#Momentum Oscillator

[allaboutforexworld]

Momentum Trading: Forex Trading Strategy Explained

Momentum trading is a strategy that seeks to capitalize on the continuance of existing trends in the market. By focusing on the strength of price movements, traders can make informed decisions and optimize their profits. What is Momentum Trading? Momentum trading involves buying and selling currency pairs based on recent price trends. The core idea is that strong movements in the market tend to…

[ultimatefxtools]

✅ Sureshot Pattern 3 Signals to Encounter | Awesome Oscillator | Momentu...

[shanayasharma11]

OneInfini's online course on technical analysis and indicators teaches you the fundamentals of trading. Learn the basics of charting, develop technical analysis skills, and gain the confidence to make profitable trades in any market.

[fanaticsnail]

Dreaming of You

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 700+, 900+, 860+, 1,400+

Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Doflamingo, Caesar, Rosinante "Corazon".

Warnings: wet dreams, afab!reader, swearing, masturbation, dub con (Using your image to masturbate to), suggestive content, yandere, obsession, feelings, all individual 'x reader' drabbles, same reader!insert different outcome, NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here, Please read the warnings. I am having a lot of fun with this series, not going to lie. You can sense my favoritism with my word count. First time writing for Caesar Clown. Art link.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

Legs caging his head beneath you, you drew up your forearm to shield your eyes as the other reached down and braced your trembling hands against his chest. Grinding on his face, his smile grows wider the louder your cries of bliss fall from your lips. 

“I'm gonna-... Mmmgh-... I'm gonna cum again,” you sob, desperately writhing on top of his face in shame. He hooked his large arm over your thigh and braced your lower back over his mouth and held you firmly as he more desperately licked through your body. 

Huffing and panting, he continues driving his tongue between your wet folds and mouthing at your clit. Feeling your whole body tremble above him, he drew his unoccupied hand down to tug at his cock, giving you a show from your position looking down at him. 

His eyes grew black with lust as he watched the involuntary quake of your ass over his face, your voice mewling his name for the fourth time as he chased another desperate spasm of your walls clenching down and contracting in his mouth. 

“Plap, plap, plap.” His tongue greedily bullied your needy cunt, coating his lips, nose and chin in a slicked elixir of your nectar over his face as you desperately sobbed for him. Relentlessly chasing that high of watching you use his body to achieve ecstasy above him, he growled into your body, the vibrations within his mouth causing you to shriek. 

Latching onto your clit, he rolled his flattened tongue over the sensitive bud before mouthing at it in open and desperate kisses. Lapping at your juices, he felt his cock twitch in his hand from pistoning his shaft, squeezing his nob and thumbing over the pearlescent drop of his precum. 

“Can I cum? Can I cum?” you whined for him, gripping his chest and tensing your body above him to halt your eruption from over-encumbering your body in heated bliss, “Please? I'll be good. I'll be so good if you let me cum again?” He growled again into your body, moving both of his hands under your thighs and pinned you to his face by interlacing his fingers. 

As he felt your high approaching, he frantically nodded to give you permission to use his face to usher in the lightning sparks of pleasure over your body. You cried his name, dousing his face in a gush of sickened ecstasy as he hummed up into you. 

“I-I’m cumming,” you mewled, eyes rolling back and grinding down on his face. “I’m c-cumming.” You hummed your praises down at him as you stuttered over his name and sobbed your gratitude. 

Eyes rolling back into his head, he shot rope after rope of cum spattering up onto his torso as you squealed in joy at the display. 

“O-Oh, so much,” you whined down at him, body hands now pressed onto his chest as he slowed down his momentum rolling his tongue over you. “You came so much!” You exclaimed with a soft giggle. He hummed beneath you, softly kissing in open mouthed presses, romancing your pussy with his passionate oscillations. 

He whined against your lips, groaning into you as the aftershocks rush over him in wave after wave of chaotic lightning. Holding you firmly to him, he continued rolling his tongue between your folds like it was the only thing tethering himself to the earth. 

He savored the feeling of your body trapping him with your heat, the way you tasted cumming on his face and drowning him in your ecstasy, as he bucked up with each twitch of his cock spurting his untouched ropes over his stomach and chest.

“Mmm,” he hums into you, flicking his tongue over both his and your lips as he comes down from his high, immediately shocked to see nothing above him in his bed when he opens his eyes. He springs up in his bed, looking around the room for you but finding nothing in his room aside from his personal effects. 

Eyes wide and frantic, he scrambles in his bed and grabs at the bedsheets. Elevating his duvet and glancing down at his bare body, and grimacing at the sticky cum attaching his bedsheets to his quivering cock. 

Doflamingo

“Untouched?” He glared in betrayal at his twitching cock dancing proudly as it deflated, “Untouched?!” He circled his fist over his shaft and choked it within a firm grasp. Beginning to piston his oversensitive cock, he growled at himself. 

“You-...” he pictured the way your pretty little whimpers called his name, beckoning him closer to bliss with each pump of his cock, “...-You little tease.” 

His motions both picked up over his cock, his fist punching his pelvis and balls sucked into his abdomen, as he desperately chased his own release while frantically repicturing consuming yours. He pictured you whimpering above him, your legs shaking like a butterfly loosening the dew from its wings in the morning. 

His eyes rolled black as he continued pumping his shaft, picturing you above him as he did in his dreams before looking to his Den-Den mushi beside him. The sleeping snail snored gently beside his clock, prompting him to grimace at the time depicted beside it. 

“If I'm up and thinking of you,” he growled, reaching his unoccupied hand up to the shell and dialing your personal transponder code, “I'm gonna make you think of me.” As the chatter from the snail awoke, your sleepy tone called over to him from the mouth of the snail. 

“G-... Good morning, sir?” you mumbled to him, the subtle shift of your bed linens rustling caused Doflamingo to roll his hips to the sound, “Why are you calling me at…” you paused to yawn, Doflamingo picturing that cute little squeak you make as you reach the perfect stretch to rid yourself of sleep, “...Three in the morning?”

“Thinking of you,” Doflamingo purred sultrily into the snail's mouthpiece, “Dreaming of you.” You groaned at him, the rustling of the transponder informed him you were moving in your bed. 

“Okay, lord Doflamingo,” you murmured lazily into the mouthpiece, “Got a mission for me? Is that it? Dreaming of me fulfilling some brutal task for you well into the night?” He pictured you sitting up and waiting for him to give you orders, mouth watering as he pictured how eager you'd be to make his vision come alive. 

As the silence hung in the air between you, you offered him one final prompt to offer you a semblance of explanation. 

“Please, sir. Tell me how I can make your dreams come true?” you asked him boredly and sarcastically, “I’ve only just got back from the last mission, carried it out successfully if you were wondering.” He grinned and rolled onto his side and glared into the mouth of the snail.

“You're always so fucking good to me,” Doflamingo praised you, flicking his tongue across his lips, “You'd follow my orders until the day you die, won't you? My dark angel. My deadly assassin. My little muse.”

After a moment of silence, you offer him a disgruntled growl and he pictured you glaring at him through the snail, “What do you need me to do, sir? Can it wait?” He laughed his deep rumble into the mouthpiece before rolling onto his back. 

“You know what you can do, pretty thing?” he purred with a deep rumble into the speaker, “You can listen to me touch myself while I think about you sitting on my face.” His nonchalant attitude had silence falling from your end, prompting him to reconfirm his directions. 

“You hear me, pet?” he snickered at the snail, grasping and tugging at his cock while a sickening smirk split his face in a sinister grin, “Answer me when I give you orders.” A low growl emitted from the other end of the receiver. 

“I am not a concubine, sir,” you snarled your disdain for him into the receiver, prompting him to piston his cock harder in his fist, “Don't treat me like some whore in the night-.”

“-If you were a whore, I'd simply summon you here and ravage your tight little cunt with my cock until I hear you scream my name,” Doflamingo growled into the Den-Den, “Call what I'm asking you to do ‘a kindness’.” He sweetened his tone, purring and cooing at you as if his request was the simplest orders you could ever receive, “All I want you to do is listen to me fuck my fist while I picture you rolling your hips over my mouth.”

After a momentary silence and a sharp exhale of agitation, you growled back at him. 

“If I was rolling my hips over your mouth, you'd be silent and do as you're told,” your blunt response had Doflamingo involuntarily buck into his hand, gasping like a stallion at their first taste of a broodmare. 

“Oh, would I now?” he whispered in a husky tone, thumbing over his nob and groaning at the feeling, “What would I be told to do, mi amorcito? Tell me.” There was another pause of silence between you, Doflamingo waiting patiently to hear how you’d respond to his little taunt. 

“You really want to do this, Doflamingo?” Your harsh chastising broke him away from his harsh momentum of thrusting into his hand and had him stare at the receiver. He hissed out a soft “Yes,” in response, prompting your smirking laugh to rise from the mouthpiece. 

“Then invite me to your suite,” you suggested nonchalantly, “I'd be happy to bully you in person,” you paused, whispering into the receiver with a soft purr, “If you can take it.”

“Oh, I can take it.”

Caesar 

“Wha-...?!” he exclaims in shock, witnessing his cock twitch in betrayal. He sits in silence, staring down at himself in horror. Running his cool digits over the display of lust spurted on his skin and rolled it between his fingers with a grimace. 

“I didn’t-...” his sentence falls short as he looked around his cold room, his lips falling into a soft pout, “...You didn’t even fuck me in my dreams?” His pout deepened, his pointed nose sniffing back a soft sob. 

Rolling out of his bed, he stood tall and winced as he felt glubs of his spend roll down his torso and drop onto the floor. He downturned his smile, sweat pooling at his temple as he walked over to his desk and found a discarded lab coat. Rolling the material over his stomach, he tidied up his mess and sniffed a soft sob back.

“Even in my dreams, you elude me. You run from me,” he looks to a folded manila folder on his desk, opening the crease and looking at your file. The firm words beside your name printed in bold, his blood running cold at the sight. 

With the face of an angel, the softest smile painted on your canceled bounty, he ran his fingers over your printed skin and creased his brows into the center of his head. 

“Doflamingo’s favorite assassin,” he murmured, discarding the lab coat and sitting naked at his desk, “His pretty little pet,” his thumb brushed over your smile on the paper before drawing his palm over the page, “Someone that will never be mine, even if I beg.” 

He whimpered as he stared down at the page, his unoccupied hand circled his cock and squeezed it in his fist. Giving it a testing tug, he sifted through his collection of den-den images of you in the manilla folder. 

