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angelseraphines · 5 months ago

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ೃ⁀➷ ultraviolence ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! there is also a part one to this imagine, playing dangerous, and a part two, do you think you’d kill for me, one day? i hope you enjoy reading! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ choosing to take up arms and align yourself with player 456’s desperate plan was not so much a choice as it was an ultimatum. to do nothing, continue playing by their sadistic rules, meant walking the same path to inevitable death. but this? this rebellion, this gamble to strike at the heart of the operation. a blaze of defiance instead of the slow suffocation of compliance.

˚ ༘♡ the gunfire came fast and relentless, each crack like lightning splitting the air around you. the deafening staccato of bullets ricocheted off the metal structures, sharp and unforgiving. you pressed yourself hard against the crimson barrier, your heart a violent drumbeat in your chest. each near miss tore at your nerves, leaving behind the bitter taste of survival.

˚ ༘♡ the red structures were impractical shelter, offering only the facade of safety. around you, the others fought back with what little ammunition and courage they had. some fired blindly, their hands shaking, others aimed with accuracy, faces set with the resilience of people who knew they may never see another day.

˚ ༘♡ the air reeked of gunpowder and sweat, and your own breath came in short, uneven bursts as you tried to steady your hands. the ground beneath you was littered with shell casings and splintered debris, each piece a fragment of the chaos you had willingly stepped into. a thought crossed your mind, whether this was bravery or madness. but the thought vanished as quickly as it came, drowned out by the next thunderous racket of gunfire.

˚ ༘♡ you don’t have time to think, only to act. your fingers find the magazine release instinctively, pressing it hard. the spent magazine drops to the ground, clattering louder than you’d like. your other hand is already reaching for a fresh one, fumbling for a second before finding it.

˚ ༘♡ the cool metal feels heavy in your palm as you slot it into the magazine well. you shove it upward until it clicks into place, a sound that’s both satisfying and urgent. your hand moves to the slide, gripping the serrated edges. you pull it back sharply, feeling the resistance, and let it snap forward with a crisp, metallic clank.

˚ ༘♡ your heart is racing, but your hands are steady. you flick the safety off with your thumb without even thinking about it. the gun is ready again, its weight familiar in your grip. you take a breath that doesn’t seem deep enough, your focus narrowing as you lift the weapon and prepare to fire at the masked men who stand across in another block structure.

˚ ༘♡ player 001 had insisted you stay behind. his voice was grounded, almost gentle, as he took your hand, his rough fingers a stark contrast to the warmth in his tone. “this plan is reckless,” he said, his expression unreadable except for the glint of concern in his dark eyes. “we have enough people. you don’t need to put yourself in danger.” but his attempt at reassurance only fueled your resolve.

˚ ༘♡ “if you’re not staying behind, neither am i,” you replied, your voice firm, though your heart pounded like a war drum. his face darkened with vexation, but he didn’t argue further, young-il knew he could not change your mind.

˚ ༘♡ crouched behind the unforgiving cover of the red structure, your hands trembled as you clutched the empty weapon. “i’m out of ammo,” you called, your voice barely cutting through the raucous chaos around you.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun and jung-bae had disappeared minutes ago, slipping into the chaos to infiltrate the control room. every second they were gone stretching unbearably thin. around you, the others were panicking. shouts rose above the gunfire, “almost out!” player 246 hollered, “running low!” player 120 yelled out, desperation laced every shout.

˚ ༘♡ young-il’s radio crackled to life, gi-hun’s strained voice breaking through. “we’re running out of ammo here. there are more magazines on the guards, someone has to get them. hurry!”

˚ ༘♡ the moment the line went dead, young-il turned to the group. unlike the others, he was calm, his face as still as stone, his composure a striking contrast to the pandemonium. his eyes swept over each of you, calculating, deliberate. “four of us will move to back them up,” he said, his voice even, “but someone has to retrieve the magazines from the guards.”

˚ ༘♡ you felt the weight of his gaze settle on you for a moment longer than the others. your stomach tightened. the bodies of the masked men were out there, sprawled in the open, exposed under relentless gunfire. retrieving the magazines meant running into certain danger.

˚ ༘♡ “i’ll go!” dae-ho shouted, his voice quivering. his hands shook as he clutched his weapon, his knuckles white against the grip. before anyone could argue, he pushed himself to his feet and sprinted into the open, his silhouette a vulnerable target in the chaos. bullets ricocheted off nearby walls, sparks flying like tiny explosions. player 120 darted after him, crouching low and firing in short bursts to cover his reckless charge.

˚ ༘♡ young-il, player 047, and player 015 began moving toward the exit. you didn’t hesitate to follow, the worn soles of your shoes crunching against the debris-strewn ground. before you could take more than a few steps, young-il stopped abruptly, turning to face you. his stern gaze locked onto yours, “stay here,” he said, his voice low.

˚ ༘♡ your chest tightened with frustration, and you met his command with a sharp glare. “i can’t stay out here,” you hissed, your voice barely louder than the chaos around you. “how can i stand by knowing you’ll be in danger while i sit here, doing nothing? i can help.”

˚ ༘♡ his expression darkened, his face hardening as his jaw tightened. the faint lines around his eyes deepened into sharp creases, the wear of age etched into his skin. you could see the conflict inside him, his instinct to protect you clashing with the knowledge that he couldn’t stop you. his shoulders sagged ever so slightly, a reluctant surrender.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t argue further. instead, he turned sharply and continued toward the exit, his steps heavier than before. you followed close behind, the cold air biting at your face and your hands shaking.

˚ ༘♡ once inside, the oppressive silence of the corridors was shattered by the sharp crack of gunfire echoing through the narrow passageways. your boots slid against the blood-slick floors, the dark streaks smearing across the ground like grotesque markers guiding your way. shattered shell casings crunched underfoot, their metallic edges catching the dim light as you moved in tight formation behind the others.

˚ ༘♡ the sounds grew louder with every turn, each burst of gunfire sending a jolt through your chest. when you reached the source, your heart sank. gi-hun and jung-bae were pinned down behind a stack of crates, their weapons barking in quick bursts as masked men returned fire from the opposite end of the hall. “the control room is there!” gi-hun shouted, his voice strained as he gestured toward a guarded staircase. the veins in his neck stood out with the effort.

˚ ༘♡ young-il’s gaze darted between the staircase and gi-hun, his expression grim. “i’m nearly out of ammo,” he said, his voice undisturbed despite the chaos around him.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun didn’t hesitate. he reached into his pocket, retrieving a magazine with shaky fingers. “here,” he said, extending it toward young-il. “it’s my last one.”

˚ ༘♡ young-il’s eyes flicked to the magazine, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “are you sure?” he asked, his tone measured, though the tension in his voice was unmistakable.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun nodded. “dae-ho will be back with more. now go!”

˚ ༘♡ young-il looked as though he might argue, yet with a reluctant nod, he took the magazine. sliding it into his weapon, he jerked his head toward the opposite direction. “this way,” he commanded.

˚ ༘♡ you fell in step beside him, your shoulder brushing his as you moved. the air felt thick, you couldn’t help but glance at young-il, his face a mask of stable focus.

˚ ༘♡ arriving at another stairwell, the tension in the air felt suffocating, every step heavy with the weight of what might come next. player 047 and player 015 moved quickly, their rifles poised as they positioned themselves near the walls, peering toward the masked guards above.

˚ ༘♡ you and young-il lingered behind them. he reloaded his rifle with the magazine gi-hun had given him. your hands tightening around your weapon. the cold metal felt heavier than ever, slick with the sweat of your palms. you tried to calm your breathing, to ready yourself for the chaos that was certain to erupt. beside you, young-il raised his gun, his posture steady and unshaken. you followed his lead, preparing for the onslaught, waiting for the inevitable storm of bullets. the shots rang out, but they weren’t aimed at the guards.

˚ ༘♡ the first sharp crack reverberated through the stairwell, a deafening sound that seemed to shatter the air. player 047 jerked forward, his body crumpling to the ground like a discarded puppet. his rifle clattered away, the life drained from him in an instant.

˚ ༘♡ before the echo of the first shot faded, another followed, sharp and final. player 015 collapsed, his body writhing as blood began to trickle beneath him. he let out a guttural, choked gasp, his hands clawing weakly at the ground as he struggled to breathe. his voice, broken and trembling, was barely audible as he begged for mercy, his words dissolving into wet, rasping breaths.

˚ ༘♡ you stood paralyzed, the scene before you unspooling in a sickening blur. player 047’s body lay still, his eyes vacant, while player 015 twitched helplessly, his life draining away with each agonized second.

˚ ༘♡ your eyes went to young-il, who remained motionless, his gun still raised. his expression was cold, unreadable, as if the weight of what he had done didn’t touch him at all. there was no hesitation in his actions, no flicker of remorse in his eyes.

˚ ༘♡ the distant echoes of gunfire and screams drowned out by the discordant pounding of your own heartbeat. your mind raced, grasping for something, anything, to make sense of what was happening, but your body refused to move. your breath caught in your throat as young-il turned toward you, his weapon still raised, the barrel gleaming under the light.

˚ ༘♡ time seemed to stretch as the frigid metal pressed against your forehead, the faint scrape of the barrel against your skin sending a chill down your spine. his eyes, once a source of reassurance, now bore into you with an intensity that felt almost inhuman. they weren’t angry, but calculating. you opened your mouth to speak, to plead, to demand answers, but no sound came. the words were trapped, strangled by a fear that gripped your chest.

˚ ༘♡ for a vanishing moment, hope sparked when he lowered the gun. relief struck you so abruptly it nearly made your knees give out. that hope shattered as quickly as it came. he aimed the gun not at your chest, but lower. you barely registered what was happening before the deafening crack of the shot filled the air.

˚ ༘♡ the agony radiating from your shattered knee. it was as if every nerve in your body had been set ablaze, the pain so consuming it blurred your vision and stole the breath from your lungs. blood gushed from the wound, pooling rapidly beneath you.

˚ ༘♡ you clawed at the ground, desperate for anything to anchor you as your body convulsed with the shock of the injury. tears streamed down your face, hot and uncontrollable, as a strangled cry escaped your lips. the cold floor beneath you seemed to pull the heat from your body, leaving you trembling and vulnerable.

˚ ༘♡ through the haze of agony, you forced your gaze upward, meeting his cold, unflinching eyes. “why?” you rasped, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your ears. the word was a broken plea, filled with pain and betrayal, though deep down, you already knew no answer could justify what he had done.

˚ ༘♡ young-il stalked over to player 047’s lifeless body, his demeanor disturbingly composed despite the carnage surrounding you both. crouching beside the corpse, he grabbed the sleeve of the dead man’s jacket, his fingers curling around the fabric. with a deliberate pull, he tore a strip from the bloodied material.

˚ ༘♡ you writhed where you lay, the searing pain in your knee refusing to relent. blood continued to seep from the wound, its warmth pooling beneath you in thick, sticky smears. your breathing came in short, erratic gasps

˚ ༘♡ he returned to you, the strip of fabric clutched in his hand like a twisted tool of control. his presence loomed over you, suffocating in its quiet intensity. you flinched as he knelt beside you, the smell of blood and sweat clinging to him, a grotesque reminder of what he’d done.

