#Construction Cement Filling | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zarameraki · 5 months ago

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˖°🕷️ ࣪𖤐 𝘁𝗼𝗷𝗶'𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝘃𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗻𝗮𝗻𝗻𝘆 ˖°🕷️𖤐

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 unprotected sex 𖥔 single dad x nanny 𖥔 porn with plot 𖥔 banter 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 praise 𖥔 shower sex 𖥔 bj 𖥔 certified pussy eater 𖥔 daddy issues 𖥔 dirty talking 𖥔 small pillow talk 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut

: ̗̀➛ words: 2.7k

: ̗̀➛ notes: wrote this one a while ago and decided it was time to get it out of the drafts. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

“After the prince and his princess defeated the scary, ancient dragon, their kingdom lived happily ever after.”

With a smile, you closed the storybook, glancing over at Megumi, peacefully asleep in his crib. Your fingers brushed against his velvety cheeks before you tucked him in snugly and quietly left his room.

The jingle of keys echoed through the air.

Toji stepped into the apartment, his appearance dishevelled and weary of another demanding day at the construction site. He shed his hefty boots and lumbered into the living room. Catching sight of you, a faint grin settled on his lips. “He asleep?”

“The dragon story always knocks him out cold.” You took his bag and set it down by the couch as he shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall onto the bar stools. “Long day?”

“Too fucking long.” He yanked open the fridge door, retrieving a container of leftover pasta and a beer. You joined him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and cracking open the can for him. “One of the machines decided to call it quits halfway through. Spent hours waiting for the mechanics to patch it up before we could even think of wrapping up the foundation.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Zenin.” Your gaze shifted to the scattered construction toys that Megumi often indulged in. “With tomorrow being the weekend, maybe you could take some time to unwind and spend quality time with Megs.”

Toji let out a derisive snort as he warmed up his food. “Always appreciate you looking out for us, sweetheart.”

“Hey, babysitting is my job.”

He took the beer can from your hand and affectionately pinched your cheek. You grinned with your nose scrunching up. “My paycheck isn’t gonna be here until next week. Is it cool if I can pay you a little late? I’ll double it to make up for it.”

“Nah, you’re good. I can wait. Megumi’s my favourite little client.” You tucked your hands into the pockets of your jeans as Toji grabbed his dinner and brushed past you. “Jesus, Mr. Zenin. You smell like cement.”

“Cut me some slack, kid.”

“I’m twenty-two. Not a kid.”

“If you’re younger than me”—he jabbed his fork in your direction—“you’re still a kid. Capiche?”

“Eating pasta doesn't grant you Italian citizenship,” you teased. He rolled his eyes as you snatched your backpack. “Well, I’ll see you Monday evening, then.”

“Leaving so soon?”

You quirked a brow and raised your phone. “It’s ten in the evening.”

“That’s early. Come on, stay and grab a bite. Wanna share?”

Your stomach rumbled in agreement. And hey, a little extra time with Toji wouldn’t be the worst thing. Among all the parents, he was the only one you felt at ease being around late at night. He felt more like a good friend than just another guardian.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” You set down your bag and snagged an extra fork, sliding onto the stool beside him. He placed the container between you two, ensuring you got enough of your separate fill.

“Your feeding your fucking hair, sweetheart,” he commented, collecting your hair back. His fingers brushed over the side of your neck making it hard for you to swallow.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, quickly gathering your hair into a ponytail. Toji continued to chew slowly, his gaze fixed on you. “What?”

“You always had a mole there?” He pointed below your jaw where a prominent beauty mark tattooed your skin.

“I’m offended that you’ve just noticed now.”

He finished chewing. “You don’t tie your hair up often.”

“Would you like me to?” You twirled your spaghetti around your fork.

“I like your hair down,” he admitted, his gaze lingering a moment longer than necessary. “But maybe not while we’re eating. Don’t want them getting dirty.”

You rolled your eyes and took a large bite, cheeks puffing out as you chewed.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Toji grumbled, swiping away the speck of tomato sauce from the corner of your mouth. His tongue darted out to clear it, followed by another swipe of his hand. The tomato sauce probably matched the colour of your skin from that gesture. “Ever thought about hiring a nanny for yourself?”

“No, but I might have someone to take care of me in a month.”

Toji paused and dragged his eyes towards you. “Who?”

“Just a boy from my class,” you replied nonchalantly, poking your fork in the meatball. “He’s cute, sure. Plus, he’s a hockey player. Basically the epitome of the perfect, conventional, bring-home-to-mom-and-dad kind of guy.”

Toji took a deliberate sip of his beer. “If that’s what you’re into.”

“You say it like you’re an expert on my taste.”

“I’ve known you for a year, darling. You never struck me as someone who’d go for a poster boy.”

“Then who do you think I’d go for?” you asked softly. Green eyes locked with yours in a tense silence. “Since you seem to have me all figured out.”

Toji stole a quick glance at your lips, then darted his eyes toward the door of his son's bedroom. He fought back the surge of temptation bubbling up inside him, tightening his grip on the beer can in his hand. “Maybe I haven’t gotten to know you well enough.” He went to take a bite but you quickly interrupted by grasping his hand and guiding his fork toward your mouth.

With the spaghetti twirled around it, you brought it to your lips, savouring the taste as you chewed slowly, all the while locking eyes with his emerald gaze. He observed your throat as you swallowed, his attention now fully magnetised by your flushed face.

As you licked the sauce from the corners of your lips, and wrapped your mouth around your thumb to clean it, Toji’s pulse quickened. “I’m an open book for you, Mr. Zenin.” You rose from your seat, reaching for your backpack. He couldn't tear his gaze away, transfixed by the sight of your ass. “Have a wonderful time beating yourself off to my pictures tonight.”

Toji’s gaze flickered to his undeniable bulge straining against his jeans, a curse slipping past his lips. Downing his beer as you moved away, he pushed off the stool, closing the distance with a predatory grace, catching you in the middle of tying your shoelaces.

Your eyes widened as he backed you against the door, trapping your arms above your head. His knee insinuated itself between yours, his breath hot against your lips as he snarled.

“He’s made dinner reservations at an Italian restaurant next week,” you whispered. “Unless you don’t want me sharing pasta with him like it’s a fucking Disney movie, I suggest you kiss me now, Toji.”

“God, that fucking mouth of yours.” A broad smile appeared at his lips as he pressed them hungrily against yours. Your body responded instinctively, grinding against his thigh in a desperate plea for more. Toji’s grip on your wrists loosened, his hand finding its way to your face, driving his tongue inside your mouth and flicking it against yours.

He lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he held onto your ass. Lost in the intoxication of your overdue kiss, Toji maintained some semblance of awareness, urgently guiding himself into the bathroom, where he settled you onto the counter.

Breaking away, but still holding your jaw, he smirked. “I smelled like shit, yeah?”

You shrugged. “Cement, but close enough.”

“Since you know it all, you’re gonna help me clean it off.” He stripped off his shirt before reclaiming your lips once more, your hands roaming eagerly over his chest and around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. You’d waited a whole year for this.

Toji removed your jacket, then paused to peel off your t-shirt. He unhooked your bra with a single motion, pulling you close against him. The sensation of your nipples grazing against his chest hair made you momentarily gasp for air.

“You good?” he whispered, palming the side of your head.

“So good.” You lunged at him again. He stumbled backward, bringing you with him until you both found yourselves inside the shower stall. His muscular arms coiled around you, pulling you closer as he ravaged your mouth.

Meanwhile, you shed your sweatpants and panties, while Toji unclasped his jeans and tossed them aside along with the rest of your clothes. He briefly opened his eyes, his mouth moving in sync with your desperate one, as he reached to twist the shower faucet open.

The first layer of cold water made you shiver and break apart. You and Toji stared at one another, your gazes lowering in tandem to study your naked bodies. He was big. So big. And extremely hard. His pink tip reached up to naval. Covered in veins that pulsed at a closer look.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, sweetheart,” Toji said, stepping closer to you. Your back met the cold surface of the stall’s glass wall. His large hands cupped your breasts and travelled down to your hips. “You've been hiding all of this under those stupid looking sweaters?”

“I happen to like my sweaters, thank you very much.”

“Baby, they’re ugly.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled. He continued to laugh at his own comment until you gripped his dick.

He stopped immediately.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Zenin?” Your hands moved in an elevated pattern. “Cat got your cock?” He planted his palms on either side of your head. You added twists and rolls, ones that had him at your mercy. Then you sank down onto your knees and swirled your tongue around him, sucking him off. He was breathing hard and fast, and his fingers gripped your hair. “Fuck my throat until I can’t speak for a week.”

Toji snapped.

He thrusted deep, deep down your throat and relished in the gagging sounds you made. “Holy fuck, baby. You’re so good at taking my cock.” Your nail sank into his hips, eyes rolling back to your skull. He forced you to open your eyes by pulling at your hair. “Fucking look at me, you little slut.” He shoved himself deeper and held your face against his pelvis. You scratched against his skin to take a breather while choking on his hot gush of release. There was nothing to swallow when he pulled your head back, releasing his dick from the confines of your mouth.

You coughed out, drumming your fist against your chest to regain control of your lungs. A hand wrapped around your arm and stood you up.

Toji held your jaw and inspected you closely with a twinge of concern. “Was I too hard on you, doll?”

You nodded but raised a thumbs up. “Fantastic.” Probably the best blow-job you’ve ever given—even if Toji was mostly in control.

His lips met yours in a soft kiss, allowing the water to wash away at your bodies. He massaged his fingers through your scalp, and, in contrast, gave your left asscheek a sharp slap. “Turn around. It’s my turn to eat.”

Your chest pasted against the glass wall. Toji pressed himself against your back and slithered his hand down to cup your pussy. He grunted in your ear delivering a slap to it and hearing you squeak from the impact. His fingers pinched your clit and parted your folds. Easily, he fitted two fingers into your hole. “Jesus. You’re so fucking tight. No one’s been in this pussy before, baby?”

“A few,” you said. “But they were smaller.”

Toji curled his fingers inside of you. “A dirty whore like you needs something bigger. Don’t you, doll?” You moaned against the glass, your cheek pressed to the surface. “Tell me, baby. You need my fat cock to stretch out your tiny cunt? Need me to shape it to my cock’s size?”

“Y-Yes—ah.” You arched your back the second his calloused thumb started circling your clit. “Fuck, Toji—oh, fuck. Faster.” He drove in a third finger and his free hand clapped over your mouth to suppress your cry.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed in your ear. “Can you do that for me, doll?” You nodded and he pushed you forward, kneeling down and spreading your asscheeks. “My pussy. You hear that? This is my fucking pussy.” He dragged his tongue over it and up to your little puckered hole.

You were high on the sounds of him slurping at your release, sucking your folds into his mouth, and teasing your asshole with the tip of his tongue. This was not how you imagined your Friday night to go, but you weren’t gonna complain. You’ve been fantasising about this moment since Toji caught you putting up babysitting flyers in his neighbourhood.

“My dick’s gonna break off if I don’t put it in now.” He wrapped your hair around his palm and positioned himself at your entrance. “Ready, doll?”

“Fuck me, Toji. Please.”

He could get off on your begging alone.

His hips thrusted forward, his cock filling you to the hilt. He pulled back out and drove in—repeatedly, relentlessly. His palm came down with a bruising slap on your ass without a break. Toji wasn’t going to be satisfied until they were discoloured, until you couldn’t sit down for days.

Seeing you wanton and moaning his name flicked a switch in his brain. He was going to brandish you in a way that you wouldn’t leave him for weeks. Months. Years. You’d be at his side until your children were arranging your joint funerals. The strange feeling inside his chest felt foreign, almost hindered the speed at which he was rutting in you. This was his first time fucking you after a year of pining and jerking himself off to your picture and he was already envisioning a romantic-movie montage.

Toji leaned his face back so the water washed away the vision. Then he pulled out and turned you around, kissing your gasping mouth. He entered inside you again, hoisting one leg up. His fingers pinned you in place by your throat while violating your—his—pussy.

“I’m gonna come inside you,” he breathed out over your swollen lips.

“Do it.”

Toji suppressed his groan by crushing his mouth against yours, a guttural growl producing from his throat. His release was everlasting, filling your inside to the brim. You came crashing down, holding the back of his hair and breaking away to breathe. His face nuzzled in the crook of your neck, equally panting. Those large hands settled on your throbbing ass as he completed the last bits of his ministrations.

You were both out of breath as you stared at one another.

Toji blinked when you hugged him around his torso. His arms remained frozen at his side, glimpsing down at your crown. You looked up with those big, doe-eyes and a full-blown smile. Oh, he was so fucked.

The remainder of the night was spent washing and drying each other, before tangling your naked bodies in bed.

Toji continuously kissed your lips, his hand running up and down your back. You laid atop his chest, his cock buried within you as you gently rowed your hips back and forth. He planned to keep it nestled in you for the rest of the night.

“Spend the weekend with me,” he murmured, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “We’ll go out for dinner at an Italian restaurant with Megumi.”

“Yeah?” You pecked his nose. “We’ll look like a little family.”

“That little shit already considers you his mother.”

You chuckled and brushed the tendrils of hair away from his forehead. “Maybe another time. College’s been kicking my ass. Gotta catch up on those assignments if I wanna graduate with honours.”

Toji found himself desolated. “Can’t you just study here?”

“Not with two babies whining and crying for my attention.”

He gave your ass a light smack. You feigned a wince making him caress it immediately.

“But I can come over in the evening,” you said. “We can go out for ice-cream.”

He smiled at the fact that you were going to make time for him and his son despite your busy schedule. “Ice-cream it is.”

You laid your head down on his shoulder and adjusted yourself comfortably on his cock. “Goodnight, Mr. Zenin.”

“Goodnight, doll.” He rested one hand on the back of your head and the other massaging your ass, staring up at the ceiling where his vision played for the rest of night.

Toji smiled.

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misctf · 3 months ago

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My Dad has been really on my case lately. He’s always wanted me to be more manly like him, and he’s never been good at hiding how disappointed he is that I’m so feminine. He says he’s sending me to a special camp to ‘Man Up’. I’m really nervous. What should I do?

Your dad stood at the entrance to Mu Alpha Nu Camp, a stern look on his face. Trying to do his best to contain his excitement. It had been a few days since he dropped you off here. Initially, when your dad told you he was sending you to one of these “Man Up” camps, you thought he was joking. But your old man had tricked you- promising to take you to a concert to celebrate the end of your first year in college. Foolishly, you believed him- thinking he was trying to start anew. But he had no feelings of guilt.

Truth be told, you two never really got along. His interests and yours were polar opposite, even antagonistic. He couldn’t understand where your feminine hobbies came from and instead of trying to understand, he resisted them. Time at college- sissy liberal university as your father would say- only cemented these interests. No matter what he did, he was never able to mold you into the rugged, masculine specimen that he wanted in a son. And while his disappointment initially hurt, you came to realize he was the epitome of toxic masculinity- a true narcissist.

“Hey bro,” A jock greeted him, “Your son is done.” He chuckled dumbly.

Your father nodded, a smirk forming on his face. He would never really know what you went through over the past few days. He would only see the end result. But when he dropped you off, he did give the facility specifications. He checked off boxes, indicating what qualities he wanted in his son. He would never know how they would initially start easy. Daily gym sessions and lectures about masculinity. How you ignored them at first and resisted their brainwashing. But then it became more intense. They threw you in a chamber. Metallic hands gripping your weak arms. Others massaging your lean chest.

“Wait! Let me go!” You had cried out.

But they continued to manhandle you. Continued to massage your muscles with their ‘special lotion’. You had cried out as your muscles expanded rapidly, at first with firm muscle, and then followed closely by fat. Your new abs and pecs quickly covered by a layer of soft fat. You tried to use your new strength to break free, but even with your massive bis and tris, you were powerless. Only able to watch your metamorphosis in a mirror on the wall adjacent to you.

“No! What is that?” You groaned as you were injected with a serum.

Tears filled your eyes as your skin lost its youthful glow. Wrinkles formed and your skin weathered with age. The firm fat sagging ever so slightly. You looked to be in your late 40s, just like your dad. And before you could fully process this horrific realization, you were sprayed from head to toe with a foul smelling liquid. The burning, prickling sensation that followed caused you to squirm. And as you watched closely in the mirror, you could see your hair follicles come alive. Tufts of manly hair erupted from your chest and abdomen, coating you in manly fur. Even your clean-shaven face became blanketed in a manly beard. And your hair darkens considerably, interlaced with a few grays.

“Please... please stop...” You groan.

But you’d find no mercy. You were being molded exactly to your dad’s specifications. Before you could resist any further, the screen in front of you comes alive. Spirals interlaced by manly images fill your vision. Images of beer, trucks, guns, and working-out are forced into your brain. And as they enter, your prior interests start to fade. You envision a life working construction, just like your dad. Drinking beers at the bar. Picking up chicks. And this continues. For hours, days even. Your cock rock hard.

