it hasn't already will come to you.

Pile ll:

Messages From Your Mental Prison. Tarot: The Hermit, Page of Swords (reversed), Queen of Cups, 10 of Wands, 10 of Swords (reversed)

When was the last time you nurtured yourself or spent time alone and really tried to heal and nurture yourself with positive thoughts pile ll. It's a never-ending cycle of you constantly bombarding yourself with cruel words that aren't true. This reminds me slightly of the reading I posted titled Mystery pt. ll. But overall this feeling of yours feels more so as if the world has its weight on your shoulders and you feel as if you are a burden to those around you. You may live at home, with roommates, or feel that you constantly are asking anyone and everyone around you for help as if you can't do anything for yourself and you're tired. You're ready to be able to be independent without having to rely on others. Maybe others have made you feel bad as well for asking for help when you are down on your luck to where you just feel crushed, stuck, unable to move in a direction because one way people will make you feel bad for your predicament and the other hand you will make yourself feel bad because you feel whatever this is you should be able to do by yourself but can't because life is tough right now. As I mentioned in pile l you need to get back to the basics. Get back to the basics of life and take things one step at a time. You are doing the best you can with what you have and don't let anyone make you feel bad about that.

Extra Messages: Tea Tree Leaf Oracle: Position of authority, August, Someone you know is undependable and insincere, Slowly but surely getting ahead. Pay attention to your work, Good Fortune.

As mentioned your life while it maybe chaotic at the moment everything is a journey and slowly but surely things will get better and you will get ahead eventually. With the Position of authority I am seeing this in two ways some of you should pay attention to your work as there may be a position available for you in management where you can make more money this may happen around or sometime in August. If not within the company you work maybe this is an invitation to be your own boss or look elsewhere for higher positions especially if you have more than enough qualifications. For others of you, this position of authority is letting you know that you are the boss of your own life and have complete control of what goes on and who is in it. Never let people who claim to be friends or family make you feel bad for being on hard times. They aren't who they say they are and you should move accordingly with that information. Overall Good Fortune is in your cards by the end of this rough patch. You just need to focus and hone in on ways you can do more within your life with the resources of which you have. Again this could be moving up in the company or going elsewhere, where advancement is an option.

Pile lll:

Messages From Your Mental Prison. Tarot: The Star, The Sun, Ace of Pentacles (reversed), The Fool (reversed), Awakening

Pile lll, my babies, it's time to allow yourself to be seen by the world. It's time to stop hiding in the shadows allowing life to pass you by. You can't keep yourself in the mental prison of feelings of imposter syndrome, fear of judgment, etc. Life wants to give you financial blessings, especially with the Ace of Pentacles in Reversed but you are blocking them because you aren't doing what needs to be done. This could be you starting a YouTube channel, being a content creator on social media, writing a book or screenplay/ maybe even fanfiction for some of you, others this might just be you hiding from a promotion that you deeply desire but feel you lack experience, knowledge, etc. Whatever this is for you, you have to release the thoughts that plague your mind and go for the thing that puts you in front of everyone. Yes at first you may make mistakes or look cringe or whatever the issue may be but that's how everything is when you first jump deep into something. You make mistakes and people will talk...but you want to know something life moves on and the world doesn't end. Seriously do the thing, it's time. You will beat yourself up if others take the things that you want for yourself and you want to know something you have no one to blame but yourself because you decided to not do what needs to be done. Write the book. Film yourself. Apply for better jobs even if you think you are not qualified. Have you heard of the girl who applied to jobs she had no business doing and ended up getting hired making $100k a year...that could be you right now but you are stuck listening to self-doubt and the thoughts of what others will say. Storytime: I knew that I didn't want to continue working at whatever job I was working at back in 2015 so when my friend and I figured out that employers don't check a lot of your information we applied for positions that would pay us well and you want to know something the resume I lied on got me so far in life to where I was Assistant GM of hotels at one point. All because I believed I could do what others were doing in the hotel industry even without a lick of experience. Did I mess up in the beginning, yes. Did I care...no because I was doing more good than harm so no one really questioned if I lied or not. You have to take the jump. Do the thing.

Extra Messages: Tea Tree Leaf Oracle: Short Journey, Back to Basics, Work achievement & success, TIME TO ACT, Someone is extremely stubborn and unwilling to change, Protected from negative forces beyond your control, Solid foundation success with effort, waiting for news package or letter, A meeting with a strange could be important.

Pile lll do you see the amount of synchronicities in your oracle reading. Spirit is coming through loud and clear that you need to get out of your stubbornness and began acting on your dreams, goals, and desires. You are protected from anything that could try and take what this is away from you. Even with a solid foundation success with effort is telling you "Hey if you do the thing you will not fail because you are protected." Now this goes without saying that you won't deal with some challenges because that's life what it is saying is you will come out on top and the journey for you won't be a long one if you just do the effort that it takes. Spirit will do the rest if you just do what needs to be done.

Pile lV:

Messages From Your Mental Prison. Tarot: The Empress, Queen of Pentacles, 5 of Swords (reversed), 8 of Swords (reversed), 6 of Wands

You are victorious pile lV your only problem is that you don't believe you are worth a pot to piss in a lot of the time. Even with the Empress and Queen of Pentacles card here letting me know how nurturing, giving, empathetic, and even resourceful you are you don't see any good things about yourself. You remind me of people who speak negatively about themselves not knowing that their actions speak the opposite. You can't say you don't care but your actions speak another language. You can't put yourself down but then be upset when life mirrors your thoughts. Deep down you know how amazing you are and the many great things that you can do, but for some strange reason you recently for some of you while others of you this has been going on for a while where you constantly hold yourself to such a low standard and critic everything that you do. Why is that? Where did it begin? How can you remove this person or thing that made you feel this way? For some of you, this may have been a relationship (platonic, romantic, or familial) that made you feel self-critical of yourself because they felt something about themselves. You must remember that when people speak unkind things to you that it's a reflection of themselves and not you. You don't have to take what others think of you and run with it as if they are true because they are not. A scene that comes to mind is when the mom in Black Swan says "What happened to my little girl?" What happened to you that made you feel and think these thoughts to yourself and how can you get back to the Empress and Queen of Pentacle energy.

Extra Messages: Manifestation Oracle Cards: Wellbeing, Empowerment, Strength

How can you today give yourself the love that you deserve? Is it a DIY spa day? A trip to a therapist or talk with a trusted friend? How can you show up for yourself in ways that you haven't before that will make you see the person you are? Have the strength and courage to stand up to anyone who makes you feel any less than what and who you are. For a few of you, you may be a part of the LBGTQ+ community and others around you have made you feel different, a "freak" or whatever insecurity that you question your existence. There is a quote by Elenor Roosevelt that says "No one can make you feel inferior without your permission." Please don't let assholes who were raised by baboons let you lower yourself or feel anything less than amazing, beautiful, and authentically you. Regardless of how you feel about yourself find something in your life, day, or something as small as a freckle on your face that you love and keep bringing more of that energy in for you and keep your head up. This feeling is only temporary, things will get better.

Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.

Stay safe and be blessed

[ninibeingdelulu]

Sweetest kiss ✧

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Plot : After almost being killed by those cultists monsters, you thank Leon with a kiss for saving you.

A/N: It’s short… I might do a longer version like in a few days for you guys. Daily reminder: English isn’t my first language.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

As you and Leon tried to escape this devilish village, you knew that the sigh of those twisted cultists will haunt your dreams for a while.

You, the president’s daughter, found herself clinging desperately to Leon’s side, her heart pounding with a mix of pure terror and a growing admiration for the stoic, capable agent.

Just moments ago, you had been mere inches from a fate worse than death, the gnarled, inhuman forms of the cultists closing in around you.

But Leon, with his unwavering resolve and lightning-fast reflexes, had sprung into action, his gun blazing as he shielded you from the deadly attack.

Now, the two of you had found temporary refuge in a quiet, abandoned house, the air thick with the lingering scent of gunpowder and the weight of your narrow escape.

Your legs trembled as the adrenaline began to wear off, the reality of how close you had come to losing your life sinking in with a sickening clarity.

Turning to Leon, you found yourself captivated by the hardened determination etched into his features, his piercing gaze sweeping the room for any signs of danger.

Yet, beneath the stoic facade, you glimpsed a flicker of something else - a glimmer of concern, perhaps, or a fleeting moment of vulnerability that he struggled to conceal.

"I... I don't know how to thank you,"

You whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of gratitude and the lingering fear that had gripped you.

"You saved my life back there."

Leon's gaze met yours, his expression unchanging as he replied in his characteristic clipped tone,

"It's my job."

But you saw past the stoic veneer, sensing the underlying depth of emotion that Leon fought so hard to suppress.

Emboldened by your near-death experience, you reached out, your hand coming to rest gently on his forearm.

"But it's more than that, isn't it?" You murmured, her eyes searching his face with…hope ?

"I saw it in your eyes, you were scared. And you risked your life to save me."

Leon's jaw tightened, and for a moment, you wondered if you had overstepped some unspoken boundary.

But then, before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his cheek in a featherlight kiss.

The gesture was tender, yet charged with a quiet intensity that sent a barely perceptible shiver through Leon's frame.

His eyes widened ever so slightly, the usual mask of composure cracking to reveal a flicker of raw emotion.

Clearing his throat, Leon took a step back, his gaze averted as he struggled to regain his composure.

"I was just doing my job," he mumbled, the faintest hint of a flush creeping across his features.

You offered him a small, knowing smile, your heart swelling with a newfound understanding of the man before you.

In that moment, you saw beyond the stoic facade, glimpsing the depth of his humanity and the weight of the burdens he carried.

[papiliotao]

・❥・BEAUTY AMIDST AN ENDLESS NIGHT

♡ — Reader: GN

♡ — Characters: Albedo, Alhaitham, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Thoma, Tighnari, Venti, Xiao, Zhongli

♡ — Synopsis: on days where you feel as though the world is against you, your lover is there to cheer you up.

♡ — Content: fluff, modern AU, established relationship, generally soft

♡ — Word Count: around 200 per a character

♡ — A/N: the fact that I wrote this solely because I get sad for no reason sometimes. I'm sure there are people out there who can relate though. For anyone going through tough times, stay strong and keep going! I hope this fic will be able to cheer you up a little. (P.S. the parts for each character are arranged in alphabetical order if you're looking for anyone specific)

As your boyfriend, it is both ALBEDO’s duty and pleasure to remind you how much you mean to him whenever melancholic feelings of dread weigh your heart down. You watch as he flips through the pages of a worn sketchbook sitting in his small art studio within your shared home. It is filled with the most wondrous portraits of landscapes, wildfires, and even people. However, Albedo completely disregards those works. Instead, he opts to point out particularly detailed drawings strewn throughout the sketchbook. Intersecting lines form picturesque depictions of the memories you share with Albedo. On one page, your first date. On another, your first night together. But it is the final page he shows you that causes you to raise an eyebrow at him. It seems to resemble a rather average day in your life. In the sketch, you and Albedo are conversing in a mundane setting; there’s really nothing special to be seen. When you ask your boyfriend about it, he allows a gentle laugh to escape the confines of his lips. Then, he points out all the finer complexities of the work. From the lovestruck expression on his face to the way he flawlessly replicated your every feature, you begin to realize how much Albedo thinks about you on a daily basis. Upon reaching this epiphany, the feelings of insecurity and bitter frustration that have been permeating every inch of your mind dissipate ever so slightly, and it’s all thanks to Albedo’s love.

On days where it feels as though you’re drowning in a sea of your own sadness, you are thankful for your lover’s relaxed demeanour. ALHAITHAM’s voice is the only sound that cuts through the tangible silence permeating the air of your living room. He recites complicated words adorning the pages of one of his rather verbose books as you sit beside him, leaning against his muscular figure. Although you can’t understand half the phrases that leave his lips, you feel at ease. His calm voice lulls you into a dreamlike trance, acting as a temporary ailment to the negative emotions that threaten to overwhelm you. So instead of paying heed to the disturbing feelings of deep melancholy that plague your fragile heart, you direct all your attention to the alluring sound of your loving speaking and the feeling of his body pressed against your own, allowing yourself to get lost in every single intricacy of his mannerisms — the very subtleties that you love him for.

Everything about today has felt rather off. Happiness eludes you, avoiding you like an ancient plague, causing feelings of unadulterated sorrow to bubble up within the depths of your soul. Although you’re trying to conceal all your woes behind a carefully-crafted mask of smiles and feigned lighthearted laughter, your facade is akin to porcelain — delicate and fragile, cracking under the slightest pressure. And to no one’s surprise, KAZUHA is able to see through your meticulously-designed illusion of exuberance instantaneously. The subtle sighs and breaks in your expression prompt him to drag you to bed as soon as you’re finished with your daily tasks under the guise that he wants to cuddle. In reality, he knows that you’re having a rather difficult time, and he wants nothing more than to hold you and kiss the pain away, so as of now, you are wrapped in his warm embrace as he continuously presses his soft lips to the back of your neck. His snowy hair tickles your skin as he comforts you, and between each chaste kiss, he whispers sweet nothings into your ear, assuring you that tomorrow, the sun will rise again, giving way to a brighter day full of ecstasy and warmth.

