#I would say that it touches more on my own ethics

[miyakuli]

hello, do you know if the blog animepopheart is a reposter? i used to trust them before, but i found it odd that they reposted this piece by artist wacca005 (https://www.tumblr.com/animepopheart/746667102981734400) when the artist and even this exact art is already posted on tumblr, and sadly the reposted version has, at the time of writing this, 5x more notes than the original post by the artist (https://www.tumblr.com/wacca005/746700085159706624). sorry to ask this out of the blue but unfortunately the animepopheart blog has both asks and replies disabled, but i thought you might know better than me. thanks in advance!

Hello anon! you're not the first one to ask me about this blog. I'm gonna be honest, I think they do have artists consent, I saw enough proofs about it in the past so I have no reason to doubt that.

It's true that it's a shame that they repost (even with permission) from an artist who already has their own blog. Actually, they talked about it in their permission detail here (read "Why don’t you reblog from artists’ Tumblr accounts?") and well, personally I don't agree with their way of doing things at all concerning this topic.... But in the end, it's the artist decision, if they were ok with that even though they had a blog, well, there's nothing wrong. But I can understand it can bother you.

[sunkissedchld]

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔 𝒗𝒆𝒓. 𝒐𝒏𝒆

take your time to use your intuition to choose the pile that will best resonate with you. the piles are from elft to right, so the clear crystal is pile one, the tiger's eye is pile two, and so on and so forth. lastly, please don't be afraid to say if the message resonated or not; it helps me in determining if my interpretations are correct or not, and i appreciate any sort of feedback - even if it's "bad".

good luck to you, reader 🔮

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈

Signs:

heavily craving or avoiding physical touch, prominent first house or major first house transits right now, 9/99/999, heavy fire sign placements or embodying fire sign energy recently (or needing to), archangel gabriel, heavy sagittarius and/or cancer energy, mercury, uranus

Shufflemancy: 

“Confessions” by Usher

“Lost Without U” by Robin Thicke

“Insecure” by Amare La Negra

“ICONIC” by Aespa

“3RACHA” by Stray Kids

Cards:

Ace of Cups, Page of Wands (Rx), Knight of Swords (Rx), Broom, Knight of Pentacles (Rx), Queen of Pentacles, Justice, The Hermit, The Star, The Magician

Reading: 

It feels like there’s two camps of people for this pile: those with project ideas in mind for work or for their own personal lives and those interested in a potential crush or relationship. I’ll try to give examples for both and keep things semi-neutral, but sometimes things aren’t always that clean, so apply to your situation as needed. 

You may feel excited about this new project or relationship. You’re excited about potential prospects and have all these ideas running in your mind about how to go about things or how things will turn out, but this excitement is actually proving to be unhelpful or detrimental in a sense. Excitement with the right work ethic and listening ears can be a blessing, but without direction and input from others can cause you flail. It seems you could be rushing into things and trying to make pieces fit where they don’t so to speak. You could be thinking your plan is perfect and if everything just went the way you wanted, then all would be great, but this isn’t true. You need to get rid of this idea of you being this know-it-all who knows exactly what’s happening right now. 

For those of you who are used to always pursuing and making things happen; you need to step back and allow the universe to play out its wants. You could be the type of person who thinks they have to sacrifice everything in order to be happy or live comfortably, and the truth is that is not the case. You can have a balance between your work life and romantic or personal one; it’s okay to love working and coming up with all these ideas, but you also need to learn how to get comfortable with being with others and yourself outside of that professional, work-minded setting. 

For those of you who sit in the background and are a little more lazy, the opposite is true in that you need to step into taking control of your own life instead of leaving decisions and everything else up to the universe or other people around you. you could be too hedonistic and concerned about personal connections to the point where you put your livelihood and financial security at risk. In both instances, a need to balance is present. Also for both instances, there’s an emphasis on spending a little bit of time with yourself to determine in which way you need to expand and in which way you need to pull back from some of your habits. 

This pursuit versus lackadaisical attitude can also be applied to pursuing relationships. Some of you are constantly on the look for this person you’re interested in, or you’re always thinking of how you want to be in a relationship or how you can get into one when you need to step back and let it come to you when you need it. Others of you are acting as if you’re completely out of the game and are putting in no effort to create and maintain relationships when the reality is humans are interactive creatures, and you too need interaction! Again, a balance is needed for those this aligns with. 

Ultimately, you can have whatever it is you want: the lead on the project, the relationship, the good work ethic, the hedonistic lifestyle, but you also need to balance that with what it is you’re avoiding. The perfect recipe or spell concoction isn’t made with too much of any one ingredient. Everything has to work together in order for so-called perfection to be derived.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈

Signs:

lack of sight, “going in blind”, prominent twelfth house placements or transits, heavy pisces placements or energy, 1212, venus, 3/33/333, “i’m walking on sunshine”; “i’m trying to ascend”; “i’m crucified like my savior; saint-like behavior”

Shufflemancy: 

“in my head” by Ariana Grande

“Cry Baby” by Megan Thee Stallion (feat. DaBaby)

“Say My Name (Live)” by Beyoncè

“Emotional Bruises” by Madison Beer

“Streets Is Callin’” by B2K

Cards:

Page of Wands (Rx), Page of Pentacles, The Chariot, Ace of Swords, Seven of Cups, The Patient Witch, Three of Cups, Three of Pentacles, Good Luck Charm

Reading: 

Those choosing pile two might be in an intermittent state currently. Previously, you could’ve felt like you were on top of the world with everything set in stone, but now you’ve lost your footing, and you can’t necessarily figure out why. You might’ve started a project or new endeavor, and now you’re running into unexpected troubles which are making you want to give up. 

You might be someone who is obsessive about the things they want; you need everything to turn out exactly how you pictured it - to the point of refusing to be happy with anything less or slightly different even if the bulk of what you want is given to you. When you do encounter differences (or what you’d consider roadblocks), you have a habit of abandoning things or believing you must’ve messed up in some way – even when that’s not the case! You get so focused on “fixing” things that you forget to be appreciative of what you do accomplish. 

It seems you recognize you’re on some sort of journey, and you’re excited to do so much; you have so many ideas you want to pursue that sometimes you confuse yourself about what to do. In some ways, an abundance of choices is confusing you. You could inherently know that you likely can’t pursue everything (or that you shouldn’t), but your curiosity is getting the best of you. For some of you, I feel like some of these illusionary good choices have already come forward, and you’ve figured out the hard way that not every choice available to you is a good one. 

Those of pile two are being called to do a few things. One is to be patient and listen to yourself. Again, you can have all these ideas about what you want to do, but you need to figure out a way to “be still” and concentrate your energy on what’s best for you. You don’t have to be making moves or plans all the time; I know being told to meditate can feel frustrating, but the truth is that it’s hard to make good decisions without fully thinking them through. This act of listening to your inner self does not have to be done completely alone though (although parts of it should be). Don’t be afraid to ask friends, your guides, or other people around you for advice or help. Talk through your ideas, work with others to achieve them – you might see more success creating a community as opposed to acting totally alone. 

Overall pile two, things will work out for you depending on how you act and whether or not you listen. If you keep pursuing things faster than you’re ready to, then you can expect rude awakenings about needing to slow down and think before acting. If you take the time to get in tune with yourself and determine what it is you truly should be going after, then you can expect better outcomes and results.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈

Signs:

9/99/999, feeling sick recently, not trusting yourself, “don’t trust yourself”, uranus prominence, the color red, lack of fight, dogma, fire dominance or being drawn to fire, 3/33/333, swords, prominent air energy or dominance, 6/66

Shufflemancy: 

“Right Here” by Alex Aiono

“Princess Going Digital” by Amaarae

“King’s Dead” by Kendrick Lamar (feat. Jay Rock, Future, & James Blake)

“Muwop” by Latto (feat. Gucci Mane)

“Die A Little Bit” by Tinashe (feat. Ms Banks)

Cards:

Six of Swords, Six of Wands, Four of Pentacles, Nine of Swords, Five of Swords, The World, Nine of Wands, Temperance, The Tower, Ten of Cups (Rx), Ace of Swords

Reading: 

I think this pile is mainly for those thinking about or experiencing a romantic situation – not everyone will be, so don’t be alarmed because the overall message will be able to be applied regardless of whether romance is in your life right now or not. Those who chose this pile may be the type to close themselves off from others; in a lot of ways you’re hiding your light and existence from people who would appreciate and celebrate you. You could be someone who has social anxiety or worries often about the way people perceive you; you might find it hard to make friends or to establish relationships (romantic, platonic, maybe even familial) where you feel comfortable revealing your authentic self to others. 

You’re being called to leave this unsure part of yourself behind. You could be insecure when it comes to interacting with others – maybe you have a stutter or there’s some other factor that impacts your speech or how comfortable you feel when talking to people. For some of you, you may not understand what makes you special or what would draw people to you as a person, but Six of Wands in the deck I have says, “you’re kind of a big deal, so start acting like it!”. Even if you can’t see your own beauty, draw, or light other people can and want to connect with you because of it and because of who you portray yourself to be. 

Going back to relationships and trying to make connections with others, you may be someone who always thinks the worst of people. You may often think, “no one will like me”; “I won’t be able to make friends here”; “I’m not interesting enough”; “all my relationships go to shit in some way, so why try”, and the advice to you is “you can’t be right all of the time”. The worst possible outcome is not the only outcome. There’s almost a guarantee that if you get out of your comfort zone and be intentional in establishing relationships with people, then you may find the outcomes you fear so much won’t happen. “You have to give people the chance to show you they’re not like the people who have been in your life previously”. 

There’s an emphasis on the fact that you’re still standing even though you may have experienced times when you didn’t think you would keep going. The only/main thing holding you back right now is not your guides or the universe or the people around you or some outside evil force that you think only has it out for you – you are imposing limitations on yourself because of your fear of being hurt again. Although you’re being urged to try and pursue relationships out of your own volition; it’s important to note that some people are coming forward regardless. You must get rid of this idea that you’re unlikeable or unlovable, and you’ll likely have a Tower moment regarding your idea of and the way you act in relationships soon.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐕

Signs:

the color purple, feeling restless or tired, sun dominance or needing to go out in the sun, prominent capricorn, libra, and/or gemini placements, red orange/blood orange, second house placements or transits, “trust yourself”, artemis, poseidon, water dominance or working with water, hades

Shufflemancy: 

“libidO” by OnlyOneOf

“Focus” by H.E.R

“Victory” by Yolanda Adams 

“UGOMDN” by chlothegod

“Star Lost” by Stray Kids

Cards:

Page of Pentacles (Rx), Seven of Cups, The Patient Witch (Rx), Queen of Swords, Page of Cups, Five of Wands, Ten of Wands (Rx), The Lovers (Rx), Ace of Pentacles, Eight of Cups. Judgment

Reading: 

The message for those of you who chose pile four is going to be a little harsh – just as a disclaimer. Your guides may be at their wits end in trying to tell you nicely or in trying to contact you in general, so this could be a message you’ve been ignoring or not understanding for a while. This could be a lesson you keep running into; I heard “you’re tired? We’re tired too”, so take that as it resonates. This pile also feels adjacent to pile two because some of the same cards came out, but I think this pile is for those of you who have little time to make your decision to change your ways because you’ve already been warned multiple times. 

At your core, you embody the Queen of Swords; you may be quick-witted, steadfast in your knowledge of who you are and what you want, outspoken, and independent to a fault, but currently these attributes are manifesting in the most negative ways. Currently, you could be acting childish and “rotten”; I’m reminded of Violet from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. You’re so stuck in this idea of how you want things to play out and what you want that you’ve backed yourself into a situation where you come off as immature and lazy if things don’t go your way. What seems to be coming through is “oh, you’re stubborn? We can be stubborn too”. 

Your guides are wanting you to loosen up and be open to experiencing what’s thrown to and/or given to you. You have the ultimate control over your life, but I’m seeing some of you specifically asked for your guides’ help and aid, so if you want it, then you have to listen to their suggestions also. Your work with them is not a one-way affair, so stop treating it as such. They are not magic genies who are to drop everything and give you everything you want at your beck and call. I heard “cruisin’ for a bruisin’” which could be related to your need to control things. 

The advice of this reading is really to be mindful of how you're treating your guides and your intentions in your journey with them. For one, you’re shouldering too much responsibility to the point where you’re burning yourself out. It is not possible to go through life all by yourself with no help or input from anyone else. It’s also not possible to have a relationship with your guides and never listen to them or treat them like they’re your servants. If you keep running into obstacles and misfortunes going on your own, then maybe try their way for a while and see how it works for you. 

Overall pile four, your guides want to work with you. They want to provide you with abundance and see you prosper and above all happy, but if you refuse to listen, then you will keep stumbling.

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | October 1st-13th 2024

Hope all my fellow Canadians had a good long weekend! Had a week from hell last week so I didn't have time to put up the rec, and it's even a bit late for today, but I did it!

If you know anyone who's not tagged, please don't hesitate to tag them in the comments!

Complete

Siri, Call... by Tizniz/ @tizniz (Sickfic | 1,5K | General): Buck is sick and needs to call for help.

for thy true-love take by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (Outsider POV, Established buddie | 2K | Teen): OR: Chimney Han and the ethics of slipping your coworkers love potions

watch out, you might get what you're after by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Getting Together | 2K | Mature): Buck unintentionally woos Eddie. And then has a hell of a time processing the way he feels about that.

i hate accidents (except when we went from friends to this) by bellabrady (Getting Together | 2K | Not Rated): Or: How Buck and Eddie's first kiss leads to someone calling the police on them.

Put To Good Use by kittyeddie (PWP, BDSM | 3K | Explicit): Or, Buck and Eddie finally have a kid-free day at home, and take advantage of every second of it

At First Scent by Inell/ @inell (Urban Fantasy AU | 4K | Teen): When Buck visits Maddie, he meets Chris, a magic user needing his sister’s help learning how to use his powers. He also meets Eddie, Christopher’s dad, and feels a connection that he’s only ever dreamed of finding.

Bears, and Foxes, and a Three-Legged Bobcat by Tizniz/ @tizniz (Pre-Buddie, First Date | 4K | General): Buck and Eddie go on a non-date date to a wildlife park. Cuteness ensues.

Just Right by Inell/ @inell (Future fic, Getting Together | 4K | Teen): After getting injured on a call, Buck wakes up the next morning and tries to piece together what happened, accidentally changing his relationship with Eddie in the process.

to adam, from your ribs by justhockey (S8, Getting Together | 4K | General): And the thing is, Buck is so good at being alone; he’s been doing it almost his whole life. But when he’s reminded of the way love tastes, drizzled like honey on your tongue - the way it feels, like the warm glow of sunlight on your skin. That is when he truly aches. Not the breaking, because he’s done that a thousand times over. It’s the knowing that really does him in. The having, for just a little while, before it’s snatched away so quickly he can still feel the burn on his fingertips from trying to hold on.

Hall Pass by Inell/ @inell (Post-S7, Getting Together | 5K | Teen): After Buck and Eddie take Jee and Mara trick or treating, Chim and Maddie play a trick of their own to help Buck finally make a move on Eddie.

it's leading me on, every time we touch by lightyears (Post-S6, Getting Together | 5K | Explicit): Eddie doesn’t think anything of it when he reaches across the table to pile some pasta onto his plate, says, “Just my back. It’s been giving me a bit of trouble.” “You’re hurt, Eddie?” Bobby asks him, and Eddie’s sure that his intention isn’t to capture the rest of the team’s attention, but by way of being Captain, it happens anyway. “I promise, Cap. I’m good. But if it helps, I can go speak with a doctor, make sure nothing else is going on.” Chim chirps up: “A physio probably makes more sense than a doctor.” “Or an occupational therapist,” Ravi suggests, and Eddie’s sure it’s to stave off a Chim-Hen showdown. “Even a massage therapist would probably help.” And then Maddie says, “Buck used to be a massage therapist” and everyone goes quiet, heads all swinging in Buck’s direction.

sweet sunbursts of flesh pink magic by Underhung_Aura/ @eddiebabygirldiaz (Canon Divergent, Witch Buck, Sex Pollen | 5K | Explicit): Buck’s magic has always been a bit volatile. Jittery. Fluctuating. A touch reckless. Messy and bright and loud. Maddie says that a person’s magic is supposed to match the person themselves, that the form it takes isn’t happenstance or random, that it’s a reflection of your purest self, an extension of your soul that you can manipulate. Safe to say, Buck’s never cared for that assessment. or, buck has magic and eddie gets doused with sex pollen

Happy Accident by Inell/ @inell (Post-S8E01: Buzzkill, Friends to Fiances | 6K | Teen): When Buck gets some good news, he accidentally kisses Eddie, which leads to a conversation that changes their relationship.

Kissing On The Corner, Wait For Just A Minute by fruitsdoesnotknow/ @tayf-ghost (Secret Relationship | 6K | Teen): Buck and Eddie think they're so smooth. They're cool, calm, collected. Normal, in fact. Just two normal best friends. Nothing to see here. Nobody is convinced.

Does it bite at your edges? by noxeratum (Infidelity, Post-S7, Getting Together | 6K | Explicit): Eddie Diaz is so repressed that he thinks his jealousy is bigotry and feels bad about it.

Talk Dirty to Me by ameliahart (Post-S7, FWB | 6K | Explicit): In which Buck has recently ended things with Tommy, Eddie wants to explore his sexuality, and they decide to start sleeping together. As friends, of course.

Through the Looking Glass by jukoist/ @beforejuko (Post-S8E01: Buzzkill, Getting Together | 6K | General): Buck likes Tommy. He does! And he definitely isn't in love with Eddie. He's just... worried. Because Eddie keeps vanishing on Sundays, leaving Buck with the boyfriend he definitely likes as much as he should. Everything is fine. Or, a post 8x01 coda.

Basics, Understanding Basics by fruitsdoesnotknow/ @tayf-ghost (Post-S7, Getting Together | 7K | Teen): Chris gets sick, loses part of his memory, and reassures Eddie and Buck they can still kiss in front of him. That's really thoughtful of him, except for the fact that Eddie and Buck aren't dating.

🔥All The Things You Want From Me by giselleslash/ @gigi-gigi (Post-S7, Getting Together | 7K | Teen): “Can I ask you something?” Eddie shrugs. “Sure.” Tommy looks nervous, unsure. Tommy never looks nervous, or unsure. “Do you think Evan would move in with me if I asked him?” (Or the one where Eddie feels Buck slipping through his fingers and can’t let him go, so he tells him not to move in with Tommy and blows everything apart.)

My Carpet’s Got Crop Circles by fruitsdoesnotknow/ @tayf-ghost (Eddie & Karen, Getting Together | 9K | Teen): Or, five times Karen tries to use wine nights to get Eddie and Buck together, and the one time she didn't need to.

🔥Late Fines by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Librarian!Buck | 12K | Teen): Buck is a children's librarian at the branch closest to Eddie's house. When he gets himself involved in the lives of a cute kid and his handsome single dad, he gets a glimpse of what he wants in life. It might just take a few years to get it.

Eddie Diaz VS The Buck's Boyfriend Agenda by songbvrd/ @songbvrd (Post-S7, BuckTommy Break-Up | 23K | Mature): Eddie starts gathering information about why no one trusts Tommy. As he grows to hate their relationship more, he learns more about himself and what he wants.

🔥 ice cream before dinner by cloudydaisies (Post-S7, Getting Together | 58K | Teen): or, gerrard messes with the team's schedules and eddie 'i just drove my son to flee the state' diaz is the only option to watch mara and jee-yun after school on tuesdays, which, shouldn't be a problem at all, right?

🔥 Any Other Way by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, S2 | 102K | Mature): In a switcheroo alternate universe, Buck spends young adulthood in the military, while Eddie, who has no idea Christopher exists, spends his twenties messing around, finally enjoying freedom away from his family’s expectations. When they both end up in Los Angeles, at the 118, some things are different, and others will be the same in any universe.

WIP

Gentle On My Mind by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Shannon Lives, Buck/Eddie/Shannon | 5/? | 32K | Explicit): In which Shannon lives, tells a lie, and sends hers, Eddie's, and Buck's lives down a very different path.

🔥 go and kill, go and die by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Zombie Apocalypse AU | 9/14 | 40K | Mature): The 118 are a group of survivors in a small California town in the wake of a zombie apocalypse. For months they've been isolated and safe. But the arrival of some new players, the search for some missing loved ones, will shake everything up and put their little team in jeopardy.

Podfic

[Podfic] déjà vu by NC Pods (N0Connections)/ @n0connections // fic by peaktotheocean/ @peaktotheocean (S7E07: Ghost of a Second Chance | 10-20min | General): It is completely possible that Buck put too much thought into buying his couch. But Eddie can’t think of anyone else in his life who would buy a couch just so his kid would be comfortable.

🔥 [Podfic] With a Little Help From my Friends by MeggieJolly/ @meggiejolly // fic  by extasiswings/ @extasiswings (Post-S3, Feelings Realization | 10-20min | Teen): “You know…several of us parents get together once, maybe twice a month or so. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like. I can add you to the email chain.” Not for the first time that day, Eddie’s surprised. It’s not that he’s opposed, more that the invitation is unexpected. He’s not particularly social—when he is it’s with the team or with Buck or with his family, all of them in each other’s houses, in each other’s lives both at work and away from it. Outside of them… It occurs to him that he’s never really known how to make friends. [Or: Eddie makes friends outside of work and realizes that Buck might not, in fact, be just a friend]

🔥 as lucky as us [Podfic] by blackglass/ @blackestglass // fic by hammersmiths/ @henswilsons (Ravi POV, S7 | 20-30min | General): One of the first things Ravi learned when joining the 118 was to, under no circumstances, think too hard about Buck and Eddie’s relationship. But brother, they could try make his job easier. “I mean, I get it,” Buck’s saying, overhead, and Ravi’s knee-deep in literal human crap and even he can smell that shit from a mile away. “You and Tommy have a lot in common.” or, Ravi continually suffers as a third-wheel.

🔥 [podfic] baby, can i hold you? by All_I_Ask/ @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove // fic by fleetinghearts / @shitouttabuck (pre-Buddie, angst/comfort | 30-45min | Teen): Eddie’s eyes are squeezed shut, and Buck feels something inside him crack when this helpless, devastated sob wracks his body, eyelashes clumped with tears he’s not letting fall. “What do you need?” Buck asks again. “What can I do?” Eddie makes a frustrated noise. “I don’t know. I don’t know why this won’t stop.” or, eddie panics. buck holds him.

