#and now that can heal and full circle find happiness

[violentdelightshavevioletends]

Dain’s signet means people are afraid of being touched by him. Sloane’s signet means she’s afraid to touch other people.

They are each others balance.

A first year in Fourth Wing (a marked one he was warned about of the rebellion he was raised against) & the third year Wing Leader whose father is responsible for killing her brother; making them “should-be-enemies” yet, they have impeccable chemistry. Challenging each other as one of them was rather by the books (but is slowly fraying/changing) and the other a walking rebellion, pushing them into the gray middle ground; creating a balance between them. From the moment one first says, "I’m going to hurt you" & the other "gods don’t I know it" —

… Much like "You’ll be the death of me & "she’d be the best thing that ever happened to me, I’d be the worst thing that ever happened to her" … sound familiar?

Making them the balance to the last time this happened.

Their signets are the balance, and may very well change the war… Her siphon as a signet which could be the counterpart to the Venin; as instead of draining life, she is “life”. And where a main character is now missing (what may be) crucial memories, his signet allows him to find and see memories; which could help if they don’t wish to be found.

They are the balance.

[winningmymind]

(wholesome twinyard ficlet) Andrew pats Aaron's head sometimes

It starts in their joint therapy session, when Bee has somehow managed to pull a truth from Aaron's screwed tight lips after switching up her tactics to get Andrew's other half to be more candid with his feelings.

"Is that really what you want?" The question hangs in the air, spoken from Andrew himself, his identical hazel eyes taking notice of Aaron's strained face and reddening ears.

They give it a few minutes. The silence having a chance to settle until broken between them. It's difficult for Aaron to process what he even said aloud. A deep yearning he never thought to let anyone know. Not even Katelyn. Let alone Andrew and Bee. Reminds him of stretching, how it can be both painful and relieving. He's experiencing both right now and it fucking sucks.

".......Yes." Aaron hisses, swallowing his pride, embracing embarrassment, and feels the rest of his skin flushing a pretty rosy color at the vulnerability of it all. He loathes this part of growing and healing.

If only he could turn invisible, or reverse his confession, anything to run away from confronting his barrier of repression head on. Aaron refuses to make eye contact with Andrew, latching his attention to his untied shoe and bouncing leg full of anxiety.

Bee simply smiles at the progress made in the last hour, fondly addressing both Minyards with a clap of her hands to draw their attention.

"Then it's settled. For this next step, Andrew, when comfortable, you are to pat Aaron on the head occasionally. Get used to touching him in a brotherly fashion. Give him the praise he needs when times get rough or just because you feel like being affectionate. How does that sound?"

It's sounds absurd in Aaron's opinion. Why oh why did today's session, and the previous one, and the one before that have to highlight on Aaron's touch starved coping mechanisms paralleling Andrew's touch aversion issues? Why did Bee have to point out that specific pattern of theirs? Why can't Bee be shit at her job?

He wouldn't know how to conduct himself if Andrew willingly ruffled his hair like how he saw other siblings, normal and loving siblings do on TV sitcoms/in the family picture movies/after Exy little leagues games when his fellow teammates had someone cheering them on and ready to take them home to celebrate wins/comfort any losses.

(Aaron had to walk by himself every time because Tilda never did the bare minimum of showing up to support no matter how many times he circled the dates on fridge calendar).

He still remembers the sting of his hair getting pulled, scalp screaming in protest, shock overtaking his system as Andrew demands if Drake got his filthy paws on him. In the midst of a dead body and fresh blood, a part of Aaron's brain had sent signals of irrational happiness that Andrew might possibly care for him deeply, and that he can count on one hand all the instances where he's felt his twin's frantic hands checking to see if he was hurt by someone Andrew meant to protect him from.

Bee waits patiently for Andrew's response on if he'll agree. Aaron, who is now nervously tapping a finger to his knee to keep from squirming in his seat, kind of hopes his twin rejects the task and they can never discuss this topic ever again.

"I'll do it." Andrew says after drinking the last remnants of his hot cocoa, his tone laced in boredom, but both Bee and Aaron are picking up on Andrew's subtle communication differences and know that the Foxes goalie finds this therapy challenge very interesting.

Aaron let's out the breath he didn't know he was holding in. He didn't expect Andrew to comply this easily. He learned not to expect anything from Andrew, really, so it surprises him how his honesty is getting him the desired results a teenaged Aaron, a toddler Aaron, any version of Aaron pre-college could only hopelessly wish for. Wish granted, it seems.

"Alright! We'll talk about it in next week's session then. Thank you both for sharing your time with me." Bee's smiles are too sweet after each dismissal and Aaron practically bolts out of her office to the car while Andrew's in absolutely no rush to leave, purposely taking his time walking.

Bee quietly wishes the twins good luck, happy they're taking the necessary and belated baby steps together that they once were robbed of at birth.

-------

"Dude. Just stay in bed. Seriously." Matt pleads, placing bottles of water, Gatorade, and a bowl of microwaved canned soup in a mug on the nightstand beside Aaron's bed.

"I... can... make... it." Aaron's throat is on fire. Body feels heavy, skin feels hot. He's shivering, though, enough to clatter his teeth like he's in a snowstorm. Fever's most likely setting in.

"You're sick." Matt dares to press a hand to Aaron's forehead and the touch feels nice, so reassuring. Aaron will take that to his grave. "Coach will understand. Trust."

"But-"

"Nuh-uh. You're useless like this. Plus, no one would appreciate you spreading your icky cooties."

"It's germs." Aaron corrects and Matt merely shakes his head, pulling out his phone, probably texting the group chat that Aaron's out of commission.

In seconds, Coach and Kevin have barred Aaron from coming to court (Coach because he worries about all his Foxes and Kevin because he needs Aaron fully functional for defense). There are a few well wishes from his teammates. Aaron has no idea if they're being polite or if they genuinely care. Neil texts him "don't die" and that's the closest form of concern Aaron will get from the mafioso brat.

Nicky's immediately calling and promising to nurse him to health once practice is over. Andrew doesn't text nor call. That pissed him off, but Aaron is used to it. Not being acknowledged. He drinks his liquids and forces himself to finish the soup because Matt unfortunately gives a damn about him, going above and beyond as a roommate. He can see why Neil likes the upperclassman.

Aaron took some medicine already, the kind that makes one drowsy, and Katelyn texts that she'll take notes for him should he miss class this week. If he's got a fever, then Aaron should just sleep in a light bedsheet. He's a creature of habit, however, and he rationalizes that the soft and thick covers are a better texture for him to wrap up in a cozy cocoon. Has Aaron believing he's being tenderly hugged and he burrows under them in poor judgement, ignoring how uncomfortably sweaty he's getting.

When he wakes up some time later, not understanding how he fell asleep in the first place, mind all dazed, Andrew is there in his dorm. So is Nicky, but Aaron can only focus on Andrew's glaringly unexpected presence.

"My baby!" Nicky is dramatic as always. Mother henning like no other like he said he would.

Andrew isn't standing too far away from the bed, leaning against the door threshold, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. Eyes on Aaron.

"Where's your shadow?" Aaron pants out the question, fatigue beating his ass, and apparently invoking Neil's whereabouts must be a curse because he unintentionally summons a nasty coughing fit.

"Drink! Aaron! Drink!" Nicky presses a bottle to Aaron's lips while patting his back soothingly.

Andrew intently watches Aaron's body loosen at Nicky's gentle touch, tense muscles relaxing instantly. He lets Aaron's coughing subside before answering. "Didn't want to risk getting sick. Sends his regards."

Aaron would laugh if he had the energy and if his throat wasn't against him. Andrew produces a big bag of throat lozenges from thin air it seems and tosses it in Aaron's lap. It's the flavor Aaron likes the most be it gum, chapstick, candy: cherry. Why the fuck does Neil "Always Lying Little Shit" Josten know that?!

"You need to change out of these sweaty clothes, Aaron. I'll go get you my hoodie. The one you like to steal from me. I'll be right back!" Nicky darts out the door.

Andrew lifts a brow to Aaron. Aaron interprets that as Andrew being curious about the significance of Nicky's hoodie. It's a story, an untold bond that Aaron and Nicky share that Andrew isn't privy to. Maybe, he's being immature, but Aaron won't tell Andrew shit if he's not asked. Let his twin stew in unsaid inquiries. Aaron can be mysterious too. He's eager for Nicky to return, choosing to distract himself from Andrew's piercing gaze and patiently wait by recalling why he's needy of his cousin's hoodie.

Whenever Aaron's sick (which is rare these days since Andrew became a constant in his life) he wears one of Nicky's hoodies. It started when he was much younger, a consistent sickly child. His mom barely cared to check up on him and Nicky had forgotten to take some of his clothes when Luther had the Hemmicks stay over Tilda's for religious holiday dinners as a family. Aaron had slipped one of the forgotten hoodies on and felt engulfed in warmness, his mind pretending that he was in Nicky's welcoming arms, cradled and cooed over, feeling loved for a brief moment in the chaos when Tilda preferred dosing on medicine meant for the improvement of Aaron's health.

Nicky leaving means Aaron and Andrew are alone with each other. Aaron wouldn't mind if he weren't weak right now. He struggles to open the lozenges, popping one in his mouth to suck on after numerous tries. Andrew still leans on the threshold, watching him. Aaron snuggles into the covers more like it's a shield from all his troubles.

"What do you have?" Andrew's straight to the point.

"Fever." Aaron replies.

"To break a fever you need to stay cool." Andrew steps away from the threshold, steps closer to the bed. "Ditch the covers. Bedsheets are better."

Aaron defensively tugs the covers more around his body. "I like it." As if that's any decent excuse.

By now, Andrew's standing next to Aaron's sitting form. He studies how ruddy Aaron's face is, the damp hair stuck to his forehead. In one swift move, Andrew rips the covers off Aaron. He sees his stubborn twin shout in protest while being drenched in sticky sweat, t-shirt clinging like a second skin.

"No more of this." Andrew orders, pointing at the covers swathing Aaron and Aaron scowls.

"Don't tell me what to do."

"This isn't up for debate."

Before Aaron could spit out another retort, upset that his brother is right, and that he should listen, and that he knows better as a pre-med student but since it's Andrew bossing him around with piss poor bedside manner it triggers Aaron's obstinacy...

Words die on his tongue the moment Andrew's palm lies flat atop Aaron's head.

Oh. He's doing Bee's task. Andrew is patting Aaron. He's delicately touching Aaron in such a subduing way.

"Bedsheets only until it breaks, Aaron." Andrew reiterates, expression unchanging as Aaron's jaw drops and eyes widen owlishly. It's like he's one of those fierce wild animals that gets pet for the first time and is paralyzed by the foreign sensation.

"....Okay." Aaron is quelled effortlessly, chest warm, threat of a smile on his lips, and he hates that.

"Hmm." Andrew still pats Aaron on the head for a long time, the only indication he's not as impassive as he looks is the glint in his matching hazel eyes, something cooking in his mind with this new information.

Aaron's eyes get half-lidded, from the medicine, his fever, or the endorphins and serotonin from Andrew's hand in his hair - he has no idea. When it's clear Nicky's coming back by the sound of his loud footsteps, Andrew pulls his hand away and Aaron wished their cousin stayed away a little longer so he could enjoy the affection more.

"Here ya go!" Nicky holds up the hoodie proudly, cluelessly interrupting the twins building a bridge they didn't know they needed, and Aaron peels off his soaked shirt to trade for the hoodie.

"I'll go make you food. A Nicky Hemmick special that'll knockout the cooties lickety-split!"

He's gone again. Aaron is drowning in the hoodie, sleeves floppy, and he looks smaller than he really is. Andrew wordlessly thumbs the material, nodding in approval that it's thin enough and won't overheat Aaron should he sleep in the bedsheets.

"Rest." Andrew lingers, making certain Aaron lays back down and closes his eyes, on the verge of losing consciousness.

Aaron is halfway into dreamland, breathing slowing and thoughts escaping. He thinks he feels a featherlight stroking on his forehead that threads through his hair and contentedly sighs.

-------

It becomes a thing. Andrew patting Aaron's head at random.

Aaron is healthy. Kevin barks game plays at him and Aaron rolls his eyes. Neil teases him for having a fragile immune system and Aaron takes pleasure exaggeratingly coughing in his face. Nicky is being extra and Aaron has to shame him to calm it down.

Andrew acts the same towards him, sans the head pats.

"When did this happen?" Neil is so nosy.

"None of your business!" Aaron growls, and his anger is less effective when Andrew is disheveling his hair to the point that Aaron is positive it'll look like he's having a bad hair day.

"I think it's cute." Nicky beams, always a cheerleader for the twins to get along.

"Who cares?" Kevin holds a tray of the most unappetizing glasses of protein shakes. "Stop stalling and drink these."

"Uh, no freaking way." Neil scrunches his nose. "No one told you to make that."

"Our poor blender suffered for this concoction?" Nicky faux cries.

"It has banana in it." Kevin fails to persuade.

Aaron leans into Andrew's palm some more, impressed with himself for not feeling weird about accepting Andrew's affection in front of their friends. It's a big change for Andrew, too, being physically expressive to Aaron. They only do this when alone or with the Monsters, not when the rest of the Foxes can witness.

Nicky and Kevin are busy arguing over the ethics of milkshakes being sugary and tasty or protein fueled and disgusting. Neil grew bored and sets his sights on Aaron.

"Andrew's been patting your head for five minutes straight. Someone's clingy." Neil can choke and die, bastard.

Instead of his usual rise at the bait, Aaron takes a page from Bee to switch tactics, his body too relaxed to be argumentative.

"Don't be jealous." He imitates Bee's calm and collected voice, smirking smugly at Neil's offended face.

"I'm not-"

"Ooh, shots fired!" Nicky, able to sniff drama like a bloodhound, joyously applauds.

"Shut up, Nicky!"

"I'm just saying."

"Say less, then."

"Excuse me! I didn't make these shakes for them to be wasted!"

"Do you want to be killed, Kevin?"

-------

Bee's office still irritates Aaron.

"How was it?"

Andrew sips his hot cocoa. Aaron picks at a loose thread on his jeans.

"It went well, I suppose."

"How do you know that?" Aaron glares at her and she smiles sweetly.

"Well, you aren't complaining. That's a key indicator."

Aaron huffs and crosses his arms. Andrew never looks at Aaron. He looks at Bee.

"It was nice." He looks away from Bee, back to sipping hot cocoa.

Aaron snaps his head at Andrew, surprised. Bee furiously jots notes in her pad, her face pleased.

"Aaron? Was it nice for you, too?"

He hesitates, eyes still on Andrew. Aaron doesn't look at Bee. "....Yeah."

The session ends and they leave for the car. Neither talk. Aaron stares out the window. He practices on autopilot. He cracks open his textbooks and puts on background noise. His routine is back to normal.

And when he stresses over an upcoming test that Katelyn can't comfort him in, or Matt snitches to Neil that Aaron woke up from another nightmare from past traumas, or if he's passed out from exhaustion on the couch from overstimulation...

Andrew comes by somehow in the nick of time and pats him on the head and it's almost like what Aaron saw between siblings on TV/in the movies/after Exy little league games. He never knows when it's coming, but when it does, Aaron is internally over the moon about it.

Each time Andrew reaches out for him, Aaron sways into it, and pretends, perhaps even believes, it's his twin's way of subtly saying "good job/you're wanted/I love you."

After all, Aaron's training to be a doctor, and doctors have to learn how to read people and figure out the facts from fiction. So, Aaron figures it out.

Andrew's actions speak louder than words and Aaron's finally listening to them.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Jake Kim x Reader: Right Person

G/N. 5.2k. Childhood friends to lovers, sorta canon compliant.

The first time you meet Jake, you are the right person at the right place.

Almost.

Both precocious pre-teens and families already intertwined.

Your father does something with his father, but that always seems to be the case, everyone knows Gapryong. Works with him in one way or another. He has all sorts of connections.

The peculiar thing though, at least to Jake's pre-pubescent mind, was that he met you.

Few of his father's underlings or 'business partners' have a child that tag along. Fewer still that are seen as an equal.

Apart from being told to call him Oppa, you don't have any other formalities to follow. You stick your tongue out at him, tease him, laugh at his jokes. He in turn shares his candy and sticks of gum and saves all his best punchlines for you.

Minseong, or Auntie as you call her, always smiles at you; calling you precious and talking about how you and Jake would be a great match to join the families.

That could have been a possibility. If fate had been kinder his childhood crush could have blossomed into puppy love and everyone would have been thrilled at the development.

But before anything was allowed to flourish, fate had other plans.

Gapryong is murdered, and your and Jake's life take a different course.

You attend the wake, offering your condolences and saying all the right things in these unfortunate occasions.

Holding Auntie's hand in yours and telling her you're sorry. In the quiet of his bedroom, you wrap your arms around Jake's shaking body, rubbing circles into his back, kissing his forehead, even as he tries to hold it together.

.

.

For a brief moment of time after, you and Jake are like glue. Joined at the hips, never seen without the other.

Staying by his side as he gets his irezumi tattoos, oohing and aahing as he unveils the healed ink to you. Pouting as he shoots up like bamboo, puberty taking hold; growing tall and gangly and a full head or three taller than you. Walking each other home from middle school, him waiting for you outside your school gates. Dropping the bombshell that he has to stay behind for another year; besotted as you lecture him about his awful grades.

Eventually, time moves on.

Your family find better connections and ventures - respectable, creditable, without any of the Kim family's gangster past, and quietly and without fanfare remove themselves from the late Gapryong's inner circle.

They distance themselves, and though you ignore their request to do the same - Big Deal's boss, Sinu Han finds Jake Kim and so does Samuel Seo and the distance naturally grows.

Jake stays in the periphery of your life.

The occasional text, and rarer run-ins.

But he always keeps an ear out for you. Looks for you in every reflection. Hopes for you round every corner.

Right person at the right place but at the wrong time.

.

.

He does purposely seek you out once.

When he is on the cusp of joining Big Deal and needs someone sane to talk to.

To decipher his thoughts and feelings with the one person who knows him best.