˚ ༘♡ without warning, his hand shot out, his grip firm as he seized your chin. the sudden pressure forced your head off the cold, blood-slick floor, and you gasped, your lips trembling as you struggled to focus through the pain clouding your vision. his touch was rigid, his fingers digging into the tender flesh of your jaw.

˚ ༘♡ young-il worked methodically, winding the fabric around your mouth. you tried to jerk your head away, but his grip tightened, holding you in place as he secured the knot at the back of your head. the coarse material bit into the corners of your mouth, the taste of grime and death filling your senses as your cries were reduced to stifled, pitiful sounds.

˚ ༘♡ when he finally let go of your chin, your head hit the floor with a thud that seemed to echo inside your skull. the pain was sharp, but it paled in comparison to the turmoil raging within you. confusion clawed at your thoughts, tangled with disbelief so heavy it was suffocating. this was young-il, the man who had stood beside you, risked his life for you. you couldn’t reconcile the murderous figure before you with the person who had once seemed so kind, so loyal. why? the question screamed in your mind, louder than the agony in your leg or the blood pounding in your ears.

˚ ༘♡ he pulled the portable radio from his pocket, the cold efficiency of his actions cutting deeper than any bullet could. he walked over to where player 015 lay, choking on his own blood, the pitiful sound barely audible between gurgling gasps. kneeling down beside him, young-il’s voice changed, slipping into a grotesque mockery of grief and desperation.

˚ ༘♡ “i’m sorry, gi-hun,” he said, his voice uneven, laced with feigned exhaustion. “it’s over.”

˚ ༘♡ your eyes widened as the meaning of his words sank in. you thrashed against the bindings around your mouth, your muffled screams raw and desperate as you tried to drown out his lie. gi-hun needed to hear the truth, that young-il betrayed them, but the gag stifled every sound.

˚ ༘♡ young-il pressed the radio closer to player 015, holding it just inches from the man’s face. the wet, ragged gasps of the dying player filled the channel. you watched in horror as young-il’s hand rested on the radio. it was cruel, calculated, a performance designed to destroy any hope gi-hun might have left.

˚ ༘♡ with a flick of his finger, he silenced the radio. the stairwell was suddenly quiet except for your muted weeping and the faint rasp of player 015’s fading breaths. young-il stood over him, his gun raised once more. there was no hesitation, no emotion as he pulled the trigger. the crack of the shot was deafening, the sound of it reverberating off the concrete walls and leaving an emptiness in its wake.

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was unbearable. it pressed down on you, crushing your chest, as the weight of his betrayal settled fully in your mind. young-il turned, his face as calm as ever, and you felt your stomach twist. “i’m sorry,” young-il murmured. your heart sank as you convinced yourself this was it. he was going to kill you, finish what he started and tie up loose ends.

˚ ༘♡ instead, he turned and walked away, his footsteps unhurried. the sound of them faded into the distance. confusion churned in your chest, mingling with the pain that consumed your body. why leave you in such a pathetic state? surely, even he wouldn’t be so brutal as to condemn you to bleed out slowly, to suffer alone in agony until death finally claimed you.

˚ ༘♡ time became meaningless as you lay there. blood seeped from your shattered knee in hot, pulsing waves, the sticky warmth swarming beneath you, soaking into your clothes. the air grew colder, or maybe it was you, the life draining from your body, inch by inch. you couldn’t tell if a minute had passed or an hour.

˚ ༘♡ somewhere far away, gunshots cracked. a scream came, a piercing, gut-wrenching sound that sent a shiver crawling up your spine despite your weakening state, unmistakably gi-hun. you refused to consider what might have happened, it was far too devastating.

˚ ༘♡ and then, footsteps.

˚ ༘♡ as the figure emerged into view, a dreadful realization set in. it wasn’t anyone you recognized.

˚ ༘♡ tall and imposing, the stranger was clad in sleek black from head to toe. the fabric of their attire shimmered faintly under the dim light, perfectly fitted, without a single crease or flaw. their face was concealed by an angular black mask, its pristine surface reflecting nothing, revealing nothing, not even a hint of the eyes beneath.

˚ ༘♡ your mind, dulled by pain and blood loss, struggled to comprehend the sight. fear should have seized you, but your body was too weak, your thoughts too fractured to muster a response. when the figure crouched beside you, their movements swift and efficient, you didn’t resist as they ripped the gag from your mouth.

˚ ༘♡ “who… who are you?” you managed to slur, your voice barely audible.

˚ ༘♡ the figure didn’t answer. they didn’t hesitate. one gloved hand cradled the back of your head, tilting it upward with unsettling care, while the other hand brought a cloth to your face. the sharp, chemical scent hit you instantly, chloroform.

˚ ༘♡ panic flared, yet it was short-lived. the edges of your vision blurred, your body growing heavier, like you were sinking into a dark, bottomless pit. the last thing you saw was the smooth, featureless mask staring down at you, icy and unfeeling, before the world faded into black.

a/n: another hwang in-ho fanfiction! let me know your thoughts and if you have any requests! 🤍

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tridipanel · 1 year ago

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#concrete panel building system #fire resistant home concrete structure

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the-thing-inside-your-closet · 9 months ago

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Who Started The Fire?

From the prompts list:

“That’s my emotional support entity of questionable moral standing.”

Batman stared down the two teens standing before him. The boy was pointedly looking anywhere but the Bat’s face, finding more interest in the dirt and gravel crunching under his shoes. Meanwhile, the girl stood with her arms crossed, head held high, meeting Batman’s gaze with a defiant glare that wouldn’t be out of place on any of his own children’s faces.

Behind them lay the smoking remains of what was once a warehouse that had been used as a front for a weapons smuggling operation that the bats had collectively spent the past few weeks investigating. Although their investigation had taken longer than anticipated thanks to this group’s rather impressive security, they had been so close to a breakthrough…when the place had gone up in an inferno.

When the Gotham vigilantes had first arrived on the scene the fire had been so intense that they’d had to put in their gas masks to avoid any inhaling any of the thick black smoke from not only the fire, but also whatever chemicals may have potentially been within the building that would have been released into the air.

Batman’s initial hypothesis had been that the group had become aware of their investigation and burned the place to avoid any evidence being discovered while they moved locations. However, that theory had been shelved when Red Hood had announced the presence of charred bodies amongst the rubble, and evidence of explosives having been used in multiple area where the building’s structure had been the weakest. Whoever had been inside had not had any warning of the blaze that had swallowed the building too fast for them to get to safety, and with the structure being compromised from the explosions all exists had been blocked, preventing the inhabitant’s escape. Red Hood and Nightwing had been discussing potential suspects as Batman and Red Robin searched for any evidence that could have survived the destruction, when a clattering sound followed by the sound of voices hushing each other had altered all of the on scene bats to the presence of possibly several unknowns.

The two teens had been apprehended quickly and ushered to the side, far enough away from the scene of the fire to avoid them overhearing details of the investigation and to prevent any potential tampering. Accidental or otherwise. The teens had been stubborn in their refusal to answer any of the bat’s questions to their presence. Nobody knew why they were there, where they had come from, and they had even refused to disclose their names. Oracle, unfortunately, was sick with the flu and had been gently ordered to rest by Agent A. Batman was nevertheless confident that they would be able to discover their identities quickly either once they had returned to the cave or if they could get the kids to talk.

He would have asked Red Hood to speak with the teens, he was the best with kids. And if caught up in anything illegal they often seemed to respond better to him due to his more ambiguous morals and reputation for ensuring kid’s safety. Both from rouges and in some cases, the rest of the bats and birds. But he had been needed in Crime Ally after he had been alerted to a gunfight breaking out between two gangs who had been more hostile and antagonistic in recent months. Nightwing had accompanied him, and Spoiler had diverted from her patrol route to assist. That left Batman and Red Robin behind to deal with both the police and the frustratingly stubborn teens.

Batman resisted the urge to punch the bridge of his nose as yet another question was blatantly ignored by both kids. The boy had begun fiddling with the sleeved of his letterman jacket and the girl had taken to checking her manicured nails for any dirt or imperfections.

Just as he was about to turn the questioning over to one of the on scene police officers, a writhing mass of shadow had emerged from the girl’s shadow. Two tendrils of black smoke reached out to wrap themselves around the wrists and hands of both teens, who had in turn glanced down at their hands and smiled.

“We’re fine,” the boy had muttered quietly, “no need to worry.”

“What is that?” Batman asked, eyeing the mass with a cautious suspicion. He wanted to believe it wasn’t hostile given the kids reactions to it. But this was Gotham.

The girl shot him another glare, one hand on her hip while the other remained in the hold of whatever the shadowy mass was.

“That sir,” she spat out the first word with such venom to her tone that Batman almost flinched, “is our emotional support entity of questionable moral standing.”

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reasonsforhope · 5 months ago

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"In the Canary Islands, in Barcelona, and in Chile, a unique fog catcher design is sustaining dry forests with water without emissions, or even infrastructure.

Replicating how pine needles catch water, the structure need only be brought on-site and set up, without roads, powerlines, or irrigation channels.

Fog catching is an ancient practice—renamed “cloud milking” by an EU-funded ecology project on the Canary Islands known as LIFE Nieblas (nieblas means fog).

“In recent years, the Canaries have undergone a severe process of desertification and we’ve lost a lot of forest through agriculture. And then in 2007 and 2009, as a result of climate change, there were major fires in forested areas that are normally wet,” said Gustavo Viera, the technical director of the publicly-funded project in the Canaries.

The Canaries routinely experience blankets of fog that cloak the islands’ slopes and forests, but strong winds made fog-catching nets an unfeasible solution. In regions such as the Atacama Desert in Chile or the Atlas Mountains of North Africa, erecting nets that capture moisture particles out of passing currents of fog is a traditional practice.

LIFE Nieblas needed a solution that could resist powerful winds, and to that end designed wind chime-like rows of artificial pine needles, which are also great at plucking moisture from the air. However, unlike nets or palms, they efficiently let the wind pass through them.

The water is discharged without any electricity. There are no irrigation channels, and no machinery is needed to transport the structures. The natural course of streams and creeks need not be altered, nor is there a need to drill down to create wells. The solution is completely carbon-free.

WATER IN THE DESERTS:

China Announces Completion of a 1,800-Mile Green Belt Around the World’s Most-Hostile Desert

Billions of People Could Benefit from This Breakthrough in Desalination That Ensures Freshwater for the World

Scientists Perfecting New Way to Turn Desert Air into Water at Much Higher Yields

Sahara Desert Is Turning Green Amid Unusual Rains in Parts of North Africa

Indian Engineers Tackle Water Shortages with Star Wars Tech in Kerala

In the ravine of Andén in Gran Canaria, a 35.8-hectare (96 acres) mixture of native laurel trees irrigated by the fog catchers enjoys a survival rate of 86%, double the figure of traditional reforestation.