🔥 Heart, I Implore You [Podfic] by ReformedTsunderePodfics (ReformedTsundere)/ @film-in-my-soul // fic by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Vampire Eddie, PWP | 45-60min | Explicit): When Buck finds out his best friend isn't exactly human, he volunteers to help keep Eddie from dying. It's definitely just to keep Eddie from dying. No other reason. None whatsoever.

Re-Read

Down to the Bones of Me by giselleslash/ @gigi-gigi (Post-S7E10: All Fall Down | 5K | Teen): The morning after Christopher leaves Eddie gets in his truck and drives. Buck lets him go, and Eddie fights to come back for both of them.

[seancekitsch]

hellooo hello, can I request Viktor with journalist!reader?

“Hello?” A soft low voice calls from the doorway of your workspace. You do not have to look up to know who it is, but you still do, your smile widening as you see the scientist darkening your doorway. He looks deadly serious, but when does he not? He’s out of his usual academy lab wear, opting for a thick wool coat that he drapes on your coat rack and a deep burgundy shirt. 

“Oh, Viktor! Come in! Did you see the article?” you usher him in as he shuts the door behind himself, getting up to turn on your kettle for him. You turn your back as he rests his cane against your writing desk, sitting himself in the cozy upholstered velvet chair you had dragged into the room once it was finally announced this would be an office for you instead of shared space. You get his tea bag ready and grab a lemon so he can have a fresh slice in his cup, having memorized exactly how he takes it. 

“I did,” he pauses, and you stiffen, lemon in hand and little knife glittering untouched. 

You inhale deeply, already anticipating the rest of his sentence.

“…But I do have some notes.”

You sigh deeply, turning around without a teacup in hand. He sits smugly, perched upon the chair as if it was made to be his throne, looking better in it than you ever have. Without a further word, you sit back down at your desk and pull out your original draft of the article from your files. Your handwriting is penned neatly across the pages, edits in the margins and additional notes pinned meticulously to the edges. Viktor reaches across the desk and snatches them from your hand before you can begin to read them out loud. You huff, but it falls on deaf ears, Viktor now pouring through the draft of the article. 

“I believe I gave you due credit, despite the fact that my bosses told me it was about the Man of Progress himself and only his contributions,” you argue, though he has yet to say anything. He gets to the sixth page of your draft before looking up at him. You remember the tense conversation you had with the editors, their disdain for his “undercity upbringing” and yet you had to remind them of where you had also come from. It was work to get Viktor mentioned in the article, but it was effort he deserves.

“Men of progress, I liked that," he tells you, and flips a page, "And this part? You described the color of the Hexcore incorrectly, it is more of a... cyan," he smirks slightly as he criticizes one of the notes, and pulls one of the additional notes off the corner of the page, "You refer to Jayce as handsome three times. Why is this? The words you use for me are maven, mastermind, sage. Why? Am I not also handsome?”

Any nerves you have dissolve at the playful smile that graces his hollow cheeks. His lips pale and chapped, but still a thing of great beauty. 

You giggle, and snatch the notes back from him. 

“Do you really think I’d use my writing to tell all of Piltover that you’re mine? Thats quite a large personal bias, it would detract from my ethics. I’m a professional, you know,” you joke with him as you’re getting up from the desk to move around it, now resting your ass on it as you lean in front of Viktor. You reach your hand out, fingertips outstretched and quickly met with his own, dancing in the space between you. 

“No, I am just… messing with you,” Viktor winks as he finishes his sentence, his other hand coming up to brush against your hip. 

“The article was good, I am glad you spoke about the ways our research can be used for medical progress,” he admits, “So many of the Councillors have their own agendas they’d like to slap onto my work.”

You lean into his touch, your fingers curling around his as you slide off the desk and perch yourself instead on the arm of the chair. You hope that the article portrays your pride for him, albeit hidden within the punctuation rather than out loud. 

“I know what the geniuses intentions are,” you tell him, "And that you two are the key to our future."

"Is that so? Maybe you should be the one in charge of our funding then," he looks up at you, eyebrow raised as he continues teasing.

"Please," you gently slap at his chest as you lean further into him, "on my salary? Your lab is nicer than my apartment."

"Speaking of which..." he trails off, looking at you now expectantly.

"You want to come back to mine?

"Unless you'd rather I sleep in my lab tonight. You did say it was nicer than your apartment."

The kettle whistles, and you lean down to kiss him.

[slamminslamminmcgill]

please. please i need house to call me a faggot and a tranny while balls deep in me. please.

YES ANONS GLORY TO THE LAW OFFICES OF SLAMMIN SLAMMIN MCGILL 🫡⚖️

warning: transphobia, homophobia, slurs, degradation, humiliation, fucking medical ethics violations i guess, hair-pulling, drug abuse, mentions of pregnancy, misgendering kinda, not to doxx myself but im using my own medical info for ease of writing specifics

anatomical terms: vagina/pussy/cunt

“Okay, current medications. Let’s see what’cha got…”

Clinic duty was never enjoyable for House. It was really just a slew of NPC’s for him to verbally abuse until someone showed something interesting. A weird rash, an inexplicably high fever, or, in your case, a discrepancy in your suspected genital anatomy.

“This… says you have a birth control implant. So either someone fatfingered your actual prescription on the computer, or—“

“It’s… accurate.” You replied sheepishly, lifting your arm to highlight its location. “I actually do have one.”

The doctor looked perplexed, almost angrily so. Like you’d just spat in his face and dared him to call your bluff. He aggressively limped towards you and gripped your arm entirely too hard. With his other hand, his two fingers prodded around for the implant until he got it.

“Well!” He scoffed, rolling the stick underneath your skin, pressing on either edge to seesaw it within you. “Thank god you’re not reproducing. Imagine some poor preschooler having to bring your fruity little ass in for Mother’s Day. Kid would get turbo-bullied on the playground. Good on you for being responsible.”

He hobbled back over to the computer to return to your file, leaving you stunned, speechless, and sputtering. What is this guy’s fucking problem? What in the actual ever-loving fuck did he just say to you? And why was it... kinda hot, in all honesty?

“Ah, there it is. Testosterone cypionate. Jumped the gun on that one. If only I had scrolled down. Alphabetization makes fools of us all…” He continued reading the details of your dosage. “0.6 milliliters biweekly, self-administered intramuscular injections. Ooh, so you’re a masochist too.”

Your reaction was an unfortunate reflex, on par with if he’d tapped your knee with that dinky little hammer, only much more embarrassing. You had no chance of stopping the pathetic whine that escaped your vocal cords. “Mm~!” You gasped, then coughed, hoping to sufficiently cover the sound, and shouted, “What?! N-No, no I’m not!”

“Oh, please, you are not a good liar.” House tapped his cane on the exam table, right between your legs. Not touching you, not even close. He just wanted to imply that he could. “To administer a masculinizing dose of testosterone in patients assigned female at birth, they can either self-inject, or they can rub themselves with what’s essentially lotion. So why would you choose stabbing yourself in the leg unless you want to stab yourself in the leg? And why would you want to stab yourself in the leg? Because you’re a pain slut. Am I wrong?”

No. No, he was not. Well, that isn't why you chose injections, but you were a pain slut. Of course, you didn’t wanna admit that to him. That’d just make you even more pathetic. Oh well, it’s not like you needed to say anything anyway. The mortified look on your face was proof enough.

“So! What brings you in today? Bruised butt-cheeks from your Daddy taking you over his knee too hard?”

You rolled your eyes at his snarky comment, trying to stick up for yourself and what little shreds of dignity you had left. “My STD test results.”

“Oh, sure. Figures you would need to know that. Can’t have Typhoid Mary taking backshots at the circuit party. What types of sex are you having?”

Used to these questions every time you get tested, you rattled them off nonchalantly. “Vaginal, oral, and anal.”

“Not letting anything go to waste, huh? I like it. How many sexual partners do you have currently?”

Wait a minute. You just needed to hear the results. What’s this guy doing? “Uh… didn’t the nurse already ask me these questions?”

“I’m sure someone did. I just want to hear you answer them.”

You crossed your arms and stared straight through him, silently, baring an expression that sufficiently said cut the shit without the need for any verbal assistance.

Dr. House pouted. “You’re no fun.” He opened the folder he had came in with, what he was initially supposed to give you. He had just been dilly-dallying to kill time. “All negative. You’re clean. Well, in this one aspect, you’re clean. Morally, you’re about the furthest thing from it.” Again, he smacked his cane on the table, in between your legs, this time in rhythm. “Just. My. Type.”

You squirmed, trying to shimmy backwards away from his cane. You cast your eyes downward, obscuring the profuse blush on your face. He didn’t need to know that he was getting to you. Still, it was flattering. You cleared your throat. “Uh… Thank you? I guess?”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and one more thing. I saw that your chart lists recreational ketamine usage. Is that true?”

“Yeah, actually. Why do you ask? Are you gonna tell me to quit?”

“Ugh, please. I’m a doctor, not a narc. Here, watch.” Dr. House reached into his pocket and took out a jar of pills. He opened it, poured a ridiculous amount of pills into his palm, and dry swallowed them. “See? Now we’re both junkies! But, you do have a point. It’s my Hippocratic duty to look out for my patients’ well-being. The street supply of ketamine can be mixed with dangerous additives like fentanyl or crack, which would put you at risk for overdosing. You want a scrip for the good shit?”

Oh? On god? Ethics and potential felony charges be damned. The weirdly hot doctor wants to hook you up with substances? Weapons grade ketamine? You’d be an idiot to pass it up. “Oh! Sure, thank you!”

“It does come with a pretty hefty co-pay though.”

“Oh…” Your face dropped. “How much?”

“Bend over.”

—

“Ahhh, modern medicine is amazing, isn’t it?”

Dr. House sighed in pleasure as he rutted into you from behind. Your legs were cramping, held apart in an awkward position. Your arms were cold against the metal slab of the table, and so was your face, buried within them to cover your shame and soundproof your moans. Apparently, that “copay" he mentioned was just a euphemism. Some dumb excuse to get you to trade pussy for premium drugs. And you were dumb enough to do it. Just his lucky day. Keep your face down, keep your mouth shut, and just let him use you. The high will be well worth it.

"Hey, faggot," He spat, and yanked you up out of the darkness by your hair. Your eyes stung, shocked by the fluorescent clinic lighting. "I'm talking to you. Are you always this rude to everyone who fucks you?"

"S-Sor—Sorry! I'm sor—fuck! Fuck!"

"Shut the fuck up, whore," House clamped his hand over your mouth, holding you even tighter against him. You couldn't move, you couldn't speak. Your only function was getting him off. "If we get caught, you don't get your ket. Now, mmm, fuck yeah, tell me... Isn't modern medicine amazing?"

Without the ability to verbally agree, you nodded.

"Do you know why I'm saying it's amazing?"

You shook your head.

He chuckled devilishly before growling in your ear,

"Because I can blow my load in a tight little tranny boy's cunt without worrying about knocking him up."

[thingsnia]

boss benefits — simon riley "ghost" 💀🏴‍☠️

─── ☆ attention: english is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes, just clearing the web that I let accumulate; I missed writing, diving into something to get away from life, asks are open, and I write to all the men of cod (characters by Pedro Pascal & house of the dragon <3)

─── ☆ summary: What would you do to stand out? To take on a mission you always wanted to finally have new opportunities? Would you be willing to give everything? were you willing to sleep with your Lieutenant?

─── ☆ warings📣: +18, MDNI | Allusions to an unhappy marriage, Simon is a scoundrel here, a bit dark (since you have sex to get a job) , possessiveness, size kink, creampie, unprotected sex, sexual desire, sexual tension, Simon is jealous of his boyfriend (he doesn't admit it, but competes), infidelity, oral sex (m/f), mention of procreation, infidelity, abuse of power, hierarchical relationship, position advantage, extramarital relationship, both have relationships, mentions of lust, prosmic sex, high sexual attraction, big dick (I know, I know, Simon is a big boy), Simon makes fun of the reader's boyfriend a lot, Simon lives in a loveless relationship.

"Lieutenant?" You asked as you pushed open the door to his office, perhaps it was to ask for a new report or to explain the briefing for your newest mission.

But when you opened the door, you noticed Ghost's body leaning against the table, he was in uniform, the mask covering only his lips, his honey eyes looking at you, you couldn't help but smile softly while showing his teeth.

You can't help but see the rectangular photograph, the gold-colored frame on his desk, displaying the happy photo of him next to his wife, Lisa, Lana or Lenny, you don't even remember her name. "Do you really want that mission?" His bitter tone of voice, so drawn out and thick that it almost made you think you were negotiating with the devil himself.

The mission that you begged so much to be in your hands, you wanted, was a mission in an area that always interested you, come on, you even studied to perform such a role, but Simon said he would give you an answer, and you were grateful for himself for letting go of his laziness and coming to his office at night.

"Of course I do, Lieutenant." The way you seemed convinced you believed it would be the best for you, he couldn't help but laugh beneath the mask, a little thing like you saying you could take it all. You had fire in your eyes, and Simon wanted to taste that fire.

"Whatever you're willing to do, I say." He cleared his throat while crossing his arms over his chest, raising his body even higher. "Many other soldiers asked me for it, it's an important mission, to show your values ​​and skills. Why do you think you deserve this mission?"

"I'm the most qualified, I'm tired of kissing babies or hugging people." The last mission, after saving a pile of hostages, you ended up becoming more popular in talking in front of the cameras — you were a kind, sweet woman and the photos of you holding a baby in your arms almost made everyone call you an 'angel' of the task force. You even got a five-day vacation to spend with your boyfriend, thanks to everything you saw, to all the scary things you saw while saving them. "That's not for me, Lieutenant."

"You still haven't answered me, little thing." The harsh tone, the way he leaned in, touching your chin with the same hand that had the gold ring on it, he was flirting with you, sending all codes of professional ethics to hell, the way he leaned in, without Don't even care about the photo on the table, the photo is his wedding. "What are you willing to give me... for this job to be yours alone."

You should run, escape, warn the HR people about his strange attitudes - no strange, he was harassing you, insinuating that you should give him something to get a job, this was against all regulations, using his own power to obtain sexual favors. But you knew, the army would never send him away, would never dismiss him, he was one of the most competent agents on the military installation.

Reporting him would ruin your career, it would throw all your efforts in the trash if you told anyone about it. Closing your own eyes while looking at him, why was he insinuating this? His wife was young, pretty, and you had a boyfriend - damn, why are you creating reasons not to have sex with him? "Simon, your wife doesn't deserve this, my boyfriend, Devon, doesn't deserve this."

"Don't be silly, little girl." The little flick he gave you on the nose, laughing as he noticed you dodge, trying to get away from him, were you creating reasons? Did you want it so much that you needed to create excuses to stay away? - "Look, don't see this as cheating, sex or whatever is in your head. See it as a business transition."

He laughed, you could almost see the wrinkles forming under his eyes, you could almost feel the way he was offering to have an affair with you. "We're not going to kiss, honey, I don't want you to kiss me, love me or leave your pathetic little boyfriend."

The silence that fell, your throat was dry, you seemed disappointed to know that there wouldn't be kisses? - the entire environment was silent, I could hear your mind pounding, I could hear the doubts, the uncertainty, and even the desire to have sex with your superior. Everything was silent for a few minutes, it seemed like an eternity, all the doubts, the uncertainties, the doubts, your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at him.

"you'll never tell anyone this, right?" you should be ashamed to accept it, you should walk away — leave, not accept this damn job and simply deny it, be faithful to your boyfriend, don't cheat on another woman, don't let him cheat on his marriage with you, in a damn case.

The way he took off his mask, showing off his thin lips, his strong facial expressions, his Greek nose as he couldn't help but laugh as he walked towards the door. He looked at your body, noticing that you were probably close to going to bed when they told you that he wanted to talk to you, his attentive eyes analyzing you, your curves, the entire contour of your body. "It will be a shame to never tell anyone that I was with a woman just like you, sweet." The pet name almost made you tremble, he spoke as if he had honey between his teeth. "But I agree, we can't let others know. It would be bad for my marriage and your little boyfriend- he would finally have to learn how to fuck a real woman."

At first it was strange approaching him, your lips tilting slightly, you didn't know where to touch, you didn't know how he liked kisses or how he liked to be touched, he approached, forgetting that it was you who wouldn't kiss you, but he lied, and you were stupid to believe him. Your eyes connected to each other, slow and slow steps towards each other, as if you were reading the deepest secrets of each other's souls — reading the darkest secrets that could exist, almost creating your own rhythm, a speed of yours. two. Simon couldn't help but bite his lip, he would be lying if he said he never desired your lips.

At first the kiss was so calm, sensitive, your lips pressing against each other, in an absurd harmony they were having, he held your face while he deepened the kiss, prolonging it, asking for passage with his lips, and when you moaned into his mouth of him, pulling his hair, everything seemed to go dark, to darken, your breathing in tune, your chest rising and falling, you needed to breathe, you needed air, oxygen, you needed so many things, Simon's hoarse voice, the way he just He smiled when he noticed how confused, airy and so confused you were.

"I have one condition" you pulled away from his lips, as you tried your best to hold on to something, fuck, you always imagined the sweet com could be his lips - you always knew he was as hot as the devil himself.

He couldn't help but laugh, finding it so curious how you didn't push him away during the kiss, quite the opposite, he saw your eyes on his lips, he saw desire in you, lust, tension, so many things that were more than enough. just an arrangement, an agreement. "What's your condition, pretty."

"I want you to use a condom." It was your lifeline, of course you imagined the texture of Simon's fresh semen filling your pussy, you knew it was wrong, wishing another man would cum in you while forcing your own boyfriend to use a condom, it was so comical, the man who knew your parents couldn't cum, but Simon had the approval to do so?

"We have a little problem. I don't have a condom." He wasn't lying, tilting his gaze at you as he walked away, he didn't have condoms, since he always made his own wife take care of birth control a lot, he didn't want accidents, he didn't want an unwanted child, but with you, he didn't even At least he cared about his own regulations of only having sex when he was aware of birth control.

"I have a condom in my boyfriend's room, I can get it."

“don’t be stupid princess, do you think it fits me?” You wanted to hit him for being arrogant, he was just being self-centered by telling you that he had a huge dick, but before you could even argue that he was lying or making excuses, he took your hands in his, feeling the soft and smooth texture, so Sweet as an addictive drug, he fell into your trap.

He let you feel him, feeling the volume, but he made a point of undoing his belt, lowering the waistband of his pants, making you see his dick, the red bridge leaking, the thick outline, covered in bluish veins, you couldn't let it go and Closing his eyes, biting his lips, realizing how huge he is, Simon couldn't help but laugh when he noticed how surprised his eyes were, when he noticed that he had a huge cock. Simon knew he had a huge dick, fuck, he knew he should be proud to have all that stuff in his pants. "What's wrong, doesn't your boyfriend have a huge dick, kitten?"

You hated how cocky he seemed, how full of ego he seemed, surely getting so many compliments for having a huge dick that he probably got a big ego. "shut up. I want you to take it off before you cum."

"Yes ma'am."

And there you were again, crushing your lips against his, feeling the way your body shivered, he knew it was wrong - but he couldn't lie and say he was sorry about cheating on his wife, he didn't care, he didn't even care. The way he was devouring your neck, crushing his lips against your skin, giving bites, hickeys and even licks, loving the way it gave you goosebumps, how you squirmed in his arms. "You seem so needy, no man has ever touched you."

He was groping your body, crushing your breasts against his own hands, he could feel how round they were, even under a pile of clothes. Pulling at clothes, removing buttons and buttons, watching your skin be revealed, flesh soft and supple, he knew he shouldn't leave marks, that he shouldn't have the boldness, but he did, he marked you, bit your skin, kissed.

Simon couldn't help but moan when he felt your hands wrapped around his cock - starting to masturbate him, moving his fists around him, feeling his cock throbbing, the veins bulging, how hot it was, how luscious, fuck, he'd never had a man with such a strong reaction to simply touching. You stayed for a few minutes, teasing each other, Simon exploring your skin, discovering all the pieces, all the contours, trying to remember in his own memory what you were like, he would record this moment, because he didn't know when it would happen again.

And that would be his best secret, the image that would pass through his mind every moment he had, remembering how your body reacts to being touched, to being kissed, to being loved, he knew it was wrong to give you the role of a lover, an affair, how he hated not being able to love you with open doors, to reduce you to just that, an affair of a married man. When he saw you kneel, see you on your knees for him, he could almost cum, he could almost feel the air getting thin, you almost stopped breathing.

"how do you.. like being sucked?" He couldn't help but find it so captivating, did you want to please him? You wanted to know how he wanted you, you wanted to engrave yourself in his mind like gum.

"Just do what you do with your boyfriend, hmm?" That was a lie, he wanted it to be even better, for you to suck him with more love than you sucked your boyfriend, he wanted you to be even better with him but it was with that loser.

"If you talk about him, I'll get dressed and leave." You didn't want to remember that you were a damn traitor, that you were about to suck a man who wasn't your boyfriend, and to make matters worse, a man who was wearing a ring. When you opened your mouth, starting to suck the base of his cock — sliding your tongue along the slit, while holding his base so tightly, you loved how needy Simon seemed to feel your mouth against him.

When you started to suck him, sliding your mouth around his entire contour - the warm, wet mouth surrounding him, as you began to slide in and out, just wrapping the glans around your mouth, you couldn't help but smile when he wrapped it around you. his hand in your hair, fuck, you could feel his wedding ring against your head.

Simon couldn't help but smile when he saw you smiling, seeing the outline of your lips against his, seeing your eyes so big as you tried to relax your throat to take him, you've never taken a huge cock, while you felt the weight of his cock against your tongue. He waited for you to be ready, as he started to move his hips, hitting the back of your throat, he could see you fighting the urge to choke, there was saliva running down your chest, you were willing to take him whole, to please him , you knew that anyone could notice that you and Simon were missing.

You move your head back and forth, breathing through your nose as you move your tongue around him, trying your best to pleasure him, you didn't care about the pain in your throat, you would probably have to drink tea the next morning, and when you heard Simon's moans, you can't help but continue, now hungrier, taking him so deep in your throat, starting to choke around him, the disheveled sounds, Simon's moans and with him he seemed so excited to see you giving a blowjob sloppy, not caring about his appearance, he looked like a slut who would get paid a lot of money, but no, you were doing it willingly, trying to please him, trying to be good to him, sucking a married man.