It's you, it's always been you but-

After, he fully realised how different you both are. The trajectories you are on. You, untainted by all this gang shit, and him about to dive head first into it.

He can't marr you with this.

Wrong place, wrong time.

.

.

You sought him out once too, in the form of a letter as he serves his time in juvie.

Jake marvels at your handwriting, chicken scratch somehow turned graceful and elegant with time.

Yet-

Awkward silences punctuate the end of each sentence, and disappointment is found between the lines. Your tone is almost pleading, and there's a desperate yearning for yesteryear.

Jake chooses instead to focus on the crumbs of your life you offer. Thinks at least you're happy and safe and ignorant to the sort of life he leads now.

He keeps your letter under his pillow. Reads it over and over until he can recite it off by heart. Drafts a different reply in his mind every night though he can never bring himself to respond.

.

.

"Jake?"

The next time you see him again, he barely recognises you. Whether that was due to seasons apart or his focus on other priorities, he isn't sure.

He turns his head when you call his name, Johan Seong following suit.

"You look different," you comment and he does. Jake finally fills out his tall frame, lean muscle showing through his suit and a scar now adorns his lips.

He tilts his head, trying to place you until you frown. A familiar look of impatience, rolling your eyes-

"Y/N?" Your name feeling rusty on his tongue and his eyes widen at your appearance. How well the years have treated you, how kind puberty has been and how amazingly you clean up.

"Too important now to remember me?" You say, folding your arms but smiling.

"Me? I'm a nobody," Jake grins, relaxing in your presence as Johan mutters his agreement somewhere in the background. "What are you doing around here?"

In the end, he rejects your entrance to Club Vivi.

"Aw Jake, cmon for old time's sake!"

"You're underaged!" He says, but what he wants to tell you is this place is bad news. The further you stay away from anything to do with the Four Crews, from himself, the better.

"Shit!"

You manage to refrain from stomping your feet like a bratty child, distracted by the way that Jake smiles at you. Even with the pulsating music spilling out onto the street, the heaving queues of people, it feels just like it used to.

A wave of nostalgia hits you.

You reach out, yanking him down by his tie until he is eye level with you.

"Whatever." You thought you might be more upset with the rejection but you can't bring yourself to care right now. Not when Jake Kim is right there. "Text me, ok? I don't hear from you anymore. I miss you."

Jake's throat is suddenly dry.

How many years has it been since he's been eye to eye with you. He remembers his mother's fondness of you, your tinkling laugh in his ear. You by his side, the kisses on his cheek and soothing strokes on his back.

"I miss you t-"

Then Johan Seong clears his throat, uncomfortable at being caught up in this scene and wanting to be literally anywhere else, and Jake's eyes dart towards him.

God Dog.

One of the four gangs.

A mess of underhanded dealings involving Gun Park and Goo Kim. God Dog and Big Deal and Hostel and Workers.

The current situation draws sharply into focus, and Jake is reminded of his main goal - Sinu Han.

The spell is broken and Jake's mask as Big Deal Boss slams firmly back on.

"Sure thing," Jake straightens up again and you have no choice but to release your grip.

He doesn't plan to. Doesn't want to drag you into his mess. Swallows down any regret and feelings and offers you a wink instead.

Still the wrong place, wrong time.

.

.

Despite Jake's best intentions you are reunited.

You join Big Deal.

...Or more accurately, you find employment on Big Deal Street.

"Y/N?" Jake calls out to you and today your role is reversed.

It takes you a while to recognise your Jake dressed in his suit, a new scar across his nose and flanked by intimidating looking men. Body language serious, powerful and domineering.

Goddamn.

"...Jake?!"

"Everything ok, Boss?" Someone asks and your eyebrows quirk at 'Boss'.

"Fine, Jerry," Jake dismisses any concerns from the hulking man to his right and turns his smile on for you once more, "Just nice to see an old friend."

He lips says friend but his heart wonders if he has the privilege of calling you that anymore.

Are you barely even acquaintances? Someone you might bump into and give a polite nod to. Was he that teenager that you used to hang with once upon a time who you occasionally reminisce about? Do you ever think about him and wonder how he is doing? Do you think about the moments that you had together and the lives you could have had?

Turns out it doesn't matter anyway.

Jake catches the softness in your eyes and he sees that friend is enough.

It could be enough.

.

.

Now working part time at the restaurant Jake likes to frequent, you bump into each other time and time again. You become a regular fixture in his life once more.

Serving him extra large portions with a grin, offering up pickle juice with every stew.

"You still add this to all your jjigae, right?" You pull a face, it was never to your taste even if Jake acts like it's the most delicious thing in the world.

Jake blinks in surprise. "You remembered?"

You wipe your hands on your apron, then rest them on your hip. "Duh."

The other faces you gradually put a name to.

Jerry, Brad, Jason, Lineman, and later Lua.

You join them occasionally for the odd drink, perched at the end of the bench next to Jake and soaking up the warm atmosphere, or more likely the boys getting a telling off from Lua even as she throws you a small sly grin every so often.

Sinu and Yeonhui join the group now and then.

The latter takes a liking to you and the former gives you unsubtle glances, elbowing Jake and murmuring things in his ears that causes him to blush and bat Sinu away.

He's talking about you, that much is obvious but you wonder what it is exactly that turns Jake that cute shade of pink.

"What are you saying about me?" You whisper into Jake's ear one time and he jerks sharply at your proximity. Banging his knee against the table so hard that it topples some drinks.

"Shit!"

"Jake!" Yeonhui tuts, "Be careful."

Sinu, arm around her, just grins like a maniac.

.

.

You: Sooooo...

You: What is Sinu always whispering about?

Jake: Don't worry about it 😘

You: 😒

Jake: Sorry we didn't get to talk much today.

Jake: Hope you're ok

You: Don't worry about me!

You: I know you're super busy

You: It's just nice being around you again

Jake: Same 🙂

Jake: Are you going to get fired for giving me that free lunch?

You: You look like you needed it

Jake: I'm fine 💪

You: Nuh uh. You're tired. And stressed. I can tell

Jake: ...

Jake: Thanks for looking after me

Jake: I've missed you

You: I've missed you too

You: I've still got your jacket!

Jake: No worries I'll get it tomorrow

You: Thanks for letting me borrow it

You: and walking me home

Jake: M'lady

You: 😒

Jake: Good morning 😁

You: Too early 😪

Jake: It is. But i'm looking forward to seeing you later

You: Still can't believe you sprayed jjigae out your nose

Jake: You caught me off guard!

You: It was just an innocent comment

You: Who knew where your filthy mind went

Jake: 😒

Jake: You made Brad blush!

Jake: brad!!

You: 🤭

You: Can you ask Jerry to stop calling me ma'am?

Jake: Will do

Jake: Sorry ma'am

You: 🙄

You: Do you always train like that?

Jake: Yeah why?

You: Oh 🫣

You: Why does everyone in your crew keep bowing to me

Jake: Who knows why they do what they do

You: And EVERYONE keeps calling me Ma'am!

Jake: 🤷🏻‍♂️

You: Shirtless was unnecessary

Jake: 😉

You: 🙄

Jake: you try running laps around the street

You: can't put those abs away can you

Jake: not when they get so many admirers

You: 🙄

Jake: I had the weirdest dream about you last night

You. Go oooon

Jake: 🤐

You: Stop distracting me! You're going to get me fired

Jake: Who's gonna fire you?

You: Jake!

Jake: I'll speak to the owner don't worry about it

You: Jake NO

Jake: Now who's distracting who

You: Well who's gonna fire the boss?

Jake: 😒

You: Besides I didn't even do anything

Jake: That uniform cannot be regulation 🥵

You: 🤫

You: Thanks for taking me to see Auntie!

Jake: Moms so happy to see you

Jake: Found someone else to slander me with

You: It's all from a place of love

Jake: Sure 🙄

Jake: You working tonight?

You: Yeah and you better keep me company 😚

Jake: Always

.

.

During your closing shifts, when Jake is around, your boss and owner, is frequently nowhere to be seen.

You wonder if Sinu is responsible for this but you can never bring yourself to mind when Jake stays behind, offering to help.

Removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves as he wipes down surfaces with you, loads the dishwasher, clean the floors.

"Isn't this beneath the Big Deal leader?" You ask tonight, mopping as he clears and re-organizes the counter.

Jake shrugs, "I don't mind."

(Truth be told, Jason and Brad had given him a questionable look through the shop window once, when they were patrolling the streets at night and found their beloved boss performing menial duties.

Then they saw you grinning next to him and the way Jake looked at you.

And they got it. They, and no other Big Deal member, had questioned it since.)

You resume focus to your task at hand, wringing out the filthy water and scrubbing with earnest.

Damn, this patch of floor is dirty.

Despite pouring all your strength into this section, the mysterious grey splodge, which has likely accumulated from years of slipshod mopping, still has not shifted.

Noticing the sheen of sweat along your brow, Jake plucks a napkin from the holder and offers it to you. "Here."

"I'm fine."

"Your sweaty face says otherwise."

"Nah, I'm good."

You narrow your eyes at the stain, so absorbed in your task you don't notice his approach.

Contemplate getting on your hands and knees to examine it when Jake's hand edges forward, gripping your chin gently, and disrupts your train of thought.

"Come here." He huffs with amusement, angling your face to his.

Your eyes widen comically large and he chuckles. He brings the napkin up to your brow, dabbing attentively. Your temples and down the side of your face, the tip of your nose, before cupping your cheek.

"There."

There indeed.

You lean into his palm and sigh. A sigh built up from the depth of your being, that started from years ago, and your eyes flutter close when you feel Jake's thumb run along your bottom lip.

It's more intimate than you have ever been before but doesn't feel anywhere close to enough.

"Y/N-" he murmurs. Your name feels rusty no more.

Jake leans closer. LIke a moth to a flame, and your flame burns undying and gold.

Knuckles rap on the window, shattering the moment. You both turn and see Jerry with a solemn look on his face.

"One moment," Jake says, eyes apologetic and he exits.

The moment stretches as you watch Jake talking to Jerry outside. Both their expressions growing more fierce, exchanged more heated, by the second.

Jake sighs, and his sigh is nothing like yours only minutes ago. His eyes catch yours. He thinks he might regret this forever, wondering about the lingering what-if, but he thinks about your safety and the safety of Big Deal, and he leaves. Striding off into the night.

Jerry comes in, contrite and bows. Tells you sorry but Jake has somewhere else to be.

Leaves you even more bewildered and confused, wondering what has happened.

.

.

Workers storm the street only a few days later.

The Hunt for Big Deal peaks when Eugene, not able to get his way, calls in his favour.

Holding back the police, intrusive thoughts of his failure as a leader enter Jake's mind. The state of the street, the crew. Members of Big Deal lie bruised and bloodied around him.

The one silver lining, at least, is that you're nowhere near.

You're not tangled up in this.

.

.

Maybe it could have been the right place.

But the time cannot be more wrong.

.

.

You and Jake had left your friendship hanging at an odd place that night.

Then he never called, never texted.

(Neither did your boss, but you didn't care about that.)

You glumly scroll through your text chain with him. All the flirtatious words that you had assumed were building up to something.

You sent him one message asking if he was ok, an olive branch and permission to forget everything if it made him uncomfortable and he didn't respond.

The silence said everything you needed to hear.

You are left to wallow and mope in your gloom.

.

.

Jake is awake. Broken and bruised but alive.

Left to deal with the aftermath, the pieces of his crew, with the ever loyal Lineman by his side.

Forces himself to push on when all he wants is to curl up in a ball somewhere. Put on a brave face because what else can he do? Recollect his thoughts, rethink his strategy.

Lineman and Lightning Choi are very little comfort to Jake during these hours. Even as both their loud personalities fill in the silence, camaraderie building between them by the day, Jake feels fragile. Stretched thin and strained.

Regardless, he plasters on his plastic smile. The one he used to wear when he was looking for Sinu and trying to hold on to his sanity.

Funny how life comes full circle.

In his heart and head, he knows that all his focus should be on getting stronger, on saving his crew.

But your latest text, left on read and left hanging, haunts him.

.

.

The Wanted posters capture your attention and snap you out of your mood.

'What the...?''

Pictures of your friends pinned up in the convenience store. Bounties in stark black font show beneath their faces.

You abandon your goods, your treats and pick-me-ups mid purchase and make your way to Big Deal Street as quickly as you can.

Navigating public transport and running until you're panting and out of breath and sweat blurs your vision.

Everywhere is shuttered and closed.

.

.

Everything Jake does, tastes, drinks is tinged with bitterness.

Nevertheless, a routine forms and with each passing day he feels more like himself.

Determination returns.

He trains alongside Lineman even though Lightning Choi insists that he can't teach Jake anything.

Feels his strength returning and muscle growing. Busies himself with preparation in all forms.

“Here,” Jake sets down fresh cooked ramyeon in front of Lineman who looks up at him in surprise. “Eat up. You need it with all your training,”

Lineman wells up with gratitude, “Boss!”

It's a simple meal.

Packaged noodles Lineman has had thousands of times before but it's the best thing he has ever tasted.

.

.

In return, Lineman does something for Jake.

He's not sure it's the right thing to do at first, but anyone with eyes can see Jake moping around like a lovesick puppy.

He extends the reaches of his network.

Calls in long owed favours, reconnects to people in his old Monster Crew, people he trusts that won't spill his whereabouts. Asks everyone to keep an eye out, keep their ear to the ground.

Gold is struck when Lineman manages to locate Jerry.

Encouraged by agreement from Lua, who has stayed in contact with the No.2, that this is what the boss needs-

Lineman sets forth his plan.

.

.

“Boss?” Lineman knocks on Jake's bedroom door, a makeshift backroom full of cobwebs with a rickety sleeping cot.

Where Jake currently lies, face illuminated by his phone.

Lineman refrains from rolling his eyes. Probably going through his texts again.

The guy thought he was being subtle, but it's obvious as hell whenever he's looking at past messages with you. It's the only time a genuine smile graces his face before it inevitably turns forlorn.

“Hmm?” Jake clicks the screen off and sits up as Lineman pokes his head around.

“You got a sec?”

“Sure thing.”

“Ok.” Linemans head disappears again.

There's some minor commotion behind the door. Hushed voices squabbling and-

The door cracks open again and you step through.

.

.

When you got the call from Lineman, you leapt at the chance of seeing Jake again. To see that he's ok with your own eyes.

Give him a piece of your mind for icing you out, probably under some misguided sense of chivalry.

For not explaining a single thing to you and keeping you in the dark even as this huge shit storm rained down on him.

Worse of all, the audacity for leaving you on read.

Unfortunately, at seeing Jake-

The bruises, now mottled green and yellow, the cuts and scratches littering his skin, body bandaged and tender, the way his eyes have lost their light.

-Everything you planned to say and wanted to say goes out the window.

And you burst into tears.

Lineman, taking that as his cue, clicks the door shut.

.

.

Jake is stuck somewhere between elated and miserable.

You're here? You're really here?

But fuck. You're here.

Caught in this chaos.

When he thought he had managed to at least protect you if no one else, you show up when he's at his most powerless.

Then your lip quivers, and your nose lets out a telltale sniffle and-

Shit.

None of that matters.

Jake tries for a smile of his own but feels his own lips turning down.

“What you crying for, dummy?” Tone aiming for jovial, his own voice betrays him and cracks at the last syllable.

A small voice in your head is outraged. Who exactly is he calling a dummy, has he even seen the state of himself.

But you don't move, stay standing by the door, staring as the tears come thick and fast.

Until-

Jake opens his arm, an invitation, and you throw yourself at him.

He winces feeling your weight collide into his body and disturbing his injuries. Luckily your arms coming to hug him around the neck quickly dulls the pain.

He embraces you, one arm holding you close and other hand stroking your hair while telling you it's fine, he's fine, everything's ok.

God. He didn't even realise how much he missed you until you're here. Even the scent of your hair, the feel of your clothes.

Nevermind being able to touch you and hold you.

“Don't you dare ditch me again,” you growl into his shoulder.

Jake opens his mouth, about to argue-

Then you squeeze him tight, lips brushing along his skin and all fight leaves him.

“Ok.”

.

.

The initial reunion is sweet. Glued at the hip once more, one never seen without the other.

You forgive Jake with little drama and he is extra attentive. If he's not next to you then he seeks out your eyes in every moment, every scenario.

Quietly checking you're ok, you're happy. That this situation isn't more than you can handle.

When your eyes meet his, your face lights up and you give him a smile that melts his heart and all his defences.

“I will go with you anywhere,” you tell him one night, sitting on some dusty stairs.

“I know,” he grins.

Realistically, it's a problem. The other problem is that he always wants you with him too.

.

.

However.

The patience from others is short lived.

Lineman is pleased to have his leader back. See the bounce in Jake's step, the grin on his lips that reaches his eyes.

And who is Lightning Choi to get in the way of young love?

Watching you two laughing together, talking in hushed tones, sharing inside jokes warms his heart

Except.

You and Jake are a thorn in his side.

The incessant giggling is annoying. The constant whispering is distracting.

“Get a room!” He shouts over one day, at the end of his rope when Lineman mishears an instruction and ends up face planting.

That did the trick. Both of you avert your gaze and blush furiously.

Hmph. Young idiots in love.

.

.

“You're leaving for Gangnam tomorrow?” You ask, lying beside Jake and resting your head on his shoulder.

“The First Affiliates,” he confirms, clipped and tense.

With D-Day drawing closer, Jake has grown more on edge. Doubt creeping in if he's strong enough to infiltrate and reach Jinyoung Park. Even with the temporary alliance with Daniel Park, he's not sure if it's enough.

After all, the last team up with Charles Choi should have proved sufficient.

With 1A, Jake has given you information on a need to know basis. Kept the details light lest the worry extends to you. Despite his best efforts, you're concerned.

Although, for other selfish reasons.

You prop yourself up on your elbow and face him.

“You said you're not going to ditch me again.”

“Huh?”

“You said!” You jab at his chest with your free hand. “You said you wouldn't ditch me again. No matter what happens.”