“The Canaries are the perfect laboratory to develop these techniques,” said Vicenç Carabassa, the project’s head scientist, who works for the Center for Ecological Research and Forestry Applications at the University of Barcelona. “But there are other areas where the conditions are optimal and where there is a tradition of water capture from fog, such as Chile and Morocco.”

In Chile’s Coquimbo province, the town of Chungungo is collecting around 250 gallons a day from a combination of locally-made fog catchers and LIFE Nieblas’ pine needle design, the Guardian reports."

-via Good News Network, December 30, 2024

#water #water shortage #canary islands #deserts #fog catchers #good news #hope

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tigerpearlsworld · 4 months ago

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Pick a card

What kind of power, influence, and lasting impact do you have on someone when you're in a relationship with them?

Before you choose a pile, take a moment to breathe deeply and connect with your intuition. This is a general pick-a-card reading, where the universe's infinite energies align with your path to bring you the guidance you need.

Know that you can only choose one pile. The message you receive is not just for you to resonate with, but for you to realize in time as the truth unfolds in your journey. To truly receive your message, you must follow your heart’s instinct, not your expectations. Look beyond the surface and see what your soul is trying to reveal to you.

How to Choose Your Card:

Breathe in deeply. Breathe out slowly.

Light a candle or incense, and clear your mind.

Meditate on the beating of your heart, allowing your thoughts to flow naturally.

Let go of doubts, and trust what your heart is guiding you towards.

Close your eyes, visualize a light forming in your heart, and feel its pull.

When you open your eyes, choose the image that your heart calls to the most.

For some of you maybe number, colour, or image will help.

A Final Message for You: Your heart is your guide, not your mind. Surrender to the wisdom that lies within you.

And for those who are seeking answers about love, fate, and destiny, I send my prayers to the stars to bless you with clarity, strength, and the energy to embrace your path.

May you receive what you are meant to know.

(Choose the pile:)

Pile 1: Hellhound

Pile 2: thunderbird

Pile 3: unicorn

Pile 4: Devil

The reading starts. . .

Pile 1:

Words which were coming for you as I start the reading:

(Intense, Destruction, Rebirth, Shadow, Depth,Passion, Truth, Raw,Fire, Darkness, Strength, Unforgettable,Haunting,Unshakable, Silent Storm, Reckoning,Depths of Love, Immovable Presence)

Vibes: You can't hide

Animal: panther

In the heart of your presence, there is a fire—one that does not simply burn for the sake of warmth, but for creation for something Deep for something more. You are not just a lover but....you are an initiator of change, a force that seeps into the marrow of the person you entwine your fate with. No wonder the panther came for you. There is something about you that does not just exist in their life—you carve yourself into the very fabric of their being, embedding your essence into their growth, their thoughts, their soul’s quiet corners where no one else has ever reached.

When you enter someone’s life, it is as if the water within them meets a great wave. They do not remain stagnant. You stir them, you awaken them. Your love has a purity that cleanses, but in its purity, it also carries the weight of depth. Though there is a softness in you, a nurturing spirit that gives without hesitation, yet within that giving, there is also a demand—a silent expectation that they rise to meet you in the same depth you offer. Not everyone can bear the weight of such love, for love with you is not simply about companionship; it is about transformation.

You walk with balance, with a knowing that love is not only passion but also patience.Yet in that balance there is also discipline your love does not coddle illusions. You push them to see themselves, to understand their own structure to stand firmly within their own power. You teach them responsibility both for themselves and for the connection they share with you.

With you anyone will face the echoes of their past, the unspoken truths they have long buried, and the unfinished stories they tried to escape from. Your love is a call to rise, to transform, to let go of what no longer serves them. Some may resist, some may struggle under the weight of the mirror you hold up to them, but none will leave unchanged.

I also feel you have a strong wall builded up around you like You do not give freely without expectation tbh....there is a quiet fear within you, a need to protect what is yours but also to hold tightly to what you cherish. And so, those who love you find themselves caught in this delicate balance between the openness of your giving and the quiet walls you build to shield your own heart. They will learn patience with you they will learn how to earn the trust that is not easily given and in that they will either find their own strength or crumble beneath the weight of what they cannot yet understand. You're passion is not for the faint of heart. As you're not for just anyone.

In matters of what power you hold in a relationship it's the fact that you have this unshakable presence....this unspoken but respected presence about yourself that lingers in their memories, in the lessons they carry, in the quiet moments where they realize that something within them has forever changed because of you. And that is something powerful and beautiful to have. And so.....when they think of you whether in the days of togetherness or in the years after your imprint remains. They will carry you in the way they love after you, in the standards they will never again lower in the strength they did not know they had until you showed them. You are not a passing presence but you are a catalyst a memory that breathes within them long after the last word is spoken.That is the power you hold. That is the influence you leave. That is the lasting impact of loving you.

Also as you have the animal panther it says that you do not love softly.....you love with depth, ferocity, and an unrelenting truth that strips away illusions. To be in a relationship with you is to face oneself raw, unfiltered, and exposed. There is no room for masks, no space for complacency. Your presence awakens something primal, something buried deep within the soul of the person you love. They may have spent their whole life hiding from parts of themselves, but with you, there is no escape.

In the end..... You are not a fleeting presence but you are the storm, the awakening, the quiet shadow that lingers in their soul long after they think they have forgotten. Loving you is not easy tbh. But it is unforgettable. And for those who survive the storm of your presence, they will emerge stronger, wiser, and forever changed.

A song which came for you

Pile 2:

Words which came for you as I start the reading:

(Unsettling, Haunting,Disruptive,Forbidden, Intoxicating, Reckoning, Depth, Chaos, Obsession,Fated, Undoing, Awakening, Introspection, Tragic Beauty)

Vibes: You belong to me

Animal: Moth

To love you is to step into a world of shadows where nothing hiddens for long. You do not simply touch someone’s life you pierce through it unraveling the quiet deceptions they tell themselves the illusions they have built and the truths they have long buried. There is a mystery to you a quiet depth that draws people in only for them to realize that being close to you means facing themselves in ways they never anticipated. But you're also a paradox that offers both chaos and clarity, both temptation and wisdom....like you are the whisper in the night that both soothes them but also the storm that both destroys.

Your love is not for the faint of hearts as because It demands balance but at times it tips the scales in ways that shake the foundation of the person you are with. You don't shy away from rocking the boat tbh I also see you may if need be flip the entire boat lol like......Some may resist, some may fight and some may struggle against the tide of your influence but they all in the end learn to surrender.

Though you yourself remain untamed independent not submitting to anything/anyone.....your independence both intrigues and unsettles the people who love you. You are not someone who loses yourself in a relationship but you make the other person lose themselve in the relationship while you remain whole, sovereign, untamed. You do not seek validation you embody it. You go at the beat of your drums.You don't ask for permission. But in your presence your partner finds themselves questioning their own stability....their own worth, their own significance like Do they have what it takes to stand beside you? Can they match your energy, your depth, your knowing? You do not tolerate mediocrity in love I see-you demand growth and ambition. Like you do not settle and you don't let the person who you're with settle either.

But there is also a battle war within you like you don't always find peace within yourself and this internal war may sometimes bleed into your relationships with its ugly head and claws. I also see there is a tendency for the lines between trust and doubt to blur for the weight of past wounds shape how you navigate intimacy. I also see you teaching your loved ones about discernment and illusion like how to be careful, how to be discerning, how to see through illusions-but in doing so you also teach them how it feels to be loved by someone who walks the line between trust and self-preservation.

As you have chosen the moth card it brings with itself the irresistible pull or tug. You cannot be ignore.... Although subtly but you influence the person in a consuming way... Making some even obsessed about the idea with you. But there again this thing comes the idea.... People fall for the idea of you for how they can mold you becoming molded in the process themselves as you remain burning and wild with your untamed energy. At first they may not even realize it tbh but you are the whisper in the dark, the thing they chase even when they don’t understand why. With you it's like a dream, a intoxication, a ultimate submission.... With you even if they got you close but for some reason you still feel far. Your love is like something they cannot hold but they never want to let go of either. Like I said before you're a paradox, a contrast.....You bring them both clarity and illusion, hope and recklessness. They learn through you the beauty of surrender of giving in to what they feel but they also learn the weight of chasing something they may never fully grasp.

In the end your love is a force that does not easily fade even if things fall apart even if the paths diverge....you are a wound and a revelation, a lesson and a longing. Things with you are always fated....they do not meet you by accident. You come into their world when something within the person must be shifted.....when something within them must be broken to be rebuilt, burned to be reborn. You are not just a chapter in their story but are the turning point, the plot twist, To be loved by you is to be rewritten.

A song which came for you

Pile 3:

Words which came for you as I start the reading:

(Phantom,Cosmic,Enigma, Awakening, Illusion,Sacred, Untamed, Ethereal,Mythical, Unseen, Unchained, Radiant, Elusive, Hidden, Oracle, Destiny,Everlasting,Eclipsed, Vanishing,Alchemy, witch craft)

Vibes : Known yet Unknown

Animal: Unicorn

To love you is to be at the crossroad, to hold air in cupped hands, to chase a shadow that moves just beyond reach, to follow a path that twists before it can be understood. You are Bipolar in a way....a contrast,an enigma a paradox with different extremes of your traits. You are not just a lover but a shifting force, something that refuses to be contained or fully known. Those who fall into your orbit quickly realize that you are not someone who can be claimed, not someone who surrenders easily to definitions, expectations, or permanence, hell even relationship. I don't know why I get this energy that you can friendzone a lot of people. Alot of people can be frustrated due to how complex and distant of a person you can be. There is just this frustration I feel from the people around you like..... You give them a hell of a ride lol that is for sure. Even deciphering your energy is so difficult because it's so layered and hidden and guarded. *sighhhh its gonna be a long read (ಥ_ಥ) with how difficult your energy is*

Coming back um....i feel there is this um...there is certain elusiveness to you. A feeling that you are here, but not quite here.....you feel me? Like um....Present, yet always slipping just beyond full grasp. Uhm.....those who love you often find themselves caught between longing and reality, between the idea of you and the truth of you. They may believe they have figured you out only to watch you change, evolve, take another form, leaving them to question if they ever truly knew you at all. Yet you're not heartless either tbh it's like.... There is depth in you a presence that makes people feel seen, understood, even adored.....but it is not always meant to be kept. Like you love freely, but carefully. You give but never in excess. You let people in just enough to make them feel something real, but not always enough to make them believe they can claim you as their own.

Also what I sense is that you as a person can be very restless, like a wind that cannot be bottled thats you....like a current that moves with its own rhythm, never settling for long. People who fall for you will feel this like.....like they will sense that you are someone who does not easily commit, who does not give love out of obligation, who cannot be tamed into something predictable. They may try to hold onto you, to anchor you, dictate you, try to make you submit but they will soon realize that you are not something to be captured-you are an experience, a moment, a storm that cannot be contained.

