#cord cutting purposes

[3oclockoccultis]

Cord Cutting vs. Reparations: Which One Is Better?

Reparations instead of instantly cutting cords? One time I was having a conversation with a coworker about cutting cords because she wanted to cut ties from a man she has connections with. She said that she was tired of their relationship, and wanted a way to separate herself from him, energetically to give her the confidence physically. Well, after that day, she started researching on YouTube…

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Counterspell

[First] Prev <--> Next

[ghostlyerlkonig]

So tempted rn...

[soulmatepsychic]

How to Know Who Your Twin flame is?

We can have more than one Soulmate. But they all serve a different purpose. Twin flames, you only have one. There are also Twin rays who are very rare and similar to Twin flames. There is a dynamic energy with soul connections pulling them together as soon as they meet. They know the right way that they are in for the long-haul. The energy will be intense with a soul connection. And it gets…

[numberoneceofan]

I used to throw bricks at my sister hehe (this is a joke) (except for that one time)

dont we all

[porcelian]

COFFEE AND PISTOLS FOR TWO? | j. todd | 0.6k

SYNOPSIS: for jason every bruise is a reminder of Gotham’s relentless toll. Haunted by the brutality of last night’s patrol, he tries to find calm in you — your voice cuts through the haze, a gentle lifeline he didn’t know he needed ;

RATE: angst w/ comfort, description of violence and gore, PTSD(?) and trauma ;

── .✦ MASTERLIST & NAVIGATION & AO3

IN JASON’S MIND, HIS LIFE DOES NOT RUN OR FLOW, BUT CRAWLS ALONG. The scars etched on his crooked body forever is a reminder of that fact. The rough texture of the gauze hides them, but he can still feel the soreness of every blooming bruise in light purples and reds, like church bells ringing over and over again.

Jason’s hands tremble as he unloads the heavy pistol in his grip. Every step is a choreographed dance he has instilled in his mind. Check the chamber — empty; separate the parts — barrel, side and frame; clean ‘n wipe. A violent but precise dance from start to finish. The bullets rest embedded in some scums flesh, rotting in some dirty alley corner of Gotham.

Last night’s patrol was pitiless, at best. The dried blood on his jacket still sends strikes of remembrance in his mind of the wet and thick gore. It sticks on his clothes, seeps into it and clings onto his skin, threatening to dig its way into his body and last — his very own soul.

It shouldn’t get to me like this, Jason thinks.

His head falls back on the living room couch, the soft material lessening the pain that shoots up to his skull. Maybe that hit from the pipe to the head left him a concussion as a neat present. A groan still escapes his chapped lips, coarse and painful.

“Jay?” Jason hears your petal-like voice from the kitchen, “are you alright? Do you need me to come over?”

Jason hates how shaky your voice sounds. Worry etched into every syllable as you hang onto his word, searching for any sign that he’s okay. Jason notes the stark difference between voices of yours and him. Yours is tender— saccharine sweet and like honey on his tongue, while his— harsh, grating and grave, unpleasant to his ears.

His intrusive thoughts wrap around his mind and blinden his eyes like a blindfold, cutting off his senses in a way that he doesn’t notice the shuffling of your feet against the wooden floor, he doesn’t notice you now standing in front of him.

He hears you first.

“Baby—” your hands tremble before him, unsure of reaching out to him, “—can I?” your eyes trail to the pistol in his hands, gripped as if it’s his only lifeline, tethering on the edge.

He blinks before he gathers the remaining thoughts and shakily nods. Your velour-like hands carefully take his own, removing the weapon.

“Are you with me?”

Jason nods again, a trained response on purpose.

“I need your words, baby.”

You put down the gun and as you retract your hands, his instinctively reaches out and grip yours with his own.

“O- Okay—” You stumble on your words, shuffling closer to him and wrapping his form in your hold. “I’m here.”

I’m here.

Such simple words, but they strike a cord in his heart that has his nerve finally settle. A breath in, he remembers what you taught him, a breath out. His heartbeat slows down and the thoughts slowly dissipate. Jason notices your warmth around him and your gentle arms creating the only safe haven he’s known in years, deprived of rest and sanctuary like caim.

You, with the arcadian words and guileless smile; the viridity of your spirit is like ambrosia to him, seeping into his skin as you grin, pearls iridescent like reflected sunlight and seafoam in the marmoris.

“I made coffee.” Your singsong voice rings out in his ears as he turns his gaze on the two small cups settled on the wooden table. The steam rolls from the hot liquid like faint clouds.

Later, you say, “How are you feeling now?”

“Better.” He responds with a note of relief.

Sometimes, better is all you can ask for.

Jason curls himself around you again and listens to your breathing.

Sometimes, better is everything.

© ROBINSFILM ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[stevebabey]

Eddie is beginning to wonder if he’ll ever reach a point where Steve couldn’t reduce him to this state.

This state being… transfixed. Eddie is sure he must look like a lovesick cartoon. In fact, if he could manage to drag his gaze away, he’d probably find red hearts circling around his head in a halo, popping like little bubbles.

But Eddie can’t move his eyes. Can’t even close his mouth either.