Fuck, Simon imagined all the perverted things he could do, he could take a picture of himself like this, but he didn't want to be such a bad man. He was close to cumming, close to emptying down your throat and even though he wanted to see you swallow him — or cumming on your face, he couldn't wait, he wanted to hear you moan for him.

He used all the strength he had, placing you on the desk, laughing when he saw the photograph fall to the floor, his wedding photo shattered, and he didn't even care, stepping on the broken frame, crushing the happy image of his wedding, separating at your legs, taking off your panties, he almost salivated at the sight of your wet pussy, at the sight of how wet you were for him, patting your clit and just laughing when you moaned.

He wanted to make fun of you, laugh a little, but he just wanted to feel your pussy around him, smell your sweet and soft scent, he leaned over, not caring about his spine curved in a bad position, as he started rubbing your clit. with a circle of his tongue — like a kitten testing the water, and when it tastes sweet, damn, he can't help but growl, opening your legs even wider, using his own weight and arms to open you up. "Fuck, I can live under your legs. That wet pussy."

He purred as he went back to sucking you, playing with your clit, drinking in all your excitement, trying his best to make you wet, patting you to see how wet you were, spreading your legs, separating your legs, putting you on top of the shoulders. Damn, all those moans you let out as he attacked your pussy, moaning as if you had never received quality oral sex, if he was your boyfriend he would never leave your legs, he would leave with you hanging on his shoulders, lifting the head just to speak politely to people.

Noticing his wet mouth, feeling your scent stuck right under his nose, as you arched over the table, feet shaking, crushing your hands against his hair, you were close to pulling his hair, messing up his hairstyle, those straw hair stuck between your fists, you were close to cumming, close to messing up everything around you, moaning loudly, squirming.

As you arched your back, rising and leaning, you wanted to close your legs, but Simon couldn't help but fight you, using his arms as a kind of screwdriver to let you open. Tapping hard on your clit while rubbing two fingers against your entrance, making you take his fingers, feeling your cum soak his fingers, feeling how you were crushing his fingers. "Fuck, Simon!"

When he lifted himself up, you couldn't help but see his forehead covered in sweat, his lips stained with your juices, he couldn't help but smile at how confused you were, how high you were from your orgasm, as he pulled you in for more. close, he needed to stick it inside you before he came, the taste of your pussy, the taste against his tongue. Fuck, he was dripping like a beast, his dick so hard and throbbing he might have blue balls if he didn't come, when you pulled him closer, wrapping your legs around his hips, you were a demon, and he should have known from that.

"don't do that to a man baby.. it makes any man greedy." Seeing your eyes, how you were kissing him, how he was crushing his body against you. He felt his cock rubbing against your wet folds, and when you pushed in, he had to bite his lips, his jaw clenched, you were so tight, so wet, so welcoming that it took everything he had not to cum on the first thrust. . "You're a glove inside, as tight as a fucking virgin."

He was rambling, talking out loud, he never felt like this, he never needed to pull his dick out to relieve it, fuck, he didn't want to cum on the first thrust, he didn't want to disappoint you, he didn't know when he would have the chance again and I wanted to enjoy every second. You couldn't help but laugh, noticing how fucked he was, how he had hurt his own lips sinking his teeth in to hold himself back, he kept fucking himself, just pushing his head in and out, moaning as he felt the obscene sounds, the smell of sex in the entire office.

When he crushed his hands around your hips, using one of his arms to keep you from struggling before he fucked you into oblivion, before he fucked you like a beast. Feeling your hands against the back of his neck as you began to move, laughing as he moved in and out of you, seeing you roll your eyes and scratch at his shoulders, scratch at his back, he can feel you shaking against him, You can feel how deep you were, your pussy was wrapping around him so tightly.

You knew you shouldn't be moaning in another man's arms, you shouldn't be letting a man without a condom enter you, fuck, you could feel the cold, golden ring against your skin, throw your head back, feeling the sounds of sex, the creaking table, the obscene sounds your pussy was making as it clenched around him. Feeling him fuck him balls deep inside you, he knew there would be so many bruises, marks that were too difficult to explain to the people who were waiting for you at home, but damn, he didn't care.

The violent rhythm that your bodies intertwined, you were both sinning, you were both getting sick, he loved feeling the texture of your skin, how your pussy clenched around him, and when he buried himself deep inside, the way your eyes rolled back, the air that was trapped in his chest and his head thrown back, his nail scratched him as if his skin was a whiteboard ready to be painted, exposed and displayed as a beautiful work of art.

The heavy breathing, the sounds, the harsh and hot noises, Simon was growling, feeling your pussy to squeeze a huge amount of you, the smell of sex, all the items on the table hitting the floor, Simon didn't care about the mess, with all the papers, the cock buried, in and out the wet and lasives sounds, while the rhythm was so slow, he wanted to hear you moan — to hear you beg for his cock, beg for the mark, for the contour of his cock against your pussy . "Fuck, keep moaning for me, I want to remember how you can be so loving."

He noticed your bright eyes, the way you bit your own lip just to make him angry, and fuck, he started moving so slow, so slow, thrusting all the way in at a deadly pace, letting your clit rub against his His abdomen, just looking down Simon thought he was going to fill you up, the simple sight of almost burying his balls inside you drives him crazy, makes him so animalistic, lost in desire, bathing in lust.

His hips rock almost naturally, the sight of your lubrication gushing against his cock, the obscene sound of your pussy and how your moans sound so loud and needy, it was almost like another impulse to slide his fingers up to your clit, he wanted you Seeing you cum for him, seeing how your eyes rolled back, how your body would tremble against his, god, he was so wild.

Simon feels his charms completely over you, the way your belly twitched, he can feel the way you hugged him even tighter with your legs, almost forbidding him to leave, creating a limitation that made him almost merge. Your body rose from the table, your spine arching, your hair spread across the table, it was like a damn overdose, better than the adrenaline of being on the field. Your eyes were so dilated, your moans were confused, altered, the orgasm made you so needy, the way you looked at Simon, almost like a succubus ready to drain every drop of semen he had.

He knows he should have used the strength of his own body to pull away, to cum on his belly and even his thighs — the guilt was already gone, he didn't even remember his wife's name, Lisa, Lenny or anything, his mind was just I could think about you, your body, your pussy that seemed made for his dick, even the shock against your cervix. "I need you, Simon-"

His eyes were heavy, his hands were squeezing your flesh so tightly, as if he was stopping you from slipping between his fingers, he was so close to filling you, the way his name rolled across your tongue, as if it were a prayer, a song that you were the only singer who gave meaning to the musician. "Fuck, I'm going to fill you up..."

The devilish smile that played on those lips, now you know how Lucifer fell as he tried to dominate and rule heaven, the distorted pleasure before your eyes, the danger, the chance to father his child - the marks of the alliance against your skin If it's so wrong why did it feel so good in your mind?

Instead of pushing him away, yelling at him, telling him he's gone crazy, it was as if he had opened a box with all his darkest desires, fathering a married man's child, destroying a home, you should be ashamed, but all he felt was pleasure, desire, knowing that he was so immersed in this that he was willing to lose everything. Giving up everything he had for years, simply to fill you up.

The way Simon's hips seemed ready to give way, he was like a machine, rough like metal hitting you over and over again, and you were made of porcelain, fragile and struggling not to break, he was hitting you over and over again against your uterus, he was insatiable, it would only stop when it spilled, when all the semen was dripping from your pussy, he didn't even care how red, swollen and baked it would be. He could only think about the feeling, fucking you again, using his own cum as lubricant, imagining how your pussy would still accept him even after he had cum.

Knowing that you weren't letting your loser boyfriend do that, but you were letting him, a man who had his wife's photo on the table, the frame that was now broken — he didn't even know where it had fallen, if he was stepping on it or anything. thing, you pussy was his only focus, your body against his. The simple thought made him come, the firm, thick jets being spurted inside you, looking at you is seeing your eyes closed, your body trembling, he filled your pussy, and instead of pushing him away, you moaned, leaving another man marks you, another man kisses you, another man tastes and delights in your body.

Simon didn't want to leave, even though he heard the sound in the hallway, knowing that at any moment someone could open the door, but he didn't care about the danger, the suspension they would both receive, or the gossip spreading through the hallways. He just smiled, your breaths mixing, you didn't move a single centimeter, you knew your legs would give way - but you still did your best to lean over and sit down, the semen running down your leg, dirtying the carpet.

He was a knight, taking your panties that he had stolen minutes ago, cleaning your pussy, just rubbing the leaked semen and smiling as he smiled. "Never handled a big dick? If you want, I can walk you to your room."

"Don't feel cocky, you looked like a drooling dog tasting pussy for the first time" He couldn't help but laugh as he leaned in, giving you a soft kiss on your lips. "Unlike you, I assume my sins"

You gave him a light push, and he just smiled. "We are two sinners, the difference is that you will convince yourself that you have not sinned, and I-" he showed you semen-stained panties. "I like to remember my sins."

©thingsnia is the author and owner of the content, do not translate or post on another platform.

[theanimeroom]

how would kazutora survive nnn 👀

NSFW UNDER THE CUT || MINORS DNI

NOVEMBER 1ST, 2023 || 11:42AM

NNN CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

i'm sorry, but this dude is a loser in the best possible way. kazutora hanemiya is someone with little to no self-control, and i think that is a fact everyone knows. he was always a needy person, especially when it came to his friends. he would go out of his way for their attention and praise, even if it meant resorting to less... ethical methods.

you already knew that kazutora would have a difficult time making it through the challenge, as he was your obsessive boy who could never seem to keep his hands off of you. you would have loved to say you at least thought he would make it past the first week, but you didn't even have that much faith in the man to make that promise (and be grateful that you didn't, you almost owed baji 20 bucks for that bet).

when you had suggested the idea at first, you had just wanted to see his reaction. you didn't think that the moment the words left your mouth, he would immediately agree without even considering the longevity of it.

"a month? that's not that bad. if my baby wants to do it, then what reason do I have to say no?" he chirped, the brightest and happiest smile on his face. initially, you were ready to remind him that a month was in fact 30 days and that he could barely survive 15 minutes without trying to put his dick in your mouth because he "couldn't hold it anymore". but then you quickly remembered that the man is a simp, and you should have known that the moment you expressed your want for something, there was no way he could deny you.

despite that, you both joined the challenge on the first day of november, hoping that the three rounds you had last night would be enough to hold you both over for the next 30 days.

the next morning you woke up with a small moan, eyes finally peeling themselves open enough to see the sun shining through your window, alerting you to finally wake up and drag yourself out of bed. you reached behind you as you did every morning, feeling the strands of kazutora's hair draping over his face. had he not hummed pleasantly at the feeling of your fingers in his hair, you would have assumed that the man was still sleeping, his arm wrapped around your waist tightening its grip.

"good morning kazu," you spoke softly, voice still a bit raspy from sleep. he responded with a couple taps on your tummy, something he always did when he was too sleepy to actually give a verbal response. you smiled softly, shuffling more under the covers as you cuddled against his chest. you shut your eyes again, letting yourself revel in a few more minutes of sleep before deciding to get ready for the day ahead of you. you lay in silence for all of 10 minutes before you felt a rough hand caressing your stomach again, the light touch making you jerk a bit as you held in a laugh. when he did it again you giggled, jerking your hips back as you ran away from his touch. "baby, that tickles."

"sorry..." he grumbled, voice rumbling so deep that you nearly felt it in your own chest. he moved his hand from your stomach and chose instead to run it down the length of your leg, stopping momentarily to grab the underside of your knee. "you're just so soft..."

when his sentence had finished your leg was being lifted, kazutora resting the limb on his own, which he'd so precariously placed between yours. you didn't think much of it until the skin of kazutora's thigh was being pushed into your mound, a heavy gasp escaping you as the pressure made your stomach turn.

"so soft," he said again, this time crystal clear as his hand continued to trace every inch of exposed skin on your body. you only truly reacted when his hand slipped into your shirt, trapping one of your breasts between his fingers. he fondled the mass, relishing in the way your body reacted to his ministrations. your hips ground against his thigh, the heat in your stomach spreading as the man pinched your nipple softly. "and pliant."

"kazu..." you warned, although it sounded more like a plea for more in his ears than anything else. "we can't."

the man behind you whined, only playing with your tits more feverously at your rejection. "why? don't we always have sex in the morning?"

his voice sounded borderline distraught as you tried to remove his hand from your shirt.

"we're doing the challenge, remember? we've barely even made it 12 hours," your words made the man pout. he knew that he agreed to the challenge rather quickly, but you wouldn't actually deny him like this, would you?

"but i want you..." he pouted, sleepy hands moving once again to roam around your body. he didn't miss the way your hips never stopped grinding against his thigh, his free hand that wasn't playing in your hair moving towards his own mouth to wet his fingers before slipping them into your night shorts. a quiet moan came out of your mouth as his fingers flicked at your clit, your hand that was playing in his hair pulling at the strands harshly. "don't you want me too, baby?"

you did. you truly did want the man and honestly, with your current conditions, you didn't think that it would be that bad of an idea. you'd barely even started this challenge, so how hard would it be to just say you never even attempted at all? maybe if you just let it go this one time...

your thoughts were cut short by the feeling of kazutora's fingers sliding into your cunt, knocking the air out of you as you felt the digits curl, pressing directly into your g-spot. a curse passed your lips and it was only a moment later that you felt kazutora press against the side of your face, forcing you to look directly at him. "all you have to do is say the word. you know I can't say no to you," he purred. his bright eyes caught your attention immediately, and it was then that you knew you could never say no to him, either.

"please, kazu," you didn't hesitate before asking him, the challenge be damned. you didn't fight him as he leaned in, pressing his lips onto yours softly, a small moan slipping from the man's mouth to your own.

"more, baby!" kazutora groaned as spent no time stuffing you full of his cock the moment you asked, although you were sure it was more for him than you. your breathing was labored as you tried to find something to steady yourself, your hoisted leg and kazu's rapid thrusts almost forcing you off of the bed. you were still propped on your side, your boyfriend being more than too lazy to change positions. "fuck, keep fucking me like that."

you didn't have the time or energy to explain to him that he was the one fucking you, but let the man run his mouth regardless. this was something that you were used to already, his cries and pleas for you to do more when he was the one effectively leaving you brain dead. your hands found purchase in the sheets, holding onto them for dear life while kazutora pressed his body against yours, the warmth only inspiring the man to go harder.

"s-slow down baby..." you pleaded, feeling your body jerk with every stroke of his cock against your g-spot, your wet cunt squeezing around him so beautifully. "you're gonna...b-break me like t-this."

"let me," he demanded, holding your body still as he fucked you mercilessly. "wanna see you completely broken for me."

his words left a lingering pulse in your heat, giving way to kazutora's begging and allowing him to fuck you the way that he wanted. at your compliance the man cursed to himself, burying his head in the crook of your neck. you cried out when you felt his teeth sinking into the skin connecting your collarbone to your shoulder, sucking on the area until there was a purple mark flourishing on the surface.

if he wanted you broken, he certainly was accomplishing his mission. you could barely breathe with the way he was fucking you, your stomach clenching and cunt pulsing as you felt your orgasm coming strong.

"fuck, i wanna come inside you. let me come inside you baby?" the man asked, hand grabbing the underside of your leg and holding it upright as it started to slip. when you wordlessly nodded your head, kazutora let out a deafening groan. "thankyouthankyouthankyou-"

you barely had a second to register his gratitude before your eyes were shooting open, wide and blurry as kazu forced himself as far as he could go inside of you. the warmth that followed was enough for your body to shudder, orgasm washing over you as you only saw a white cover of bliss envelope your vision.

kazutora didn't even bother pulling out as he finally released your leg, legging your body go completely limp against the sheets. your breathing was labored and heavy, barely able to speak as you turned your head to look at the man behind you.

"do you feel bet-" you didn't even get the chance to finish your sentence as you saw kazutora with his eyes closed, chest rising and falling in an even rhythm. you couldn't stop the scoff that escaped you, a loving smile adorning your face before you laid back down and covered your exposed body with the duvet.

you were so grateful that you never accepted that bet from baji.

dont plagarize! it's not nice <3

[jennysparksandtheauthority]

The fallacy of realism in Life is Strange Double Exposure. Another more or less analytic rant :)

Okay. I lied. This is the real LAST commentary about Deck Nine's fiasco. Or maybe not.

ANYWAY. I'm reading a lot of discourse of how it's realistic that Max and Chloe would break up.

Even the devs have been on Twitter saying the most basic stuff you've heard a thousand times before:

As someone who’s been in a loving, committed relationship for more than a decade (and we met in our early 20s), that shit MAKES NO SENSE FOR PRICEFIELD. Move forward? Yes. Absolutely. But you can move forward with another person. Moving forward doesn't have to mean leaving your partner behind, and certainly not for these two.

Max and Chloe didn’t create a “trauma bond”. People seem to forget they were childhood best friends. They went through trauma together. There’s a difference.

Each time my wife and I went through devastating shit (cause life is a bitch sometimes), I leaned on her, we carried each other. We went through rough days, of course, we fought sometimes, but we grew together. I fell more in love with her seeing her taking decisions, reacting to me, dealing with her own shit, taking care of me when I didn’t have the energy to take care of myself as I would take care of her when the roles were reversed.

Sure, some relationships don’t survive when they go through bad times.

But Max and Chloe? These two literary broke space and time for each other.

Characters have to be profoundly CHANGED at the end of stories for them to be meaningful, for stories to move us. This has been established since we began to tell stories around campfires thousands of years ago. It's been engraved in conventional storytelling even way before Aristotle gave it a name in his Poetics.

At the end of the BAE romantic path, Chloe was ready to die for Max, and for a whole town of people who mostly despised her. She had changed profoundly. She had understood the meaning of love and loyalty and devotion, because Max showed her.

Max was ready to face the consequences of choosing Chloe. She had changed too. She had understood that loving Chloe made her better, braver, determined, that the past was in the past and that she couldn’t keep rewinding. That she had to accept herself, fight back, take ownership of her destiny.

When they left Arcadia Bay they were both devastated, but ready to fight for each other and move on. The Chloe that gave Max that reassuring touch and that loving look at the end of the game would NEVER, under no circumstances, break up with Max by letter saying all kinds of mean shit. This destroys both their characters' arcs from LIS1. It's an unsuccessful, poorly camouflaged reboot.

Maybe if the break up was presented differently it wouldn’t have enraged so many people. Maybe. We’ll never know. I’d still argue that having a path where Chloe is dead, the decision to break them up was absolutely unnecessary. But to have made that decision, and to justify the OOC behavior and the outcome of their relationship by saying “it’s realistic” (some people have taken the devs' discourse to heart) is just ridiculous and dissapointing, and just straight out unprofessional. This kind of revisionism and lack of understanding of the themes and motivations of the first game is truly baffling, so much so it’s hard for me to believe how NO ONE at Deck Nine or Square Enix with some level of responsibility and proper education in media stopped the madness.

Writers choose what to include in a story, meaning they bear responsibility for the narrative choices they make, regardless of whether those choices are realistic. Fiction is an inherently constructed art form. Authors decide what to include, exclude, emphasize, or downplay. Using “realism” as a justification can be seen as a way to avoid responsibility for narrative decisions, especially when those decisions are unpopular or ethically troubling.

This is writing 101, and I can’t believe a supposedly professional game dev studio is acting like children writing their first fics on Wattpad and falling into the realistic fallacy.

In “The Decay of Lying,” Oscar Wilde famously argued that “Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life,” suggesting that art should not be constrained by realism. Another example is the philosopher and literary critic Roland Barthes, who in “The Death of the Author,” argued that the meaning of a text is not determined solely by the author’s intentions, thus challenging the notion that invoking realism absolves a writer of their choices.

They CHOSE to break them up.

They chose to villainize Chloe, the canonically queer, fan-favorite character that was at the heart of the story along with Max. Together.

Crying realism doesn’t make it any less senseless, knowing damn well they knew how it would affect people.

So, Deck Nine, Square Enix: please take some fucking responsibility.

BONUS (Michel Koch ❤️):

[salixsociety]

Yes, I Hate Wicca.

A hopefully comprehensive guide to all my strifes.

More often than I care to admit I find myself quarrelling with people over my seemingly baseless hate for all things popular and simple. I'm accused of being a pretentious traditionalist, of being a snob, even of being a white supremacist on grounds of talking about European culture as a replacement for conventional witchcraft. I will not deny that I am a touch snobby and pretentious - such is my biggest flaw - but I am not a white supremacist, and my loathing for many seemingly innocuous witchcraft practices is not for nothing. It is because I hate Wicca, and everything related to and derived from it, and I have good reason to. Today I would like to introduce you to every single reason I have to loathe Wicca passionately, so that I can hopefully defer future debate partners to this post instead of retyping the same arduous messages.

What is Wicca?

Per the r/Wicca subreddit:

Wicca is a neopagan religion based on ancient pagan beliefs. It's an earth-based religion that believes in a God and Goddess as representative of a greater pantheistic godhead. Wicca includes a system of ethics and teaches that we all are ultimately responsible for our own actions. We believe in gods. We believe in magic. We believe in multiple realities. We practice alone, or in groups. We practice witchcraft.

I chose the r/Wicca subreddit for my first primer because it's easy to accuse people of misrepresenting a faith if you do not allow the community to speak for itself on what their faith constitutes. As much as I hate Wicca, and do not think it is redeemable, I have no desire to be accused of letting my hate set the tone of my arguments against it. I don't want to give militant Wiccans leeway to claim that I speak on their behalf and therefore my points are wrong. The Wicca subreddit is a large community and often referred to by Wiccans, and it features this brief description of 'The Craft'. In any case, though Wicca nowadays is divided and will be described slightly differently by everybody you ask about it, the description provided by the subreddit is a pretty good example of common ground between all Wiccans. That description mostly matches up with how the average Wiccan would describe their faith. My personal description of what Wicca is would look slightly different. I would take care to note, for one, that Wicca is a form of Western Esotericism, more specifically Western Occultism. [1] I also find it important to note that whether or not Wicca is an earth religion, or nature religion, is of some debate, and not all consider it such. What is also subject of some variation across traditions and individuals is whether or not The Craft is pantheistic: some people accept the two gods of Wicca as figureheads for every pagan god in existence, others simply worship them as one single masculine god and one single feminine god. 'Witchcraft' is also a term that has no set definition - I can only assume that the mention of it on r/Wicca intends to broadly refer to most or all forms of magic accepted within Wicca.