In the chaser and runner dynamic you are like a runner who runs away from relationship and people who wants to put you in a circle or in a type. Because I feel you don't want to be just seen in one light. You are infinite. You are more. You want so much for yourself. You have high expectations for yourself and you shine so bright that others try to catch you to feel that special feeling about themselves just for you to escape from their grasp.

Some people may call you cold but what I see is that you're not actually cold... You're just careful (which is fine which is good tbh) like.....You don't deny love, but you do not give it blindly either. Your impact is one of awakening, realization, and sometimes but most times of frustration. Those who love you may feel like they are in a constant state of reaching, always wanting more, always wondering if they are enough to make you stay. They may feel the weight of what they cannot control, the longing for something that refuses to be placed in a box. And that is your influence....you force people to question what love truly means like....is it about keeping, holding, caging, owning, securing? Or is it about presence, about understanding, about accepting that some connections are meant to be lived rather than owned?

I also see you challenging traditional love, disrupting the normal narratives people tell themselves about love and relationships. your love is not meant to be conventional like you are not here to fit into a mold, to follow a script, to settle into a space that does not fit you. You will make your own road and space for yourself.

As you got again even in the animal cards The unicorn it now becomes even special as it now whispers the messages of divine and things which are unseen can be seen... And things which are unheard could be heard. The unicorn card confirms what I was trying to convey no one can hold you, tame you or make you chain in one dimensional relation when you have rich wide view of the world and love. You don't belong to anyone.. There is a part of you that cannot be capture, cannot be owned, cannot be fully explained. Those who love you will try and try and try to define you, try to understand you, try to hold onto you but they will find that this love is something that moves like mist through fingers, something meant to be felt rather than possessed.

And in the end even when you are gone you remain. In the way they now question love as something eternal...in the way they now hesitate before assuming love must always mean control, in the way they search for a love that feels as alive, as electric, as fleetingly beautiful as you. You are the healer of the wounded, the solace of the lost, the unclaimed storm, the lover who cannot be held and the lesson they will never forget.

A song which was smacking me in the face before I even started the reading truly idk why maybe there is some message.... *Anyway this reading was something (╥﹏╥)*

Pile 4:

Words which were coming for you as I start the reading: (Unbound, Intense, Mystical, Unpredictable, Magnetic, Uncontrollable, Eclipsing, Wildfire, fetish, taboo)

Vibes: Power

Animal: Horse

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:Important:

Before I even begin to speak of your presence...i must first speak of the moment I reached out to touch your energy. It was unlike the others. Heavy. *sigh* i got a chill an almost intangible force pressing against my senses, as though the universe itself hesitated to part its lips and whisper your truth. The air was thick, the cold unrelenting, and even with the flickering of candlelight and the curling whispers of incense I felt the weight of something immense. I don't know what was that but it was so Cold and dark.Pure restlessness for some hate and for others even curses of some kind. Some of you may be going through the dark night of soul or shadow work or sadesati idk maybe even for some rahu/ketu dasha idk point is.... I don't know what that was. But I feel your energy is sensitive and I highly suggest you do something to protect it. As anything bad can penetrate it. You catch people's eye easily.... Jealousy and envy surrounds you. Ig that's all.

Anyway let's start the reading.

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To love you is like two polar extremes people either adore you to the point of obsession or fear you to the point of exile. There is rarely an in-between. You hold this sort of forbidden allure, something taboo, dark, and uncontainable, something that draws people in like moths to a flame knowing they might burn but unable to resist. There is this um.... undeniable element of possession, consumption, and devouring. Lovers may feel like they are drowning in your presence, completely overtaken, either by lust, love, or raw emotional chaos.

Your presence is like the first flicker of dawn in a night that had long forgotten the taste of morning ((✿❛◡❛)*quiet poetic ik*)And yet.....you do not arrive softly. Hell tbh you bring a wildfire that dances between destruction and rebirth, a paradox of passion and transformation like you do not touch them.....you brand the people you're with.

with that I also want to address if you're a guy you can either be Or have the vibes of a ladykiller/ if you're a woman watching you can be Or have the vibes of a maneater just saying.... Point is. Yep. I made my point lol

Ahem.... I also see some of ya can have a lot of wild fetishes like idk breeding kink?choking? （￣△￣；）

Aaaaa yea so.... Also some of ya can have wild and crazy tattoos. Like there is something permanent about the effect you leave on the people you're with in the relationship....much like ink on skin-whether physical tattoos or metaphorical wounds.

I also feel some of you are obsessed with psychological thriller, crime, and shadows of the mind of what's hidden.... Yk and I see that you either study madness or unknowingly become the subject of it. People who enter your orbit may find themselves obsessed, fascinated, unable to look away even when they should. For some of y'all people who are in a relationship literally could want to commit with you like hell even if it's a married person they may want to do the nasty and get entangle with you. Just saying.

But I would also like to address that your presence is not easy. It is not the comfort of still waters but the roaring tides that pull one into depths unknown. You bring forth their inner conflicts, their untamed chaos, and force them to face the parts of themselves they have ignored. It is not always a gentle process tbh and its like fire meeting shadow, a collision that either forges something indestructible or crumbles what was never meant to stand.

Yet for all the intensity you are not without tenderness but you carry within you a deep well of emotion a river that runs silent yet deep. You're a sanctuary of safety and comfort for those who really open their hearts to you and show you their raw self. Your love is not merely felt but experienced in its entirety where one learns that to be vulnerable is not to be weak but to be seen in their most unguarded truth. But not all can handle the depth of you. Some will run. Some will resist. Some will try to cage you, thinking that if they can contain your wildness, they can keep you forever.... But you are not meant to shrink yourself to fit within the confines of another’s comfort. You are meant to burn and to leave your mark.

I see for when you leave...because at some point, you always do, whether by choice or by fate-you do not truly disappear. You remain as a reminder of what it means to truly be alive, to have been seen, touched, and moved in ways that words will never be enough to explain.

Your power is that you're unforgettable.

As you got in the animal card the horse it conveys how you arrive with your galloping hooves shaking the foundation of your partner’s world... Pushing them out of their four walls and comfort zone but also I see the paradox of you in relationship. Like you maybe fiercely loyal in your soul but your essence cannot be tethered because you belong to the wind, to the roads yet traveled, to the call of the unknown. A partner who tries to chain you, to hold you down, will only find themselves grappling with emptiness. You do not leave because you wish to; you leave because you must, because your nature demands constant movement, growth, and change. You cannot stand Stagnancy of any kind. Your energy won't allow it.

And in the end some will curse your name while others will worship your memory but none will ever forget you. You are the force that runs through their veins long after when you're gone. You give the kind of love that comes like a storm, destroys everything in its path, and then disappears......leaving people lost, addicted, and forever searching for another hit of what they once had.

Two songs came for you while doing your reading

#pick a card #tarot #tarotcommunity #pick a pile #intuitive messages

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nyxs2 · 6 months ago

Text

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 3/?)

The fire consumes everything it touches, turning what was into ashes. Curiously, Silco also leaves a trail of destruction in his wake.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 6K

Warnings: smut, resolved sexual tension, dirty talk, degradation, public sex, rough sex, angry sex, unprotected sex, creampie, blood and violence, biting, threat of death, choking, canon-typical Silco violence, death of secondary characters being referenced, possessive behavior, you work in the brothel, Silco POV (when to start smut). Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 1 Part 2

Pay attention to the tags. If you're uncomfortable with violent situations or explicitly intense acts, PLEASE DO NOT READ. Once again: this is NOT a fluffy romance. Our protagonist has her own issues, and to be clear, while there are violent themes, Silco would never harm his dove. You have been warned—proceed at your own risk.

"I heard that Silco seems to be sponsoring a prostitute."

The bottle on its way to your lips stopped midway. Kate's words echoed like thunder, even though they had been spoken in an almost murmured tone. Nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared you for a sentence like that, not even the most horrible, bitter drink Zaun had to offer.

Beside you, Kate seemed almost uncomfortable. There was no accusation in her voice, but something about her tone overflowed with sadness, perhaps even anguish. The kind of look that made it clear she already knew the answer even before making the statement. She still insisted on visiting you, despite the apparent control Silco had over the brothel.

The brothel, which until two months ago had been your refuge—a place where the outside world and all its horrors were muffled by artificial lights and drunken laughter—now felt more like a prison. A suffocating space filled with glances you didn't want to interpret. That's why, on the night Kate showed up, you suggested going somewhere else. Somewhere Silco's shadow didn't hang over you.

Vander's statue was a landmark. For many, it symbolized the resistance and hope that had long since vanished. A kind of silent guardian of Zaun, a reminder of better days. Some people even wished the metal structure would come to life, that Vander would return to protect his people. But to you, that monument meant something deeper. Vander had saved you once. You'd made a promise to him—a promise you had yet to fulfill.

"Yeah... I heard about it."

"It's you, isn't it?" Kate shot back immediately. Her voice was soft, almost delicate, like a confirmation rather than an accusation.

You couldn't look at her. The thought of being called Silco's prostitute made something inside you churn, heavy as lead. Dealing with him in the privacy of a room was one thing, but carrying that title... it made you feel dirty in a way no amount of long baths could wash away.

"How did you find out?"

Kate sighed, fiddling with the ballerina pendant on her necklace. She always did that as a way to calm herself, an almost involuntary motion. "I did my research."

"You should've been a cop, not a designer." you tried to joke, but the humor fell flat, hanging in the air with no response, no laughter. Kate didn't take the bait. She simply said your name, with a sweetness that hurt, like she was trying to soothe a wounded animal. Reluctantly, you finally looked at her. That's when you noticed the worry etched into her green eyes, a worry you didn't feel you deserved.

"Don't worry," you said, your voice hoarse, almost harsh. "It could be worse. Silco could've just kidnapped me."

"That doesn't change the fact that you're still in danger."

You let out a low grumble, almost childish, like a petulant kid trying to dodge a scolding. She was right, but you preferred to live in ignorance.

"If I figured out who the 'prostitute' was, others can too. And if the chemical barons realize Silco has any interest in you, they'll try to use you to get to him."

"I know how to protect myself, Kate."

"From pickpockets and creeps, maybe. Not from assassins."

"Alright, what do you want me to do?"

The words escaped your mouth with force, your voice laced with irritation, hitting a sharper tone than you'd usually use with her. You stood from where you'd been sitting at the foot of Vander's statue, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of control. But, if you were honest with yourself, the idea that you still had control was a cruel joke. Overnight, your life had taken a turn you hadn't planned for—or asked for. To say you were angry would've been a massive understatement. And now Kate was pressing all the wrong buttons.

"Come with me to Piltover."

Her voice was firm, serious, but there was something more. A kind of unshakable hope glimmered in her green eyes as they locked onto yours, as if she could see something you couldn't. And there was something else... something that made your stomach twist. Affection. "Alright, so the place I'm staying in is the size of a shoebox," Kate continued, a small, awkward smile appearing on her lips, "But we can make it work together. Silco has no power in Piltover."