Your dad’s eyes widen when you approach him. Naturally, you were shirtless. Showing off your manly chest. A smirk plastered on your face. And your dad can’t help but feel as if he’s looking in a mirror. The stupid jock smiles.

“We’ve followed your specifications to a tee.” He says with a dopey grin.

And then it dawns on your dad. He wanted you to be more manly, just like him. Just like him. In his self-absorbed narcissism, he didn’t realize that his specifications led them to create a twin. Gone was his son. Instead, he had a twin brother. One that matched him in all ways- stench, masculinity, and size.

“What’s up, bro?” Your baritone voice matches your father’s brother’s, “You wanna grab some beers?”

Your twin brother nods, slowly accepting his new reality. And the two of you head out. Perhaps not what your father initially intended. But as you throw back beers down at the local bar and cheer for your favorite football team, he can’t help but appreciate the newfound camaraderie.

#male tf #male transformation #mental change #personality tf #age progression #jock tf

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kaijuno · 7 months ago

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Cockington Forge, Torquay over the centuries.

The building on the left was constructed in the 14th century. Despite its age it is remarkably durable, having survived the test of time with only a few brick and cement fillings to bolster it up.

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bluegarners · 2 years ago

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getting a tiny bit tired of the adamancy of the new fanony-but-think-its-canon take of dick being the absolutely rage filled robin. like yes, kind of? he was 9, his whole world just ended before his eyes, and his only way to process was through grief and anger bc nobody was taking a child seriously. additionally, the only person who wanted to help him at that time was also a man who was filled with a similar grief and anger and had learned to channel it in a violent way. of course dick grayson as robin resembled something as "angry" or "rage-filled" but that wasn't him too?? like, how to explain it...

the reversal of the fanon trope of dick being the "sunshiny" robin into someone angry and violent and out for blood is not the helpful shift many people think it is when trying to understand dick grayson as a character as a child. so much of fandom is turning characters very flat and not allowing them to experience two things at the same time or in fluctuating variances. which is. counterintuitive when trying to construct a cognitive map about them. having linear lines drawn for a character and keeping them in direct parallel to others, never letting them cross or intermingle, does the opposite of deepening understanding and depth of character.

what a lot of the "hot takes" i see about this very pivotal moment in dick's life focus on the rage as a very ongoing thing. i myself have touched on it a few times in metas and fics, and although i do believe dick's relationship with anger and how he responds to it is important to understanding his character, i do not believe it is a core aspect of it. yes, dick was angry as robin. he was angry bc his parents were taken from him in a very violent way for something that dick had very little understanding of. these are things that are obviously understandable to be angry about. heck, anger would not begin to describe the kind of feeling at having everything you've ever known be stripped away from you by something you had no part in or control over

but anger is not who dick grayson's robin was. his entire character is centered around hope and kindness and giving second chances. his character is about forgiveness and so many people brush over that part when laser focusing on his anger over the man that killed his family. one of the first things dick did as robin was go after and beat his parents' murderer, but he also stopped. he didn't beat that man to the point of killing him and he didn't go after him again once the man was put in prison. that may not seem like such a monumental thing but dick grayson forgave the man who took everything away from him in that simple action of stopping

by pulling him away from his anger, bruce gave dick a second chance at a life beyond that. and in return, dick never forgot that lesson and actively worked on and added to it. he became better because of his anger by practicing kindness, exercising restraint, and learning from his mistakes when things went too far

dick grayson as robin is more than just the violent night he cemented himself as a vigilante by catching his first murderer. his robin is about moving past it and being a symbol of hope for others who are lost in similar ways, showing them that there is a path beyond the grief and rage. that there is hope and light at the end of the long tunnel and it's okay if a little guidance is needed along the way to get there

#dick grayson #robin #anyway never want to see those posts again thank u #they are getting to be just as bad as those weird ones that make dick happy 24/7 and sugary cereal munching

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windvexer · 25 days ago

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Hi, Chicken!

Perhaps a silly question, but maybe you know: is the chemical composition of stones (regular rocks picked up on a beach, or in a forest) somehow important in spells? Can I just use them in a protection spell if I associate them with something solid and safe? Or can I use a rock whose shape reminds me of the moon in a spell related to the moon?

I'm not really into crystal magic, but I like picking up pretty rocks and putting them on my windowsill, so I thought about using them.

Good morning! You can certainly do anything you like. Here is some theory you may find to be helpful.

We might consider that any object can have three bodies: its physical body, it's mental body, and its astral body. (this is an oversimplification).

These bodies stack together like matryoshka dolls. The physical body is the anchor that holds the mental body, and the mental body is the harbor that accepts and shelters the astral body.

The physical body is just as you describe in your post: the chemical composition and the shape of the rock.

Many rocks found in the forest or beach only have a physical body, and do not have mental or astral bodies,

The mental body is something people create by assigning meaning and possibility to the rock.

The mental body can be thought of as a gossamer vessel nestled within an object that can hold the even more subtle energies of astral (magical) power.

The concept of adding a mental body to something is more or less the same thing as "programming" or "setting intent."

Physical body: Rock that looks like a moon Mental body: "This rock looks like the moon, therefore it's good at hosting lunar energies." Astral body: Lunar energy channeled into the rock, filling the mental and physical bodies like sand filling up a shapely glass bottle

In this paradigm, the process of developing and setting the mental body is vital for acts of magic; in fact, if you're in a rush, you can skip the physical altogether.

Technically - and to actually answer your question, Anon - you can apply any mental body to anything and it will work, at least for a little while.

Specifically, all mental bodies last until they are worn down and eroded by the astral ecosystem, and the ecosystem of human thoughts (as, after all, all humans can create mental bodies - not just practitioners).

if the mental body is in harmony with its physical body, then the physical body provides support that shelters the mental body. This is like building a swimming pool at the bottom of a natural basin.

The natural curve of the land holds and supports the cement. But even if the swimming pool cement cracks, the water isn't going anywhere fast - the physical environment of the construct supports its purpose, so the effects of the construct last much longer without maintenance; and the rain supplements water in the natural basin anyway.

If the mental body is rooted in a hostile or unsupportive environment, it will fade much more quickly. This is like building a swimming pool at the top of a precarious volcano. Yes, you can do it. And it will hold water. But the extreme environment of the volcano heat cracks the cement, and when the cement cracks the water will spill out and tumble away. It may rain, but the pool is not at the bottom of a basin to collect rain - it will only get what falls right into it.

When people talk about "you don't need any tools or ingredients, all you need for magic is yourself and your energy," in my praxis what they are probably saying is, "you don't need the physical body of objects; you can skip that and work only with mental structures that you directly energize."

And this is true. You can attach mental bodies to anything, regardless of their suitability to host that type of magic.

If all of this is true, then which found rocks are the best for any given purpose?

I think starting with rocks that you associate with things (like solid protection, or the moon) is a very good start.

Work enough with found objects and perhaps you will find a system developing for yourself; rocks with a bluish tint always seem well-suited for hosting the Moon, and big heavy black rocks with mica sparkles always seem best for protection, and so on.

However, more work can always be done.

In my opinion, the single most impactful thing the average practitioner can do to increase the power and efficacy of a spell is to just decorate the physical spell vessel in alignment with the spell intent.

If you have a nice sturdy rock and you paint a protective symbol on it, then the mythical landscape of that rock changes. It becomes an environment more in harmony with a protective mental body.

Please forgive me as we delve here a little deeper:

What is the ideal form of your protective spell? Should it be like a placid moat that becomes infinitely wide and confusingly misty for intruders?

This is different from a protection which is like a goat made of fire which has a battle scream and headbutts intruders.

These two protections ought to have different physical bodies, because they are very different things.

Still you would choose the rock based on initial impressions: "doesn't this rock sort of remind you of an angry goat?"

But then you can take it home and paint it.

The symbols you choose for the placid moat might include the color blue, long waving lines, the alchemical symbol for water, and the symbol of the moon to represent illusions; words themselves make good decorations, as do sigils. (Painting the physical body with a symbol that directly translates into the mental body... a good decoration, I think).

All of these decorations terraform the mythical landscape of the stone to prepare it to hold the mental construct. And indeed, as you decorate the stone, you are also simultaneously building the mental body.

But you don't necessarily need to create permanent changes. Using knot magic and tying up the stone in a net, adding it to a jar or pouch with other ingredients, or placing it on top of specially prepared sigils or artwork can also function as decorations that modify the physical body.

Then, when the time for enchantment comes, I hazard your found stone will make a significantly better protection than someone who just bought and cleansed some celestite off of Etsy.

But what about the chemical composition of the stone? There are always attributes in any object we can't change.

Stones are slow and heavy. To me, at least. I'm never going to decorate a stone hard enough that it doesn't make a spell slower and heavier.

But at a certain point, the details become fine enough that they stop having an impact.

What if the refined white sugar I use is beet sugar, not cane sugar? What if the sugar beet was from a heritage cultivar, not a modern one? What if the cultivar of the beet was genetically modified? What if the package of brown sugar from beets is dark brown sugar, not light brown sugar?

To me, it's brown sugar.

To me, it's a heavy black rock with some mica in it.

You can go all the way down if you want. You can get really into isotope witchcraft, that would be cool.

But once I paint a big red X on it, I believe most of those fine details are superseded.

And even if you don't want to modify the physical body at all, you can attach a mental body to anything.

Once you develop your path enough to get symbols that directly link the physical to the mental (like, wolves mean protection, and red means protection, and an X means protection), you can start to really modify physical vessels to very closely match the intent of the spell.

And when the physical vessel and the intent are totally harmonized, and you add magical/astral energies that are lockstep with intent and form, the floodgates are opened and magic starts flowing through in very powerful ways.

But not all spells need to be like powerful, raging rivers.

You can dig a pond into any object, and fill it with energy. If it's a bad spot you will probably have to keep reconditioning the pond and hauling water to it, but it'll still work.

#answered #advwitchblr #witchblr #witchcraft #spellcrafting #spell vessels #long post

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lillified · 8 months ago

Note

I love your versions of the decepticons but I do have a question! I honestly love tarn and his brooding nature, so I wanted to know what happened to him? Why’s his face absolutely destroyed and why does he hate megatron,,?

hey, that’s a good question! I believe I’ve answered something similar in the past re: Tarn’s deal, but I can rephrase it again+give some additional context below the cut!

Tarn and Megatron have a very similar background. Both come from low-caste professions (Megatron, obviously, a miner, and Tarn a construction hauler) and both became gladiators to an impressive degree of celebrity. Tarn was an artist in his own right, being a musician and composer (which wasn’t as broadly commercially appealing as Megatron’s writer-artist repertoire, but certainly attracted its fans).

On Cybertron, gladiators have their own sort of “stardom.” Regular audiences aren’t just invested in the sport, but the story behind it, and so the performers become “characters” in themselves. Established fighters often have a dedicated fanbase, lore, and even “managers” or “agents” to manage that public persona. These “careers” can be lucrative, but, unsurprisingly, very brief.

In his heyday, Tarn was everything the gladiator celebrity complex favors: young, charismatic, attractive, skilled, and, above all, marketable. The music he made enhanced his character, and, in turn, his gladiatorial feats promoted his music. He found a degree of purpose in his popularity.

Tarn’s era of celebrity ended when, in his closest match, he lost his face. He survived, but this spoiling took away the foremost aspect of his fame—his identity (in the past I’ve talked about the culture around faces and their irreplaceability, which applies here). Having no choice but to wear a pit mask to protect his exposed interior, he gradually faded out of popularity, in favor of the new wave of rising stars. Over time his music lost its audience and he became cemented in the second rate.

When Megatronus came along, she was quick to gain notoriety for the same reasons Tarn had, with a very similar audience. It was almost natural that she would fill the same niche, with a similar backstory, skillset, and audience appeal. Tarn immediately became jealous, but also couldn’t resist the familiar pull of a world he’d been unceremoniously excommunicated from: in Megatron, he found a way to live vicariously, and quickly began to see her as some parallel proxy for his lost ambitions. All gladiator friendships are underscored by a sort of tired acceptance of impending doom, but, in Tarn’s case, he abused their gallows goodwill to be an extremely two-faced fairweather friend.

Though they certainly shared some traits, Megatron and Tarn were notably different. Where Tarn found earnest purpose in his success, Megatron resented her popularity, engaging with her high society pass with cynical disdain. She invited scandal and scorned the whole scheme until she could use it to get what she wanted. Tarn frequently scolded her for her shallowness, but envied her and the attention she received immensely. This resentment only ever festered and grew.

Internally, Tarn’s wish has always been to witness Megatron’s downfall, and to indulge in her suffering. As his proxy, he will only ever be satisfied to know that she is more miserable than him. The only things preventing him from killing or hurting her directly were his deep desire to live her life, and his own utter hollowness and insecurity.

#transformers #tarn #ask #text post #text #original design #redesign #fandesign #fanon

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goosewriting · 3 months ago

Text

Class is now in session

summary: reader is in university and starts taking a liking to a certain redhead.

relationship: college AU biker!Cal Kestis x gn!reader

warnings: cameo fest, mentions of alcohol, cal punches a guy, idiots in love 😩💞, gets a lil spicy at the end 🫣 this might border on crack tbh

word count: 11k because i am deranged

A/N: this started out as an innocent college AU with jock!Cal, but my insta feed brought me back to the depths of biker guys x booktok girlies so this idea cemented itself into my brain and i just ran with it. this is 100% self-indulgent, packed with every trope i could think of, and got completely out of hand. i am not sorry. bon appetit :)

[all masterlists] 🪶 [star wars masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

A/N2: please excuse the pacing at the start, it's a bit of a mess. but i promise it gets better! also i use college and university interchangeably here because i’ve personally only been to uni, so sorry if it's confusing ;;-;;

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

As you’re leaving your first class at the new college, you think back to orientation week where you met Sabine. She’s the only one you know here now, other than Ahsoka, a friend from your home town who’s come to this university too for her masters. You have no idea how, but Ahsoka somehow managed to have you move in after her roomate left, so that you now share the flat, which you’re super happy about. At least one thing (or person) less to worry about.

In the class that just finished, you sat with Sabine, and she introduced you to Ezra, her friend from high school. So that’s now two people you at least know by name here.

You hurry to get to your next class which is basically across campus in one of the bigger auditoriums, and it’s the biggest class by far. Sabine and Ezra don’t attend this one, so you don’t know anyone here. You look around as you cross into the room, observing how the students swarm in in waves, quickly taking their seats. Walking down to the middle row, you quickly scan the group, thinking who seems approachable to eventually start chatting.

The class goes by rather quickly, being the first one and all, it was more about formalities than actual content. Someone had arrived just on time as the professor also walked in, a redhead that caught your eye, but the moment the class was over, he left quickly. In fact everyone leaves quickly, and you can’t help but be dragged along by the mass of people and you find yourself in the hallway, which just as quickly as it filled, is empty once more.

For lunch you meet with Sabine and Ezra, and you all get to know each other a little better. At first you thought they might be dating, judging by how close they seem, but they never mention it during your meal. If Sabine is willing to have boy talk with you, you make a mental note to ask her about it at some point.

In the afternoon, you start your job at the library. A tall and elegant woman, Shaak Ti, shows you the ropes, and soon you’re left to your own devices at the desk, doing some smaller tasks to get you started. Not soon after, Ahsoka comes by for a quick visit to say hi.

Your shift is almost over when someone comes up to the check-out desk where you sit. You hear them approaching, and as you lift your eyes from your work, you recognise it’s the redhead from today’s class. Putting on your best customer support smile and voice, you ask how you can help, and he says that the self check-out machine isn't working.

How strange, you think, remembering how Shaak Ti showed you earlier how it works, and it did so just fine. But it’s quicker to just ring up his book now, and you could check the machine later. So you take the two books from him as well as his student ID and scan everything, doing your thing. You see his name on the ID: Cal Kestis. So that's what he's called. Maybe if you meet in class again, you could say hi. It would be super awkward if he didn't recognise you, though.

Shaking away your thoughts for the moment, you repeat to him what Shaak Ti told you earlier about the borrowing of materials, the e-mail notice and that he can check the return date on his university account. Taking his books and card, Cal thanks you with a smile and leaves. Standing up from the desk after a moment, you go to the self check-out machine to see what’s wrong with it, trying to remember if Shaak Ti gave you the number for the technician. You try out the process several times with a random book and your ID and it works perfectly. Strange, you think again.

By the time you get back to your dorm, which is a short bus ride away from campus, it’s already evening. You enter your room, grimacing a bit at how empty and lifeless it still looks. But you know you’ll be quick to decorate it and fill the space with your things to make it feel a bit more like home, albeit a temporary one.

Arriving at uni the next day, you get off the bus and walk towards the building. A motor bike passes you and parks in the designated area, your eyes unintentionally following the person, and you check them out a bit. The whole outfit, leather jacket and all, do look good, and you stare for perhaps a second too long. When the person takes off the helmet, you realise it’s the redhead from yesterday. He catches you looking at him and gives you an acknowledging nod and smile. Your head immediately turns the other way, cheeks burning at getting caught, and you walk away hastily, knowing this interaction will haunt you for the rest of the day since you could have just smiled or waved back instead of being so obvious.