Steve’s talking to him too, which is most definitely worse — he’s totally missing every word. He can see Steve’s lips moving, pink plush lips wrapping around words but fuck, that was a total trap because now Eddie is just looking at his lips. He tries to refocus, to listen. His eyes just wander back to what he was staring back at the first place.

Was Steve like this all the time? Just a walking around looking so damn delectable?

Or is it Eddie, just a starved man who’s been living off stolen glances, for as long as he can remember? For once, he’s learning, he’s allowed to look.

And by God, is he looking.

Steve’s not even doing it on purpose either, which probably makes the whole thing funnier. Eddie knows what his boyfriend (boyfriend! he thinks giddily in his mind) looks like when he’s cleaned up to impress. He can spot the way Steve preens beneath Eddie’s lingering gaze.

This is not that. Today, Steve is just cleaning, a usual Sunday morning ritual.

He’s got some old sport shorts on and he’s clearly grown a bit since he first got them— unless Hawkins has always been giving out slutty little shorts to the basketball team (They haven’t. Eddie would know if they did.)

He’s wearing one of his wife-beater singlets too. It’s a little on the scrappy side though, considering it’s nearly see-through with how worn it is.

Honestly, in Eddie’s humble and gay opinion, it’s stupidly hot. The dark hair dusted across of Steve’s chest is visible beneath it, the shirt showing off the shape of his broad chest. Even better, his happy trail is visible and goddamn, if that doesn’t make Eddie happy, he doesn’t know what will.

But it’s not even that.

Quite frankly, Eddie’s rather embarrassed that he’s basically blue-screening because Steve is pulling out the cord out from the vacuum cleaner.

But… but he’s yanking it up towards his chest, slow and strong repetitive motions— that take enough effort to make his biceps bulge with every tug.

Eddie can’t stop watching. The cord must be several metres long and he’s not sure if he should be cursing it or thanking it for the view he gets; Steve’s tan arms flexing and rippling. Try as he might, Eddie can’t help imagining how they must look when Steve’s got his hand aroun—

“—hello? Are you even listening to me?”

Steve’s voice cuts into Eddie’s dangerously side-tracked thoughts and he pauses his tugging at the same time. It’s the thing that finally allows him to break his lustful stare at Steve’s arms. Oh God, he just got all hot and bothered over his boyfriend doing the vacuuming.

“Hello.” Eddie says back, because that was the first word to register in his brain. “I mean- yes. I’m—”

Eddie decides mid-sentence that he’s not getting away with the lie. He pivots. “Okay, no, I didn’t hear that. Would you please tell me what you just said, oh lovely sweet man of mine?”

Ever the butterer-upper, he was. Thank God it works on Steve. He rolls his eyes a little but there’s an adoring grin on his lips.

“Man of mine,” Steve mutters amusedly under his breath. He drops the vacuum cord on the carpeted floor and leans down the grab the handle of the vacuum. “You just kinda froze when you came in. I was asking if everything was okay? I’m just doing this room then I’ll be done, if you don’t like the noise.”

Eddie adores that Steve’s taken his silence as though he might be afraid of the vacuum cleaner or something. He nearly snorts aloud at how far from the truth it is.

“Uh huh.” Eddie nods, not bothering to correct him. He jerks a thumb behind him, pointing at nothing. “I’m just gonna…”

He spins on his heel and exits left stage, fast as he can while still looking normal (he’s unsuccessful, as he leaves a baffled Steve behind him.) As he enters into the kitchen and decides to fix them both a pot of coffee, Eddie lets himself giggle over the pure absurdity of what just happens.

It’s mortifying. It’s hilarious. He can never tell Steve.

Except, when Steve comes to find him in the kitchen and trades a kiss for some coffee, Eddie can’t help it. All he ever wants to do is make Steve laugh.

He decides it’s worth the embarrassment when Steve laughs so hard coffee comes out his nose.

Steve teasingly promises that he’ll to try be less distracting, then rescinds his words at Eddie’s abject reaction (“Don’t you dare.”) looking far too smug— in a delighted sort of way. Preening, in that way Eddie loves.

Their first kiss, as Eddie slides onto Steve’s lap and loops his arms over his shoulders, fingers dancing on those tasty arms, tastes a little bit like coffee. Their mugs grow cold, untouched.

Eddie doesn’t mind — he’s too busy finding out that the rest of their kisses taste like something between sunlight and Steve.

[dresshistorynerd]

Sewing a turn of the 15th century French kirtle in doll scale

Another day, another historical doll outfit! This time it's Late Medieval. This was a popular style from about 1380-1420 France and Alpine area, but I specifically based this dress on French illuminations from the early 15th century, which mostly effects the details, like headwear. As always I hand stitched everything and stuck to historical construction methods as much as I could.

Chemise

I made a very simple chemise. The construction is based on what we know from extant finds, made out of simple rectangles and triangles, like earlier unlaced kirtles. Based on illustrations, chemise was fairly slim but unfitted enough it didn't need closures. I made it from linen, because it's not very gathered and won't bulk up too much, so I don't need to use my very fine cotton voile.