Those words. That tone. That damn hope. They doused your anger like a bucket of ice water. What remained was pure, raw shock as you stared into her emerald eyes. You saw it. The resolve. The conviction. And damn it, she was willing to risk everything... for you. Suddenly, it all made sense: why she kept coming back, even knowing the risk. Even indirectly challenging Silco. Because, in her mind, you were worth it.

Kate spoke your name again when she noticed your mind wandering for too long, her tone sweet as honey. "Please, come with me."

At some point, the lines had blurred for Kate, and considering Silco's actions, this practically put her neck on a silver platter. Bile rose in your throat, and you wanted to vomit.

"It's better if we don't see each other anymore." your voice came out dry, cutting. The tone was rehearsed, even if you hadn't prepared these words. You took a step back, putting space between the two of you. "Whatever you think we have, it's nothing more than professional."

Kate's eyes widened, shock written across her face as if you'd slapped her. The pain that followed nearly made you falter, but you pressed on. You had to, for her sake.

"I can't believe you're naive enough to think I feel something for you, let alone want to run away."

"What?" Kate whispered, her voice barely audible, but you saw it. You saw her eyes start to glisten with tears.

"I pity you." your voice was a venomous whisper. "Falling for a prostitute? Seriously? Kate, I expected better from you."

"Why are you acting like this?" her voice trembled, heavy with pain. "This isn't you."

"What do you know about me?" you shot back, your voice as sharp as shattered glass. "Oh, come on, sweetheart... it was all an act. Did you really think I cared? It was in my best interest to keep some naive girl paying my way. All I had to do was say a few sweet words."

She called your name again, her voice breaking, a final, desperate attempt to pull you back from the edge. A futile attempt.

"But now I don't need you anymore."

You saw it. The exact moment the first tear slipped from her eyes, just before Kate turned and ran. Without another word. Without looking back.

You stood there, motionless, like an extension of Vander's statue. Frozen. Empty. Guilt weighed on your shoulders like lead, but you didn't allow yourself to feel anything beyond the void. If Silco was horrible, you were a monster. Maybe that's what you deserved. Maybe, in the end, you and he were cut from the same cloth.

But your self-deprecating thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

"Breaking hearts, are we?" Silco's voice resonated in your ears, low and dripping with acidic humor. "And here I thought you were the merciful one."

The surprise lasted only a second when you heard his voice—low, laden with that familiar arrogance that made the air around you feel heavier. For a moment, you almost believed it was just in your head, a ghost of guilt or confusion tormenting you. But a single glance was enough to confirm it wasn't your imagination. Of course not. It was obvious Silco would know where to find you.

Especially since you'd abandoned the brothel in the middle of your shift. Someone had likely informed him that his latest acquisition had walked out unexpectedly.

The scent of burnt tobacco hit you before you fully saw him, and you closed your eyes briefly, trying to control the surge of emotions bubbling up inside you. Anger, frustration, maybe even a touch of resignation. You inhaled deeply, as if the tobacco in the air could numb whatever was consuming you. But it was futile.

The bottle was still in your hand—a bitter consolation. You lifted it to your lips, letting the liquid burn its way down your throat. The mediocre alcohol was doing its job but was nowhere near enough to drown out the chaos in your head.

"How long have you been spying on us?" your voice came out calmer than you'd expected, a stark contrast to how you felt inside.

It was impressive, even to yourself. You should've been furious; after all, everything in your life had started crumbling because of him. Because of his manipulations, the insidious control he wielded over everyone and everything around him. The last month had been hell, and Silco had been the chief architect of your downfall.

And yet, here you were. Talking to him. Not smashing the bottle over his head.

"Long enough to understand what you're trying to do." he finally said. His voice was calm, but it carried an undertone of subtle disdain, as if the situation were almost amusing to him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Silco move slowly, leaning against the base of Vander's statue. He crossed one ankle over the other, assuming a relaxed posture that seemed devoid of any threat. But you knew better. Beneath the casual façade, there was an almost palpable tension, like that of a snake ready to strike at any moment.

"Driving her away, keeping her safe... all so I have no reason to go after her." he continued, his eyes boring into your back, savoring each syllable in a way that sent a chill down your spine. "Such nobility on your part. A shame it's all for nothing."

The words hung in the air between you, as dense as the cigar smoke swirling around him. You wanted to retort, but your throat went dry, the words catching somewhere between pride and fear. He knew. He knew exactly what you were doing. And worse, he seemed to find it amusing.

Without warning, he pushed off the statue and took a step toward you, closing the already narrow gap between you. Your heart leapt in your chest, but you stayed rooted to the spot, your hands gripping the neck of the bottle, channeling your fury into the inanimate object.

He noticed. Of course, he noticed.

"Drinking won't make it go away." he said, his voice now almost gentle. Almost. The soft tone only made the harshness of his words cut deeper.

You barely had time to process the emotions boiling within you when Silco reached out and took the bottle from your grasp. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, your fingers stretching out in a nearly desperate attempt to reclaim it. But he held it out of your reach with an ease that made your blood boil.

Your gaze locked onto his, and like a thread on the verge of snapping, you finally broke. It was as if everything you'd been holding back had been unleashed all at once, a storm of emotions sweeping away any control you had left. Before you could even think about the consequences, your body had already made the decision.

The sound of breaking glass echoed through the space, the liquid spilling onto the floor in a dense pool alongside the faint clatter of the cigar falling. A small fire ignited mere inches from your feet. It was that sound, along with the smell of smoke, that finally pulled you back to reality.

Your arm was raised, caught firmly in Silco's grasp. His fingers wrapped around your wrist with enough force to stop you but not to hurt. You realized just how close you were to his face—mere centimeters away from striking him.

And that's when you saw it: his face. For the first time, Silco looked genuinely surprised, frozen in place. His good eye was wide, as though he couldn't believe what had just happened. It was almost impossible to imagine a man like him with such an expression. But the moment didn't last. Like a mask falling and quickly being replaced, his expression shifted in an instant. The shock gave way to his familiar façade of coldness and absolute control.

You, however, didn't back down. There was no regret in your eyes, no hesitation in your movements. Your emotions were a haze, but you kept them locked behind a hardened, defiant expression.

"Leave her out of this, Silco!" you said, your voice low but carrying a weight that cut through the silence like a blade. The words were laden with something you couldn't quite name—anger, sorrow, perhaps something deeper. "I'm the one you want? Well, here I am, right in front of you."

The words hung in the air, echoing in the space between you. Silco didn't respond immediately, but his eyes didn't leave yours, as if he were analyzing every nuance of your expression. Searching for something—maybe doubt, maybe fear.

In a swift, precise movement, he pulled you forward, erasing the distance between you until your body was pressed against his. The heat radiating from you was palpable, even through the layers of clothing, and the subtle scent of alcohol mixed with your perfume filled his senses, igniting something you couldn't quite interpret.

His other hand moved just as firmly, gripping your chin with enough force that you had no choice but to meet his gaze. The touch was almost rough, a blend of control and anger that reverberated through you down to your bones. Silco's mismatched eyes burned with a fierce intensity, so piercing it seemed impossible to look away.

"Don't test me." he growled, his voice low and laced with latent danger. "My patience has its limits."

And then, with calculated abruptness, he let you go. The movement was so sudden that you almost stumbled backward. He stepped away, creating space between you as if he needed to regain composure, though his arrogant demeanor remained intact.

"What are you going to do?" your head tilted slightly to the side, your tone laden with challenge. "Kill me?"

You weren't naive. His threats weren't empty words. You knew Silco was holding himself back—why exactly, you weren't sure. Perhaps it was the mounting tension between you, an invisible thread that seemed to pull you closer to something as destructive as it was inevitable. Anyone else who dared to attack him would have already lost an arm, or worse.

And yet, you didn't back down.

"Or maybe with me, it's different." your voice dropped to a sharp whisper as you took another step forward, so close you could feel the heat of his breath. "Because you know, Silco, that no matter how much you threaten me, I doubt you have the guts to actually do anything to me."

Silco's eyes narrowed at your words.

"You think you know me, don't you?" he shot back, his voice laced with disdain. "You think you understand what I want, what I'm capable of."

"Then tell me if I'm wrong."

It was you who closed the distance between the two of you, ignoring the crunch of glass shards beneath your feet with each step or even the crackling fire nearby. The phantom of his grip still burned on your wrist, but you didn't rub it. You wouldn't show weakness—not now.

Every muscle in his body seemed tense, ready to strike, but he didn't move. He didn't raise a hand to push you away, nor did he take a step back. Instead, he let you approach, let you bridge the gap until you were so close you could feel his warm breath against your skin.

"You're right. With you, things are... different." he admitted, his voice now almost regretful, as though confessing something he hated to admit even to himself. "But don't be mistaken. I'm still the man who built an empire on blood and fear, and I wouldn't hesitate to remind you of that if necessary."

The shadows cast by the light made Silco's silhouette even more intimidating. His orange eye seemed to pierce into your very soul, devouring you, like staring into the abyss and having it stare back.

"Go home." his face was mere inches from yours, close enough for you to see every line, every scar etched into his marked skin. He was trying to maintain composure; that much was clear. "Before I do something we'll both regret."

You raised your chin, your body radiating a fierce pride that defied any implicit threat in Silco's words. Any sense of self-preservation had already been smothered by the chaotic mix of emotions boiling inside you: burning anger over Kate's situation, frustration with Silco's manipulations, and, above all, the overwhelming attraction clouding your judgment.

You knew you were tempting fate at this point, provoking the beast, pushing Silco to a dangerous edge. But honestly? You didn't care. Maybe, deep down, a part of you wanted to see how far he would go, how much he could tolerate your words before finally losing control.

"I didn't think a simple fuck would destabilize the great Eye of Zaun this much." your voice dripped with sweet venom, every word as sharp as a blade. You saw the muscle in Silco's jaw tighten, and it only fueled your audacity, like pouring gasoline on a fire. "A whore was enough to make you lose your grip... how pathetic."

The words came out drenched in scorn, and you savored every syllable as though you were exposing an open wound, pouring salt on it with relish.

You barely had time to react before you were slammed against the wall, the cold surface digging into your back with force. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, and before you could even try to recover, Silco's hand was at your throat, squeezing just enough to send a wave of panic coursing through your entire body. Your mouth opened instinctively, searching for the little air you could manage to pull in, your chest rising and falling in short, desperate movements.

Your hands shot upward, but not to fight him—you knew that would be useless. Instead, you grasped his wrist, your fingers digging into his skin with force, your nails leaving small marks. The touch was deliberate, as if trying to remind him that you would still fight back, even if the odds weren't in your favor.

"You want to know what's pathetic?" he growled, his voice low and dripping with menace. "You." his thumb pressed firmly against the pulse point on your neck, feeling the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat beneath your skin. "I could snap your pretty neck and leave your body here for the rats to feast on."

The words were cold, cutting like steel against your skin, but there was something else beneath them. A suffocating heat seemed to hang between you, an almost palpable field of tension. It was dark, twisted—a desire that seemed to want to consume you both. Your breaths mingled in the closeness, a suffocating dance of anger and something more, something neither of you was willing to admit.