Back in the big class, he spots you again and gives a short wave and an unsure smile. This time you make sure to smile and wave back at him.

After lunch with Sabine, you’re at your locker, picking up some things, talking to her and Ezra who joined you as well. They both suddenly look over your shoulder behind you, and you turn around only to be faced with him.

“Seems like I keep seeing you everywhere,” Cal says, leaning sideways onto the lockers. “I think it’s time we finally get properly introduced, don’t you think?”

It doesn’t go unnoticed by you that he exchanges a look with Ezra, which you can’t really decipher, as you don’t know either of them well enough.

“I’m Cal,” he introduces himself. “But I think you already knew that.”

You tell him your name, and as Ezra joins the conversation, it turns out they’re actually friends.

“So how do you know him?” Sabine asks, her eyes going from Cal to you.

“ We share a class, and he came by the library yesterday,” you explain, taking a look at the time. “Which I actually should be heading to now. My shift starts soon.”

Sabine gives you a strange knowing look too, to which you don’t know how to respond. But before you can ask what’s up, she says that Ezra and her have another class, so they leave.

Cal walks you to the library, claiming he has to go to practice and it’s on the way (its not). It’s a short walk but you’re racking your brain for something to fill up the silence. Unable to come up with anything better, you tell him that if he wants to check out another book, you can show him how to use the self check-out machine.

“You said it was broken,” you say, tilting your head slightly in confusion. “But I checked and it worked just fine.”

“I know,” he responds after a second, and you turn to him with a ‘Huh?’. Smiling, he adds, “See you around.”

And with that he leaves you by the library entrance, even more question marks circling in your mind. To your surprise and further confusion, you find that he didn’t leave you with just questions, but also a bit of a racing heart.

Finally the weekend rolls around, and Ahsoka is out with her best friend Rex and his buddies, so you invite Sabine over for a movie marathon and lots of snacks. Since it’s just the first week of class, you don’t have that many assignments yet, which you want to take advantage of while you can.

As you’re both cosied up on the couch, you ask her about Ezra and if there’s anything between the two, and her face makes you laugh out loud. She says he’s more like a brother to her, since they’ve known each other for so long. But then she asks if there’s anyone you’re interested in.

You find yourself stumbling over your own words and end up somehow confessing to both her and your surprise, that you may have a teeny tiny crush on Cal. Sabine’s almost too excited about it and says you should tell Ezra so they can set you up on a date or something. But you make her promise she won’t tell either of them, to which she ends up agreeing. You don’t need the drama or the distraction; you just want to focus on classwork after all and survive one semester at a time.

On Monday you have the big class again, and you stay after it’s done to ask Professor Kenobi something. Everyone is leaving the room, and he’s packing away his things as you approach his desk, starting to formulate your inquiries, but you see his eyes going past you for a moment, then looking at you again with a soft smile.

“Why don’t you send your questions to my e-mail,” he offers. “Isn’t it your lunch break now? Wouldn’t want to hold you off, especially when there seems to be someone waiting for you.”

You blink a couple of times, then turn to look to the entrance door where, sure enough, Cal is waiting for you, leaning back onto the wall. He gives a short wave, which you quickly reciprocate, and you excuse yourself from the professor with heat prickling at your cheeks, telling him that you will do just that.

As you reach the door, Cal pushes himself off the wall to walk beside you. Before you can ask him what he’s up to and why he waited for you, he talks first.

“Are you eating at the cafeteria today? Wanna grab lunch together?”

You consider his offer for a moment, but then give him a short shrug.

“I’m not really super hungry and the menu today didn't have anything that I particularly crave, so I think I’ll just get something from the vending machine.”

“You sure? You shoudln’t skip meals, you know.”

“It’s fine, really,” you chuckle. “I’ll just get early dinner and I promise to eat something substantial.” “Yeah, you better,” he jokes, lightly pushing you with his shoulder.

Turning your face away to hide how flustered you’re getting at not just his playfulness but the fact that he waited for you, you reprimand yourself for a moment for getting your hopes up. Wanting to grab lunch with a classmate is normal! This is normal! Stop being weird, you tell yourself.

Just as you want to face Cal again to change the subject, you hear some voices from the hallway around the corner where the vending machines are. You think you recognise them, and you don’t know what on Earth compels you to, but you walk the few steps to take a peek. At the end of the hall, you see Professor Kenobi with a man. He’s tan, has broad shoulders and is very handsome.

“Hello, my love,” Kenobi says in a low voice barely audible to you, and quickly leans in to kiss the stranger.

Your hand shoots up to cover your mouth before any sound of surprise can come out, and you quickly spin around, directly into Cal’s chest with an oomph.

“Wha–” Cal holds onto your shoulders to keep you from falling with how quickly you tried to recoil. “Whoa there, you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I feel like I just saw something I wasn’t supposed to,” you admit, hiding your face in your hands for a moment, then looking at him with big eyes.

This intrigues him, and Cal steps past you to take a look.

“There’s no one there…?”

You look around the corner again as well, and the hallway is indeed empty.

“Prof Kenobi was just there a second ago, with someone else. Kissing,” you add the last part under your breath.

“Oh?” Cal raises a brow, sounding strangely interested. “Well, let’s go see where they went.”

You shoot him an alarmed look.

“What? Why?”

But he’s already walking, looking over his shoulder and gesturing for you to follow with a playful smile. So you follow suit. You’ve never been to this part of the building, and compared to the bustle back where there were constant streams of people walking to and out of the cafeteria, here it’s surprisingly quiet.

“I wonder where they even went,” Cal thinks aloud and stops where the hallway ends in a dead end. There’s several doors to the left, offices from the psychology faculty judging by the signs next to the doorframe. On the right there’s the big door leading to the staircase. There’s a paper sign stuck to it with tape that catches your attention, so you step closer to read it.

“Seems like the floors below are currently closed off because of repairs,” you paraphrase the warning sign. “So they must have gone up.”

You turn to look at him, and see realisation wash over his face, which quickly changes into a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Oh, is that where we are.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him in suspicion.

“I heard that there was an off-limits floor in this wing. It’s been like that for years actually, not because they’re reparing something but because strange things happen there.”

You scoff, giving him an incredulous look.

“Didn’t take you for the superstitious type,” you deadpan.

“I’m not.” He looks at the sign and back at you. “But c’mon, aren’t you a little curious? They say it’s haunted, but if you go there and come back out, then you’ll have good luck in… passing your exams.”

“...Did you just make that up?” you question, crossing your arms over your chest defensively and raising a brow at him.

“...No?” Cal retorts, and it’s anything but convincing. Taking a step closer to you, he adds, “Come on, don’t you feel the call of adventure?”

“The only call you’ll feel is your emtpy stomach when you’re training,” you say, taking one last glance at the big door, then looking at Cal. “Shouldn’t you be having lunch right now?”

“I can eat later,” he shrugs.

“I thought skipping meals was a no-no.”

“I can make an exception today. For both of us.”

Before you even have a chance to stop him, he pushes open the door to the staircase, and you see there’s a chain blocking the way to the stairs leading down, but he steps over it, looking back and offering his hand to you.

You look up, listening for anyone who might be coming downstairs, but it’s still silent. Almost eerily so. You look at Cal’s face for a moment, and sigh in defeat, taking his expecting hand. He grins in victory.

“You’re being a horrible influence, you know that?” you say with a playful smile.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a little bad every now and then,” he points out with a wink, and you roll your eyes at him to hide the beat your heart just skipped.

You both walk down the stairs, taking out your phones to use as a flashlight since it’s so dark. Cal pushes open the big door to the main hallway, and you’re hit with the typical smell of a basement; it’s humid and a little musky, but not necessarily unpleasant. You take a look around, and it’s a mirror of the floor above. The doors to the offices are open though, one is even missing the door completely, and Cal walks in without hesitation, so you follow him.

You’re not normally one to get scared about things like these, especially knowing that the haunted story has probably started as a rumour that got way out of hand throughout the years. This section probably just got closed off because of a water leak or something.

“One of the guys on the team told me that there used to be meetings of a secret cult down here.”

“Okay, now you’re just messing with me,” you laugh, and you point your light to him to see him. He blocks the light from his eyes with his hand but you can see the goofy smile on his face.

“I can’t believe I followed you down here,” you say, taking a step towards him, but something behind him catches your attention. You direct your light to the wall, and he turns around to do the same. There’s a pinboard full of old notes and photographs. Looking at the small table underneath it, you can see a lot of the things that once hung on the wall have since fallen down, decaying. Inspecting the remaining notes on the pinboard though, you notice that there are many that seem newer, the papers are clearer, crisp, untouched by the humidity down here. Many of them are simply just letters and numbers, like… initials and dates? You’re about to take a closer look at what’s written on them when a reflection from the table catches your eye.

Directing your light down onto the table, you move away some scattered papers to reveal the object that was partially hidden beneath: a locket in the shape of a heart. You stretch out your hand to pick it up but Cal stops you.

“Maybe- maybe don’t touch that.”

“Why not?” you ask without looking up. You can faintly make out the engraved letters “P&A” on the metallic surface.

“It could have lead. Or something.”

“That’s… a good point, actually,” you agree, and you retrieve your hand, your nose crinkling slightly in disgust at what could be lying around. “It’s the first time you’ve made sense since we got here. Who knows what else is here. Actually, we should leave–” You turn to where Cal was standing earlier, a couple of steps away, but you find him standing right in front of you now, caging you in between himself and the table behind you. He’s still holding his phone with the light aiming up, so his face is contoured in sharp white, highlighting the scars across his face. You had noticed them before, and thought they added character to his face. But now, with his eyes gazing into yours like that, momentarily flickering down to your lips and back up, you feel the urge to reach out and trace over them.

The air has completely shifted between you two, and your heartbeat quickens at the realisation. His free hand has somehow found its way around your wrist, and he’s leaning in closer ever so slowly.

You open your mouth to say something but you’re cut short by a sudden thud. You both flinch in surprise, aiming your lights to where the sound came from. You see a book, now on the floor, that hadn’t been there before, and a small cloud of dust settling around it. Aiming the light a little to the side and up, you can clearly see the spot where it fell out of the shelf, as there’s no dust on the wooden surface.

“We should– I think we’ve overstayed our welcome,” you say after clearing your throat.

“Right.”

You quickly step around Cal and head for the staircase, swiftly walking up the steps and, after momentarily listening for any bypassers, climb over the chain. Cal follows closely, and you both pocket away your phones. You’re reaching out your hand to open the heavy door that leads back into the building, when he quickly grabs your wrist, holding your shoulder with his other hand to pull you away from the thin vertical window next to the door.

“Wait, there’s someone out there.”

“So what, we could have come from upstairs,” you say, trying to ignore the way your skin tingles where he’s holding you again.

He peeks through the glass, his eyes going wide for a moment, then stepping away again, a silly smile playing on his lips.

“It’s Kenobi. And he's not alone.”

You dare take a peek through the glass, and catch a quick look at Kenobi and the man from earlier, both coming out of one of the offices with slightly dishevelled hair.

“If he sees us, we’re so dead,” you say under your breath and lean back away, out of view. On one hand, you’d definitely be in trouble because from the short time you’ve known him, Professor Kenobi seems like the type of person to be really good at reading others, so he’d definitely know you two were up to no good if he confronted you two, especially you; you’re not a good liar. But also he saw Cal waiting for you after class, so surely he’d think something was going on between you two. Then again, would that bother you? Is there something going on between you and Cal? Do you want there to be something? You’re not entirely ready yet to answer that for yourself, especially not right now after what happened earlier, whatever that was. He was totally going to kiss you, right? In a basement of all places?

“The coast is clear,” Cal finally says, and your reeling mind can come to a halt again. He looks down at where his hand is still holding onto you, and quickly lets go, taking a step back, clearing his throat. “Sorry about that. Uh, after you.”

He holds the door open for you, and you walk through, dusting off your clothes of anything that may trace you back to the forbidden underground. Cal makes his way to the office he saw Kenobi come out of and inspects the sign, chuckling to himself.

“Ah, look at that,” he says, and you approach, seeing the name on the sign: ‘Cody Kenobi’. So the man earlier was his husband.

“Get it prof, I guess,” you mutter more to yourself than to him, but Cal snorts at your comment.

“C’mon, let’s go,” he says, and you two make your way back to where you initially came from.

Since Cal still has to get food, you part ways and he heads to the cafeteria. And just like that, you’re back at the vending machine, yet again plagued by the decision of what to get, as well as a million questions racing through your mind.

When your shift at the library ends that day, it’s already the late afternoon. It was pretty slow today again, you mainly just spent your time cataloging some new books and putting back returned ones to their respective spots.

As you’re approaching the bus stop, you can see the bus already there, so you fall into a light jog to catch up on time. Except that everyone is standing outside instead of being inside the bus. The driver is standing on the sidewalk as well, talking on the phone in an irritated tone.

“What happened?” you ask one of the people sitting on the bench.

“The bus broke down,” she explains with a tired sigh, pointing to where the engine door has been lifted, and you can see some faint smoke coming out of the vents. “The driver said we have to wait for the next bus.”

You don’t need to look at the timetable to know that at this time of day, the busses get more and more infrequent. You might as well walk home. It won’t necessarily be quicker than waiting for the next one, but you don’t want to just sit still for the next half hour.

After saying your thanks to the person, you keep walking down the sidewalk to start your trek home. Luckily, there’s a pedestrian path away from the street that is actually quite picturesque to walk, partially going through the woods too, so at least you’ll have a nice view as you ruminate over the day’s events.

To get to the path leading into the forest, you take a shortcut through the parking lot, which to your surprise is not as empty as you would have imagined at this time. You’re not really planning on running into anyone, already lost in thought, so it takes you very much by suprise when you hear your name called out. You turn around to see Cal standing by his bike, waving to you. You wave back with a smile, which is quick to disappear though as you remember your interaction earlier. You just want to get home to crawl into your bed and wallow in self-pity for a bit, but the redhead calls you to him.

“I saw the bus broke down,” he says as you get closer, zipping up his leather jacket and tucking his helmet under his arm. “Need a ride home?”

No, you think, being near you is short circuiting my brain and I need to sort that out.

“I’ve never been on a bike before, though,” comes out of your mouth instead.

“Well, lucky for you I’d be the one driving,” he says with a smile. “As a backpack you just have to lean into the curves, but there’s not much more than that.”

“Backpack?”

“Ah, yeah, that’s what we call the person sitting behind the driver.” You spot the faintest of blushes creeping onto his face, adorning his freckles. “So, what do you say?”

His face, full of expectation, leaning into childish glee almost, is impossible to resist. Heaving a sigh, you laugh a bit to yourself, throwing your hands up in surrender.

“You know what. Why not. We already went to a haunted room today, might as well get ‘riding on a motorbike’ off my bucket list today, too.”

“Great!” Cal’s face lights up at your positive response, and he seems to notice it and clears his throat to take his excitement down a notch. He moves to the side a bit so you can take a better look at the bike, telling you its name is BD-1, and doing the whole introduction thing where he points to you, then to the bike and back, saying your name, BD, BD, your name. You have to bite back a smile at how endearing you find that. After what happened today, it’s nice to see that he also has this cute side to him. Playing along, you greet the bike with a ‘Hi BD!’ and pat the handlebar as if it was a dog. Cal chuckles, and produces a second helmet seemingly out of thin air, presenting it to you.

“Wha– Where did you–”

“A biker never reveals his secrets,” he says with a wink, and puts on his own helmet. Your grips tightens lightly on the one you’re now holding as you avert your gaze from his visor. This guy will absolutely be the end of you.

Cal helps you put on the helmet, adjusting the buckle strap underneath your chin and making sure it’s comfortable but not too loose. Turning to the bike, he folds down some pegs on either side of the back wheel, indicating that that’s where you’re going to put your feet, then he gets on first.

“Once you’re on, you can either hold onto me or place your hands here–,” he shows you, patting the round, elevated part of the bike in front of him. “– on the tank.”

Then he instructs you to hop on by placing one foot first to lift yourself off the ground and swing your other leg over. Holding onto his shoulders for balance, you do just that, tightening the straps on your own backpack (pun unintended) so it doesn’t move around once you’ll be on the move. You scoot in your seat a couple of times until you feel your balance settle.

“You good?” he asks, and you realise you’ll surely have a hard time hearing him once you’re driving, over the sound of the engine and the wind.

“Yup!” you reply, taking a shuddering breath that seems to resonate within your helmet, as you snake your arms around his waist, interlocking your fingers.

You feel his torso tense up ever so slightly at the touch, and he kicks up the stand.

“If I pat your leg it means to hold on tighter, okay?”

“Got it,” you confirm, and he tests it out by patting the outside of your knee twice, and you lean even more into him, if that’s possible, tightening your grip. You just hear him chuckle, then start the engine.