Sucking his bottom lip into his teeth, he began to piston his shaft with his firm grip as he focussed on your picture. Your face held such an innocence for someone so deadly: standing beside Doflamingo at a gala, gazing up into the face of Sir Crocodile with a light smile. So pretty, so charming.

So out of his league, you wouldn’t spare him a single glance. 

He began to tug at himself harder, rolling his hips up into his hand as he stumbled upon his favorite three pictures. All so different and holding him hostage to how he could picture your face contorting in pleasure as he chased his high in his hand. 

The first was a simple image he had managed to snap as you sat across him at the table: in your simple Donquixote assigned uniform as you paid attention to every word relayed from Doflamingo. You had an air of confidence, your chin angled high and a soft purse of your lips.

“Hhah-...” he whined through his pants, feeling himself come closer to the edge as he pictured what it could be like to kiss those lips and feel your face against his. Shaking his head, he moved onto the second image in his collection.

The vengeance and wrath written on your face as it was covered in violent bloodlust, your weapon in your hand and standing victorious after landing your final blow. You looked like you would’ve ripped your enemies’ throat out with your teeth to win that fight, and he wanted to be the target of that feral gaze so desperately. 

“Nnnghh-...” he whimpered, his cock beginning to twitch, his balls sucking up into his stomach as he continued to stare down at his collection of pictures of you. His jaw fell slack, him finally finding the last picture of you: one he was sure you thought was destroyed for good. 

The picture was soft, well loved from the firm grip Caesar would hold it in regularly, peeling up at the corners and creased. Your face was flushed, your eyes wide and looking up with an almost adoring innocence, your hair pinned out of your face and dressed in an outfit intended for flamenco. 

Your skin was revealed in a lusting dip, the pink of the material dipping over your chest in a deep 'V' and cinching in the small of your waist and flaring at the hips. The amount of flesh revealed beneath the material held such contrast to the innocence of your eyes. 

“F-F-F-...” he huffed, sucking on his bottom lip and feeling himself spill over into his hand, spurting ropes of hot, sticky cum against the underside of his desk, “...Fuck.” He rocked his hips in time to the spurts, feeling his eyes begin to prick with the similar sting of tears each time he tainted your image in this way. 

Hot rolls of his glassy tears spilled from his eyes and trickled down his cheeks into his quivering lips. Sobs escaped his mouth, sniffing back the heavier cries as he placed your image back into the manila folder and shut the crease closed. He placed his head over the cardboard exterior and his shoulders began to shake with sorrow. 

“No wonder you don’t like me,” he muffled between his whimpered sobs, “I’m fucking pathetic.” 

Rosinante “Corazon”

He sprung up from his bed and immediately stomped over to his bathroom with shock written on his face. He ran the shower, remaining unblinking and appalled at himself as he stepped beneath the pelting water. 

“Silence,” he whispered, clicking his fingers beneath the water and creating a rotund, soundproof barrier within the small cubicle and immediately balling his fist and slamming it against the damp ceramic. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He growled at himself, clenching his eyes shut and haunted by the image of your body using his face to grind and shake on his tongue, “C’mon, Rosinante. You’re a marine, you’re a spy, you’re a double agent, you’re the son of a celestial dragon, you’re-... you’re-...” he looked down at his cock, his shame washing away with the hot water and pooling at his feet before swirling in the drain.

“...-You’re in love?” he tilts his chin to the side as his heart hammers heavy within his chest, “In love with an assassin sworn to kill the likes of you without a second thought.” He huffs, lifting his head in the air and allowing the scorching liquid to hammer at his face. Shaking his hair, the drops cling to his golden locks and coat his forehead and eyes with the damp curls. 

He brings up his hands and cards them through his hair, staring up at the circular shower head and pouting. The drops do nothing to stifle the smoldering embers in his heart, the image behind his eyes are only of you and your smile. 

Drawing his mind back to your encounters of the past, he was touched that you had learnt to sign with your hands to speak and translate for him at meetings to save time and paper. Those signs he loved seeing you flutter at him to entertain him at social galas, the humor of your risque commentary you give him with simple gestures of your hands with a completely straight face. 

Your kindness in such a dark place had been refreshing, especially considering your title of Doflamingo’s favorite assassin led him to assume you were just as horrible as his brother was. He viewed your smile as a gift, your offer of a dance as a blessing, and the protection of your constant rapid dexterity to manage Doflamingo’s temper, and maintain your standing effortlessly, had him immediately targeting you for unintentional aid in his private cause. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, hanging his head and shifting the water to pummel at his neck and shoulderblades, “Shit,” he shook his head and thumped at the shower wall once more. His hand slipped on the condensation, sliding to the side and propelling his forehead to beat against the tiles with a slick ‘thud,’ prompting him to hiss out a curt: “Ouch!”

After showering, drying himself off, dressing and painting his signature smile over his cheeks, he began the soft trudge into town with his hat clasped firmly over his head. A embroidered card with his heart written within the contents, a bouquet of dark red el ceibo, large and soft pink roses, and several sprigs of yellow calafate, and the promise of potentially spending a night together, was propelling him to approach the training room you took.

Knocking twice on the doorframe beside the door, he witnessed you in your training garb pummeling into a hanging boxing bag with your hands bound in wraps, and your ankles strapped. Noticing the knock, you curled your head up at him and offered him a soft smile. 

“Corazon,” you halted the swinging of the bag by pressing your hands against the material, “Something the matter, sir?” He noticed your inquisition, your brows immediately furrowing in confusion the moment you looked at his hands. Gulping back his courage, he held out his gifts and darted his apprehensive, hazel eyes between yours.

“Cora…” you look to his hands and back to his face for further explanation, “What are you doing?” He triangulated his brows up, silently begging you to take the flowers and the card from his outstretched offering. You slowly reached your bound hands toward him and claimed the flowers and card from him without tearing your eyes from his. 

Placing the flowers and card on the bench where your bag was, you looked down to his hands and back up to his eyes before narrowing your pointed gaze up at him. Rosinante physically stuttered with his hands, thankful his Devil-Fruit silenced the soft whimper from fleeing into the air. You waited patiently for further information from the tall, silent Donquixote brother, folding your arms over your chest and pointing with your eyes down at his hands once more. 

Rosinante sighed, his hands moving in fluid gestures to depict his thoughts with his fingertips and palms, “I wanted to give you something nice, tell you how I feel about you, and ask if you’d allow me the opportunity to see where we go. If you’re receptive to my advances-.” Stepping towards him, you press your hands over his wrists to halt his flurry of rapid gestures.

“Why are you doing this, sir?” you hush your voice into a low whisper, darting your eyes between his and seeming to panic, “I-... We-...” you trail off, your hands gripping him painfully hard, “...Please don’t do this, Corazon.” 

His own eyes widened in panic, unsure as to why you’re gripping him so hard and seeming to reject him so harshly. Glancing down at your eyes, looking to your lip, your hard mask began to shift as he mirrored your expression. He kicked the door to the training room closed behind him, motioning the both of you out of sight of the den-den-snail in the corner of the room. He held his middle finger with his thumb: uttering a simple word, “Silence.”

Shock wrote itself on your face the moment he spoke and maneuvered you around the room with poised elegance and ease. He gulped back his nerves, uttering a simple few words: “Code: 0-1-7-4-6, Rosinante. Based at Headquarters under Fleet-Admiral Sengoku. Current rank: Marine Commander. Mission: find the ope-ope-no-mi, and stop my brother’s insanity from plaguing the masses. Four years serving under cover.” 

His lip quivered as he darted his eyes between yours, and hoped his assumption was correct. You gulped your own hesitation, clenching your jaw at his admittance before speaking your own. 

“Code: 3-0-1-3-7,” you whispered your name beneath your breath, hardening your resolve further with your brow creased firmly, “Based at sea under Vice-Admiral Garp. Current rank: Marine Captain. Mission: keep Doflamingo from gaining too much dominion over the other warlords, and maintain the status quo as his most trusted assassin. Seven years serving under cover.” 

Rosinante huffed out a sigh of relief, his shoulders physically dropping as if a weight had been lifted from its perch against him. Your lips twitched up in a soft smile, looking between his eyes and releasing his wrists from your grip. 

“You can talk,” you nod at him, huffing out a small agitated laugh, “This whole time, you’ve been making me talk for you by translating ‘sign’ for the others here, and you could talk the whole damn time.” 

“I didn’t make you do any of those things,” he reached up, tucking your hair behind your ear and leaning down towards you with a soft expression, “And I like hearing you talk for me. My words sound prettier spilling from your lips.” You laugh at him, shaking your head and reaching up your hands to his fingers once more. 

“What made you break?” you asked him, darting your eyes around his painted lips and his pointed blue markings beneath his left eye. He gave you a crooked smile, caressing your cheek gently before parroting back your sentiment with, “What made you?”

“I just-...” you huffed out an exasperated breath and straightened your shoulders, “...I couldn’t lie to you, Corazon. You always felt different, somehow. Special, even,” you laughed in a soft pant, “What gave me up?” He smiled, pressing his golden hair against your forehead and closing the distance. 

“You had that look in your eye,” he crooned down in his deep baritone, shooting tingles up your spine, “The one that I just knew you were like me,” he mirrored your laugh, wrapping his arms around your neck, “And I couldn’t lie to you, either.” 

You nod to him, looking at the flowers and card, and back up at him with a curious look on your face, “What made you do this now?” A warm blush grew over his face, prompting him to suck his lips into his teeth and snicker.

“In the spirit of remaining truthful with you,” he rubbed his nose gently with yours, “I have a confession to make about last night…”

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Summary: You beg Bucky for ten more minutes in bed with you. Pairing: Bucky x f!reader Word count : 1.5k Warnings: fluff

This was the exact reason he hadn’t wanted a phone. The infernal sound that was coming out of it often made him regret the need for the obnoxious device.

Bucky moaned as he reached over to snatch the offending gadget from its place on the nightstand to silence the alarm before…

“No,” you begged shamelessly, slipping your arm around his bare torso in a feeble attempt to keep him from climbing out of your shared bed. “Staaay.” This time, your plea was laced with tiny kisses pressed repeatedly against his shoulder blade.

Who was Bucky to say no to such a pretty plea? Normally you were enveloped so far in the arms of Morpheus, that his alarm barely roused you from slumber, but today you were surprisingly determined to keep him in your arms.