Worth noting is that Wicca has spread very far beyond the confines of British Traditional Wicca (BTW), which are streams of Wicca that still adhere strongly to their roots. What is and is not Wicca is something that is of some debate among Wiccans themselves. That's why I think it is highly important to establish a few definitions that we'll be using for the rest of this post:

WICCA: I'll admit to using this term loosely. When I say 'Wicca' in this post I'll mainly be referring to the community of people who consider themselves Wiccans, i.e. the Wiccan religion. I may also use it to describe the broader influence of Wicca, however.

WICCA-DERIVED: I'll mostly use this term when I don't want to paint something as being inherently Wiccan, just related to or derived from it. Wiccan practices often escape the bounds of their respective culture and then grow into staples of various traditions that aren't meant to be Wiccan at all. When referring to such things I'll refer to them as derived from Wicca, or similar.

Wicca's Origins

To understand the history of Wicca we have to travel back a bit further than its founding: to the 16th and 17th century Witch Hunts in Europe. I have another post on this same blog detailing the relationship between Wicca and the Witch Trials, which I highly recommend reading to get a better understanding of the accusations of antisemitism I will be making shortly. At any rate: the witch trials happened across Europe and its colonies throughout the early modern period, after a time of much disaster. As I state in my other article:

Before the early Church turned its hateful eye to the concept of 'witches,' it was firmly on jews. Jews, alongside other heretics and oppressed minorities like the Rroma, were considered utterly worthy of damnation. They were seen as antagonistic to the Church, going against everything the Church stood for, and furthermore as misanthropic, greedy, unreliable enemies. They were the scapegoats for many disasters and indeed frequently accused of practicing magic or poisoncrafting to invoke these disasters on the 'Good Christian Folk'. Furthermore, and this may sound familiar to you, jews were accused of 'consorting with the devil' and murdering children in order to consume their blood to mock the Eucharist, often referred to as blood libel. It was often claimed that this (nonexistent!) practice was done on the Shabbat, alongside other practices twisting and mocking those done in Church on Sunday. The persecution of Jews in Medieval Europe was horrific and seemingly endless, having origins in antiquity and reaching a peak during the Crusades, and another when the Plague ran rampant. Jews were banished, forced to convert to Christianity or brutally murdered, not infrequently by burning or strangulation.

It is fairly easy to see, with some research and critical thought, that it wouldn't logically be real witches being murdered during the witch hunts. For starters, it's hard to believe that there were really people out there flying through the sky on brooms, to mythical locations, to dance naked under the full moon, have sex with the devil, and cannibalize children. There were of course those people who confessed to having done such things, but they were under threat of torture. Indeed, this archetype of the 'witch' has its origins in the Church's loathing for non-Christians and heretics. As Lily Climenhaga states [2]:

"Magic" acted as a description for individuals or groups who did not subscribe to the perceived societal norms of the medieval Christian community. Jews and heretics, the principle Others within Medieval Europe, existed outside of the societal norms and played an important role in the formation of the Christian perception of witches and witchcraft. Common elements existed between stories surrounding Jews, heretics, and witches. These beliefs created the preliminary conditions necessary for the mass persecution and intolerance toward witches and became inherent to the idea of the witch as the diabolical Other within Medieval Christian thought.

Furthermore, the stereotypical image of the witch is directly derived from hateful depictions of the marginalized. The conical, wide brimmed hat that we often see a cartoon witch depicted with actually comes from the conical hat known as a judenhut (jew hat), which was compulsory for many jews to wear in the Middle Ages. [3] Then there is of course the typical red or black hair, short and stocky figure, buckled shoes, large hooked nose, green skin, et cetera. All of this to say: It was not witches being hunted during the witchcraze. There is no such thing as a human person able to fly on broomsticks, cause storms at will, magically steal money from a distance, and curse someone to death with one glance. The medieval and early modern 'witch' is a mythical figure used to justify the persecution and eradication of the already marginalized. This idea is fairly commonly accepted now, as it should be, but it wasn't always.

In 1828, German lawyer and professor Karl Ernst Jarcke proposed the witch-cult hypothesis: a now discredited theory that the people persecuted and murdered during the witch trials were not marginalized innocents, but rather members of a pan-European pagan religion. He posited that this pagan witch-cult was older than Christianity, but had been driven underground by it, and only came to light when the accused of the witch trials confessed to witchcraft. This hypothesis was affirmed and adapted by other scholars throughout the 19th century but remained of moderate popularity at best, until 20th century Egyptologist Margaret Murray became one of its most avid proponents, incorporating it into many of her works. Most notably, she featured it in 1921's The Witch-Cult in Western Europe and 1933's The God of the Witches. [1] Murray's writing is the origin of many Wiccan motifs, such as the thirteen member coven, the Horned God (based on the works of James Frazer) and the cross-quarterly gathering. Furthermore, as a radical skeptic and rationalist, Murray wished to strip the witch-cult hypothesis of all supernatural notions. [4] She claimed that the secret society of witches were not Satanists but nature-worshippers, and that the gatherings were actually orgies, where a priest dressed in ritual skins and horns fornicated with all the gathered women. She also proposed that these rituals were actually benevolent fertility rituals for the good of the witches' communities, and there was little to no malevolent magic involved. She was also the one to introduce the idea that the people who confessed to curses and other malevolent magic were actually witches who had forgotten their own original intent, or had been misinterpreted by the court. [5] Murray herself [5]:

For centuries both before and after the Christian era, the witch was both honoured and loved. Whether man or woman, the witch was consulted by all, for relief in sickness, for counsel in trouble, or for foreknowledge of forthcoming events. They were at home in the courts of Kings [...] their mystical powers gave them the authority for discovering culprits, who then received the appropriate punishment.

These writings were a turning point for the associations of the word 'witch'. Prior to these hypotheses, 'witch' was a bad word, an insult even, reserved only for people - especially women - believed to have evil intentions and use spiritual methods not sanctioned by the Church for their own benefit. The use of the word 'witch' nowadays, as a self-imposed title for anybody using any magical means, can be traced back to this pivotal moment in time. While Murray did great PR for the nonexistent witch archetype, erasing the idea that their practices were Satanic and supernatural, she unfortunately did much harm to marginalized peoples by propagating the idea that it was not them being persecuted, but some mythical clan. Therein lies my first problem: Wicca minimizes the impact of what it calls the 'Burning Times' on marginalized peoples and instead adopts all this suffering for itself, painting the 'witch' as a marginalized, oppressed, and beloathed historical figure, when it's the very people who would've been doing the burning who founded, shaped, and maintain Wicca. In doing so, it also adopts various words, like Sabbat(h), which is a word unique to Judaism and has been weaponized against Judaism since the Middle Ages. Despite much criticism, even from Murray's contemporaries, she was invited to write a highly influential piece for the Encyclopaedia Brittanica in 1929. She used the opportunity to promote her hypothesis as fact, and it quickly grew so influential that according to Jacqueline Simpson, the ideas got to be "so entrenched in popular culture that they will probably never be uprooted." [4] But we haven't even gotten into when Wicca was actually founded, so let's get to that.

One of, if not the only contemporary fan of Margaret Murray's hypothesis, was Folklore Society fellow Gerald Gardner. He was an interesting and well-travelled man, having come from a wealthy family, growing up with nursemaids and a family firm. As a result of his illnesses (namely asthma) and constant travels abroad during childhood, he never received a formal education, nor did he attend school. Instead, through his travels and family acquaintances, he developed quite the interest in spirituality. At first he developed an interest in the Buddhist beliefs of the Singhalese natives on his tea plantation, later in British and Celtic folklore from his relatives the Surgenesons. In his biography, it is revealed that it is from these relatives that he learns that his grandfather, Joseph, was rumored to be a practicing witch. [6] Different accounts of Gardner's life had it that it was also rumored within his family that a Scottish ancestor of his had been burned as a witch in 1610. [7] A few years after this time with the Surgenesons, Gardner was initiated as an Apprentice Freemason in Ceylon. He quickly rose in the ranks, but eventually lost interest in the Masonic activities and resigned in 1911, presumably because he wanted to leave Ceylon. [6] After this he moved around Asia a fair bit more, taking a great interest in Indigenous beliefs there, and even participating in some of their tattoo and ritual traditions. During this time of travel, Gardner also decided to take the Shahada, the Muslim confession of faith and, technically, final step in the process of becoming Muslim; but Gardner never became a practicing Muslim, mostly using the Shahada as a means to gain trust from the locals in Malaya. [7] In 1927, Gardner's father's health deteriorated, and he went back to Britain to visit him. During this time in Britain he researched various spiritual and religious movements, namely Spiritualism and Mediumship, and he reported many spiritual encounters with whom he interpreted as deceased family members. [6] [7] He attended many Spiritualist churches and seances, and had a number of spiritual experiences that, according to his biographer, changed his interest from a purely amateur anthropological one to one of genuine personal belief. [6] He became re-involved with Freemasonry, and started taking a serious interest in magic. When he, after his retirement, officially moved back to Britain, he started pursuing magic there with some seriousness. He became involved in such things as nudism, and, in September 1937, he requested a Doctorate of Philosophy (Ph. D) from the Meta Collegiate Extension of the National Electronic Institute, an organization based in Nevada. This organization was widely known for providing illegitimate degrees and diplomas through mail order, for a fee. After this he began to introduce and style himself as 'Dr. Gardner' despite having no academically recognized qualifications. [7]

He started allowing spirituality to shape his life, such as when he bought land on his beloved Cyprus because he came to believe that he had actually lived on the island before, in a past life. He wrote a book referencing this as well, influenced by his dreams: his first novel, A Goddess Arrives, followed a British man in the 1930s who had, in a past life, been a bronze age Cypriot. [7] When World War II became an imminent threat, Gardner and his wife moved to Highcliffe, just south of the New Forest, to escape potential bombings. [7] He becomes involved with the Rosicrucian Order Crotona Fellowship, a magico-religious tradition in Western Esotericism. The Fellowship had been founded in 1920 by George Alexander Sullivan, based upon a blend of Rosicrucianism, Theosophy, Freemasonry and his own personal innovations. [7] It requires mentioning that Western Esotericism and all of its more modern traditions (Rosicrucianism, Theosophy, Anthroposophy, Freemasonry, Occultism, et cetera) are inseparable from white supremacy. This is something fairly well-recorded, if shrouded, and so complex I am hesitant to delve into it in great amounts of detail. It is, however, pivotal for the reader to understand that many of Western Esotericism's greatest thinkers from the Middle Ages onward were antisemites, racists, misogynists, colonialists, and even nazis. Western Esotericism also had a gigantic impact on 20th century race studies, and the idea that there was such a thing as a superior or aryan race. Defenders and fans of Western Esotericism are quick to point out that there are also many non-white thinkers in Western Esotericism that were pivotal to its formation, and I would never deny that. I am, however, denying that what Western Esotericism has turned into is productive. Having been founded upon the backs of indigenous and marginalized peoples, by appropriating their practices and denying their suffering, such as the appropriation of Kabbalah and the denial of the persecution of jews, shaped by men who were famously evil, such as Aleister Crowley, and used as pseudoscientific justification for some of mankind's greatest atrocities, I cannot stand with Western Esotericism. Ever. It is true that Western Esotericism has been the victim of white supremacy as well: Freemasons being persecuted and incarcerated as part of the 'jewish conspiracy' in Nazi Germany for example, but at the same time the connections between Esotericism and the nazi, half-Nordic, half-Hindu German Faith Movement cannot be denied. Folkish and Odinist 'traditions' find their roots in nazi occultism as well, as they sprang from the desire for a Pan-Germanic ethnic identity. These faiths persist to this day, attracting many different types of people and turning them into white supremacists or even neo-nazis.

Back to Gardner. During his time with the Rosicrucian Order he had also joined the Folklore society, where he published some works and became member of the governing council, where he was a distrusted man. He had also joined the Historical Association. [7] He ran into some quarrels and troubles with the Rosicrucian Order and found himself increasingly cynical of their practices, especially when Sullivan claimed that World War II would not come the very day before Britain declared war on Germany. [6] There was, however, a select group of people within the Order with whom he got along quite well. [7] Biographer Philip Heselton theorized upon who this group could be and claims they may have been Edith Woodford-Grimes, Susie Mason, her brother Ernie Mason, and their sister Rosetta Fudge, all of whom had originally come from Southampton before joining the Order in Highcliffe. Per Gardner himself: "unlike many of the others [in the Order], [they] had to earn their livings, were cheerful and optimistic and had a real interest in the occult". He was "really very fond of them", claiming he "would have gone through hell and high water even then for any of them." [6] It was these very people who took him to the house of a woman Gardner calls 'Old Dorothy' Clutterbuck, a wealthy local to the New Forest area. They, according to him, made him strip naked and take part in an initiation ritual, wherein he caught the words 'Wicca' and 'Wicce', which he recognized as the Old English words for witch. Though research by the likes of Hutton and Heselton shows that the New Forest Coven, as Gardner calls them, were likely only formed in the 1930s, Gardner took this experience as proof of the witch-cult hypotheses which he had learned about from Margaret Murray's writings. [7] Gardner spent a significant amount of time with them but only ever described one of their rituals in detail, one intended to ward off the Germans from coming to Britain. It is attested in both Bracelin's and Heselton's biographies. Gardner went on, after these events, to also become involved with druidry and be ordained as priest in the Ancient British Church, and he conducted some rituals according to the Lesser Key of Solomon with his nudist and occultist friends. [7] In 1947 Gardner was introduced to Aleister Crowley, a man of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn and the founding father of Thelema, a Western Occultist new religious movement. Crowley is one of those ubiquitous, evil figureheads in Western Esotericism that people prefer not to give too many words to. His history with occultism, racism, antisemitism, misogyny, and sexual abuse is too vast to summarize in one paragraph. Still, Thelema persists to this day, as do Crowley apologists. Crowley elevated Gardner to the IV° of Ordo Templi Orientis (O.T.O.) and issued a charter decreeing that Gardner could admit people into its Minerval degree. The charter was written in Gardner's handwriting and only signed by Crowley. [6] [7] [8] When Crowley passed away, Gardner appointed himself the leader of the O.T.O.. He would, however, lose interest in leading the O.T.O. within a few years. [7] During this time Gardner also travelled through America, especially in hopes of learning about Voodoo and Hoodoo. [7]

Gardner wished to spread his newly founded Wiccan religion, and wrote another work of fiction in order to do so. He described various Wiccan rituals in this book as 'High Magic' and based it heavily on the Solomonic Keys. He was also working on a scrapbook which he did not intend to publish, which he called 'Ye Bok of Ye Art Magical'. Therein he wrote down various Wiccan rituals and ceremonies, and this book would later form as the prototype for the Wiccan Book of Shadows, a term he himself coined. He claimed the book to be of ancient origins to his followers. During this time he also gained his first initiates, and the first covens were formed. [7] During this initial time of true organized religion, Gardner ran into several problems. People important to him left his faith due to his actions with the press, and he had quarrels with some members who recognized that many of his rituals and such had been adapted straight from Thelema. [4] In 1954, Gardner wrote arguably the most influential work on Wicca: Witchcraft Today. It was his first non-fiction work, and contained a preface by Margaret Murray, the woman who had popularized the witch-cult hypothesis on which Wicca was built. In this book, Gardner praised Murray's theories, and added some of his own: namely that the European belief in faeries was actually because of a hidden pygmy race living alongside mankind, and that the Knights Templar were actually initiates into The Craft. [7] After this, Gardner started cultivating larger scale attention for Wicca. He invited the press to write about his religion, and most of the tabloid articles produced painted him and his cult in a negative light. They were made out to be devil worshippers, cultists, et cetera. Nevertheless, Gardner persisted, and encouraged the press to write more. He thought the publicity, even if negative, would help prevent the 'Old Religion', as he called it, from dying out. [7] [8]

In 1960, Gardner's official biography, Gerald Gardner: Witch, was published. It was penned in its entirety by Gardner's friend Idries Shah, a Sufi mystic, but Shah used the name of one of Gardner's High Priests, Jack L. Bracelin, because he was wary of being associated with witchcraft. In 1963, Gardner visited Lebanon. On his way home, he had a heart attack on ship, en route to Tunisia. He was buried there, the funeral only attended by the ship's captain. [9] Many authors have speculated on Gardner's life since his passing. Though he was devoted to his only wife, Donna, it was claimed that Gardner spent many evenings 'cuddling up' to a young High Priestess named Dayonis. Biographer Philip Heselton claims that Gardner had a longterm affair with Edith Woodford-Grimes, nicknamed Dafo by Gardner. This theory was affirmed by Adrian Bott. [10] Gardner was one of, or possibly the first person to use what Wiccans know as a 'Craft name', a magical name used for magico-religious purposes in Wicca. Gardner was known as Scire by his followers. Reportedly, Wicca was not known as Wicca at the time of its initial development. Gardner often referred to his adherents as 'the Wica', but the religion was only ever referred to as 'Witchcraft', capital W.

In Wicca's founding lies my second problem with it. Wicca was founded by a white man, based on a combination of Western Esoteric notions and experiences, Spiritualism, Mediumship, appropriation of indigenous European, Asian and even American spirituality. It was built on a hypothesis that denies the suffering of marginalized peoples and claims it for nonmarginalized, white, privileged Europeans instead. It poses itself as something with roots in academics, while the founder had never enjoyed any form of education and possessed a fake PhD. It was influenced heavily by cults, occultists who are generally acknowledged to be terrible people, and pseudoscience. It claims to be ancient, but was founded in the 1900s. And, importantly, it contributes heavily to white supremacy through the idea of a pan-European cultural identity and pan-European pagan religion.

Wicca Today: Innocuous Propagation of White Supremacy

Wicca has grown exponentially since its founding, now being by far the largest pagan religion actively being practiced in the modern era. It has both organized covens and solitary adherents across the world, and most people who have access to the internet will have heard of Wicca once or twice. Wicca is, truly and undeniably, inescapable in pagan and magical spaces. It's easy, and common, for adherents to claim that Wicca is not what it once was. 'Yeah, the origins are bad, but that doesn't make the whole Craft bad,' is a favored argument against the idea that Wicca's origins make it inherently irredeemable. I disagree strongly with this, and always will; something that was built with bricks made of appropriation and lies can't be separated from those evils. If you took the appropriation out of Wicca, it would cease to be Wicca. Deconstructing Wicca would leave you with a blend of Freemasonry, Thelema, folk magic, Christianity, various Indigenous beliefs, Kabbalah, Occultism, and some misrepresented paganism. If you take the appropriation and harm out of Wicca, it simply ceases to exist. Nevertheless, many people think Wicca can be separated from its evil origins. That's why in this section of the article, I'd like to delve into why that is not true, and how Wicca continues to do harm in this day and age.

For starters, of course, Wicca has not ceased to be appropriative simply because time has passed. Rather, the appropriation gets increasingly less attention, until it becomes so integral to the Craft that people don't even notice or stop to think that it may have come from somewhere that never wanted it to be taken in the first place. A prime example, which I've already touched on very briefly, is the use of the word 'sabbat', in reference to 'Wiccan' holidays. As I wrote in my other post about this topic:

The very root of this word is the Hebrew ש־ב־ת (sh-b-t). It is the root word for many words pertaining to rest and not working (or more broadly: 'cessation'). This word evolved into שַׁבָּת (shabát), which translates to Saturday or weekly rest-day, normally. This word, also often spelled Shabbos from Ashkenazi Hebrew, travelled through various antique languages (Ancient Greek -> Latin -> Old French) directly to Middle English, where it became 'Sabat', and later Sabbath. While this word, in its travel through Europe, has influenced some words, you'll notice that it has also stayed one unique word, with a unique meaning: the Jewish Rest Day. The Sabbath, Shabbos, Sabbat, Shabat, et cetera, will always and has for most of its history been the word uniquely reserved for Saturday in Judaism. To those not very well read on Judaism, it may be helpful to know that Judaism is what is considered a closed practice. It is only permissible to practice Jewish religious tradition, and to a large extent, Jewish culture, if you are a Jewish convert. By extension, that should clue you in on the nature of the word and holiday of Shabbat.

This word, which should have stayed what it was meant to be, a word for the Jewish rest day, first became associated with the archetypal witch during the late Medieval period, when jews, and later witches, were accused of going to Sabbaths or Synagogues to perform evil rituals. Though there were attempts by the likes of Margaret Murray to claim that the word 'sabbat(h)' as used by 'witches' was not in any way related to Judaism, those claims have been strongly disputed. Murray claimed in her 1921 book The Witch-Cult in Western Europe that 'sabbat' actually came from Old French s'esbattre, meaning to frolic and amuse oneself. This theory has no proof, nor is it readily academically received or accepted. The word in conjunction with witchcraft is deeply hurtful to Judaism and jewish people across the globe, as it reminds them of the persecution they faced when their faith and culture was considered evil and worth being killed over. I highly recommend reading Why I Don't Call Them Sabbats, Why You Should Stop, and Other Thoughts on Problematic Aspects of Western Witchcraft by Nile Sorena for more thoughts on this topic, as well as Jews and the Witchcraze by Jewitches.