Cote

Cote is just the French word for kirtle, so appropriate here. This is the supportive layer cote, which was sort of an undergarment, but was considered fully dressed, if informal on it's own. The sleeves on this underlayer were always long and either fully fitted or gathered at the wrist. Some fitted sleeve styles had a flare at the wrist which covered the hand. The very fitted look was achieved with buttons. The silhouette was smooth and fitted, the waistline was slightly above the natural waist, though that was not as pronounced in France as in Northern Italy. Abdomen was emphasized, round lower stomach was the body ideal. The cut of the dress left plenty of room there. To fill that room I folded the chemise under the abdomen as a sort of padding. This was common to do with any kind of skirts, primarily to raise the hem when working, but why not for this purpose also? The necklines were fairly low and very wide.

I used cotton because I didn't have suitable thin enough wool that wouldn't have created too much bulk on this scale, but the cote should have been made from. The cotton is tightly woven and sells the look of a woven wool in this scale well enough for me. I didn't finish seems or line it to avoid bulk. I did give the lacing a cording to reinforce it and avoid wrinkling. The cotton was originally white, but I dyed it with iron oxide, basically rust, which at least is very much historical.

Hose

I made the hose from cotton as well for the same reasons as I did the cote. Long pointed style became fashionable around this time, as well as sewing leather soles in the bottoms of the hose instead of using shoes. Though often pattens (wooden flipflops basically) could be used when walking outside to protect the leather soles.

Cornettes or horned hair

I tied the hair with a tape on cornettes, where the volume of hair was tied on the temples to create a bit of horned appearance, especially when combined with the horned headwear. The sort of fillet which became more of a forehead loop seemed to have been tied into the hair, which I did.

Cotehardie

Cotehardie meant literally "bold cote", and in France that was what the formal outer cote was called. It was basically the same as cote, but made from more expensive materials and often had large hanging sleeves. I went with widening triangular sleeves, since they were perhaps the most popular sleeves at the time. I used fine fulled wool (verka) I had enough scraps left from. White fur was popular lining material, but obviously I can't use fur in this scale, I wish I had some light white velvet, it would have been pretty good, but I didn't. I lined the skirt and the sleeves with white cotton to imitate the look without adding too much body or extra bulk. I decorated the neckline with a simple golden trim. I thought about adding a bit of golden embroidery around it too, like seemed to have been popular, but my local crafts store had run out of golden thread so I decided to go with this only.

Accessories

Unlike the belt used with houppelande, which was below bust, the belt used with the kirtle or cotehardie, was very low, under the abdomen to emphasize it. I went for a silk belt look, which I'm imagining is embroidered/woven with golden thread, since embroidery that small would have been too painful. I had an old broken necklace, which I could use for the metallic parts.

With the pouch I went for the tasseled drawstring look, with simple embroidery manageable in this scale. I used linen for it.

Headwear

I made her a chaperon, which likely was where the escoffion got it's beginning, escoffion being the round tube-like headwear worn on top of the head seen in several primary source images above. Early form of escoffion was becoming very popular at the time, though chaperon's were still seen on women too. Chaperon, as seen below both on the left-most woman and the man in the middle was actually just the hood rolled into a circle.

Because the horned look was popular, the escoffion and chaperon were often worn over the wired horned veil, so I first made that. I made it from cotton to make it as light as possible. It was just a square I hemmed. I just used some wire to poke out the horns from her hair and pinned the veil close from the back and onto her hair from the top.

Then I made the open hood. It was just the regular hood which had become very popular during the last century and which had ever longer narrow tip, but it was pinned and worn open, probably because of the hair style and to again create the horned look. I made if from the same cotton I made the hose, even though it too should be from wool. But it was already too bulky as it was.

And finally I could make the chaperon. Here's first chaperon without wire or veil under it and then with those. The effect isn't as pronounced as I would have hoped because the hood is too bulky, but there is an effect which is nice.

[faggotbeloved]

Cold Metal Biting Soft Flesh | Yandere!Curly x Captain!M!Reader

1: Sanitized (~1k words)

Cw: Canon typical violence, my headcannons for post-crash Curly's wounds, no beta we close our eyes, body horror, lots of painkillers

This work does not contain smut but is 18+. Minors and fem-aligned people, please do not interact. AN at the end.

└───────────────────────┘

It had been only a few hours after saving a man from a three decade old craft when you’d determined that he was going to be under your primary care, aside from medical, from now on.

The man, as you’d discovered, was in fact the captain of the Tulpar. Upon inspection of his wounds, which only occurred back at the ship and with him sedated, Rhodes discovered the harrowing truth that he’d been in a state of third degree full-body burns for over four months. Worse still, he had one half-functional eye with the eyelid burnt shut though the other was severely dry, eyelidless, but still in surprisingly good condition.

Immediately, Rhodes ordered someone to get the passenger’s company issued bio-fabricator, a critical technology with the ability to take biological elements and grow genetically similar (but not identical) copies.

Technically, it was reserved for creating more plants or animals in a biosphere lacking most of the required succession elements, but it’d be easy to grow supplemental skin, hair, and blood to perfectly match the burnt man’s body. He also ordered silver sulfadiazine cream to soothe the initial burns, and for the first time since the man was in the accident he seemed to not be in agony.

──────────────────────

You sat beside the man. He still had his tongue and vocal cords, so he could talk (with much effort), but he was fully deaf so you had a captioning machine set up for him to read your words. Once he awoke, you silently showed him your badge with your name, picture, and title, which he read and nodded once he was done.