Naturally, Bucky let you encircle him, hating that he had to be the responsible voice in the bed that morning. “Doll, I have to-”

He was silenced by your soft fingertip across his lips in an effort to hold his objection had the chance to gain any momentum.

“Come on, Buck. Just this once, pleeeeeease?” you pouted and whined. "Ten minutes."

Bucky rolled his eyes in response to your theatrics and sighed dramatically for your benefit. “I have to go take a shower, or I’ll be late to meet Sam.”

Your arms tightened around him, nuzzling into his ear, unable to hide the grin which had spread across your face. He could feel your cheek rise with your smile against the back of his neck and he could tell how determined you were to keep him exactly where he was. Should he just be resigned to his fate?

“Just ten more minutes, Bucky!”

Wistfully he glanced down at the phone in his hands and then to your arm around his waist. Using the tip of his flesh finger, he delicately traced a line from your elbow down to your wrist and lingered on the back of your hand. His touch tickled your skin, making you wriggle closer towards his back. 

Bucky considered his morning routine, all the tasks that he completed before heading out to save the world with Sam. What surprised him was how much he actually looked forward to the time with a man who he had found extremely irritating. That wasn't to say that Sam was any less irritating now, but he would probably miss being called tin man and cyborg if he stopped hearing them. Not to mention that his mother had taught him the importance of being punctual to meetings, professional or social alike.

His thoughts of Sam were pushed aside as your lips continued their gentle assault on the back of his neck, your sweet voice pleading with him and bribing him with your affections. He made an attempt to rise, but you moved your hand up over his chest, splaying your fingers across his sternum and pressing yourself against his back so that he pulled you up along with him as he sat up in bed.

You continued to litter kisses down his spine, pressing your lips along the bony staircase on his back. An involuntary sigh escaped Bucky’s mouth, reveling in the feeling of your soft plump lips on his skin. Then, to your immense surprise, he gave in to your entreaties.

"Just ten minutes, okay?"

You nodded, your chin tapping his shoulder with each oscillation. He didn't want to spend the next ten minutes checking how long he had, so he delegated the task to the dreaded device which kept him from his best girl. 

10:00

He entered the time on his phone, putting it down as the clock started counting down.

09:59

09:58

09:57

09:56

Bucky lay back down, not daring to entertain sleep, but there was no reason he couldn't be comfortable. He fluffed his pillow before settling back into it, smiling as he felt the weight of your head in his chest. 

Happily, you settled into your favorite place, your spot, snuggled under Bucky's arm. No matter your surroundings, you always felt at home squashed between his arm and chest. Bucky always thought that you were the perfect shape, molded, created just for him. 

He marveled at how your face fit into the hollow of his neck, smiling at the way you ghosted your lips against his Adam's apple, how your abdomen pressed against his side, how you let him curl his vibranium arm around your back and hold you as close as he could. He delighted in the sensation of your thigh on his as you draped your leg over his, then under in a tangled mess until he couldn’t tell where one of you began or the other ended. Not that he wanted to, he was happiest when you were together, unified.

Bucky looked down as you heaved a contented sigh, a rush of warm air blew across his chest. He brushed a few stray strands from your face, fingertips grazing your temple. He waited with bated breath for your reaction, relaxing as you snuggled closer under his touch, urging him to comb his strong fingers through your tresses.

Gods, you were beautiful.

Bucky already knew that, but sometimes it washed over him, bowling him over like a powerful wave. He remembered the first time he had caught a glimpse of your beautiful smile, your luscious locks framing your face with utmost perfection. You were wearing a floral jumpsuit, an item of clothing you'd had to explain to him. Your eyes had sparkled with mirth as you'd regaled him with details of newfangled fashion notions. He saw the passion behind your eyes as they shone with the brightness of a thousand suns. He knew he'd be able to spend hours listening to you talk and laugh about shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings. 

It made him smile, picturing the first day of his new life, a life with you where he was begged for an extra ten minutes of his time. You couldn't make it any easier for him, to appreciate everything you offered him. What was ten minutes in return.

Bucky pressed his nose onto the top of your head, getting a whiff of the citrus shampoo you always used, fresh from washing your hair the previous evening. He loved how you would send him off on his missions with a few drops of your favorite perfume on one of his handkerchiefs. It amused you that he kept them, but was glad that you could send him off with something that reminded him of you.

He didn't think it was possible but you wiggled in even closer, your arm pulling on his other side. Carefully, Bucky reached over to cover your bare shoulder with the duvet. Despite the chill in the room, it was you, always you that offered warmth to the depths of his soul.

He noticed how your breath had started evening out, slower, deeper. He could feel your heart beating against his chest, its strong steady rhythm grounded him, kept him from losing himself to the wildness of his wintery thoughts. He felt calm, the morning bird’s chirpy melody seemed to have faded into the distance, your warmth enveloped his being, how…

This reverie was cut short by his alarm going off again.

Devastation could be the only apt way to describe how Bucky felt in that moment. This proved the point he had known about phones.  But what broke his heart the most was the whimper that left your lips as he reached out to stop the antagonizing sound. He knew how much worse your reaction would be when he tried to get out of bed.

Bucky knew that as soon as he left the warmth of your shared bed, you would huddle deeper into it, wrap your arm around his pillow, a poor substitute for his majestic form. He knew what his day had in store for him, the violence he saw, the fear, the depravity of humankind. Every morning he would crave those extra ten minutes before facing the madness the world had to offer. Ten minutes with you in the Elysian Fields would never really be quite enough.

He couldn't quite put his finger on what was different today. It was an ordinary Tuesday morning. He had done the same for the last few days. There was no reason today should be any different. But it was different. Today's start would have to wait.

“Ten more minutes.”

This time, the words were Bucky's. He held you as though his life depended on it. And in a way it did. He was nothing without you. 

Naturally, you did not object, instead, you tangled yourself back around him even tighter than you had before. Feeling elated by his change of heart, Bucky proceeded to pepper your face and forehead with a storm of sweet kisses, even letting his eyelids flutter shut when you slid hands up his back to bring yourself nearer.

Sam could wait. Ten more minutes with you would be well worth it.

[mrhaitch]

Hey Mr. Haitch,

What do you do when you are sad?

I don't know if I've talked about this before, but I come from a family with a long history of poor mental health, along with conditions like autism and ADHD. I've had distinct episodes of very poor mental health - particularly my late teens, early adulthood and then the first few years of my kids' lives, during which I was medicated.

Diagnoses were batted around for a while (depression, generalised anxiety, bipolar depression, one long conversation where they were wondering aloud about schizoaffective disorder), and I've only recently gone cold turkey from the meds and my wellbeing has improved hugely. Not that I'm advocating for people to avoid medication - if you need it, take it - but in my case I was worsening over time.

I'm saying this to make a general point that when I experience a low mood it might be for a few hours or days and weeks, often without any particular trigger - I just become low and nonverbal and distant. Often I come out of it on my own accord. I have some very bright days and weeks, but I'll eventually subside into some kind of slump, oscillating between the two until I find some kind of level like a pendulum winding down.

I've got a kitbag of coping mechanisms when I get low:

1) I make sure I eat, and eat the things that bring me joy. Not just takeout or ready meals: I make sure I cook something.

2) Prioritise sleep and rest but within reasonable boundaries (get out of bed at a reasonable time)

3) Get out of the house at least once a day, even if it's to go to the shops.

4) Revisit media that brings me joy: favourite games, films, TV shows.

5) Break whatever cycle I'm in.

For that last one, what I mean is that when I'm low I lapse into a kind of holding pattern. My actions will become repetitive, and I'm highly prone to boredom which tends to make things worse. As such I'll surprise myself with random choices and changes: if I've been inactive I'll force myself to take a long walk, maybe 5 miles. If I've been busy and active I'll force myself to be sedentary. If I've been binge watching something and it's not doing anything for me, I'll pick up a book, or doodle, or play my guitar.

Whatever rut you're in now, do something different. Pick something outside of that pattern, even if it's getting up and sitting in a different chair (I know this is weird, but it works for me). Or if insomnia strikes, switch to the other end of the bed.

One thing I have to stop myself from doing is trying to figure out why I'm upset, because half the time there is no real root cause or reason and, given enough time, I'll invent one. I have to tell myself that I'm just feeling sad or low for no clear reason, and it will pass. When it does pass I focus on building myself up: I use my good periods to take care of my health, to create new projects, to build up momentum. Doing these things, I find, leaves me more resilient when the shit days strike.

This is all very particular to me and my circumstances, but hopefully it might give people a few ideas. I hope you're not struggling at the moment, but if you are I hope this gives some light at the end of the tunnel.

[puntointerrogativo]

I’ve been rotating the Loumand divorce in my head - I get why a lot of people find the finale sequence rushed, I wouldn’t have minded a few more minutes spent on it either, but it did work for me because we’d been watching their relationship crumble before our eyes for a good while by then.

To me it goes back to…I’d say the end of S. 2 ep. 3? The Dubai moments in season one are so performative and deliciously ambiguous, especially put into a D/s context. The reveal is, well, ominous. But Assad and Jacob had great chemistry when we first see them together, and then it sort of…fizzled out. And they’re both too good as actors for it not be a choice. They keep stumbling into each other’s traumas and hang ups, always slightly out of step.

One moment we are shown where the chemistry comes to life is the Arun bench scene. They click, it works! But I was expecting the momentum to carry them them forward -in a sort of the birthing pains are over, now things are starting for real way. Yet it never really happens. They keep being out of sync, detached. Neither of them is being entirely himself: Armand has declawed himself to lull Louis into a false sense of security, Louis is pruning away the pieces of himself that don’t fit the Maître paradigm. When there are attempts at connection one of them zigs instead of zagging, and they’re left wanting. We can see the cracks in the foundations but it’s impossible to tell what would have become of their relationship because the coven makes Armand choose (or Armand had already made his choice, since they’re apparently still debating what version they’ll go with.)

And I do find it believable that Armand -with all his history weighting on him- would not feel sure enough of Louis’ love at that point to sacrifice the familiarity and safety of the coven. By the time we come to the restaurant scene -which is…not without its own ambiguities- it’s too late, the choice had been made.

Then we come to present day Dubai and again, the distance is palpable. They have their moments, they can make a great united front against Daniel. They bicker, they finish each other’s sentences. But it’s clear something isn’t clicking, the happy facade is brittle and shallow, there’s a whiff of desperation to it all. The fight about the mixed up photographs was what really rang the bell for me. Because why would Louis’ first reaction be to accuse Armand of doing it on purpose? When you mix that up with Armand’s tendency to be controlling it’s pretty clear trust’s in short supply in that household. It solidifies all the little clues and wtf moments. And right on cue ep. 5 happens and. Well.