He makes a round or two on the parking lot so you can get used to the feeling, and once you feel more comfortable, he heads out onto the street.

As you’ve already mentioned at some point that you live at the dorms, he knows where to take you. You can tell he’s riding extra carefully, not zooming through in-between cars and making sure that the stops and starts at the traffic lights are smooth.

Because of the noise and the helmets, having a conversation is unfortunately impossible, so you just enjoy the sensations. The whistle of the wind rushing by you, the humming of the engine, which you can feel in your whole body, both through the bike itself and Cal. The way he taps your leg when you loosen your grip without noticing. At least it was on accident the first time. After some minutes you tried it again, slowly letting go, and his gloved hand was on your leg again, lingering this time until you held on properly. Then he placed his hand over both of yours, giving a light squeeze. Ah, did he catch on?

Alas, the ride is already over by the time you feel like you really mastered being a proper backpack, and the bike slows down as Cal drives into the street of your apartment complex.

Once he fully stops and kicks down the stand, he gives your arms a pat, indiciating for you to hop off. Misjudging the height and being slightly sore from the unfamiliar seating position, you don’t properly step onto the ground, your knee giving in and the rest of your body threatening to follow. But Cal is quick to catch you and bring you back to your feet without even having gotten off completely himself.

“You alright?” he asks, sliding off the seat completely, then taking off his helmet and running his hand through his hair. His red fiery hair, now messed up from the helmet… You really want to run your own fingers through it.

At your lack of response, he leans a bit closer into your visor, repeating the question. You snap out of your trance with a sheepish laugh, trying and failing to undo the buckle on the helmet strap. Cal takes off his gloves and skillfully opens it, helping you remove the thing. You don’t even want to know what your hair looks like right now, so you try your best to smooth it out blindly.

“I’m good, yes. Guess getting on is easier than getting off the bike.”

“It gets easier with practice,” he responds. “That is, if you ever want to ride again. You can. I mean with me. If you’d like.”

He looks around, the driveway is luckily empty, so no one can see him embarrass himself by stumbling over his own words. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you; he’s too cute.

“I’d love to, if you’ll let me.”

“Of course. You did good today.”

You look in the direction of your dorm, then down at the helmet you’re still holding.

“Guess you need this back, then.”

“I don’t have any way to carry it right now, so why don’t you hold onto that for now,” he starts, scratching the back of his neck as he leans back a bit to half sit on the side of the bike. “Besides, the bus might break down again. Why don’t I give you a ride to class tomorrow morning, too?”

By now your heartrate is absolutely out of control. How does he look so effortlessly cool? And he’s inviting you to ride again? Maybe more than once?

You involuntarily hug the helmet to your chest, hoping the sound of your erratic hearbeat doesn’t echo through it and make it loud enough for Cal to hear. Taking out his phone, he suggests exchanging numbers so you can text him when to pick you up and he can tell you when he’s on his way. Taking it from his hands, you type in your number and call, hearing your own ringtone coming from your pocket, and give it back. You don’t see what he types in as your contact name as he’s quick about it, putting the device away again.

“See you tomorrow, then,” you say, swaying back and forth lightly on the ball of your feet. “Thank you for taking me home. It was fun.”

“My pleasure,” he says with a genuine smile. “And don’t forget your substantial dinner.”

With that, he puts on his helmet. As he gets onto the bike and kicks back the stand, you consider running up to him one last time to place a kiss on his helmet, but you find yourself paralysed by… what exactly, you don’t know.

“Drive safe!” you call out to him instead with a wave, as he drives onto the street. He gives you a two finger salute, tires screeching on the pavement as he takes off. Yeah, he was definitely being considerate of you when you were on the bike.

You feel like you’re floating on a cloud and being pulled down by a gravity tenfold as strong, all at the same time. You’re clearly into him. It seems he’s interested as well. What’s holding you back? These and many other questions roam your brain as you try to fall asleep that night.

The next morning, as promised, Cal is waiting for you. This time he brings a proper biker jacket as well, which is padded in the important places. Where he got it from and how he knows your size, you don’t even bother asking, knowing he wouldn’t tell.

Despite the buses working just fine, form that day on it becomes somewhat of a routine. Whenever your schedules will allow it, he’ll take you to class and back home. You offer paying for gas since going by your place is out of his way, even though he insists it isn’t. He never takes you up on your offer.

Weeks go by in the blink of an eye, both of you getting more comfortable around each other, engaging in friendly banter bordering in flirtations, but never really crossing the line or making an actual move. Before you know it, exams are just around the corner, so the library is busy. Still, you manage to study in the slower hours. But you keep catching yourself looking at the entrance, waiting for a certain someone to walk in.

After exams are over, Sabine and Ezra organise a well deserved party at her place. Her family is away for the weekend, but they were okay with a party as long as it doesn’t get out of hand. Ahsoka also invites a handful of her friends so there’s a decent amount of people of different ages. You have friendly chats with many of them, who also give you good tips on studying, the best places to get coffee near uni, or tell you funny stories about the teachers.

The party is where you meet Anakin and Padme, Ahsoka’s best friends aside from Rex, who are more or less the power couple at the university. They’ve been together since the first year and everyone knows about them. Even you have heard a lot about them; there are some wild rumours around. But you’re seeing them for the first time now, and you can’t shake the feeling that they look familiar.

As you, Sabine, Ahsoka and the two are standing in the kitchen, sipping on your drinks, the conversation somehow flows into urban legend territory. That’s where Padme tells you and Sabine about the lovebird legend, saying that there is an off-limits room in the uni building where it is said that a couple died tragically as the ceiling came down on them.

“Despite the tragedy, the legends still make people go down there to leave their pictures and love notes,” Padme explains.

“Alleged tragedy,” Anakin interjects with a playful roll of his eyes. “If something had actually happened down there, they would close it off properly.” He turns to you as he sees your blank expression, which he interprets as being scared, and gives you a reassuring pat on the back. “Nothing happened down there, trust me.”

Except that your face went blank not out of fear, but because you finally connected the dots.

“Yeah, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” Padme reminisces, linking her arm onto Anakin’s, who looks down at her with an adoring smile. “Even we went down to leave our own note, remember? And it seems it worked.”

“How could I forget,” Anakin laughs. “Initials, picture, locket; we did the whole package.”

The locket you saw that day in the basement comes to your mind. The engraved initials: P & A.

Padme and Anakin.

And now you can also vaguely recognise their younger selves in one of the pictures you see on the wall.

Snapping back into reality, you look at Anakin.

“Is this… common knowledge?” you ask, fidgeting with the drink in your hands. “Does everyone know that’s what it is? Or are there some people who think it’s haunted?”

“Not really?” Anakin shrugs. “I don’t know of anyone who’s ever thought it was actually haunted. Again, the accident is just a rumour to make it more tragic.”

“Yeah, everyone who hears about the story knows people go there hoping to ensure a good love life,” Padme confirms.

“Huh, is that so…” you trail off, heat quickly rising to your face, visible to everyone no doubt, but you can’t be bothered to hide it right now. So Cal knew? He must have known, right?

Sabine elbows you into the side, almost making you spill your drink.

“What’s got you so flustered suddenly?” She narrows her eyes at you, full of mischief. “Don’t tell me, you want to go leave a note for you and you know who?”

That seems to get you out of your trance, and your head snaps back up, frantically looking around to make sure Cal isn’t anywhere near you two. But he’s actually nowhere to be seen, probably outside with his team buddies who are hogging the grill.

“Do you still need to leave a note when you’ve already been there with the person in question?” you ask at no one in particular, and Ahsoka exchanges a knowing look with Anakin and Padme.

“You what?!” Sabine whisper-screams. “How? When?”

“Uuh, a couple of weeks ago,” you say, suddenly remembering the other thing you saw that day. “Also, did you know Kenobi is married? And that his husband is part of the psychology department? They totally made out in the husband’s office.”

Sabine’s face morphs into several different things consecutively, first confusion at why you’re bringing that up now, then questioning why you even know that, then wondering if she even wants to know.

“You know,” Padme interjects. “Obi-Wan and Cody Kenobi were actually one of the first ever couples to leave their note in the basement. If they’re still together, then it really must work, huh.” She leans in ever so slightly, lowering her voice as she asks you, “Why, is there anyone you’re interested in? Someone who wouldn’t happen to be here right now?”

You pull a bit of a grimace and look to Ahsoka, who had followed the whole thing with amusement but without intervening. Seeing your pleading look, she nods, indicating that Padme is trustworthy with these kind of things.

“Yes, actually,” you reply in a small voice. “To both.”

Padme clasps her hands together in delight, asking if you’ll show her the person in question. Anakin just laughs, saying he’ll go find something to eat, and Ahsoka joins him. So it’s just you, Padme and Sabine left. You walk around for a while until you find your favourite redhead leaning on the open doorframe that leads to the yard, talking to one of his teammates. They’re all wearing their team jackets, and you can’t help your eyes roaming his body for a moment, enjoying the view.

As if he could feel your eyes on him, he suddenly turns his head to you, and you get caught yet again staring. But this time you don’t look away in shame, you stand your ground and give him a smile and a small wave, which he returns, then goes back to his conversation as if nothing happened.

You turn back to the girls, both of them giving you a knowing smile and little giggles.

“Oh, shut up, you.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” Sabine says.

“Your face said it all.”

“Yeah, as did yours,” she teases.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. You might as well be on actual fire right now, as hot as you feel.

“I’m getting another drink,” you say, pinching Sabine in the cheek and looking to Padme. “Please make sure she doesn’t embarrass me any further.”

Padme laughs but agrees, promising to keep an eye on her.

You walk to the kitchen, where a new group of people has claimed the space to have their conversation. You quickly refill your cup, excusing yourself from them with a polite nod, and leave through the other door, looking for a way outside to get some fresh air. But you find yourself in what seems to be the dining room. This house is so big, I think I might actually get lost here, you think, looking around for another exit.

You turn on your heels when a guy, evidently drunk, approaches you. Givng him a quick once over, you find that you don’t recognise him. While this was a closed invitation party, unfortunately there’s always the few people who think it’s okay to just bring another buddy along who also brings their friend, leading to a handful of people that no one really invited or even knows. This is one of them.

You intend to walk past him, but he takes a side step to block your path. Taking a quick step back to have some distance between you and him, you try the other side, but again he cuts you off.

“Can you let me through?”

“What are you doing here all alone?” His words are slurred, and he suddenly grabs onto your wrist with a strong grip.

“Wha–? Let me go!” The back and forth until you finally manage to get your arm free makes you spill your drink onto the floor.

He seems unfazed by this, grunting in annoyance and trying to grab you again, but you evade his movements this time, taking several steps back.

“I said back off! Leave me alone!”

Now he has you cornered against the wall, and you consider your options. He stretches out his hand again to take ahold of you, but before he reaches you, Cal has appeared through another archway to your right and grabs the guy by the collar of his shirt, pulling him away from you. Two of his football buddies follow.

“Which part of ‘back off’ do you not understand?” he growls at the guy, letting him go with a shove. “Get lost.”

“And who do you think you are? You’re interrupting–” the guy starts, grabbing Cal by the shoulder and turning him around, but before he can even finish his sentence, Cal clocks him in the jaw, and the guy falls to the ground ungracefully, landing in your puddle from earlier with a grunt. The two other guys that arrived with Cal grab him, one arm each, and carry him away, probably outside to kick him out.

Cal turns to you, shaking the hand he hit the other guy with.

“Are you okay?” he asks as he approaches you, wanting to hold your arms, but his hands only hover over you as he looks you over for any injuries.

“I’m– I’m okay. Thank you,” you croak out, blinking repeatedly to process what just happened. Cal gingerly holds your wrist up, inspecting it. You can already see some dark marks forming where the guy before had grabbed you. Cal’s thumb strokes over the inside of your wrist soothingly, his eyes finding yours, and you’re unable to look away. He’s about to say something when voices call out to you. He turns around to see Sabine, Ahsoka and Ezra approaching.

“Are you okay? What happened?” she asks, seeing the puddle on the ground just in time and walking around it.

“Some guy was really drunk, he grabbed my arm and–”

“And I punched him,” Cal finishes.

Sabine raises a brow at that, giving you a look.

“Ugh, I’m so sorry,” Ezra apologises. “I told everyone to not just show up with random people. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“Ezra, it’s okay. Really guys, I’m fine.” You swallow down whatever is trying to bubble up, be it a nervous breakdown after a scary situation or just the fact that Cal saved your bacon. Shoving it all into the back of your brain to deal with later, you smile at your friends. “The jerk is dealt with, it’s all good, really. Now let’s go back to enjoying the party. I heard you have a karaoke machine?”

“Yeah,” Sabine says and gives you a questioning look. ‘You sure you're okay?’ At the insistence in your own eyes, she nods. “Okay then, let’s go sing our lungs out. C’mon, guys.”

Ezra apologises again before following Sabine. Ahsoka asks you if you’re sure you’re good, you insist that yes everything is fine, so she leaves as well.

You look to Cal with a grateful smile, about to head out as well, but he stops you.

“Uhm, actually, I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says, again scratching his neck in that adorably shy manner, and your breath might or might not have hitched there. “Next week we have a big game against another school team. Do you want to come? And possibly cheer for us?”

“I was wondering if I could ever go to one of your games,” you reply sincerely, smiling up at him. “I’ll cheer for you.”

“For my team or for me specifically?” he remarks with an inquisitive grin, but to your relief, the music from the living room hits your ears before you can even come up with a smooth reply.

“Oh, that’s my jam, c’mon!” You hook your arm around Cal’s and drag him to where everyone’s waiting, both of you laughing.

— — — — —

The match is intense. You don’t really know all the rules, but you can feel the tension in the air.

You cheer for Cal from where you sit on the bleachers with Sabine, Ezra and everyone else, all of you shouting and cheering. You haven’t even entirely recovered from the karaoke session, so this surely isn’t helping your vocal chords, but you don’t care.

Every now and then he looks up from where he is on the field, searching for you in the crowd. He pats the outside of his knee twice when he does, and every time you can feel the rush of heat and giddiness crashing over you. It’s the same gesture he does when you’re on his bike. It’s like a secret signal between the two of you. You don’t care about biting back the giant smile on your face or trying to hide how flustered you look every time he spots you among the audience, and Sabine catches on.

The timer on the giant screen counts down the last seconds of the match, both teams are tied. Cal goes into the offensive, and they make one heck of a play, scoring the last point just before the timer buzzes. Everyone in the audience stands up cheering, clapping, whistling. You as well.

As the announcer wraps up the game and the players leave for the changing rooms, Sabine and you head down to the entrance. Many are already leaving, since the match is over, but friends and family of the players are waiting for them to come out to celebrate.

Sabine and Ezra exchange curious looks with each other, and Sabine elbows you into the side.

“So?” Ezra asks.

“So what? “ you retort.

“Are you gonna make a move?” Sabine chimes in.

“On Cal?”

“Who else!"

“I don’t know…” you respond, unsure. “I don’t want to read too much into it–”

“Ohmygod,” Ezra groans as he shakes you by the shoulders. “You’re both so smitten with each other, it’s starting to be unbearable to watch.

You laugh nervously. Does he really think that?

“Guys! Here they come,” Sabine interrupts you two as she spots the winning team.

Ezra lets go of you after one last shake, and you all turn to face the players, now showered and changed back into their normal clothes.

Cal’s eyes roam the space until they find yours, and you think you might go blind by his smile. He’s positively glowing. You’re just expecting to maybe hug him, congratulate him on the win, and then you’ll all go get food together as you’ve planned.

Instead, Cal doesn’t slow down as he approaches you, throwing his arms around your torso and lifting you into the air, spinning you around a couple of times. You hold on to him with a squeak of surprise, and he laughs so heartily, you’re actually glad he’s holding you in the air, because your legs surely would have given out.

Once gently placed back onto the ground, you just kind of look at each other, until Ezra loudly clears his throat, and Cal quickly lets go of you. After you guys say your congratulations to Cal and the rest of his team, you head out to the restaurant. It’s nearby so you decide to walk, the weather is nice even though it's the evening.

The rest of the night, you and Cal seem to tiptoe around each other, like there’s suddenly an invisible line that has been drawn, and you’re both waiting for the other to cross over first. You exchange smiles, glances, accidental touches followed by apologies.

Once the food is gone and the adrenaline starts depleting, it’s time to head home. Cal offers to walk you home, since you’re still relatively close to the dorms. Anakin drove to the game, so he takes the rest back with him in his car.

After you say your goodbyes to the group, not without getting some definitely non-inconspicuous looks from your two besties, it dawns on you that once you’re home, Cal will be stranded there. You bring it up to him, and for a minute you actually consider offering for him to stay the night, but you’re actually not mentally or emotionally prepared for that. So you’re glad when he says he doesn’t mind, he’ll just get a cab or something when he's there, since he got a ride with his coach to the game today and didn’t ride his bike.