Jake pulls a face, and it's one you recognise as regretting his words. Weighing up if being together is worth the potential danger you're put in and trying to worm his way out.

You cut off his spiralling thoughts with another jab and scowl at him. “Promise, asshole.”

His eyebrows shoot up in affront, “Who you calling asshole?”

With one swift movement, he flips you over. You lie flat on his back as he smirks down at you.

“Don't distract me, asshole.”

“It's not my fault you're getting distracted,” and the cocky little shit has the audacity to wink at you.

Ugh. You're serious and he's treating this like a joke. This position is also causing your thoughts to run away with itself.

“Jake,” your gaze dips down to his lips and you angle your face up to his.

He peers down, half-lidded and playful.

“Yes?” He inches closer.

“Stop it.”

"Stop what?” And closer.

“Promise me,” you murmur, lips gently brushing against his. Tips of your noses grazing, his hair falling out of place and breath, minty and sweet on your skin.

“I promise.”

Jake pulls back, enough to look into your eyes. Searches and searches, warm brown eyes boring into yours for what feels like an eternity.

Then finally-

Finds what he's looking for.

And he kisses you, hard. Pours everything, his heart, his hopes, fears and doubts, into the one kiss.

.

.

Jake finds Jinyoung but loses Samuel.

Finds out more than he expected about Samuel’s background. Pieces together his background with their falling out, his complexes. At least Jake is able to understand him a little more.

Jerry is safe, if not further wounded from his fight with the Fifth Affiliates - no, with Hostel.

But he's safe. So are Brad and Jason and Lua.

Overall, he considers it a success even if it's middling at best.

.

.

Jake has promised you.

Yet-

He wonders if some promises are better to break.

He thinks it would break you too. A little. In a way that you can recover from, he lies to himself.

He opens his mouth, wanting to ask Lua a favour, a huge goddamn favour. Maybe she can be the one that tells you.

Jake would be indebted to her forever. Probably get eaten alive by the guilt, but surely it's the kind thing to do.

Lua glares at him before he even gets a word out. It's the most angry she has ever looked.

Jerry is the one who responds. “Don't you dare, Jake.”

.

.

The thing is, there might never be the right place and right time. At least not in Jake's foreseeable future when there's danger lurking around every corner.

He had initially assumed you and him weren't meant to be, life destined to run on different paths. Had given up at first, when you were both just kids, then given a sliver of hope when you met again.

Except isn't that worse than having no hope at all. To get a taste, a glimpse of what he could have?

He has tried to be so good, so selfless.

A good son and a good friend and a good leader. Tried to give everything his all and come up short and weak.

But for you, it never really mattered. You didn't want him to be anything but himself. Didn't care that he was Gapryong Kim's son or Big Deal No. 1.

With you - it's painfully uncomplicated. Even as all other areas of his life crumble.

You're still the right person. Even if nothing else had been right or felt right, you did.

You do.

And in the end, isn't that all that really matters?

.

.

Jake lets his selfishness take over.

Watches you from the doorway, pacing back and forth and is surprised you haven't worn a path into the floorboards.

Reasons with himself that he deserves this, deserves you. Thinks that he would go insane if he doesn't allow himself this.

This one thing, the most precious thing.

Something he held back and repressed for years. Putting everything but himself and his happiness first.

He's weak. He's simple. He wants to, needs to give in and he wants to be happy.

“I'm back,” he calls over, and your face snap to his in shock.

You ignore his new scars and fresh bandages. It doesn't matter because he's here. He's come back to you.

Jake opens his arms, an invitation, and you take one step, two, three-

And throw yourself at him. Clinging on. Feeling his skin, his body against yours.

“I was worried.” You say, voice muffled into his t-shirt.

“I can tell,” Jake is grinning. Whenever he thinks he may never smile again, you always tease it out of him.

“Don't make fun of me,” you say, lifting your head and frowning up at him

“Sorry.” And he is. For a lot.

Jake gently grips your chin once more, angling your face towards his.

He wonders how he managed to resist for so long, impressed at his own control because how could he ever say no when you look at him like this.

(He knows he looks at you like this too. Seen pitying glances from Lua and heard sniggers from Sinu.)

Jake surges forward.

Captures your lips with his, feels your body turning stiff with surprise and then-

Feels you sag with relief, with happiness, with pleasure. Melting and leaning forward, seeking out more.

His free arm winds around your waist and pulls you close. Pressing the lengths of your body together and promising never to let go again.

.

.

During Jake's worst days, he didn't think he would have the privilege of growing old.

No family of his own. And though you were just friends, instead of a faceless partner, he would still imagine it was you by his side and the kids were the perfect mix of you and him.

Dark thoughts would turn to lamenting letting you slip through his fingers. Thinking about what could have been.

On his best days, he dreamt of growing old with you.

In time, Jake will come to know that fate will be kinder to him, his dreams will become a reality.

From the start you've always been the right person, at the right time, at the right place.

[punkpandapatrixk]

⛩Lion’s Gate Portal to Xxx ♦︎ Timeless Pick A Card

Happy Lion’s Gate Portal to Xxx…! From X (infinite possibilities) to hyperspecific manifestation of things, events and people that are meant to inspire, excite and serve your Highest Intended Good! What collective do you belong to? What timeline of Humanity are you on?

Laced with the aenergy of the last Full Buck Moon in Capricorn/Aquarius (21 July), this Lion’s Gate Portal is ushering in a general sense of excitement like you’ve just graduated an important chapter of spiritual education~\`★_★`/

From here, you’re in a brand-new Reality offering brand-new sensations, experiences and opportunities. There is a mega-influx of high-vibe money, non-slavery work opportunities, spiritually-inclined connections and mutually-beneficial friendships for those who have taken it upon themselves to transcend above silly ego-driven drama default to this Matrix of misery. From here, Integrity is your Key to creating a perfect existence.

Enter the Neo Reality. Let the day begin!

SONG: Let the Day Begin by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

DOCUPUNK: Punk: Attitude | Full Documentary | Qwest TV

deck-bottom: 5 of Swords, Gold Astrologer (Simon Forman), Priestess of Integrity

[PAC Masterlist] [Patreon] [Paid Readings] [buymeaboba]

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – Opened a Whole Portal to a Perfect Existence!

‘Listen. I’ve got this dream. I never told anyone and it acquired dust. But I can’t ignore it anymore. I’ve decided not to look away from the innocence that is myself!’ – Get No Satisfaction! by Sakamoto Maaya

chapter of triumph – Page of Wands

Of all the Piles, I feel the most ‘orderly’ aenergy from you. In spite of passion and motivation, there’s a strong sense of ‘control’ and order in the way you’re creating your new Reality. This sense of order and control isn’t of the egoic control-freak variety; rather, it is a result of your having complete trust in the flow of Divine Timing.

You’ve entered this Reality where everything you’re able to perceive is nothing but a possibility. So yes, as long as you want it, it can be possible for you. You’re now in a flow state of choosing only those possibilities that serve your highest good whilst contributing something meaningful to your immediate surrounding. In essence, I think you’ve become a true spiritual master!

From this chapter onwards, your stories and events and rendezvous will serve as a mirror to reflect back how much you’ve grown as a spiritual being in a Human body. You will be serving your purpose more closely to your original Blueprint. Many of you will find yourself being a teacher, healer or guide of some sort in many of your daily interactions.

cells full of Light – Knight of Pentacles

And yet, here you are teaching and guiding others, but you’re also gaining even more new perspectives from the people you’re helping. So you’re both nourishing and inspiring and amplifying each other. The people you’re guiding and helping are truthfully also on their own way of learning how to teach and guide others beyond your scope.

So this is the kind of Neo Reality you’ve stepped into. An almost immaculate circle of good souls empowering and teaching each other. You’re actively building a more positively-oriented Reality that on a spiritual level goes far beyond what can be seen on the physical plane. This is your Soul Work, in essence.

From here, I see that money and other ‘types of abundance’ that will make Life easier on a material level will naturally trickle down your Reality in tandem with how you’re redefining your ‘sense of place’ in this new world. This new world where most of us are wired towards healing and becoming a much more joyful, psychologically-liberated versions of ourselves~

shifting straight into Xxx – 7 of Cups

There’s a sense of needing to choose your Reality. I should say, a sense of needing to choose certain elements and aspects of your Reality. At this point, you don’t have to worry about choosing wrongly. There’s practically nothing you could choose wrongly. Everything is a possibility, of which purpose is to be manifested and experienced.

Whatever happens, that’s for your highest enjoyment in this theatre of a Human Life~ Many of you will soon or probably has realised that quite nothing in this Universe is as serious as it seems. It’s all a play. This world is an illusion just like movies aren’t real. Just like video games aren’t real. We’re playing in it just for our Soul’s pure enjoyment.

The moment you become crystal clear about this is the moment you become absolutely clear about your manifesting abilities. And from there, you’re Doraemon. You can literally call forth any kind of experience or a sense of adventure by reaching into the pocket of your subconscious mind~

What’s contained in the subconscious often comes through in daydreams and fantasies, right? ;) Those are all your possibilities. You can entertain whichever you want and it’s yours!

DESIRED REALITY🔻🧡

collective dharma – Red Magus (Edward Kelly)

unmatched charisma – Priestess of Fertility

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – Held on for Dear Life, Now, You Can be Happy, Shorty~

‘I want to have more faith in myself. Someday, just like a flower… I want to offer a prayer to my future self. May you be happy.’ – Remedy by Sakamoto Maaya

chapter of triumph – King of Swords Rx

This collective is one that has had to learn to tackle the shackles of their logical minds hahah Too much logic means little to no magic! You got it? I’m reminded of this idea that ‘you can’t plan around Luck’. Luck comes to your aid when you have complete faith in your endeavour. Lady Luck loves those who are confident and courageous.

That’s been one of your biggest life lessons in terms of your spiritual evolution. At the present time, I’m getting that you’ve pretty much managed to let your logic take a backseat. Of course, it’s still there and it’s very necessary for rational reasoning! But your logic is an observer who tends to counsel you when you need to be realistic about your next steps.

At this present time, I see that you’ve managed to let your higher heart—your intuition—take the wheel of your physical fortunes. You may be seeing a lot of angel numbers and other signs of SYNK. You’re in sync with your Higher Self and team of Spirit Guides. Your faith in them—and in where you’re going—is actively opening many pockets of Luck in your current timeline!

cells full of Light – 6 of Wands Rx

Part of why you clung to so much logic before was that you lived amongst super judgemental bitches. Basically, society. Society for the most part comprises of very small minded, jealous fucks who don’t get happy when someone they know is met with fortune, right? That’s why society has a tendency to mock or underestimate those they deem ‘lucky’.

Society hates ‘lucky’ people; they instead LOVE those who struggle and suffer. I think in many ways you’ve had to deal with so much difficulty because you either let those types of mindsets affect your flow of manifestation, or, you yourself wholeheartedly believed that your manifestations and visions and goals could only be worthwhile if you crawled and worked under immense duress to get them.

That’s all in the past now. You’ve let all of that silly mindset become part of a dying paradigm. You ain’t playin’ like dat no mo. And those who can’t understand your level of chill can also die in that old paradigm. You aren’t the least bit concerned about what’s ‘normal’ anymore. From here, your Life is magick! And those who can understand you, will only find you inspirational, if not aspirational😉

shifting straight into Xxx – 7 of Wands

So there’s a sense of having ‘worked so hard’, but you understand that this is mainly your having worked so hard on shifting your internal paradigm. You held on for dear Life! Now, you’re in a completely different bandwidth of Reality. Upon finding this PAC, you may still be dealing with a feeling of always being ‘close’ to your goal. Just about there… Or, not enough effort yet… Not quite there yet…

But literally, this is just an echo of how you used to think about when and how your manifestations should come to your doorstep. Sooner than later, you’ll find yourself not caring anymore about the when or the how things are going to be presented to you. You’ll simply have the faith—the knowing—that what’s meant to be yours will never miss you.

Right now, if this is your main pile, you’re being advised to take it easy and plan little by little. Take as much time as possible to recover first from the stress of survival before you push yourself towards your goal again. From here, it’s not a warzone. It’s no longer you vs the world. From here, it’s Animal Crossing’s flower gardens LMAO Enjoy where you are. Enjoy this Reality you’ve worked hard to arrive at!

DESIRED REALITY🔻💜

collective dharma – Gold Astronomer (John Dee)

unmatched charisma – Priestess of Luck

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – Stepping Out into the Open Sky, It’s A Brand-New World of Comfort

‘Blessings flowing over me, glowing, rolling over and over. Never want to go back to the way it was before. I hear someone whisper into my ear. I turn around but find nothing there. Until I look up and see colors of love raining down on me.’ – Colors by Sakamoto Maaya

chapter of triumph – King of Cups Rx

This is the Pile that previously dealt with an insane amount of psychological drama, karma, and trauma. It’s possible that you’ve indeed been given so much trauma by this world—this disappointing, disappointing world—but the main thing I’m getting is how you’ve triumphed over so many different streams of crazy in your head. I hope that illustration makes sense to you ^^

You’ve calmed down a lot. You’re no longer slave to your intense emotions that had often caused crippling anxiety. You had a lot of fears. You were possessed by so many demons. None was your fault tho. The world had given you so many reasons to be doubtful, and that made you incredibly fearful about some certain things that people take for granted.

But dang, you’ve simplified, haven’t you? You’ve learnt to do less. You’ve learnt to expect not so crazily—from yourself and others and even the Universe. You’ve truly learnt spiritual detachment, or soon to master it. You’ve realised now that you’re only responsible for how peacefully you can live your day to day every day~♪

cells full of Light – 6 of Swords

I see that you’ve left a lot of things, people, situations and places in the past. Do you feel somewhat lonely? It’s only normal but just so you know, you’re sailing above calmer waters, and by the end of this sailing, on some new land you will be meeting your Soul Tribe, and possibly even your romantic Destined Person ^^ So this is really only temporary no matter how long you feel you’ve been sailing in this ‘isolation’ mode.

‘Feel the world around you. Feel the world surround you,’ I think my music is saying that XD (I think it’s Ciggies After Sex) Truly a lot of things have changed and that you’ve become much stronger both in faith and your conviction. You jumped a fucking timeline and you’re not even existing in the same bandwidth of frequency as those things and people that used to scare you so much.

Just like The Fool in major arcana, you’re crashing and falling into this stream leading you towards true spiritual happiness and abundance~ There is nothing from the past that can follow you because the frequencies are simply different. And when you look up you’ll see the colours of Love raining down on you ^^ All is a shower of blessings from your Higher Self, Spirit Guides, Ancestors and Soul Tribes, as well as your Destined Person ♥︎

shifting straight into Xxx – Queen of Pentacles

For all of the spiritual work that you’ve done on yourself—which really echoes throughout the ages back and forth, affecting the past and the future positively—material abundance is yours to access. Some people who don’t truly understand ‘spirituality’ may think it’s funny how spiritual work is rewarded with money and other material possessions, but I’m sure you know better that we live in a material world XD

Having an abundance of munny, of currency, is proof that you’re living peacefully in the currents of chi. There is not so much resistance now between you and the whole of the abundance of Gaia. Best you do is maintain balance so you don’t fall out of the currents, right? Yes, as long as you maintain balance, in everything that you do and think, this material abundance is always going to be yours. Just…don’t go insane like those overnight millionaires who’ve ended up bankrupt in just 2 years. YKWIM?

I’m sure you already know how to strike a sane and sensible spiritual-material balance now and that’s the reason you’ve shifted into this prosperous paradigm. I see that you’re now able to afford whatever whenever you want. Keep reminding yourself of this: ‘My money bags refill faster than I can spend.’ Being financially abundant is such a beautiful thing because when you have more, you have more to share as well ^o^/

DESIRED REALITY🔻💗

collective dharma – Gold Historian (Raphael Holinshed)

unmatched charisma – Priestess of Enchantment

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PAC Masterlist] [Patreon] [Paid Readings] [buymeaboba]

[imfinereallyy]

Spooky Spouse🕸️𓆩♡𓆪🕸️

happy spooky season :) this is for my mutuals @cranberrymoons @penny00dreadful @theheadlessphilosopher @vthx who when I asked about when we think steddie bday's was, it derailed into well...this. And it was too hard to resist.

v brief mention of nsfw

"You want to what?"

Eddie stares at Steve excitedly, practically vibrating in his spot across from Steve in the kitchen.

"We should get married on Halloween!" Eddie shouts.

Steve lets his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose as he looks at his very manic, albeit very cute, fiance. "Babe, I love you, and for that, I am going to hear you out—"

"Love you too." Eddie interrupts softly.

Steve's mouth curves at the edges; he's sure he has what Robin has claimed as his 'lovesick' smile on his face. "—but why would you want to get married on your birthday?"

Suddenly, Eddie's excitement switches into an embarrassed blush. Hiding behind a finger spun around a soft curl, he mumbles, "...about that..."

Steve sighs and leans back in his chair. He feels the familiar ache in the bottom of his back, scarred road rash that never quite healed right in 86'. If he sits too long in one spot, Steve finds himself fidgety and unsettled.

He wonders briefly if he can convince Eddie to give him a massage later.

Eddie's embarrassment shifts for a moment to concern, eyes wondering where Steve's back meets the base of the old wooden chair they found on 74th Street two years ago. Steve knows Eddie had liked the way the chair creaked like Steve's knee, and that was reason enough to bring it home. Now, though, with the way Eddie holds his breath to see if the familiar creak of the chair will mix with the sounds of Steve's young bones aging, Steve knows he won't have to do any convincing at all.

"I'm okay, Eds. You were saying."

Eddie's face blooms red again. "Okay, only if you promise not to be mad."

"That is never a good sign."

Eddie bites his lip, "What if I told you that my birthday isn't really on Halloween?"

Steve stares blankly, "I know I've had a few knocks on the head, Eds, but I'm pretty sure you can change your name, not your birthday. Having a wedding doesn't mean you get to move your birthday."

"Well!" Eddie jumps, this time with more anxious energy, "You see, that's what I mean; we wouldn't have to move my birthday if we got married on Halloween."