Some days you can’t help but feel as though the world has been obscured by veils of endless blue. Everything feels mundane, and you just can’t bring yourself to smile. Thankfully, even in moments as perturbed as these, you are able to seek a small bit of solace by confiding in SCARAMOUCHE. To others, he seems brash and insensitive, but when it comes to you, he is attentive beyond measure. So when signs of melancholy begin to show through the cracks in your demeanour, your lover drops what he is doing and turns his focus to you. He insists on taking you out to a mysterious location, and although skepticism floods your thoughts, you eventually give in, agreeing to trust Scaramouche despite his enigmatic musings. Your boyfriend drives you to a quaint location situated in the middle of nowhere by the light of the setting sun. As you exit his car, you are greeted by the scent of the evening air, refreshing and cool, just what you need after a long day of feeling down. Scaramouche intertwines his fingers with yours, grasping onto you like a lifeline. He pulls you through a sparse line of trees, and although the darkness of the night obscures your vision, you trust your lover to guide you. When you clear the grove of vegetation, you are met with a sight that causes your breath to catch in your throat. Scaramouche has brought you to a cliff in a secluded area overlooking the city. Millions of stars adorn the velvety royal blue of the night sky, illuminating the world below, and the lights that glitter from the distant urban area fill you with a sensation of nostalgic ease. As you sit down on the soft grass beside Scaramouche, a sense of calm washes over you. Here, beside your lover and under the watchful gaze of the luminous celestial bodies up above, you finally feel at peace.

Amidst restless hours filled with uncertainty and unwanted negativity, THOMA is like an effulgent light piercing through the darkness that clouds your mind. He caters to your every need, doing anything your heart desires in order to remedy your pain even the slightest bit. Right now, he is standing in front of the stove, his back to you as he attentively prepares a meal. A mouthwatering fragrance drifts through the air as he cooks, and the warmth that fills the kitchen from the stove melts the icy cage of sadness surrounding your heart ever-so-slightly. When Thoma finally finishes, he plates the food in a meticulous manner and then shifts all his attention to you. The steam from the fresh meal caresses your cold cheeks as your lover peers deep into your eyes, displaying to you a wondrous sea full of olive green lights as you lock gazes. Before you can thank him for making dinner, Thoma leans over the table and presses a tender kiss against your cheek — one filled with all the gentleness and comfort of the sun on hazy winter days, making even the harshest of stinging winds just a little more bearable.

Whenever the world seems grey, shrouded in the gloominess plaguing your heart, TIGHNARI never fails to restore the beauty of the vibrant hues around you by bringing you bright bouquets of delicate flowers. Vivacious translucent petals tickle your nose as you breathe in the floral scent of the blossoms you are holding in your hands. The perfumed aroma that fills the air causes the tension in your shoulders to relieve slightly. A sigh of contentment escapes your lips as Tighnari takes the flowers from you and places them in a vase. His fingertips brush against your hands, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. In a hushed voice, he begins to explain the symbolism behind each plant in the bouquet. From blush pink azaleas to the fragile and pure lily of the valley, your lover knows of the meanings behind each floret, listing them off one by one. You know that the only reason he’s rambling on and on is to distract you from the thoughts that wrack your restless mind, and for that, you are beyond thankful.

When VENTI first proposes the idea of going on a picnic, hesitance overtakes you. You know he’s just trying to cheer you up, but you’re not quite sure if you’re in the mood to go out. Nonetheless, he manages to convince you that leaving the confines of your house to breathe in the crisp, late spring air and surround yourself with the viridescent foliage of the outdoors will work wonders for your mood, so you allow him to drag you to the park, albeit somewhat begrudgingly. When you arrive at your destination, Venti sets a blanket down on the lush grass, and atop the checkered quilt, he places a weaved basket. Upon opening the basket, you discover that it is filled with all your favourite delectable treats, so despite the bitterness of the day, a small smile settles on your face. As you begin to grin, Venti sings you a song, imbuing each lyric with softness and tenderness, conveying to you that even in the darkest of hours, he will always be by your side. The wind tousles your hair as the sound of leaves rustling in a gentle zephyr rings out like a backing track to Venti’s angelic voice. For the first time that day, you feel a sense of ease settle over you.

XIAO isn’t great at comforting people, but each time he sees your empty expression, he feels his heart shattering into countless fractured crystal shards. Despite knowing that he’s not the most qualified to help you deal with your worries, you still decide to go to him to seek consolation, so in spite of the fact that he is rather inexperienced, Xiao tries his best. He tells you to rest and immediately tucks you into bed with a sweet yet endearingly shy kiss on the forehead. Before he leaves the room, he whispers a few honeyed words in a voice that somehow feels softer than usual, reassuring you that everything will be alright, and when he finally exits, he sets himself to work on all the unfinished chores around the house. He works diligently while you relax under the silky covers of your bed, and although it takes a while, when Xiao finishes with your trivial tasks, he joins you in bed, wrapping an arm around you and allowing you to bury your head in his chest, breathing in his comforting scent as you feel yourself drifting off into a blissful realm of alluring slumber.

On days where joy evades you, ZHONGLI never fails to find a way to comfort you. His presence alone is calming, but when coupled with his actions, you feel as though you can almost continue with your daily routine as usual. At the moment, you are sitting with Zhongli in your living room as your hands are wrapped around a teacup. Condensation graces your palms, and it would be unpleasant if not for the warmth seeping into your body through the delicate porcelain of the cup. As you take a sip of the drink, you allow an airy sigh of contentment to slip through your lips. It’s absolutely divine, reminiscent of the finest ambrosia, something straight out of the tales your lover is currently recounting. Your mind feels as though it is clinging onto his voice, hanging onto his every syllable to regain a sense of stability despite the fog that clouds your thoughts. He spins stories of downfalls and triumphs, some tales downcast while others inspirational, and in the midst of his narration, you find yourself transported to a different world full of fantasies — an oasis of reprieve hidden away from the monotonous and lamentable reality facing you.

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, then reblogs and comments would be appreciated!

[cursedlovesstuff]

Fixing Us. Part 1.

Y/N found herself stuck in a relentless routine.

Each passing day seemed to blur into the next, a disheartening repetition of Nat's absence and Y/N's solitary dinners.

As the hours ticked by, Y/N couldn't shake the gnawing suspicion that Nat's late nights were more than just work obligations.

Despite her longing for connection, Y/N's attempts to bridge the growing chasm between her and Nat fell on deaf ears.

The once vibrant bond they shared now felt like a distant memory, leaving Y/N feeling adrift in a sea of loneliness.

Determined to reclaim her sense of self-worth, Y/N went out on a journey of self-discovery.

Early morning jogs and a part-time job designing clothes provided a temporary distraction, but it was the tattoos that became her solace.

Venturing out with friends offered a fleeting escape from the monotony of her daily life.

Tonight was one of these nights where Y/N met Carol.

There was something familiar about her, a warmth that drew Y/N in like a moth to a flame.

Y/N was sitting at the bar watching others dance while stirring her drink with her straw.

"Do you usually come to bars just to watch others dance?" a voice says, making Y/N look up, shaking her head.

"I thought this was a lounge," Y/N says, smiling a bit.

"It's both," Carol says, putting her hand out for Y/N to shake while saying her name.

"Carol."

Y/N looks at Carol's hand before shaking it, saying, "Y/N."

"It's nice to meet you again, Y/N."

"Likewise."

The pair had met before a few times at some old work events and ran into each other a few weeks ago at this same lounge.

"I don't want to sound rude, but you used to work at SHIELD, right?" Carol asked, her eyes alight with curiosity.

Y/N nodded, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, I did. But I left a few years ago," she replied, her voice tinged with regret.

"Why did you leave?"

"I wanted to start a new chapter of my life, and it just wasn't the right fit anymore."

Carol's gaze lingered on Y/N, a silent understanding passing between them. "I can imagine it must have been a difficult decision," she remarked, her tone sympathetic.

Y/N shrugged, a pang of longing tugging at her heart. "It was. But sometimes you have to make sacrifices for the ones you love, even if they aren't willing to do the same for you," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Carol nodded, understanding. As it got a bit quiet, Y/N said, "So what brings the great Captain Marvel here?"

"So you do know who I am," Carol replied, amused.

"Maybe."

"How come you never spoke?"

"I was shy and newlywed. My main focus was on work and getting home to my wife. I didn't have time back then."

"Wife, huh?"

"Natasha," Y/N says, taking a sip of her drink.

"Nat's married?" Carol asks, a bit shocked.

"Surprisingly yes, but she seems to forget that a lot."

"Just to be clear, you mean Romanoff, right? And you're still married?" Carol questions.

"Four years," Y/N says, halfway flashing her ring before saying, "probably not for much longer anyway."

Carol notices Y/N's mood change before asking Y/N if she would like to dance. Y/N is hesitant before she says yes, gently grasping the hand Carol put out for her to grab as she pulled her to the dance floor.

As carol pulled y/n through the crowd of sweety bodys they found themselves in the middle of the dance floor.

"Do you know this song?" Carol asks to which y/n shakes her head no.

"Iv never heard it"

"Good just let your body move to the beat follow me".

There wasn't any rush or anything; the two were just having fun like only friends. Carol even spun Y/N a few times. The time seemed to fly by; what only felt like an hour of dancing turned out to be three as the two made their way back to the bar to get some water. They arrived at the same time as Nat.

"Y/N," Nat asks, surprised to see her wife.

"Hi, Nat," Y/N replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Nat's gaze flickered between Y/N and Carol, a hint of jealousy flashing in her eyes before she turned her attention back to Y/N. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

Y/N shrugged nonchalantly, though her heart raced with apprehension. "Just out for a drink with friends," she replied, her eyes darting between Nat and Carol.

"Where are your friends?" Nat asked, slightly looking around.

"Lilly went home, and Esther is still dancing, so I'm with my new friend Carol," Y/N answered back.

"I didn't know you were friends with Carol," Nat said.

"You don't know all my friends," Y/N responded.

Nat didn't take Y/N's nonchalant yet sassy tone lightly.

"Then why are you at a bar you hate bars and clubs"

"Its also a lounge" y/n says.

"Its both"carol says making y/n smile as she turned her head to look at carol. Nat noticed this and she didn't like it.

As she eyed carol she gently grabbed Y/N's cup out of her hand, sitting it down, and grabbing Y/N's hand before looking at Carol.

"Excuse me; I think it's time my wife and I head home."

Before Y/N or Carol could say anything, Nat practically dragged Y/N to the front door, only being able to give Carol an apologetic look as she and Nat made it to the front of the bar but stopped at a table.

"Sorry I have to leave early,theres something y/n and i need to discuss"

As the team looks at Y/N, saying their hi's.

"You look beautiful, Lady Y/N," Thor says, making Y/N smile a bit while saying thank you

"Are you sure you don't want to stay drinks are on me" tony says as everyone at the table cheers.

"Yeah you guys should totally stay"carol says, which makes Nat only drag Y/N along further out of the bar after saying they couldnt towards the car.

Halfway there, Y/N finally gets out of Nat's grip.

"What is wrong with you, Nat, dragging me out of the bar like a psychopath?"

"What is wrong with Y/N being out this late at night by yourself?"

"I wasn't by myself."

"You know what I mean; I'm taking you home. End of discussion," Nat says, raising her voice a bit.

"No," Y/N says finally putting her foot down.

"What did you just say?" Nat asks.

"I said no," Y/N said before saying, "I'm going to go back into that bar and order me another shot and then another, and I'm going to have fun".

"You can have fun tomorrow when its bright outside and there are less drunk people there"

"I can protect myself natasha"

"Can you? Can you really because its been four years since you were an agent and had any type of training"

"Yeah and whos fault is that because it's not mine"

"What"

"You heard me your Your the reason that i quit being an agent your the reason why i havent trained in four years"

"because you got hurt on a mission,due to not being able to tell friend from foe"nat says making y/n scoff.

"Im perfectly capable from telling friends from foe"

"Then can you tell if carol your friend or just someone who wants to sleep with you"nat says without thinking making y/n feel hurt.

"What i can tell is that your being a dick,just because you have one doesn't mean you have to be one"

Y/n says walking backwards towards the bar saying"You can go home by yourself."y/n says turning around and walking towards the bar.

Its not long after she hears nat say" I'm going home, you're coming with me."

Before y/n knew it she was lifted off of her feet and thrown over someone's shoulder,nats shoulder.

Y/N truly forgot how strong nat was well...is.

"Put me down natasha"

Y/n says smacking nats back trying to get her to let go,but nat dosen't respond to it.