"Keep talking." he murmured, his voice dripping with dangerous, lascivious undertones. "I want to hear what insults that pretty mouth of yours will throw at me."

Your body betrayed you in the worst possible way. The initial fear that had tensed your muscles began to shift, the adrenaline coursing through you dulling the pain and heightening every sensation. Your heart pounded in your ears, each beat echoing like a warning of how precariously your life hung in his grip. But it wasn't just fear making your heart race—it was him.

Silco was close. Too close. His body practically covered yours in that position. His scent filled your senses, erasing any remnants of rational thought. His eyes burned into yours, that hypnotizing contrast—one eye filled with the intensity of anger, the other an empty abyss, equally devastating.

And then you saw it in those piercing mismatched irises. Hidden beneath the anger. An unmistakable flicker of desire. It was raw, overwhelming, and dangerously familiar. You recognized it because you felt the same. Your body seemed to plead against your will, the proximity igniting something dark and unspoken between you.

Your lips parted, and the words slipped out in a rough whisper before you could stop them.

"I hate you."

Your voice broke, but not from weakness. There was weight in it, a hatred so dense it seemed to poison the air around you—a hatred for everything he was and for everything he made you feel. A hatred for him, but perhaps an even deeper hatred for yourself, for wanting him despite knowing how wrong it was. You hated him. You wanted him. And in that moment, it was impossible to tell where one feeling ended and the other began.

Silco's fingers tightened around your throat just enough to send another wave of alarm through your body. His eyes—those mismatched irises that burned with something dark and ravenous—studied you intently. A slow, predatory smile spread across his lips, revealing the jagged edges of his teeth, a threat and a twisted invitation all at once.

"I know you do, dove."

He leaned in closer, the distance between you shrinking until his nose brushed against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the scarce space separating your lips. Silco's free hand moved upward, gripping your jaw firmly, though his thumb traced the delicate line of your cheekbone with an almost cruel gentleness. It was a stark contrast to the strength of his grip around your throat, and that duality sent heat coursing through your veins.

He pressed his body even closer against yours, pinning you completely against the cold wall, as if he wanted to crush you there, as if he wanted to make sure you had nowhere to escape—as if you belonged to him. Every inch of his presence was overwhelming, suffocating. You felt the weight of his thigh shift, sliding between your legs and applying an unrelenting pressure that stole any breath you had left in your lungs.

And then he claimed your lips.

It was a shock—a collision as overwhelming as the shove against the wall. His lips crashed into yours with a force that shattered any remnants of resistance you might have had. There was nothing gentle about the kiss. It was raw, primal, a clash of teeth, tongue, and desire that had been restrained for far too long. He kissed you as if he wanted to devour you, as if every part of you needed to be consumed until there was nothing left but him.

You tried to regain control, but there was no space for it. He allowed no room for anything but his all-encompassing presence, the way he took everything you were, claiming the right to possess every piece of you. His fingers around your throat tightened—not enough to truly hurt, but enough to make you aware of his power, enough to make you feel it.

His touch was possessive, almost as if he were branding you, inscribing his presence onto you in a way that no one else could erase. And as he deepened the kiss, you realized, with a mix of anger and fascination, that he was getting exactly what he wanted.

Your hands, which had been gripping his wrists in a desperate gesture, slid downward to clutch at the rough fabric of his vest. You pulled him closer, ignoring the pain that radiated through your body. There was something strangely comforting in the brutality of his touch.

The kiss wasn't a gesture of affection; it was a collision of wills, a clash of searing fury and uncontrollable desire. It was a war with no victors, only the promise of mutual destruction. You matched his every advance with equal intensity, every bite and scratch an attempt to wound him, to leave your mark on him just as he was leaving his on you.

It was twisted, and you knew it. The hatred you felt for him was intoxicating, burning inside you like a wildfire consuming everything in its path. But what was worse—and you hated to admit it—was the fact that a part of you wanted this. You found a strange solace in the shared violence, as though, in some perverse way, it was the only truth between you. This contained violence was a language you both understood perfectly.

Your teeth sank into his lip with force, and the metallic taste of blood spread between you before he finally pulled back. "You don't own me." you whispered breathlessly, resting your forehead against his.

His hand slid down, gripping your thigh with bruising strength as he hitched it up to his waist. You gasped, feeling the hardness of him against you, a visceral reminder of how much he wanted you. Silco pressed his body even closer to yours, the cold wall at your back seeming to vanish against the searing heat of him in front of you.

"Not yet, dove. Not yet."

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

Silco chuckled darkly at her feeble attempt to slap him again, his eyes glinting with humor as he once again grabbed her wrist. However, he released her grip without much resistance, watching curiously as her hands slid downward once they were free. He reveled in the way her hands shook as she fumbled with the clasps on his pants, anger and desperation rolling off her in waves and clouding her ability to complete a simple action that she could do even with her eyes closed.

He grabbed her hands, stilling their movements. With deliberate slowness, he guided them to the fastenings of his trousers, showing her how to undo the clasps and zippers. His hands covered hers, helping her slide the fabric down enough to free him, revealing the hard length of him, already straining towards her.

A low groan rumbled in his chest as he felt her fingers brush against him, the slightest touch sending sparks of pleasure racing up his spine. He was so hard it almost hurt, his cock throbbing with need. He wanted to bury himself inside her, to claim her in the most primal way possible.

But first, he had other plans. With a sudden movement, he grabbed her thighs, lifting her effortlessly until she was wrapped around his waist. He pinned her against the wall, the rough brick scraping against her back. His hands slid up her thighs, pushing her skirt out of the way, revealing the lacy edge of her stockings.

"Look at you," his mocking tone, as if he were not equally thirsty. "So desperate for it, so needy. You want me to fuck you right here, where anyone could see?"

He rocked his hips forward, grinding his hardness against her core dress. The friction made them both gasp, pleasure sparking through their veins. Silco's hands slid higher, cupping her ass, kneading the firm flesh.

"I should make you beg for it." the whisper left his lips, his breath hot against her ear. But even as he said it, he knew he wouldn't. He was too far gone, too consumed by the need to have her. Right there, at that exact second.

"Don't you dare." her voice tried to be threatening, Silco realized, but at that moment her threat sounded more like a plea than anything else. "Otherwise I..."

"Otherwise, what? You are not in a position to make demands."

Despite his words, she did what she always did. She ignored him. Her eyes rolled back with a boldness only she could muster as she brought her fingers to her lips, her tongue darting out to wet each one before returning them back down. She fingered him, spitting, with some difficulty due to the awkward angle. Silco's head fell forward, falling onto her shoulder as she continued to pump him. His hands returned to her thighs, adjusting his grip to keep them steady. Then when she adjusted him against her entrance, Silco couldn't help but hold his breath.

The sensation was almost too much to bear, the tight grip of her walls around him sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body. He gritted his teeth, fighting back a groan as she sank down onto him, inch by torturous inch. For God's sake, how he missed that.

But even as his body reveled in the feel of her, his mind was racing with dark thoughts. This wasn't lovemaking, not by a long shot. This was a fuck, plain and simple, a coming together of two people driven by anger and lust and a desperate need to hurt each other. It was twisted and wrong and so fucking good that it terrified him.

His hands gripped her thighs hard enough to bruise, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled her down onto him, burying himself as deep as he could go. The angle was brutal, almost painful, but it only served to fuel the fire raging inside him.

He set a punishing pace, his hips snapping against hers with a force that made her cry out. Each thrust was a declaration of ownership, a physical manifestation of the dark hunger that consumed them both. He angled his hips, hitting that spot inside her that made her writhe, that had her clawing at his clothes and screaming his name.

"Mine." his voice murmured, more to himself than to her. It wasn't a statement of possession meant to irritate her, since she seemed so absorbed in her own pleasure that she didn't even notice the words leaving his lips.

His hands slid up her thighs, gripping her tightly as he thrust into her, his movements hard and fast. Silco could feel her body tensing above him, could hear the way her breath hitched in her throat as she neared her peak. The knowledge that he was the one pushing her to this point, that he was the one making her lose control, filled him with a sense of satisfaction. He wanted to break her, to shatter her in a way that only he could, so, remake her in his image.

But even as he thought it, he knew it would be an almost impossible task. She would never give in to him. Not easily. She was too wild, too defiant, too stubborn to be tamed. And God help him, but that was what attracted him. That fire, that passion, that refusal to submit even in the face of his worst brutality. It called to something deep within him, something he'd thought long dead.

That's why he wanted to try. Someone who had been a revolutionary was anything but someone who gave up easily.

He forced himself to meet her gaze, his mismatched eyes boring into hers with an intensity that bordered on frightening. Her eyes were wide, pupils blown with lust and something else, something darker that he couldn't quite name. It unsettled him, the way she looked at him, like he was her salvation and her damnation all rolled into one.

He leaned in closer, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck. He bit down hard, leaving a bruise in the shape of his teeth. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, mixing with the salt of her sweat. It was a heady combination, one that made his head spin and his cock throb with need.

And then she was coming, her walls clamping down around him like a vice. The sensation was almost too much to bear, the rhythmic squeezing of her muscles pushing him over the edge. He let out a guttural groan, his hips losing their rhythm as he spilled himself inside her, filling her with his seed.

For a moment, they were frozen in place, their bodies locked together in the aftermath of their release. Silco could feel the warmth of her skin beneath his hands, could hear the ragged sound of her breathing as she tried to catch her breath. And for a fleeting second, he wondered what it would be like to hold her like this, to wake up next to her and see her sleep-tousled hair spread out on the pillow.

Well, if everything went the way he planned he would see this scene.

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

The post-climax sensation that always followed those moments left you vulnerable, as if every layer of yourself had been stripped away, leaving you exposed and defenseless. This time was no different, though the intensity was greater. It had been quick, physical—an explosion of mutual rage converted into something far more primal.

Your body ached, especially your back. The constant friction against the rough wall during the act had taken its toll. And yet, there was no regret. You had wanted it—the brutality, the intensity, the force. Silco's body also bore the signs of weariness; you could feel it in the way he leaned against the wall, seeking support for both himself and for you. His arms still held you, firm but no longer tense—just enough to keep you close.

His arms tightened around your waist for a moment, holding you firmly against him as if trying to prolong the contact, before slowly lowering you back to the ground. Even then, he kept one arm around your waist, his open hand pressed against the curve of your lower back, steadying you until the trembling in your legs subsided. No words were spoken.

After what felt like an eternity, you began adjusting your clothes. Each movement was mechanical, automatic, as though your mind had shut off, unable to process what had just happened. Across from you, Silco did the same.

Without the sexual intensity or the anger that had dominated the air minutes ago, the silence now felt even heavier. A kind of emptiness that made room for dangerous thoughts to take shape in your mind. But you didn't want to think. Not now. Thinking meant facing the consequences, and you simply didn't have the strength to deal with that yet.