"Okay, you lost me. Am I concussed again? Did we go too hard last night? I know you said you were 'gonna fuck me so good I would forget my name,' but I'm pretty sure this isn't what you meant."

Eddie takes a deep breath before getting on his knees in front of Steve, taking his hand into his own. "Stevie, I mean that I lied. My birthday isn't Halloween. It's actually in February."

"What."

"You said you wouldn't be mad!"

Steve snorts but gives Eddie's hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm pretty sure I actually said that 'wasn't a good sign'. I never agreed not to be mad."

"We both know it means the same thing to you." Eddie huffs.

Steve's lovesick smile is back again, despite knowing he should be mad. "You're telling me you've convinced everyone your birthday is on Halloween?"

"...well, everyone but Wayne." Eddie's smile turns sheepish.

"Jesus Christ Eds."

Eddie jumps up from his knees back to his feet. Steve can hear Eddie's ankle crack at the sudden change. He keeps a hold on Steve's hand. "Listen, I had good reason. I love Halloween; I should be a Halloween baby. My death was almost by bats; I mean, by that logic, it's almost full circle."

"I feel like you're D&D'ing me into logic that doesn't make sense. Eddie, are you trying to make it worse?"

Eddie throws his head back and groans, "No. I'm just—I love Halloween. It feels wrong not to have something important on that day."

"So you decided to change your birthday? Ed's that's not legal."

Eddie's excitement comes back tenfold, giving Steve whiplash. "Well, neither is our wedding! So it's perfect! Honestly, very metal of us to be fighting the law on such an amazing day." Eddie's arms flap around in excitement, making their conjoined hands move messily throughout the air.

Steve wants to be mad; he really does. But he can't help it; he just loves this idiot too much. "Fine, we can get married on Halloween."

"Really?!"

Steve stands, bringing his lips to Eddie's hand, then gently to his lips. He murmurs against his mouth, "On two conditions."

Eddie nips Steve's lip, "Anything, baby."

"One." Steve starts, sliding his tongue into Eddie's mouth, just to be a brat, before pulling back. Eddie groans but doesn't protest. He knows that this is the rare occasion it's his turn to be punished. "You have to tell everyone the truth about your birthday."

"Yep, fine. You got it." Eddie grabs Steve by the back of his neck and pulls him back. Consuming him greedily, Steve gives in to the distraction for a moment. Loving the feeling of Eddie's heat pressed against his own.

Steve pulls back reluctantly, a trail of spit connecting the two of them. Eddie whines and paws at Steve's hips, trying to draw him back. "Two, you have to tell me when your actual birthday is."

The heat clears from Eddie's eyes and the sheepish look returns. "Uh..."

Steve starts to remove himself from Eddie, but Eddie scrambles to bring him back against his chest. "Fine. Fine, I'll tell you."

Steve leans his forehead against Eddie's, patiently waiting for him to spill.

"It's February 14th."

Steve's eyes go wide, "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ."

**

this spiraled form all of us being convinced eddie would lie and say his bday is on Halloween. to my mutals, sorry I didn't tag you all it got to long, but this was for you guys ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[limerlove]

ray, your writing is so amazing 🤍

lowkey, i need a “i love you x i loved you” angst with abby and reader ‼️😔👀

❝ BET YOU WANNA LOVE ME NOW ❞ ✶ ABBY ANDERSON !

tags: eighteen+,wc 2k, heavy angst, tw panic attack.

a/n: more than happy to fulfill this request for you, em. thank you for helping me even further bringing it to life. i love when our brains mesh. it's a beautiful and lovely thing. ily, mwah mwah ♡

daily click | palestine masterpost

Three months, shot after shot, week after week, you call. The dial tone you’re met with again. The hint is there for you to take but you steer clear from it, hoping to wipe out instead. She never blocks you, a glimmer of hope you call it. It’s the only sliver of silver lining you hold onto. Your friends take away your phone after the fourth call, trying to protect you from the inevitable hurt. 

You’ve hit rock bottom, the tequila burning through the remnants left of your senses. Stumbling in your boots before you find an edge of a curb to nestle on, the now empty body of the tequila bottle you’d emptied kisses the concrete. 

Everything reminds you of her. The soft laugh she would sing after a silly joke, the way she would hold you at night when you cried, singing her favorite song of the week when the two of you would get ready in the morning together. Just like tonight, Abby would be the one to hold you, dance with you, twirl you around the dance floor and now some other girl tries and it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. 

It’s a traitorous reminder someone else can and maybe, tragically, there’s another already filling your shoes with her. It’s the rude awakening you were in for, but you need it. You stop calling. Woefully, you let Dina and Ellie take you home, making sure you shower, hydrate, and slip into some clean clothes until sleep overtakes you. 

You throw yourself into work, it makes things easier. The only time you think of her is at night. When you’re entirely too lonely, somber floods your soul with the emptiness of your home. The absence of her presence rips you to pieces but it’s better than drunk dialing her into an abyss. 

Though she’s never said anything since, she’s probably glad you’ve stopped calling, the sobbing voicemails with soft cries of her name — would be too much for anyone to stomach yet you’ve subjected her to it. 

Cruelty. What you know best, right? 

You try not to think of it, leave it behind. Out of sight out of mind or something like that? Three more months go by and you’re on your first date. It’s going well enough, the conversation is good. She’s beautiful. Her brown eyes remind you of the honey you drip into your tea, soft caramel skin, the freckles dotting her face, and her smile? It grabs a hold of you. 

Maybe this could be good. This could be something. 

The way she tosses her hair, offers you to try a bite of her omelet, she asks questions about yourself and appears like she wants to know you. You’re enjoying yourself for the first time. The promise of your aching heart healing and the hope of something new makes you elated. Starting to believe it for just a moment, but then it comes crashing down on you like a tsunami wave. 

It’s far from town, tucked in the outskirts of town, you’d suspected to not see anyone here but you see her. She’s sitting outside on the patio, just like you, she’s working. The laptop in front of Abby has her full attention. Her veiny hands run through her golden hair for a moment before she’s taking a sip of her coffee, you presume it to be black. No sugar or cream, the one she normally takes the steamy beverage. As if she knows you’re watching, she slips the suit jacket off, left with only a white button up paired with a gray vest to match her slacks. She pushes her glass up as it glides over the bump in her nose. 

Abby looks like she gets a full night of rest at night. No dark circles are to be found as she’s put together like always. You try to focus on your date. Replies fall from your lips when necessary, you engage, compliment, smile insincerely, but more than anything you feel the bile swarming up your throat. It leaves with no other option than to choke. 

Baby blues shine at the waitress as she comes to check up on her — her smile gleaming with joy, the final knife to your throat reels you into turmoil. It slices you open in the middle of night, now you feel the trickles of blood leaking out from your heart. The wound is out of reach and only one healer can be found. How pitiful the one who can save you would rather never touch you again? 

Painfully, it’s almost as if she feels your distress. She finds you staring, jaw clenched as you look past the woman seated in front of you. An aching chest burns for her, the perplexed quirk of eyebrows and the slight tilt of her head tells you she’s just now seeing you. Meanwhile, for the past hour you’d been practically sweating. Not that the beam of sun left you much of an option. 

“Are you alright, love?” Her accent cuts through like knives, it feels loud. Too much? Too little? You’re not sure what but it’s simply not her. 

“M’good, promise. Let me just freshen up, yeah?” You need to breathe because it feels like you can’t. The weight on your chest feels unbearable as you attempt to catch your breath. Practically making a dash for the bathroom. 

You’re thankful for the singular bathroom as you lay against the cool, tiled wall. Your fingertips reach for the groves, in an attempt to calm yourself before a full meltdown overtakes. Just a flash of her blues sends you into your own, your mind latching onto every kiss, every moment of comfort, the hours you spent buried between her thighs. 

It reminds you of the feeling you’ll never find again. They’ll never be anyone like her again and it all was fucked up to the heavens to reap on, because you couldn’t have a little bit of faith. 

There’s a soft knock on the door, it leaves you reckless. It can’t be her? 

“I-, uh, occupied?” You muster, as you clutch onto the chain resting on your collarbones. “Hey, it’s me.” 

Your heart falls into your stomach, beat erratic at her voice. She’s speaking to you, just you. The familiarity of her soothes you more than expected. “Are you alright? You just ran off, and I just, I know how you get.” 

But you’re quiet, silent tears fall down the apple of your cheeks cascading further as they slip off your jaw. The blossoming feeling of her floods through like a never ending crashing wave. You’ve tried so hard not to venture into it, but she’s here. All it takes is one look in your eyes, she knows something is wrong. How do you move on from that? How can anyone? 

It’s a question you ask yourself, daily, but having it right in front of you is more unimaginably difficult to face. 

“Can I come in?” Abby asks and you let out a gentle okay. 

She’s here, in all her six foot glory, but the look in her eyes tells a different story. Distant, walled — just like when you had met her. Old habits die hard and all the two of you did was revert. She slowly walks towards you, until she’s in front of you, holding her arms behind her back. 

“How bad is it?” Abby inquires. 

“S-seven.” 

“Sit down, alright?” Gently, she offers her hand making you sit as you hiccup, your hyperventilating. Pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, she runs it under cool water before placing it against your neck, and then gently on your forehead. 

Abby wipes away your tears, whispering sweet words to comfort you. It’s been her specialty. No one could calm you down like her. There’s a center to her, pulling your wreckage into her tranquil sense of being. You wonder how long it took for her to have it again, she broke for you when you couldn’t even bend. 

She gave you everything yet you couldn’t give her an ounce of what she wanted. Yet, her innocent hands clean off your hands, as if it isn’t her own blood she’s ridding you of. 

“You shouldn’t be doing this. I’m fine.” 

“I know. I certainly don’t have to anymore. Do I? You’ve made that clear.” There’s a bite to her tone, but she still helps you. “Stop complaining and grip onto my hand.” 

You pause before obeying her command. Making sure not to intertwine, only holding and she applies tight pressure with the contact. 

“You’re clearly not fine.” Abby bitterly laughs. “I see nothing has changed.” She whispers so quietly to herself you almost don’t catch it. 

Her eyes catch your own and it feels the same as it did before. The words you could never tell her, the reason she left — they crave to come tumbling out. You focus on her strong hands, the veins popping out, how well fitted the vest is on her chest. She’s holding off on full compression, only if you need it. 

“What?” 

“Maybe I shouldn’t, not when you’re like this.” 

“Just say it.” You spat. 

“You’re still afraid of me, of us, not that there is much left to be afraid of.” Abby sighs, biting her lip. Cursing at the gods above for making her fall for someone like you. You couldn’t give her what she needed and she moved on. 

They couldn’t even try for you, Abby reminds herself. 

“It’s okay. I just expected more from you when I shouldn’t have.” There’s no malice when she speaks, only laced with regret. Abby’s words wake turmoil within your heart, pulling at a thread until you’ve come undone. Then there’s her touch, the compression in your hand, the coolness of the handkerchief, it centers you. It’s chaotic, reckless and everything in between. 

It’s always been you. Not centered enough to hold her down or yourself, to anything. 

“I-I wanted to give more I just—” You try to explain, but they die. Just as they always have. 

“You can’t.” The minutes spent in silence the two of you looking in each other’s eyes as Abby allows herself to cling onto you. For just a moment, in the women’s singular bathroom, she allows herself to get some type of remembrance. 

She’s calm as she wipes away your tears, your breathing evening out, the grip on her hands loosens. The two of you lost in a moment, unresolved feelings come up bubbling. Abby lets you cradle her face in your pressing grip, it feels like acid on her skin but a familiar warmth floods in her heart. 

Unexpectedly, you’re leaning into her in the evanescence of her care. The possibility of finality leaves you clinging onto straws. Abby thinks you did, but part of her, maybe leans in a little bit too. Is it pity? Closure? A craving? 

Your lips gently mold to hers, she tastes the salty tears left on your lips and the raspberry balm you must have put on. It’s everything to you yet she’s not sure what it means. You’re trying to cling onto her, yet she pulls away far too quickly for your liking. 

“Please, don’t do this.” Abby picks herself off the floor. “You should go back to your date.” 

“But I—” The words die, again. 

“What? You can’t fucking tell me and you’ve never been able to. I deserve better than this, better than you.” 

“You’re selfish, god, why’d you kiss me?” 

“Because I wanted to?” 

“Yeah, exactly. Because you want to. Have you ever thought about what I want?” Abby pushes, shaking her head, seriously inquiring you to think about someone else besides yourself. “Did you think about me when you were drunk calling me every weekend, pleading to get back together while I was at home crying every night? Do you think hearing you heartbroken made me feel good?” 

Aggravatedly, she huffs. “That’s the problem. You always think of yourself and I’m just collateral damage. Couldn’t bother to give me what I wanted when we both knew you felt it. Just like keeping me in the dark for fun, huh?” 

Abby adjusts her tie, reaching for the door as she hears you. She does a double-take, not believing what she’s heard. Now? 

“What did you just say?” 

“I love you, Abby. Please.” Don’t go. 

She smirks manically, it’s too bittersweet. You couldn’t be bothered to give her what she craved but now one taste from her lips sends you into overdrive? 

Fuck you, is what she wants to say but she bites her tongue. 

“And I loved you.” Abby tuts, her jaw clenches, hands tightly clenching against the other, knuckles blown white in her misery. “I’ll still care about you. I always will but I could never love you. Not when I was pleading for something and you could only offer me nothing in return.” 

“Abs—” 

“No.” You’re shocked by her dismissal of you. “I never deserved this. I want someone who will love me and not be afraid of it. Who won’t treat me like shit when I’m begging for a lifeline. Hopefully, you can give that to the next one but it just won’t be me.” She leaves swiftly. All you're left with is the scent of mahogany and her handkerchief. 

thanks for reading! mwah!

[banj0possum]

Zombie Horde x AMAB transfem/gn reader who is working to find a cure for the zombie epidemic?

Like I was imagining reader works in a lab that is then overrun, and reader attempts to flee the horde or secretly continue their experiments when they aren’t looking.

Eventually maybe reader gets used to it and decides to take advantage of the “willing” and (usually) non-violent test subjects.

Love ur work btw <3

i havent given you guys your dose of zombie bitches lately so here ya go <3 this can be also be read as gn maybe

Zombie Horde x MtF!Reader Who's Looking for a Cure

CW: i will make you sob at the end istg, a bit of ewuh body stuff

💀 You've been trying to find a cure ever since the first wave of the epidemic, but the virus spread so quickly that you had to halt your research and flee the city, getting in your car after loading all your equipment and supplies in the trunk and driving off.

💀 Now, after just a few months, you were living in a symbiotic relationship with the very things you swore to destroy. At that point, you've forgotten all about the cure, thinking that there was no more hope on this earth for rehabilitation.

💀 But while lying down in your zombie husband pile at night, the idea sparked in your brain yet again, making you sit up, Ribs' head falling from your shoulder, waking him up.

💀 "S-sorry! So sorry Hun! Uhm..I gotta get something!" You pat Ribs' head before stumbling out of your bed, careful not to trip over the others. Bo blinks a bit before getting up and following you.

💀 You hear a low purr behind you as you were putting on your jacket and backpack and see Bo with a pleading, sleepy face. please come back..it's cold... you could imagine him saying. You chuckle and give him a kiss on the nose. "I'll be back, I promise!" and you run off outside to the parking lot.

💀 You retrieve your supplies from your old car, it's dusty and a bit dirty but the papers you've written were still readable.

💀 You carry the box of stuff back with you, Screw and Soda waiting for you and cocking their heads at the sight of their little mate carrying a box full of tubes and paper.

💀 The horde curiously watches you search through the papers, sometimes writing things down. You mumble soft words they didn't understand whilst looking over two or more papers.

💀 Eventually, you circle a string of letters and numbers and you hold your head in your hands with wide eyes, Screw crawls up to you cooing and you turn to him with the biggest smile on your face.

💀 "I think I got it.."

💀 He cocks his head with a chirp.

💀 "I have the cure..."

💀 You would've never considered it, but with your new discovery of visible consciousness in infected subjects, brain recovery and even bodily recovery can be possible, you just had to find a solution that can increase the body's constructive systems.

💀 You would forge for materials far beyond where you usually searched and would meet up with other survivors to exchange goods in order to conduct your research.

💀 Of course, your husbands were willing to help you, once you told them about your plan, they were so happy! Flesh like yours? Count us in! Ribs especially wants to help; he very much wants his torso back...

💀 The first tests weren't very fruitful but gave interesting results, one experiment with Bo included an injection to his arm, which made his heart beat for a few seconds before slowing and stopping like it was before.

💀 You would also see signs of growth, both Screw and Soda's wounds would appear to be healing themselves.

💀 After a few months of experimentation, you were starting to give up, the boys' wounds and lost body parts being unable to grow back.

💀 It was alright for you though, you never really expected to find the cure so easily, and you weren't sure if it could even work on other zombies.

💀 At least the boys looked a bit better than before though, their hair could grow like a human's and their limps were gone, their joints rejuvenated and no longer rigid, allowing them to move like a normal human and not a living corpse.

💀 You thought that was all that you got from your experiments when..

💀 "(Y-Y/N)?"

💀 That...voice? It sounds familiar somehow...

💀 "Babygirl? Can you hear me?" the voice says again, it was gruff with a bit of a southern accent.

💀 "That's not her name!" Another voice, more higher pitched that the first.

💀 "It's a nickname Ribs!" One quietly says.

💀 Your neck almost snaps at the speed you turned back.

💀 "Uhm..hey there babes.." Bo says awkwardly.

💀 Looks like their vocal chords grew back too...

[bluemoon1331]

I'm back on my au bullshit, gamers. Have some harpies.

Papuan harpy eagle Moon

Ferruginous Sun

Bearded vulture Eclipse

Raven Y/N

Harpies can go from full bird to half

Y/N is used to being among the biggest birds in their city, crafty and resourceful as only a raven can be. They hide themself well, scurrying off along the coast to their well concealed nest after trips among humans. They're fairly happy in their independence, very little do they think of needing a mate or companionship. Sure, there are plenty of birds they know and get along with, but it has been a long time since they've encountered another harpy, which you are fine with. Why need all that pointless drama? Your parents were from rival flocks that fell in love, and look where that got them all: dead, lost to the bloody feud you were made to bear witness as a child, left alone after a fight that your birth started (an accusation a dying, bitter relative threw at you in their final moments).