So y/n smacks nats back and butt harder in response nat hit y/n's butt hard enough to make her yelp and jump.

Nat tightens her grip so that she doesn't drop y/n,but there is no doubt that it will leave a mark in the morning.

"That isn't very nice is it?"nat asks but y/n doesn't respond she only continues to try and get out of nats grip.

Eventually y/n gives up realizing there is nothing she can do to get nat to let go.

Nat carries Y/N to the car, gently putting her down in the front seat, buckling her seat belt.

Before slamming the front door and walking around and getting in and closing the door.

[fromgoy2joy]

To all my fellow people converting- this is a Call-in post

We are going to be a part of this community, as dictated by Jewish law, once we enter the water of the Mikveh, it will be as if we were Jewish all our lives.

That doesn’t erase the fact that we come from different backgrounds. Most of us didn’t have our grandmother escape genocidal countries. We didn’t grow up around the dinner table hearing holocaust stories about family and friends. The legacy of our families was not split between two choices of what opened up first for amnesty- Israel or the United States.

Our love for Judaism originates from studying theology, culture, and warm moments in the community- not clinging onto it in a generational storm where at any moment you can be expected to run.

Israel has been there for the Jewish people demonstrably, in a world where a Jewish child is taken aside at a young age and told “one day, they could come after you”.

In response, Israel has said “and we will be there to catch you.” This has rung true for the Jewish exile out of Middle Eastern countries, the fleeing from the USSR, and yes- Ethiopia.

Mistakes were made along the way. Tribalism between Jewish religious and geographical sects came up. Refugee camps in the newly established country were a mess- with high rates of death from sickness occurred in the Mizrahi resettlement. Where Ethiopian Jewish women’s translation failed as they were told they were being out on temporary birth control as to not overcrowd struggling camps.

But you don’t get to shake this in their faces. Not when the descendants of those Jewish people know Israel to be what saved them. What gave them life. And what has been threatened everyday by rockets in the sky and terrorist organizations on every side that promises for the painful death of them and their families.

You are under no obligation to support the actions of the Israeli government. But you have to understand why the country was founded, and especially why it was set up in 1948 after the largest slaughter of Jewish people had just ended, where it wasn’t clear if this could happen again the very next year.

You have to see the connection to the land, where Hebrew coins get dug up from thousands of years ago on a daily basis. Even if that’s not apart of your personal practices, you must learn of the background to many of our stories. What Jewish people longed for as they were ostracized and humiliated globally.

This doesn’t come at the price of not sympathizing with the Palestinians. Just as you can hold Jewish pain close to your chest, so can you the pain of Palestinians. The good news is, life isn’t a sports game with your team and their team. The bad news is, that makes it a whole heck of a lot harder.

That being said, we do have the extra responsibility of accurately representing the people we will hopefully call our own one day, BH.

Edit-born Jewish people, if this post speaks to you on any level, feel free to reblog. Your family histories deserve to be represented in our community.

[rainydetectiveglitter]

𝒩𝐸𝒫𝒯𝒰𝒩𝐸 𝒯𝐻𝑅𝒪𝒰𝒢𝐻 𝒯𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝒪𝒰𝒮𝐸𝒮: 𝐸𝒩𝒞𝐻𝒜𝒩𝒯𝑀𝐸𝒩𝒯 𝒜𝒩𝒟 𝒮𝐻𝒜𝒟𝒪𝒲𝒮

✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥

Neptune, the dreamy and mystical planet, brings both enchantment and shadows as it journeys through the astrological houses. Its influence can evoke a sense of magic, spirituality, and creativity, but it also has the potential to cast a fog of confusion, delusion, and escapism.

✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥

✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥

Neptune in the 1st House - House of Self

The enchantment of Neptune in the 1st house can be enticing, but its shadow side can manifest as identity issues and an inclination to escape from the harsh realities of life. Individuals with this placement may struggle to establish clear boundaries, often absorbing the emotions and issues of those around them. This can lead to a sense of confusion about their own identity, as they become chameleonic, adapting to others' expectations. The allure of substances or daydreaming might provide temporary relief, but it can lead to a pervasive sense of self-deception and disconnection from their true selves.

Neptune in the 2nd House - House of Values

While Neptune in the 2nd house adds a touch of glamour to one's values and possessions, it can also lead to financial instability due to idealized financial decisions. The shadow side may involve a tendency to overspend on escapist pleasures, such as lavish vacations or excessive indulgence. Money can become a source of confusion and escapism, rather than a means of practical security. Beware of deceptive financial schemes or unwise investments that can lead to substantial losses.

Neptune in the 3rd House - House of Communication

Neptune's influence in the 3rd house can foster creativity in communication but can also result in a propensity for misunderstanding and deceit. The shadow side can lead to a struggle with truthfulness, as individuals with this placement may resort to white lies or delusions to avoid confrontations or preserve their idealized self-image. They might find it challenging to express themselves clearly, often resorting to vague or cryptic communication, which can create confusion and mistrust in relationships.

Neptune in the 4th House - House of Home and Family

The dreamy allure of Neptune in the 4th house can infuse the home environment with a sense of enchantment and creativity. However, the shadow side may involve unresolved family issues, secrets, or addiction problems that are concealed behind a façade of tranquility. Individuals with this placement might struggle to establish emotional boundaries with family members, leading to emotional overwhelm and escapism through emotional numbing or substance abuse.

Neptune in the 5th House - House of Creativity and Pleasure

In the realm of creative expression and pleasure, Neptune in the 5th house can inspire artistic endeavors and romantic ideals. However, the shadow side may manifest as unrealistic romantic fantasies or creative blocks stemming from self-doubt and a fear of rejection. Individuals with this placement might find themselves caught in a cycle of seeking unattainable romantic partners or escaping reality through indulgent and potentially harmful pleasures.

Neptune in the 6th House - House of Service and Health

Neptune in the 6th house can lead to a strong desire to help others but may also result in blurred boundaries and a tendency to sacrifice one's well-being for others. The shadow side can involve a susceptibility to unhealthy work environments, where individuals become enablers or victims of manipulation. They might struggle with self-neglect, pursuing self-destructive habits or substance abuse as a means of escape from the pressures of daily life.

Neptune in the 7th House - House of Relationships

In the realm of partnerships and relationships, Neptune in the 7th house can create an idealized view of love and a longing for soulful connections. However, the shadow side may involve a tendency to attract or idealize partners who are emotionally unavailable, deceptive, or even addictive. Individuals with this placement might find themselves entangled in codependent relationships, where they sacrifice their own needs and boundaries for the sake of an illusory love.

Neptune in the 8th House - House of Transformation

Neptune in the 8th house can deepen one's connection to the mysteries of life but may also lead to an obsession with hidden truths and secrets. The shadow side can manifest as a preoccupation with dark or taboo subjects and an inclination toward manipulation or deceit in matters of shared resources. There is a potential for individuals with this placement to be deceived or financially exploited by others, leading to financial instability and emotional turmoil.

Neptune in the 9th House - House of Philosophy and Higher Learning

While Neptune in the 9th house can foster a spiritual and philosophical outlook on life, its shadow side may involve a susceptibility to cult-like beliefs or dogma. Individuals with this placement might become lost in a world of delusions and spiritual escapism, where they reject practical realities in favor of idealized spiritual pursuits. This can lead to a sense of disillusionment and isolation from grounded wisdom.

Neptune in the 10th House - House of Career and Public Image

In the realm of career and public image, Neptune in the 10th house can create an aura of mystique but may also lead to confusion regarding one's professional path. The shadow side may involve a tendency to deceive or be deceived in the workplace, leading to career setbacks and a loss of reputation. Individuals with this placement might struggle to distinguish between their authentic professional aspirations and illusory ambitions.

Neptune in the 11th House - House of Friends and Social Groups

While Neptune in the 11th house can foster empathy and idealism within social circles, its shadow side may involve a susceptibility to deception or disillusionment in friendships and group affiliations. Individuals with this placement might idealize friends or become entangled in deceptive group dynamics, ultimately leading to feelings of betrayal or isolation. The allure of escapism through social activities can be particularly pronounced.

Neptune in the 12th House - House of the Subconscious

Neptune's natural domain in the 12th house deepens one's connection to the subconscious but may also lead to profound emotional struggles. The shadow side can involve a tendency to escape from reality through addiction or spiritual delusions, creating a sense of inner chaos and isolation. Individuals with this placement might grapple with unresolved trauma or psychic wounds that require careful attention and healing.

✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥

✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥༻∞✧༺♥

Navigating Neptune's darker aspects through the houses is a profound journey, one that demands self-awareness and a commitment to confronting illusions and delusions. By acknowledging and addressing these challenges, individuals can harness the transformative and spiritual power of Neptune while navigating the shadows of self-deception

(this is intended to appear somewhat disorienting)

[jcxbliss]

“til my legs give out’ teaser

Pairing - Choi Seungcheol x Female Reader

Genre- Apocalypse, Horror, Survival

Synopsis- In a world ravaged by a zombie apocalypse, you struggle to survive amidst the chaos. While scavenging for supplies, you encounter a mysterious guy, a wary yet resourceful stranger who offers a cautious alliance. Together, you navigate the dangers of the undead and find fleeting moments of hope in a shattered world.

Warnings - Graphic violence, strong language, explicit sexual content, substance abuse, disturbing imagery, and intense psychological horror, exploring mature themes and the brutal realities of survival.

Authors note - This story is not for minors so don’t not interact. If you enjoy darker fiction this will be for you, if you don’t I advise you to skip this series. This is also a slow burn so please please bare with it! Love ya all!❤️🫶

Three years ago, the world was torn apart in a nightmarish wave of chaos. It began subtly enough—a strange illness spreading rapidly, affecting millions. The initial reports described it as a virulent flu, but soon the true horror became apparent: the infected were no longer alive in any conventional sense. They became grotesque, mindless creatures driven only by an insatiable hunger.

You remember the day society crumbled vividly. It was an ordinary morning when the first outbreak occurred. You were at work, watching in disbelief as the news flashed across the screens: hospitals overrun, cities in lockdown, and the government declaring martial law. At first, there were frantic calls to stay indoors, to shelter in place, but the situation spiraled beyond control.

Your once-bustling city turned into a ghost town. The streets, once filled with the hum of daily life, were now eerily silent except for the occasional screams and the relentless groaning of the undead. In the initial days of the outbreak, you tried to reach your family, battling through gridlocked traffic and marauding mobs of infected. Each attempt to call them ended in desperation, as you watched helplessly from a distance as the world descended into anarchy.

The government’s efforts to contain the crisis were futile. Quarantines became death traps, and safe zones were overrun within hours. The infected, relentless and insatiable, breached every barricade, leaving chaos and destruction in their wake. You found yourself fleeing from one temporary refuge to another, each more perilous than the last.

One particularly harrowing night, while scavenging for supplies in a crumbling supermarket, you heard the frantic cries of someone else in the building. You found a group of survivors huddled together, but their numbers had dwindled rapidly as the infected breached their makeshift barricades. You escaped with a few others, narrowly avoiding death, but the cost was steep. The faces of the lost haunted you, a grim reminder of the world that once was.

As the days turned into months, your survival became a series of narrow escapes and fleeting alliances. Trust became a luxury you could no longer afford.

Today was supposed to be a simple run for supplies. You had done it countless times before—scouting abandoned stores and gathering what you could to keep yourself alive. This time, though, something went terribly wrong.

You had chosen a small, out-of-the-way supermarket, one that you knew was less likely to be overrun. Everything was going smoothly as you made your way through the aisles, filling your backpack with canned goods, bottled water, and other essentials. The quiet of the empty store was almost unnervingly peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos you had grown accustomed to.

But then you heard it: a sudden, deafening crash from the back of the store. Your heart leapt into your throat as you froze, listening intently. The sound of shuffling feet and guttural moans followed, growing closer with each passing second. You cursed under your breath, quickly stashing the supplies and grabbing your makeshift weapon—a metal pipe you had found a while back.

The supermarket’s back door had been forced open, and as you peeked around the corner, you saw a group of infected pouring in, their twisted forms staggering and clawing at anything in their path. Panic surged through you, and you turned to flee, but the sound of more crashing from the front of the store told you it was already too late.

You darted through the aisles, your pulse racing as you navigated the maze of shelves. The infected were closing in, their growls echoing through the once-familiar space. You reached the exit only to find it blocked by a fresh wave of undead. Desperation gripped you as you searched for an alternative route, adrenaline pushing you to the brink.

In your frantic escape, you knocked over shelves, sending a cascade of cans clattering to the ground. The noise only drew more attention. Your only option was to head for the back storage area. You slipped into a narrow hallway, your breath coming in ragged bursts, and tried to find a way out. Behind you, the moans of the infected grew louder, their hunger palpable.

You spotted a small window high up on the wall and knew it was your best shot. Using a stack of crates, you managed to climb up and push the window open. You barely had time to squeeze through before a swarm of infected burst into the hallway, their claws scraping against the walls.