“Are you able to talk, sir? We need your name,” you said softly, watching as your head doctor, Rhodes, finally replaced the sticky, deteriorating bandages that practically cemented to his raw flesh. Luckily, the man was unable to feel it with how numb his entire body was.

He nodded weakly, eye never straying from you for long, and coughed. He spat up blood and saliva, to which you gently swiped a rag across his chin to remove it. “It’s okay. Take your time. This is Rhodes, he’s your doctor for now, but one of the passengers here is also a cosmetic surgeon and can start skin grafts once you’re ready.”

You sat back to give the man some space and idly wondered if the bio-fabricator could make enough connective tissues, nerves, and muscles to give him back his limbs. Rhodes left after replacing his arms and legs bandages, and soon the man tapped your resting hand with one of his handless arms and you looked back at him.

“C…url…y,” he rasped out. His volume was lacking, but he couldn’t hear himself so it was to be excpected.

“Curly? Is that your name?”

He nodded weakly. You spoke again, “Curly. Okay, and can you answer a couple questions for me? Shake or nod your head, if you can’t talk.”

Curly nodded, and you began questions. “Were you the captain of the freighter I found you on?” Nod. “Were there exactly five people, counting you?” Nod. “Did the crash do this to you?” Nod.

“Was the crash on purpose?”

He hesitated, then nodded very minutely.

“Did you–” you were cut off. “Jim…my,” he croaked. Well, it sounded more like ‘Jenny’ on account of his lack of lips, but you got the gist. “Jimmy crashed the ship?” Nod. “Did the crew know that?” Shake.

“Shit.” Nod. You chuckled at the nod and he looked up, like he was proud of making you laugh.

“So… do you have your ID with you?” you asked, and he produced a fresh ID from a lanyard under his gown. “Huh. Did Jimmy put that on you?” You asked, to which he nodded. “Was he your friend?” A weak nod. “Do you know why he went batshit? I mean, he’s the only one who could have killed all of your crewmates.” Curly tilted his head like he was wondering what you were asking. You rambled too fast for the machine to pick up. “Oh, yeah. Do you know of a motive?” Shake.

You glanced from the ID card to his face. There’s no mistaking those eyes. You notice there’s something written on the back, but the handwriting is awful. “Um, it looks like Jimmy tried to give me instructions and told a five year old scribe. Can you decipher this?” You asked, showing him the text. Shake. “Fine, I guess. It’s good you have this, facial reconstruction can probably get you pretty close to your face from then.”

He shrugged and laid back, gazing at you. “Wait…” he gasped. “‘lease.” Please.

“Yeah?”

“Stay?” He pleaded, using what remained of his forearm to lock around your arm and keep you (only barely) in place. “’m… s…cared."

“Scared?” You echoed, settling back into your chair and placing a hand on his thigh. “You’re safe here. Everyone who goes in and out of here has high clearance and I know them all personally.” Even still, Curly shook his head. “‘lease,” he echoed.

“I… suppose I could get Sealegs to move my desk into here. Would that be good?” Nod. Nod. Nod. “This is Captain to Sealegs, Sealegs, do you copy?”

“I copy. Whatcha need?” Sealegs hummed. The sound of a familiar video game caught your attention.

“Quit playing Snake on government computers, first of all. Wheel my workbench to the medbay,” you requested, only endearingly annoyed at your nephew. After a few minutes, a young boy with the same eyes and hair as you came in with a rolling desk equipped with robotics equipment, soldering items, and more. Curly seemed to relax once you situated beside him and the two of you slipped into a comfortable silence.

“Hey, Curly, can I take some measurements of you?” You asked after a couple minutes. “Arms and legs,” you added. Nod. Curly lifted up a handless arm and waited for you to start, to which you took diameter and circumference of his arm, approximate length, shape of the amputation, and more. You did the same for the other arm and both legs, then you sat back down to work.

──────────────────────

In a few minutes, you put your higher education to use and attached a crude prosthetic to his leg, but since he was numbed to hell it wasn’t causing him any pain. You worked, he watched, and soon he fell asleep painlessly for the first time in probably a half of a year or so, for him at least.

Once he stopped coughing every time you looked away for too long, you were able to get some work done and sent off an update to your boss–you told him that you had a new crew member on board, that you authorized the use of the bio-fabricator, and that you’d pay for his medical costs. Of course, you wouldn’t tell Curly that. Feeling indebted to someone is a terrible thing.

You were in for a long night. You wanted to give him the most mobility possible, but it’d be up to him ultimately to use them. The least you could do is build him the choice.

┌───────────────────────┐

I’m not happy with this, but if I didn’t get it out now it’d rot forever :( thank you to everyone who’s left kind words and reblogs and likes!! It means so much and if youve left any asks I’m so sorry but tumblr SAYS i have 6 asks but none show up :(((

[bloodiedrogue]

PAINFUL VULNERABILITIES (5)

SUMMARY: When your past begins to blend into your present, you find yourself longing for Astarion's comfort.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,648

WARNINGS: ANGST, hurt/comfort, body horror elements, descriptions of torture involving a knife, panic attack, sort of made up Illithid lore??? (I promise there's comfort in the end, I'm sorry!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Day 5 literally doesn't have a prompt because this idea got terribly out of hand so let's just ignore that and enjoy the angst, shall we?