You’re walking down the street in comfortable silence, surrounded by the darkness that's already taken over the sky. You look up expecting to see stars, but you’re disappointed to see clouds. In fact, dark, low hanging clouds, threatening to spill over any moment.

“Huh, when did it get this stormy,” you wonder aloud, and as if on cue, a gust of wind picks up, sending some leaves and debris flying over the street.

“I’m pretty sure there was no rain announced today–”

The moment Cal says that, it comes pouring down all at once.

“What the–! Argh!” you groan in frustration at the sudden downpour, but Cal just laughs, taking your hand as he pulls you away.

“Come on!”

You let yourself be led to take shelter under an awning. You look down at yourself, already soaked even though you were exposed for mere seconds. The sound of rain hitting the ground drowns everything else. You look out with a pout, knowing you’ll have to wait out the weather to get anywhere.

Suddenly you feel a weight on your shoulders. You look to the side to see Cal placing his varsity jacket on you, and you’d be lying if you weren’t welcoming the warmth. Given that today was supposed to be a clear night, you didn’t really have that many layers, so you gladly slide your arms into the sleeves, hugging yourself.

Instead of letting go completely of the jacket though, Cal keeps readjusting the collar, tugging on one side so that you turn until you’re fully facing him. A droplet of water falls from his hair onto his cheek. You uncross your arms, slowly bringing your hands up to his forearms, shyly holding onto them.

“Can i kiss you?” he asks without looking away. And you couldn’t have even if you wanted to, it’s like his ocean eyes held yours in a tight embrace, unable to move. You don’t answer immediately, despite every fiber in your body screaming yes!

“I’m scared,” you finally say in a small voice, almost getting drowned out by the raging rain. Cal’s head backtracks a bit in surprise.

“What of?”

“It’s silly,” you pout again, this time looking away, but his hand finds your cheek, bringing your gaze back to him.

“You can tell me,” he assures you. You let out a sharp breath of frustration at yourself.

“I’ve just… never felt like this before,” you admit. “I'm scared of how much of an effect you have over me, I suppose, and as such making a fool of myself. I want you to like me, so badly.”

Cal tilts his head slightly to the side, offering a warm reassuring smile.

“I can assure you, I feel the same way about you.”

“I don't believe you,” you retort with a scoff. “You always look so collected and confident and just generally cool.”

“On the outside, maybe. But trust me, I'm freaking out on the inside. Check for yourself.”

He takes your hand and places it on his chest, leaving his hand on yours. His heart is beating at a quick pace. The moment you look up again and meet his eyes, the pace picks up. In the faint light you can see a blush spreading on his face, heart pounding against his ribcage, with yours to match.

“Same here,” you say.

“I know,” he replies with a bit of mischief, his other hand on your cheek moving down a bit to your neck, where you now know he can feel your pulse.

You know he’s still waiting for your answer, but you decide to tease him. Just a bit. Besides, this question has been burning on your tongue for what feels like an eternity now.

“When we went down to the basement, you knew it wasn’t haunted, right?” you ask, and he has to adjust to the sudden change of topic, looking surprised at first, then laughing heartily. You continue, “You knew it was a thing that couples do?”

“Ah, you got me,” he replies with a light shrug.

“Did you plan the whole thing out from the start?”

“Actually, no.” He looks away for a moment with a faint smile, thinking back to that day, then meets your eyes again. “I did want to go there with you but didn’t know how to ask. Then I saw you at the vending machine, and the whole thing with Kenobi happened, and it was just too good of an opportunity to pass.”

“I can’t believe I got played like that,” you say with a dramatic sigh. “You know, had you told me back then that you liked me, I would have gone willingly to the basement to leave a note.”

“Guess I was scared, too.”

“That’s fair,” you say, your hands coming up to his face to hold it properly now. You smooth your thumb over his cheekbone, and he leans into your touch. “Well, now that that’s sorted out: yes, yes you can.”

Cal leans in, catching your lips in his, and he holds you so tenderly, you might as well melt down and get swept away by the rain. Your whole body burns, and you grab a fistful of his shirt in an attempt to pull him closer. His hands travel down your arms to snake around your waist between his jacket and your damp shirt, holding you up as you involuntarily put more of your weight on him, the legs under you threatening to give in completely.

He breaks the kiss and pulls back only enough to pepper your whole face in little kisses, making you giggle.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” he remarks, trailing kisses down your jaw, then coming back up to place one last kiss on your lips, which you chase after as he pulls back again, and he chuckles.

“We should get going,” he says, taking your hands in his. “The rain stopped, we should get you home before you catch a cold.”

“Right,” you mumble, still trying to come down from the high of that kiss.

You start walking down the street hand in hand, and you swing them back and forth between the two of you. You’re almost at your place when he gets a call. Taking his phone out, he picks up and puts it on speaker; it’s Anakin. He asks if Cal needs a ride because of the sudden rain.

“You’re asking now?” Cal laughs. “Well, you sure took your time.”

“I assumed you were… occupied.”

Your face burns up yet again, tips of your ears on fire, as Cal shoots you a funny look.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” he says into the phone.

“Oh my god–!” you squeak, hiding your face in your hands as you hear Padme’s cheering in the background. “But yes, please come pick him up. Or he might get sick. We’re both soaking wet.”

Cal holds back a laugh, and you grab onto his wrist to bring the phone closer to you.

“From the rain! Soaked from the rain!” you say firmly into the phone. “Geez...!”

After some more snickers, Anakin and Cal coordinate where he should pick him up. It’s just a street over from your dorm, so you have to part ways there.

“Let’s go somewhere this weekend,” Cal suggests as you’re hugging him goodbye.

“Like where?”

“I’ll show you one of my favourite spots. How about that? Bring your helmet.”

“Ooh, roadtrip with BD. I’m in,” you agree.

Cal leans in to leave a lingering kiss on your cheek, but before he can pull back completely, you sneak in a peck on the corner of his mouth. Even in the darknes, the streelight the only source of illumination, you can see the furious blush on his face. If it were up to you, you’d kiss him until the sun comes back up, but the both of you really need to take a warm shower and get to bed.

“It’s a date then,” Cal says with a wink and takes a couple of steps back, waving at you, then turning fully to walk towards the pick-up spot.

“Yeah, a date…” you whisper to yourself dreamily.

— — — — —

True to his word, Cal takes you to his favourite place. You packed some food and drinks for the road, then headed out. By now you’re far more comfortable on the bike, so you can actually enjoy the view as well. The farther away you get from the city, the more you’re surrounded by forests, farms and you even cross a lake. Starting to gain elevation as he drives up the meandering narrow street, you arrive at a vantage point of sorts. There’s a small parking lot by the road, with a public restroom and some picnic tables. You two get off the bike, walking to the fence which feels to be right at the edge of the cliff, showing a fantastic view into a giant valley.

Your date takes its course; you eat, you chat, you even remembered to pack some cards so you play a couple of rounds on the table.

When it’s time to head back, you’re packing your things, both of you standing by the bike.

“So, how’d you like it?” he asks.

“It’s beautiful,” you reply, letting your eyes roam over the landscape once more. You arrived here in the early afternoon, and now the sun is just about to set.

“Anything else you’d like to do before we head back?”

You think it over. You already ate, took some pictures, enjoyed the view. There’s really not much else to do here. But then a thought occurs to you.

“I, uhm…” For some reason you get shy with your request. “Is there any way we can sit on the bike facing each other? Not to drive, just to chill here a little longer. I’d like to see the full sunset.”

His brows rise in surprise, the slight blush on his cheeks not escaping you, and you wonder what it was about what you’re asking that caused it.

“Sure. Here–”

He grabs you from underneath your arms, picking you up as you wrap your legs around his waist. He holds you like you weigh nothing, and swings one of his legs over the bike to take a seat like he normally would, placing you onto the tank. You unwrap your legs so that they’re hanging over his things, and that’s when you realise you just asked for you to straddle him. Not that you’re opposed to the result.

You try finding your seat on the round tank, but you slip down further into his lap, now fully sitting on him.

“Whoah, sorry,” you try to scoot back up but you’re essentially stuck. “Is this okay? Should I move back?”

“Don’t worry,” he says, looking to the side for a moment as he holds you by your waist, trying to hold you still, and he clears his throat nervously. “This is every biker’s dream, believe me. Are you comfortable?”

You hum in positive response, trying to accommodate to the position in his lap by squirming a little, and his grip on you tightens again. You hear him take a sharp breath though his teeth.

“Ah, sorry…” you say as you realise what you’re doing. You place your hands on his chest, trying to hold still. For a moment you just sit there, looking at each other in silence, both of you starting to relax into each others’ holds.

Then a gust of wind picks up, ruffling up his hair. Golden hour hits him just right, the fiery red strands on his head shine gold and copper in the sunlight, his hundreds of freckles seem to glisten on his skin, begging for you to trace over them with your fingers, his ocean eyes now have a hint of green and specks of gold in them, darting up and down as he studies your face as well. Your heart all but bursts at the sight.

“What?” he asks after a while, chuckling.

“You're breathtaking,” you blurt out in full honesty, holding his face, wondering how it was possible for such a beautiful human being to exist? And he chose to be with you?

Your answer definitely takes him off-guard, as his face blushes violently, from his neck to the tip of his ears. He can’t hold your gaze, looking to the side. It takes a couple of attempts to form a proper sentence.

“You can’t say that with such a straight face, damn,” he laughs nervously. He leans his forehead on your shoulder in an attempt to hide his burning cheeks, but you cup his face and bring him back up to look at you.

“Besides,” he adds after a moment, “You only say that because you haven’t seen yourself. If you think that of me, then you’re nothing short of ethereal.”

So much for watching the sunset. You can’t take your eyes off of him, and his words pierce your very heart, but in a good way. Not really knowing what to reply to that, you kiss him instead, burying your fingers in his hair.

Cal reciprocates just as intensely, and you can’t help but arch your back into him, thus rolling your hips into his, to which he groans. Your brain is instantly turned to mush, your body now in charge. He tilts his head to the side, his tongue tracing over your lips, and you gasp as you grant him access. Right now, Cal tastes like honey and cool mornings and the pine trees surrounding you. Your senses are on overload, your skin burns as Cal’s hands slip underneath your shirt, slowly travelling up your back, pressing you into him even more.

Finally breaking for air, Cal kisses your jaw, your neck, biting where your pulse is, and if you could still hear yourself, you’d probably be embarrassed about the noises you’re making.

Then he pulls back rather suddenly, you notice his jaw is tense but you notice his dishevelled hair more, as well as his puffy lips, and the dazed look in his eyes which you’re surely sporting yourself too. You’re both panting, trying to calm your breathing. His hands slide back down and out of your shirt, staying on your thighs instead.

“Maybe,” Cal says between breaths, “Maybe we should take this somewhere… else.”

You run your hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth it out.

“I think Ahsoka is out for the rest of the night,” you say, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

He raises a brow at you. You give him an innocent smile.

“Let’s head back then,” he says, picking you up again like before, this time to get you off the bike.

You finish packing up everything, hop on and start your way back to the dorms. All the while, his hand is either on yours or on your leg, lovingly stroking the side of your thigh.

His biker gear really does suit him and you like how he looks in it, but for once, you can’t wait for him to take it off.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @dybynyght, @galaxtic-writings, @kalea-bane , @soka-writes-things, @padawancat97, @riddikulus-obsessions, @optimisticprime3, @starilicious, @ivelostmyabilitytoeven, @alternatescififandomelover, @lovelyygirl8, @cathyket, @wildefire, @ghostkestis, @reckoning-star, @wyvernthekriger

#goose feathers #college!au #college!au cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x reader #star wars cal x reader #jedi fallen order x reader #jedi survivor x reader #star wars x reader #also hey i changed the format a lil bit. what do you think? c:

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ser3nityst4r · 5 months ago

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Jamil’s Backstory

Jamil Viper prided himself on his control. For as long as he could remember, he had mastered the art of swallowing the bitterness in his throat, the sting of resentment behind his eyes. His life was a carefully crafted performance, a constant dance of deference and feigned incompetence.

It all started with a sun-kissed boy named Kalim Al-Asim. The very first memories Jamil could conjure were not of his own home, but of the ostentatious halls of the Asim estate. There, amidst the lavish gardens and echoing corridors, a young Kalim, full of boundless energy and unadulterated joy, declared, "Let's play, Jamil~! I'm gonna win against you this time for sure!"

And Jamil, already educated in the unspoken rules of their world, would sigh inwardly and reply, "Again? I always win, you know? I wanna play something else, too…"

The reprimand was always swift, always predictable. His parents, faces contorted with a mixture of fear and servility, would chastise him for his "disrespect." And Kalim's parents, their smiles never quite reaching their eyes, would praise their "kind-hearted master" for indulging him.

Over the years, the pattern cemented itself into his very being. His father, his voice laced with a desperation Jamil understood all too well, would whisper instructions before every sparring match or competition. "Let Master Kalim win the third time, understand? Don't outshine him."

His mother, her eyes filled with a weary acceptance, would add, "You're a smart child, Jamil. You know how important this is."

And Jamil, his small hands clenching into fists, would whisper back, "I know."

He knew that the Al-Asims were everything his family was not - wealthy, influential, untouchable. He knew that his very existence revolved around serving them, around ensuring Kalim's happiness, even if it meant suffocating his own.

So, he played the role of the loyal friend, the perpetual runner-up, the slightly less capable companion. He let Kalim win at games, even when it meant deliberately fumbling the ball or miscalculating a move. He feigned confusion during lessons, allowing Kalim to bask in the fleeting glow of academic achievement.

He became a shadow, always present, always supportive, yet always a step behind. The bitterness, however, simmered beneath the surface, threatening to boil over with every forced smile, every insincere compliment.

Even when they came to Night Raven College, nothing changed. The whispers followed them, the expectations remained. And when Kalim, with his usual carefree demeanor, was chosen as Prefect, a decision clearly influenced by his family's generous donations, Jamil felt a surge of rage so potent it nearly broke through his carefully constructed walls.

"He doesn't have exceptional talent!" he'd argued with Headmaster Crowley, his voice tight with suppressed fury. "We're the ones who constantly cover for him!"

Crowley, ever the cryptic mentor, simply chuckled and replied, "Sometimes, Viper-kun, there are things that mere grades can't achieve. Asim-kun's family…well, they do have a way of making their generosity known."

Jamil knew. They all made sure he knew. His parents, Kalim's parents, even the Headmaster – they all expected him to understand, to accept his predetermined role. But understanding did little to quell the burning resentment within him.

Who was there to understand him? Who saw the sacrifices he made, the talents he suppressed, the dreams he buried deep within himself? The weight of their expectations, the burden of his own resentment, threatened to crush him.

He was trapped in a gilded cage of his own making, bound to Kalim by invisible chains forged from societal expectations and his family's ambition. As he watched Kalim celebrate yet another victory, oblivious to the true cost, Jamil couldn't help but wonder if the day would ever come when he could finally break free from his shackles.

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rmxsolution · 26 days ago

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Why bulk filling terminal is important for effective cement transfer solution

In the construction industry, the efficient handling and transportation of cement plays an important role in meeting project deadlines and reducing costs. With the increasing demand for infrastructure across the globe, the need for advanced solutions to facilitate the cement supply chain. Bulk filling terminals have emerged as game changers in this sector, offering efficient cement transfer solutions to ensure minimum losses and reduced operating costs In this blog we will explore the reasons for bulk the importance of bulk filling terminals in modern construction, their usefulness , and how they support the changing needs of the industry.

Understanding Bulk Filling Terminals and Their Importance

A bulk plant is a specialized area designed to handle large quantities of cement and other aggregates. These facilities allow for the easy transfer of cement from large containers or silos to smaller vehicles or bags, ensuring safe delivery to various construction sites While quick and portable cement handling to so the demand increases, cement-filled areas become important components of the supply chain for more cement consumption

Why bulk filling terminals are the future of the cement industry

1. The cement filler is well designed

The main advantage of multiple cement-filled surfaces is the ability to facilitate cementation. Traditional methods often require manual intervention, which increases lost resources and time. The delivery of cement to cement plants is done efficiently and accurately, reducing spills and ensuring that accurate quantities are delivered to construction sites

2. Portability and flexibility with mobile bulk filling stations

Getting cement to construction projects in remote areas can be difficult. This is where mobile bulk filling stations come into play. These portable cementing stations are designed for easy transportation and transportation, allowing for unparalleled flexibility. Whether it is for a small project or a large-scale project, a mobile cement plant ensures that cement can be transported smoothly and without delay.

Key Features of Bulk Filling Terminals

1. Cement transfer solutions for various requirements

The heavily cemented area is designed to meet a wide range of cement transfer requirements. Whether filling silos, bags, or delivering cement directly to the prepared trucks, these facilities offer versatile cement transportation solutions. The combination of advanced systems provides minimal downtime and efficient handling, making it ideal for large-scale production.