The drop from the window was jarring, and you landed awkwardly, but you didn’t stop to assess the damage. You ran into the forest, your heart still pounding from the near-miss. Now, as you flee through the trees, the terror of the failed supply run clings to you like a shadow. The forest is your only sanctuary, but it’s also filled with its own dangers, and you know that survival in this world is a constantly shifting line between safety and horror.

As you sprint through the forest, the undergrowth becomes increasingly tangled, each step more labored than the last. The ground beneath your feet is a treacherous mix of roots, rocks, and fallen branches. Your mind is fixated on escape, but the physical exhaustion and sheer terror are taking their toll.

A particularly thick branch lies hidden under a pile of leaves. Your foot catches on it, and you go sprawling forward, crashing onto the forest floor. Pain erupts in your ankle as you twist it awkwardly upon impact. You wince, the jarring shock almost making you gasp aloud. Dirt and leaves cling to your clothes, and a sharp, stinging pain radiates from your twisted ankle.

Panic flares as the guttural moans of the infected grow closer, and you know you can’t afford to linger. Gritting your teeth against the pain, you push yourself up with trembling hands, feeling a wave of dizziness from the effort. You force yourself to stand, leaning heavily on one leg as you test the injured ankle. It throbs with each movement, but the distant sounds of pursuit drive you to continue.

You begin to hobble through the forest, your gait uneven and labored. Every step sends a jolt of pain up your leg, but you refuse to stop. The infected are still out there, their relentless groans a constant reminder of the danger. The forest seems to close in around you, the shadows deepening as the sun sinks lower in the sky.

Despite the pain, you push through, each step a battle against your own body. The pain in your ankle grows sharper with every movement, but the adrenaline coursing through you keeps you moving. You force yourself to focus on the immediate goal: finding safety, even if it means stumbling through the forest with a throbbing, injured leg.

As you continue, the trees begin to thin, offering a glimmer of hope. You spot a small, overgrown trail leading deeper into the woods and decide to follow it, hoping it might lead to a better hiding place or an escape route. Your progress is slow and uneven, but the urgency to avoid capture propels you forward.

Eventually, the trail opens into a clearing with an old, abandoned cabin. You carefully make your way toward it, pushing through the pain as best as you can. The cabin offers a brief respite from the relentless pursuit, and you collapse inside, panting and wincing from the pain.

You take a moment to catch your breath, assessing the damage to your ankle. It’s swollen and bruised, and you know it will be difficult to move if you have to leave again. But for now, the cabin’s shadows offer a temporary refuge from the danger outside. You brace yourself, knowing you must stay alert and ready to move again if the infected come closer.

As you sit on the cabin floor, tending to your swollen ankle, the sudden creak of the door makes you freeze. The door swings open, and a man steps inside, his dark silhouette framed by the dim light outside. His rugged appearance and worn clothing suggest he’s been surviving on the edge, but his presence alone is enough to set your nerves on edge.

You scramble to your feet, the pain in your ankle making each movement sharp and labored. You clutch the metal pipe tightly, your knuckles white. “Don’t come any closer!” you warn, your voice strained with fear and pain. “I’m armed, and I will use this if I have to.”

The man raises his hands in a gesture of peace, but his expression is unreadable. “I’m not here to fight,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “I was just looking for a place to rest. I heard the commotion and came in to check it out.”

You keep the pipe pointed at him, every muscle in your body tensed. “How do I know you’re not a threat?” you demand, your gaze never leaving his. “I’ve had enough encounters with people who say one thing and mean another.”

The man’s eyes flicker with a hint of frustration, but he remains still. “Look, I get it. You’re cautious. But I’m not here to cause trouble. I just need somewhere safe to catch my breath. If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t have walked in with my hands up.”

You remain unconvinced, your grip on the pipe unwavering. “I don’t care about your hands. For all I know, you’re just looking for a chance to attack. I can’t afford to let my guard down.”

He sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as he takes a cautious step back. “Alright, alright. I’m not here to push my luck. I’ll stay back if that’s what you want. But I’ve got some supplies here,” he says, gesturing to the small backpack on his shoulder. “If you need anything, it’s yours. I won’t interfere.”

You glance warily at the backpack, the promise of supplies tempting but not enough to ease your suspicion. The man’s offer could be a ploy, and you’re not about to risk lowering your guard. “I don’t need anything from you,” you say sharply. “Just stay where you are and don’t make any sudden moves.”

He nods slowly, sitting down on a chair across the room, his posture relaxed but watchful. The silence in the cabin grows heavy with unspoken tension. You resume tending to your ankle, casting occasional glances at the man. His presence is a stark reminder of the dangers that lurk even in seemingly safe places.

The pain in your ankle is a constant reminder of the precarious situation you’re in. You’re wary and on edge, fully aware that in this unforgiving world, trust is a luxury you cannot afford.

[kii-nami]

GILDED DREAMS | SUNDAY

You do not protest the clear display of authority over the most minuscule of details. Maybe you don’t even care for things like that, maybe you even take pity on him for that fact. Whatever it is in the end, Sunday doesn’t know. Neither does he ask. Birds are born to foolishly oppose the safety of captivity, but some will walk into the cage willingly. For they believe it to be temporary. Sunday’s gloves are stained with your divine blood. Your name will be written in the holy scriptures by his own hand soon enough.

cw: 6.5k words; part one of three; next part; fem!mc; nameless!mc; i'm not a hsr lore scholar; sunday get behind me i have a glock and nothing to lose except you;

To survive is to suffer. And crippled birds neither fly nor sing. All they are truly good for is to live a life of captivity. The only way to keep them safe is to build them a cage strong enough to protect them from all known predators. A prison of comfort, peaceful enough for them to forget their broken wings and settle down, with only sickeningly sweet scent of heaven in the air. Idyllic enough for it to become a dream.

Thus, Sunday dreams of eternal paradise in which no bird will ever get its wings clipped. In his gilded dreams, humanity’s life is free of misery. There is no survival of the fittest, for there is no weakness. There is no uncertainty, for there is no future. There is no suffering, for there is only Order. Or so the Dreammaster says.

And Ena the Order dreams of a paradise for everyone but Sunday, as he is a necessary sacrifice for the greater good of peace. One must be crucified for the sake of humanity, and Sunday is more than willing to become a martyr if it means he will finally obtain a cage big enough to contain anything and everything that could threaten his family. Or so the Dreammaster says.

To live is to dream. And you, Sunday decides, dream of nothing. For if you were, you would not have been roaming the halls of this maze. Yet Ena the Order sees none of your trespassing, and Sundays dares not to disturb Them with the news of someone so easily escaping their handmade heaven. Yet the ravens won’t stop screeching, the voices continue chanting. You do not belong here, so Sunday has no other choice but to take you out himself. That is the right thing to do. Or so the Dreammaster says. That is what he wants.

“Be not afraid.”

Your hand stops midair. The ribbons of your intricate sleeves keep swaying gently as your fingers tremble a mere inch away from the marble surface of the statue you were admiring. Then you shudder, dropping your arm limply at your side and finally look at him.

“Fear is the soul killer.” You agree easily, the light tremor of your voice betraying you by giving that very fear away. “I’ve been wandering these halls for hours, however. It is natural for me to expect the worst, Mister Sunday.”

You know him yet he remembers you not. So it must be your first time in Penacony, otherwise Sunday would have surely remembered someone like you. Someone who is capable of evading Order’s omniscience. It matters not, however. For he will guide you back to paradise with his own hand.

“I shall show you the way, then.” Sunday offers you his hand in an exercise of faithless chivalry. The white fabric of his gloves is yet to be stained with blood or soiled with the touch of the passing visitors he is forced to exchange pleasantries with. But soon it will be. He doesn't want it to. “If I may.”

“I would be eternally grateful.” You smile. “My family must be worried sick about me.”

There is nothing but kindness behind your voice and the light reflecting of your eyes can blind a sinner if they look at you. Sunday knows better than to trust the emptiness of words and fool’s gold of flattery for he is throwing those around on the daily. So when your palm presses gently against his own, he leads you to your untimely demise with no hesitation and all the remorse one could have, leaving you none the wiser to his true intentions.

Sunday half-expects to be stabbed in the back with some sort of a mythical dagger bestowed upon you by an Aeon who opposes the harmonious Order he is conducting under Ena’s blessing. He's waiting for you to try and snap his other wing right off his back to make sure he isn't even capable of dreaming of the skies. Yet nothing of the sort ever happens. It's a little unnerving, unsettling in a way that makes Sunday feel the phantom pains of things long lost. He wants to accuse you of treachery yet cannot. He wishes to call you a master of deception yet cannot.

Like a saint, you seem to trust him to help you find your way back. Akin to a sinner, it is him who rules over the silver of his tongue and the steel of his word.

Sunday knows he should dispose of you in the waters of the dream pool like he intended to do. That is what the Dreammaster would have wanted. Anything that is a threat to Ena the Order is a threat to his gilded dreams. And those who threaten the cage will inevitably draw a weapon against Robin. Yet he sees no ill intent in your eyes. Just concern for your family who you supposedly burdened with worry of your disappearance. And as it gradually dissolves with each step he takes to the exit of reality, a conflict in him grows stronger.

Standing at the crossroads, Sunday knows nothing. So when the time comes for you to fall back into heaven, he is there to catch you with a promise of never meeting again.

Too bad he never asked for your name. How miserable it is you never thought yourself important enough to give it to him unprompted.

Even in dreams people like Sunday are not exempt from suffering. To suffer is to survive. That is just the price you must pay for being tied to reality like a Charmony dove that has been chained to a metal ball and released into the wilderness. And Sunday may be the head of the Oak Family on paper signed with a bloodstained feather plucked from his own wing, yet he despises dealing with people from the IPC. All precious stone in only name and nothing else, Aventurine is positively infuriating.

In more ways than one.

“One of Astral Express girls disappeared from her room last night.” His smirk is full of poorly hidden mischief and something else that Sunday simply doesn’t care about. He may crave control over all that is his, yet he wishes not to claim someone like Aventurine as one of his own. “How perfectly aligned with your sister’s unfortunate death…”

The muscles of his back are strained. To dominate over his own desires is just as important as it is to rule over every single aspect of the dream that is this life. The gilded dream of Ena the Order must continue, and Sunday will not be the one to sabotage it. To dream is to live.

Sunday taps the railing, “Are you accusing me of kidnapping now?”

Soothing tone and relaxed posture, Sunday will continue his reign over the dominion of Control no matter what he feels or wants. There is no other way. Crippled birds neither fly nor sing, nor do they grow their missing wings back. And even if some foolish being deems them fit enough to recover, takes pity on them and nurses them back to health, domesticated birds will only use those hollow, mended bones of theirs to plummet right back to the ground.

“Just stating my observations.” Aventurine laughs, a noisy little snicker that pierces Sunday’s ears like a nail on the chalkboard. Then he waves dismissively, the lackluster wiggle of his fingers as he turns around to leave. Good riddance, if only eternal. “Good luck. Her Foxian friend is very fond of fried chicken. Me too, now that I think about it…”

Sunday remains standing on the balcony for another hour. There is no rush. He knows who it was that vanished without a trace, and he knows where to find you. But he cannot control someone like Aventurine so Sunday dares not making any irrational decisions. Unlike Aventurine himself, Sunday isn’t fond of gambling. Uncertainty is at the roots of all evil.

He leaves and goes about his business. A sinner to confess their wrongdoings to him; a passerby to shake hands with, a Masked Fool to dampen already soiled mood; a Nameless to throw him a passing glance of suspicion; Robin’s shadow that should not be there for now. If the vermin – a truly formidable man all things considered, yet simply infuriating – is watching, he will see nothing but a busy head of the Oak Family. If Aventurine has better things to do than to follow Sunday’s footsteps in a feat of uncharacteristic obsession, at least Sunday finished all his work for the day and could finally take a shallow breath of momentary relief.

The halls of the maze are empty as they should be, yet Sunday didn’t expect to find anyone there in the first place. You remain in the dining room, rooted next to a marble statue, fingertips barely grazing the cool stone. The ribbons are swaying side to side and the white of your clothes is stained with pinks, blues and purples right in the middle of your back. The colors bleed out from there and drip down the dress onto your skin.

“Be not afraid.”

“Fear is the soul killer.” Your trembling fingers falter and when you turn to face him, there is way more of those pinks and blues all over your heaving chest all the way from your neck. Sunday knows not of what happened and he dares not to ask; his harmonic tuning failed once, and he will not be deceived anymore. “Are you here to escort me back to the dreamscape again, Mister Sunday?”

Sunday swears that if Ena could see you, They too would be just as terrified as he is at that moment. “I’m afraid I do not follow, Miss.”

“Then I shall pretend I said nothing.” You shrug, Sunday’s outstretched hand is hovering in the air for you to take. You do. With no hesitation and all the faith of a religious fanatic, you once more let him guide you out of the painful reality and into a dream as if you didn’t just admit to fully comprehending this fact. “Please be mindful that I will wake up no matter what. Your gilded dream rejects me.”