(Also again, a lot of people's tags weren't working so next time if you haven't fixed it I will be taking you off the list because taglists are a bitch!)

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

The nightmares start a few days later.

At first, they’re subtle. Wisps of darkness cloud your thoughts, leaving no memory behind. Silently it lingers, creeping through your skull in waves that inevitably crash against the shore, ripping you awake —leaving you breathless each time you’re left gasping for air in your dishevelled bedroll. When it happens, it always makes you jolt up to look around, trying to find the cause of your plague. The reason why you’re suddenly so wary to lay your head each night.

When you reach the Underdark they only get worse. 

What were once forgotten memories become recurring torments. Endless onslaughts of clawed hands that scratch at your flesh, pulling back skin in massive chunks that pluck excitedly at your insides. 

Thanks to the powers of the Illithid you feel every movement. Every poke and prod slips through you like a knife, cutting you down piece by piece until you’re nothing but a shell. An empty carcass of bone that’ll inevitably be harvested for a purpose far greater than yourself.

Or so she says. As you lie there, writhing in pain, blinking to shield the teeth that bear witness to your torture, you hear her whisper cool and quiet, telling you of your death. Of your fated downfall, and then of your— 

You always wake up before she finishes.

Before you can hear her utter the words you’ve heard a thousand times. Feeling the burn of your lungs, you stretch your fingers across your chest in remembrance, breathing in and out as the skin beneath your digits runs hot and you’re forced to forget the experience all over again.

When you reach camp that night, sore from the seemingly never-ending mushroom forage, you find yourself dreading the prospect of such sleep. Even through the exhaustion, the last thing you want to do is rest your head lest she arrives tonight, so you fight the urge, settling in against the edge of the fire. 

“You look tired.” 

You turn to look at Gale with half-closed eyes, offering him the softest grin you can muster before turning toward the flames. They seem brighter than usual. A decorative flash of warm-toned hues that make you blink and rub your eyes, somehow feeling even more languid. 

“Mushroom hunting take it out of you?”

You hum, making no move to look his way as you pull your knees to your chest, curling in on yourself for comfort. 

As much as you’ve grown to like Gale’s company, all you want right now is silence. A moment of peace where you can just stare into the fire and let your eyes burn from something other than the lack of sleep. Especially after spending the day alongside Lae’zel and Shadowheart as some poorly trained mediator. Just the thought of opening your mouth to speak feels like a threat to your vocal cords. The prospect of speech too much to handle, even as Gale begins to fill you in on his and Wyll’s misadventures with a nearby myconid colony.

“They’re truly such interesting creatures. Did you know…”

His voice falls on deaf ears, earning you nothing but a confused sigh once he realizes you’re not listening. Mostly because it’s not normal for you to just blatantly ignore your peers. 

“Are you alright? Need anything? Perhaps a drink or a—“

You’re standing upright before he can even finish his sentence, brushing the ass of your leathers before walking away, paying no mind to the curious wizard as he looks around the camp, catching the eye of Wyll who merely shrugs. 

It’s not like you to leave. To ignore a friend mid-conversation but your voice is gone. Lost to the void of constant intercession and a brewing anxiety that sits in your chest. As you walk towards your tent you can feel it shifting. Starting at your gut, everything twists to form a sickly sting. A stabbing pain that throbs within your abdomen, threatening to grow as you part the fabric and crawl inside, plopping into bed face first.

Despite your better judgement, you let out a low groan you’re sure at least someone hears causing you to frown, knowing that you’re better than this. Better than neglecting your health because of some silly nightmares. Better than letting the fear of your past get the better of you. Better than brooding about it. 

Turning to lie on your back, you palm the sockets of your eyes in frustration, letting your mind wander. Allowing yourself to feel everything you’ve been suppressing over the last twelve or so hours.

Aside from exhaustion, it’s mostly Astarion that surfaces. His face in the darkness looking at you as you left camp that morning, barely awake enough to give him a nod. In an instant it was as if he was there and gone, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place before shifting out of view alongside an overly excited Karlach. It was the kind of look that made you question its intentions. Its knitted brows and pursed lips rising and falling through your memories between the scuffles of your two companions. 

As you walked along the edges of the Underdark’s cliff sides, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it represented. What emotion it was trying to convey in such a small amount of time before it disappeared completely? 

As you lie there now, once again imagining its form you feel it’s something bordering on pity. A showcase of solidarity in your obviously failing quest for sleep. 

Astarion may not say much about your struggles —unlike him, you don’t complain about the endless problems that you face on the road— but you know he’s still aware of them. He’s too perceptive not to be. 

So why hasn’t he said anything? 

A heavy breath escapes. A shaky one damaged by speculation. Ruined by the assumption that it’s because he doesn’t care. That perhaps you aren’t worth the trouble of a little bit of worry despite previous actions.

You may have killed for him —had his back long before anyone else, but have such feelings ever been reciprocated? Has your worth been proven now that you’ve slain a man in his honour? And if so, how much worth do you truly hold? Is it substantial enough to ask you how you are? Big enough to look at you with any semblance of fondness? Or is it all just for show?