2. Increased efficiency by increased use of cement

Because of their ability to handle large quantities of cement, high-density areas allow for the storage and transportation of large quantities of cement. This not only improves cement delivery management, but also reduces transportation costs as larger loads are moved in fewer trips along with ensuring systems are in place these spaces will fill in perfectly, contributing to consistent quality.

3. Cost effective cement transfer and mobile solutions

Transportation of bulk containers reduces costs by reducing the need for sustainable manufacturing. These portable cement mixers can be used quickly on construction sites, eliminating the need for expensive fixtures. They offer an efficient and convenient solution for cement transportation, significantly reducing operating costs for operators and contractors.

How Bulk Filling Terminals Contribute to Sustainable Construction

Sustainability is a major concern in today’s construction industry. Mass packaging plays an important role in promoting sustainable practices by reducing waste and improving operational efficiency. By moving cement stations and using advanced technologies to handle large amounts of cement, construction companies can reduce their environmental impact, especially by transporting excess material reducing and controlling losses.

Additionally, these terminals contribute to efficient utilization of materials by ensuring that the exact quantity of cement required is transferred without any waste. This contributes to the overall objective of reducing the carbon footprint associated with manufacturing activities.

The Role of Portable Cement Filling Stations in Modern Construction

Portable cement containers have become essential for solutions to construction projects that require quick and flexible cement placement. These stands are compact, easy to install and can handle significant amounts of cement, making them desirable for small and large construction sites The mobility of these stands ensures that they can be cemented has transferred well, even in difficult terrain or remote areas.

conclusion

The construction industry is booming, and the demand for efficient and sustainable cement transport solutions is greater than ever. Bulk-filling terminals and mobile bulk filling stations respond to this growing need by providing simple, flexible and cost-effective solutions for bulk cement handling As the industry becomes larger and more complex adopting technology a advances such as portable cement filling units to maintain efficiency , and become become more important in reducing costs.

Whether you’re a contractor looking to increase your productivity or an entrepreneur with an eye towards sustainable construction practices, cement pouring facilities are shaping the future of construction cement solution. This advanced system not only provides better cement management but also helps reduce the environmental impact of construction activities, which is an important step towards greener and more efficient construction practices.

By adding portable cement stations and portable cement mixers to your projects, you can stay ahead of the competitive construction industry while ensuring your systems do as effective and environmentally friendly as possible.

#Cement Filling Station #Mobile Bulk Filling Station #Cement Transfer Solutions #Bulk Cement Handling #Portable Cement Filling #Mobile Cement Station #Construction Cement Filling

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suzukiblu · 1 year ago

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WIP excerpt: Kon wants scented. Unreliable narrator is gooooo~

Superman nuzzles him again and then tugs off his cape one-handed, and the next thing Superboy knows he's getting, like, basically fucking wrapped in it. He tries to squirm back a little on reflex and Superman makes a fussy chirring noise and then wraps him up tighter.

Superboy really expected, like, feral-minded violence and chaos and shit. Like–not this.

Whatever “this” actually is.

Well, it's not like a cape is gonna be able to restrain him if something actually happens, so . . . alright, he guesses. At least it's keeping Superman distracted.

So Superboy gets wrapped up weirdly thoroughly in Superman's cape, and then Superman pats his hair and gets back up. Before Superboy can start worrying about what he's about to do, Superman picks up an I-beam, zaps it with his heat vision, and then starts . . . bending it? And then he does the same thing to another, and another, and that's the point when Superboy realizes Superman is super-speed weaving a nest out of solid steel right here in the middle of an active construction site, and he just sits there and watches the process in absolute bemusement.

Yeah, it's definitely a nest. Do Kryptonian alphas nest, or . . . ?

Weird.

The nest doesn't take long on account of the super-speed, though Superman is picky enough about which beams he's using that it takes longer than it could, and then he fills the whole thing up with bags of cement and heavy-duty coats covered in reflective tape, and Superboy stays fucking bewildered about it all. He considers trying to text the Justice League's tipline or something, since he doesn't exactly have a direct line to anyone on the team, but he doesn't know how he could without it sounding like a prank or something. Hey, it's Superboy, Superman's nesting in a construction site and won't let me take his cape off?

Yeah, that'd definitely sound like a prank.

Superman throws on another layer of coats and arranges them all nice and neat in the nest, and for the first time it occurs to Superboy to be . . . uneasy about the nesting thing, because–because the only time alphas really do nest is as a courting display, as far as he knows, and maybe Superman's, like, confused or something, or . . .

He really, really doesn't want Superman to be trying to, like . . . do anything with him. Like, that just–he just really doesn't want that to be what's happening here. And, like–yeah, he knows Superman doesn't want him in his pack and doesn't have a reason to, but if there's anything he knows people consistently want from him . . .

It'd . . . well, it'd keep Superman distracted until the Justice League finds him again, he guesses. And maybe Superman would be fine with just first or second base, and they wouldn't have to do too much, and–and that'd be whatever. Superboy could do that, if it meant nobody was gonna get hurt and Superman might calm down out of feral drop or . . . or whatever, if . . . if he had to.

He really doesn't want to, though. Not with Superman. Like . . . anybody else, fine.

But not Superman.

#omegaverse #wip: kon wants scented #long post

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mariacallous · 6 months ago

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For Bezalel Smotrich, the head of Israel’s far-right Religious Zionism party, these are heady times. While the rest of Israel is preoccupied with the fighting in Gaza, the fate of the hostages held by Hamas, and Hezbollah’s pummeling of the country’s north, Smotrich has been realizing his dream of creating the conditions that will bring about Israel’s annexation of the West Bank. Indeed, the war has in many ways facilitated his plans.

The word “annexation” is rarely, if ever, uttered by Smotrich—who serves as a senior member of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s cabinet. Without a shred of doubt about the Jews’ God-given right to the land between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea, he regards the West Bank not as territory to be added to the State of Israel but as an inheritance that need only be claimed. As he told the Haaretz newspaper in an interview over seven years ago, a Palestinian state would be tantamount to partitioning Israel; absorbing the West Bank into Israel is “unification.” To talk about Israel annexing the West Bank would be like telling the North it was annexing the South after the Civil War in the United States.

In any case, the legal formalities involved in annexation are less important to Smotrich than creating the conditions that will bring it about. To do that, he is employing a two-pronged strategy that on the one side involves changing laws and creating a settler-friendly bureaucracy and on the other helping to foment violence and anarchy in the West Bank. As Smotrich has indicated many times, the signal event in the process of “unification” will be the collapse of the Palestinian Authority (PA), leaving Israel with no choice but to fill the vacuum and reassert control over the entire West Bank.

Smotrich’s main job in the government is finance minister, a powerful post that he has used to implement his policies. But he has a second and, for his purposes, far more important post as minister in the defense ministry, a job he was promised by Netanyahu when the current government was formed at the end of 2022. Smotrich is in effect minister of settlements with powers that extend, to a degree, over the lives of West Bank Palestinians as well.

Since it captured the territory in 1967, Israel has exerted control of the West Bank through a military occupation. The Israel Defense Forces (IDF), through its Civil Administration, has been responsible for the administration of justice and other civilian matters in the 60 percent of the West Bank not under the jurisdiction of the PA. The Civil Administration has long favored settler interests over Palestinians, but officially it remained a part of the military and made at least some effort to consider Palestinian needs. All that changed in February 2023, when a new Settlements Administration was formed with broad powers—including the authority to expropriate Palestinian land, to approve housing construction in settlements, to condemn Palestinian construction as illegal, and to retroactively authorize settlements that were built without government approval, popularly known as “outposts.”

As a civilian body, the Settlements Administration’s job is to promote the interests of Israeli citizens—which means the settlers. And the chief interest of the settlers is speeding up the pace of building and expanding settlements. More than that, the transfer of authority from the military to civilians amounts to a quiet and creeping de facto annexation. “It will be easier to swallow in the international and legal context so that they won’t say that we are doing annexation here,” Smotrich said in leaked remarks from a June 9 meeting with supporters, first published in the New York Times.

In recent weeks, Smotrich has cemented his control further, having Hillel Roth, a resident of the extremist settlement Yitzhar, made deputy head of the Civil Administration with authority over a grab bag of areas ranging from building regulations and water infrastructure to parks and outdoor public bathing locations.

Control over public bathing may seem like a minor business on par with dog catching. But it is not: A big part of the contest for the future of the West Bank is about demographics—increasing the settler population—and control of land. The Settlements Administration is meant to give the settlers the tools to do that more effectively. The natural springs that dot the West Bank serve Palestinian farmers as well as Israeli bathers and constitute one of many battlegrounds for control of the land and its resources.

But Smotrich’s campaign isn’t limited to the niceties of accelerated planning approvals: He has also used his powers to turn a blind eye to construction by settlers. A document obtained by the New York Times summarizing a March meeting of the IDF’s Central Command, which is responsible for the West Bank, warned that enforcement of construction regulations for settlers had all but disappeared since the establishment of the Settlements Administration; even court orders are ignored. Less than one-tenth of the 395 recorded cases of illegal construction last year resulted in a building being taken down, and nearly all of those involved a single case at an illegal outpost, the memo said. And that probably understates the extent of the problem. Because so many inspectors have been called up for reserve duty due to the war in Gaza, suspected violations are not even being investigated. Violators, the memo said, feel free to act knowing that there is no accountability.

The lawlessness among settlers in the West Bank has not been confined to illegal building. The most extreme of the settlers have taken advantage of a government dominated by the far right and the military’s preoccupation with fighting in Gaza to engage in unprecedented vigilantism. The U.N. Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) counted 968 attacks on Palestinians involving serious vandalism and injury in the months since the war began on Oct. 7, 2023. There have been only 10 confirmed cases of Palestinians killed in these incidents (compared with more than 500 in clashes with the military), but the pace if far faster than at any time since OCHA began keeping records in 2008—and the real number is likely higher.

While some of the settler violence has been about vengeance following Palestinian attacks, much of it has been about land. Especially in the Jordan Valley and in the area south of the city of Hebron, extremist settlers have seized control of large swaths of Palestinian pasture land by setting up roadblocks, erecting fences, and harassing shepherds. In many cases, whole communities of Palestinian herders have been forced to abandon their homes.

To be sure, Smotrich is not responsible for policing settler violence. The responsibility for that is shared by his far-right colleague, Itamar Ben-Gvir, who as minister of national security oversees the police—and by the military.

The police have never made much of an effort to investigate settler violence, but under Ben-Gvir all pretense of enforcement has been dropped. Ben-Gvir has been seeking, with a large degree of success, to politicize the Israel Police, pressing it to crack down on anti-government protesters while demanding that it stand aside when right-wing extremists attack trucks carrying aid to Gaza. In the West Bank, Ben-Gvir’s policies have given violent settlers carte blanche. A recent investigation by the New York Times found that of the three dozen cases it had looked into since Oct. 7 involving crimes ranging from theft of livestock to assault, not a single one had led to a suspect being charged.

As for the military, soldiers have been busy fighting in Gaza and on the northern border, as well as cracking down on Palestinian violence in the West Bank. The military says it doesn’t have the manpower to stop vigilante settlers. But the truth is, many of the commanders and soldiers in the regular and reserve military units stationed in the West Bank are sympathetic to the settlers; often they are settlers themselves. Moreover, after the Hamas attacks of Oct. 7, some 5,500 settlers were called up for reserve duty to protect their own communities. Many have taken advantage of the arms and uniforms they were issued to go beyond their official duties to set up roadblocks and attack Palestinians.

An incident near the Palestinian town of Aqraba in April captures the current state of lawlessness. Following the killing of a 14-year-old Israeli by Palestinians, settlers rampaged through the town and surrounding area, killing two residents (two more were killed later). The military initially said there were no soldiers present, although a Haaretz investigation said troops were there and didn’t intervene. Defense Minister Yoav Gallant later issued warrants putting five settlers into administrative detention—prison without trial—for periods ranging from three to six months. In response, Ben-Gvir railed against “Gallant’s persecution against the settlers.” The police have arrested no one.

For Smotrich, however, the collapse of the PA is his biggest priority. Here, his job as finance minister comes into play because the strategy is to strangle the authority financially. Smotrich has the power to do that because approximately 60 percent of the revenues the PA relies on to pay salaries and provide services come from customs and other taxes Israel collects in the PA’s name, transferring the money to Ramallah every month.

For some time, Israel had been deducting from these “clearance revenue” transfers the money that the PA spent supporting families of Palestinians held in Israeli prisons. Shortly after the war in Gaza began, Smotrich tripled the monthly deductions to as much as 600 million shekels—about 60 percent of the overall monthly transfer. In protest, the PA refused to accept any money, forcing it to cut civil servants’ wages by as much as 70 percent.

In late February, a face-saving formula was found under which Norway agreed to put the withheld funds in an escrow account, thereby giving the PA an excuse to take the money still available. Last month, however, Smotrich renewed his pressure campaign, calling on Netanyahu to stop all transfers and demanding that Norway return the escrow funds to Israel. More recently, he demanded steps be taken against the PA leaders, including expelling those found not to be living legally in the West Bank, restricting the movements of others and preventing them from traveling abroad—and charging some with incitement or support of terrorism.

Smotrich is no less determined to exacerbate the troubles of an already depressed Palestinian economy. That not only further pressures the PA financially but also may have the added benefit of coaxing Palestinians to emigrate. To that end, he and Ben-Gvir have also been able to block efforts to allow the approximately 150,000 West Bank Palestinians who had been working inside Israel before Oct. 7 to return to their jobs. By Palestinian standards, those jobs pay well, so their sudden disappearance has an outsized effect on household incomes and the economy.

Smotrich is now threatening to deal another blow to the Palestinian economy by halting the issuing of what until now were routine letters of indemnity to Israeli banks. The letters provide a legal shield to Israeli financial institutions working with their Palestinian counterparts in case some money ends up in the hands of terrorist groups. This correspondent banking relationship is critical to the Palestinian economy, enabling the annual flow of $10 billion of Palestinian exports and imports, all of which go through Israel. If Smotrich acts, it will bring the West Bank economy to its knees.

The defense establishment is opposed to most of Smotrich’s measures, worrying he is fanning the flames of another intifada, or Palestinian uprising. But it is largely helpless to prevent them so long as the political echelon doesn’t act. Even if Netanyahu wanted to stop Smotrich, he needs his ongoing support to keep his governing coalition intact. Smotrich’s party accounts for seven seats in the 120-member parliament. If he withdraws from the coalition, Netanyahu’s government would no longer have a majority.

Smotrich thus has a relatively free hand from his boss.

What he doesn’t have is a public mandate to pursue his program. His main annexation constituency is the settler population, which makes up no more than 10 percent of Israel’s total, and even its support for his annexation project is hardly wall to wall. Much of the settler population is made up of people who moved to the West Bank for economic reasons, including many thousands of ultra-Orthodox Jews. They are not thought to be wedded to the idea of Greater Israel. Among the overall population, support for annexation is far from overwhelming: A recent survey by Tel Aviv University found only about 38 percent of Jewish Israelis supported the idea (and only 14 percent very strongly); a majority opposed it.

Even far-right voters are seen to be unimpressed by Smotrich—preferring Ben-Gvir’s loud-mouthed thuggery over Smotrich’s careful (and often behind-the-scenes) calculations. If elections were held today, according to the most recent polls, Ben-Gvir’s Otzma Yehudit party would win nine seats in Israel’s 120-member parliament; Smotrich’s Religious Zionism wouldn’t receive enough votes to enter the Knesset at all. But then again, for him, the only vote that counts is cast in heaven, and Smotrich is confident he has it.

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dev1lm4n · 2 years ago

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4 + 1

pairings: bodyguard!joel miller x f!reader

summary: the apocalypse didn't happen. joel shift jobs into becoming a bodyguard for a billionaire’s wife. four times joel realized he's in love and the one time he actually did something about it.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: explicit (18+), p in v, no protection, infidelity, implied domestic abuse (not by joel)

notes: this is my fav to write by far ♡ if ur a writer or loves reading, chat me up and let's be moots

Clementine hues of orange sauntered in through the slick frame of her kitchen windows, causing a layer of tinted filtering to be added throughout the boring beige paints littered all around. Everything was in honeyed tones, beautiful and soothing. He had to admit that there was something godly about your kitchen. Something he couldn’t resist.

It was much different compared to the heavy smell of paint and cement he’s smothered in back when he’s still dwelling in construction. Instead of the constant buzz of drilling and swings of hammers into wooden panels, he’s now embraced in an endless collection of Jazz. His shoes are now polished— he could even see his own beaming reflection in the shiny black. A fitted tuxedo snug against the broad of his chest— a total 180° change from his Texan classic style of flannels and denims.

Joel used to think that he’s all too ill-mannered to be participating in the posh bullshit rich families are prone to, but when he saw the ads your husband was posting out, he couldn’t possibly decline the offer. The pay was enough to get Sarah all the way through university without picking up loans and it came with barely a risk.