Sunday stops in his tracks. His crippled wing is pressing uncomfortably to his side, smoothed over bone digging into his skin as a reminder that he cannot ever fly even if he was delusional enough to try to. Every breath is a labor of well-practiced habit and an effort of greatest heights. You’re patiently waiting for him to gather his control back into his tightly clenched fist, the one that is always pulled behind his back to the broken wing he could never repair.

The colors are still bleeding all over your dress as your chest rises and falls in odd intervals. You may have the patience of a saint, yet your fears all eat you alive. Fear is the soul killer. Or so you say. To suffer is to survive. To dream is to live. How can you live if you can never dream?

You furrow your eyebrows. The harmonic tuning has failed yet again. This time without even clouding your mind enough to put you to sleep. Yet your jittering palm keeps trembling in his hold as you exhale lightly, trying to shake off the vibrations of his halo. A delicate cross dangling from your neckless is staring back at Sunday with resentment that he only saves for the person who shot Robin and the Cancer of All Worlds which took away their mother and the scissors which clipped his wings so Sunday would never dare to escape. Or maybe it’s just his reflection looking back at him from the golden glow of the cross.

In retrospect, you did nothing wrong. You don’t even try to hide anything from him, laying your knowledge bare for Sunday to interpret however he wishes to. A sinner that has confessed to their wrongdoings is ought to be forgiven in the eyes of any deity. Yet has this so-called sin been committed in the first place? If you allowed him to baptize you not once but twice, fully comprehending it meant abandoning any uncertain future you humans seem to crave so much.

What is right and what is wrong? What is a virtue and what is a sin? What is an Order and what is a Doubt? Sunday knows not. But he needs to collect all his control and pour it into a cup for you to savor one way or another. If not a sinner, you are a saint. Ena the Order sees you not, so you must have been imprisoned by someone else already. And it is Sunday’s duty to free all of mankind of the shackles of turmoil and lead them to paradise.

For he cannot let you leave yet he cannot bring himself to kill you. Sunday can talk in riddles and try to manipulate your emotions all he wishes, yet you seem to reject the vibrations of Order without even trying. So how does one contain something they cannot control? How does a devout believer tempt a messenger of a foreign god?

“I cannot let you go.” Sunday’s voice is a little hoarse, he is not used to telling the truth. It most often than not leads to suffering, yet something tells him you will see right through him if he does lie. Maybe he has much less control than he initially thought. “You know too much.”

“All is fair, Mister Sunday.” It is not a response a sane woman should give. “However, may I be so bold to ask for a clean dress?”

But saints are all-forgiving, and ordinary people are not meant to understand their reasoning. For there is none. At least not with you. No reason and a heart pinned to your sleeve, bleeding color all over your skin. Sunday needs to know your name so he can search high and low for the Aeon who crucified you for Their own selfish whims.

“I shall pick the best one there is.” Sunday nods.

You do not protest the clear display of authority over the most minuscule of details. Maybe you don’t even care for things like that, maybe you even take pity on him for that fact. Whatever it is in the end, Sunday doesn’t know. Neither does he ask. Birds are born to foolishly oppose the safety of captivity, but some will walk into the cage willingly. For they believe it to be temporary.

Sunday’s gloves are stained with your divine blood.

Your name will be written in the holy scriptures by his own hand soon enough.

The dress is beautiful. And so is the next. And the one after that. And all the others that follow.

Ribbons and feathers. Intricate lace and weightless silks. Gold and diamonds. All never worn even once and kept neatly in the wardrobe of your bedroom. If your disapproving sigh is anything to go by, you don’t appreciate the excessive luxury, yet accept them just to hide them in your closet and put on the simplest of garments that he brought to you the day you entered the mansion.

Sunday cannot understand you, but differences are included in the natural Order of things. Reality is a lonely prison of misery, and Sunday returns there for he has no other place to belong to. Yet you seem to enjoy it as a long-awaited vacation. Way more than your family does it back in Penacony’s gilded dream.

Sunday doesn’t think your behavior is reasonable, yet he questions you not. You won’t give him the answer he is seeking, anyway. Your heart may be out there in the open, yet the pages of your thoughts are written with invisible ink and no amount of heat can paint them with life.

You have a habit of refusing things you deem unnecessary or excessive, your friendly exposition never wavering even under pressure of almost constant loneliness. Some days Sunday wonders what would happen if he doesn’t return here after all his tasks for the day are done, when Aventurine with his Nameless Foxian companion and her other nosy friends don’t breathe down his neck with accusatory air. He does not entertain such foolish thoughts; they would break his carefully crafted routine and Sunday is a being of habit. For habit is Order.

And so, against his better judgment of clipped feathers, Sunday returns. To your palace of a bedroom, with three light knocks and a little apology for intrusion. You are rarely there, so he is forced to look for you just as he is searching for the Aeon responsible for your fate. And when he does find you, all Order crumbles.

To live is to suffer. Your suffering is intricately woven into your every breath.

On Mondays you prepare a special dinner. It’s just you and him and a lonely candle on a little table on your balcony. The stars are dripping the color of your blood, the wine in your glass is untouched and you never eat more than could fit in a teacup. A life of such modesty is far too unfamiliar for the bird who was brought up in a cage of golden bars and silver spoons, yet Sunday doesn’t mind. He’s got other, more important things to worry about. For if the Dreammaster finds out about you, he will wish to dispose of you. And Sunday may have already sinned for the betterment of humanity, yet he isn’t sure if he is capable of turning saints into martyrs just yet.

“Won’t it be easier to just kill me?” You constantly disarm him with your questions. Some days Sunday isn’t quick enough to even imagine drawing a weapon to protect his mingled self.

“No.” Sunday answers a bit too quickly for his liking. “I mean you no harm, Miss [Name].”

On Tuesdays you clean. The mansion is spotless for it is empty, and there is nothing, but a thin coat of dust gathered around on the bookshelves of his study. You busy yourself with it even if you are told not to bother with such things. Sunday wishes to treat you as a guest despite the circumstances. All people were born equal and pretending that you are anything less than he is would going against what he stands for. His gilded dreams are not built on bigotry or injustice, only harmonious Order of happiness.

Your presence in the room is that of a dove on a branch behind a glass dome. All hollow bones and disarray of feathers, Sunday cannot ignore you even if it is what the Order would have wanted. Yet what the Order cannot see, that is all for Sunday to keep for himself; to hide under his pillow so it won’t ever be taken away from him by any collapsing dreams.

“Do you think me a madman?” He asks.

You laugh and shake your head in amused disagreement. Sunday wishes he could steal your laughter straight from your vocal cords to fill in the holes in his wings with it. He cannot. Yet would you let him if he asked with the utmost honesty? Only time will tell.

You are a willing participant of all and any conversations, despite allowing him to talk most of the time. You listen and ask questions, give your own opinion in bite size pieces that never overshadow his voice. His dreams are grand, and his plans are fragile, yet for all that is worth you take him seriously. A noble man with a heart which bleeds for everyone but himself, you call him. A kind person with good intentions which will pave his downfall for him, you say easily. A caring brother, who will always put his family first even if it is bound to strain the thin red thread that connects them to each other, you smile wistfully.

“A flightless bird which longs for the sky. That is what you are to me, Mister Sunday.”

His soul aches. All bruised and mattered. Sunday would rather you simply called him mad.

On Wednesdays you tend to the garden. Flowers are blooming here no matter the season. Even in reality Penacony is still a dream, albeit not dusted with a thin layer of gold and illusions. You move around the sea of color like a ghost, the white of your dress stained with soil and a twinge of misery.

You don’t think Sunday is mad and you understand his dream of peace, yet you never condone his drastic approach to things. The dreams in which you hold happiness in the palms of your hands simply do not exist. That is what you say to him, picking two stray peonies from the bush and handing one of them to him with the tenderness of a torn-up heart. The other gets its petals plucked one by one with a gentle touch of your fingers, and the pain of the missing parts of him grows with each one getting lost in the green of the grass underneath your feet.

No wishes ever come true in a gilded cage so people will always seek reality, no matter how painful it may be. Sunday thinks his wishes can only ever be fulfilled by a dream in which nobody will suffer anymore. There is simply no such a thing that cannot be obtained by a paradise he wishes to create for everyone with Ena’s holy rule. And you – the misguided messenger of a foreign god, a martyr for a cause which you don’t stand for – you also deserve your wishes granted to you. For everyone is born equal.

“What do you dream of, Miss [Name]?” Sunday wonders, watching you longingly collect every single petal from the grass, mend them together with the hues of pinks and purples and then tear the peony back into pieces.

“I dream of living.”

You look up at him with misty eyes, clouded with yearning and unshed tears. The colors float around your head like a halo. Maybe one of these days Sunday will finally find an answer in those scattered petals.

Thursdays you watch the stars. Time flies as the stars keep shooting from the sky like fallen angels, and you simply observe as they crash and burn. Your fingers twitch as if you wish to catch all of them, yet you ask for nothing.

Sunday comes, his back hunched by the growing weight of endless responsibilities and troubles. Yet when he leaves with his shoulders less tense and buzzing static in his chest, to return to his life of sacrifice that is necessary for the good of all mankind, he never forgets to ask what you wish for. Silence is the only answer Sunday receives, and the gentle sway of the ribbons in a summer breeze tells him he will regret ever asking this question when you finally deem it appropriate to indulge him.

The stars glow bright when you’re out here in the garden. Caged birds keep singing their woeful tunes. Thread and needle in your hands, you’re mending the hem of your dress, still refusing to wear any of those more extravagant ones. Your nightgown is not made for the outside and you shiver. The night isn’t getting any warmer, yet you ask for nothing. To live is to suffer, yet what is life if you only ever knew of torment.

A jacket he places on your shoulders does little, and whatever selfish wishes Sunday has must be drowned in the sea of shooting stars. For they will not be accepted. There is no place for them in this reality in which he lays his mortal body on a stone and holds the nails which he will get crucified with in his own two hands. Yet if the Dreammaster were here, he would have shared Sunday’s vision of the gilded dream that he is bending and breaking to his will just to make enough space in it for you as well. A paradise in which you stay here by his side forever as the messenger for him and no one else.

“I wish for nothing, Mister Sunday.”

Sunday knows it to be a lie. You whisper your true wish with the last breath you take before falling into restless, golden slumber. He will break this world in half to grant it to you, even if it calls for eternity of loneliness. A twitch of a broken wing, you’re almost weightless in his arms. Sunday does not understand why just yet. But he will.

On Fridays you play the violin. For once it’s his fingers that are stained with color. Sunday is staring at the canvas, hues and tones blending together with shadows and highlights to create a heavenly image of absolute divinity. He thinks it belongs to a chapel right where he gets down on his knees to confess his wrongdoings and pray for forgiveness, yet Sunday knows even existence of such a thought in and of itself is a mortal sin.

The melody is full of sorrow and the birds which you released from the cages are all perched on the pews of the chapel where you put them. They cannot fly, so they cannot escape and meet their end in horrifying loneliness. For now, you are here to catch them if they were to fall, so they can only sing along to the miserable tune of a violin in your hands.

“To live is to suffer. We must make peace with this suffering.” You put the instrument back in its case and lock all the birds back in their respective cages.

They do not resist, so Sunday is convinced you are implying that they’ve made peace with their suffering just like the two of you accepted yours. Yet when Sunday washes the pinks and purples of his fingers, he cannot help but think you are wrong. To live is to dream. And to dream is to slumber in eternal paradise, where no suffering can ever touch you.

The portrait he’s made of you will never do your beauty justice, but no icon could ever depict the true holiness of a saint. He will succeed eventually. You will have all the time in the world in his eternal paradise.

On Saturdays you dance. In a world less cruel, the one Sunday will create in the name of Ena, Robin is there to support your performance with the soothing voice of a Charmony dove. She is not, for you and him are stuck in miserable world where no wishes ever come true.

You would have been one of Penacony’s brightest stars, if only you weren’t chained to reality by those who do not deserve you. A twirl, the wind picks up your ribbons as you move gracefully to the melody of a tearful piano. And in a moment of fleeting weakness, Sunday asks about your shackles. And with a sway of your swan song, you share the tale of Istanai the Repudiation.

The Aeon who claimed you at birth and refused to let go even after They forsook your people, and you abandoned Their rusted prison. They are still following you around even after all those years even if They don’t want you. They make no sense for They reject all of it, along with anything else that They have ever touched. Even Their own children, the natural Order of things, any wishes or dreams; They abdicate everything and nothing, for that is the Path that They oversee. It is the Path you were born into and that is also the Path that you abandoned to pursue eternal Trailblaze.

“To live is to suffer. For you can keep nothing. Cannot wish to hold anything.” And then you admit, heat radiating off you in waves, “And I am only useful to this world for as long as I keep Their gaze on me.”