Content to leave such attachments alone, you flit through your days of mischief and wandering. Until disaster strikes. A storm unlike any you've seen makes landfall, and tears your tree from the ground, resulting in it, and you, plummeting over the cliff it resides beside. In the tumble, your wing/arm is broken, and you are forced to cling on for dear life as the ocean and its storm mercilessly drags you away from all you know.

You're unsure how long you're left adrift, what little of your stores that survived allowing you to scrape by. Hour by hour, though, you get weaker and weaker, the juices from fruits and berries doing next to nothing to stave off your need for water.

After what seems like years lost on the ocean, nursing your wounded limb as best you can, you finally feel your old home bump into something solid. Jostled from your hollow, half-aware, you stumble out onto a pristine white beach. Before you sprawls a massive jungle, which you balk at the sight of. You've seen enough in the human city to know what type of place this is, feeling almost cursed by bad fortune. There is no way you'll survive here, not with a busted wing. Still, you have no choice but to try.

Limping into the dense brush, you pray to find a water source or some fresh food. The forest is vast, however, and every tiny noise or flickering shadow has you on edge, further straining your mind and body, already on the brink. To somehow make matters worse, your delirium is getting to you, and a small, rational part of fears you might be going in circles. Everything looks the same, so foreign and big and dangerous. The humidity clogs your already dry throat, and you eventually collapse, breaths quick and shallow.

It's at this low where Moon stumbles across you. He's more than a little caught off guard to find an injured harpy laying on the jungle floor, battered and close to death. It's very clear you are not from here, but that only makes him further sympathetic. Unable to bring himself to leave you for dead, Moon instead carries you home.

He's greeted by Sun and Eclipse, whom immediately question Moon. Once it's clear he did nothing wrong, they set to work helping you. Eclipse properly tends to your wing while Moon fetches water and Sun endeavors to find you food.

When you wake days later, you are understandably on edge to discover yourself in the care of three other harpies, all of who are MUCH larger than you. After your initial panic wears off (and Sun and Moon are sent away to put you more at ease), you get caught up on where you are and how you ended up there.

While still wary, you are not ungrateful, and thank them for their help. You go on to insist that now that you've recovered, though, that you would like to move on to someplace more suited for you again.

However, there is yet more bad news for you to learn. Gently, Eclipse informs you that your wing was beyond repair. Despite your efforts to care for it while adrift, it was too severely swollen and improperly healed by the time they found you. Even if they broke it again to try and set it right (a less than appealing option), Eclipse voices his doubt that you'll ever be able to properly fly again.

As expected, this is another devastating blow. Flight was an essential part of how you lived and survived all these years, not to mention you LOVED to fly. The wind through your feathers, the breeze that carried so many scents, and the sights you were allowed to behold from above.

Dealing with your latest hit, Eclipse tries his best to offer you comfort. The gesture falls on deaf ears, and you head for the exit, mumbling about your need to think.

Outside, you encounter Sun and Moon, whom playfully spar each other. The sight of fighting harpies is enough to shock you from your stupor, but you quickly realize it's all in fun. Shock number two. It dawns on you that these three massive predators are acting stunningly familial, a fact that does not feel like it fits after what you learned about other harpies while still a child.

Not that it matters much. You can't stay here. The fact remains you are a krill among whales in the jungle, and you still do not fully trust your fellow harpies. There must be some way for you to reach home once more, or at least settle next to a new city.

Done with their play fight, Sun and Moon at last notice you lingering nearby.

You end up in conversation, and it's at this point you get a true gauge at their personalities. Sun seems rather blunt and snarky, perhaps even a bit haughty, but Moon is quick to temper him with a huff and a ruffle of feathers. Said eagle harpy is a bit more reserved, and much sharper/smarter, dissecting your poor mood beneath your returning sassiness that yearns to strike at Sun's pride.

When you relent your desire to leave, but your frustration, tinged by sorrow, about why it's not so simple, Sun sombers a little, while Moon hums and gives firm reassurance that you'll figure it out. You're strong and smart. You wouldn't have survived your trip to their shores if you weren't.

You'd never admit it (yet), but his words do bolster you. He's right. What are you doing, moping to these strangers? If you're ever going to make it out of this alive, you're gonna need to fall back on your wits. And your first instinct is to do what you can about your wing.

Becoming determined, you march back inside and request Eclipse try to reset it. It might not work like it used to, but you'll take what you can get. Seeing that you won't be swayed, Eclipse unenthusiastically agrees. The procedure is, as expected, less than pleasant. Your arm throbs for days afterwards, but at least it's in a proper sling now.

In the weeks that follow, you attempt to blaze forward by yourself, as you always have. You initially seek a place for yourself, but that backfires when you nearly get caught by a panther. To your (fading) irritation, however, the brothers were keeping an eye on you, despite insistence that you're fine on your own. Begrudgingly, at Eclipse's pleading (he's definitely the most openly caring and kind among the raptors), you stay with them while you figure out where to go and heal.

You are definitely out of sorts among your kind, impish nature giving way to skittishness that the brothers slowly chip away at, piece by piece.

Over time, you learn of how they each individually wound up here, and how their bond formed. Like you, they were once part of flocks, but through circumstances of their own, they left or were banished/fled.

When it comes time for the cast to come off, you enter a new stage of harrowing, where Eclipse's fears were confirmed: you cannot stay airborne. The best you can do is glide from place to place, but no matter how gently you treat it or how much you stretch it and practice, it does not take long for pain to flare up, and you are forced to land (the first few tries were near crash landings, which about gave the boys heart attacks).

It's understandably tough for you to accept your new reality at first, but the brothers help and encourage you, even when you get snappy and fight sometimes (about your prickliness to accept help and mood swings, and they occasionally rub you the wrong way too).

Have a small "break up" (not officially together yet) arc after an argument resulting from you voicing another plan to leave (homesickness and trauma driven doubts much).

Meet another group of harpies after running off. The boys did mention there being flocks much deeper into the jungle, though they tended to avoid them, and you did too, up to this point. After an initial misunderstanding, it results in you getting to witness a much healthier side to harpy flocks (between yours and the brothers' history you really just believed them to be a bad thing, another driving factor in your rift with them). You learn a bit more about your kind, and come to the obvious realization that you were getting in the way of yourself. That, while you were content being independent, that didn't mean you had to be and face everything alone.

You bid the other harpies farewell and go to reunite with the brothers. Whom, turns out, have been FREAKING about how long you've been gone, unable to find any traces of you, beginning to despair the worse had happened, be it either you actually leaving them, or having been eaten. Not knowing just about killed them, and you guiltily apologize for making them worry for so long. You tell them what happened, and about what you saw in the village. The brothers each have their own thoughts on the matter, but their main focus remains you. After another round of reassurances that you're okay, you reconcile, and choose to stay with them. Drop the L bomb. Kissy kissy.

And that's basically where it tapers off. You ease into your new lives together. It isn't always easy, you butt heads, and there are hardships and conflicted moments over your handicap, but they each help you in their own ways, as you do them when they need it.

Note:

Sun really likes the rainbow gleam to your feathers. Reminds him of waterfall mist under moonlight. Not that he would ever admit so aloud (yet).

Ironically, Moon has the least tragic backstory, in spite of having the most physical scars. He was a bit of a little shit back in youth, more aggressive, and just really didn't click with his flock, choosing to go off on his own. He picked some fights, learned some lessons, and eventually met Sun. At the time, Sun was really Going Through It, and it helped Moon to reflect on himself and become mellow and humble, while bolstering Sun during his lowest point. In a double twist of fate, is now the one having to keep Sun off his high horse XD

[sky-fire-forever]

Responding to your line that you put in the water for izzyxreader asks —

Maybe reader is super tough all the time, and so they and Izzy bond over repressing feelings and everything, and then Izzy goes through his transformation and healing era and the reader feels abandoned because everyone on this crew is touchy-feely and now they’re all alone in putting mind over emotion

But then they find out some really bad news (maybe they lost a loved one or something) and fall apart at the seams, and Izzy is there to pick up the pieces

Idk

[AN: I try to leave it vague as to what the bad news actually is, so I'll leave it to your imagination! This is my first time writing X Reader fic, so I hope it's any good! Also, I am posting this on mobile, so I apologize for any formatting errors]

FALLING APART [IZZY HANDS X GENDER NEUTRAL READER]

Izzy Hands is the only one on the ship who understands you. Or so you thought.

These days, it doesn't seem like anyone understands you at all. Izzy included.

It used to be you and Izzy against the world. The two of you understood what it means to be pirates: It means bottling up the fear and the sadness and the… all of it. It means facing the world with a brave face despite how you might feel inside.

You both understood that. Once.

Izzy seems to have forgotten. He wears his emotions on his face now. He talks about them. He wears the title of Unicorn with pride. Things that Izzy wouldn't have been caught dead doing once upon a time.

It seems so easy for him now. He sits with the crew, smiles with them, congratulates them on a job well done. He belongs with them.

And all you can do is watch.

You're almost envious of his ability to change, to grow. It was less lonely being an outsider when Izzy was on the outside with you. Now, you just have to look in and watch as he builds this fantasy family. You wonder how much it will hurt him when it comes tumbling down.

"You could join us, you know," Izzy tells you one night as the crew huddles together by the light and you stand on your own. "No point in you drinking all alone."

You scoff and wave him off. "I don't do well with people." It's an old excuse, one you've used for years.

Just as he always has, Izzy sees through it. "You don't need to push them away. They're... not what we thought they were."

You narrow your eyes at him. "Just because you've gone soft doesn't mean we all will."

Izzy looks at you with something like sadness in his eyes. "The invitation's open."

But it wasn't an invitation you could accept.

Not until later, when a letter comes for you.

As you read it, your hands begin to shake. Your vision gets blurry as your eyes fill with tears. Before you know it, your entire body is trembling.

"Fuck," you whisper. "Fuck!" You shout it at the sea, crumpling the letter in your fist and hurling it at the ocean.

You can never catch a break, can you? The world loves punishing you no matter what you do. People like you don't get a happy ending.

That's something you've always known. You're a pirate and pirates' lives are full of bloodshed and misery and death. A happy ending has never been in the cards for you. Hell, you never even expected a happy middle.

You've never seen the point in crying over the shitty hand you've been dealt. Expressing emotions changes nothing, fixes nothing. So what's the point?

But in this moment, you can't hold it all in. You fall to your knees as tears hit your cheeks. You sob so hard you can hardly breathe. The world around you becomes a blur as you begin to cry.

Strong hands come to wrap around you. Your first instinct is to fight, to shove away whoever is offering you comfort. But you're just too tired and weak to bother.

"I've got ya. I've got you, love." Izzy's soothing voice washes over you as he pulls you into his lap. "I'm here."

Not long ago, the idea of Izzy Hands gently holding you as you fall apart would have been laughable. But here you sit, curled up against his chest as he rubs circles into your back.

You hiccup, trying desperately to regain some control over your breathing. "H-Hurts," you whimper through the tears. "Fuck, it hurts."

"I know," Izzy says softly. "I know, love. I know it hurts. Just let it all out, yeah?"

He presses a kiss to your temple and you squeeze your eyes shut. Sob after sob wrecks through you and you're powerless to stop it.

There's a reason you keep your emotions to yourself. Crying is painful and it's weakness and it fucking sucks. Why would you choose it if you could lock it all away instead?

But somehow crying in Izzy's arms doesn't feel quite as bad as you feared. It still fucking hurts, but he holds you through it, whispering gentle assurances all the while.

And when you've finally cried yourself out, a part of you feels… lighter. Like a great burden has been lifted from your shoulders and all it took was falling apart.

"Shit. I'm sorry," you mutter as you wipe your eyes on the back of your sleeve.

"Nothing to apologize for," Izzy says. "How are you feelin'?"

You hesitate before answering. "Better," you admit somewhat grumpily.

He smiles like he knows how much it pains you to admit that crying helped. "It's easier to fall apart when someone will help pick up the pieces." He reaches up to cup your cheek, brushing away a few stray tears with his thumb.

You swallow and if you had any tears left to shed, you're certain you'd start crying all over again.

Instead, you just wrap your arms around Izzy and hold him close, burying your face in his neck.

"Thank you," you whisper.

He holds you close like it's easy to do it. Like being there for you isn't the burden you know it must be. "Always, love."

And you believe him.

[williceunleashed]

how does melony feels about dardanne

BIG OC LORE POST !!!

decided to drop the whole relationships here 😭

here are the most important characters and the evolution of their relationships during B1W1 and B2W2 (Dardanne, Mel, Ghetsis, Zinzolin, Rood, N, and Alder who becomes revelant in the end of B2W2 as N's new father figure and who keeps an eye on Rood and ex-plasma members)

I tried to make the relationships game accurate (some characters are missing because i feel like the circle is already pretty crowded (anthea, concordia and colress being the main ones i would need to add)) also n doesn't straight up hate ghetsis in the relationships because i feel like n is just way too good and forgiving to straight up hate ghetsis ? my poor lad n was ready to give him a new chance in pokémon masters ex

now for my ocs specifically,

About Dardanne :

Dardanne, who was a plasma grunt in b1w1, basically cuts all contact with Plasma at the end of b1w1 (more accurately, all of his friends who remained in Plasma, including Melony, threw him out of their life and went on hiding). He is seen as a traitor by Plasma, which is why his relationship with Ghetsis, Melony and Zinzolin sour a lot.

Being very scared of relapsing in the cult that is Plasma, Dardanne is fearful of Neo Plasma members. Dardanne went through some really bad conditioning and he knows how easy it is to take advantage of his slowly healing mental health

On a more positive note, he is a friend of Rood now. They both feel betrayed by Ghetsis and Neo Plasma.

He finds support in Alder, because Alder kind of adopts everyone at some point.

He bonds with N a lot over b1w1 (Dardanne being one of the grunts who follows N around while he gathers the badges around in Unova) and by the end of the adventure, they are best friends bordering on romantic interest. N disappears for two years after Ghetsis's plans are uncovered. When Dardanne and N meet again during b2w2 they quite literally just pick up where they left off lol. Dardanne understands N's need to discover the world and be free, and N understands that Dardanne needs solid elements in his life to rebuild himself. These two just need a happy ending in which they can heal ok

Now specifically with Melony, they start as bff in b1w1, but their friendship comes to an end when Dardanne refuses to side with Ghetsis. This upsets Melony greatly, who immediately starts disliking Dardanne and considers him a traitor to Plasma / Neo Plasma. During the two years between b1w1 and b2w2, Melony's opinions become more extreme and he outright hates Dardanne for being a coward and a traitor. Because Melony is in Ghetsis's echo chamber full time during b2w2, his opinions quickly go from "Dardanne is a traitor and we can't trust him anymore" to "if i get my hands on Dardanne, i'll have to eliminate him"

About Melony :

Melony is completely different from Dardanne, Melony is BAD, like really BAD. Melony is a plasma grunt, and immediately sides with Ghetsis in b1w1, even after learning that Ghetsis's true goal is just to gain power. Of course this decision forces him to cut contact with Dardanne, with whom he was close friend.

Melony is a ride or die follower of Ghetsis to a scary level. At some point Melony ends up finding some comfort, and maybe even some happiness, in following Ghetsis, because he feels like his life finally means something, because Plasma and later Neo Plasma intends on changing things on national level. Melony feels a sense of grattitude and closeness towards Ghetsis because of that, and will often talk to him as if he was a friend rather than his boss. Melony already feels adoration for Ghetsis in b1w1, and has genuine feelings for him at the end of b1w1. During b2w2, with the numbers of Neo Plasma grunts and allies dwindling, Ghetsis gets closer to Melony, whom he starts to consider as a genuine friend, someone he can trust and confide in. By the end of b2w2 they just have a weird situationships going on. They will never actually say they are together, but they act like a married couple

[tearfallpixie]

Make Mama Happy - Chapter 14

Tags: @nerdraging4point0 @thesazzb @synthetic-wasp-570 @circle-with-me @beaker1636 @itsjustemily @witchyweeb34 @agravemisstake @cookiesupplier @cncohshit @faceless-mirror @nonamessblog @yournecessaryevil @black-damask1999

@lyschko666 @vinyardmauro @skulliecadaver-blog @some-daniela @latenightmusiclover @rye14-blog1 @somewhere-diamond @Shilohrosechicken @abiomens @awkwardalex @rumoured-whispers @miss570

Addie: Hi! We’re going shopping today. No getting out of it. I don’t care what happened between you and my brother. We’re still friends.

N: Not in the mood Addie. Maybe later.

Addie: I said no getting out of it. Heather told me you weren’t busy.

I rolled my eyes as I glanced at the texts and then back up at the mall that she had demanded I meet her at. I didn’t make it to Scranton often due to it being about 20 minutes from my house. It wasn’t technically far but I didn’t have a reason to come out this way unless I was making a local wine delivery. She had demanded that I meet her at Nordstroms so I weaved my way through the mass amounts of people that came out on the weekend to get to the high end clothing store.

“You came!” Adriana exclaimed wrapping me in a hug when I found her in the dress section at the back of the store. When she let me go she took my hand and pulled me deeper into the dresses.

“You didn’t really give me a choice.” I teased her as she tugged me to the nicer short dresses.

“Put this on.” She ordered, pulling a cute black piece off of the rack.

“Wha- I don’t need a dress for anything.” I protested, shoving it back at him.

“Wasn’t a request. The dressing rooms are over there.” She pushed it back into my hand and turned me to face the dressing room. I glared at her but she crossed her arms over her chest and I knew I wasn’t getting out of this so I disappeared into one of the stalls. “You have to show me when you have it on!”

“You have to stop being so annoying.” I called back jokingly. The dress had a lace collar and a skirt that flowed longer in the back than in the front. I honestly looked incredible in it and did a twirl in the mirror, letting out a soft giggle.

“Let me seeee it!” Adriana whined.