From then on it’s fairly clear Armand is and has been clutching at straws desperately trying to keep the relationship from disintegrating completely. What’s less clear is why Louis oscillates wildly between resentment and holding onto the happy couple narrative almost as desperately as Armand. Having someone mess with your memories to hide days of torture and implant ‘all I do is for your own good’ straight in your head should be more than enough motive for divorce, right?

And that’s made exceedingly clear in the tower scene. That relationship has not been about Armand, or even Louis, since Claudia’s death. It’s punishment, for all 3 of them.

Louis wasn’t struggling with the end of a 77 years long relationship or even only with Armand’s conditioning: he was struggling with the trap he’d built for himself.

The finer details didn’t matter for the divorce, it wasn’t about Armand’s motives or his aims because it had never been about Armand in the first place: if Armand directed he wasn’t simply an hapless coward but an active participant with power over the whole ordeal. He was guilty to a degree where he was no longer the lesser evil to be used to punish the presumed instigator.

And personally I think it wasn’t even about Lestat saving Louis in itself: reasonable doubt. Perhaps Louis sparing his life didn’t cause Claudia’s death. It was about Louis extending a bit of grace to himself. It was Louis seeing an out and jumping on it double quick. So long and thanks for all the fish. Buh-bye I’m outta here.

(Also, there’s no way Santiago voluntarily subjected himself to Armand’s direction after having ousted him as coven master. I’m not swallowing that and I don’t think Louis did either :)

[ladylooch]

a smut request with Nico where you’re needy while you’re pregnant and he helps you out?

A/N: YES! I am so excited about what is coming with these requests! So, we got three great requests that basically follow pregnancy to some sweet baby content. This is part of What My World Spins Around. I know this is technically a you POV request, but I wanted your awesome request in this AU because it's so fitting. Hope you enjoy!

A couple things that came to mind when thinking about dad Nico:

that man is going to be OBSESSED with whoever carries his baby. Like so touchy. So hot for it. So… desperate to be a dad and hold his baby. All the sweetness in the world.

He's a girl dad. 10000000% that is all I can picture him as. He would be so gentle and loving and safe for his daughter. So dependable and wanting to be invested in every single moment- big and small. 

You and Your Baby with Nico Hischier

Warning: SMUT (18+ Content), Pregnancy, swearing.

Word Count: 1.6k

I squint in annoyance at the whipping sound of the ceiling fan above me. I am trying to take a much needed rest and the uneven oscillation has me wide awake, contemplating if I can get my 7 month pregnant body up to disassemble it.

I decide probably not. So, instead, I roll myself from side to side to gain momentum to stand up and walk to the light switch. I reach to flip it off, just as my husband comes into the hallway that leads to our room. My squinting turns on him and he cautiously slows his approach.

“What’s wrong? What can I fix?”

“This stupid fan.” I point to the ceiling. He comes to stand next to me, reaching for the baby bump he is absolutely obsessed with touching. He rubs his fingers into my swollen skin, encouraging me to lean against his shoulder while we watch it together.

“Sweets, it’s fine.” This is not the first time I have complained about this fan to him. 

“It’s not in my head, Nico. It’s broken.” He bites his lip, watching as it osculates in perfect synchronization.

Brrrrrr. It suddenly vibrates, making my ears perk.

“That!” I shout, pointing at it.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Ohmygod. You’re useless.” I huff, stepping away from him. He follows after me, pawing at my belly. His hips bump into mine, pressing his front into my butt cheeks. 

“I’m gonna let that go because I know you’re uncomfortable from the hot weather. I did turn the air conditioning down before I came up.” His nose trails along my collarbone as I stand next to our bed, huffing in frustration.

“It’s more than just the weather. Your baby is huge.” I insist, crossing my arms over my enormous breasts. They barely fit into my maternity bra anymore. Everything is expanding and swelling and Nico still looks at me like I’m a goddess. I don’t know how. I’ve caught glimpses of myself in the mirror this week and have practically fainted from disgust. Growing a human is cool; my body going to shit is not.

“She’s measuring very normal.” He reminds me of what they told us at our ultrasound earlier this week.

“Whatever. Swiss babies must be massive or something. Doesn’t feel normal when she bounces on my bladder.” I move back to my side of the bed, adjusting the straps of my bra digging into my shoulders as I go. I can’t stand the discomfort of it holding my breasts to my chest. So I aggressively shimmy it off, tossing it onto the chair by the window. My perked nipples pierce my t-shirt, drawing Nico’s undivided attention. He tries to subtly adjust himself in his shorts as he moves to pacify me again.

“What do you need?” He asks, large hands cupping my hips as he pulls us close. Our baby wedged between us makes it difficult to come together completely.

“I don’t know.” I snap, shoving my hands through my hair and whipping my pony tail in irritation. Nico tilts his head to the side, weaving his gaze down every angry line on my face.

“Maybe you just need a… release.” He questions.

His fingers glide along my shirt, weaving over my bump to come to my heavy breasts. The tips of his fingers tease the peaks until they’re tightened into desperate buds. I sigh, not able to stop the needy moan. I’m so horny all the time still, even in the third trimester. I can barely let him leave the house for summer training. Seeing my pleasure, he reaches down for the hem of my shirt to pull it over my head. My nipples have changed with pregnancy, distinct points with deeper color to them. Nico admires the view, then slowly leans forward to suck the right one into his mouth. I watch his cheeks sink in, tongue stroking every little bit to tease. My fingers rake into his hair, holding him to my chest as his other hand comes to tweak my other nipple.

“Please.” I whisper.

“Please what?”

“Fuck me.”

“I want you to fuck me.” He responds, walking himself backwards to sit on the edge of the bed. “I want to see every perfect part of you as you ride me.” I look away, a little hesitant with how pregnant I am. Our position options are limited right now, but we’ve had the best success with me on top. “I’ll help, baby.” He assures me, encouraging me forward with outstretched arms. My inner core pulses with need, wetness slicking my folds in my panties.

I step forward, placing my hands on his shoulders, watching his dewey brown eyes as he strokes my belly, then grips my hips to encourage me further forward. He grips the waistband of my maternity leggings, shoving them further down my legs. After pulling his shorts off, I straddle him, watching as my belly bumps into his chest. He smiles, leaning down to kiss it. 

Nico lays down on his back, watching me lean over him to feather kisses along his jaw. His stubble is delightfully abrasive against my smooth lips. I slide my mouth open, sucking the sensitive skin of his throat. My tongue runs over the red mark, devouring the taste of him.

“Mmm, that feels good.” His hands slide down my back to grip my ass tightly. I reach for his shaft, feeling along the hard, velvet skin. He pulses in my hand. I stroke up, smearing the trail of pre-cum over his hot head. He moans as I begin to jerk him faster with the help of the milky liquid.

His eyes watch hungrily as I move back over his hips. I grip his cock in my hand, working it through my folds, playing with myself while he watches. I savor the feeling of him against my clit. I toss my head back letting out a loud moan that has Nico gripping my hips earnestly. 

“Put me inside you, babe.” His words are a desperate hiss. More pre-cum dribbles out onto my folds.

I tilt my head forward again, chest heaving with pleasure as I move him through my slickness one more time, rubbing a hard circle against my clit. I whimper to him, then do as he requested. Once I’m seated completely on him, I relish in the feeling of how full I am with him inside of me. The increased blood flow during pregnancy has been good to me. I flutter my walls around his shaft and Nico groans, fingernails digging into my skin. He’s tired of waiting and lifts me to begin his thrusts. 

“Do I look good up here?” I ask him, watching as his eyes drift between my large, jiggling breasts and where we are wetly connecting. The sounds of our thrusts echo through our room. I press my hands on his abdomen for leverage as I move faster. 

“So fucking beautiful.” He moans. “Keep going, baby.” He encourages, mouth opening wider to suck in breaths as his thick eyebrows tug together in pleasure. “You feel.. soo.. damn.” He snaps his head back into the pillow. His eyes close as a heavy exhale falls from his mouth. I can tell he’s holding back for me. 

I continue to bounce and roll my hips, tilting my head and arching my back, as much as I can this pregnant, to hit a different angle. He’s rigid and his balls have tightened, pushing insistently between my legs as I move. I sigh in pleasure, feeling a similar tightness coil in my core as he presses deeper into me. His thumb comes to my clit as he pants excitedly beneath me. He gently rolls against the bud while raising his thighs behind me so he can help with each pump. He matches me thrust for thrust. I begin to quiver on him, unable to keep the tempo. He takes over completely, fucking me faster and deeper still as I cry out in what seems like pain but is the complete opposite. The orgasm rocks through me as I shudder, belly rigid and round while the last moan gets trapped in my throat.

“Ach du lieber Gott.” Nico sputters as my orgasm squeezes him. He explodes deep into me shoving and rolling my hips with his strong hands as I go limp. I stay like that, him buried in deep, my head tilted back towards the broken ceiling fan, mouth agape, as his hands steady me. I can feel his dick continue to pulse within me, spilling more into me with each spasm.

“I think my soul just left my body.” I tell him when I can finally speak. His hands move from my hips to my belly, then up to my nipples to give them a final stroke. My inner muscles quench around him causing a guttural groan from my husband. “It’s been a long time since you came that fast.” I tease, tilting my head forward. I smooth my hand up his chest as I sit back on his hips with him still buried inside of me.

“I had no chance with how hard you came. Plus, I’m obsessed with you this way… pregnant with our baby.” His hands press deeper and lower on my belly “I want to meet her, but I’m going to miss having you like this. This won’t be our last one, no?”

“We’ll see.” I say, itching at a red, stretch mark close to his right hand. “She might be so perfect that it’s one and done.” I toss him a wink. He knows I want multiple babies.

“Just like her mama.”

Lazily, we pull clothes back on and settle into bed for the nap I was trying to take earlier. Nico wiggles down next to my belly, lips attaching to my bare skin, nose mashing in as deep as he can get it. My eyes drift closed, finally content in my body today. I weave my fingers through Nico’s hair and grip his scalp as I surrender to my exhaustion. 

The last thing I remember is Nico telling our daughter how much he loves her.