There’s a part of you that hopes it is. That the moments filled with kindness are nothing more than lies told to keep your attention. If he were lying, it wouldn’t necessarily make the way you feel right now any better but it’d mean that there’s an end. A barrier to stop you from getting in too deep. An excuse you could use to explain the naivety of thinking he may care.

Because it wavers —his care. Some days it’s obvious, sometimes it’s not. You can never guess when the care will appear, only that when it’s there and eventually dissipates you’ll be left alone again, wondering why he puts the extra effort in at all. Why he reels you in only to let you go, forcing you to question his intentions as you watch with careful eyes for those moments of reassurance. Moments that you can never prepare for. Ones that gnaw at your heart with pointed teeth wrapped beneath hungry lips, starving for the truth. 

You’re not too sure you’re ready to take that leap yet. To push him for the answers you know he’ll just avoid. He’s never been quick to trust and even when he does allow you in there’s still a blockage of sorts. An obvious resistance that sits between you, forcing you to settle regardless of the fear you hold inside your chest, wondering what would happen if you tried to push. 

You assume it’d ruin you. That, more than likely, pushing too hard would only create an even deeper wedge, making the truth that much more unattainable, leaving you with less than what you started with. 

Shooting upwards, you groan again and breathe, resting your face against your open palms in irritation. 

All you want to do is sleep, knowing the only reason you’re thinking so much is because you’re avoiding it. If you think you can’t drift which means the nightmares can’t come, leaving you with two bad endpoints you know you have to choose between.

It makes you want to scream just thinking about it but instead of giving in to such desires you merely settle back down, pulling the fabric of your bedroll up to your shoulders before closing your eyes. 

You’re going to get some sleep whether or not it kills you. Whether or not you have to endure the pain of a thousand deaths all at once before you’re inevitably woken up in a stupor of suffering.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift. One minute you’re lying there, counting your breaths like sheep and the next you’re out, filtering through a darkness that feels all too familiar. At first, it’s just there, coating your skin in nothingness. Lost to the void of slumber, you’re at peace for the first time in forever but as expected eventually the shadows unfold. Part to reveal a body of pale skin wrapped around viscous veins full of the blood of many. 

It beckons you almost immediately. The flutter of that icy voice saying your name over and over until you come to call, allowing yourself to move. Letting your feet guide you to her presence, you feel the waves and how they threaten to spill over as you kneel before her, feeling her grab your throat. 

Her fingers twitch and curl but never grip as she leans forward, offering you a grin. “You’ve been avoidant.”

You don’t speak. For a moment your lips part, feeling the presence of her thumb glide across the base of your throat but you don’t dare speak.

“You know it’s coming, my dear. You can’t avoid it.”

Your tongue moves to wet your lips while you blink, trying your best to let the visions of her angular face blur into the night that surrounds you, realizing she looks just as you remember her. All papery and washed out —a mere shell of herself now that you’ve gone missing. Her features drying out with each passing day you find yourself separate. 

“Come back to me. Let me protect you.”

You swallow hard and turn your head, feeling the nails of her fingers dig into your neck prompting you to cry out. 

She doesn’t let you do much else. Quickly moving on from the one-sided conversation to grab her knife, you watch as she mumbles under her breath, turning the blade between her fingers with a grin. “In untimely death comes timely renewal, remember?” she says, letting it ghost across your bare chest, pushing the edge against it until it breaks the skin. 

You barely feel the first insertion. As the blade dips through the layers of your flesh, the only thing you feel is her breath. The pattern of air that puffs against your face as she recites those aforementioned words, taunting you as she pulls it down. 

In untimely death comes timely renewal. In untimely death comes timely renewal. In untimely death comes timely renewal…

As the knife moves lower, you repeat the words in unison like a mantra, struggling to get them out through gritted teeth as she works to cut you open. To slice your torso from the sternum down revealing countlessly re-healed bones and slimy organs that lie in waiting for her to pluck.

Hovering above you, her hands move to survey such handiwork, her fingers stroking the edges of your open skin before they inevitably dive right in, ripping you awake. 

You feel the pressure of her inside your gut before it really hits that it’s done. Shooting upward, you cough and double over in an instant, pressing your hands shakily to the ground in front of you. 

It’s the worst dream you’ve had yet. Longer than all the others, you can feel the adrenaline of it all penetrating your thoughts. Overthrowing every single anxiety you’ve ever felt as you sniff back tears, pushing yourself towards the entrance of your tent. 

Pulling it open, you look around the camp in desperation, catching the eye of Wyll who raises his brow, watching as you shake your head, slipping further into the ground.

Before you can even think he’s on you, reaching for your shoulders, asking you what’s wrong and how he can help. In response, you make no effort to reach back. To remedy your pain as you continue to shake and cry, sobbing out the cursed mantra through heavy gasps that leave him panicking. 

“Guys! Something’s wrong!”

As he calls out to the rest of the group, you quickly find yourself surrounded by familiar faces. All of them looking down to see your hysteria unfold. 

“What happened?” Dropping to her knees, Shadowheart’s the first to your side, moving her hands to cup your face before you swat her away, mouthing the words over and over and over again. 

“I don’t know!” 

“You don’t know?”