“Fine!” I laughed, throwing open the door. I stepped out and did another twirl in front of her. “Happy?”

“Oh! Its beautiful on you! Now time to find shoes that go well with it.” She took my wrist and drug me through the shop, abandoning my stuff in the stall.

“What is this about? I’m not getting this stuff.” I tried to pull myself free to no avail.

“Yes you are. If you don’t I will and gift it to you.” She started looking at all the shoes and holding them up to me before shaking her head and moving on to the next pair.

“Whyy?” I asked slumping to the chair near where she was looking.

“Because I am taking you out to a nice lunch after this.” She scanned two more boxes before standing up. “Found them!” She pulled a cute boots with think heals that gave me about two inches of height and handed them to me. “Put them on.” I did as requested and went to the full-length mirror that was at the end of the aisle. I looked absolutely adorable especially since I threw my hair up into a messy bun this morning that really complemented the outfit. “Perfect. Let’s go check out.” We collected my clothes from the dressing room and went to check out, throwing my clothes in a bag to drop off in my car.

“So where is this place you are taking me to lunch?” I asked.

“This delicious Italian shop. It’s the only place we Italians can honestly say is good around here besides mamas kitchen.” She took my hand and pulled me down the street to the shop. I stumbled along behind her, still not use to the new shoes yet. “Oh! I forgot to grab something while at the mall. It can’t wait. Go grab us a table why don’t you?” She shoved me towards the doors of the shop and ran off before I could say anything.

“What the hell?” I whispered. I rolled my eyes and stepped inside the restaurant To hear soft orchestral music playing.

“What’s the name on the reservation?” The lady behind the desk said in a snippy voice. She was obviously not one to mess with and I wasn’t about to fuck around and find out.

“Mauro I think.” I mumbled.

“You think?” She glared at me.

“My friend made the reservation but just ran off. She’ll be back though.” I said more like a question. That earned a ‘humf’ from the lady and she walked off quickly. I followed her back until she stopped at a table in the corner that was occupied by a very familiar red hair streaked drummer. “Here’s your table.” The lady walked off before I could protest, and I watched as the man turned and looked up at me with a shocked expression.

“Nichole?” He whispered, standing up quickly. “You look stunning.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, taking a step back.

“I was supposed to meet Addie for lunch.” He explained and I rolled my eyes. Of course she would do this to me.

“Addie, the same girl that took me on a shopping trip this morning and then just ditched me at the door? That’s comical.” I growled. I turned to leave but he grabbed my arm. “Don’t touch me!”

“Wait. Please. Can we just talk for a second?” He begged. I rounded on him with a glare that could put him 6 feet under. He flinched back but didn’t let go of my arm, desperate to get me to stay.

“Talk about what? How you can’t admit that this was all a giant joke? Ha-ha so funny. Or do you mean how you abandoned me at Ricks place? Even better how about how you told me to just get over my feelings like they were nothing? Fuck you, Vincenzo.” I ripped my arm from his grip and stormed out of the building to the sidewalk.

“That’s not what I meant! Can’t we just admit this entire situation was fucked up and move on?” He asked, rushing after me. I really wanted him to fuck off right about now so I could go hunt down Adriana and give her an ear full.

“This situation that you and Ricky caused.” I reminded him harshly over my shoulder.

“Again with the Ricky thing! He said you two were ok now!” If steam could physically come out of the body it would be pouring from my ears in that moment as I rounded on him.

“We are but that doesn’t mean I have to forgive you!” I hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest. He was the one to take a step back now, fury filling his eyes.

“Forgive me? You’re the one stuck on a dumb mistake that he apologized for.” He spat. It felt like we were going around in circles to which there was no end.

“Oh, so this is now my fault? You really don’t know when to shut the hell up do you?”

“Jesus! You’re twisting my fucking words. I did not say it was your fault.” I went to protest but he cut me off. “Just shut up for a god damn second! Please!” We stood there glaring at each other for a moment before I relented and crossed my arms over my chest. “Thank you.” He didn’t immediately continue so I raised an eyebrow and noticed how he frowned and shook his head.

“Well? You wanted me to shut up, so I assume you have something to say.” I huffed.

“God you’re fucking annoying you know that?” I let out a frustrated noise and stormed off once more, intent on getting as far away from him as possible. “Shit. Nichole!” I heard his footsteps chase after me and felt him grab my arm once more.

“Haven’t you done enough damage?” I sniffled, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Baby-“

“Don’t call me that.” I protested weakly, making a futile attempt to pull my arm free.

“Baby, look at me.” He murmured, taking my chin in his hand and forcing me to look into his eyes. “Let me start over.” I glared up at him, the tears in my eyes and on my cheeks making him sigh and look ashamed. His other arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me against him tightly, effectively pinning me in place so I couldn’t run off again. “I am the biggest dumbass in the entire world, and you can call me that for the rest of our lives but one thing I will not do is let you walk away. I won’t- I can’t let you go because- fuck Nichole, I love you. I love you so fucking much, and I was stupid to not say it back. I was so scared that night that you just said in a sex induced haze so I waited to see if you would say it again after that. But you didn’t so I thought I was right, and you didn’t mean it. I’m an idiot but I won’t let you leave me. Because I can’t lose you again.”

“Vinny?” I whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“Gladly.”

[aesethewitch]

Notes from an Ex-Empath (Full Ver.)

This post is a highly personal account of my time as an empath. It’s a doozy, and I didn’t mean for it to get so long, but as with all things that really matter to me, it got a bit out of hand. I’ve left out the goriest of the details, but still take heed of the content warnings. Thanks for reading. (Placed under a cut for length.)

Content Warnings: Mentions of abuse, mentions of unhealthy home environments, emotional manipulation, cult behavior, mental health struggles, delusions, brief mention of hallucinations and nightmares, self worth issues, compulsive lying, toxic friendships, and teen angst.

Subtle Beginnings

The year is 2011. High school is hard. Like, really hard. Harder than it should be, probably. I’ve just left an abusive relationship to enter a new one which would turn out to be, you guessed it, abusive. Escapism is the norm, and I’m always looking for new ways to feel in control of my life.

I’ve always been a little strange. I saw my first ghost before I knew what death was. I talk to trees and the wind, and I know all the names of the local rivers, right down to the little creek behind the school. But by this point, I’ve learned to not say that. I know it’s weird, and I’m happy to be weird. Weird is cool, at least in my friend circle. Outside of it, not so much, but I’ve learned to Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way my way through life at this point.

My friend buys a cheap mood ring from a shop in the mall, and that’s how we learn what auras are. She’s into it. I’m into her, even if I don’t know how to articulate that at the time. So I get obsessed, because I don’t know how to be anything else. I read all about auras and color theory and energy and “chakras” on loud, multi-colored websites proclaiming that you (yes, YOU!) can become a master of aura-reading and energy healing in just one month for only $12.99…

I don’t learn about being an empath (or Indigo Child, or Starseed, or whatever we were calling ourselves at the time) from the internet. No, a different friend overhears us talking about auras and mood rings and meaning (because I’d spent hours and hours reading about it and am now eager to display my knowledge; I like being an expert; I like knowing things), and he asks us if we’re empaths. He tells us what they are — people who can feel the emotions of others acutely and are highly sensitive.

And I think about it.

And I think about it some more.

And then, I think, hey… I do feel others’ emotions. I take them on like they’re my own. I carry them on my shoulders and between my ribs and in my bones, and it’s second nature. And I say, yes. Yes, I am an empath.

An Inexperienced Expert

Taking on the title of Empath was like finding the Holy Grail. I finally had a word to explain why I felt so energized in crowds but drained after going home, or why I found other people’s pain so upsetting and visceral, or why I could guess my friends’ emotions even when they were able to hide them from everyone else. I felt like I understood myself at long last.

I wasn’t sensitive. I wasn’t a crybaby. I was an empath. It was a superpower, something that made me special. Because it was a superpower, it was something I could learn to harness and control. My sensitivity would no longer rule me; I could learn how to rule it.

I did a lot of reading. I went to the library and read books with titles I can’t even remember anymore. From firsthand accounts by other empaths to explanations of energies I couldn’t actually understand, I was way out of my depth. But I liked to know things. I liked to be an Expert (tm).

Honestly, I still do. I like knowing what I’m talking about. Being an insecure child who needs to feel in control and enjoys being respected, I could pretend that I understood. I did plenty of that all the time, and it worked out (most of the time). False confidence was something I was finely attuned to already. I could bullshit my way in and out of any situation I wanted easily — from teachers forgiving missing homework to lying about my whereabouts to my controlling parents to pretending I was attracted to my boyfriend at the time, I was an expert in lying to survive.

Surely I could pretend to know what I was talking about. After all, I was an empath, an Indigo Child with a beautiful, healing, pure white aura. I was wise beyond my years, in tune with the Universe and all its creations. The information came from inside me anyways, and all those books said to trust my intuition. The voice in my heart that whispered about how special and different I was for being an empath was right, and I shouldn’t question it. A little improvisation wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?

… Right?

When my friends asked about it, I spoke with confidence. I proclaimed myself an empath to anyone and everyone. No, I couldn’t actually see auras, but I could act like I could. The vibes were there — I could feel them like pinpricks of lightning on my skin and as little nudges at the back of my mind. All I had to do was squint and assign colors to those feelings. Sometimes, I thought I really could see them. I can’t discount it entirely, but I’m likely to attribute it to tricks of light and wishful thinking now, looking back.

I had a reputation for Knowing Things. Weird, niche facts. Being right about obscure topics. Remembering minute details from notes at the end of the teacher’s presentation given three weeks ago. Guessing right answers to questions I’d never heard based on logical reasoning and deductive skills. I had near-perfect grades in the top 3% of the class. I had a side-gig in helping people improve their essay skills.

So, when I talked about being an empath, my friends believed me. They proudly proclaimed the colors of their auras as I painted pictures for them.

And it felt good. I was both the center of attention and had no spotlight on me. I couldn’t see my own aura, so of course, I couldn’t tell them what mine was like. But theirs, oh, theirs? That was easy. I had a gift for telling them exactly what they needed to hear. I solved their problems in a flash, giving the perfect advice and predicting outcomes using nothing more than good old-fashioned vibes.

An empathic gift, of course. Understanding and unselfish love are tenets of the Empath Way. We’re healers, I told my friends, and that’s why people ask me for advice. It’s why I’m so good at it, I said. I never took my own advice about self-love and choosing better relationships — that wouldn’t come until several years later — but that didn’t matter. My issues were trivial; I had The World to worry about.

Despite my newness to the empath scene, I positioned myself as not just an expert but The Expert. It wasn’t really on purpose. I couldn’t help myself. My friends wanted me to be a wise, trusted source of information, so I was one. Or, well, I thought I was one.

The goal was never to fool anyone. I believed with my whole heart that I was an empath, a Starseed, someone born to do noble things and help people. It was my purpose. As an empath, I had a duty to spread good vibes whenever I could. If I couldn’t do that, I was worth nothing.

Sometimes, that meant talking out my ass about concepts I read about at a bleary 1:00 AM before having to wake up at 6:00 to catch the bus to school on time. If I made something up or said something untrue, it was because it “felt right.” And that made it simply right in my mind. Those books and blog posts and articles said it was.

As far as experts go, I definitely was not one. I hesitate even now to call myself an expert in anything whatsoever. But back then, it was a matter of course. My friends wanted advice, so I gave them advice.

My friends wanted me to be an empath, so I was one. Some of those friends felt the same things I did. Others’ emotions, the burden of it all, the weight of responsibility for everyone around us. We were empaths together.

I was never more alone, and I had absolutely no idea.

Downward Spiral

At the time, I wouldn’t have called it a spiral. I wouldn’t have called it a mental health crisis. And I certainly wouldn’t have blamed the whole empath thing for any of it.

No. Of course not.

As I graduated high school, I was entirely adrift. I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do with my life. All of my friends were going to be leaving for college elsewhere while I stayed home to go to a local one.

But that summer, I was intent on enjoying every last minute of my life. It was time to take charge of my existence. I still called myself an empath, but it was more like a personality trait than anything else. An explanation, a fun fact. I’m double jointed, I dislike sweets, I’m an empath.

And my friends were empaths, too. Well, most of us. One was a “brick wall” of a guy — a skeptic who found us fascinating and wanted very much to believe in what we were doing and saying. At the same time, one friend was getting into Wicca. And, afraid to look like a fool, I pretended I knew all about it. I knew generally what Wicca was, because of the empath stuff running over into witchcraft circles. It was enough to sound competent, and that was enough!

So, suddenly, I was The Expert on Wicca and witchcraft and magic. A lot of it was stuff I really did do and believe, so it was simple to fill in the gaps with logic. And what I couldn’t make up, I ignored. Or I looked it up later and pretended I knew all along.

Anxiety was my constant companion. I was an imposter in my own life. This was just one more act to put on.

And because of my empath abilities, it was easy! I could determine the right thing to say at the right time. I read the room, felt my friends’ energies, and adapted accordingly. We did rituals and cast spells, and through it all, I relied heavily on my ability to read them clearly.

So when I failed to read one friend and it cost us everything, it was devastating.

I won’t go into details to protect their identity. The entire thing was… ugly. I spent a long time miserable over it. But I knew, even when I was heartbroken over it, that it was my fault. The empath in me was clinging to everything too hard, seeing what I wanted to see instead of what was. I needed to be The Expert, and I was failing at it.

There’s a lot about that time that I don’t remember clearly. What I do remember is a lot of stuff about past lives, reincarnating together, and misguided notions of deities and magic and history. It was a mess. One delusion fed into another, building into a web of intricate, interweaving stories. We were encouraging each other’s theories and beliefs and feelings without criticism, because to challenge one person was to challenge the entire structure.

And we couldn’t do that. Because to do that would mean admitting that we were all lying.

Because it would mean I wasn’t an empath, wasn’t special, wasn’t anything. I was just me, and I’d be back to square one with no clue about what was wrong with me.

That house of cards was years in the making. When that friend split off and stopped talking to us (to me), I thought it was going to come crumbling down. And in many ways, it did.

I dropped out of college barely two weeks into the second semester because I was failing every course but one. I started seeing a therapist, and then another one, and then a psychiatrist. I received words for my anxiety and even ADHD. Things started getting better, little by little.

Lingering Problems

I reconnected with someone from high school by chance. We got very close. I helped raise her new baby. Things were good.

And then, old habits rose. The need to be Right and Expert ate me alive, even though I recognized them as symptoms of anxiety. But with this reconnected friend feeding into my insecurities, echoing those feelings of inadequacy and out-of-place-ness and a need to belong somewhere and to mean something, it was hard to logically sort those thoughts.

Everything was about being an empath. Our shared difficulties, our pains, our burdens — all of it was because we were empaths. We were empaths because of lingering past lives.

I won’t get into those, either, because they’re so incredibly specific, and I don’t want the people involved to see this and Know. Just know that our lives revolved around being empaths — special, sensitive, powerful, and made for infinitely complex purpose.

People who weren’t empaths were simultaneously lucky and pitiable. They would never know what it’s like to walk into a room and Understand everyone there. They would never have to bear the weight of someone else’s grief.

I wouldn’t say we looked down on non-empaths, necessarily. At least, not on purpose or consciously. Their lack of skill wasn’t their fault, after all. They were normal. We were special.

Notably, this is when I stopped using the term “starseed” at all — it was close, but not good enough to describe what we were feeling. It was a woefully human way to understand what we were, you see. A convenient word that didn’t encapsulate us, because we were special, even among the ever-special starseeds. We didn’t have a word for what we were. We didn’t really need one, because we didn’t need to describe ourselves to each other. We just Knew.

When I read my friends’ auras and described their energetic feelings to them (which I was an expert at by that point; my natural empath abilities had been honed to a fine edge), I was as thorough as possible. Mostly, I was accurate. Anytime I wasn’t, it was because of someone’s protective barriers or natural resistance to being read. We went to cemeteries so I could commune with spirits and tell my friends all about their energies. They couldn’t exactly challenge me about it, so they accepted what I said as Truth.

I was their Leader. How could I possibly be fallible?

It was, in the end, the accuracy of it that kept me in the empath mindset. The positive feedback loop I’d created for myself just confirmed my empath feelings. And if those were right, then everything else must’ve been, too — because it all came from the same place.

It just made sense.

I kept a journal off and on during those years. Reading through it now is… well, it’s harrowing. The entries are dated. Much of it is free-writing, a technique I still use today as a warm-up exercise. But almost all of it is a cry for help. It details hallucinations, delusions, nightmares, dissociative episodes, depressive episodes, manic spirals, and more.

If someone were to share this with me today, I would suggest they seek help with their mental state immediately. At the time, I believed myself to be receiving visions of the past. I believed that my empathic abilities were opening me up to a long lineage of lives I could tap into and, perhaps, return to one day.

There is a small, injured part of myself that wishes I could return to those feelings. No matter how unhealthy it really was, it made me feel strong and special and wanted in a time when I knew, deep down, that I was none of those things.

It was a comfortable lie. I knew that the past lives were bullshit. I did. I can admit that now. It was a series of elaborate lies built on lies built on lies.

And yet, I still firmly knew I was an empath. That kernel of truth never wavered. It was the foundation.

I was slowly teaching myself magic during these years. I’d been doing spirit work and tarot for years already, so the craft was almost second nature. It took a back seat to the rest, but it was there.

Even as my relationships grew less and less stable, I had magic and spirits and my empath abilities to fall back on. Surely everything would be alright.

By Tooth and Claw

After the unhealthy friendship I described above dissolved rather spectacularly, I spent a few more years harboring the past life stories. They morphed slowly into fiction, and I gradually lost interest. My remaining friends from that group and I would talk with disdain about the one we’d cut out; she wasn’t good enough. She was lying.

Because our memories were different, you see.

The justifications we crafted were as elaborate as any other lie we told. She really was a manipulative person whose goal was to “own” our friendship — and we acknowledged that. But we still couldn’t shatter the veneer between all of us that the rest was all lies.

So we left it. We didn’t talk about it again. But it lived on in my mind and in that digital journal. It haunted me.