[signode-blog]

Mastering RSI Divergence: A Comprehensive Guide to Trading Success

Trading financial markets involves a plethora of strategies and technical indicators that help traders identify potential opportunities. Among these, the Relative Strength Index (RSI) is one of the most popular tools used by traders. RSI divergence, in particular, is a powerful concept that can significantly enhance your trading strategy. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into the…

[allaboutforexworld]

10 Forex Strategies for Scalping

Scalping is a popular trading strategy in the forex market, characterized by short-term trades aimed at capturing small price movements. This strategy requires quick decision-making, discipline, and a keen understanding of the market. In this article, we’ll explore 10 effective forex strategies for scalping that can help traders maximize their profits while minimizing risk. 1. Moving Average…

[astrojulia]

Exploring the Depths of Wands Arcana

~ Insights and Interpretations

Navigation:   ੈ♡˳Masterlist    ੈ♡˳Image Credits

       ੈ♡˳Askbox    ੈ♡˳Sources

Introduction to Wands Arcana

In the realm of the arcana, the wand symbolizes our momentum, willpower, drive, and even our disposition. It embodies the heat of the game, represented by a courageous cudgel or baton, akin to that of a warrior. The wand is not just a physical tool but a conduit for magical forces and energies. It signifies the pursuit of victory and the path to becoming the best, the first, the great hero. Additionally, it represents the dynamics of conflicts and disputes, making it the suit of war.

Disclaimer: The way I learned to read tarot cards does not involve the use of upright and reversed positions. Instead, they rely on their symbology, positive and negative meanings, and the readings depend more on the spread rather than whether the card is upright or reversed. Also, the Court Cards will also have its separate post and I'm using Rider-Waite as reference.

Ace of Wands

Symbolism:

The Ace of Wands ignites the spark within us, the very essence that sets things in motion. Just like a spark requires oxygen and fuel, this arcane speaks of taking what you have and transforming it into something extraordinary. It embodies a profound impetus, comparable to a roaring rocket or a sudden burst of energy. It signifies an intense desire to act, and the card depicts a vibrant, living wood emerging from the ground, symbolizing the manifestation of our willpower.

Positive Interpretation:

This card radiates the energy of the present moment, urging us to seize the opportunities that surround us. It represents the strength of now, urging us to take what we possess and embark on our chosen path. It symbolizes the energy of combustion and encourages us to take the reins of the situation and make things happen. It marks the beginning, fueled by the courage, willpower, and forward movement required for a successful startup.

Negative Interpretation:

The negative aspect of the Ace of Wands warns against impatience, anxiety, and the tendency to rush into action prematurely. It advises the cultivation of calmness and patience. It may also indicate a misguided and aggressive approach, lacking the necessary elements to produce a fruitful outcome. It serves as a reminder of the importance of courage and the perils of succumbing to fear.

2 of Wands

Symbolism:

While the Ace of Wands represents the spark, the 2 of Wands represents the fuel that sustains that energy. The card depicts a figure holding a wand with a globe, symbolizing the potential of the initial spark, while another wand stands behind. This card signifies the interplay between forward momentum and the supporting elements. It prompts us to understand the nature of fire and its inherent oscillations.

Positive Interpretation:

The 2 of Wands signifies having the necessary support and resources to pursue our goals, dreams, and desires. It highlights the ability to handle existing responsibilities while pushing boundaries and reaching new heights. It advocates for a balance between action and rest, and it emphasizes the power of collaboration and partnerships.

Negative Interpretation:

In its negative aspect, the 2 of Wands warns of obstacles and limitations that hinder progress. It suggests the challenge of multitasking and the inability to fully devote oneself to multiple endeavors. It reflects the notion of being spread too thin, resulting in a lack of fuel to sustain the desired outcomes. It may also indicate conflicts and opposition, both external and self-imposed.

3 of Wands

Symbolism:

The 3 of Wands represents significant acts of courage and bravery. In the imagery of the card, a person stands at the port, observing ships depart and arrive, signifying the grandness of these actions in that era. It embodies the spirit of venturing into uncharted territories and discovering new horizons. The card suggests that with dedicated energy and effort, one can conquer anything. The two sticks in the background symbolize balanced energies that support and assist you on your journey.

Positive Interpretation:

This card signifies a strong willingness to take action and overcome obstacles. It reflects confidence and self-belief, urging you to be determined and find a way to achieve your desires. It embodies courage, dynamism, and a desire to travel and explore distant places. It represents a yearning to go beyond your current boundaries and expand your universe. The 3 of Wands heralds great adventures and significant decisions in your life.

Negative Interpretation:

In its negative aspect, the 3 of Wands warns against recklessly pursuing any adventure without grounding yourself. It cautions against constant restlessness and a perpetual dissatisfaction that drives you to expend energy without finding fulfillment. It can indicate an avoidance of responsibilities and impulsive actions without careful consideration. It may lead to entanglements and turning away from the present and the future, ultimately causing a sense of being lost. It may also represent distant and unreachable relationships.

4 of Wands

Symbolism:

The 4 of Wands symbolizes the union of essential elements, representing the culmination of the spark, fuel, and expansive abilities. It signifies a joyful bonfire of energy. The card features a festoon, symbolizing congratulations, and a wedding, representing the union of collective efforts for the common good. It embodies the stability of energy, celebration, movement, and the rhythmic flow of energy.

Positive Interpretation:

This card announces celebrations, unions, happiness, and harmony. It signifies successful teamwork and the creation of positive events. It represents stability and balance of energy, indicating that things are progressing well in various aspects of life.

Negative Interpretation:

The negative aspect of the 4 of Wands brings a sense of instability. It suggests difficulties in organizing events, unions, or collaborative efforts. The energies may be in friction, leading to feuds, discord, disputes, or excessive competitiveness. The uncontrolled nature of the bonfire can prevent the realization of desired events or outcomes.

5 of Wands

Symbolism:

In the desire to be a superhero, the 5 of Wands engage in a fierce battle. It represents an attempt to showcase courage and strength, even if the ultimate goal of becoming a champion remains elusive. In the card, each person wears different attire symbolizing different elements, and they appear to be attempting to form a pentagram.

Positive Interpretation:

This card encourages you to step into the fight, to advocate for what you want, and to give your best effort. It signifies the importance of resilience, self-assertion, and taking responsibility for overcoming personal challenges. It prompts you to stand out and invest more energy in pursuing your goals.

Negative Interpretation:

The negative aspect of the 5 of Wands represents individuals who are unlikely to succeed due to their inability to work together harmoniously. It signifies conflicts, fights, and violence. It denotes situations of intense rivalry and opposing forces. It warns of stumbling blocks, disrupted sexuality, feuds, and the destructive energies associated with uncontrolled fire.

6 of Wands

Symbolism:

The 6 of Wands represents the triumph of fire, the ability to solve problems through victory. It signifies the first attempt of the suit to become a hero. In the card, five sticks raise the sixth one, symbolizing the glorification of achievement. The white horse represents nobility, while the laurel wreath symbolizes victory.

Positive Interpretation:

This card embodies glory, success, and the recognition of one's achievements. It signifies being seen, acknowledged, and validated by others for your accomplishments. It represents overcoming problems, obstacles, and surpassing predetermined limitations. It is associated with great leadership and the ability to break barriers.

Negative Interpretation:

In its negative aspect, the 6 of Wands announces the triumph of others while experiencing personal loss. It can indicate threats, violence, and the imposition of one's will in a way that instills fear in others. It may evoke a sense of surveillance, imprisonment, and a false sense of victory and conquest.

7 of Wands

Symbolism:

The 7 of Wands spiritualizes the fire element, representing the inner fire that emanates from the soul and the seven chakras. It embodies the process of overcoming oneself and becoming a protector. It symbolizes great resilience and the ability to believe in oneself. In the card, a figure wields a bat, facing off against six others.

Positive Interpretation:

This card signifies the presence of energy, confidence, and necessary faith. It represents the momentum required to overcome obstacles. It is also associated with the spiritual realm and the guidance and protection of mentors. It represents a well-directed energy field where obstacles become stepping stones for progress.

Negative Interpretation:

In its negative aspect, the 7 of Wands represents individuals who are skittish and easily succumb to fear. It can manifest as fear transformed into aggression, creating a defensive and impenetrable shell. In the spiritual realm, it signifies energetic opposition and an inability to measure one's own strength.

8 of Wands

Symbolism:

The 8 of Wands symbolizes energy in motion, akin to the accelerating tail of a rocket. In the card, the open sky represents the vast expanse where such immense energy can flourish. This card signifies acceleration, movement, and the hastening of circumstances. It embodies the will to manifest dreams and desires relentlessly.

Positive Interpretation:

This card represents a powerful surge toward success and progress. It indicates new paths and abundant possibilities. It symbolizes the unfolding of wings to navigate through challenges. It signifies the presence of light, the advent of glory, and the imminent arrival of salvation. It encourages acceleration, speed, and the determination to reach goals.

Negative Interpretation:

In its negative aspect, the 8 of Wands warns against aimless acceleration and the wasteful expenditure of energy. It signifies a failure to hit the intended target and an excessive use of energy without purpose or direction. It may represent disorientation and unbalanced energy, going too fast and engaging in unscrupulous acts to achieve one's goals. It can also symbolize attacks or acts of aggression resembling arrows.

9 of Wands

Symbolism:

The 9 of Wands represents reaching the ember, a point where all available energy is needed for a specific purpose. In the card, eight sticks are shown protruding, while the ninth stick is held by the figure, signifying readiness for action.

Positive Interpretation:

This card embodies responsibility for one's actions and the ability to accomplish the seemingly impossible. It signifies the ability to undertake great works and face numerous challenges with unwavering self-belief and a sense of responsibility. It represents the strength that arises from discipline, determination, and accumulated experience. It also acknowledges the effort exerted in the face of weariness.

Negative Interpretation:

In its negative aspect, the 9 of Wands can represent the forceful subjugation of others or becoming enslaved by one's responsibilities. It may indicate carrying burdens that are heavier than one can bear, leading to dark accomplishments and projects that fail due to lack of energy. It warns against irresponsibility, using limited energy solely for personal gain, and experiencing exhaustion or excessive excitement that cannot be calmed.

10 of Wands

Symbolism:

The 10 of Wands signifies the fulfillment of the desire to become a great hero. It represents mastering oneself and one's own world. In the card, a lone figure carries the weight of the entire suit, symbolizing great strength and immense effort.

Positive Interpretation:

This card represents the realization of aspirations and the embodiment of bravery and nobility. It signifies the ability to take on numerous tasks and responsibilities, akin to setting fire to the rain. It denotes the capability to handle everything that comes your way, overcoming obstacles with an abundance of spiritual energy.