You turned to face him. Silco, as always, seemed ready to say something. But before he could open his mouth, before he could release a single word or give you that smug smile that always made your blood boil, you struck him.

Your slap wasn't as strong as you wanted—it was all your exhausted body could muster—but it was enough. Silco froze for a moment, his eyes widening more from surprise than pain, but he said nothing. He didn't react. And somehow, that infuriated you even more.

Without waiting for a response or reaction, you turned and walked away.

[...]

The following days passed. The path to the brothel, the routine, the people you crossed paths with—it all seemed normal, yet strangely distant. Neither Kate nor Silco appeared, and you were grateful for that. Still, the peace was an illusion. Your mind offered no respite, replaying the memories of that night every time you closed your eyes. The touch, the anger, the desire, and, finally, the emptiness—it all returned like a silent torment.

Lost in thought, you barely noticed the movement around you. It was a physical jolt—a body colliding hard against yours—that finally pulled you from your trance. The impact was so abrupt that you nearly fell.

"Hey!" you snapped, irritated, but the person was already gone, running into the growing crowd around you. It was only then that you realized something was wrong. Urgent, desperate voices overlapped around you.

"A house is on fire!" someone shouted, the phrase ringing out like an alarm. "Hurry!"

Your body moved before your mind could catch up. Your legs began running, following the crowd heading in the same direction. As you turned the corner, the chaos came into full view.

The flames danced wildly, consuming the modest building like ravenous predators. Thick smoke filled the air, burning your nose and throat, making it difficult to breathe. People ran back and forth, some coughing, others carrying buckets of water in a frantic attempt to contain the fire. Children cried as adults tried to organize some form of aid. It was pure chaos—stifling and inescapable.

You stood there, frozen, your eyes locked on the fire that seemed to grow with every passing second. But then, another jolt brought you back—this time, more deliberate.

When you turned, you found a figure that seemed out of place amidst the surrounding chaos. She was tall and muscular, with an imposing presence. The red cloak she wore draped over her shoulders, concealing her left arm in an almost calculated way. She wasn't looking at the fire—she was looking at you.

"Silco sends his regards." before you could react, she dropped something to the ground.

Your breath hitched. The world spun. Pain bloomed in your chest, spreading like poison as realization set in. A necklace with a ballerina pendant. You knew that necklace.

And it was covered in blood. Part 4

┊ TAG LIST ┊

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@defmxl

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#silco x reader #silco x you #reader insert #minors dni #smut #arcane fanfic #arcane silco #arcane #no beta we die like silco

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theskywithin · 1 month ago

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12th House Ruler Through The Houses

There is a part of you that doesn’t live in the daylight. It doesn’t crave applause, clarity, or direction. It moves in symbols, in scents you remember but can’t name, in dreams you had before you were born. This is the part of you ruled by the 12th house. Wherever its ruler falls in your chart is where the soul weeps, prays, remembers, or resists. It’s where you disappear and sometimes, where you are most divine.

12th House Ruler in the 1st House

You are the reincarnation of unfinished feelings. Even your face remembers what your soul tried to forget. You walk through life wrapped in invisible threads, unspoken vows, karmic winds, echoes of someone you once were. People feel something when they meet you, but they can’t place it. You can’t either. You are the doorway and the dream. And no matter how grounded you try to be, you carry water in your bones.

12th House Ruler in the 2nd House

There’s a hunger that nothing ever satisfies. Not love, not touch, not gold. You are always reaching, not because you’re empty but because you remember a time you were whole, and now you're just trying to get back. You attach to the tangible because the intangible betrayed you once. But security will not come from holding. It will come from surrendering to what cannot be measured, only felt.

12th House Ruler in the 3rd House

Your mind is not a place, it’s a passage. Thoughts drift through you like spirits looking for someone to speak them. You don’t always know which voice is yours. You write to remember. You speak to soothe something. But clarity comes not from logic, but from letting your confusion become a kind of devotion. You’re not here to make sense, you’re here to give shape to silence.

12th House Ruler in the 4th House

Your soul was born in a house where love was whispered, not declared. Emotion was sacred but buried, ritualized in quiet gestures and missed moments. You learned to tiptoe around ghosts with your heart in your hands. Now, you feel safest in the dark, and yet you long for someone to turn the lights on. You keep trying to go back. But healing begins when you build a new home where the silence does not sting.

12th House Ruler in the 5th House

There’s a spotlight you never stepped into. You’ve always felt like the art was watching you, not the other way around. As if creation demanded too much of your vulnerability, like joy was something that had to be earned through suffering first. There’s a child version of you still drawing suns with trembling hands, waiting to be told it was beautiful. Not because it was perfect, but because you were seen. You don’t need applause. You need permission. Give it to yourself.

12th House Ruler in the 6th House

There is a rhythm inside you that doesn’t match the clock. You don’t live by hours, you live by invisible shifts. Unseen tipping points. But the world asks you for structure, and so you give it, but you always leave a door cracked open, just in case the wind wants to come in. You aren’t here to be efficient. You’re here to notice what others miss. The moment a flower bends toward light. The ache between movements. You are a translator of the barely perceptible. And that’s your real work.

12th House Ruler in the 7th House

You’ve spent lifetimes waiting for someone to meet you where you disappeared. But they always touch the surface, never the echo. Love, to you, has always felt like a soft haunting, like someone almost remembering who you were. You mirror people to feel close, then wonder why your reflection doesn’t speak back. The soul doesn’t need someone to complete it. It needs someone who won’t look away when it’s unmasked.

12th House Ruler in the 8th House

You weren’t just reborn. You escaped. Out of fires you can’t name and grief that doesn’t belong to you. There’s something about intimacy that feels like drowning because somewhere in your lineage, closeness meant destruction. So now you test love before you trust it. You destroy it before it can betray you. But not everything that touches you is trying to take. Let something reach you. Let it stay.

12th House Ruler in the 9th House

You carry a horizon inside you that no one else can see. Not a destination, not a goal, just an ache that pulls. You move toward places, people, and moments that feel like déjà vu with no origin. There’s something in you that’s always on the verge of remembering but it never quite arrives. You are not here to define what’s beyond the veil, you are here to stand at the edge of it and feel. What you’re searching for was never a truth. It was a tone. A pulse. A frequency you’ve been attuned to since before you had a name.

12th House Ruler in the 10th House

You’ve always known how to hold a pose. But inside, you’re shapeshifting, constantly shedding skins no one ever saw you put on. You live two lives: the one that’s witnessed, and the one that whispers under your skin. It’s not about visibility, it never was. You are the story behind the story. The space between what people admire and what actually keeps you alive. Let the mask dissolve, not in rebellion, but in return. The real legacy is your unfiltered becoming.

12th House Ruler in the 11th House

You’ve always felt like you arrived early to the dream. You saw the future in fragments before the world was ready, before you knew how to speak it. You walk among people like someone carrying a memory that hasn’t happened yet. You are the echo of what humanity still hopes to become. Not a builder of systems, but a keeper of frequencies. You don’t need a crowd. You need resonance.

12th House Ruler in the 12th House

You came here with memory leaking through your veins. Not in words but in reactions, dreams, fears that don’t make sense. You live between here and somewhere else, always half-anchored, always trying to remember what it was you were supposed to forget. And yet, your sensitivity is not a weakness. It’s a compass. You are not fading, you are becoming clear. Sometimes the light looks like fog until you walk through it.

A full guide to your birth chart, every placement, every layer. You can find my new book here :

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jpscsolutions · 2 months ago

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fire retardant paint for cables

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enchantresss97 · 3 months ago

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New Look +18

Characters: Bill Skarsgård x reader

Description: After a month apart, Bill invited you at his new movie premiere in New York, but he looks—different. The transformation leaves you breathless, igniting a fire between you both.

Warning: mature theme, SMUT, language, sex, fingering.

Word count: 3060

A/N: So, after yesterday's premiere and Bill's new look, this is a must. As I said before, I think this look of his is my favorite of all. He looks so damn good, so fucking handsome… So, fresh out of the oven, I present to you todays story. I simply couldn't resist. Hope you'll enjoy it.

New Look

It’s been a month since you last saw him. Since you last touched him. You’d FaceTimed, texted, called late into the night, but nothing compared to having him here, right in front of you.

New York is alive tonight. Flashing lights, clicking cameras, the murmur of fans crowding behind barriers. All of it blurs together as you step onto the red carpet, heels clicking against the pavement.

Bill stands a few feet away, caught in the storm of photographers and interviewers, his posture effortless yet commanding. But it’s not just the usual premiere chaos that has your breath catching.

It’s him.

Your breath catches. He looks… different. His thick, beautiful hair is gone, the hair you used to tug on when you kissed him, the thick strands he always ran his fingers through. Gone. The buzz cut sharpens every angle of his face, the brutal structure of his jaw, his cheekbones, his big green eyes. And his body…

Your fingers twitch at your sides. The lean frame you were used to has changed. His suit fits him like a damn glove, hugging his shoulders and chest in ways that make your stomach tighten. He’s filled out, broader, heavier in a way that makes your mouth go dry.

He hasn’t seen you yet, too busy charming the cameras, flashing that easy grin that makes the whole world swoon. But when he finally does catch your gaze over the chaos, his smirk deepens just slightly. The flicker of amusement. If recognition, sends a shiver down your spine.

You barely get a word in. A brush of fingers as he walks past. A murmured, “Hey, baby.” Then he’s gone again, swallowed up by flashing cameras and eager reporters.

It’s not until the after-party that you finally get him to yourself.

The venue is dimly lit, buzzing with music and laughter. Champagne flows freely, and conversations blur into a hazy hum. But all of that fades the moment you feel his presence behind you.

“I was looking for you” He said with his lips dip close to your ear.

You swallow, still speechless about his new look.

“You’re different,” you murmur, voice lower than intended.

He hums, crowding you subtly against the bar. “Good different?”

You wet your lips, still trying to process it, but your body already knows the answer. You feel warm, hot, even. A different kind of heat from the one in your cheeks.

His eyes drop to your mouth as he invades your space, close enough that the scent of him, clean, warm, unmistakably Bill floods your senses. “Cat got your tongue, baby?” His voice is thick with amusement.

You turn slightly, meeting his gaze, heartbeat thrumming. “Maybe I was just admiring the view.”

His lips quirk. He leans in just a fraction more, enough that his mouth nearly brushes your skin when he speaks. “That so?”

Your pulse jumps. You should play it coy, tease him like you always do but instead, you tilt your chin up, fingers grazing the lapel of his jacket. “You look…” Your voice drops, just for him. “So fucking good.”

His breath hitches. His eyes darken.

And then, before you can push him further, he straightens, stepping back just enough for others to hear when he says, “Can you come with me for a second? I want to show you something.”

You excuse yourself from your friends saying you’re coming back soon. Smiling and letting him take your hand, and he leads you away from the noise, down a quiet hallway.

Your heart hammers as he nudges open a door, pulling you into the dimly lit room. A private lounge, empty and waiting. The moment the door clicks shut, he’s on you.