And, as all toxic friendships built on shared lies tend to do, that relationship also imploded.

It left me utterly friendless. I had no one but my partner at the time, and even that relationship wasn’t exactly going well. I was questioning my sexuality all over again, and I’d just started acknowledging the whole Gender thing, and I had no one to talk to about any of it. It was a miserable existence, but I’d still rather have no friends at all than have friends like those.

I abandoned all of it. Without the people who propped up the lies, there was no need for me to keep going. I stopped with the past lives stuff, I stopped all the magic, I stopped my spirit work, and I stopped calling myself an empath.

It was… Well, it was easy. Shockingly so.

Healing from the rest was decidedly not easy. It took a lot of hard work and introspection. I had to own up to the lies I told myself and others, even if I was never going to be able to have the closure-inducing conversations with them.

I decided to start choosing myself. I made new friends. I dumped my boyfriend who I hadn’t been in love with for over a year (or maybe longer). I started dating my current partner. I let myself move on.

I’m now about seven years out of that last friendship, and I finally feel like I’ve moved on.

My laptop died. I saved my necessary files and moved them to my current PC.

I didn’t bring the journal over.

The Draw and the Cost

When you’re a scared, sad, lonely person, you’ll go looking for fulfillment anywhere. You’ll accept whatever others give you if it means they’ll value you for even a single moment.

Positive feedback means everything to someone who has never received it before. When you have to work hard for an ounce of attention or affection at home, you come to expect that you’ll always have to do that everywhere you go.

I remember when Facebook became a thing just as I was starting to become my own person in high school. Liking pages called things like “Getting caught in the rain with your best friend” and “Ultra kawaii girlz do it best!” and “Sorry I read your mind, I’m an empath LOLZ” and “RANDOM TACO MUSTACHE PANDA ATTACK!” was par for the course after school. (Sorry for the psychic damage.)

I also remember the first call-out post I ever saw on Facebook. It was about some girl in my grade who I didn’t know. The girl who posted it was an empath, of course, and accused the other girl of being a fake, cheating liar. I don’t know if it was true. At the time, I took it at face value — after all, the accuser was an empath. Empaths don’t lie. Obviously.

I still struggle with compulsive lying. I suspect I always will. The drive to be an Expert is a part of me that I’ll never be able to get rid of. The need to be accepted and appreciated, too, will never leave me. It’s part of why I love this platform, and all other forms of written communication, over speaking to people verbally. While I can usually catch myself before I tell a reflexive, unnecessary lie these days, I sometimes slip. It’s an embarrassing thing. I try to force myself to admit it and then tell the truth.

Usually, I succeed. It’s a work in progress.

But typing, I can backspace. I can delete shit. I can keep things in my drafts and edit them and adjust wording to my heart’s content. I can remove messages and take things back. It’s easier to say “I was wrong” or “This wasn’t true” to strangers on the internet, after all.

Now, as I near thirty years old, I have better language to describe what I was feeling. The overwhelming emotions from everyone around me, the overload I felt in crowds, the reflex to please everyone, the uncanny ability to read a room’s atmosphere at a glance…

I was an undiagnosed autistic child with serious trauma and unmedicated ADHD. I needed help. I asked for help. Everything I did was a cry for help.

I wanted to feel special. I wanted to feel powerful. I wanted to feel useful and valuable. I wanted to feel different in a way that was manageable.

I wanted language to describe myself that was empowering. “Empath” was empowering and manageable and useful and valuable and powerful and special. It felt good. And because it felt good, it felt right. And because it felt right, it was a solid band-aid on the open wound of my life. “Empath” was an escape from the reality of my situation. It made everything easier to bear.

I’m sad because I’m an empath, and someone in homeroom was crying.

I’m angry because my parents’ fight leaked into every corner of the house, and I couldn’t help but absorb it into myself like a sponge, because I’m an empath.

I’m so happy I can’t contain myself, and I have to flail and jump around, because everyone around me is cheering and singing and dancing, and I feel it all like a growing avalanche that echoes through the walls of my body and rings in my bones as a song I cannot contain. Because I’m an empath.

I’m always being hurt because nasty people are attracted to my empath abilities. It makes me an easy target. That’s just how it is, and that’s how it’ll always be, because I’m an empath.

I’m too sensitive, too soft, too emotional, because I’m an empath.

Every step I take away from the “empath” label is done with the full knowledge that without it, I wouldn’t have survived. I needed something to cling to, and “empath” was enough to keep me afloat. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, I was looking for Meaning.

Besides, “empath” was an easier word to swallow than “traumatized” or “abused” or “mentally ill.” It didn’t taste as bitter. I didn’t choke on it.

There were no resources for me. All I had was what I could fashion myself out of bubble gum and black sharpie and sheer force of will and please God, if you are there, let me live another day. Everything I am, I owe to my own two hands and luck.

I don’t need the “empath” label anymore. I’ve outgrown it. I recognize it for what it is now: a patchwork explanation for other phenomena in my life that are better explained from a psychiatric standpoint — and from a truly philosophical, spiritual one.

To this day, talking about empaths and twin flames and starseeds and past lives and everything that goes with those things remains a trigger. It gets easier and easier to manage, but I still blacklist those tags. I avoid it at all costs. Empaths I can manage, for the most part. Twin flames I won’t abide; soul mates are on thin ice. Starseeds are a crock of shit for a whole bunch of other reasons. Past lives… it’s the only thing I won't really talk about at all.

And I ask you kindly, please, don’t ask.

Where I Stand

I’m still paying the costs of all this. When you spend most of your life under immense stress, having yearly crises of one kind or another, it kind of fucks you right up.

A few years ago, I returned to witchcraft. I started small. I did a little simmer pot to welcome myself to my brand-new apartment. A little protection here, a short meditation there. It felt good. I didn’t feel like I was slipping backwards.

After that, I returned to spirit work and divination. My old allies welcomed me back with open arms. It was a relief to unwrap my tarot cards and find the spirit attached to them still there. I set up a little altar space for them. Things were good.

I returned to the cemeteries. I apologized. The conversations I was having with those spirits were real, but I wasn’t respecting them the way I should’ve. We made a deal to even those scales, and I’ve paid in full. Those relationships are better than ever. Some of those spirits have followed me, per our agreements, and I work with them regularly.

And things are good. I haven’t done any backsliding. Last year, I allowed myself to question the nature of the universe and theories on magic and how it actually works. I made the connection with Lady Fate and drew up a theory on connections in magic. And it was fine. It is fine.

I’m extremely alert to the signs. I remain critical of my experiences. But I’m letting my personal practice be… casual. Natural. It’s just for me, not a performance. It doesn’t need to be spectacular or even produce results. It just has to be gratifying.

I started this blog for myself. I wanted to encourage myself to try new things and get out there again. It’s hard to make friends and connect with people, and I’m wary of IRL groups — for good reasons I’m sure you can guess at.

It’s been extremely cool to get to interact with people here. I get to vet people before I ever talk to someone. I can sweep their blog for signs of things I want to (need to) avoid. Blocking people is good for my health. This is the safest environment I’ve ever had to explore, communicate, get feedback, read criticism, and learn about witchcraft.

I am immensely grateful to my various lovely Tumblr mutuals, to my Discord pals, and to the folks I follow in all my witchy spaces. It’s through great effort that I’m able to talk about this stuff at all. I wouldn’t have realized I could if not for a brief mention in a private Discord server about doing a post about being an ex-empath.

It’s been so long since I’ve thought about it. It all feels so far away now. I know the distance is a testament to my own hard work. The difference between my mental health then and now is staggering. Even on my worst days now, I am nowhere near that level of Bad.

Where do I stand? On my own two damn feet, that’s where.

A Bit of Advice

I will never use the “empath” label again. I don’t think anyone should, though I understand the appeal. Obviously. You’ve read this far, I’d be surprised if you thought I don’t get it.

Instead, explore what you’re actually experiencing. Are you showing signs of a manic-depressive cycle? Are you having symptoms of anxiety, autism, ADHD, or depression? Do you know what depersonalization and dissociation are, and what they feel like? How about synesthesia, such as mirror-touch synesthesia, which can help explain why you feel a touch on someone else’s skin as though it was on your own? What feels bad, and why? Is your home life fraught, or was it? Are you looking for ways to cope with feelings that are too large to contain?

Do a simple search for “empath traits.” Check out any list of qualities empaths have. Make note, in particular, of the traits you identify with. Now take a look at a list of, say, “autism traits” or “PTSD traits.” Check out the overlap between them.

It’s important to consider mundane causes and mundane solutions. My greatest mistake when I picked up the “empath” label was that I believed there were no resources for me. I even said it up above that there were none.

But there were. Trusted teachers, the guidance counselor, the youth council director. Clubs, support groups. There were places I could have gone, but I was so far inside my own mind that I couldn’t see them. And the people around me were so dazzled by my false confidence that they couldn’t see how badly I was struggling. Admitting I needed help was akin to admitting defeat, and I couldn’t do that.

But you can.

“Empath” Alternatives

When I went looking for other accounts of people leaving the “empath” label, I was surprised to find… not a lot of bitterness. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. “Empaths” are often of the “love and light” persuasion, and that sort of philosophy isn’t always so easily let go of. Empathy for our past selves and the community surrounding even the most toxic of concepts is par for the course, don’t you think?

The primary thing most ex-empaths share in common (from what I’ve seen) is that they’ve outgrown the label in some way. Whether they realize why they picked up the label is hit or miss. Some, like myself, drop it almost unthinkingly after years of using it to define ourselves and only realize years later why we used it and what it did to us. Others leave it behind by choice, opting for more up-to-date terminology or paths.

I know this might be a little surprising. After all, I’m a witch. I do magic, and I work with spirits. Surely I believe in empaths as a concept, even if I ended up not being one.

No, I don’t. Not really. Some people really are naturally sensitive to others’ energy and/or feelings, and energy work is a real thing that you can do.

But the “empath” label isn’t helpful. If anything, it’s reductive. Why would you want to reduce the plethora of abilities and skills at your fingertips to a single word? Why submit to a rigid, fantastical definition that encourages self-martyrdom and unhealthy social behaviors when reality is much more interesting?

If you really feel drawn to calling yourself an “empath,” consider why that is. You’re sensitive, you’ve got an interest in the supernatural, you want to dip your toes into magic, or you just Know You’re Different?

Primarily, consider the fact that you’re likely neurodivergent in some way. See the above section about that, and do those trait searches again. Be really honest with yourself.

Secondarily, consider simple energy work instead. Rather than relying on a prescribed set of traits laid out like a cheap newspaper astrology column that’s so vague it could apply to anyone with the right spin because it’s been written by someone who doesn’t know what a Capricorn is, focus on an actual goal.

The first mistake people who pick up the “empath” label make is the assumption that they’re Special and Different. While you are a unique human being, you’re no more special or different than the guy next to you on the bus who’s got the spiritual sense of a lump of clay. You don’t need to be special or different. You just need to be human.

Sensing certain types of energy (like emotional energy) might come naturally to you. That’s great! It’s a real strength that you might have; it’s one that I certainly have, and it helped to confirm my “empath” related delusions described up above. Instead of resting on your laurels about having this talent, put some work into it. Figure out how to manipulate your own energy. See if you can feel plants’ energy or just people’s. Research the various methods of energy visualization and manipulation. Read some theory. Learn how to read auras if you can see them.

(Which, by the way, I can’t. I’m on the more severe side of aphantasia, and I can’t visually imagine jack shit. The whole “reading auras” thing I talk about up above is a big old lie. I can work off of vibes and sensations to give an approximation of an impression of what something might look like, but that’s it. I’m basically blind in that regard. What I lack in sight, I make up for in my other senses, though, so it’s not a huge loss.)

If you’ve got a talent for guessing outcomes to things, you might find success in divination. Pick up some cards, dice, or literally any other method you like and give it a whirl. See what works and be honest with yourself when it doesn’t. At the end of the day, the most important thing is that: Be honest with yourself. It’s fucking hard. I know. Trust me, do I know. [Gestures to the above emphatically.]

Learn discernment skills. If you don’t know what that is or what it means or how to discern, there are a bunch of good guides out there. I’m sure I can scrounge up a couple to reblog in the wake of this post.

You cannot fix someone else’s problems. You cannot be a permanent balm on someone else’s life. Your worth does not lie in the service of others. Your life is not worth less than theirs. You should not be a sacrifice in the name of someone else’s carelessness. You aren’t responsible for the emotional well-being of everyone around you.

You don’t need to be “special” to ask for help. You don’t need a magical label to stand up for yourself and ask for accommodations. You are allowed to have feelings and react to other people’s existence and feel overwhelmed and experience second-hand emotion without putting yourself on the martyr’s pedestal.

Decide what you actually want from being an “empath,” and be honest with yourself. Do you want to use the “empath” label because it makes you feel less alone? Less scared? Less like a freak? Ask why you feel that way in the first place. What’s the thing wearing fear like a shroud? What is its true name?

And honestly, if you can’t subscribe to the “empath” label or do energy work or spirit work or magic or whatever without it risking your mental health… don’t. Just don’t.

Because I can attest, the band-aid doesn’t work. It won’t last forever. You’ll have to face the monster behind the mask sooner or later, and it’s significantly better to do it when you’ve got the choice.

Trust me. I’d know.

(Oh, and by the by: Don’t be mean or try to shame people using the empath label using my experiences. I won’t be a cudgel for you to swing at somebody else. Share this with whoever, but be kind about it.)

Hoo Boy, That Was a Lot, Huh?

Well. Like I said, this whole thing got away from me in a serious way. I’ve got other things I should be working on, but this… well, it took over my brain. Once I started typing, I couldn’t stop. And now here we are.

If you read this whole thing, thanks. No, seriously. It means a lot. I hope you got something out of it.

I mentioned somewhere in this whole thing that I don’t talk about this stuff. For the most part, that’s because I just don’t think about it anymore. It’s all in the past. But if my story can help someone or inform someone out there, well. Here it is. I’m open to questions. Respectful ones, mind you. I won’t be talking about past lives at all at this point, so like I said before, don’t ask. But any of the other stuff… [shrug]. Shoot. Some things I’ll have to omit or leave unanswered for the privacy of my past friends and relationships. And some things I just won’t talk about because it’s frankly none of your business.

But yeah. I’m releasing this into the wild. I almost decided to not publish this at all, but I think it's too important to keep to myself. I’ve given it a cursory look-over for grammar, but… honestly, I think it’s good the way it is. It’s honest.

And these days, that’s all I aim to be.

Shilling

Anyhow, doing words is my living these days. If you like these words or other ones I’ve written up, throw a couple dollars in my bread jar. Thanks again.

[Harmonica fades into the distance]

[grimalkinmessor]

I’m shy but would you consider writing the scene in your mrm abo feral venom au where mob gets bitten too 🥺 It’s all I can think about

This took FAR too long for what it is, I'm so sorry Anon 😭

—————

Reigen is, as Mob knows, a very selectively patient man. It serves him well in many endeavors, and less well in others, but in this—

Well. Mob doesn't know whether to be grateful for it or resent it.

For a week and a half as they healed, Reigen was the picture-perfect newly bitten partner. He sat politely while Mob inspected the bitemark almost obsessively, didn't complain when Mob scented him to the point of excess to kickstart the mixing of their scents, didn't tease him (much), didn't prod at him (much). For an Alpha, he plays Omega very well.

But Mob knows this man. He's known him for several years now; he knows Reigen like no one else knows him, and Mob is proud of this fact. But that means that Mob knows that Reigen acting honey sweet always, always comes with a lurking scheme.

Mob is enjoying himself, of course. His instincts are very happy that he's managed to subdue and mark his beloved, his inner Alpha purrs at every tilt of Reigen's head, every purr from Reigen's chest, every lave of Mob's tongue over the still-tender skin of his bite, every moan and sigh Reigen gives beneath him—

But he knows. He is incredibly aware that, despite all of this, Reigen is very much not an Omega.

Which brings them here.

"I won't need that.”

Mob raises an invisible eyebrow, his hands falling a little slack around the rope between them. Reigen barely glances at him, a mirror of that first time a week or so ago as he strips himself of his shirt and tie and folds both neatly aside. Mob is kneeling in the center of the room, already dressed down. He's shoveled out the money for an inn this time, having felt bad about breaking Reigen's nice coffee table last time. Mob also brought some other precautions, like the rope, and—

"Won't need those either," Reigen muses, nodding at the engraved cuffs sitting beside Mob, ready to be put on.

"Shishou—" Mob starts, wanting to protest that bit at least, because Mob honestly doesn't know *what* his powers will do in the heat of the moment like this. If he becomes anything like Reigen had when he'd been bitten, Mob isn't sure he’s comfortable going without them.

"Put them away," Reigen says dismissively, continuing to ignore Mob as he walks around the room, completing his own preparations by making sure all the sparse inn furniture was shoved fully against the walls and, yes, free of any bugs. “I mean it, Mob.”

Slowly, reluctantly, and perhaps a bit incredulously, Mob sets the cuffs back inside the bag he brought, along with the rope. He tosses it into the corner, unzipped. Just in case Reigen changes his mind.

Reigen circles behind him, checking the mattress propped up against the furniture to ensure neither of them go careening headfirst into it, and Mob takes a moment to close his eyes to try and prepare himself. He's never been in an actual, purely physical fight before—at least, not until he claimed Reigen almost two weeks ago. And even then, that felt like less of a fight than it probably should have. Because the fights Mob is used to are the ones where his powers come to life, the ones against angry spirits, vengeful ghosts, and other espers (usually with Napoleon complexes). He was never really nervous during those fights, because his emotions were always so centralized that he could hardly feel anything else.

Mob finds himself more than a bit nervous now. He's been challenged before, but he's never been bitten before. He doesn't have a clue what to expect, save for what he saw from Reigen.

Mob doesn't have time to try and imagine it either.

A familiar weight crashes into his back, lightning-quick, and Mob barely has the time to register the full, excited scent of vetiver and osmanthus—Reigen—before fangs sink into his nape, latching down hard. Mob lurches forward beneath the weight of him, tackled down briefly to feel the pain of the bite, the cool sting of Reigen's venom coursing down through his neck and shoulders and lodging firmly in his chest before his mind begins to bleed crimson.