The Wheel of the Year, the cycle of yearly Wiccan holidays (the very ones referred to as 'sabbats', which I refuse to do and will not start doing), is just as appropriative as the use of the word sabbat, but, hilariously, it is also quite magically and religiously dysfunctional. The Wheel of the Year is a Wiccan invention, initially based on the works of James Frazer, Robert Graves and Margaret Murray, the latter of whom was a big proponent of the theory that 'witches' gathered on cross-quarterly days, something that is still a big motif in Wicca. These theories were adopted by neopaganism by Gardner's Bricket Wood Coven and the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids, a neo-Druidic group founded by Ross Nichols. Supposedly, these people harmonized the eight primarily holidays described by the former academics to create an easy-to-use calendar for neopagans in Britain. [11] In the 1970s, prolific Wiccan Aidan Kelly gave names to some of the previously unnamed Wiccan equinoxes (Mabon and Ostara) and the Wiccan summer solstice (Litha). [12] This leaves us with the contemporary wheel of the year, which looks like this:

There are many reasons I find the Wheel of the Year appropriative and dysfunctional. For starters, Wiccan lore claims that the spokes-on-a-wheel structure is borrowed from Celtic mythology, but there is no evidence that Celtic myth ever depicted the passing of time as a wheel. Nevertheless, there is no inherent problem with viewing the passing of time as a wheel; cycles are very important in paganism across Europe. More cumbersome than the supposedly ancient wheel structure, is the combination of pagan holidays from various only passively related cultures. Beltane (Bealtaine), Lughnasadh, Samhain, and Imbolc are Celtic; specifically Gaelic. They all work well in conjunction, and were historically celebrated by the same people(s) throughout their years. Yule is Germanic, being celebrated by the Norse, continental Germanic, and Anglo-Saxon peoples. It was not in any way historically related to the four primary Celtic festivals, and doesn't work in conjunction with them very well, as many things that made Yule significant to the Germanic peoples, were celebrated during Samhain by the Gaels. Mabon is a contrived festival, filling an autumnal gap. The Germanic peoples did not have a specialized holiday for the autumn equinox, nor did the Celts, so Wiccans filled this gap with a 'lesser Sabbat' in the 1960s, named 'Mabon' by Aidan Kelly in the 1970s. [12] It was named for Mabon ap Modron, a figure in Brythonic mythology. As Wicca is wont to do, it paints itself and its traditions as incredibly ancient and cultural, and Mabon is no exception to this rule. Wiccans generally paint Mabon as a 'Celtic harvest festival' filled with rich traditions of sacrifice and preparation for winter, but factually, nothing is less true. Mabon (ap Modron) as a deity has nothing whatsoever to do with the autumn equinox, and there is no solid record of consistent autumn equinox festivities as celebrated by the Celts (nor by the Germanic peoples, for that matter). Noteworthy also is that on top of this usage of the name of Mabon for an unrelated festival often being deemed appropriation by Welsh and other Gaelic people, additional offense is often taken to the likening of the 'Mabon' celebrations to Thanksgiving, as many leftist people involved in Celtic culture have no respect for, nor wish to be associated with, colonialism. Ostara is an almost equally contrived festival, based on a single attestation by a Christian in England, Bede, who claimed in his work The Reckoning of Time that there was an Anglo-Saxon goddess named Ēostre, to whom a spring feasts were dedicated during the month of Ēosturmōnaþ (modern April). Litha, too, finds its origins in Bede's The Reckoning of Time. Per Aidan Kelly himself:

Summer was also rather easy. The Saxon calendar described by Bede was lunisolar. It usually had twelve months, but in the third, fifth, and last month of an 8-year cycle, a 13th month was added to keep it (more or less) in sync with the solar years. The last and first months in the calendar were named Foreyule and Afteryule, respectively, and obviously framed the holiday of Yule. The sixth and seventh month were named Forelitha and Afterlitha; furthermore, when the thirteenth month was added, it went in between them, and the year was then called a Threelitha. Obviously, by analogy with Yule, the summer solstice must have been called Litha. (I later discovered that Tolkien had figured this out also.)

Now, there is nothing wrong with being inspired by various open, European cultures and using that inspiration to create something new. Traditions don't have to be centuries old to be valid. What makes this thing that Wicca does appropriation, is that it refuses to acknowledge its traditions as modern, and its inspirations as cultural. This started way back in its origins, when Murray popularized the witch-cult hypothesis and Gardner espoused it, and it survives into the modern day with Wiccans either refusing to admit or pointedly ignoring the fact that their traditions are modern and were established in the modern period.

Wicca also breeds tolerance for cultural (mis)appropriation. When one is not taught to feel any animosity toward appropriation like the use of the word 'sabbat(h)' outside of its original context, even when the usage of the word is of active detriment to the people to whom the word originally belonged, one will feel confident doing other, similar appropriation elsewhere as well. This is why you'll often notice that it is Wiccans, and people who practice Wiccan-derived practices, who end up appropriating such things as white sage, dreamcatchers, sound bowls, reiki, et cetera. Some of those things should never be used by people who are not native to the culture those things come from, such as white sage, which is not only strictly closed but also a severely endangered plant; others are open to foreigners, but should be treated with respect and acknowledged as belonging to a certain culture. Wiccans who readily appropriate such things are often unable or unwilling to provide substantial information on where those practices or items come from and why they should be within their rights to have them, except through arguments which minimize the cultural value of something. A great example of this is this famed argument: "white sage can't be closed, it's a plant. Plants belong to the earth, and the earth belongs to everyone. I should be allowed to use white sage." Ignoring the fact that white sage is endangered and white sage in stores is generally poached, which entirely negates the 'respecting the earth' aspect of that argument, this argument also diminishes the cultural importance of white sage to Native Americans.

A different reason that appropriation runs rampant in Wiccan communities is, actually, white supremacy. The goal of white supremacy is to homogenize the white race into a single white cultural and ethnic identity, so that all white people may band together and rule over the inferior races, as it were. People think that white supremacy has to be quite drastic, only recognizing it in such things as fascism and neo-nazism, but in actuality, white supremacy is propagated in many far more innocuous ways. The wish to eradicate minority languages, various conspiracy theories about aliens, many commonly accepted forms of pseudoscience, and many forms of cultural appropriation that are popular to this day are huge cultivators of white supremacy. Something does not need to explicitly state, or even have the intent or desire to create a homogenous white ethnic identity to further white supremacy. This topic is so vast and complex it is impossible to summarize in any effective way in this post, which is why I encourage all magical practitioners and pagans to see witchcraft as highly intersectional an do their research about white supremacy and other harmful ideologies that survive in western spirituality to this day. Folkism and Odinism are great examples of not explicitly, but undeniably white supremacist spiritual organizations that further white supremacy by attempting to create a universal Germanic (and then European) cultural and ethnic identity. Wicca also engages a lot with the idea of various pan-European identities. This is particularly visible in two ways: one, the idea that there is a pan-European witch-cult that has survived from prehistory into the modern age. Magic, throughout Europe, as well as paganism throughout Europe, is highly variable and culturally dependent. Though it follows many of the same themes, as it does mostly have its roots in Proto-Indo-European common origins, it is distinctly different. If Europe had one, shared, culture, our world would look very different. Indeed, Europe is just as culturally diverse as any other place, even if nowadays (thanks to white supremacy) that is harder to see. There is not and never has been one singular secret society of witches in Europe. Instead, folk magic, which is culturally and linguistically dependent, and extremely variable across Europe, has survived under the radar of the church into the modern era, and it is one of Europe's most beautiful assets when it comes to illustrating our cultural richness. The second way that Wicca propagates pan-European identities is through their dual divinity system. Wicca's divinities, the Great Horned God and the Triple Goddess, who both are also, in turn, appropriated from Gaulish and Celtic lore respectively, are often said to be a sort of figurehead for all pagan divinities and serve as a sort of shorthand way to worship them all, in a soft pantheist way. The Horned God or Lord, the divine masculine, represents all male pagan gods, and his counterpart represents all female pagan gods as the Divine Feminine. Now, pantheism is not inherently problematic, but when one tries to reduce every pagan divinity in existence, gods which all have wildly different cultural and historic backgrounds, to two deities, without even being so courteous as to make those deities liminal and featureless, I fear that does turn into a problem. No, it is not possible to worship every single pagan god in existence by paying respects to just two deities who are mostly modern inventions. Every deity and every religion, every culture, has distinct needs, requirements, and ways of paying respect, and attempting to reduce all of that to the idea that two gods can serve as a prism and replacement for all the gods which have ever existed is a major flaw to this religion as well as a serious indicator of a strong tie to white supremacy.

But there is another problem to the dual divinity system of Wicca, which is gender essentialism. On top of cultural variability being completely forsaken by this prism-pantheistic idea, it also completely fails to acknowledge that there are many deities across Europe and across the globe which do not conform to the gender binary. The abrahamic God Himself is a great example, but so is Loki, a deity who is oddly well-beloved by Wiccans despite the religion's bioessentialist nature. So are Hermaphroditus from Hellenic myth, various South American divinities, even deities in Tagalog lore. As a matter of fact, gender-neutral depictions of divinity have been found on Celtic gold. [13] Divinity itself, as a concept, has no gender. Rejecting the gender binary has also been crucial to magic and witchcraft across Europe, see for example crossdressing being a prerequisite to successful Seidhr practices, and the associations of men practicing seidhr with unmanliness and even homosexuality. [14] Rejecting the gender binary was a powerful act when it came to magical skill, as it furthered ones journey into the liminal and undefined, the strange and 'other', which is where all manner of magical creatures resided. In fact, the residents of the Otherworld, the Faeries themselves, are not too keen on gender binary. The Divine Male archetype of aggressor, protector, avenger and ruler is one that, in Faery Courts, is generally represented by the Queen, not the King. If there even is a King. I find this ironic, considering Wicca's desire to be closely associated with Celtic mythology and antiquity. The concept of Divine Femininity and Divine Masculinity is also directly contradictory to feminism. To attempt to reduce a woman to nothing but the soft, sensual, sagely, nurturing caretaker is undeniably misogynistic. The idea of a Divine Masculine, too, is antifeminist, though only in the sense that it is entirely patriarchal. Men are leaders, providers, and warriors, according to the gender essentialist archetypes that the Divine Feminine and Masculine reference. This is harmful to men, as well, because it places them in the position of needing to be manly and invulnerable at all times, much to the complaint of both men and women in the modern age. It is simply unproductive and anti-feminist, in a way that is hard to ignore. The bioessentialism of Wicca goes beyond just the Divine Masculine and Divine Feminine archetypes of their deities, however. There is a strong emphasis within Wicca on depictions of genitalia, and many Wiccan authors and figureheads draw comparisons between really any long object and a phallus, believing that everything in magic has to eventually circle back to fertility. Wands are phallic, athames are phallic. The average Wiccan supply store will have penis shaped candles, penis carvings of various crystals. Wicca propagates bioessentialism the likes of which are not seen in any other form of paganism, not even historic paganism. This attitude towards the nonconforming and emphasis on the gender and sex binary make many people feel excluded from Wicca. Trans people, nonbinary people, really any queer or gay person, of any sort, can experience Wicca as a hostile environment. Wiccans may argue that it isn't transphobic by saying that they are including both sexes and never intentionally exclude trans, gay and nonconforming individuals, but what they fail to realize is that the binary, any binary, is outdated. There are more than two gender identities, and there are more than two sexes. Intersex people can never feel included when the religion so heavily affirms that there is, or should be, only penis and vulva.

Furthermore, Gardner himself was a flagrant homophobe, and well-known for it. Lois Bourne, a High Priestess of the Bricket Wood Coven, Gardner's own coven, wrote this about him: [15]

Gerald was homophobic. He had a deep hatred and detestation of homosexuality, which he regarded as a disgusting perversion and a flagrant transgression of natural law ... "There are no homosexual witches, and it is not possible to be a homosexual and a witch" Gerald almost shouted. No one argued with him.

Wicca Tomorrow: Cultural Erasure and Loss

Admittedly, none of what I've said so far has truly captured my biggest, and primary, reason for hating Wicca as much as I do. Other than the fact that I myself am indigenous, and have felt the effects of white supremacy, cultural erasure, and homogenization of white peoples all my life, other than the fact that I am queer and in a gay relationship, other than the fact that I have family who were victims of the holocaust, other than the fact that I am, at my core, an intersectional, radical leftist - the thing I hate the most about Wicca is its potential. Not potential for greatness, mind. I hate Wicca's potential for destruction. I already get to witness it in action every day, and it strikes fear into my heart like nothing else.

I, personally, have always believed that the first antidote to white supremacy, in an ironic but poetic spin, is love for one's own culture. White supremacy, in an attempt to make the white man feel at home in his whiteness and like he has one thing (superiority) in common with all other white men, strips him from his local culture. He is forced to view himself as part of something great, something that spans all of Europe, or all of Germania, or what have you, and he is made to turn a blind eye to what he already has. Local culture. His language, more specifically even, his dialect. His mother's lilt, and his father's flowery cadence. His neighbors. Their celebrations, their cooking traditions. His city. Its architecture, its communal sites, its judicial system. His land. Its medicines, its foods, its magics. The animals upon it. His companions, his livestock, rarely even his foes. Everything a person truly needs is within walking distance when in nature. Every ecosystem is equipped with everything we could possibly need, from a varied diet, to our medicines, to our shelters, to our hygiene products, all the way to the very things that keep us in check. That is not coincidence: we were grown, woven fiber by fiber by that land, that soil, over thousands, millions, billions of years. We do not need the whole world, there is no reason to try to conquer it. But we want to colonize, and so we must make larger and larger teams, clans, armies, races. The man from Truthan must become Cornish, then Celtic, then English, then British, then European, then white, then better. He would have been better off, happier, had he stayed Cornish.

In the worldwide community of people who take an amateur and personal interest in magic and paganism, Wicca is white supremacy's most effective tool in stripping people of their local culture. Wicca did not become this by design; shoddy and evil though its origins may be, I do not think Wicca was created with the intention of homogenizing and radicalizing the white race. However, in the 1950s, when all cultural magic in Europe were flying low under the radar of the church, hiding in families, in villages, in cookbooks and journals, in visits to the local keening woman to cure the evil eye the neighbor gave your cow, Wicca was the first community, first organized religion, to wave a flag and loudly and proudly proclaim to be pagan, to be witches. To do magic. It was the first to associate itself with those labels and voluntarily take them on, to be known by them. Through this singular association with those terms, it became the first thing people thought of when they thought about magic. Because the magic of the common people, the folk magic, is never termed magic by the ones doing it. "This rowan stick in my windowsill against lightning? Magic? You mean that stuff those witches in London do?" Nowadays, as the first form of magic and paganism to go mainstream in Europe since Christianity's taking over, Wicca is ubiquitous when the amateur goes to research magic and paganism. When the internet came along, this became a bigger problem than it may already have been before the digital age. Now, when people are introduced to the concept of modern magic and paganism, when they go to research it, they will only find Wicca. Not for utter lack of sources on (other) cultural magic, on the contrary: there are plenty, but one needs to use specific key words to find them. More scientific, more academic, more secular. When one wants to research cultural and specific magic, one must assume the author does not believe himself, nor does he believe you do. Wicca, however, has resources that do assume the researcher is interested in practicing, which is yet another reason that people go to Wicca rather than something else. They won't find the folk magic, and if they do, it won't be as comprehensive, accessible, entertaining, and personable as Wicca. Wicca will always win, because it was never challenged in the first place. This has led to a huge disparity in the amount of people who know about and/or practice Wicca, and the amount of people who know about and/or practice folk magic and/or cultural paganism. And as Wicca gains more and more popularity, both because it was always set up for success by chance, and because it subtly purveys white supremacy in a way that most people do not even recognize, it will continue to smother cultural, traditional, and folk magic.

Wicca's Reach: Contemporary Magic

Many people who would not consider themselves, or do not identify as Wiccan, still get called that by me in an intentionally derivative way. Not usually to their faces, but when I am discussing reasons why I do not like Wicca, I find it hard to draw a substantial, or even relevant, line between people who identify as Wiccans, and people who do not identify as such but still, functionally, are. Due to Wicca's chokehold on the first several pages of Google when you look up most things pertaining to magic, most practitioners of magic are essentially Wiccan without the label. They do not associate with Wicca intentionally, but they have no idea how to access, or any awareness of the existence of folk magic resources, and so end up practicing the magic Wicca teaches. In witching communities, well-known Wiccan authors are considered staples to read, such as Scott Cunningham. Authors that do not call themselves Wiccan (anymore) but do promote the magic are just as popular, such as Arin Murphy-Hiscock and Nathan M. Hall. These authors all have the same fatal flaw, which makes them Wiccans and automatically unreliable in my eyes: they promote the very idea which Wicca all but created, that there is one, single, universal way to do magic. That you, a Hawai'i Native living on the Islands, will do the best magic you've ever done with this set of European herbs that do not grow on your own soil. With this set of half-baked, appropriative Laws and methods, contrived out of a mishmash of appropriated indigenous practices and European traditions; like the Threefold Law, which is nothing but a cheap and terrible misinterpretation of the Dharmic concept of Karma. Except Wicca doesn't call them that. It calls the herbs staples, essentials. It calls the half-baked rules Ardanes and Magical Theory. Nothing is more ironic to me than a supposed nature religion telling people to forsake the nature around them in favor of the 'universal subsitute' Rosemary (salvia rosmarinus), a plant they've never even seen in real life save for in the jar in their spice cabinet.

Nowadays, thanks to the omnipresence of Wicca, there is a whole new magical tradition, yet unnamed. It consists of all those secular practitioners of magic who do all of their research via resources actually pandering to practitioners, all those people who claim 'we are the daughters of the witches you couldn't burn', all those people who have never heard of or hardly ever think about magic that isn't 'witchcraft'. I like to refer to it as 'contemporary magic', or sometimes 'modern magic', in a context where the label contemporary could be cause for confusion. This 'modern magic' is that more-or-less universal, monotone, Wiccan derived, secular magic that most people would term 'witchcraft'. The magic you see on TikTok. The spell jar magic. The cord-cutting magic. The lemon hex magic. The 'spiritual but not religious' magic. The sound bowl and smoke cleanse magic. The light and love magic. The 'white' magic. Magick. This magic is not culture-less, not at all. It is its own culture, as it were, and not only that, most of the spells, rituals and rules it has have their origins in European culture. But this magic is, in a way, anti-culture. Colonial. It smothers and endangers local magic, more relevant magic, and spreads like wildfire because it is so easy to never have to research beyond Wicca. What makes this modern magic inherently harmful is that it, too, is appropriative. The resources that provide you with this magic, which like the religion that sprouted it, is a huge, sometimes dysfunctional and clashing mosaic of culture, do not actually inform you of the origins of any of the practices that they teach you. They teach you what to do, how to do it, what materials to use, et cetera, but they don't teach you where these rituals came from, why these plants had those associations, what culture sprang this curse. And contrary to popular belief, those things are crucial to magic. The cultures at hand deserve to be honored for what they've given, and every culture has the right to be preserved. Culture is important elsewhere, but it is fundamental to magic. Magic cannot exist without culture. Gods are nothing but a lens to view the world through, magic is nothing but a response to struggle in a language that every human shares: the language of wonder and learning. Magic, at its core, is nothing but humanity's ability to feel amazed, and learn from the elegant language the earth speaks to us. And it is propagated by our ability to speak, to share, to teach to one another. Mother to daughter, brother to sister, chieftain to peasant, wife to warrior. Carry this, eat that. Don't do this, don't go there. Wicca does not acknowledge this importance of culture, nor does it make any efforts to teach the practitioners of it and its derivatives what cultures it was built on and off of. That is the crux and definition of cultural appropriation.

Wicca will continue to spread. I think one of my toxic traits is that I resigned myself to this idea a long time ago, much like how many people resign themselves to the idea of white supremacy or climate change. I can't help but see Wicca and the damage it does as irreversible. Wicca occupies the first pages of any google search about magic, the first thought anyone has when you self-identify as a pagan or practitioner of magic. 'Witch' as a word is completely different than it once was, as is the word sabbat. It feels inescapable, and this weighs heavily on me as somebody whose culture, too, is growing lost in part due to the priority of Wicca over cultural magic. I started writing this post in hopes of getting out all my grievances with this tradition. Ten thousand words and a great many sources later, the wound Wicca carved into me when I realized people would choose it over the valuable cultural knowledge I have and want to preserve no longer throbs, it just aches emptily. If this post manages to change one person's mind on Wicca, it has done its job, and I can die happily. If this post motivates one person to look beyond Wicca and glance at the rich and wild world of cultural magic, especially their own culture, I'll spend eternity in the afterlife gloating.

If there was one thing I wanted the reader to take away from this post, it is not that they should hate Wicca and actively fight to eradicate it. It is that culture is beautiful. All cultures are beautiful. There is no such thing as 'white culture' and we should strive to dismantle that, but the way to do that is to acknowledge the real culture. British culture, English culture, Cornish culture. Low Saxon culture. Silesian culture. Yakutian culture. Tibetan culture. Qazaq culture. Yup'ik culture. Irish culture. Amazigh culture. Cree culture. Sámi culture. Maori culture. Aymaran culture. Muscogee culture. Zulu culture. Find what is rightfully yours, because no matter who or where you are, there is culture in your ancestry, and there is culture in your neighborhood. You are entitled to it like you are entitled to air and water. Learn about the plants that are native to your area. Learn about the medicines your peoples used when conventional medicine was not available to them. Learn about their faith before Christianity, learn about the way they thought the universe came to be and what made humans human. Eat cultural foods, both yours and not. Talk to your elders, and really listen to what they say. Try to remember the weird superstitions and turns of phrase you grew up with. I promise it's there, and I promise it's beautiful. I promise it will make you feel at home.

In the following weeks I will try my best to dedicate some posts to the beginnings of folk magic. How to get involved, where to look for resources, what makes a good resource, what keywords to use when searching, what to do when it feels like there's nothing out there for you, how to find which culture you are a part of. Until then, I will leave you with my sincerest gratitude for reading this ridiculously long complaint.

----------------------------

Doyle White, Ethan (2016). Wicca: History, Belief, and Community in Modern Pagan Witchcraft. Brighton: Sussex Academic Press. 

Climenhaga, L. (2012). Imagining the Witch: A Comparison between Fifteenth-Century Witches within Medieval Christian Thought and the Persecution of Jews and Heretics in the Middle Ages. Constellations, 3(2). 

“The Dehumanization and Demonization of the Medieval Jews.” Medieval Antisemitism?, by François Soyer, Arc Humanities Press, Leeds, 2019, pp. 45–66.

Simpson, Jacqueline (1994). Margaret Murray: Who Believed Her, and Why? Folklore, 105:1-2: 89-96.

Murray, Margaret Alice (1933). The God of the Witches. S. Low, Marston & Company, Limited.

Bracelin, Jack (1960). Gerald Gardner: Witch. Octagon.

Heselton, Philip (2012a). Witchfather: A Life of Gerald Gardner. Loughborough, Leicestershire: Thoth.

Valiente, Doreen (2007) [1989]. The Rebirth of Witchcraft. London: Robert Hale.

"Britain's chief witch dies at sea". News of the World. 23 February 1964. Archived from the original on 8 September 2018.