Sunday thinks you are wrong. Yet then the clock strikes midnight, and it marks the Seventh day. And on Sundays, you weep.

With your knees on the cold floor and hands pressed close to your heart, you keep praying in a tongue he cannot comprehend. The words fall from your lips hastily and desperately, as you beg for forgiveness in a language he does not know. Yet the things that Sunday does understand, all relate to the Aeon who stole your will and clipped your wings, chaining you to reality where the weak only get weaker and the strong keep getting stronger.

That is not the Path one should walk on, the loneliness of martyrdom for someone else’s sake is not a burden that should be bestowed upon someone but instead a choice one makes willingly. And you chose not your fate, yet suffer the consequences, nonetheless.

Maybe, Sunday muses kneeling next to you for a prayer. Maybe something simple like a dream is not enough. If They refuse to let you go yet condemn you for keeping them, Sunday can create something bigger than a gilded dream of illusion. Maybe a real paradise will be just enough to steal you away to a life that is worth living.

Your hand gently wipes a tear away from his cheek before it can fall and stain the floor of the chapel. It lingers on your fingers with deep red. One glove, then another. You are as warm as he imagined in the dreams he cannot keep, for he is the lamb of Ena and he is ready to be slaughtered if it means people like you – or Robin, or their dear mother – won’t ever cry anymore. The skin of your palm is smooth against his lips. It’s all Sunday can ever allow himself to have, and that is all that he will ever keep.

“You must leave tomorrow, Miss [Name].” He says, hands grasping your own.

A tear falls. This time it feels like you are weeping for him and him alone.

Maybe being a messenger of the Order is not the end for harmony of happiness, and somewhere in the realm of gods there is a spot for his own ideals as well. The Dreammaker may not understand or approve, yet when Sunday ascends to greatness of true holiness, on his first day he will free you from suffering. And on the seventh, there will be nothing but peace. For his gaze will never abandon you.

Sunday can promise on his blood on your hands.

And as it always is, crippled birds neither fly nor sing. They fall. Shooting stars and collapsing dreams, all Order has been forsaken as gravity pulls Sunday closer to his inevitable demise. His flesh and blood clings to him like the ideals he cannot ever atone for, yet in his noble pursuit of eternal happiness a sliver of selfish desire for comfort remains. So he lets Robin linger yet dares not to soil the purity of her embrace with the dullness of his touch.

A cage will always rust and corrode with time, falling apart at the seams. Gilded dreams are not meant to last forever. Nothing is truly eternal except for humanity’s striving to move forward into that useless future full of self-inflicted misery.

Robin’s breathless voice mutters something that is instantly lost in the wind and she pulls him closer. If Sunday were a better brother, a better man, a better person, he would have stopped all galaxies and frozen this moment just to let his sister descend this condensed and polluted air of his crumbling paradise like a stairway to heaven. He isn’t any of those things. So, he doesn’t even try. No miracle will happen if he does. A bird missing its wing will never catch flight right before hitting the ground.

And Sunday is nothing more than a crippled Charmony dove – a dying raven, truly – destined to roam the cage of his gilded dreams forever, for stepping outside signifies the end of Order and the beginning of Suffering. And he isn’t ready to die yet. He wasn’t ready.

To live is to suffer. To dream is to survive. With no cages and no birds in sight, Sunday accepts the inevitable.

“It is in human nature to reject usurpers, Mister Sunday.” Weightlessness of your voice envelopes all in bright light of heavenly warmth.

A feather. A ribbon. A silken touch of divinity confined in a painfully human vessel. If Sunday didn’t know any better, he would have thought he met face to face with some foreign man’s Goddess. Sunday knows better, however. So he closes his eyes and lets Istanai the Repudiation touch him. There are no rules he wouldn’t break to ensure Robin’s survival. And yet…

“I told you to leave.” Sunday is not used to repeating himself twice. His fingers tremble as he watches Robin take your hand and walk down the ladder he thought to be impossible.

“And as a human that I am, I rejected your order.” You smile. The light in your eyes is made of purest of diamonds and it keeps burning with holy fire. Sunday was foolish to think you would listen to reason and not your bleeding heart. “It seems we don’t have much time, so let me heal your wounds as I celebrate that my naïve soul has won for once.”

Robin, as all free-spirited birds are, is a creature of curiosity. She tilts her head and finds comfort on one of the floating ribbons, swaying on it like a swing. There’s a little ruffle to the feathers of her wings, yet she minds it not, opting to watch the two of you instead. Your eyes may be glowing, yet the sturdiness of your will is starting to wear off. Sunday isn’t sure whether it’s his silence that is making you doubt your decisions, Robin’s dedicated stare or your own thinning convictions. His guess is as good as any, but the most logical answer will always be him.

Your forced companionship has come to its inevitable end. Yet just like the day you two met, Sunday is at the crossroads yet again.

“Robin first.”

There are no protests, just gentle swaying of ribbons, a warm glow of pale pinks and purples, and Robin’s hushed voice humming a tune. She looks livelier, well rested, the shadows under her eyes dissolve under the shimmer of divine rejection. Your hands are hovering over hers, almost grazing the skin yet never daring touching it. As if you too, thought yourself undeserving. It made no sense, yet Sunday had no right to question the natural Order of things. Istanai the Repudiation refused to give Their children up, even if They abandoned them first in pursuit of eternal rejection.

A song stops. A couple of grateful words fall from Robin’s rosy lips. You nod politely, a smile returning to your face with a bit more brightness. You offer him a place to sit, a fleeting glance cast over your shoulder. Sunday has half a mind to follow in your footsteps and refuse, yet he does not. He is tired, wasted efforts and unyielding dreams quivering under the weight of reality, all he truly wishes for is to collapse for good. With his missing wing and shuttered principles. How long has it been since he took a proper breath?

Sunday takes a seat. Like a holy dove that you are, you hover near him from your own heavenly branch. Never touching and always lingering, yet the heat of your skin burns him just like divine flame would scorch a sinner. The light under your fingertips rejects his wounds and exiles his exhaustion, it bends his will and breaks his bones. And if letting go or Order meant keeping you by his side for the rest of his life – however long it may be – then Sunday wouldn’t mind a life of sin of a different kind. And if you were to cross this distance and touch him, he would ask you to stay. Yet you don’t.

To live is to survive. To dream is to suffer. Your mind is somewhere far away, and the ache of his bones makes Sunday feel like he is being reborn. From a dying raven to a Charmony dove with all his wings intact, capable of flying on his own.

“So it is true that your kind cannot be manipulated.”

You shiver. Sunday’s back is throbbing. There’s not a person here but a cat. Cursing you with a heavy gaze of his eyes.

“It’s not nice to sneak up on people like that, Mister Elio.” You chastise him gently, pulling away from Sunday and taking all your holiness away. It is only the sheer power of self-control that allows him to not reach out to tug you back into him so your sunlight can burn him alive. Such earthly desires matter not if you two are soon to separate and never meet again.

The cat – Elio – huffs, unamused by your demeanor. You pay it no mind, your ribbons dissolve into thin air until only two remain. Neither do you answer Elio’s question. Simply gather your holy blood with your own two hands and let it all spill yet again through the stigmata on your palms.

“May heavens be kind enough to let our paths to cross again, Mister Sunday.”

His bones keep aching. The restless feathers of his wings flutter even if he wills them to stop. He can surrender his halo to you and despite it being all that is truly his to own in this life, it would never be enough. Deities require giving up all mortal possessions before devoted worship could be possible and what else can he offer to you if not himself?

Sunday has no time to ponder that question. He doesn’t even have the time to say goodbye to you properly. As gilded dreams are not meant to last forever, and this one too is taken away from him by something he cannot control.

“[Name]!” Himeko seems inhumanly comforted to see you safe, pulling you in a tight hug. And considering she wholeheartedly supported the young Foxian woman threatening to pluck his wings naked for taking you hostage, it is only logical for her to do so.

A brooding man – Dan Heng, if Sunday’s memory doesn’t fail him – stands awkwardly a little behind the two of you, while the aforementioned Foxian lady and her eccentric pink haired friend share a collective sigh of relief. You hesitantly pull away and take a hurried step forward, ushering them away before they can notice anything – anyone – else. You are far too kind for your own good and someone ought to exploit it eventually. At least it won’t be someone like him. It is far out of reach of Sunday’s capabilities to shackle a bird born of paradise.

The cat laughs. Sunday hates cats. You cannot cage them, yet they can snap your wings even if you are perfectly fit to fly on your own.

And so, the cat does.

Sunday’s bones are still aching even when he shakes hands with Kafka. Such is the nature of growing pains. A lot of misery is in Order.

[ghostchems]

sacred blasphemy - catholic priest!copia x f!oc

chapter one: blood!

in another world, copia has become a catholic priest after being drawn to it during his childhood in an orphanage. he is content with his life, finally feeling grounded and like he belongs -- until a new face in his flock captures his attention.

author’s note: this is the project i’ve been talking about for the past few weeks! eventual smut, my friends, but nothing too spicy here. this story came about because a lot of fic i’ve read and also written have the papas as the seducers, the ones who draw “innocent” people to join the satanic church with their charm and sexiness so i thought what if i did it the other way around. about 4k words. ao3 link!

The young boy stood motionless in the schoolyard, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest in a protective embrace. He remained there, a still figure amidst the bustling playground, his heart pounding with anticipation. Time seemed to slow as he waited, knowing full well what was coming but powerless to stop it.

Suddenly, the air was split by the unmistakable sound of rubber against skin. A dodgeball, thrown with cruel precision, struck the boy squarely in the face. The impact was immediate and intense, causing his nose to erupt with blood. As it trickled down his face, a strange sense of relief washed over him. The nuns, alerted by the commotion, rushed to his aid, their habits fluttering as they escorted him swiftly to the infirmary. Despite the pain and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, the boy felt a small spark of triumph. His plan had worked – he had successfully escaped the dreaded dodgeball game, just as he had hoped.

He found solace in the quiet sanctuary of the infirmary. The gentle care he received there was a balm to his battered spirit. The nun tended to his injury with practiced hands and he felt a sense of peace wash over him. Seeking further comfort, he reached for the Bible that lay nearby. It really should have been his by now. He opened its well-worn pages. The ancient words spoke to him, offering wisdom and solace in equal measure. He immersed himself in the sacred text, allowing its timeless messages to soothe his troubled mind and provide a temporary escape from the harsh realities of his daily life.

Every trip to the infirmary ended with wondering when this would all be over. When he would be free of this place. The thought both terrified and excited him. The infirmary, with its antiseptic smell and quiet atmosphere, had become a strange sort of sanctuary. Here, at least, he was safe from the chaos of the playground and the cruel taunts of his fellow orphans. he'd always felt like an outsider, never quite fitting in anywhere. His appearance didn’t help. He was a gangly child, oddly proportioned child and his eye certainly didn’t make people want to be friends with him.

But he knew he couldn't stay here forever. Sooner or later, he would have to face the world outside these walls. He turned another page of the Bible, his eyes scanning the words without really reading them.

***

This has been a long time coming for the priest.

He surveyed the parking lot as members began to arrive for mass, a content smile on his face.

Copia's journey to this moment had been a long and winding one. The sense of displacement he felt as a child led him to seek solace in faith, eventually finding his calling in the priesthood. The path hadn't been easy - there were moments of doubt, struggle, and loneliness that echoed his childhood experiences. But now, standing before his congregation, he felt a sense of peace and belonging he'd long yearned for, a stark contrast to his rootless beginnings.

As more people filed into the church, some stopping to shake his hand, Copia reflected on how far he'd come. The hardships of his past had shaped and guided him here. He felt settled, grounded in a way he never had before. This small church, this community—it was home. Though it had taken some getting used to on their part. He was the strange priest with the ghostly white eye. The one who sometimes had dark circles around his eyes, rumored to be from any number of things. Definitely not your typical priest. His appearance had initially raised eyebrows and sparked whispers among the congregation. Some had even questioned whether he was fit to lead their church in the wake of beloved Father Acosta’s retirement. But Copia's genuine compassion and unwavering dedication to his flock had gradually won them over. Very gradually. Still, he couldn't help but notice the occasional curious glance or startled reaction from newcomers, though that wasn't very often.

He shook the thoughts off, focusing on the message he was about to deliver. Copia was excited to share his homily today, having worked on it for the last few days. The message he had prepared felt particularly poignant, addressing themes of acceptance and unity within the community, drawing inspiration from Ephesians 4:2-3: "Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace." He hoped his words would resonate with the congregation and foster a sense of belonging for all members - a belonging that he would gladly provide after being deprived of it for so long in his own life. The irony wasn't lost on him; the outsider now creating a space of inclusion for others.

“Father Copia!”

Copia spun around at the sound of his name, a warm smile spreading across his face as he recognized the pair approaching him. Mark, a single father who had become a regular at the church, was gently guiding his daughter Maisie forward.