He was just there to follow a billionaire’s pretty little wife around, carry your bags of impulsive purchases, and drop you off to go drink martinis with your girlfriends. The gun tucked into his back pocket was merely for show. After all, his dirty scowl is usually enough to set people aside. So, he signed the contract and was tied to what he envisioned to be a snobby flashy gal.

But you were an anomaly.

You were the opposite of the few descriptive words your husband mapped you out as, which he recalled to be ‘bimbo’ and ‘a pain in the ass’. You were lovely. The kind of girl that’d bake your husband a sweet tray of apple pie in your cute little dotted blue apron. He was guilty of watching your every move. Every bend, perk, curve of your body. Because, duh, he had to make sure you weren’t harming yourself. What if you accidentally set a fire off in the stove? At least, that’s what he’s telling himself to fend upon his guilt.

“Come on. Open your mouth, Joel!” you cheered excitedly at the sight of your glistening apple pie, cut open into perfectly eight slices. As the fork pierced through the warm, flaky crust of the apple pie, the sweet aroma of cinnamon and baked apples filled the air. The crust crumbled ever so slightly as the fork lifted a generous slice, revealing the warm, gooey filling. A persuasive look keen on your face as you raised your fork forward, just a few inches away from his pursed lips.

“I don’t think I should, ma’am.”

“Why not?”

“Your husband’s coming home soon..” he trailed off, uneasy about the increasingly delicate situation.

“So? Married people can’t have friends now?”

You could closely watch his determination waver, because god did your apple pie look good even from a distance. But he shouldn’t be doing this on the job, right? Playing kitchen with you out of all people.

“We’re not friends.”

“Oh, we’re not?”

“No,” he shook his head.

Only to entertain you and play into your own rhythm of things, Joel sank his teeth into the tender apples and buttery crust, sweet flavors exploded on his tongue. The warm, rich filling oozed out of the pie and coated his palate in a heavenly blend of spices and sweetness. What made it better was the shy smile you had on your face, unmarred by what the world had to offer. Your eyes twinkle fondly, sparking what felt like fireworks in his belly.

“Good?”

He simply nodded. Joel chewed slowly, averting his gaze away from you because who knows what he might start to imagine if he’s constantly being presented that view of you.

“Mr. Waterford’s gonna like it,” he reassured.

“Wait. Joel. What does that spell out?”

You enquired, brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of the word he’d just put together on the tiled board. Your lips pursed and you tilted your head slightly to the side, as if trying to get a different perspective. It seemed that your feigned innocence managed to work wonders in your bodyguard’s head, because his brows knitted along with yours, seemingly worried that he might actually get the word incorrectly. It may have been the nth time that you toyed around with him childishly, but it’s not your fault he always had such a silly expression to share each time.

“Darling,” he read the word aloud innocently. Texas twang dripping from every syllable.

“Yes, honey?”

Joel looked away bashfully at your playful banter. You could tell he’s raking his head to find ways to try and guide the conversation back into a safe spot. To maintain professionalism, where his heart doesn’t have to race a million times per second and his palms doesn’t have to turn all clammy from a childish joke. But he’s failing. Miserably at that. He tried to muster up the courage to respond in kind, but his mind went blank, leaving him tongue-tied.

“I’m just joking. You’re not mad, are you?”

Of course, he’s not mad. He could never be angry at you even if you sometimes do the weirdest things he could ever think of, like that one time last week where you decided you should try out every single barbeque sauce available in the supermarket. You’re just too sweet to be angry at. Snow could melt if you were there beaming that same dear smile of yours, miracles could happen if it was you. Joel thought that this was his punishment. A karma for all the terrible things he did throughout his twenties, the girls he fiddled and the money he possibly swindled. It’s hard to watch you and not be able to put his hands on you. It’s unfair.

“No,” he whispered vaguely as he drew more tiles from the messy pile. Joel looked amazingly dedicated for a bodyguard who’s being forced to play Scrabble with his employer’s wife— you found it hilarious, which resulted in the delicate giggle you uttered.

“Why don’t you hang out with your actual friends, Mrs. Waterford?”

You frowned.

“First of all, never call me by his name. Second, why do you care so much about who I hang out with?” you seethed out petulantly.

Even when you’re throwing a silly tantrum, he still looked at you as if you held out the sun and the moon. As if you’re the beginning and the end, but you weren’t going to assume what might just be a figment to your foolish imaginations.

“Sorry. I just.. I don’t have to play the dutiful, elegant wife when I’m here. I don’t have to pretend like I enjoy tea times and chalky macarons.”

You hate playing dress up when you’re just there to be your husband’s little pet. Ready to serve him at your every move. It’s suffocating to pretend like you’re content with how your life turned out to be, to giggle at condescending jokes other wives make, or to let your husband degrade you in front of other members of the high society. You felt like a mannequin and you’d rather be here, comforted in your own qualms with Joel. Simple ol’ Joel from Texas who took such good care of you.

“I can’t say I understand.”

Joel chuckled, thinking back to his rather ordinary background. He didn’t think he ever had to participate in any social events unwillingly, except when his mom dragged him to church on Sundays when he was younger, but that was different. You were in another realm. Someone who’s not equal to him.

“Although, I’m glad you feel at ease with me.”

He’s so good with his words, you sometimes wonder if those sweet compliments actually meant a thing. You simmered at his encouragement.

Tonight marks the evening of the Annual Spring Ball. Joel, being the country boy that he is, didn’t have much clue regarding what significance this particular event held. Although, he guessed that it was a big thing considering the pile of dresses you’ve dumped carelessly in front of your walk-in closet. You’re always so messy. Maybe he liked that about you.

He stood aimlessly, feeling like a nervous boy waiting for his prom partner to reveal themselves. It crept from inside his stomach and the grip it had on his throat grew tighter and tighter the longer you took in that damned dressing room. You’re not even going with him to this presumptuous event. You’re going with your damn husband, so why is he getting ahead of himself?

“What do ya think?”

You came bursting out of the pale blue curtains like a ray of sunshine, cladded with a long fitted evening gown. He was convinced that black belonged to you. The gown was made of flowing, luxurious fabric that draped elegantly down the womanly curves of your hips.

He couldn’t help but take a peek down your classic plunging neckline, like a fucking pervert. A flattering scoop that showed off your delicate collarbone and décolletage. Viewing a glimpse of your soft mounds propped up by the tailored bodice had him shifting from one leg to the other. God, you looked like a goddess blessed you personally. Waterford is a lucky man having you by his side.

“Is it too much?”

“No. It’s just..”

Joel swallowed thickly. How he wished he could say how you’d stolen his heart and robbed him of common sense.

“You look beautiful. Mr. Waterford would’ve-”

“Can we not speak of my husband?”

You interrupted bitterly. He wasn’t sure if he saw it correctly, but he could see a look of solemn ghosting over your sweet features. How you suddenly stop being all chirpy and instead, settle on chewing your inner lip. Joel was worried and it took all of him not to prod into whatever it is you’re hiding behind all the kind and warm facade. He was simply your bodyguard and that’s all he’ll ever be so why impose?

“Will you help me with my pearls?”

“Of course.”

He swiftly walked over to the jewelry case he’s grown accustomed to, not because he ever had thoughts of stealing your precious belongings, more so because you’ve allowed him to enter and assist you in your bedroom way too often. He’s memorized every inch of the blush tinted room without fail, maybe because he was a good help or maybe.. because he’s undeniably infatuated in you. With much precision, he held the shiny pearls in between his rough fingers. Only to gently clasp the chain around your neck. The ghost of his fingers on your bare skin made you shudder in anticipation.

He might’ve overstepped his boundaries by tracing over the exposed skin of your back, feeling the bumps of your spinal cords as if he’s a professional harpist. His gaze settled on where you felt the most plush and smooth. How he wished he could feel more of you; was the rest of your unexposed skin this delicate? Did you like this?

A pregnant silence enveloped the both of you. A mutual understanding. You were nervous, enough that you could listen to how your heart pumped blood into your increasingly warm cheeks.

“What is this?”

He broke the sacred silence at the irregular hues blooming from beneath the velvet fabric. Blues, purples, some were still inflamed, red marring your sacred skin. You were bruised. Bad. His eyes went wide at the sight of permanent scars shaped like a long rod buried deep in your skin, the new skin much lighter than your skin tone. If he weren’t attentive, he would’ve missed the way it hid underneath the hemlines.

The worst part was you didn’t say anything. Just showcasing him the same ol’ smile as you turned.

Ever since he saw your marks, the ones you’ve tried your very best to cover and withheld from the world, you’ve avoided him more than ever. Joel Miller was specifically assigned to you. To cater to your every need and protect you from the danger you might encounter, but it’s hard to do his job properly when the danger was from within.

He’s seen the way you lock your doors in his presence, leaving him uneasy as he guarded in front of your door. He’s also noticed how you stopped baking sweet apple pies, quit picking the juicy strawberries in your garden, and were lost in your own thoughts more often than anything. Maybe you’ve had enough of playing house with the lousy bodyguard he was. Maybe he was too old, too wrinkly, and too nosy for your taste.

“Joel?”

“Yes,” he answered almost too eagerly at the pleasant call of his name. His puppy-like brown eyes peaked through the small crack of your door.

“Come in. I have a surprise for you.”

A surprise for him? Didn’t you hate him? Joel looked almost entranced at the sudden knowledge. He took a determined step into your room, your wooden door creaking close behind him. You narrowed your eyes to strengthen your vision towards his striking figure. Without shame, you took in all of him. You’ve missed him as much as you hated to admit. Joel was a crucial part to your daily life. He’s a breath of fresh air. The only thing keeping you alive when you’re caged in this mansion.

“Winter’s coming.”

“It is,” he spoke softly, out-of-breath at the sight of you in your nightgown. His pupils dilated erratically at what you’ve blessed him with.

“I knitted you and Sarah matching scarfs.”

You pulled out the most beautiful pair of scarfs out of your side table, decorated with your favorite shades of ballet pink and powder blue. It wasn’t the cleanest work out there. A few loose and uneven threads here and there, but it was the most someone has ever done to him in a very long time.

It felt sincere and heartfelt. You even knitted one for his daughter who he’d only mention briefly during your time together. Once during your weekly Scrabble game and the other time when he entertained you during a house party. He smoothed the thick fabric down, tears pricking his eyes from the emotions budding from within.

“Are you seriously crying?”

You chuckled at the sight, arms crossed in front of your chest at the sight of your tough and grouchy bodyguard tearing up over some scarf. Joel meant more to you than you could ever admit. Maybe this’ll show him that part of you, just enough that your husband would never notice and you could still play it off as an act of kindness.

“That’s so lame, Joel.”

Fact is.. you were magnetic. The sweetest thing he’s ever witnessed in his long thirty six years of life, yet you’re stuck here playing wife of Waterford. Joel wanted to be your knight in shining armor and bring you to safety where he’d cherish you all his life, but what could he do? Should he just witness you wither away into an empty shell? The thought brought up the long awaited bravado and he was already bringing you up into his arms. Wrapping you in a tight embrace where all he could feel was you and only you. The softness of your pliant body, the smell of strawberries and cinnamon, and your undeniable warmth.

“You’re not happy,” he muttered underneath his breath, brows knitted and wrinkles evident.

“I will be.”

You paused.

“I have to be.”

You reassured him, pulling away from his grasp slightly. Your longing eyes bored into him with a tinge of emotion he couldn’t quite decipher, but it all became clear when you finally kissed him. You tasted better than he could ever imagine.

“Tell me you don’t want this.”

His voice was tantalizing, the rough bristles of his scruff tickling the curve of your earlobes in a manner that made you feel small. You couldn’t really pipe up a sweet comeback to what he had to say. Not when you’re pinned face down onto your fresh floral sheets, the same one you’ve spent countless nights with your estranged husband.

The crisp fabric felt cool and smooth on your squished cheek, you could even smell the lingering notes of softener wafted through the air. Joel caged you in like some sort of feral animal. Thick muscular thighs pressing next to your own as he loomed over you.

“You’re driving me insane, darlin’. Bending over with that silly knitted dress of yours.”

He murmured out into the junction of your neck. Always so careful with you, he made sure to smooth down every inch of your pristine skin, over each and every one of your scars and marks. His fingers were electric, jolting you every time he made bare contact.

You whined a soft tone when he pulled the wool hem of your dress upwards. Leaving your perky butt exposed to the cold air with nothing on but the panties you’ve chosen specifically for him. The one with the pretty pink bow and lace rimming each side; the one you knew he’s secretly pocketed a few times.

“Fuck. Such a pretty cunt. Is this for me or for Waterford?”

You were just too good to be true. Someone so perfect like you was willing to let him have a taste of what heaven on earth was, even when your husband was downstairs mingling with the other party guests. Joel was ecstatic at the thought. His eyes twinkled with obsession as he pulled your panties aside, probing a finger into your sloppy hole. One of his fingers was swallowed whole by your throbbing cunt and all he could hear was the loud squelching noise it made. It was as if you hadn’t been filled to the brim for a very long time. What a waste.

“For you. Only for you, Joel.”

Joel couldn’t hide the smugness running deep in his expression, pulling onto each corner his mustache. The constant need to prove himself to you tipped him over the edge. He wanted to be gentle with you, to be kind and cautious, because you were his everything, but it’s harder when he’s already leaking in his boxers. Seven inch, uncut, and sensitive. His fat cock thrived at the thought of you aching beneath him.

“He didn’t fuck you well, did he? Left you all wet for me.”

He teased sweetly as he unzipped his pants eagerly, only to tug at his waistband swiftly. Joel felt the adrenaline rushing through his headspace. It might be fucked up but somehow he wanted to prove how good he is for you, how he’d let your husband barge in if it meant proving how you’re such a good fit for his girth.

At the thought, Joel leaned forward to nip at your pulse point. You whined for more. He cooed softly, making sure you were slick enough as he flicked his cock along your needy slit. His thick raspy groans were heavenly, yet sinful for you to hear. You’re married for goodness sake.

“Put it in me, Joel. Fuck me. Please. Now.”

Your incoherent begging was music to his ears, enough that he gave in to your requests. He prodded his leaking tip into your entrance. Joel was unable to hide his pleasure, lashes fluttering as he rolled his hips in one sharp movement. He had to stop immediately once he’s buried deep in your velvety walls. Knowing he’d burst if he was to continue. He let out a breathy chuckle, grounding himself with all his might.

“Joe-el!”

That’s all you could muster as you pushed your hips further back into his, babbling hopeless pleads in hopes that he’d move and solve the everlasting coiling need. Such a slut.

“I got you, darlin’”

He held you steady by the small of your hips, adding ample pressure to have you arching back nicely. Joel fulfilled his promise by sheathing himself entirely within you. Slick and sloppy, he pounded into you. You’re on cloud nine. Desperately muffling his name into your bed sheets as if it’d make a difference in the boundaries you’ve crossed on this eventful day.

The golden ring band encircling your finger taunted you whilst it glimmered underneath the dim lights: all about your failing marriage and your stupid affair. You knew this wasn’t going to last long. Hell, things could fall apart if your husband caught a whiff of Joel’s cedar cologne on you.

“Stay with me, please, darlin’”

Joel looped his tough arms over your chest, effectively straightening you upright against his firm chest. His tip probed deeper inside you at the new position, exploring places you didn’t think was possible. You couldn’t see him and you thought it might be better. For you didn’t have to remember how unbelievably hot he looked while fucking you from behind; you’d worry his name would slip in your head when Waterford finally required you to cater to his needs.

“Run away with me.”

He tried once more and you had to say, it was quite a romantic gesture to attempt when he’s twitching vulgarly inside you. There was a sense of need in his voice. He’s begging you to leave all this luxury and royalty behind for the love he had to offer. What was it.. modern times Romeo & Juliet? You let out an airy moan in response, backing up even further to fulfill your burning desire. The coily dark trim on the base of his slick cock scraped your soft skin. He’s inside you entirely. Without any barrier because god did he secretly want to pump you full of cum. Maybe he'll let you wander back onto your husband's arms with his cum still stuffed deep within you.

“I can’t.”

You shook your head, a soft gasp slipping past your lips as his grip tightened around your wrist. His nails dug out crescent shape marks into your skin uncomfortably.

“Joel. Shit. Don’t move.”

He obeyed. A small grin taking over when he witnessed the shake of your legs and how you looked heavenly even when you’re seconds away from climaxing. He relished in the way your tongue cutely darted out like a dog in heat. You’re still cute even when you’re all spread out for him.

“I love you.”

He whispered once more, voice fleeting against your ear. Joel needed to kiss you. Needed to feel your soft lips on him for what might be the last time. His nimble fingers gently guide your jaw to turn his way, wrapping you in such an emotional kiss. As if you’d wither away if he didn’t hold you down tight enough.

“Please say it back, darlin’. Please?”

And just like that, he submitted to your wishes and let the mighty dam fall apart. A soft groan you’ve never heard before mused out his parted lips. He’s filling you up so full with a taste of him to the point that it’s leaking out each side of your thighs. A white rim left behind. Tonight he thought that maybe white belonged to you as well, just like black did.