Heselton, Philip (2003). Gerald Gardner and the Cauldron of Inspiration: An Investigation Into the Sources of Gardnerian Witchcraft. Capall Bann.

Lamond, Frederic (2004), Fifty Years of Wicca, Sutton Mallet, England: Green Magic, pp. 16–17.

Kelly, Aidan. About Naming Ostara, Litha, and Mabon. Including Paganism. Patheos.

Ambiguous Deities on Celtic Gold, Numismatic News. February 27, 2023.

Price, Neil (2002). The Viking Way: Religion and War in Late Iron Age Scandinavia. Uppsala: Department of Archaeology and Ancient History, Uppsala University.

Bourne, Lois (2006). Dancing with Witches. London: Robert Hale. p. 38.

[aishangotome]

Azel Radwan: Romantic Ending Ch. 23

Chapter 22

Thank you @shatcey for providing the video for this chapter!

♡———♡

The death of the God of Tanzanite is an inevitable end that will eventually come—

The God, in his mercy, offers his life to the future so that the divination-dependent people can live on their own feet.

I respect the last God of the continent.

But my heart couldn't keep up.

What did the God think of me, who felt this way?

Emma: Wh... What are you doing?

Just a few seconds ago, I was desperately trying to hold back tears, but now, as Prince Azel stood up from his chair and embraced me, confusion overwhelmed my mind.

My blurred vision melted into his warmth, and when I tried to pull away, he put his arm around my head.

Azel: I couldn't bear to see your unsightly face.

Emma: ...This is where you're supposed to say, "Cry as much as you want in my arms."

Azel: I would never say something so disgusting.

(His words are harsh, but his touch is gentle.)

He gently stroked my head as if to comfort me.

Whether it was unconscious or intentional, either way, the God was always sinful.

(I wish Prince Azel's true nature was a wicked God, corrupted to the core by evil.)

His compassion became a poison, stinging my eyes and bringing a heat to them.

Emma: Prince Azel... I think I'm going to cry after all.

Azel: Don't cry, it's troublesome.

Azel: Besides, you can't persuade me if you're crying, can you?

Emma: ...Persuasion... I can't do it anymore.

(I can't think of anything else to say.)

(I can't think... so...)

Taking advantage of the fact that he couldn't see my face, I stopped holding back my tears.

Azel: I thought you'd be more persistent.

Emma: Did you... want me to be?

Azel: No? It's just, a good person like you wouldn't be able to accept someone's death, right?

Azel: Especially Belle, known for her beautiful heart.

Emma: ...If I were to stop you, I would need a good reason to do so.

Emma: "You have to cherish your life"... that's not a reason that applies to everyone.

(Even if I brandish my morals and ethics here, it would ultimately be self-righteous of me.)

(I can't reach Prince Azel's lofty perspective.)

Emma: To Prince Azel, who is worried about the future of the illusory country and trying to start a revolution...

Emma: No matter how hard I rack my brain, all I have are personal feelings.

(I can't find the words to reach someone who carries out their plan with such conviction.)

(...Even though we spent time together, it was ultimately short, and the fact that I'm an outsider remains unchanged.)

Emma: Because I can only say selfish things...

Emma: ...I have no choice... but to cry.

(My voice... is trembling.)

Even though I clutched Prince Azel's clothes as if to vent my emotions, he didn't shake me off.

Azel: Will you feel better if you cry?

Emma: ...It might be a temporary relief.

Azel: Then I'll allow it.

Emma: You said I shouldn't cry earlier...

Azel: Just cry before you babble on, cry now!

(Is this... also mercy?)

Prince Azel continued to stroke my hair.

His touch, which felt almost affectionate, and the gentleness of his heartbeat that reached my ears finally broke the dam of my tears.

Biting my lip to keep from crying out loud, I pressed my trembling body against Prince Azel's.

(After I cry my heart out, I have to make a choice.)

(Whether to part ways with Prince Azel like this, or...)

Either way, it would be a painful choice, and I choked back my sobs.

As I sobbed like a child, an out-of-place laughter fell upon me.

Emma: Wh... Why... are you... laughing?

Azel: Excuse me. I didn't expect you to cry this much.

Azel: You haven't been living your life relying on God, have you?

Azel: You don't have to worry about your future tomorrow because of God's death.

Azel: I was wondering why you're sobbing so much...

Azel: Did you like being a slave that much?

Emma: Not a slave... a shrine maiden (*priestess)...

Azel: It's the same in that you're being used by me.

Azel: I've used you, but I've never given you anything in return, have I?

Emma: ...Thinking about it calmly... that's true...

(Starting with being tricked into debt with swindler-like tactics...)

(Being used as a shield to avoid women, and because of that, falling victim to an aphrodisiac.)

(Being forced to cook as labor for debt repayment, and there was also that harsh errand of going back and forth between the city...)

Emma: I've been... used... and abandoned... by Prince Azel... so many times.

But strangely, I don't feel bad about it, because it was fun.

The God never truly treated me as a "slave."

When I was affected by the aphrodisiac, he cared for me, when I was cold, he embraced me, and when I was tired, he cooked for me.

When I tried to sleep on the floor, he carried me to the bed, and when he wished for me to not come to the party, he reluctantly went with me.

Prince Azel is that kind of contrary person.

I liked his twisted kindness—I came to like it.

(He's deeply embedded in my heart, to the point that I'm crying this much, and in the end, we're parting ways with death...)

(I think... I deserve compensation...)

Emma: I want... the reward I haven't received...

Azel: Have you forgotten that your labor was for debt repayment?

Emma: The... wounds in my heart... will remain... forever.

Emma: It's to the extent that... I have to claim compensation exceeding my debt.

When I made a wicked claim, imitating the greedy, wicked God, he laughed again.

Azel: I'll listen if you want to ask.

Emma: Then...

I had been thinking while crying.

About how to spend the time until the moment Prince Azel dies—

Emma: Make me... a part of your plan.

Azel: .............

When I wiped my tears and looked up, Prince Azel was making a blatantly sullen face.

Azel: I couldn't hear you very well.

Emma: M-Make me... a part of it!

Azel: Oh dear, I can't hear you.

Emma: Liar!

Azel: I don't remember saying I'd listen to anything.

Azel: Besides, are you stupid?

Azel: Being a part of it means you have to witness my death.

Prince Azel roughly wiped my wet cheeks with his sleeve.

Azel: There's no way a woman who's sobbing like this could do such a thing.

Emma: ...I... don't think I can either...

Emma: But I want a reason to witness it.

Emma: A reason for me to accept Prince Azel's death without running away.

(My heart refuses to accept the fact that Prince Azel will be gone.)

(This is something I can't do anything about, so at least I want a trigger to face it.)

(Instead of running away, I want to witness Prince Azel's great achievement... and...)

(I want to be with him for as long as possible.)

Azel: Are you serious?

Emma: ...I wouldn't joke about something like this.

I peered into his mystical eyes, filled with stars, to convey my feelings.

I must look unsightly, reflected in those beautiful eyes.

Prince Azel still had a sullen expression on his face, but...

As we gazed at each other, he gradually brought his face closer and placed his lips on my forehead.

(!?)

Azel: Ah, my mistake.

Emma: Th... That's not something you do by mistake!?

Azel: I just misjudged the distance, don't make a fuss, don't yell.

(What was that kiss!?)

The God averted his eyes awkwardly.

My heart screamed in agony at having been subjected to another sin at this juncture.

(...From now on, I'll call you the "suggestive God" instead of the "wicked God.")

Azel: There is one simple task that anyone can do... or maybe not.

(...)

Emma: I'll do it.

Azel: Don't you want to hear what it is?

Emma: I'm not considering refusing any task.

Emma: But if possible...

Emma: I hope it's something that will allow me to be with Prince Azel until the very end.

Azel: –...It's because you're like that that you get hurt.

(.....?)

Prince Azel cleared his throat, let go of me, and turned his back.

Azel: The plan is tomorrow.

Azel: Since you said you'd do it, don't run away halfway.

(Tomorrow...)

(...Tomorrow is the day of the end.)

Emma: I'll do my best.

My voice trembled as I conveyed my determination.

-

Perhaps busy chasing after Kamal, who had been branded a sinner by the apostle, the people no longer visited the solitary desert castle.

Although there was a chance to return to the castle now, Prince Azel didn't drive me out, as I was reluctant to leave and remained in the temple.

Eventually, the sun set, and the giant moon that illuminated the illusory country rose in the sky.

The final night had arrived, whether I liked it or not.

Emma: Are you really alright?

Azel: Don't make me say it again.

Prince Azel, holding a kitchen knife, carefully chopped the vegetables.

Ideally, I would have wanted to do it, but with one arm unusable, I was helpless.

(His movements are stiff. He must be really scared.)

Emma: Even if we don't chop the vegetables like before and just put them whole in the pot...

Azel: It would make me cry if that was the last supper.

Azel: Besides, wouldn't it be hard to eat with your hand like that?

Emma: .....

Azel: ...Don't grin, the knife might slip and fly off.

Emma: You absolutely have to avoid that!?

(It's just like any other night. The only difference is that our roles are reversed.)

If I let my guard down, tears threaten to spill from my still swollen eyes.

(Something... I have to distract myself with something.)

Emma: Cooking is... tough, isn't it?

Azel: What are you talking about out of the blue?

Emma: No, I was just thinking that since Prince Azel is a God and a prince, it must have been tough for you at first...

Emma: How long have you been living here alone?

When I brought up a casual topic, Prince Azel, perhaps sensing my intention, let out a sigh of exasperation.

Azel: It's been about ten years.

Emma: You used to live in the castle before, right?

Azel: Yes. But one day, an incident happened.

Azel: ...A nightmarish incident where a large number of aphrodisiac-affected women came rushing in.

Emma: What kind of disturbing incident is that...?

Azel: Exactly as it sounds, that geezer orchestrated it, and a horde of women who had taken aphrodisiacs barged into my room.

Azel: They started taking off their clothes, moaning on their own... I don't know a hell worse than that.

(Wow... that's awful just to imagine.)

Azel: Even a gentle God like me snapped and started living here, practically running away from home. That's how it all began.

Emma: That's, well...

Emma: ...I can understand why you dislike women, Prince Azel.

Azel: I never said I disliked you, not even once—

Azel: Well, maybe I do dislike women, but it's frustrating, isn't it? It's like I've lost.

Emma: You're not fooling anyone.

Azel: Oh, the knife...

Emma: Don't let it slip!

I couldn't help but laugh at the suggestive God, formerly known as Prince Azel, who furrowed his brows in a sulky manner.

Emma: I'm glad I'm not hated.

Azel: Don't get cocky.

Emma: But you were the one who said it...

Azel: Well, still...

Azel: You might be the woman I've talked to the longest in my life.

Emma: ...That's...

(That's a record that will never be broken again.)

Emma: ...An honor.

-

The last supper was plentiful, as we aimed to use up all the ingredients remaining in the temple.

Since it couldn't all fit on the kitchen counter, we spread a beautiful cloth by the window in the room and arranged the dishes there, holding a feast while gazing at the moon.

It included the meatless, perfectly round croquettes I had made before, along with a dish of chickpeas mashed into a paste and flavored with cumin, bell peppers stuffed with minced meat and seasoned with spices from the desert country, and for the main course, Prince Azel's specialty tagine, made with steamed vegetables and meat.

I also used the vegetables Prince Azel had cut for me to prepare a pot-au-feu, a staple home-cooked dish in Rhodolite.

I even baked some simple langues de chat for dessert, making for a more extravagant menu than usual.

(It feels strange to have Rhodolite and Tanzanite cuisine lined up like this.)

I immediately reached for a croquette with my fork, but...

Emma: Ah...

Eating with only one hand was more difficult than I expected, and it tumbled onto my clothes.

Emma: I need more practice.

Azel: What are you talking about?

Before I could pick it up, a hand reached out, and the croquette disappeared into Prince Azel's mouth.

At the same time, the fork was taken from my hand, and he brought it to my lips with the croquette still skewered on it.

Azel: See, when something is offered to you, you're supposed to open your mouth, right?

*flashback*

Emma: In the world, this is called "aah."

Emma: When something is offered to you, you open your mouth.

Azel: ..............

*flashback over*

(...That time...)

Prince Azel, with a grumpy look on his face, forcefully pushed the croquette against my lips.

When I hesitantly opened my mouth, he mercilessly stuffed it in.

(...! ...It's big!)

Prince Azel intently watched as I desperately chewed and swallowed.

Azel: Your mouth is unexpectedly small.

(...He wasn't being mean, he really didn't know.)

With a nonchalant expression, he broke the croquette and offered a smaller piece in front of me.

Emma: Thank you. But then Prince Azel won't be able to eat.

Azel: I'll just eat normally later?

Emma: It'll get cold.

Azel: The taste won't change. Just eat it.

Emma: munch...

(This feeling of being unaccustomed to "aah," it makes me flustered.)

(...I wish this would last forever.)

Azel: Don't make Kamal and Prince Silvio go through the same trouble.

Emma: I wouldn't ask them to "aah" me. Normal people don't do that.

(Ah...)

Prince Azel's hand stopped at my careless slip of the tongue.

Azel: What was that thing we did before, then?

Emma: That was... well... the situation was unavoidable, so to speak...

Emma: "Aah" is originally something you only do with someone you're close to, but... ahaha... haha...

Azel: ...You tricked me.

Emma: I didn't trick you!?

Azel: No wonder there was no "aah" when you had dinner with Prince Silvio.

Emma: That would be horrifying—ow!

Even as he pinched my cheek in displeasure, Prince Azel didn't withdraw the fork.

Emma: What's wrong with it? We're close.

Azel: We're not close, we're complete strangers.

Emma: So you do this kind of thing with everyone, Prince Azel?

Azel: ......

Emma: ...Come to think of it, only Silvio is called "Prince," so in terms of closeness...

Emma: Ow, ow, I'm sorry!

Prince Azel, pulling my cheeks hard, turned away.

Azel: I only call Silvio "Prince" because he's my benefactor.

Emma: Eh... not because he's rich?

Azel: Of course, that's part of it, but...

(So it is part of it.)

Azel: I told you before that Kamal was exiled, right? I had no way to contact him.

Azel: But one day, Prince Silvio, who was visiting as a merchant, smuggled Kamal into the country in his cargo.

Azel: You usually have to undergo a cargo inspection at the port, but...

Azel: They can't thoroughly inspect the luggage brought by royalty from another country.

Azel: Taking advantage of that loophole, the exile was able to return to Tanzanite.

(I can't believe that happened...)

(That's why Prince Silvio wasn't surprised when he found out Kamal-san was a man.)

Azel: Once he returned, I could disguise him however I wanted...

Azel: But if it weren't for that merchant's quick thinking, I wouldn't have been reunited with Kamal even now.

Emma: ...So that's the reason for the "Prince."

(It seems he's not just greedy.)

Each time I learn something new, my impression of Prince Azel changes.

Azel: On the other hand, you've been so disrespectful that it's a waste to even call you "Miss."

Azel: Maybe I should just call you Emma from now on.

Emma: .......

Azel: ...What's with that subtle look on your face?

Emma: Nothing...

(...This person's obliviousness is truly terrifying...)

In general, being called by your first name indicates a closer relationship than using honorifics like "Prince" or "Miss," but...

I couldn't bring myself to say that.

-

The night passed by in a flash, and the end drew near.

Once the sun rose from the horizon tomorrow, this time would never return.

Whenever my mind relaxed, tears welled up, and I pressed them into my pillow as I shifted in bed.

Prince Azel was reading a book beside me, maintaining his usual composure despite it being the last day.

Emma: ...Aren't you scared?

Azel: Not at all?

Emma: I'm... scared.

Azel: I figured.

Emma: ...Shall we chat?

Azel: We've already talked enough.

Emma: There are tons of things I want to know about Prince Azel.

(...I don't want to sleep.)

(Just for today, I want to keep seeing this dream for as long as possible.)

Azel: For example?

Emma: ...Like why Prince Azel is so greedy.

Azel: There's no reason, money is necessary to live.

Emma: You said that before, didn't you?

*flashback*

Emma: Is the Living God that hard up for money?

Azel: I don't take money because I'm hard up.

Azel: I take money to live.

*flashback over*

Emma: But you're not in a position to be troubled by money, Prince Azel.

Azel: ...Certainly, if I wanted to, I could get any amount of living expenses from the national treasury.

Azel: But depending on someone else's money is the same as having your life and freedom in their hands.

Azel: It would defeat the purpose of escaping to the solitary desert castle.

(Now that he mentions it, that's true. He could be forced to accept women by being held hostage with money.)

Azel: To escape from that geezer, I needed to earn money on my own.

Azel: But God can't openly do business.

Emma: Why is that?

Azel: Because it would become an offering, not a business.

Azel: People desire God's protection. If that God says "I want money," they'll rush to offer it.

Azel: Tanzanite is a country with deep faith. It wouldn't be strange for someone to offer their entire fortune.

(...It was the God's way of making sure people's lives wouldn't be ruined.)

Azel: If I can't do business with the people of my own country, then I should turn my attention to people from other countries.

Azel: To earn money, I needed to invite many people from other countries.

(People from other countries...)

*flashback*

Silvio: ...It's been about ten years.

Silvio: Since Tanzanite started focusin' on tourism and became one of the best at attractin' visitors on the continent with its song and dance.

*flashback over*

Emma: Ah, could it be...

Emma: Did you start the tourism industry, Prince Azel?

Azel: You're sharp today, aren't you?

(I'm surprised...)

Emma: I thought it originated with Kumushu, the head of the tourism association...

Azel: I was the one giving instructions to that Kumushu.

Azel: I opened up the closed country, and gradually people from other countries started flowing in.

Azel: And, as you know, the richest man on the continent, drawn by the rumors, took the bait.

Emma: If Prince Silvio is your business partner, you won't have any trouble with money, will you?

Azel: Yes, he's still my biggest source of income.

Azel: Thanks to him, I've been able to invest in all sorts of things that the national budget couldn't afford.

(...Wait, so Prince Azel is actually a rich man disguised as someone poor...?)

Prince Azel closed his book and lay down.

He wasn't facing away from me as usual, but facing me.

Azel: By the way, don't you think it's unfair?

Emma: What is?

Azel: We've been talking about me this whole time, and you haven't said anything about yourself.

Emma: ...Are you perhaps interested in me—

Azel: I'm just tired of talking.

He pinched my cheeks.

I'm used to it now, and even this pain is dear to me.

(But when this night is over...)

(...! ...No, I still can't come to terms with it.)

Prince Azel must have noticed my teary eyes.

Azel: What kind of person are you, and how have you lived your life?

Emma: ...That's a long story.

Azel: I'm impressed that you've lived such a fulfilling life.

(I'll talk as much as you want. To keep this night from ending...)

But dreams don't last.

—The moon set, the sun rose, and the day of the end arrived.

.

.

.

Romantic Ending Ch. 23 Letter

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[mtmpossession]

A New Perspective: Part II

Part I (Here)

In the kitchen, Joseph sits down at the table and looks around. His father's body feels so different from his own. He reaches up and touches his cheek, feeling the roughness of his father's stubble. He glances at Douglas, who is watching him intently.

Douglas takes a deep breath and says, "Joseph?" His voice sounds strange coming out of his own mouth. Joseph looks at him, wide-eyed, as he continues, "I'm sorry. For... everything. I don't know what happened last night, but I hope this gives us both a chance to understand each other better."

Joseph nods, still looking shocked. He takes a deep breath and says, "Me too, Dad. I never thought I'd want to be you, but now... I just want to understand why you're so against my modeling. I love it, and I'm good at it. I want to make something of myself."

Douglas listens intently, feeling a pang of guilt in his chest. He's always been so focused on protecting his son, on making sure he has a stable future. But he realizes now that he hasn't been giving Joseph the freedom to choose his own path.

"I want you to know that I'm not against you, Joseph. I just want the best for you. I want you to have a normal life, to go to college, to have a family of your own. I don't want you to be defined by your looks, by the way people see you. There's more to life than just that."

After their conversation during breakfast, Douglas and Joseph decide to live out each other's lives for a while until they can find a way to swap.

The day passes quickly for Joseph as he takes over his father's role at the fire protection specialist firm. He finds that he enjoys the work more than he thought he would. The job is challenging and fulfilling, and he feels a sense of purpose helping to protect people and property from fires. His father's colleagues treat him with respect and admiration, recognizing his intelligence and work ethic.

As for Douglas, he spends the day at the family farm. He finds that his son's body is more resilient and capable than he ever imagined. He puts it to good use, finishing tasks that he had been putting off for far too long. He is able to complete these task early , leaving him with some extra time to play with the farm equipment. He climbs onto the lawn mower and takes it for a spin around the property, enjoying the rush of wind through his hair and the vibration of the engine beneath him.

After mowing the lawn, he decides to try out the dirt buggy. He drives it through the muddy fields, feeling the power of the vehicle beneath him. The sun is setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, and he can't help but feel a sense of peace and contentment wash over him. As he drives, he begins to think about his life and his relationship with Joseph. He realizes that he has been too strict with him, not allowing him to explore his interests or pursue his dreams.

Meanwhile, after finishing a day's work at his father's business, Joseph decides to go to the gym. He finds that his father's body is more muscular and toned than he expected. As he works out, he realizes that his father must have been diligent in maintaining his physique. The gym is filled with men and women who seem to know his father, nodding respectfully as he passes by.

After working out, Joseph feels invigorated and more confident than ever. He decides to take a quick shower before heading home. As he stands under the hot spray of water, he can't help but notice how different he feels in his own body. His father's muscular frame seems to radiate confidence, and it's intoxicating. As he soaps up, he finds himself becoming increasingly aroused. He reaches down, taking his growing erection in hand, and begins to stroke it slowly.

He tries to fight the urge, knowing that he shouldn't be doing this, but the sensations are too overwhelming. With a shuddering breath, he lets go, allowing himself to cum.

Afterward, he feels a mixture of relief and shame. He knows that he has crossed a line, but the release was so intense, so satisfying. He quickly finishes his shower, drying off and dressing in clean clothes.

He catches his reflection in the mirror and is surprised to see how different he looks from his usual self. His father's features are strong and confident, and he carries himself with an air of authority. He takes a deep breath, feeling a new sense of self-assurance wash over him. Before leaving the gym, he takes one more picture of himself in the mirror, capturing the look of confidence and power on his father's face.