Negative Interpretation:

In its negative aspect, the 10 of Wands warns against attempting to do everything independently, resulting in the centralization of activities and overwhelming oneself. It signifies the burden of excessive effort, encountering significant problems or attacks, and facing formidable opponents. It may suggest experiencing energy spikes that the physical body cannot sustain and encountering difficulties in working collaboratively or as part of a collective. It cautions against reverse leadership or assuming excessive control.

(CC) AstroJulia Some Rights Reserved

[mooechi]

𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍! 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠; 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐬

TECHNIQUES:

Winter Breathing has 10 known techniques and forms at minimum:

First Form: Immobile Frostbite (Ichi no kata: Fūdō no Tōshō 不動の凍傷)

- The user dashes to their target and within a moment, performs a seemingly singular strike which penetrates a set of short yet precise and accurate swift thrusts resembling a sharp icicle piercing through the air that impales the opponent's vital points (such as the neck, heart, torso, etc.) to render loss/total loss of mobility that lasts depending on the latter's defenses/resistance.

Second Form: Preserved Frost (Ni no kata: Hōzon sareta Shimō 保存された霜)

- The user backflips into the air, simultaneously delivering an overhead slash before somersaulting again to reposition themself to release numerous slashes coming at all directions from afar, overwhelming the opponent.

Third Form: Oscillating Tundra (San no kata: Shindō sūru Tsūndōra 振動するツンドラ)

- The user begins fluctuating to discombobulate the enemy reciprocating snow rolling through tundra, before abruptly kicking off the ground and dashing towards their opponent with speed of sudden translocation, then doing six short, but fleet shallow slashes overlapping one another aiming to blind the opponent, the user then vanishes from view much like a snowflake amidst the snowfall, only to reappear behind their opponent, and performs two stronger helical slashes on top of one another in a rapid succession.

Oscillating Tundra, Luminous Hail (転がるツンドラ、光る雹 Shindō sūru Tsūndōra, Hikaru Hyō) - An improved version of Third Form: Rolling Tundra. The user instead flaunts the enemy continuously, while subsequently releasing flurries of hail-like slashes, each strike twisting and curving resembling the frozen shards of a hailstorm, striking their opponent from unexpected angles.

Fourth Form: Dancing Glacier Tundra, Northern Gale (Shi no kata: Odōru Hyōga Tsūndōra, Kitakaze 踊る氷河ツンドラ、北風)

- The user bends their blade in a swift glacial motion alongside their body in unison, dancing gracefully in a waltz-snowflake pattern concurrently shredding everything in its path fluidly during the dance-esque state to pulverize everything within a vast range.

Fifth Form: Distant Snow, Devouring Ice (Go no kata: Tōku no Yuki, Mūsaboru kōri 遠い雪、貪る氷)

- The user leaps up, adjusting their footwork in a way that allows them to move freely even without any solid foothold before releasing innumerable, rapid whirling slashes in front/around them as they pass to obliterate multiple opponents at once aerially.

Sixth Form: Extirpating Blizzard (Roku no kata: Genzetsu sūru Fūbūki 根絶する吹雪)

- The user spins and twists their upper body in a circular motion which unleashes a flurry of five-layered cyclonic slashes on top of the other in a quick succession that freezes the air around it to numb the opponent's limbs and impedes their movements.

Seventh Form: Gale Dragon's Thunderclap (Shichi no kata: Hayate Ryū no Gōrai 疾風竜の轟雷)

- The user advances to their target at blistering speeds that accelerate over time as they primarily focus their strength to their legs to perform this at a vigorous rate of speed while simultaneously releasing flurries of dozen gyrating slashes that annihilates everything obstructing its path and is significantly enhanced by the momentum of their speed.

Kuraokami Ryūjin (闇龗 龍神, Shichi no kata: Kuraokami Ryūjin, lit: Seventh Form: Gale Dragon's Thunderclap) - An extension of Seventh Form: Gale Dragon's Thunderclap created by Akari Fuyutsuki. The user performs Gale Dragon’s Thunderclap while drastically augmenting its speed overtime, allowing the user to travel faster than the speed of light for no more than 2 seconds to the point where user's silhouette phantasms a blue dragon.

Eighth Form: Eternal Sleetstorm (Hachi no Kata: Eien no Mizōre Arashi 永遠のみぞれ嵐)

- The user somersaults into the air, kicking off the ground with a great amount of force to enhance the released barrage of rapid downcast slashes from afar that ends with a more powerful one symbolizing an array of ice pellets, capable of deflecting projectiles. Versatile as it may serve as either offense or defense.

Perpetual Hailstorm (永久のあられ嵐 Eikyū no Arare Arashi) - An alternate variation of Eighth Form: Eternal Sleetstorm created by Akari Fuyutsuki. The user hurriedly unleashes dozens of downcast slashes on top of one another raining down on the opponent much like a hailstorm to defend from all incoming attacks and to overwhelm the opponent. Often used during urgently critical situations to parry midair, especially when foothold is elusive.

Ninth Form: Hypothermic Winter Gale (Ku no Kata: Teitaionshō no Fuyu no arashi 低体温の冬の嵐)

- The user flutters their blade swiftly in a flowing manner as they rush around their opponent at speeds that formulates a frigid blizzard that meddles with the opponent's senses over time, making their movements considerably slower and sluggish, rendering their attacks weaker and predictable. Typically, instantaneously followed/accompanied by another attack.

Tenth Form: Crystallized Tumult (Jū no kata: Kesshō-ka shita sōran 結晶化した騒乱)

- The user appears stagnant while executing a series of delayed-barrages of impeccable slashes that almost eradicates all incoming attacks resulting in a powerful shockwave emitting from the sheer speed which typically conjures a blizzard that obscures the user's whereabouts and makes their following movements unreadable. However, the technique's effectiveness is limited, as faster and resilient attacks can break through the process leading to the limited duration of the blizzard.

yes, I thought of all this back then.

the translations may, or may not be correct.

nonetheless, feel free to use this. but please credit me, thank you!

[rel124c41]

WALT DISNEY WORMDOG II. jade leech/oc

please contact your local doctor if you are experiencing the following symptoms: prophetic dreams, the feeling that someone is calling from across the water and from across the wave, midnight visitors, scars from sand, new friendships, black blood coming out your ears but NOT your nose, inhuman strength, canine teeth on your throat, & the philosophy that we should move on from our past and never let it hold us back from the possibilities of tomorrow.

a/n: in a garden, where nothing grows and it is always dark.

tags: malleus-centric; emotional hurt/comfort; blood and gore; friendship / platonic relationship; immortality (but not really!)

word count: 1,287

It is a building with sodden floorboards, bacterial infections of moss that make up their own continents, and spiderwebs stretching on walls. A perfume spritz of palpable despair like nothing good is ever going to happen lingers heavy in the air. Ramshackled, it is a building that Malleus Draconia has found brings him fleeting flickers of comfort in an otherwise despairful life.

Yet, when arriving, someone has made a home in the dark and damp.

On the tip of Malleus’s tongue, words breathe new death instead of new life, “Although, one day, you may come to regret even looking in my direction.”

Ah but how Marion had stared!

With a rage Malleus has never been privy, his beloved Child of Man – Leaning on his sword. Cutting a mouth into an expensive, Briar Valley imported rug and its pattern. Hunched over and resisting a powerful spell that unravels fibers in his mortal shell down to the hair on his genitals and to the cavities in his teeth. Panting like a hungered beast who caught a whiff of blood in the air. – had stared unyieldingly into his soul.

His soul where it always rains.

His soul where it always is dark.

His soul where nothing grows in dark rain.

Marion refused to blink once. Both knew one mere blink would usher him into a coma. Green challenged green. The magicless challenged the second most powerful mage on Earth’s fragile, thorny intestines.

He wants to behead me, slaughter me down to my atoms, rip my arm out of its socket like we are nothing but Beowulf and Grendel dancing together at the end of the world. A lovely thought in Malleus’s head.

Marion, using the momentum from pushing himself off his claymore’s pommel hilt, raises up both his hands, fully intending to choke the last breath out of Malleus.

Good. Feel my pulse die under your fingers. My dearest friend.

“How do you know if you have a soul?”

Marion’s hair is singed down to the roots. Malleus is still trying to get used to the new look so he has to ask Marion to repeat the question, to make sure it is his voice actually talking with that new face. Sweat like gasoline on his skin, chest pounding breathlessly, the question exits out his mouth again. His burnt right hand clenches when Malleus answers.

“The fibers of a soul are founded in your philosophies and your life. Are you weighing whether you have morals or a breath?”

“I don’t think I’m alive.”

Malleus presses his ungloved palm under Marion’s shirt. Feels the rapid rabbit rhythm of his mortal heart after their training spar – battle bigger foe Silver had suggested after Marion returned from the Island of Woes. Both wounds from yellow sand and blue fire spread down his pectorals where the roots of his heart’s arteries start.

The prince’s hand feels cold like death.

“No. You are mistaken, Child of Man.”

Isn’t that a double negative?

When the tremors finally end, when everyone has fallen asleep, Malleus lays with Marion in his lap. The throne accepts both their weight like a familiar bed. Warm globs of black oscillate up and down soporific, in a pattern that mimics lava lamps. Like putting two coins over the deceased, Malleus presses a kiss on each closed eyelid.

Malleus looks at the heart in his hand with disinterest.

Everything since they all woke up has been disinteresting. It is so tedious and dull. It is like laying on a lawn-chair in summer yet being bothered relentlessly by mosquitoes and bees and flies. Malleus cannot even enjoy the sun, having to keep swatting and swatting. In the blood-scented summer air, he turns his nose up at the insects, bored. There is one clear victor and Marion (who always estimates the winner correctly) should know it well.

If he did not before, he definitely knows now. Idia can rerun the routes and calculations as much as he wants; nothing changes in the desolate dark of Malleus’s storm. Nothing grows.

Whispered under the thunder and rain, a man gurgles and spits. It is irksome like buzzing. In his vice grip, the heart clogged with blotting blood beats steady and rhythmic. Some of the arteries are still cascading in arches towards the chest this heart was taken from, like spaghetti between two different pairs of lips.

The skin of the heart is pallid bluish-black. Like what Malleus holds in his hand has been bruised continuously or has been bruised so hard that it became a tattoo upon him. Speckles of rain trail over the veiny organ in rivulets.