"Ah, good morning, Mark! And hello there, Maisie," Copia greeted them, his voice softening as he addressed the shy little girl. Maisie, usually hesitant to make eye contact, was clutching something in her small hands.

"Go on, sweetheart," Mark encouraged, giving her a gentle nudge. "Show Father Copia what you made."

With a deep breath, Maisie stepped forward and held out a piece of paper. Copia knelt down to her level, his mismatched eyes twinkling with curiosity. "What's this, little one?"

Maisie's voice was barely above a whisper. "I... I drew you, Father."

Copia carefully took the offered drawing, his heart swelling with emotion as he examined it. There in bright crayon strokes, was an unmistakable portrait of himself. Maisie had captured every detail - his black cassock, his graying brown hair, and most notably, his distinctive eyes. One was scribbled a deep green, while the other was left white.

"M-Maisie," Copia breathed, genuinely touched. "This is beautiful. Th-thank you so much." He looked up at the girl, who was now beaming with pride. "This is, ehm… this really is me."

Mark chuckled, resting a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "She's been working on it all week. Wouldn't let me see it until it was finished."

Copia stood, still holding the drawing carefully, almost unable to tear his eyes away. “This is going straight to my office. I'll treasure it always, piccolina." The little girl's shy smile grew wider, and Copia felt a warmth spread through his chest. He was so touched by Maisie's gesture that he felt a lump forming in his throat. He tried to mask it with a cough, urging them to get to their pews. "Thank you again," he managed, his voice slightly rough. "Please, take your seats. We'll be starting soon." As Mark and Maisie moved away, Copia took a moment to compose himself, touched by the unexpected kindness. He carefully folded the picture and tucked it into his pocket.

The last few congregants entered the church with Copia watching, taking a deep breath to center himself. The moment had arrived. With a final glance at the sky—a calming ritual he'd long practiced—he turned and strode towards the entrance. His mind was already racing with anticipation. He could feel the weight of his responsibility, the trust his congregation had placed in him. As he stepped into the church, the familiar scent of incense and old wood enveloped him, grounding him in the present moment. Even so, the chasuble always felt heavy on his shoulders. It was green today — to represent the 17th Sunday in Ordinary Time. He let it drape over him, heavy yet calming. Copia took his place at the altar, ready to begin the service.

His eyes swept over the congregation. The familiar faces of his flock brought comfort, but a new presence caught his attention. A nun he hadn't seen before sat in one of the back pews, her head bowed in prayer. Something about her struck him as... different, though he couldn't quite place why. His gaze lingered on her as the words to his introduction fell effortlessly from his lips until a sudden, sharp pain flared behind his left eye — his white eye. The sensation was entirely new, a stinging that made him blink rapidly. Copia faltered for a moment, taken aback. He'd never experienced anything like it before, especially not during a mass.

He recovered quickly, his hands flying into motion as he continued his sermon. His fingers danced through the air, emphasizing key points with dramatic gestures. The congregation seemed to lean in, captivated by his animated delivery. His Italian heritage shone through in every sweeping motion and expressive flick of the wrist.

"And so, my dear brothers and sisters," Copia proclaimed, his hands spread wide, "we must remember that our faith is not just words, but actions." He brought his palms together. "It is in our deeds that we truly show our love for God and our fellow man." As he spoke, Copia found his natural rhythm, his earlier discomfort fading into the background. His hands continued to paint pictures in the air, bringing his message to life with each gesture.

Throughout the service, Copia found his gaze drawn back to the mysterious nun. Her posture, the way she held herself during the hymns, it all seemed slightly off-kilter for a woman of the cloth. He shook off the feeling, chiding himself for being distracted during mass. As a priest, his focus should be solely on the service and his congregation. Yet, there was something undeniably intriguing about this newcomer. Copia silently admonished himself, refocusing his attention on the sacred rituals at hand. He took a deep breath, centering himself in the familiar rhythms of the mass.

When it came time for communion, Copia's heart rate inexplicably quickened as the line of parishioners moved forward. The new nun approached and he felt an odd tension in the air. She raised her head, and their eyes met. Copia's breath caught in his throat. Her eyes were a striking shade of blue, almost luminous in the church's dim lighting.

"The body of Christ," Copia intoned, his voice steady despite his inner turmoil.

"Amen," the nun replied, her voice a low, melodious whisper that sent an unexpected shiver down Copia's spine. To his surprise, she opened her mouth instead of raising her cupped hands as most parishioners did. He exhaled slowly, steeling himself, momentarily thrown by this deviation from the usual practice.

He placed the communion wafer on her tongue, his finger brushed it ever so slightly. A jolt of... something... passed between them, leaving Copia momentarily stunned. The nun's lips curled into the faintest of smiles as she turned away, leaving Copia almost shattered. Shaking himself mentally, he continued with the communion, but his thoughts kept drifting back to those piercing blue eyes and that enigmatic smile.

The last of the parishioners returned to their seats, Copia moved back to the altar, a place of safety for him. He carefully cleaned the sacred vessels, his movements deliberate and reverent. The familiar ritual helped to calm him, pushing away the lingering thoughts of the nun. He felt like he was in autopilot for the rest of Mass, not his favorite feeling in the world but he was at least able to get through it. He raised his hands, inviting the congregation to stand for the prayer after communion. “Let us pray," he intoned, his voice carrying through the church. He recited the prayer, asking for God's continued blessings and grace upon those who had received the Eucharist.

After the prayer, Copia shared his usual weekly announcements with the congregation. He reminded them about the upcoming parish potluck and called for volunteers for the food bank drive. The attentive parishioners responded with nods and murmurs of agreement. These community events and opportunities to give back were truly Copia's favorite aspects of his role—even more so than having an audience for his sermons. Such initiatives held a special place in his heart; after all, he'd benefited greatly from them during his own upbringing.

Finally, it was time for the Concluding Rite. Copia spread his arms wide, his voice warm as he spoke the familiar words: "The Lord be with you." The congregation responded in unison, "And with your spirit." He then gave the final blessing, making the sign of the cross over his flock. Mass drew to a close, members began filing out of their pews and Copia felt a mixture of relief and lingering unease. The service had gone well, despite the unexpected distraction. Yet as he watched the congregation file out, his eyes couldn't help but search for a glimpse of blue eyes and a nun's habit among the departing crowd.

He lingered in the pull for a moment longer then made his way into the crowd, exchanging warm greetings and engaging in light conversation. He found himself particularly drawn into a chat with Margot, a cherished elderly parishioner who never missed a Sunday service.

"Father Copia," Margot beamed, her eyes twinkling with excitement, "I can't wait for the potluck! I'm planning to bring my famous lemon tarts. Everyone always seems to enjoy them so."

Copia's face lit up at the mention of Margot's renowned dessert. "Ah, your lemon tarts are truly a blessing, Margot. I'm looking forward to them myself." He leaned in conspiratorially, "I'm thinking of making pasta for the event. I, eheh, got the new Martha Stewart cookbook and..."

Their pleasant exchange was interrupted by a gentle tap on Copia's shoulder. He turned to find Sister Laura, one of the regular nuns, standing beside the mysterious newcomer he had noticed earlier.

"Father," Sister Laura began, her voice warm but formal, "I'd like to introduce you to our newest member, Sister Veronica."

Copia's breath caught in his throat as his eyes met those striking blue ones once again. Sister Veronica offered a small, shy smile. He took her in, trying to be discreet. She was petite, with wisps of dark hair escaping from beneath her habit. Her posture seemed self-protective, arms wrapped around herself. Copia couldn't help but notice how her blue eyes sparkled with an inner light, a contrast against her pale skin. He quickly averted his gaze, reminding himself of his position and the impropriety of such thoughts.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Father Copia," Sister Veronica said, her voice carrying the same melodious quality he remembered from communion.

Copia reached out to shake her hand as he felt a familiar stirring within him - a temptation he had grappled with before. The touch of her hand sent a jolt through him, reminiscent of their earlier encounter during communion.

"Welcome to our parish, Sister Veronica," Copia managed, his voice steady the discomfort that warred inside him. "I hope you'll find a home here with us."

Sister Veronica's smile widened, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thank you, Father. I already feel welcomed." She glanced around the church, her gaze lingering on the ornate stained glass windows. "It's a beautiful parish you have here."

Copia nodded, his eyes following her gaze. "Indeed, we are blessed with such beauty. Perhaps… I could, eh, give you a tour sometime, show you some of the hidden treasures?" The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and he felt a flush creep up his neck. Sister Veronica's eyes widened slightly, a hint of something unreadable flickering in their depths.

Sister Laura, sensing the tension, cleared her throat softly. "Father, perhaps you could tell Sister Veronica about our upcoming potluck? I'm sure she'd love to contribute."

Copia blinked, grateful for the interruption. "Ah, yes, of course," he replied, his voice a touch higher than usual. "We'd be delighted to have you join us, Sister Veronica. It's a wonderful opportunity to meet the congregation."

Sister Veronica nodded, her blue eyes sparkling with interest. "That sounds lovely, Father. Perhaps I could bring my grandmother's secret recipe for cannoli?" She glanced at Sister Laura, who nodded approvingly. Copia felt a flutter in his chest at the mention of the Italian dessert, one of his favorites.

"That's perfect, Sister Veronica," Copia said, his tone polite but brief. "I look forward to trying it." He nodded to both nuns. "If you'll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to. Sister Laura can help you with any other questions."

With that, Copia turned and walked briskly towards his office, his mind spinning with frantic thoughts of what he was feeling. In almost a blink of an eye, he had arrived, quickly seeking the solace. He leaned against the closed door, his heart racing. A panicked laugh escaped his lips, echoing in the silence of his office. "Why?" he whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "Why do I feel this way?"

The image of Sister Veronica's piercing blue eyes flashed in his mind, causing a shiver to run down his spine. He shook his head vigorously, trying to dispel the thoughts. This wasn't right. He was a man of the cloth, dedicated to his faith and his congregation. These feelings... they were inappropriate, forbidden even.

Copia pushed himself away from the door and paced the small confines of his office. His hands fidgeted restlessly, a nervous habit he'd never quite shaken. "Get a hold of yourself," he muttered, his Italian accent thickening with his distress. He paused by his desk, his eyes falling on the worn Bible that always sat there. Guilt washed over him in waves. Copia sank into his chair, burying his face in his hands. He needed to pray, to seek guidance and strength. But for the first time in a long while, he felt off kilter.

Copia shook his head, trying to dismiss the worry. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper - Maisie’s drawing. A deep sigh fell from his lips.

This was why he had chosen this path. This was his purpose - to guide, to protect, to be a beacon of hope for those who needed it most. The innocence and trust reflected in that simple drawing grounded him, reminding him of his vows and responsibilities.

"I will stay the path," Copia whispered to himself, his resolve strengthening despite the lingering worry about his eye. With renewed determination, he clasped his hands together and bowed his head in prayer, seeking the guidance he so desperately needed - not just for his spiritual dilemma, but now also for this unexpected physical concern.

As Copia he began, a sudden, sharp pain lanced through his eye. He winced, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch the affected area. The world around him began to blur, his vision swimming in and out of focus. Panic rose in his chest as he struggled to make sense of the plan.

He felt a warm trickle from his nose. Copia lowered his hand, his eyes widening in shock as he saw the crimson stain on his fingers. Blood. He was bleeding. In a daze, he fumbled for a tissue, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. He pressed the cloth to his nose, his gaze fell upon the drawing in front of him. His entire body went rigid, a mix of anger and despair welling up inside. Droplets of blood had fallen onto the paper, marring the innocent crayon strokes with stark red splatters. Copia stared at the ruined drawing, his heart sinking. With trembling hands, he carefully folded the bloodstained paper and tucked it into his pocket.

More blood spilled from his nose, splattering on his desk. Panic ripped through him, his head feeling light and heart thundering in his chest. He stumbled to his feet, his vision still blurry, and rushed out of his office towards the restroom.

He collided with someone on the way because of course he did. Looking up, his heart skipped a beat as he recognized Sister Veronica's concerned face. The sight of her caused another surge of anxiety, and to his horror, he felt a fresh gush of blood from his nose.

"Father Copia!" Sister Veronica exclaimed, her blue eyes widening with alarm. "O-oh goodness! Here, let me help you."

He wanted to protest, to tell her he had it handled but the words refused to leave him. Sister Veronica gently guided him to a nearby alcove, away from prying eyes and he followed silently. She produced a clean handkerchief from her pocket and began to dab at the blood on his face with a tenderness that made Copia's heart race even faster.

"Tilt your head forward slightly," she instructed softly, her warm fingers on his chin sending an involuntary shiver through him. "It'll help stop the bleeding." Copia complied, feeling a mixture of gratitude and unease at her proximity. The scent of her - a subtle mix of incense and something floral - filled his senses, making it hard for him to focus on anything else.

"Thank you, Sister," he managed to mumble, his voice muffled by the handkerchief. "I... I don't know what came over me."