When he gets home, he finds Douglas doing pulls up using the corral panels of the farm. Seeing his own body in action is both exhilarating and disconcerting.The sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the scene, making Douglas's skin glisten with sweat.

"How'd it go today?" he asks, still breathing heavily from the exercise.

Joseph takes a moment to compose himself before responding. "It was...interesting. I guess I underestimated how much work you do here. I had no idea how much it takes to keep everything running smoothly." He pauses, feeling a little guilty for not appreciating his father's efforts before. "I'm sorry for not being more understanding."

Douglas nods, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I'm sorry too, Joseph. I guess I've been so focused on what I thought was best for you that I didn't take the time to see things from your perspective." He looks at his son and smiles, genuinely. "I'm glad we had this talk. It's made me realize that I need to be more open-minded."

They spend the rest of the evening cooking dinner together, chatting and laughing as they prepare a meal that reflects both of their culinary preferences. As they sit down to eat, they clink their glasses in a toast. "To understanding," Douglas says with a grin. "And to learning from each other."

After dinner, they clean up together, washing dishes and putting away leftovers. Joseph feels a newfound sense of closeness with his father, one that he hadn't experienced since he was much younger. As they work side by side, they continue to chat about their day, sharing stories and experiences.

Later that night, they sit down on the couch, each with a laptop in front of them. Joseph shows Douglas how to access the files on the computer he'd been using, and they begin to dig into the research on body swapping. They spend hours poring over articles, scientific papers, and message boards, trying to find any information that could help them figure out how to reverse the process.

Despite their best efforts, they find very little concrete information. Most of the sources they come across are either anecdotal or speculative. It seems that body swapping is still a relatively new phenomenon, and not much is known about how it works or how to undo it. They mutually agree that for now it's best to just continue living each other's lives until they can find some answers.

6 Months Later :

Douglas has been living as Joseph in New York City, working as an influencer and enjoying the glamorous lifestyle that comes with it. He has traveled all over the world, attending fashion shows in Paris, partying on yachts in the Mediterranean, and even gracing the covers of magazines. The experience has been exhilarating, to say the least.

As he walks down the streets of New York, he can't help but marvel at the energy and diversity of the city. People from all walks of life bustle past him, each with their own unique stories and aspirations. He feels a newfound appreciation for the opportunities that Joseph has been afforded, as well as the hard work and dedication that it takes to succeed in this industry.

Joseph on the other hand, has adapted quite well to life on the farm. He finds himself enjoying the physical labor and the simple pleasures of living off the land. The sunrises and sunsets are breathtaking, and he relishes the peace and quiet that comes with being away from the hustle and bustle of the city. He's learned how to drive a tractor, tend to the animals, and even fix some of the equipment when it breaks down. The locals have taken him under their wing, treating him like one of their own, and he's made a few friends along the way.

He's also become more involved in the family business, working closely with his father to manage the finances and plan for the future. It's given him a newfound respect for his father's intelligence and business acumen. They've had many long talks about their experiences living each other's lives, and Joseph feels that they've grown closer as a result.

Seems like one fateful night has brought about significant changes in both their lives. As they continue to exchange stories and experiences, Douglas and Joseph can't help but wonder what the future holds for them. They've both grown in ways they never expected, and they're beginning to understand that there's value in embracing change and stepping out of their comfort zones.

[elysiansparadise]

Are there any placements you wish you had in your birth chart?

I'm very happy with my chart, but yes, there are placements that I would love to have.

Placements I wish I had

🤍Virgo Moon. I think this is because of the love I feel towards these people, I genuinely consider them very admirable people and considerate of those around them. Empathetic, rational, highly intelligent and a trustworthy personality, they are often not given credit for that stunning creativity and I don't see them being mentioned for having the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. Their self-sufficient and independent personality that is very aware of the needs, emotions and essence of others seems incredible to me, they have that remarkable balance. Many are introspective and are not afraid to analyze the depths of their emotions and it is something that not many usually do.

🤍Libra Mercury. Minutes have passed and you won't even know how but you will be there, listening or reading what they communicate, because they have the quality of catching and captivating through communication. Convincing, astute and above all highly intelligent communicators. Since I mentioned their intellect, in addition to seeing a situation from many different perspectives, they understand ideas quite quickly, in addition to this, these people love the idea of ​​continuing to learn about... any subject in general, they have a wide variety of interests.

🤍Uranus in the 5th house. Their personality is enigmatic, sassy, ​​multifaceted and full of charisma. They know how to grab your attention, but more importantly, they know how to keep it. They have an impressive stage presence and everyone I've met has a skill that stands out considerably from the rest. They are highly creative, very witty and socially charming, even if they call themselves introverts, they make memorable first impressions. They are passionate and unique lovers, I would dare to say that they are even difficult to forget.

🤍Venus in the 6th house. Beyond being charming, kind and self-conscious people, I have noticed that they have a unique quality that they don't realize, that of giving beauty touches to anything. Impeccable taste in fashion, aesthetics and an incredible eye for details and any organizational issue. They do things with their heart, they put their soul into projects, hobbies or causes that they consider important. Their souls are gentle and beautiful, knowing them will bring you many surprises, and each one will be better than the last. They are great as a friend and as a couple, they always seek the well-being of those they love and are capable of giving their best in their relationships. As a personal comment, the dates with them are incredible, they seek to do things that both enjoy and find a balance in their relationships.

🤍Mercury in the 9th house. Smart, funny, eloquent and people with extensive knowledge in their areas of interest. I love it. They are curious people by nature and once something catches their attention they dig deep. A quality to highlight in addition to all the above is their maturity and ability to understand that others think differently and instead of seeing it as a threat to their beliefs, they find what is fascinating in ideas different from their own. They defend their points of view tenaciously and can be very persuasive and skillful with their speech.

🤍Mars in Earth house. I think that in any of these houses [2nd, 6th or 10th] you have two things that I deeply admire, productivity and ambition. I really admire their ethics and the way they work, tenacious, strategic and excellent at long-term planning. They usually have a back-up plan and don't put expectations on anyone. They are demanding of themselves and are very professional in getting the work done. Qualities that I find very attractive. I add that I would like that in addition to this there was either a sextile with Saturn or an opposition.

🤍Moon-Saturn trine, sextile, quintile or biquintile. The self-control and resilience that these aspects give me fascinates me, it gives birth to a strong individual who is aware of all the difficulties they have gone through and is capable of trying to move on. When the Moon-Saturn aspects are used positively, the natives tenaciously rebuild themselves and although they look back to see those things from their past that afflict them, they know that they deserve better than that, that they are better than that and that their past does not define them. Likewise, they give a lot of peace and tranquility in their relationships, they are a great pillar for a partner, friends and family, and most importantly, they seek to understand and take care of what they most love.

[positivelybeastly]

Love reading through your analyses and I was wondering if you had insight on something I noticed with Hank/Beast and Kurt/Nightcrawler: writers often use both of them in the visible mutation metaphor and emotional cores, but Kurt's approach is more from faith and Hank's is more from curiosity. Often when one or either are gone/dead/changed, things seem to get worse for the Team overall.

Do you think those two would benefit each other's characters? Even just to have spirited philosophical discussion?

So, this actually touches on a funny thing that I've noticed with Beast and Nightcrawler over time - which is that they're almost never on the same team together, probably precisely because they serve an extremely similar function in a team composition, for the reasons you've kind of touched on here.

They are, after all, both heavily visibly mutated individuals who were, or are, considered figures of great integrity and morality, with a strong code of ethics and a depth of feeling that expresses itself in a deeply vivacious personality - romantic, friendly, charming, and erudite.

Therefore, having them both on a team is, unfortunately, somewhat redundant.

That being said! They do still interact, and they're shown to be sources of great comfort and friendship for one another. Their first meetings were - somewhat inauspicious . . .

See, this is the funny thing about old comics - storylines just flow and flow and flow. Comics didn't stop after ten issues and get restarted with a new #1 every few months, they just ran and ran and ran, and the pacing reflected that.

There aren't usually month long gaps where you can assume nothing happened and people just got to hang out, they're working hard! Hank has been working with the Avengers so much that he literally hasn't even had time to meet the new X-Men properly! Wild.

But, eventually, things did slow down, and they got a chance to properly socialise, and, as expected, they got along like a house on fire.

Like, these two are just born to be friends. They have so much in common. Where Hank leans more to the obscure, the erudite, and the scientific, Kurt leans more to the dashing, the swashbuckling, and, of course, the religious, but they're still both fundamentally cut from the same cloth - acrobatic, charming, philosophical, heroic, fun.

But, that same alike quality means you don't get a ton of interaction between them, so I cling to what they do have. One of my favourite interactions between them is in Nightcrawler's 2004 solo series.

First off, absolutely adore Hank in this art style. The fact that the artist decided to include the detail of his fur poking out of the shirt like that is just. It transfixes me. I really want to go over and just. Run my fingers through his side fur. But mostly, I just like their chemistry? Hank's a great supporting character because he's so emotionally intelligent and reflective, and he's great at giving people perspective, usually with a healthy dose of sarcasm and teasing.

That being said, this scene is always the one I point to whenever I say that the X-Men really have no idea what's going on in Hank's head a lot of the time, because this took place after Hank had been psychically brutalised, nearly beaten to death, and one of his best friends had just been murdered - and he's doing a really very good job of hiding that trauma.

So much so that Kurt thinks he's just fine. He's just fine. There's nothing to worry about. But it's not Kurt's fault, and it's nowhere near unique to him, either. He had no way to know, he had his own stuff going on (the subject matter of this solo series, as it happens), and Hank is doing well enough that it isn't interfering with things, so, let him deal with it in peace, I suppose.

At least on this occasion.

Kurt is, after all, an emotionally intelligent and caring individual. You can't stop Nightcrawler from trying to help where he can. And I think that even just the reaching out, just the show of support, can be enough for a character like Hank.

Moments like these matter, in my opinion. It's important to show that teammates and friends care about each other, in the moment to moment stories, otherwise it can all feel very impersonal and like no-one cares about one another. This is how you establish dynamics over years, even between characters who have, technically speaking, never really been on a team together before.

The next big milestone I can think of comes after the X-Men's move to Utopia, where, again, Hank and Kurt don't share a ton of panel time together, but . . .

This is one of the few times you'll ever hear anyone say that Hank was right. And it's not really a surprise that it comes from Kurt, because, again, these men are cut from the same cloth. They come at it from different angles, but they believe in much the same things.

And . . . that's why it hits so hard when Kurt dies.

I don't necessarily agree with the decision to have Hank break from the literal funeral procession to call Scott out for Kurt's death. Some fans of Nightcrawler really appreciate that moment, because it shows how much Kurt's death affected Hank, but I personally just. Don't think it tracks, for Hank to be quite that disrespectful.

After the funeral, or even before, but during it? Nah. Matt Fraction made a good few Hank characterisation choices I don't agree with, and this was one of them.

This felt a bit more apropos.

Remember what I said about how little moments build to dynamics between characters who have never been on teams together? I buy this moment so much more with the context of that moment from Endangered Species, where Kurt is literally positioned as the light trying to pull Hank out of the dark path he's following with obsessive fervour. The fact that he was trying went a long way. Hank felt it, even if he didn't take him up on it at the time. That moment mattered.

And that's why I absolutely buy Hank's reaction when Kurt came back to life.

Hank believes in Kurt. He believes the very best of him. On teams where Hank can often feel alone or isolated, someone like Kurt will reach out, and make him feel connected, and welcome, and pull him back. Temper his scientific pessimism and realism with optimism and belief. Restore his fervour, and remind him of simpler, happier times.

A lot of the best scientists, who have contributed the most to scientific inquiry, were religious, because for a lot of them, there's no real conflict between science and religion, they're both two sides of the same coin, in a way - a belief in a higher power. It's just how they react to that higher power that changes.

And while Hank was explicitly religious for a while, I always interpreted him as losing that faith over the years, becoming bogged down in the real over the sublime as what he went through wore him down. Someone like Kurt was able to spark that in him again. Maybe not his faith, per se, but at the very least belief in the human spirit.

It's important. As you say, massive benefit to each other's characters. Underrated dynamic, these two. Absolutely love 'em.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

A Brewing Storm

In All The World, Chapter 1.2

Series Masterlist         Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: This series of one-shots follows Matt and the music teacher he is steadily falling for, despite her distant familial connection to The Punisher.

warnings: angsty Matthew, Matt and Frank being little shits (mostly Frank), fluff, hints at smut

w/c: 2.3k

a/n: I KNOW THIS DIDN’T WIN THE POLL BUT I WASN’T ABLE TO FINISH THE OTHER FICLET, I’M SORRY! I hope this is a decent consolation prize for you all. The comfort piece should be done by next week! 

There are a few things mentioned in this chapter that I won’t go into unless people are interested but here’s the rundown: Matt and Reader started their relationship after her testimony, though the trial had not yet ended. The ABA code of ethics doesn’t really have much to say about attorneys and witnesses, but the general rule is after they’ve testified (as long as the trial isn’t discussed) they can begin a personal relationship. The ethics rules are much more concerned about lawyers and their clients than witnesses. However, Matt asked her out during proceedings so, in his head, he did something wrong. I wasn’t planning on writing their beginning, but if that’s something you all are interested in, let me know!

Trusting the men to keep their word, you left Frank standing over the door mat while you grabbed some bath towels and a jacket he'd forgotten on your couch months ago. Returning to a room frigid with their disdain for each other, you stifled an eye roll while you passed over the items in your hold. “Here. Dry off if you can. Are you hungry? I can set another place for dinner.”

Matt stiffened from his seat at the table, blowing an annoyed breath out of his nose. Smirking in satisfaction, Frank rubbed the towel over his hair, splattering your floor with leftover rain. “Sure, kid.”

Pretending not to see your boyfriend's twisted frown, you padded over to the stove to scoop the remaining noodles into a clean bowl.

“Ok, it's not much, but I wasn't planning on cooking for three–”

“How long?” Came Frank's curt question.

Running the tip of your tongue against your molars, you blew out a breath, shoving Frank's food over to him.

“Um...”

“Eight months.” Matt answered, chest puffing out ever so slightly. Swatting at him with a glare, you grimaced as Frank gnashed his teeth again.

“For fuck's sake. During the trial?”

“Well, that is how we met.” Matt snapped back, posture rounding as the Devil slipped back into control.

“And you thought what, Red? That you could treat my case like your own personal dating pool? You of all people know how dangerous that was for her.”

“I think we are all familiar with the risks taken last summer.” You retorted, taking your seat at Matt's side, letting your knee brush against his in what you hoped was a grounding touch.

What Frank was insinuating wasn't far fetched. You had run into trouble after coming forward as a character witness, but your relationship with Matt hadn't caused that, your role in the trial had. No matter how much guilt he carried over the incident, your boyfriend was in no way responsible for the actions of the Kitchen Irish. Matt regularly got stuck in his head, castigating himself for giving in to temptation. Despite making it ostentatiously clear that you were interested in him from the moment you met, your self-conscious partner was convinced he’d somehow violated an unwritten code of ethics and manipulated you into going out with him. It had taken months of promises before Matt began to believe that your consent had been honest and voluntary the whole time–his fragile acceptance would surely combust if Frank continued to cast more doubt over the dubious start of your relationship. He didn’t need anyone’s help to make him feel like a monster.

Matt nudged your knee with his in response to your touch, though his expression was stony. You could see his walls going up brick by brick, his confidence waning as someone confirmed his worst fears.

“Are 'we'? Cause I, for one, ain’t dyin’ for you to be bleedin’ out in my bathroom again.” Frank hissed, eyes still locked on Matt as he referenced your previous injuries. “You think she's safe with you? You can’t protect her. Fuck's sake, Red–you're covered in blood at her table right now. She doesn't need to be dragged into your bullshit–”

“Enough.” You snarled, cutting Frank off. Inhaling deeply, you lowered your voice and softened your tone. “Matt, can you give us a minute, love?”

Ignoring Frank's sneer at the pet name, you placed a hand over Matt's knee, rubbing circles into it with your thumb. “Can you wait for me in my room? I'll be right in.”

“I can just go home,” Matt shifted uncomfortably, looking defeated and agonized as he slowly clambered to his feet.

“I’ll only be a minute, love. Don't leave yet please.” You squeezed his hand where it hung limp by his side, hoping that his barely noticeable nod was conveying his true intentions.

You set your jaw, watching Matt stalk into the bedroom before whirling towards Frank who was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, looking all too pleased with himself. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Frank?”

“There ain’t nothin’—”

“Nope, it's not your turn yet.” You bit out, cutting him off. “I'm not unhappy to see you, because it means you're still breathing, but you have some damn nerve coming into my house and speaking to my boyfriend as if I'm not in the room. I am not an object, nor am I anyone’s property. You do not get to dictate what is or isn't good for me, regardless of how you feel about it.“

Frank winced slightly, but he didn’t make any other indication that your words were getting through his thick skull.

Sitting back in your seat, you clasped your hands in your lap. “I appreciate you looking out for me, Frank. Lord knows you've saved my life more times than I can count, but Matt is good for me. Your views on our start and on him as a person won't change that.“

Frank scoffed, rolling his eyes to the popcorn ceiling. You grit your teeth. “Alright, if you want to be pissed, that's your prerogative. I'm sorry you didn't find out about us directly from me, but I refuse to accept full responsibility for that because you haven't responded to me for months. You don't get to just pop back into my life when it's most convenient for you.”

The towering man didn’t respond. Fine. If he wasn't in a headspace to hear what you had to say, then you were done talking. Stretching over to a nearby cabinet you pulled out a tupperware and tossed it to him. He caught it without glancing up.

“Have a good night, Frank. Text me if you ever decide you want to listen. And take that food home with you or I will be obligated to hunt you down.”

Using the seat of your chair to leverage your weight, you stood up and paced away from Frank, crossing your fingers that Matt was still in the bedroom when you reached it.

Matt’s hearing was powerful enough to register conversations a block away, let alone one room over, so ignoring the voices beyond your bedroom walls should’ve been difficult. However, Frank’s implications had worn him down, rehashing a mess of anxiety and spurning his feelings of unworthiness. If you hadn’t asked him to stay, he would’ve gone back out to find a distraction lurking in the city streets before passing out on any surface in his apartment. Instead, he lay in your bed, coiled in a ball beneath the sheets, drained of energy–feeling small and useless.

Frank apparently didn’t have much more to say because it was only minutes before he heard you approaching the closed door obscuring him. Your footfalls were light, as always. You did whatever you could to make his existence easier. It was one of the many reasons he loved you. 

Your heartbeat grew stronger as you entered, leaving the door open only briefly in an effort to preserve the hideout Matt had taken shelter in. Gently crouching until you were seated on the mattress, you curled your body around Matt’s–shielding him from the abundance of sensory input and surrounding him with the subtle scent of your body wash. It was warm and sweet, comforting like the brief whiff of sugar you smell when walking past a bakery. A stark contrast to the harsh remnants of gunpowder and leather drifting in from Frank’s now abandoned seat. 

“How much of that did you hear?” You asked, tracing over his prickly cheek with a finger. 

“Bits and pieces.” Matt exhaled roughly. “Did you want me not to listen?”

“Sweetheart, I would never ask that of you. That’s not really something you can control when we’re twenty feet away.” Turning his head into your touch, Matt placed a gentle kiss on the pad of your finger. You took a moment to study him, heart clenching at the weary expression on his face. His posture was tight, you could tell he was holding back. “C’mere, lovely.” 

At your prompting, Matt’s blank face twitched, his sorrow peeking through as he shifted on the mattress.

“I’m sorry I let him in.” You murmured, threading your fingers into Matt’s hair as he wriggled until his face was squished into your stomach. “I should’ve forced him to calm down, or take it out on me. It wasn’t fair to subject you to that.” 

“I’m a big boy. I can handle it.” Matt chuckled breathily, the sound coming out choked with emotion. 

“I know, handsome. But that doesn’t mean you deserve to be screamed at over a misunderstanding.” Sliding down until Matt was resting against your chest, you tucked his head under your chin, wrapping him in an embrace. He hummed against you, not trusting himself to speak on the matter.

“Matty, you do know that what he said was complete and utter horseshit, right?” Your blunt question made him snort, the noise muffled against your collarbone. “No, I’m serious. He was mad that we caught him off guard, so he said that crap to get under your skin. Classic Frank tactic. He did the same shit when we were kids.”

“Did he really?” Came Matt's amused question.

“Oh yah. He’s damn good at it too. The day I knocked him off the Dig Dug leaderboard at our local arcade, he told me I was adopted. My parents were FURIOUS to hear he’d let that cat out of the bag.” You laughed, your nose crinkling as you pictured Frank hanging his head on your family’s tattered leather couch as he got chewed out by your dad.

Matt made a mournful noise, pressing impossibly closer. Rubbing his shoulders with a flat hand, you kissed his crown. “But, the next week, he took me back to the arcade so I could show him how I did it. And when the dude running the candy counter made a sexist comment about how I shouldn’t even be there, Frank forced him to apologize.” 

“What’d he do? Shoot him?” Matt asked dryly. 

“Just a stern talking to. With his fists.” You joked, pinching Matt’s waist. His lips tickled your skin as he smiled. 

“Moral of the story is: Frank speaks without thinking sometimes, just like the rest of us. And he tends to be protective of the people he cares about, myself included.” Sliding your hand beneath Matt’s shirt, you cradled his waist tenderly, drawing delicate patterns with your thumb. “You have that in common.” 

“A talent for lashing out?” Matt quipped. 

Ignoring his attempt to deflect, you continued. “You want to protect me.”

“Apparently, I’m not as good at it as I thought.” Matt remarked icily. 

“Yes. You are.” You poked him, tone stern. “You protect me and the rest of Hell’s Kitchen every day, regardless of what Frank thinks. You are an amazing man and a wonderful partner, and I wouldn’t trade what we have for anything, love.” 

“I love you.” Matt whispered reverently, feeling his insecurities beginning to subside. You always had that effect on him. Your melodic voice and persistently kind nature acting as a life preserver when his own mind seemed determined to drown him. 

“And I love you, Matty. All of you. Always.” Cupping his chin with one hand, you drew him towards your face, pecking his lips lightly. “Why don’t I help you change out of your suit so we can shower? If I’m tired, I know you’ve gotta be wiped out.”