Disinterested, Malleus drops Marion’s heart on the ground.

i dont want to be left alone.

His jaw is blown off by a mage’s powerful spell.

I don’t want to be left alone.

The atomic blast from Styx technology blows his left arm off.

I don’t want to be left alone!

He disintegrates into asb when a clawed hand touches his nape.

I don’t want to be left alone!!

His horns are torn out of his skull by hulking hands.

I DON’T WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE!

A sword pierces his heart.

“So.” Stone crunches like leaves under his steps. “It’s just going to be us at the end of the world.”

Malleus’s green eyes are bloodshot. His marks on his forehead hurt and tense when he looks up. There is a kindness rather than poison in a humane hue of green, unlike what Malleus eyes have always been like. People fear the eyes of Malleus Draconia like he is vengeful as a vexed Medusa. Dare he even squint, people extend their strides to escape his view.

Comfortable and at home under that viridescent gaze, Marion stands in it with a smile on his blood splattered face. He rests his left hand on his hip, almost sassy with the familiar confidence his pose exhibits. Slightly to the left, a gaping hole lies in the center of his ribcage.

Malleus can see through it, Sebek rushing towards them over the demolition of Disamonia. A place where nothing grows and it is always dark.

The peephole in Marion’s rib-cage moves when he chuckles, “Not that I mind. Heh, you’re a great conversationalist. And an even greater enemy, which is good because I would have grown bored.” The wind howls. “On the edge of the universe with no one to fight.”

“Child of Man –” Malleus has no idea what to say. All the lava bubbles of ebony have collapsed and everyone is awake. How does one apologize for overblotting and tearing the still beating heart of another man’s chest?

Marion’s green-hued gaze turns sentimental and fond. Thinking they are reviewing the nicknames they have given each other, he says, “Tsunotarou.”

Despite this, the situation is not lost on Marion. Most think he is stupid at worst and a brute at best; his intelligence is always called into question. Here and now, Marion understands the gravity of the situation as the blot in his bloodstream builds him a secondary heart. The situation? Well, he is always going to be there for his dearest friend. Forever and eternal.

Squinting through the sheets of thundering rain, Marion takes in the sight of those who run towards them. His ex-boyfriend’s frantic pace, the stumbling rush of Ace and Deuce, and the absolute jackrabbiting hops of Grim who caterwauls over the storm.

But right now, it is Marion and Malleus. At the end of the world, nothing grows there and it is nebulous with darkness. Yet?

Green eyes crinkle with mirth. How wonderful to be stuck there with his dearest friend.

[fanaticsnail]

How They Kiss

Masterlist Here

Word count: 200+ x4

Synopsis: four very different kisses with your favourite one piece characters. Small drabbles for four different scenarios.

Notes: I needed to write some kisses. Just some sweet kisses with our favourites. I adore writing kisses. There needs to be more kisses. This is me procrastinating. Art link

Apprehensive Tag List: @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @i-am-vita @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @mfreedomstuff @carrotsunshine @vespidphoenix

Aggressive Passion

Zoro, Kid, Killer, Doflamingo, Buggy, Crocodile, Luffy, Roger, Garp, Arlong, Lucci, Nami, Alvida, Ikkaku

Hands heaped in bunches clutch behind your head, fistfuls of your hair scrunched firmly against your scalp. Each moment you attempt to pull away and gasp for air, they're back on you and holding you firmly while their lips latch themselves desperately against your own.

All raw, all passion, all encumbering; consuming all of who and what you are and forging their claim upon you by the brutality of their embrace. Should you struggle to flee from their vice-like grip, desperately in need of a reprieve; their relentless tongue enters your mouth and captures your essence while simultaneously molding themselves into you.

When a small amount reprieve is granted; their lips find your jaw, your chin, your neck, and your shoulders. Wandering fingers scrape and claw at your back as your body is held at ransom to their vivacious lust. They have to claim you, they have to showcase their ownership of all that you are, they have to demonstrate to all surrounds that you are theirs and theirs alone.

Their lips write threats on your skin, and their raspy, lustful voice growls between bites, licks, and kisses.

“Mine,” their voice growls in a predatory rumble, their intentions not only convincing you, but themselves, “All mine.”

Silent Romance

Mihawk, Beckman, Rosinante Corazon, Rayleigh, Law, Shanks, Marco, Aokiji Kuzon, Robin, Vivi, Boa Hancock

Eyes glazed before shrouded beneath their fluttering eyelids, their lips caress yours with more words than lips could ever speak. A whisper calls to you, beckons you in as they rotate their chin to deepen their tantric oscillation.

Their hands wander up to cradle your flesh, gently raking the brush of their fingertips over your exposed skin before dipping beneath your shirt to seek out your body heat. Soft calls of their unspoken plea to open yourself up to a little more, they pull away from your lips to brush their nose and nuzzle their forehead against your own.

Your eyes flutter open, noticing their eyelids are partially cracked and gazing at you with longing. Their bruised lips softly upturn, their squinted smile showcased in the corner of their eyes. Anchoring yourself against them, you reignite their desire by pressing your lips once more to theirs.

As they part their lips, you feel the furrow of their brow in deep concentration, wrapped up in sharing the small carving of their personal bliss painted against you. It was portraiture, mapping your lips with their own and tasting the brushstrokes within each small change in momentum.

They whisper a call of your name, as their lips hover over yours. Their eyes hold more emotion than their words could ever speak.

Desperate Longing

Sanji, Ace, Shachi, Penguin, Helmeppo

The final lunge towards you held you captivated and in awe. Hands gripped at your waist, hips stapled your body between the hard surface of the cool floor, and the warmth of their body caging you beneath them.

Their warm tongue darted out to dominate and consume your own, breathy pants and whimpered whispers pleading a chant of, “More. Please more.”

Your hands reach up to caress their cheeks, hovering over the subtle dips and grooves you have mapped from memory. As they groaned through their struggle to claim more of your flavor over their palate, you met their desperation with only reciprocated passion.

Tugging at their hair has them whine against your lips. A strangulated groan followed by a roll of their eyes in bliss as you rolled them beneath your body with expert skill. Placing your hands beside their head and dipping down, you pressed an equally overemphatic kiss against their bruised lips.

Breath stolen from their lungs, heart beating with anxious rapidity, and hands wandering and roaming over your body; you bit, licked, caressed and sucked on their lips, jaw and neck as they cried out for you.

“Please,” they sniffed a soft sob, gasping their plea with the call of your name, “Please, I need more. Let me have more.”

Nervous Uncertainty

Usopp, Koby, Katakuri, Sabo, Franky, Hongo, Uni, Jimbei, Bartolomeo

A soft quiver in the corner of their lips, their brows elevated into a peaked triangle centralized to their forehead. Your eyes were darting between theirs, watching them wordlessly begin leaning in towards you.

Stuttering in their momentum, they hover their staggering lips over your own and their breath brushes against your skin. What felt like an eternity to them, they waited the turn of your cheek to reject their advance.

Your lips draw up into a broad smile, your eyelashes flutter as you lean in to take that final plunge and meet their lips. A shocked gasp is pulled from their throat, your smile only making their nerves spark with more intensity.

A hum of surprise fled from their lips the moment you parted your mouth to brush your tongue against theirs. Caressing their cheek, you support and guide them to make bolder movements. When their right hand finds your left, they interlace their fingers within your own while drawing their left hand to your hips.

What started with a steady and unsure stagger quickly sprung to more deliberate and intentional movements. They deepen the kiss with an angle of their chin, the brush of their nose and several open presses of their lips on yours.

“I don't do this often,” their voice quivers out their hushed confession, “But I want to keep doing this with you.”

[luckyshotwrites]

Ch. 100 // You're Getting My Help, Dumbass // Day Off

Contents (Warnings): Three (Angst, slight blood warning, hard vore mentions, character and monster info as always). Read full chapter on A03

Wordcount: 2,400+

Song I correlate to this Chapter: Again like far too many!

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

Wicks

Throbbing with adrenaline, his mind raced. Millions of thoughts bucked in his skull.

They needed more information on Andras. He used elemental magic the most. Wicks wasn't supposed to worry about curse magic with him. Naturally, Andras could have learned, but overtaking Wicks usually took more effort than the average training magus could expel. 

Not that it mattered—Wicks's head wanted to find a way out. 

How would anyone know?

There wasn't one. Wicks messed up, and now his family would pay for him. The loathsome, heartbreaking reality that Andras would play pretend asWicks made him wish he never existed. He didn't want Andras to talk or touch any of them, yet he would. Any of them could be another of his sick targets, overwhelmed and devoured by Andras using Wicks as a disguise.

Everyone, I'm sorry.

Andras's oscillating inner flesh rubbed against his body, siphoning his energy quickly with its saliva. However, the teeth that pricked his back never closed. Something prevented it from doing so. 

Wicks, bound by Andras's orders, could not move to see what was behind him. 

The fleshy walls retracted immediately, and Andras issued his following command. "Kill him, please, Diageo."

Wicks assumed the mimic pulled back to watch, because he looked far more entertained than worried. It's not Garter.

Garter had his third eye, which perfectly combatted the curse magic controlling Wicks.

Against his will, Wicks twisted on his heels and gazed at the person who had temporarily saved him.

It was the one he considered an enemy. 

Run Away. 

Every part of his body tensed with energy and magic. Wicks didn't want to end someone without it being his choice. Not even him. 

Please, you idiot-

Wicks's hue fumed as their need to end the blonde intensified. They locked on, keenly observing every part of him. 

RUN.

...

Alexander

His sight was useless so he solely focused on their scents and energy. He found one person along the way. Barely breathing, bleeding, a flickering flame of energy. He healed them, though he couldn't stay, and told them he'd be back. 

Mainly because it sounded like the building would collapse under the chaos further inside if he didn't help stop it.

He knew one was Wicks, the smaller blob ahead of him at the far end of the room. There was a flurry of colors trailing Wicks head like Drake earlier. Magic. Magic was the only thing he could see clearly enough.

The other being with Wicks lacked a scent. They only had energy. 

Based on his experiences, the only species he met without scents were mimics. 

He used the band of magic around Wicks head to determine where to place his barrier. He threw one up, since he couldn't human case whatever was in front of Wicks properly without his sight. It collided with it and backed off from Wicks.

His under its curse magic...

Alexander's hair stood up and his instincts strangled every muscles in his body.

Wicks is facing me, isn't he?