The two of them continue to bicker. As Wyll explains the way you crawled out of your tent, mumbling something about death, you force yourself to shuffle back, maneuvering your body so that you’re half sitting inside your tent again, watching it all unfold. Focusing on the confusion as Lae’zel and Karlach stand in the wings, muttering to each other words you can’t quite hear while Gale stares down at your mouth, watching the words you speak only to yourself as your eyes start to dart around. 

Surveying the rest of the camp, you wipe away your tears and try to breathe, forcing your mouth to stop its repetitions once you remember the ache inside your chest. 

Because of the Illithid, you can still feel her handiwork. Beneath your sweaty tunic, you can sense its edges burning —stinging from the aftermath as you press a hand to your sternum, making sure you’re still intact. Making sure your organs aren’t on display as you catch sight of Astarion coming up the path. 

He’s nose deep in a book when you see him, scanning the pages with interest before his eyes inevitably raise to see your nervous frame, curling into your tent. Then his interest fades. Evaporating into thin air before it’s replaced with fear. Genuine, heartbreaking fear that has him moving so quickly he fades out of view before reappearing in front of you. 

“What happened?” 

Just like Shadowheart, his hands cup your cheeks, gripping the plush as he lowers himself down, moving his forehead to yours. 

Unlike before you make no effort to push him away. Instead, all you do is frown and try to suppress the tears, clawing at his shirt with desperate pleas, begging him to stay. Begging him to tell you that everything’s going to be okay. Begging for him to lie and say he’ll protect you just like you did for him. 

Using your tadpole you beg him over and over again, letting the tears silently fall from your face, not caring that the whole party is watching.

All you need is him. In falseness or in truth, you don’t care. You just need him to ground you. To call you darling and to make you laugh. To make you feel like you’re something more than a vessel of organs one day destined for harvest. 

As your chest begins to heave, letting all the nightmares unfold all over again, you feel the tadpole behind your eye squirm in response, asking you to let him in. Without hesitation, you close your eyes and swallow hard, feeling his thoughts start to overthrow the visions of her and her knives and the mantra that sticks haphazardly across your brain matter.

I’m here, you’re safe.

For once it feels like a promise. A silent vow meant only for you as he ushers you further into the tent, saying something to your peers before closing it up. After that he readjusts the bedroll with gentle hands, always keeping a single palm against the small of your back, even when he guides you to lie against his chest. 

It’s the first time in weeks that you’ve felt safe. Resting a cheek just below his collarbone, you can feel your breath begin to return to its normal state. No longer ravaged by the panic of your dreams, it moves in and out, fanning the fabric of his shirt. 

“Was it a nightmare?”

You nod. Unsure how to explain it because, while it is a nightmare, it somehow feels so much more. 

“Of the past or?”

“Sort of.” 

He hums curiously, glancing down to see your hand slide up his chest to grip his shirt. 

“It feels like I’m answering a call.”

“A call?”

“Like there’s a person trying to reach me and when I answer I can… I can feel them.”

“Feel them?” 

You can tell he doesn’t quite understand. Not that you blame him for it. The whole concept of these nightmares still vexs even yourself. Leave you stumbling in confusion each night you find yourself awake, struggling to remember what’s real and what’s not. 

The nightmares are not as easily explainable as the actual torture you’ve endured. Especially considering that up until now there had been periods where the memories had died. Days where her face was nothing more than a splotch of white against a backdrop of black, slowly fading away. 

It doesn’t make sense why they're suddenly returning. Why your mind is forcing you to relieve these memories night after night. 

“Does your tadpole make it hard for you to dream?”

There's no hesitation when he says yes. No moment thought before his answer, making you wonder if maybe he too is experiencing these dreams. 

“I feel like it amplifies everything.”

Looking up to gauge his response, you can see the worry clouding his eyes. How his expression sort of fades into the abyss as his eyes focus on yours. 

“I dream of the past a lot. Of my life before this and… and I can feel it. Everything that ever happened I can feel all over again and it’s—“

“Painful.” His voice is broken. A crack in the mirror, shattering the often joyous image of his face as he looks away, blinking. 

Without even processing your movements you prop yourself up on your elbow, reaching over to grab his cheek and pull him back in. “I wish you didn’t understand how it felt.”

There’s a flicker of hurt that hits his face, enveloping his features before the previous sadness kicks in again and he’s reaching for your wrist, tightening around it. “Yes, well, not all of us get the luck of the draw when it comes to good lives.” 

“You should’ve,” you tell him.

He scoffs and closes his eyes, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “You’re probably the only one that thinks that.” 

You let your thumb explore his cheek. Let it move in soft circles, taking in the way it shifts beneath your touch. 

It feels strange to be this close to him even after all of the other intimate moments you’ve shared. Something about it feels softer, more honest than the rest of them, making your heart beat rapidly against your chest, threatening to burst. 

“I know it’s not my business but if you ever want to talk about it—“

He places a kiss to your hand, letting his lips linger against the pad of your thumb as he closes his eyes, reaching around to grip your waist. 

In an instant, the words drift out of your mind once you feel it; lost to a touch you didn’t realize you longed for.

Swallowing hard you lay back down to look away, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the tender image that unfolds as his arm shifts again, accommodating your movement. Making you feel that rush of comfort return as he pulls his mouth away and clears his throat. 

“I’m, uh… I’m not good at this kind of thing.” 

“Vulnerability?” you joke, earning yourself a snort. 