Smirking, Matt cocked his head at you—his confidence finally reappearing after the disaster of a night you’d had. “Are you trying to get me naked, sweetheart?”

“Desperately.” You muttered, trailing a finger over the waistband of his pants. “I have not seen nearly enough of you today.”

“It must be so difficult for you,” He lamented, flopping flat on the mattress with a sigh. “Not seeing your partner.”

Snorting out a laugh, you shoved his chest playfully. “Both of us know that is not what I meant.”

He chuckled, fingers of his left hand loosening the knot of rope around his other wrist.

“Let me,” You suggested, cradling Matt’s dominant hand with both of your own, rotating it and unwinding the cord with a gentle tug. As the dirt and blood stained material fell from Matt's arm, it revealed a crisscross pattern of reddened indents in his skin—angry from being bound by the woven line for so long. Tutting in sympathy, you bent forward, kissing the marks gently before releasing your hold.

Without speaking, you tangled your fingers around his other arm, inching one finger beneath the rope, repeating the motions until he was free of them. Trailing another line of kisses down his arm towards his palm, you smiled triumphantly.

With two fingers, you pried the hem of his shirt away from his sweaty abdomen. ”May I?”

Matt nodded, a lopsided smile hanging on his lips as he arched his back off the mattress to allow you to remove his top. Rolling the fabric up and over his head, you dragged your nails up his spine, grinning at the soft whine you got in response.

“Feel good, Matty?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the sound dissipated into a moan when you licked a stripe over his pulse point.

“How about I mark you up this time, hm? Take care of you first for once?”

Matt rumbled beneath your lips with a small moan, his head falling back as he arched off the mattress. 

Giggling, you dragged your teeth over the pulsing vein in his neck, provoking a soft mewl in the back of Matt’s throat. “C’mon, sweet boy. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Leaping from the bed, Matt flew after you, snatching you by the waist and locking your lips together as you clumsily stumbled toward the bathroom. 

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @abucketofweird @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou

[ganggangscenarios]

Bound by desire (Part 1/2)

Part 2

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Romance, comedy, dark, angst

Warnings: Dark Magic, mentions of sex

Writer's note: I've been sitting on this one for a while, I hope you enjoy it!

The sharp scent of candle wax lingered in the air as a puff of smoke erupted in your living room, curling like storm clouds in a hurricane. When it finally parted, you were met with the sight of a man—a stunningly handsome man. His hair mirrored the hue of the dissipating smoke, a soft, smoky purple-grey that matched his piercing eyes. Pale skin stood in stark contrast to his obsidian outfit, tailored to perfection, and glittering silver adorned him—a ring for every finger, charms dangling from each ear, catching the faint light.

You did what any rational person would do. You screamed.

“Okay, dramatic.” He raised a dark brow, unimpressed by your outburst.

“Who—what—how did you get here?!” you stammered, pressing yourself against the wall.

“You summoned me.” His voice was smooth, with a touch of exasperation, like this was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your heart dropped. “Summoned? I didn’t summon anyone!”

“Oh, you didn’t?” He folded his arms, tilting his head. “Let me guess. You read some ‘random’ words aloud while lighting a black candle?”

“I was practicing Latin!” you protested, voice trembling. “And the candle wasn’t black; it was called Midnight Mist. I bought it on sale!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Midnight Mist, black, same difference. And those weren’t just random words; that was an incantation.”

It clicked, and dread flooded you. “Oh, no. The book.” You gestured wildly toward a worn leather-bound volume sitting innocently on your coffee table. “I got it from this tiny shop. I just wanted to practice my Latin, and the salesperson said this book would be perfect!”

“Well, congratulations,” he said, throwing himself onto your couch as though he owned it. “You managed to summon me. An incubus.”

You blinked. “A what?”

He grinned, sharp and wicked. “An incubus. You know, the demon who, according to lore, shows up to fulfill certain... desires.”

You froze, your brain scrambling to keep up. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’re here to—what? No. That can’t be right.”

“Don’t take my word for it.” He kicked his boots up onto your coffee table like he hadn’t a care in the world. “Check the book.”

Fumbling, you flipped through the pages until you found the bookmarked spell. Your eyes skimmed over the description, your voice trailing off as you read aloud: “‘An incubus is a demon in male form who lies upon sleeping women to—’ Oh my God.” You snapped the book shut, glaring at him. “Death by sex?!”

He held up his hands, palms out. “Relax. That’s old-school. We’ve updated the playbook.”

“What does that even mean?!”

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Consent. It’s mandatory now. No more lurking in shadows or creeping into bedrooms uninvited. Honestly, most of us found the old ways pretty gross.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re telling me demons have... ethics now?”

“Yeah. HR’s been cracking down. Very progressive workplace these days.” He flashed a smug grin. “But don’t worry. I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to fulfill the terms of your little summoning spell. My job is to... help you, shall we say, get lucky.”

The blood drained from your face. “I don’t need help getting... that! And if I did, I wouldn’t want it from a demon!”

“Well,” he said with a casual shrug, “you should’ve thought about that before you summoned me. I can’t leave until I’ve completed my task.”

“What? No! There’s got to be a way to undo this!” You frantically flipped through the book again, looking for a reversal spell.

“Knock yourself out,” he said, lounging comfortably. “But trust me, the only way I’m going anywhere is if I’ve done my job.”

You glared at him, the panic bubbling in your chest. “This is insane.”

“Welcome to demonology, sweetheart.” He smirked, eyes glinting with amusement. “Lesson one: always read the fine print.”

You were pacing the room, still clutching the cursed book like a lifeline, when the demon—no, the incubus—lounging on your couch cleared his throat. “You know, if you keep storming around like that, you’ll wear a hole in your carpet. Or summon something worse. Your choice.”

You whipped around to glare at him. “Worse than you?”

He grinned, pearly white teeth glinting. “Oh, I don’t know. You might find me pretty hard to top.”

You groaned, your hand flying to your forehead. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Believe it, sweetheart.” He gestured to himself lazily, reclining further into your couch cushions. “And while we’re at it, you can call me Jimin.”

“Jimin?” you repeated skeptically, narrowing your eyes. “That’s your name?”

“Surprised?” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he tilted his head at you. The faintest smirk played on his lips. “What were you expecting? Something dark and scary? Wratharion? Nycthor?” He made exaggerated gestures, wiggling his fingers like a cartoon villain.

You blinked. “Well, yeah. You’re a demon.”

He laughed, the sound soft yet somehow electric, like it hummed against your skin. “Oh, darling, demons don’t all have names like they crawled out of a horror movie. Some of us have a little... flair.”

“Flair?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

He stood then, crossing the room with a feline grace that sent a shiver down your spine. “Of course.” He stopped just close enough to make your breath hitch. “Jimin suits me, don’t you think?” His voice dipped, low and smooth, his smoky eyes locking onto yours.

You swallowed hard, trying not to notice the way his smirk deepened when he saw your reaction. “I think... you’re trying too hard.”

He gasped, clutching his chest dramatically like you’d struck him. “Trying too hard? Me? Darling, I don’t even have to try.”

Rolling your eyes, you took a step back, muttering, “Yeah, sure, whatever, Jimin.”

His grin widened as he followed you, playful but unrelenting. “Oh, come on, admit it. It’s a nice name, isn’t it? Rolls off the tongue.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Jiiimiiin.”

“Stop that!” you snapped, your face burning as you shoved him back, though he barely budged.

Laughing, he straightened up, hands raised in surrender. “Fine, fine. But if you’re going to shout my name later—”

“I am not shouting your name!” you interrupted, voice climbing an octave.

He only winked at you, completely unbothered. “We’ll see.”

You groaned again, louder this time, and stalked back toward the book. “Is there a spell to make demons less insufferable?”

“If there was, I’d still be exactly the same.” His playful tone followed you like a shadow, filling the room with an infuriating warmth.

You glared at him over your shoulder, ignoring the way his smirk made your pulse race. “I think I liked it better when you didn’t have a name.”

“And I think you like me more than you’re willing to admit.”

“Shut up, Jimin.”

“As you wish.” But the sparkle in his eye told you he had no intention of letting you off that easily.

The next morning, you hurried to work, coffee in one hand and your bag slung over your shoulder. The crisp air did little to calm your nerves. The events of the night before replayed in your head on an endless loop, made worse by the constant chatter of the very unwelcome demon striding casually beside you.

“I’m just saying,” Jimin began, gesturing toward a pigeon on the sidewalk, “summoning me might be the most exciting thing you’ve ever done. Admit it.”

“Exciting isn’t the word I’d use,” you muttered, keeping your voice low, though that didn’t stop the passing woman with a small dog from shooting you a strange look.

“Embarrassing, then?” Jimin smirked. “Endearing? Or maybe—”

“A mistake,” you hissed under your breath, quickening your pace.

He laughed, effortlessly keeping up. “A mistake that you haven’t exactly tried to undo yet. Curious, isn’t it?”

“Undoing it is the first thing on my list when I get home tonight,” you snapped. “I can’t exactly work on banishing you while I’m on my way to work, now can I?”

“Sure you can. You’ve got ten fingers, two hands. What’s stopping you from multitasking?”

“Jimin,” you warned, glancing around. A man walking his bike on the other side of the street frowned in your direction, clearly wondering who you were talking to.

Jimin tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. No one can see me unless I want them to.” He leaned closer, his voice taking on a conspiratorial edge. “You’re just the weirdo talking to herself right now.”

“Wonderful,” you muttered, cheeks burning as another passerby gave you a wary glance.

By the time you reached the office, you were on edge. You darted into the break room, trying to collect yourself before your best friend, Maddie, inevitably cornered you. Jimin, however, didn’t seem interested in giving you a moment of peace.

“This is where you work?” he asked, looking around with mild interest. He wrinkled his nose. “Fluorescent lighting? Beige walls? How... uninspired.”

“Not everyone lives in some shadowy demon dimension, okay?” you shot back, grabbing a mug from the cabinet.

“Touché,” he said, leaning casually against the counter.

“Hey!” Maddie’s voice cut through your morning panic. She popped into the break room, her auburn curls bouncing. “Good morning—” She froze mid-step, her eyes locking on Jimin. “Uh. Hi?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Wait... you can see him?” you asked, voice pitching higher than you’d intended.

“Uh, yeah,” Maddie said, blinking at you. “Why wouldn’t I? He’s standing right there.”

Jimin straightened, looking genuinely surprised for the first time since he’d appeared in your life. “Oh,” he murmured, a grin creeping onto his face. “This is interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” Maddie asked, crossing her arms. “And who exactly is this ridiculously attractive man following you around? Don’t tell me you picked him up at that hole-in-the-wall bar you love. You usually have better taste.”

“He’s not—! I didn’t—!” You sputtered, unsure how to explain without sounding insane.

“Relax,” Jimin interrupted smoothly, flashing Maddie a disarming smile. “I’m Jimin. A... friend of hers.”

“A friend,” Maddie repeated, one eyebrow raised. “Right. And why is your ‘friend’ lurking in the break room at 8 a.m.?”

Jimin ignored her question, stepping closer to study her intently. “You’re Wiccan, aren’t you?”

Maddie blinked, startled. “Uh, yeah. How did you—?”

“That explains it.” Jimin turned to you, his grin positively wicked now. “She’s got a little magic of her own. That’s why she can see me.”

You stared at Maddie like she’d just sprouted a second head. “Wait. Hold on. You’re Wiccan?”

Maddie blinked at you, a little taken aback. “Uh... yeah?”

“Since when?!” you demanded, gesturing wildly between her and Jimin.

“Since... forever?” Maddie said, her tone tinged with confusion. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve been hiding it. You’ve seen my herb jars and crystals. And the moon water? You thought I just liked collecting mason jars for fun?”

“I thought you were into cottagecore!” you exclaimed, still reeling.

Maddie let out a loud laugh, throwing her head back. “Oh my God, no! I mean, okay, yes, it is a vibe, but—seriously? You thought I was just aesthetic?”

“Well, yeah!” you said, your voice rising in disbelief. “You bake pies and make those little flower arrangements all the time! I didn’t think they were spells!”

“They’re not all spells,” Maddie said, still grinning. “Some of them are just, you know, pies. But come on, how did you not pick up on this?”

Jimin was watching the exchange with rapt interest, his lips twitching like he was barely holding back a laugh. “You two are adorable,” he interjected, earning glares from both of you.

You ignored him, your focus still locked on Maddie. “So, you’re telling me that all this time, you’ve been practicing actual magic? Like, real magic? And you never thought to mention it?”

“To be fair,” Maddie said, raising a finger, “you never seemed particularly interested in that stuff. Plus, I didn’t want to overwhelm you. You’re... not exactly the most open-minded when it comes to the supernatural.”

“I summoned a demon last night!” you yelled, waving a hand in Jimin’s direction.

“And you’re handling it about as well as I expected,” Maddie shot back, smirking.

Jimin snorted, finally losing the battle against his amusement. “She’s got you there.”

You threw up your hands. “This is unbelievable. My best friend is secretly a witch, and apparently, I’ve been living in some kind of magical sitcom this whole time!”

“It’s not a secret if you’re just oblivious,” Maddie teased, leaning against the counter. “But I’ve got to admit, summoning a demon is a pretty dramatic way to join the club.”

“I didn’t mean to join the club!” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “This is a nightmare.”

“Relax,” Jimin said, stepping closer with an easy smile. “If you think this is shocking, wait until you hear about the vampires.”

You shot him a glare so sharp it could cut steel. “Not. Helping.”

“Just saying,” he said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Welcome to the magical world, sweetheart. It’s gonna be a fun ride.”

Maddie grinned, clearly enjoying your meltdown. “Oh, I am so getting popcorn for this.”

You groaned again, wishing desperately that you could wake up from whatever surreal dream your life had become.

The club was alive with pounding bass, strobing lights, and a crush of bodies moving in time with the music. You barely remembered how Maddie had talked you into coming here—something about celebrating your “first step into the magical world” and needing to loosen up after a “stressful week.” It was all a blur of insistence and teasing until you’d finally caved.

Now, you were several drinks deep, your head swimming with a pleasant buzz, and Maddie was nowhere in sight. Probably on the dance floor with some guy she’d charmed into buying her a drink.

As for you, you were parked at the bar, swaying slightly to the music and trying to ignore the growing number of men approaching you.

“You’re too gorgeous to be sitting alone,” one of them said, leaning against the bar with what you assumed was meant to be a winning smile.

You blinked at him, unimpressed. “I’m not alone,” you said flatly, waving vaguely behind you to where Jimin had been lurking most of the evening.

The man glanced over your shoulder, saw nothing, and frowned. “Uh, there’s no one there.”

“Exactly,” you muttered, turning back to your drink.

After the third or fourth guy tried his luck and failed, Jimin finally slid onto the barstool next to you, his presence as palpable as the beat vibrating through the club.

“You know,” he said, voice low and velvety in your ear, “for someone so good at rejecting men, you’ve got a real talent for attracting them.”

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to look at him. “And for someone so supposedly powerful, you’ve got a real talent for being annoying.”

He laughed, the sound rich and warm, cutting through the chaos around you. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re going to make me think you’re into me.”

You snorted, sipping your drink. “You wish.”

“Oh, I don’t need to wish.”

Before you could retort, he was on his feet, holding out a hand. “Come dance with me.”

You stared at him, half-laughing. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re drunk, and I’m irresistible,” he said with a wicked grin. “Also, it’ll keep the other guys off your back. Consider it a public service.”

You hesitated, your head swimming from the alcohol, the music, and the way his smoky eyes seemed to pull you in. Finally, you let out a sigh and took his hand. “Fine. One dance.”

He led you to the dance floor, weaving effortlessly through the crowd until you were surrounded by swaying bodies and flashing lights. The second the music enveloped you, Jimin closed the space between you.

At first, you kept your distance, maintaining a polite gap as you moved to the rhythm. But Jimin was relentless. His hands hovered at your waist, his body drawing closer with every beat, until the space between you was almost nonexistent.

The air grew thick, the alcohol dulling your inhibitions as you swayed together. His presence was magnetic, impossible to ignore. His breath ghosted against your ear as he leaned in, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re not bad at this,” he teased, his hands brushing your sides ever so lightly.

“Shut up,” you muttered, but your voice lacked the bite you’d intended.

He smirked, his lips dangerously close to yours. “You’re making it awfully hard for me to behave, you know that?”

Your heart raced, your pulse pounding louder than the music. His smoky purple eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you.

“Behaving is optional,” you found yourself saying, your voice barely audible over the music.

His grin widened, his fingers grazing your arm, sending sparks up your skin. “Careful, sweetheart. I might take that as an invitation.”

You didn’t reply, too lost in the way his touch set your senses alight. You didn’t even notice Maddie watching from across the room, a knowing smirk on her face as she sipped her drink.

Days melted into each other like ink bleeding through parchment. Jimin lingered around you like a shadow, ever-present but growing heavier with each passing moment. The easy flirtation that defined his arrival softened, replaced by something quieter, more contemplative.

It wasn’t lost on you, the way his gaze lingered when you laughed or how his voice softened when he said your name. The comfort between you both had grown—sometimes so tangible it felt like you could reach out and hold it. You’d kissed once, on a night when the stars were bold and the air hummed with something neither of you dared name.

But now, there was a distance. A hesitation.

Jimin had pulled away the last time you leaned in, the warmth in his eyes replaced by a flicker of something sharper. Guilt.

“What’s wrong?” you had asked, voice low, almost afraid of the answer.

“Nothing,” he’d said, too quickly, stepping back like touching you would burn.

It had been happening more and more. You didn’t miss the way he flinched when you pressed closer or how he deflected with humor when things grew too intimate. It wasn’t rejection—it was something deeper, something that weighed heavy in the air between you.

But what you couldn’t see was the storm raging inside him.

Jimin sat on the edge of your couch one evening, watching you flip through an old book Maddie had lent you. His fingers toyed with the silver rings he wore, a habit he’d developed to keep from reaching for you. He hated himself for it. For the first time in his existence, he despised what he was—despised the aura that made you gravitate toward him, the pull that was more compulsion than choice.

What if it wasn’t real? What if you didn’t actually want him?

He’d lived 400 years as an incubus, relishing in the easy connections his power afforded him, taking pride in how mortals fell to his charms. But now, the thought of you succumbing to that same enchantment made his stomach churn.

He wanted you to want him, Jimin, not the intoxicating lure of what he was.

For the first time, he felt the cruel irony of his existence. The tether to hell, his powers, his allure—it was all shackles. And for the first time, he wished he could strip it all away and just... be mortal.

But that wasn’t possible, and his superiors were growing impatient.

One evening, just as you’d fallen asleep, the flames of hell itself flickered into your living room, and a voice like crackling fire filled his mind.

“Jimin.”

He sighed, shoulders tensing as he rose from the chair. “I’ll be back,” he murmured, though he knew you couldn’t hear him.

The summons yanked him downward, into the burning depths of the underworld. The oppressive heat pressed against him as he knelt before his superiors.

“You’ve been stalling,” a voice hissed, serpentine and sharp. “Weeks have passed, and you have yet to fulfill your duty.”

Jimin didn’t look up. “I’m handling it,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction.

“Handling it?” Another voice joined, this one low and menacing. “Do not think your actions—or inaction—have gone unnoticed. We have seen your hesitation. Your... attachment.”

“It’s not attachment,” Jimin snapped, though even he didn’t believe it. “I’m—”

“You’re jeopardizing centuries of tradition,” the first voice interrupted. “Your kind exists to fulfill a purpose. To falter is to betray what you are.”

Jimin clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening. “What if I don’t want to be what I am?”

Silence followed, thick and suffocating.

“And what do you wish to be instead?” the second voice asked, mocking. “A mortal? Pathetic. Fragile. Bound to the inevitable rot of time?”

Jimin looked up, defiance sparking in his smoky eyes. “At least they feel without compulsion. At least their love is real.”

The words echoed in the cavernous space, and for a moment, the air itself seemed to hold its breath. Then, the voices broke into a cacophony of mocking laughter.

“Love?” the first voice sneered. “You are a demon, Jimin. You do not love. You manipulate. You seduce. That is your nature.”

“Then maybe I don’t want it to be,” Jimin shot back, his voice rising, trembling with something dangerously close to despair.

The laughter stopped abruptly.

“Fulfil your duty, or we will ensure the girl suffers for your failure,” the second voice growled. “You are bound by your contract. Do not forget that.”

Jimin’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

When he returned to your living room, the weight of his choice was crushing. You were still asleep, curled up on the couch, the faint light of the TV casting soft shadows across your face.

He sank into the chair, watching you.

And for the first time in his long, immortal life, Jimin felt utterly powerless.

[shamebats]

I mean, other than animal cruelty, being a vegan causes the same issues: deforestation, immigrant abuse, child labour, etc. Like this is more of a "no ethical living under capitalism" and a "northern hemisphere lifestyle choice maintained at costs of the southern hemisphere" (especially as foods become more expensive for them due to being implemented in the northern hemisphere vegan "fad").

What you say about the way animals are treated is also true, but it is also silly to act like veganism is some grand moral stand against anything else, especially the harmed PEOPLE involved.

(It's also hardly cheaper if you want a diverse diet, even though meat itself is also expensive).

Humans have to eat to live. The majority of us don't need meat or animal products to live. But we need food. Even those of us who aren't rich enough to own land and grow our own food. It's really that simple.

If I can avoid doing harm, I will take the option that does less harm. I can't do that in every aspect of my life but food is one where, for me at least, it's very easy. Cheaper and easier too, where I live and with the type of diet I have.

If I have the option between eating corn that was grown in unethical conditions and eating an animal that was fed significantly more of corn over its (artificially shortened) lifetime and was then slaughtered and "processed" by even more exploited laborers, I'll just eat the corn.

Also personally I'd say I often have a way more diverse diet than most meat eaters around me. Growing up, most of the adults in my family would literally just eat meat and potatoes every day with maybe a small side salad. I come from a culture where most people wouldn't even touch a curry because it's too foreign.

I started enjoying food a lot more when I started putting plant foods in the center of it. There's so many options and cuisines to pick from. When I first made the transition, it felt a lot more like expanding my horizons rather than giving something up.

I can't save the world but I can at least try to live in a way that feels the most ethical to me. That way I at least don't have to do the labor of maintaining the level of cognitive dissonance I'd need to keep eating animal products despite everything I know & how it makes me feel.