Alexander strapped a cloak to his body as he shot straight at Wicks. He would have used 'blink' if he could guarantee he'd end up where he needed to be to undo that band on Wicks head.

The alarming concentration of spells Wicks conjured called his attention. His fist. Alexander swiftly slid his hand across the air in front of him. A barrier struck Wicks's wrist and redirected his punch away, stealing its momentum. 

Due to his assault, Alexander shifted gears, creating a balustrade in a rush instead of a wall on Wicks's side. He flung himself at it and kicked off to reach Wicks's head. 

Wicks threw his arm through the barrier beam Alexander used prior. He broke it, and right before the blonde's fingers could touch Wicks's head, Wicks yanked his head to his right shoulder, and turned his motion to slam his curled hand into Alexander's gut.

Alexander lurched, his body pulled inward by its force, knocking every bit of air out of his lungs in a sputter. His cloak had long shattered, so he took the rest of its force with his wendigo durability—not that it could beat Wicks.

It sent him upward, and Wicks's barely recognizable blur was gone. His energy swirled behind the half wendigo, and Alexander cloaked his body and tilted his palm behind him to conjure a barrier in futile protection. 

It didn't matter, as Wicks appeared behind him, spinning in the air, sent the back of his heel into his target. It snapped the barrier, burst his cloak, and the weight sunk deep into the lower back part of Alexander's neck. 

It sent him down to the floor without the time to catch himself. His body, used like a cannonball, shattered the foundation. Every muscle twitch hurt, his ears rang, and he couldn't feel his face just taste the blood.

Get up. 

He barely willed his hand to lift and wave to his side. He created a barrier under himself, causing it to slam into and push him out of the recess—seconds before Wicks bashed into it from above. 

The strength rippled and caused the interior to shake. Alexander used reversal magic, rapidly healing himself as Wicks got up from the ground where Alexander's head once was. 

Once his legs listened, he forced himself to stand. Alexander lowered his body like a wrestler. I fucking can't dodge him. He's too fast. 

Unlike the half wendigo, Wicks had no problem using things like 'blink' to cover the distance.

Alexander was far too weak, unskilled, and stupidly refused to do anything that could possibly hurt Wicks. 

The dangerously powerful magus sprang up and ran, then closed the distance instantly, aiming right for Alexander's skull. He has no reprieve, every single shot was to kill him. 

Alexander tilted his head, his eyes focused the best they could be behind Wicks, and his already up arms moved higher. He used his left one to block the up-and-coming blow while the other hand tried to touch Wicks's head. 

The danger's fist pulverized his flesh, muscle, and bone in its way. Alexander's arm stood no chance against a full-powered attack. 

And as soon as his fingers grazed the bind, he yelled out in sharp pain. "DISRUPT." 

Right before his head was next to go, he used 'blink' to teleport behind Wicks. His body panged in inescapable agony. His left forearm was eradicated, blood pouring from what was left, and a scalding sensation ran across his head. He couldn't see past the blood in his left eye. 

He fell to his knees, huddled over, and attempted to quickly fix what he could. 

...

Wicks

He heaved. The air that entered him was his again. His distraught sight threw itself back, catching Alexander and the blood pittering from him. Wicks could even feel some of it on his face. 

Alexander's scalp was partially exposed on one side, and his left forearm and hand were completely gone.  

But he was alive. 

He risked his life to undo it.

Wicks's chest compressed. He hated Alexander, and still...the idiot went out of his way to help him. He has no obligation to me.

The enemy didn't let either of them rest.

Alexander worked on repairing himself and Andras took advantage. He held it back his right arm like a fishing pole and pitched it out at Alexander. It split into a string of squelching bloodless flesh. Its teeth wrapped around Alexander's neck and arm that stopped his strangulation.

"Got a big one!"  Then Andras whipped his arm and Alexander back into the wall. His arms flesh returned to normal after.

"This is so sad. I had been wanting short fuse for a while now," Andras's stare fell to Wicks. "But I'll gladly settle for a better prey like you." 

His energy was halved by Andras, who remained full and spry. 

Even so, the pissed-off Hispanic shot at Andras. 

"You want another hug so soon!" Andras yelled as Wicks's body collided with him. Wicks could feel the teeth underneath trying to penetrate his cloak, and the saliva from its mouth dampened it as it took energy.

Wicks got him into the wall, too, but risked Andras's body opening up to consume him again. 

He drains just as fast as I would by touch with his saliva.

He popped his cloak, and Andras dove in. At no point during this fight had Andras been on the offensive. He'd always strike after Wicks. 

Andras hunched and threw his hand out to grab him. Wicks hurled his to counter it. But Andras split his arm down the middle. Each end was serrated with fangs. They curled around Wicks's midsection. He put up another cloak just as Andras threw his head down and wide open, engulfing Wicks's head inside. The feeling of being inside the villain's mouth was kept back by his protection. 

Andras jaw snapped shut to break his cloak. He couldn't. 

¡vete a la mierda! You're not eating me! Wicks went to strike at Andras's abdomen, and instead, it opened up. So he hit into its surprisingly resistant gooey and energy-dampening insides. It was still a powerful hit, rippling Andras's body, but it didn't stop him from trying to consume Wicks.

He soon let go and reduced his size. Wicks saw a size-shifted Alexander over him. It seemed he went to grab and pull Andras's head back. Andras quickly ducked between Alexander's legs and got behind him. 

"Such wasted potential, short fuse, you've had years." Andras's arms latched into Alexander's skin. He didn't break it but ran the electrical currents up it. It made Alexander's body convulse, and the sharp teeth injected from his arms and into Alexanders legs. 

Wicks didn't let it go on when he captured his senses. He went straight between Alexander's legs, too, and ducked low. Andras's abdomen opened up in response, taking the punch. It still sent him back.

Wicks shook off his fist, burst the cloak, and redid it. 

He glanced back at Alexander, who smoked but healed himself relatively fast. 

"I'm sorry," Wicks said, catching his breath. 

Alexander shifted his eyes and dropped down to his resting height. "focus on the fight, not me, dumbass." He exhaled snappy, short breaths, "I'll live."

Andras threw himself at them again. Wicks retaliated, colliding with him. And with his free hand, Andras flicked a finger up, and the spiraling pillar of a barrier rammed its point into Wicks's body. 

"Barriers rely so much on sight. I'm surprised you can even do them with your pitiful eyes." Andras made more of them spring up, then surround and crush Alexander between them. 

Wicks shattered the spike before it sent him to the ceiling. 

Andras laughed as Wicks directed himself down, dropping his 'gravity' using gyro-telekinesis. "Much like Wicks-" Andras's hands sparked with their blue electricity before he threw the blast into one of the barriers instead. 

He used 'blink' to appear behind Wicks in mid-air.

"Focus's too much."

Wicks altered his 'gravity' for a second time, spinning his momentum to strike Andras's ribs with a roundhouse kick. At the same time, the lightning he threw earlier curved off the spike and hit Wicks's back and sent him toward another spiked pillar. His cloak was on the verge of breaking. 

Wicks landed on one of the points that resembled a bamboo shoot and pushed off it. It snapped under him as he launched like a peregrine falcon after its prey. He always aimed for the head. Andras, from the ground, split his apart, and his hands twisted around the arm Wick's failed to connect.

He brought Wicks into his, raised his feet in a drop kick from the ground, and enhanced them like Wicks. Andras struck his torso so hard that the left side of his body spun out, and his right arm loudly popped as Andras dislocated it from his shoulder.

He swung him down by it. 

Only a few individuals, besides his dad, could throw back as hard as Wicks could. So it reminded him how weak a magus was without powerful cloaks and how his lungs slowly filled with blood. 

Wicks scrambled to gather himself and his collapsed chest. Andras tried to take the opportunity to steal another chunk out of Wicks, but Alexander locked his human case again and made a barrier slam into his jaw from the ground. 

Andras snapped through it, the barrier turning to dust in his mouth. He glanced back, not expecting Alexander to have gotten so close.

Arguably weaker, he still delivered a blow directly into Andras's spine. The mimic's chest raised forward. And Wicks lifted his left hand and shot out a basic force blast. 

It sent the mimic spiraling the other way toward where the entrance used to be. 

Alexander dropped down and assessed Wicks.

"You should-" Alexander used reversal magic to speed up the process. 

"Save your magic." Wicks groaned as he sat up. "He's almost dead."

Alexander groaned weakly. "Whatever. Listen..." He squinted in the direction Andras was. "He's using our magic every time he takes a part of us." he held his arm to Wicks. "And since you're the only one capable of killing him, take my energy since you're more drained than I am."

Wicks pushed his arm away, "no-"

"Odds are if it's left to me, I'm not winning, and if he eats your ass, there's nothing any of us can really do." Alexander threw his arm back in Wicks's face, "so take it." 

"ARGH," Wicks grabbed Alexander's forearm. "Distance yourself after this." He carefully took it. There wasn't much between them, but he still left Alexander with enough to do one final thing. 

"I need him to stand still, get him stuck there, and I can kill him." 

He had to end this; they'd both be Andras's meals if he didn't. 

Alexander listened and did what he could. He manipulated the barriers like hands and trapped Andras between them. The daze Andras had lasted less time than Wicks wanted.

Wicks tried to read his mind and distract Andras, and the mimic freely let him. So, Wicks intercepted his thoughts, feelings, and memories. Wicks realized Andras won.

He underestimated Andras's priorities. The psycho focused on releasing his human case. Thus, he opened it before Wicks, begging him to strike the form and become one with it. 

But then, his form unexpectedly shifted back, someone human cased him again. Though he felt it wasn't Alexander. 

Andras's surprise and utter shock said it all, and Wicks could feel his final moments.

The real Andras didn't know what he fought. Mimics were so rare, so far in few. They're generally killed as soon as they're found. They could be anyone; they'd kill them, get their memories and powers, and be able to integrate themselves into anyone's life.  Andras was unlucky. A desperate mimic attacked him without a chance, and he ultimately lost to it. However, his will overtook the mimic. "I hope you burn!" Andras shouted as the mimic encapsulated everything that was him. It adopted every aspect of Andras while keeping its base tendencies. Thus, it never reverted to a complete mimic, which is why instead of being scared.

It smiled at its bitter end as Wicks's fist went through its head. 

...

Hey, you, thank you so much for reading. I'm glad I put out a story that people can enjoy! I hope you continue to enjoy it as WE have a LOT more to go! YOU BETTER KEEP PROSPERING! (Nonnegotiable, as always~).

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