“I love you too, Joel.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller #joel miller tlou #tlou #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us imagine #joel miller smut

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whore-ibly-hot · 2 years ago

Text

Outsider in.

Yandere!Cultist x Reader

Minors DNI

Warnings: Gender neutral reader, dark content, suggestive content, manipulation, mentions of violence, murder, general manhandling of reader, religious references, cult behavior.

(AN: Two posts in one night? Look at me go. I re-watched Children of the Corn recently, so that was the inspiration and vibe for this. Some obvious similarities will be seen.)

🔔🌱🔔🌱🔔🌱🔔🌱🔔🌱🔔🌱🔔🌱🔔🌱

It wasn't your fault when you crashed. You couldn't have known that the unmapped zone you were driving through had been scrubbed from the maps and records for a reason. You couldn't have known that the gas station attendant would cut your brakes while you were inside getting snacks, and you certainly couldn't have known what awaited you just beyond that gas station parking lot.

The smell of smoke and burning rubber fills your nostrils, causing your lungs to burn as they rise and fall rapidly. Your head pounds, vision blurry. Sat in the front seat of the now busted up car, you can see through the front of the car where a windshield once was, now shattered across the dashboard and floor. You see what looks like some sort of well, lodged up against the front of your car, the metal around it bending to fit around the rounded edge of the construction. You had left the gas station and began north down the mostly empty farm road, when a turn came up. You had attempted to slow the car to make the turn, but were unable. The cars steering wheel froze up, and the brakes jammed. You were unable to stop the vehicle and let out a cry as it continued forward, barreling through the rows of corn that had lined the road. The crops had actually been quite scenic just a few minutes ago, but now as they rushed past in a blur of yellows and greens, they were nothing but overstimulating. Suddenly, you had jolted forward as the car hit the well, glass shattering around you. As you now lay there, feeling your consciousness slip away with every labored breath. As your vision blurs, and finally fades to black, you see several dark, blurry forms emerge from the crops and surround the car. Then, all is quiet.

Yan!Cultist had been in the chapel, observing with watchful eyes as the younger followers listened to the leaders sermon. As the first convert, Yan!Culist, born under the name of Joseph, had been appointed as the leader's right hand, despite his not being the oldest in the commune. Joseph stood to the side of the worn wooden pulpit, hearing, yet not listening to Gabriel's sermon. On top of the pulpit had laid a worn leather journal, upon which the sigil of "The Children of His Divine Judgement " was carved. The book, of which only Gabriel and Joseph had copies, detailed how the incident, or as the group would refer to it, 'the salvation', came to fruition.

Gabriel had been the first to speak to him, their lord. He spoke only through Gabriel, cementing his word as law. It was Joseph, who had witnessed first-hand the divine power of the lord, who converted first. Knowing how stubborn and angry Joseph had been, his sudden allegiance to Gabriel had shocked the towns youths, and soon they came to listen, and even revere the sermons and orders Gabriel gave. It was then, several months after Josephs conversion, that another demonstration of the lords power took place, this time in front of all the converts. A drought had taken place, killing the crops and cutting the town off from both food and financial security. While the adults and elders of the town starved, their children miraculously stayed healthy. They thought of this as a miracle of the christian god, though the children knew this was rather a curse from their deity, one met to rid the county of non-believers. A small area behind the old chapel had been set aside and blessed by Gabriel. It was here a well was dug, and a garden planted. The garden bloomed even in drought, when all other crops had shriveled and died. Soon, as the non-believers began to die off, Joseph grew impatient. He had asked Gabriel if their lord would permit 'speeding up' the cleansing. While Gabriel had scolded him for daring to suggest something to him and their all-knowing deity, he returned to his room for a period of just a few hours, before returning and allowing the slaughter. All followers above the age of 13 years grabbed the available weapons, farming tools, and even sticks, and carried out the slaughter of any remaining adults and elders that the drought had not yet killed off. When the bloodbath ended, only children and youths from the ages of 2-18 remained. Several years have passed since then, and many of the once young converts have grown. As Joseph recalled all of this, one of the followers bursts through the door.

The boys explanation is fast-paced and loud, though both Joseph and Gabriel manage to understand. An outsider has been caught, after one of the children sabotaged their car on the outskirts of town, while out on a fuel run for the community. "They crashed into the well, we think they may still be alive. What would you have us do?" The boy asks. Gabriel furrows his brows. "Who damaged the vehicle?" He asks. His voice is cold, and Joseph recognizes the tone, for he knows it well. "Sermon is over, return to your homes, and do not leave until the outsider has been dealt with!" Joseph yells, causing the children to spill out from the pews and into the aisle of the church, rushing out the door.

"Mary cut the vehicles brakes, y-you had instructed we needed more creative ways to lure in outsiders..." The boy explains, now feeling meek under the shared judgmental gaze of the two leaders in front of him. The boy feels himself shrink before them. "I had ordered for more lures, this is true, but Mary has inadvertently caused the outsider to crash into the well. The first well, and the very one that our lord blessed in the first drought, in order to give us sustaining water. Now tell me, is this monument damaged?" The boy gulps, and Joseph can't help but suppress a smirk, the feeling of power, though he is not the one wielding it, is invigorating. "No, no that I am aware of. Mary, she, she had no control over where the car went, she just wanted to help. Please-" Gabriel raises a hand, silencing the boy. "Mary must face punishment for this mistake. Do not mistake that I understand her good intentions. In the end, she did bring us an outsider, and for this her punishment shall be minimal." The boy sighs, relieved for his friend. Gabriel smiles and nods, and Joshua can't help but feel an annoyance grow in his stomach at the 'holier-than-thou' attitude of the pious young man.

Joshua had initially been willing to listen and follow Gabriel's plans, as the boy had promised the lord would bless them with power and glory, placing them first in his holy order. However, though the lord had both protected them and shown them his fury, it often did not feel like enough. Watching the praise Gabriel received for being the lord's messengers angered him, and he had no doubts that Gabriel knew this. While Gabriel gave out his fair share of cruel orders and punishment, as his right hand man it was Joshua's task to carry them out. While Joshua had no problem with this, he knew it was only a duty given to him to further darken his reputation in the commune, and shed a more angelic light on Gabriel. While Gabriel was respected and feared, he was still a religious figure, and one that the people rallied behind. Joshua was just feared, both before the creation of the cult and after. He had been a bit of a bully before, but it became much worse once he had an outlet under the guise of Gabriel's orders. He also knew this duty was given to him and Gabriel saw himself as too good for the manual labor required to carry out the punishment. While Joshua ran all across the commune, delivering messages and orders, building houses with the others and working in the fields, Gabriel sat in his priestly chambers, 'conversing' with the lord, according to himself. Gabriel turns to him then, and he snaps out of it. "Joshua, go and collect the outsider. I trust it won't be too hard for you to handle, considering they are unconscious." Gabriel smirks. Joshua holds in a remark, and only nods, trudging out of the church.

Upon approaching the well, he sees the dilapidated car crumpled on the southern side of the well, the fire having been dealt with by the first converts to arrive on the scene. Joshua orders for a group of the strongest boys to begin deconstructing and salvaging any fuel from the car. No outside influence needs to enter the commune, Joshua and Gabriel know this well. A group of children are huddled around a figure. Joshua's anger flares, and he pushes into the crowd. "Move! Have I not instructed you to remain in your homes until this has been dealt with?" He shouts, and the group scatters. He grunts. He knows that only the young children in the church had heard his instruction, but he needs an outlet for the frustration caused by Gabriel. As he approaches your figure, he feels as though a force is halting him. His breath catches in his throat. A young outsider lays before him, certainly no older than 19. Though dirt and bruises litter your arms and shoulders, it does not distract Joshua from the sight of such an attractive person before him. You're dressed in the garb of outsiders, which reminds him greatly of the time before the lord came. Since the massacre of non-believers, all outside influence was placed in a locked area in Gabriel's home, and is occasionally brought out for sermons. Clothes were changed to ones that could be easily crafted, worn and worked in for years, then handed down and eventually reused for other purposes. According to your clothes, style in the outside world has changed much since then.

Joshua kneels on the earth beside you, his eyes focused intently on your calm face. He reaches out a hand, brushing your face with the back of his palm. He had intended to use his touch to jolt you awake, but found himself enraptured. Your soft skin contrasts heavily with the calloused rough skin of his hands, worn from hard labor around the commune. As his breathing becomes heavy and his face flushes, your eyes crinkle. You let out a soft groan, and he recoils his hand quickly, as if suddenly aware of the trance he was in. He shakes his head, his features returning to the bitter look he was so well known for. You flinch once more, before your eyes flutter open. You gasp slightly, as light floods your eyes. You attempt to sit up, but let out a hiss of pain at the feeling of your sore muscles. You lean forward as much as you can, and try to look around. You're laid on the ground, near your car. Memories of the crash flood back to you, and you jolt, ignoring your pain in order to go find help. Just as you do, a sudden sharp pressure lands on your wrist. You look over, and see a much taller boy in odd, old-fashioned garb gripping onto your wrist like a vice. While you should be glad to ask someone to help you, something about the boy is wrong. His eyes are filled with an unplaceable emotion, one that looks not unlike the gaze of a predator on the nature channel, about to pounce on small prey. This look only increases your fear, adrenaline from the crash still coursing through you. Your heart beats wildly, and your breathing rapidly increases as you stare at the wild boy. "W-who are you, where am I?" You ask, attempting to squirm away from him. His ignores this, not releasing you from his grip. He stares at you intently for a moment more, before opening his mouth to speak. Before he can, another male voice rings out.

"Joshua, display to me the outsider." The boy glares, before his hand moves to grab your free wrist and yank you up, causing you to whine once more at your sore body. Joshua, as you assume his name must be, holds your wrists behind your back. He keeps uncomfortably close, even for a captor. His chest presses against your back, and you feel hot breath on your neck, making you shiver. Before you, a shorter boy steps forward, a book in one hand. He is dressed in a similar old-fashioned manner to Joshua, though his garb is darker, and a little cleaner. It seems as though this boy may be of a higher standing than the boy restraining you. "Hello, outsider." The young boy before you coos, his eyes calm, yet his tone makes you cautious. He's a few years younger than both you and Joshua, but his attire and outfit suggests he's more than meets the eye. "You've certainly made an entrance, what brings you to our home?" He asks. You immediately shake your head and launch into an explanation, anxiety evident in your ramblings. "I didn't mean to intrude, or trespass on your land, I-" You catch your breath. "My car crashed, something went wrong with the brakes. I didn't mean to crash into your well, really. Maybe we can just call the police, I don't want any trouble. I'll pay for damages-" The boy puts a hand up, and squints his eyes at you, as if shushing you. You fall silent, a little offended at being hushed like a whiny child.

"Do not worry, we have taken no offence to your intrusion." He says. "My name is Gabriel, and you have stumbled onto our holy land." He explains. You tilt your head, you weren't aware anyone lived out here, and there certainly wasn't anything about a town on the map. "I didn't know anyone lived out here..." You say. Gabriel chuckles, a cold laugh. "We do our best to keep a low profile. Contact with the outside world is heavily limited." As he explains further, you look around and notice all of the buildings are outdated farm houses, barns, and a chapel. Their attire suggests they must be a very religious sect that lives out here. "I understand, sorry to have intruded. Let me just call a ride-" You try to reach into your back pocket, but your arms are still being held by Joshua. You see Gabriel grin as he shakes his head. "I'm sorry to repeat myself, outsider, but as I said we keep contact with the outside world limited. We've had to confiscate that phone of yours." That feeling of dread creeps back into you. "But, I really need to call someone, it won't take but a minute." You beg. Gabriel sighs. "Outsider, our lord commands that we cleanse those who are impure, and destroy what he approves not of. Our town was once full of the non-believers, but now, look around." He motions to the buildings, and you notice there are very few people. No cars exist in the town you can see down the way, and all the inhabitants seem rather young. "W-what do you mean 'cleanse the impure'?" You ask, feeling your knees weaken. "Most are too dirtied with the ways of the world, and obey gods other than our lord. They would corrupt and defile land and society with their impure ways. The elders, men and women were too far gone, to set in their ways. My lord sent me a message, and told me they would not see the light." He rants. He suddenly stops, and glances at you, a small gleam in his eyes. "What... what did you do to them?" You ask softly, fearing you know the answer. "They had to be killed." You let out a choked breath, your knees buckling below you. What had been a simple road trip had turned into a life-or-death situation. As you kneel, sobbing and shaking on the floor, Gabriel pouts, looking at you as if you were a scared child, his gaze patronizing.

"Joshua." Gabriel motions down at you, and Joshua grips your chin, softening his grip slightly when you inhale sharply. He feels tear drops falling from your cheeks and landing on the backs of his palms, rolling down his arm and staining his shirt. He stares at the wet patch for a moment, considering not washing that sleeve again. Gabriel leans in and coos. "Fear not, outsider. You are still young, and it is not yet too late for you. I wish to offer you mercy, as our lord granted us." You blink, a few more tears leaking out of your eyes as you wait for him to continue. "Join us, and offer yourself to our lord and our ways-" He pauses and looks towards the town with a thoughtful gaze. He then turns back to you and continues. "-or join the impure. The choice is yours." He leans back, rearing to stand over your kneeling form. Joshua's grip on your wrist tightens, not in annoyance, but rather excitement, and surprise. Gabriel rarely lets any outsider join, though he supposes he was just a little younger than you when he converted.

Scared, hungry, and tired, you figure you have no choice. Maybe, once you've regained your strength and healed, you could escape. For now, you know you must remain here. "O-okay, I'll join you. Just, please don't hurt me." You whimper. Gabriel smiles, and clasps his hands together. "Wonderful! You know, just a couple of days ago we had to inflict a rather severe punishment on one of our own, so we actually have a room available. I'm sure Joshua will help set you up." Gabriel and Joshua share a few words before Gabriel departs back to the chapel. Joshua roughly pulls you up, parading you to a nearby farmhouse. He heads upstairs, entering a quaint bedroom with a bed, floral wallpaper, and a wash-basin.

He closes the door behind him quickly, before rifling through the drawer of the wash-basin. From inside, he pulls out an outfit of similar simplicity to his own. The well folded fabric hits you lightly in the chest as he tosses it at you. "Clothes from the impure world are not allowed, Gabriel will want you to change into something more appropriate." He says. You only nod, and begin to unfold the fabric. As you examine the outfit, you notice Joshua is leaning against the wash-basin, not leaving. "Um... aren't you going to leave. You said I need to change." You say. "I did, and I'm not leaving so you can try to make a run for it." He snaps. "Can you please turn around then, this isn't very appropriate." He rolls his eyes. "Turn my back to an outsider and leave me vulnerable to an attack? Unlikely. Stop whining, and change!" He slams his hand onto the wash-basin, making you squeak in fear. He stops when he sees your fear, and huffs. He doesn't enjoy that seeing you afraid isn't pleasurable like it is when he torments the other followers. When he glances back up, he feels his face grow warm, face colored a deeper shade of red than it was the day he spilt the blood of the townsfolk. You've taken your shirt off, and are now attempting to undo the buttons on your pants, a task that proves difficult due to your trembling hands. Once you finally remove them, you step out, now exposed save for your undergarments. The stress of the day on top of the embarrassment of being bared before this boy sends you over the edge, and you refrain from redressing in the new clothes. Instead, you begin to sob once more, and cover yourself with your arms. Joshua's eyes widen. While he likes the sight of your exposed form, he doesn't enjoy the trembling person before him. Unfortunately, Joshua is not equipped to handle comforting someone, and approaches you in the only way he can think of that is mildly comforting.

"God, you outsiders can't do anything for yourselves, can you?" He pushes you back onto the nearby bed, forcing you to sit down. He grabs the lower garment of clothing, and begins to slide it up over your ankles, and onto your waist. His breathing grows unstable as he moves the fabric upwards, the thin cloth the only thing between him and your plush thighs. Before now, all marriages and courtships had been approved through Gabriel, and Joshua himself had had no time for impure thoughts and boyish crushes, much less a courtship. But now, as your weak, frightened self sits before him, almost entirely naked and alone, he feels a stirring in his pants, as a warmth builds. Much more, he feels a stirring in his heart. He grimaces, trying to shake off those thoughts as he finishes buttoning up the lower garment. He slips your arms into the sleeves of a shirt, and begins buttoning the front up. Just a few buttons from the top, he pauses, just under your chest. He stares, and you watch in fear, unsure what he's thinking as he stares intently at your chest. He doesn't stop himself as he slips a hand just into the fabric for a moment, allowing him to brush a hand against the left most part of your chest. His cold touch makes you gasp, and he removes his hand, finishing up with the buttons. "Why did you do that?" You ask. "I had to fix a crease. Gabriel prefers a neat follower." He coughs, standing back up. "Come, we need to get you to sermon. Gabriel will want you in the front row." He practically pushes you out of the door, and as you stumble, you don't notice he takes an extra minute in the room, slipping your previously discarded shirt into his overall pocket.

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