Mob snarls, swiping his hand behind him instinctively, but Reigen is already gone. Whirling, Mob claps a hand over his bleeding neck and takes in several heaving breaths, blinking rapidly against the sudden onslaught of brain fog. His teeth feel sharper in his mouth, his tongue feels fatter, and he struggles to retain his higher thought processes against the building waves of pure, instinctual rage.

His vision is blurring, his pupils dilating, but his other senses sharpen. His nose tells him that Reigen is on top of him before he actually is, and it lets Mob turn and slam an arm into Reigen's stomach, knocking him away before Mob even realizes he's done it.

Reigen hits the mattress and rolls, settling quickly back into a crouch. He grins at Mob, eyes wide, mouth red. His voice is calm, a little hitched with exertion and excitement. “There's a reason I let you go first, you know.” He prowls to the side, trying to get out of Mob's line of sight, but Mob’s eyes follow him like a hawk. “A few reasons, really. One, I wanted to see how much stronger you were than me. If you could really hold me down if I didn't want you to. It was…enlightening. Two, ha—”

Reigen lunges, and Mob goes to meet him with a snarl, ears ringing, but Reigen feints away at the last second, swirling up behind him and delivering a painful hit to his kidneys that knocks the wind out of him just long enough for Reigen to get his teeth in Mob’s neck again, same spot, filling him with even more venom.

Mob bucks him off, lunging after him, but again, he misses.

‘Fast,’ his haywire instincts tell him in a motley mixture of anger and interest, tugging him in confusing directions. ‘Too fast. Pin him down.’

“I have your scent on me now,” Reigen's voice continues to croon, the origin of it muddled. “I smell like I'm yours. And you're not going to truly try to hurt something that's yours—" Mob smells him coming an instant before Reigen bowls him over again, pinning Mob's shoulders to the ground and pressing a grin to his ear. "—are you, Mob?"

Mob twists, faster this time, and manages to throw Reigen onto the floor. He surges over him in the same movement, aiming for the back of his neck, but his teeth snap against air. Still, this time, Mob is quicker—when Reigen escapes his grasp and lunges back, Mob meets him with a growl and a slash of his claws. Reigen's eyes widen and he ducks hastily beneath the hand aiming for his neck, but claws meet flesh nonetheless.

Reigen tumbles to a halt in the far corner of their arena, shoulder slamming hard into the wall before he rolls back to his feet. Crouched by the bathroom door, Reigen hisses, touching the three claw marks now bleeding sluggishly over his jaw with the tips of his fingers. Laughing breathlessly, Reigen fastens his eyes back on Mob.

The fog clouding Mob's mind is gradually worsening. The red haze is crowding out all other rational thought, overwhelming his every other instinct with the will to fight. Mob can't think. He smells Reigen, who smells of blood and arousal and Mob, over the ghosts of a thousand other people who have stepped foot in this room. He feels the ache of the bite in his neck and the steady, stinging spread of the venom through his veins—not enough, yet.

Enough for what, he forgets.

And, through it all, Reigen is still fucking talking.

He might as well be speaking Russian for all that Mob understands of it, words becoming background noise beneath the heaviness of his instincts. But still, Reigen talks.

"There's something else I noticed during our last fight." Reigen prowls to the side, repeating himself, grinning all the while. It makes Shigeo wary, but he follows Reigen still. Unable to tear his eyes away from him. Reigen grins crookedly, teeth white, lips red. Covered in blood, bleeding. "You didn't use your powers. Fair enough, they're not instinctive, not really—muscle memory more than anything. A well-trained skill that you've worked very hard to hone. But I think it might take a bit more brain power than you let on."

Reigen stills. So does Mob. A low growl rumbles in Mob's chest, like some sort of ancient beast.

Two roles overlay Reigen's stalking form; rebellious Omega, and opposing Alpha. Now, bleeding, smelling blood, Mob can't divine which is the truth.

"And your poor little brain doesn't have much going on up there right now, does it?" Reigen coos, before leaping out of sight. Mob whirls, but still, still Reigen is quicker than him. He listens, he looks, but he still can't see Reigen coming until he's right on top of him. Reigen barrels into his side and knocks him over, taking advantage of Mob's brief disorientation to grab his chin and lift his face, fingers harshly digging into the tendons of his jaw. Mob wrenches and shakes his head, but he can't dislodge Reigen's hand. He hisses up at him instead.

Reigen smiles, thumb stroking the corner of his snarling mouth. The bulge of his cock presses tightly against Mob's hip. "Awww. Look at you. Bitten-dumb," he croons, fangs flashing. He pulls back—and spits into Mob's mouth.

The rushy, menthol-bright bitter taste of Reigen's venom coats Mob's tongue, making him recoil. He thrashes in place, twisting and bucking until he finally manages to get loose—but not fully. Reigen grapples with him, meeting him blow for blow, jab for jab, snarl for snarl, before twisting in a move that hooks his legs around Mob's neck and flips, slamming him back into the ground. Again.

Stunned, Mob blinks at the grungy carpet, white stars dancing across his vision. He wriggles, bucks, twists, growling all the while; but nothing. He digs his claws into the leg locked around his chest. Reigen doesn't flinch.

'Alpha,' Mob's fried little hindbrain finally starts to realize. 'Fast Alpha, smart Alpha—pinned. Pinned!'

A finger hooks into the band of his boxers, tugging them swiftly down and off. Mob snarls, thrashing again, and hisses when Reigen's teeth clamp down like a vice on his inner thigh. More venom sears through him, and Mob feels burned by it in more ways than one.

Almost, he knows, it's almost enough now. Instinctive panic begins to seed in his chest, and he flails again.

Reigen releases his leg, mouth still pressed up against his skin. "I'm not picky about how I get it in you, Mob. And, since you're also an Alpha, your body's not picky about where it takes it either." A smirk against the crux of his leg. "Isn't that nice?”

Mob whines, low and confused and angry. He doesn't understand. Every hair on his body is standing on end. Alert. Alarmed.

Pinned.

Something prods at the most vulnerable part of him, and he jolts. It's wet, slipping in and spreading to test his give, and he feels Reigen rock his bulge against his bicep with a purr.

"But even if you had used your powers," he says quietly, through the rumble of Mob's chest and the slick noise of his hand, "I still would've fought you this way. I wanted to beat you on my own merit."

He licks a stripe up over that last, stinging bitemark, trailing over the curve of flesh to press a kiss to Mob's pale flank.

"Because no matter how big you get, Mob, I want to be the only one you bend to.”

The last clench of Reigen's teeth is brutal. He sinks them in right under the press of his mouth, hard and deep, and the last bit of venom that pumps into him feels final. He leaves his final mark right in the meat of Mob's ass cheek, rolling his hips against him absently as he does. The smell of Reigen's arousal fills the room like the spritz of orange peels. The feeling of that final bite, that closed circuit, that venom scorching through him and dissolving out a place for itself in him, changing him in ways irreversible... it makes Mob writhe, barking out a sound of furious fright.

Then Reigen slithers the rest of the way down to Mob, spins—and mounts him.

Mob's mind goes instantly, blissfully, white.

•°•

"You're a menace," Mob gripes, staring moodily out over their room. He's laying on his stomach on one of the beds, chin tucked behind his folded arms. Reigen is on top of him, alternating quite happily between tending to Mob's wounds and rubbing his scent all over him. Helping it 'settle in', he'd said.

Reigen leans up to scrub his jaw over the top of Mob's head, mussing up his hair, purring loudly all the while. "No more so than you.”

"I didn't give you four different mating bites, Shishou," Mob complains, but he's not truly upset about it.

"That just means I love you three times as much," Reigen dismisses in that sly tone he takes when he's spinning an obvious exaggeration, going back to rubbing various herbal smelling salves over Mob's various marks. He tends to him with an intense, determined sort of focus. Mob can't help but feel warm and safe beneath the force of it.

Mob eyes him out of the corner of his eye, half-lidded. "I'll just have to return the favor then. Make us equal again.”

Reigen stills for a moment, a shiver wracking up his spine. He glances down at Mob, and Mob smiles.

A slightly wary grin returns it.

"We'll see.”

[completeoveranalysis]

[8]

ORIGINAL OUTFITS AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

COMING FULL CIRCLE INDEED

Going ALL the way back to their most iconic looks, that speak the most directly to who they are and who they were, and we can SEE the visible differences in their designs. Kurogane’s arm has been replaced, doubling down on his signature colour as he’s become the truest version of himself. And as a FASCINATING parallel to that, his sword is the actual one this time - not a copy or imitation, like HE was before. Haunted by his past as he was, he was a damaged echo of who he was when he was younger, but not anymore. Now Ginryuu is really here and it’s the actualisation of Kurogane BECOMING the Kurogane he was always meant to be. He’s fulfilled his family role by relearning the love his parents taught him, he’s regained his true name by healing from the grief their loss left in him, he has more family than ever before, and now he’s on his way to punish the one who took it all away from him in the first place. Kurogane is PEAK Kurogane. 

And FAI. He’s in his Seresu clothes, but he’s not displaying the damaging lessons Ashura taught him in order to manipulate him into doing what he wanted. Fai isn’t lying anymore - he’s not smiling, he’s not pretending to be happy, the entire facade is gone. He’s showing how he really feels - in a direct contrast to how Ashura taught him to fake smile as the only way to help them since he couldn’t do it with magic. Now he doesn’t even HAVE that magic and he’s helped the people that mean the MOST to him without ever touching it. Fai knows his VALUE now - he knows he is loved, that he loves them back, that that’s ENOUGH, that that ACCOMPLISHES more than magic itself ever did, and that he doesn’t need to fake anything in order to make a difference. 

Also his HAIR is longer. He’s no longer keeping his appearance the same as a facsimile to the twin he wanted to switch places with. He’s healed from that too, moving on as HIMSELF and not just as a living promise that he was manipulated into making in the first place. He’s his own person now, all the chains on him are gone, and there’s nothing in his past looming over every action he takes. He’s free now - and he’s chasing down the man who DID THIS to him in the first place, along with the people he loves. 

OH IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL. 

And then Mokona outlines it for us in words too, because Mokona is still awed by the plot coming back around to the beginning and it’s utterly adorable. Because at this point ME TOO MOKONA.

MEANWHILE I SEE BOOTS AND A CAPE AND I THINK I HAVE THOUGHTS (tm) ABOUT WHAT THIS NEXT PAGE WILL HAVE ON IT

LAVA LAMP DRESSED AS SYAORAN

OH now THAT is interesting

On the one hand it’s a FASCINATING move to make. Because visually? YES, the Syaoran should dress like Syaoran in the beginning of the manga.

But we know now! It’s not the same! This ISN’T the Syaoran we started the manga with! Moreover Lava Lamp NEVER DRESSED THIS WAY. These AREN’T his clothes. He never looked like this! He didn’t grow up in Clow like Syaoran did - though he WAS apparently there, in his Lava Lamp, the whole time. 

And all of THAT is difference enough that we get no other visual signifiers of his growth. His outfit is the SAME because it’s the CHARACTER who’s different. Instead of the clone donning the identity of the original, now it’s the original donning the visual identity of the CLONE. 

And THAT’S an entirely different kind of circle, but I kind of love the inversion of it all. Especially since the last time Lava Lamp left the Clow Kingdom (where he was trapped) he travelled TO Acid Tokyo, in order to hopefully fix Syaoran’s soul. But now Syaoran’s soul IS fixed, and he’s travelling BACK to the Clow Kingdom to find a whole Syaoran instead!

… OH AND HIS EYE. He only has ONE eye in the reaction shot at the end, because that’s an echo of the link he had with Syaoran, and how he ALSO used to have all the single eye imagery that foreshadowed Lava Lamp watching through it his entire life. 

Lava Lamp is the reverse of everything that has happened - the mirror image of things coming full circle, but coming full circle all the same. 

[quaranmine]

Art Symbolism in The Incandescence of a Dying Light

Okay, I want to talk about art symbolism in Firewatch AU tonight, so I can finally add this post to the masterpost. This is something I did accidentally at first, and then on purpose later when I realized how perfectly I set it up. It's a happy accident that I ran with. I wish I'd incorporated it more clearly throughout, but as it stands it's a nice little small detail.

Visual art is used throughout the story as symbol of healing and recovery. I think I can speak for most of my fellow artists/writers/etc that not only is our art an important part of our lives, but it helps us process things. I know it's that way for me. Tracking the mentions of art throughout the story paints a picture (lol) of Grian's journey.

Specifically, the very first moment we're introduced to Grian, he's drawing.

He's doing this as part of his job, but it's implied in this scene that he's not drafting anything technical and is just coming up with exteriors. He enjoys the drawing. But significantly, this is a scene before Mumbo disappears. It's a snapshot of the before, a snapshot of normal.

The next time art gets brough up is in chapter four, when Grian learns for the first time that Scar is an artist (while having his breakdown about Mumbo.)

He says, I used to draw. This is an intentional revealing of Grian's mental health in the AU, because depression will literally steal away all your creativity and desire to engage in things you love. I know that from experience, and I'm sure many readers do too. Grian used to draw, but now he doesn't. He used to be an architect--a career he loved--but now he isn't. That's all a mark of his past, which is a person he doesn't feel like he is anymore.

But once we get to chapter eight, after a few weeks of getting closer to Scar and chipping away at finding Mumbo we get:

Scar asks Grian to draw something for him, and Grian actually does it. He picks up the pencil again. This is also when we start to dip into Scar's backstory, because this leads into Grian asking Scar why he's an artist. Scar picked up the hobby after his accident, as something to help him. He stuck with it. (Scar also offers to mail Grian a painting here, an idea that gets "satisfied" in the last paragraph of the story.)

But really it's just...the act of picking up a pencil here that does it for Grian. It's an indication that he's already in a slightly different mindset than he's been in for the past year. He's not healed yet. But he's tangibly in a different place than he was before he met Scar. He's not only willing to try and draw something again, but also listen to a friend's suggestion (after famously ignoring his other friends for months in an attempt at self-destruction.)

It's not a perfect drawing. He throws the first attempt away. But he actually tried again!

Then in chapter twelve we get more art related things, starting with Grian getting to see more of Scar's paintings. We also get another mention from Scar about how picking up art helped him:

For Scar, art is a big part of his identity now. It's a passion he's held for years, and it was something that he could fall back on to help process his trauma and grief. He has insecurities about his art (he's not all confidence all the time) but it is something that he finds important. He finds it important enough to recognize that it would benefit Grian, too.

Then, of course, we have Grian giving Scar the picture of his lookout that he drew in chapter eight. I just knew I had to fit it into the last chapter somehow, to bring it full circle. It's sort of a physical thank you.

It's not just a drawing Grian is giving him. It's the first thing he drew again after months of motivation went down the drain from grief and depression. It's the physical signfier that Scar had a huge impact on his life. It's the proof that maybe Grian can salvage this. He's not going to be his old self. But he doesn't have to abandon everything. He can keep engaging in art. He can get his career back. He can draw a new life for himself.

[thedivinevera]

❦A lot of love

One obsession❦

YANDERE DONTIS X READER, zsakuva x reader, yandere x reader, Incubus x reader, DONTIS x FEM!reader, yandere x reader, yandere Incubus x reader

Yandere, Incubus x reader, Zsakuva character, previous, no so established relationship, mentioned of polygamy, mention of lovers with an s, baby!,

Tw : yandere, obsession, unhealthy observations, *point* is this scare of abandonment, polygamy, dating, old relationship, mention of not so established relationship, jealousy? Nor really

As a Incubus, DONTIS is unable to commit into a monogamy relationship, the feeling on needing to give more love to people and staying in one relationship, feels not enough for them, so is it possible for him to become obsessed, to crave for someone's love and jealous and never want to share any of this, selfish isn't

Is to possible for an Incubus to become obsessed to a person, yes, yes he is, Dontis at first is never been like this, he's supporting he helps you fix yourself and create your life other than being a Hunter of his kind, each time by time you've grown more with the help of the people you meet long ago, you're life has finally something to care for, not always circling about Incubus and succubus, this time you finally had a chance to enjoy your time, and start family if you're lucky. Your type of living is not the same with Dontis, he's life is full of party and affairs, while you continue to find happiness in peace enjoying and fantasizing about a domestic life, Dontis is unable to have, he's happy for you its nice to know that you've finally escape to your disastrous past and finally healing but he realize how you've become so independent, so forward, so far to him, he realized that you don't need him anymore and that you are not dependent on his word, you don't need his accompany anymore and for the very first time he's not the first person you've call everytime you had a problem, despite reassuring that he's ready to listen about your problem and help you with it, you don't need him anymore...... You don't need him anymore........ You don't need him anymore...... No you can't!! You need him, ..... The realization hit him like a truck, never been in his entire life do he feel useless now that you don't need him anymore, you're happy without him and he don't like that, it's been 3.. 5.....10 goddamn days since the last time you call him, he would always look at his contact, missed call from his other lovers but it's been a week since the last notification with your name and he's afraid that this week turn into a month, afraid that you completely disposed him..... He wait more days, it's been 2 weeks, he wait more 3 weeks has passed, he call you.... Finally, no answer, he call you more, no answer..... He call you one more time “Dontis? Is there a problem”

“hey!, Are you available”

“uhm sorry Dontis, I'm not I'm with Sevier, one of my friends!” friend— friends

“he's my old pal, when I'm still a hunter, he's already retired ahha”

“oh so it's date then~” please say no, please say no, no ,no, no, no, no

“kinda” no, no, no, for the very first time he's jealous of Xanthus, Xanthus has his beloved wrapped around his fingers, their love is mutual but his is not, you loved him once but never now, and he still love you, you crave for him once, but he crave you and others but now, he carnally crave them, only you are in his heart, he might loved other but you corrupt him to think that he only love you, not even the flesh of the person who comes first or after you can make him forget about how you finally cut all the contact with him (no you don't, he's just dramatic and you're just busy) an Incubus are incapable to love only one person, but no one said he can't be obsessed with one