Sister Veronica's eyes met his, filled with genuine concern. "It's alright, Father. These things happen. Just take deep breaths. Are you feeling any better?"

Copia nodded slightly, acutely aware of her gentle touch as she continued to tend to him. The bleeding seemed to be slowing and he was grateful. He took a deep breath and a wave of nostalgia washed over him. The gentle care and the clean scent of the handkerchief transported him back to his childhood days in the infirmary. He remembered the kind nuns who had cared for him then, their soft hands and soothing voices a balm to his young, troubled soul. The memory brought a bittersweet ache to his chest.

"It's... it's been a rather strange day for me," Copia finally spoke up, his voice slightly shaky. He met Sister Veronica's concerned gaze, feeling a mix of vulnerability and unease. "I apologize for troubling you with this, Sister."

Sister Veronica's expression softened, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "There's no need to apologize, Father. We all have our difficult days. Is there anything else I can do to help?"

Copia felt a warmth spread through his chest at her kindness, even as he struggled with the conflicting emotions her presence stirred within him. He shook his head slightly, careful not to dislodge the handkerchief. "Your assistance has, eh, been more than enough, Sister. Thank you." Copia gave a deep sigh. "I'll make sure this is spotless when I return it to you, Sister." He tugged at the handkerchief.

Sister Veronica shook her head gently, her blue eyes warm. "Please, keep it, Father. Consider it a small token of welcome to your parish."

"Thank you again, Sister," he whispered, raising his hand to hold the handkerchief to his nose. As their fingers brushed, Copia felt a familiar jolt course through him.

Sister Veronica's expression softened further. "I'm here if you need any assistance, Father. Please don't hesitate to ask." She lingered for perhaps a moment too long, then turned to leave, her footsteps echoing softly in the hallway.

As Copia watched her retreating figure, he felt a twinge in his chest - a mixture of gratitude, confusion, and something else he dared not name. He took a deep breath, relieved to find that the blood flow had finally stopped.

Lowering the handkerchief, Copia leaned against the wall.

A strange day indeed.

[finchly-tintinnabulation]

- Scout's Honor - Part 4

Original Ultramarine (Aristaeus) x GN!Reader

<<Prev = Next>>

Tags: SMUT, fluff, cuddling, intercrural sex, reader being affected by bond nonsense, Aristaeus is a big virgin be nice to him

Thank you to @candyswirls for the cuddling headcanons, @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond for reminding me why Aristaeus has big brown eyes like a baby cow, and @daily-shenanigans784 for the beta read WE FUCK 4 MACRAGGE

The Chorus: @thisuserislilsilly

- - -

Your hand flew to the side of your neck, the low ache of the mark stinging anew as your face grew hot. Were there details you had missed, or more likely were omitted for the sake of a professional documentation?

“Come on, you absolutely reek of him.” Diomedes teased, but there was a gentleness in his tone, especially with how alarmed you looked. It was clear enough that you and the Astartes had been given different levels of information about their unusual bodily processes. “I’m sure he’s absolutely dying for you to return the favor. At the very least I’ve heard it can help with a… temporary lack of proximity.”

You smelled stressed. Something clicked into place remembering Aristaeus’s concern. The Astartes had incredibly enhanced sensory capability, being able to track a scent like a bloodhound across a burning battlefield, and read emotions by the subtle cues of baseline hormones. Oddly enough it made sense that the intensely instinctual nature of a bond would be so tied to those primal senses.

“Chin up, Brother! We can show your little human how to make a proper nest, they’re going to be part of the squadron anyway.” Reaching across the table to where Aristaeus sat with his face in his hands, Pallas patted him on the shoulder. Hilariously his ears were flushed as pink as your face felt, and you bit your tongue before accidentally embarrassing him further.

-

Staying alert was a vicious fight that you were rapidly losing, the contentment of being enveloped by warm bodies irresistibly washing over you. The life of a serf was hard labor and strictly rationed rest, so you had little hope of resisting the lure of an afternoon nap. Once finishing lunch, Diomedes had wasted no time dragging Aristaeus off to your now shared room while Pallas went to fetch materials; an armful of well worn blankets and threadbare cushions all in the same Ultramarine blue. It wasn’t hard to imagine generations of neophytes being comforted by these simple amenities

Pulling out your little mattress, the two scouts cheerfully began constructing the nest, something they had been taught to comfort each other. Even without a bond, rut made the Astartes clingy, so they had been instructed to keep their squadmates close. Speaking of clingy, while Aristaeus had resigned himself to Pallas and Diomedes and their help, he sat on his cot and watched them work, keeping you cradled defensively in his lap.

That was where you stayed, even once all three Astartes had settled themself in their pile of soft things, with your head tucked under Aristaeus’s chin and his squadmates snuggled up against either side of him. There was absolutely no hope of escaping with an assortment of enormous arms and legs wrapped around you, but what was the point when it was so very comfortable. All three scouts let out low rumbling vocalizations, something you now recognized as analogous to purring, turning your nerves and thoughts to white noise.

Eyelids heavy, a drowsy sense of curiosity had you shifting slightly, burying your face in the sinewy crook of Aristaeus’s neck. You had nowhere near the senses of an Astartes, but the hind-brained thought of your mate’s scent had you breathing him in. The chemical smell of his enhanced physiology hit your nose like ozone, but it was only for a moment before being superseded by something more warm and sweet, spices and musk and smoke. Somehow you didn’t mind the odd metallic aftertaste of it, knowing it was him.

Is this what he had marked you with? Besides the physical bites, of course. Some signal that you were his, and… you wanted others to know Aristaeus was yours, as well. You hummed, nuzzling against where you could feel the thrum of his hearts pulsing through his carotid artery, his purr trilling as you pressed your lips to it.

Marking him. Without a second thought you sank your teeth into his skin, sucking at his flesh to taste the honeyed tang of his pheromones. Warm and blissful, your mouth tingling as a whine slipped from Aristaeus’s throat, faintly feeling something pressed against your backside. 

“Get out. Both of you, out.” Aristaeus muttered hoarsely, his voice a pleasant buzz to your ears. It took a moment once the enveloping warmth subsided that you seemed to properly rouse, realizing that Pallas and Diomedes were standing and Aristaeus’s purr had become a growl. Had you fallen asleep? It certainly felt like you were awakening from a nap.

“We were getting comfortable, what’s—”

“I said out.” Oh dear.

There was no more arguing as the two scouts hurriedly took their leave, shutting the door behind them, and you finally registered the feeling of embarrassment. You’d seriously just bitten him. Were you about to be punished?

“Sorry…” Aristaeus whined in your ear, and suddenly his bid for privacy took on a much different meaning. What had been pressing against your rear was now rubbing, the marine’s hips twitching as if trying and failing to keep still.

“Uh. What for?” You replied dumbly as the hands that had been wrapped around your torso slid down to grip your hips. You may have had an inkling of what he was apologizing for, and you turned to try and get a better view of his face.

“...I need—” His words were bitten off by a whine as he forcibly tried to loosen his hold on you, face flushed and eyes squeezed shut. “You are so small, I was warned of… harming you. I can’t do it, I’m bigger than you, I don’t know how to—” Never in your life did you think you’d hear a space marine sound scared, but Aristaeus was downright afraid, his deep voice so unsure.

“Oh, Ari.” What sort of sex ed did they give the Adeptus Astartes? Whatever crash course Aristaeus had been absorbed clearly hadn’t prepared him for the act of intercourse, and that was even more disastrous when the poor scout was so immediately needy. Internal damage was also not on your schedule for today, so you tried to think quickly. “...You know you don’t have to go inside, right?”

“I don’t?” Right, so that’s a no. Gently you brushed his hands off your hips, to which he hesitantly obliged, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your trousers and shimmying them down, trying to ignore the choking whimper Aristaeus let out at the sight.

“Between my thighs should provide enough friction. Since you seem to… like them?” You chuckled shyly recalling your first meeting, kicking off your pants and undergarments in one go and shifting off his lap. “Let’s… lay on your side, please.”

“Emperor forgive me.” Aristaeus’s voice was small and harsh, but again he did as he was told, shifting down in the nest and waiting as patiently as he physically could for your next move. Carefully you lay in front of him, not quite slotting yourself against him yet but feeling his body heat radiating against your bare backside.

“...Pull your pants down.” Your voice cracked, feeling him move before you finished your sentence and subsequently punctuating it with something hot and hard slapping against the small of your back. Hands shaking, you tugged the hem of your tunic up and out of the way, lifting your knee by way of invitation for him to… arrange himself.

Hot and heavy, Aristaeus slid himself between your thighs, hovering there for an unbearable moment before pressing you to his body. He was already leaking, dripping thick clear precum onto your skin, the tip flushed so red it seemed to glow with heat. His cock pulsed and he shuddered, as if overwhelmed by the mere touch of your skin, moaning as he pressed his face into your hair.

“Nnh… oh, by the Light…”

Neither of you needed any more encouragement as you squeezed your legs around his shaft, shifting your hips to grind against it, your own arousal growing rapidly. Aristaeus mirrored your movements, small and slow and a bit nervous, following your lead. Back and forth, gauging a rhythm as his leaking tip began to make the space between your thighs slick, gliding like silk. He thrusted forward as you pushed back, your breaths growing heavy in tandem.

That wetness combined with a briefly found tempo finally bore fruit, as the lewd smack of skin on skin met your ears, and Aristaeus was pushed past his anxiety to pure unadulterated need. Gasping, his arms tightened around you like a vice as his hips slammed forward, relentlessly pistoning as a torrent of cries and broken prayers spilled from his throat.

His lips found the junction of your neck again, but instead of his teeth the touch was his soft heated mouth, sloppy ministrations hardly silencing his pleas. The slapping of his hips to yours was growing almost deafening, thrusting so hard it practically knocked the breath from your lungs, struggling to get enough air between that and the fierce hold he had around your chest. The force and friction made your head spin, relentlessly humping up against your groin.

Drooling against your nape, Aristaeus’s words dissolved into a cacophony of pants and groans, his pace lost in favor of desperation. Breathless and dizzy, you barely had time to recognize how close he was, subsequently realizing the mess you were both about to make. You clumsily grabbed a blanket, attempting to cover your crotch just as Aristaeus tipped over the edge with shuddering wail.

Flushed and with your hands covered in spend, you felt struck dumb as stillness suddenly fell over you, the only sound being the shared ragged breathing of you and your mate. Warm, listening to the faint buzz of the machinery tucked into the fortress-monastery’s walls, just breathing.

A large hand gently gripped your shoulder, turning you gently to see Aristaeus looking at you with those big concerned brown eyes. Then, cupping your face, he kissed you. Soft and thankful.

[otakusparkle]

The Manor Safety Class is now open!

While visitors are having a happy summer trip, please also pay attention to your own safety~

Beach side...

- Hello everyone, this is Oletus Radio and Television program! There are many friends on the beach during the summer vacation, follow our camera and take a look!

- When exercising under the scorching sun, pay attention to sun protection! Also pay attention to replenishing water in time~

Norton : "Who hit me!?"

Demi : Always pay attention to safety when playing on the beach to prevent drowning~!

Patricia : Also pay attention to heatstroke prevention and cooling down~

Daily life...

- Pay attention to electrical regulations! If an electrical appliance catches fire, cut off the power supply quickly.

- If you encounter a fire, do not take the elevator to escape, but take the safe passage!

- Always pay attention to electrical safety at home, and do not touch electrical appliances with wet hands or wet cloth! If you encounter circuit or appliance aging, leakage, etc., you should immediately unplug the plug and cut off the power supply.

- Obey traffic regulations when you go out, walk on the sidewalk, don't run red lights, don't look at your phone or play around in the street, and always pay attention to traffic safety!

- Be civilized and smart in surfing the Internet. Do not indulge in the Internet, pay attention to protecting personal information, and be alert to telecommunications fraud traps!

Phone screen : "Grand prize"

Out for a journey...

- Minors should not go out alone to play! They should follow their parents when going out to avoid getting separated!

- You should maintain good hygiene habits when outside, wash your hands frequently, and don't touch or eating anything recklessly.

- During holidays, there are more people in scenic spots. You should avoid cutting in line, making noise, littering, and traveling in a civilized manner.

- Obey the instructions on various signs, do not climb over the guardrails, do not go to prohibited areas, and do not go to undeveloped tourist areas without permission!

Board sign : "No climbing over the fence"

Rainy season...

- Extreme weather such as thunderstorms and typhoons occur frequently during the summer vacation.

- When going out on rainy days, pay attention to road conditions to avoid falling into dangerous areas such as manholes, pits, construction sites, etc.

Dungeon : "This is not the dungeon, this is sewer."

- In heavy rain and strong winds, stay away from billboards, street lights, temporary buildings, etc and take shelter in buildings in a timely manner.

- During thunderstorms, be sure to close doors and windows, cut off the power to household appliances, and try not to answer or make phone calls.