His mouth crashes against yours, raw and hungry, his hands gripping your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. You gasp into him, fingers threading into the remnants of his hair,feeling a strange sensation now, nails scraping lightly over his scalp. He groans, deep and low, pressing you against the nearest wall.

When you finally break apart, your breath is ragged. “So,” you murmur, eyes locked on his, “what did you want to show me?”

His lips brush over your jaw, trailing lower, voice thick with heat when he finally answers.

“How much I’ve fucking missed you.”

Your stomach clenches. Heat floods through you, pooling deep.

His hands tighten on your hips, his mouth ghosting over yours again, teasing. “Needed to get you out of there,” he murmurs, “because I need to feel you.”

You barely manage a breath before his lips claim yours again. Deep, slow, and devastating.

The second his body presses into yours, a shudder runs through you. It’s not just the heat, not just the weight of him. It’s everything.

The absence. The waiting. The quiet ache of missing him in the dead of night, of longing for the warmth of his skin, the feel of his mouth moving against yours.

Bill exhales sharply, his breath warm as his lips trail along your jaw. “A month,” he murmurs, voice rough. “A fucking month.”

His fingers dig into your waist, like he still can’t believe you’re here, beneath him, solid and real. You tilt your head back, exposing your throat, and his lips latch onto the skin there, desperate, needy.

“I thought about this every night,” you admit, voice thick, barely more than a breath. “About you. About your hands on me.”

A quiet groan rumbles through him, his nose brushing the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. “You have no idea,” he murmurs. “How much I needed this. How much I needed you.”

Your hands explore him, tracing over muscle, over the solid weight of him, over his arms, broader than before. He feels different. Stronger, heavier but still so familiar. You arch beneath him, pressing yourself closer, needing more.

Bill’s lips hover just above yours, his big green eyes dark, hazy with heat. His breath comes hard, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he takes you in. Like he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

And his lips. God, those full lips. You’ve spent a month missing them, dreaming about them, and now they’re so close, so warm, his mouth just barely brushing yours, teasing the way only he can.

“Touch me,” you whisper. “I need to feel you.”

His fingers slide down, tracing the bare skin of your thigh, pushing higher, pushing your dress up, his breath growing heavier. “I know, baby,” he murmurs. “I know.”

His fingers glide over your thigh, slow and deliberate, tracing delicate patterns along your skin. The warmth of his touch sends shivers up your spine, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room.

Then Bill’s fingers linger at the edge of your panties, teasing, torturing, his touch light enough to leave you desperate. You try to move against him, but he stops you, holding you in place with a gentle, commanding pressure.

His lips trail along your jaw, his breath warm and heavy against your skin. “I can feel how wet you are for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick, like he’s savoring the way your body responds to him.

You swallow hard, unable to hold back the soft whimper that slips from your lips. “Baby, please.” you breathe.

He groans softly at your words, his thumb brushing the wetness through the lace, sending a wave of electricity coursing through you. “Yeah, baby? You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you” His fingers press harder, his grip tightening on your pussy. “Waiting for me to touch you like this again.”

You nod, panting now, your chest rising and falling with every shaky breath.

Bill’s lips brush against yours, soft, barely there. Just a tease. “You feel so fucking good,” he whispers, his fingers sliding down to finally slip beneath the fabric, inserting one finger inside you, his touch warm, rough. “I was thinking so much about how fucking perfect you feel around me” he said introducing another digit.

You gasp as his fingers press deeper, his touch slow and deliberate, exploring, pushing you further into the rush of sensation. You’ve never needed him more than you do now, and he knows it. He knows exactly how to make you feel every inch of him.

His thumb circles your clit, slow, purposeful, his other hand gripping your waist like he’s afraid you might slip away. But there’s no chance of that. You’re completely at his mercy.

“Bill…” you gasp, your hands gripping at his shoulders, your nails biting into his skin.

“I know how much you’ve been craving this. How much you’ve missed me.” He murmurs, his fingers move faster now, his thumb pressing with just the right amount of pressure.

Every stroke, every movement has you gasping for air, your body tightening with need.

“You feel so good, you don’t know how fucking long I’ve been wanting this,” he growls, his green eyes dark with lust, his breath a rasp against your lips. “I’ve thought about this so many times, baby... Been so fucking long since the last time I felt your tight pussy dripping on my fingers”

His lips crash into yours, your body flooding with warmth as his fingers continue to drive you crazy.

There’s nothing but him, nothing but the way he makes you feel. Touched, wanted, like you’re the only thing that matters in that moment.

It’s like everything inside of you snaps at once, your body tensing as an intense wave of pleasure crashes over you. A deep, trembling release takes over, and you gasp, your hands clutching at him, your nails digging into his skin as you ride out the pleasure.

Bill’s thumb doesn’t stop, pushing you through the waves, guiding you to the peak, keeping you there, making sure you feel every moment. You can barely breathe, your chest rising and falling in shaky bursts, but you don’t want it to stop.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, his fingers moving in time with your body, coaxing every last drop of pleasure from you. “Come for me. You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”

When the last tremor fades, you collapse against him, completely spent, your body trembling in his arms. The world feels hazy, but Bill’s presence keeps you anchored. He holds you, his hand caressing your back, making sure you’re safe, still with him.

Bill pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with desire. With a firm, possessive grip, he spins you around, positioning you so your hands brace against the cold wall in front of you. You’re bent over slightly, facing the wall, your chest heaving as your pulse races to catch up.

You feel exposed. Vulnerable. But you also feel the tension between your legs building again. Bill’s gaze lingers on you, taking in every inch of your body, before he moves closer, his body pressing into yours from behind. You can feel the heat of him, the hardness of his cock against you as his hands slide over your hips, pulling you closer to him.

His breath is warm against the back of your neck, his lips trailing gently along your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “I need to be inside you baby,” he murmurs, his voice rough, just a whisper in your ear that sends a wave of heat to your core.

His fingers slide between your thighs, gently parting them as he takes his time, making you ache all over again. His touch is slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring each moment, each inch of your body. You feel yourself getting wetter, your body betraying you as it begs for him.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips tighter, urging you to push back against him. “Missed this. Missed you.” and with one slow, deliberate motion, he enters you from behind. The feeling of him filling you completely, slowly. Is enough to make you gasp, your body still trembling from the previous release, but your hips pushing back toward him as if you need him to claim you once more.

His hands grip your hips, holding you still as he thrusts into you slowly, teasingly, making you feel every inch of his cock. The sensation is almost too much, the raw connection between you both almost unbearable.

“God, you feel so fucking incredible,” Bill mutters, his voice low and guttural. He pulls back, only to slam into you harder, his hands steady on your hips as he moves with a rhythm that makes you lose yourself completely.

His grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he slams into you harder, faster. The sound of his body slapping against yours fills the air, raw and desperate. You can’t stop yourself from pushing back against him, meeting every thrust with equal hunger. Every movement is a reminder of how much you’ve missed him. How much you’ve missed this.

“I can’t get enough of you, baby.” he groans, his voice thick with lust.

You let out a breathless moan, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “Bill… I…fuck, I’ve missed you so much,” you whimper, the words coming out in a rush as he continues to thrust into you, each movement making your body shake with need.

Bill’s hands move up your body, grabbing your hair, pulling your head back, exposing your neck. You feel his lips trail down the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing against the sensitive skin as his body pounds into you from behind, relentless. The pleasure is almost too much to bear, and your knees tremble, struggling to keep you upright.

“Your pussy feels so good,” he growls, his voice low and commanding, as if he’s trying to claim you in every way possible. “I need to feel you so fucking much.” His hands grip you even tighter, and he thrusts harder, deeper, pushing you further into the wall. The sound of his words, the heat in his voice, sends a wave of excitement through you, and you can feel yourself on the edge again.

“Bill, please… I need you to…” you cut yourself off with a sharp moan as he changes his angle, hitting a spot that makes your whole body tremble.

“You need me, huh?” he mutters in your ear, his breath hot and urgent against your skin. “You want me to fuck you hard until you can’t walk tomorrow?”

Your body trembles at his words, the filthy promise making you ache even more. “Yes,” you gasp, unable to stop yourself from giving in to him completely. “Yes, baby. I need it. I want you. Holy fuck!”

Bill pulls your hips back harder, forcing you to take every inch of him as he slams into you with no mercy. You’re lost in him, your mind spinning with lust, your body taken over by the raw intensity of his touch. He leans forward, his chest pressed against your back, and his lips find the sensitive spot on your neck, biting down sharply as he keeps fucking you hard.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” he growls, his voice rough, low, full of heat.

You moan loudly, your words a breathless confession. “I want you so fucking bad, baby… Make me come again…”

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. With a deep, savage thrust, he drives you into the wall, hitting the spot that makes you scream out in pleasure. Your fingers claw at the wall for support as your body jerks with the force of your orgasm. The pleasure crashes through you, raw and untamed, making your legs go weak as you shudder against him.

But Bill doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down. His hands grip your waist even harder, lifting you slightly to give him better leverage, making you to stay on your toes, and then he’s fucking you harder than ever. You’re almost numb with pleasure, your body writhing under him as his rough thrusts push you closer to another climax.

“You feel so fucking good, baby. You’re gonna make me come so much. I need to feel you fucking squeeze my cock.” His words are filthy, possessive, and it only makes you want him more. You cry out, your body shuddering against the wall as he drives you into oblivion.

“Bill,” you gasp, breathless. “Please baby.” You moan loudly.

He groans deeply, his hands pulling you back, forcing you to take him deeper, harder. The pressure builds again, your body already sensitive from the last orgasm, but your body is begging for more. You feel him, deep inside you, his cock moving with a frantic need, and you feel the tension in your stomach coil tighter.

With a final, powerful thrust, you explode again, your body shaking with release, your nails digging into the wall as your orgasm crashes over you. Bill groans your name, his hips stuttering as he finally comes with you, his fingers gripping your hips desperately as he fills you, each spasm of his body sending waves of pleasure through yours.

For a moment, neither of you moves, both of you breathless, spent, and tangled in each other’s arms. Bill’s hands gently move up your back, holding you against him, still deep inside you as you both catch your breath. He places soft kisses along your neck, his lips still trembling slightly from the intensity of the moment.

You let out a slow, raspy laugh, your body still trembling, feeling lightheaded from everything that just happened. The sound is soft at first, but it slowly grows into something more, a soft, breathless giggle escaping your lips. You don’t know if it’s from the overwhelming pleasure or just the sheer release of tension, but you can’t help yourself.

Bill’s lips curl into a slow, satisfied smile as he brushes your hair away from your neck, his breath still ragged. “If I’d known cutting my hair would lead to this,” he murmurs, his voice still heavy with lust, “I should’ve done it a long time ago.”

You laugh again, the sound husky, more from desire than anything else. “You look even better now,” you whisper, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. “I think I like you more this way.”

Bill chuckles, the sound deep and low. His fingers gently caress your back, as if he can’t get enough of touching you. “Good,” he says softly, his voice still thick with the weight of the moment. “Because it stays.”

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