“I suppose that’s a word you can use.” 

“To be fair, neither am I.” 

You feel him shift to meet your gaze, looking at you with surprise. “Really now? I think breaking down in front of the whole camp just so that you can find me is quite the effort of—“

Before he can finish you clamp your hand around his mouth. “I was in shock, you bastard. I wasn’t thinking about my dignity.” 

Flexing around your palm, you feel him smile before he pulls away. “That’s good because there was absolutely nothing dignified about the way you looked at me back there. It was…” He trails off, his words catching in his throat for a moment before he clears it again. “You scared me.” 

There’s a moment of silence after that, lasting far longer for it to be deemed comfortable as you lay there, wide awake, wishing you could get him to talk to you. Hoping that maybe if you reach out with the Illithid he’ll answer your questions. 

Closing your eyes, you feel his presence in your mind already, vying for your attention in a way that has you both moving in closer, tightening your hold. 

Show me the dream. 

It isn’t a question or a request but a simple command that has you obeying —letting him enter your thoughts. Letting him stand along the sidelines as she guides you to the ground and cuts you open all over again. Letting him listen to the recital of words that are spoken behind two frozen expressions as Astarion pulls you tighter against him, placing his mouth to your forehead to stop himself from crying. 

-

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[xiaosfiance]

mha x fem! reader

⇢ ˗ˏˋ ¡! sypnosis;;❞ ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤Your life is nearing its end with only a handful of days left to your name. Before you meet your untimely demise, you’re determined to check out everything listed within your bucket list. Although, to truly complete the objectives listed down, it seems like you’ll have to enroll into a hero school…

Or: a girl with 3 years left to live enrolls into U.A to complete her bucket list before dying.

"So, how is my condition?"

The fan hummed, filling the void in the air. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

The silence seemed to stretch out for an eternity until the doctor fixed his glasses and spoke.

"I'm sorry." he lowered his head.

"Based on the recent tests your-" his facade of professionalism begun to crack  "It- it's progressed significantly. I'm afraid that based on our current assessment you have about..."

The smile on your face slipped for a moment, but you quickly regained it and giggled lightheartedly.

""It got worse, I presume?" You asked, cutting him off before he could continue. Perhaps you did that on purpose. "Don't tell me how much time I have left, I can already tell I won't like the answer." 

"I just wish there was more we could do for you miss [Last Name], I'm truly sorry." Dr. Shojin's voice shook, and he quickly looked away. "I apologize, this is unprofessional of me."

"Didn't I tell you to call me [First Name]?" The doctor almost asked how could you be so calm right now while he was on the verge of tears.

"I...I promised...but in the end-" he choked.

"I'm sorry."

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ⋆ ★°

The chair creaked as you rocked back and forth absentmindedly. From the years of overuse, one of it's feet was left worn down and noticeably a length shorter, which caused the chair to awkwardly tilt to the side if you pressed too much weight against it. You've grown fond of using it as a makeshift rocking chair, even if it wasn't intended for that purpose. 

But today, you're not sat upon it to admire the scene outside the window— but to stare at the nearly-2-meter-long-list of objectives that you were supposedly meant to check out before your deadline.

...

Just how on earth and the heavens above were you supposed to do all this within such a short time?!

Your eyes trailed down the length of the paper. Might as well just add 'die before completing everything' to the list! But that kind of defeats the whole purpose of this in the first place...after all, dying before being able to check everything off would be something that you'd regret. And that is the opposite of the goal you ultimately wish to achieve through this bucket list:

To pass on without any regrets.

Sighing, you scratched your head with the back of your pen. Some of the things written here are close to impossible (but you're the one who wrote everything down so the only one to blame is yourself) to achieve without breaking a few laws here and there, though living in a society built on heroes makes that hard to accomplish. And some of the tasks require you to become a hero yourself! (Then again, who's fault is that?)

It's been quite some time since you've begun your conquest of taking down the challenges listed in your bucket list one by one. So far, you have completed about-

...Break an expensive relic in a museum... go shark diving... go bungee jumping with an electrical extension cord... gaslight a stranger into believing they are your sibling...

You have completed approximately about 0.4% of the list in the span of 2 months!

...

The pen fell to the ground with a thump as your arms fell to your side in hopelessness. At this rate, you're never going to be able to complete this list.

Truth be told, as you were listing down the things you wanted to do before dying, the question 'Is it humanely possible to do all of this before my deadline?' never even crossed your mind. 

As each second passed while you pondered about the different ways you could finish the list, the clock on the wall ticked, its hands moving while time went on.

Tick. Tock.

You started to feel like you should get up and find something better to do before you regret not doing so sooner. A familiar feeling started to take root within your stomach at that thought.

But...technically, you were doing something, weren't you? You were thinking. Thinking about how exactly you'll pull this off. So you technically weren't wasting time, right?

Tick. Tock.

The birds outside your window chirped as they took off in a flight, their feathers slowly descending as they left.

Tick. Tock.

Actually... you might have an idea...

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ⋆ ★°

"Haha! Good one, kid," The man chuckled, but a beat passed. "Wait...are you being for real right now?"

Your blank stare gave him the answer he needed.

"...A hero school, huh?" He muttered. "I think it's nice you want to be one and all. I'd be happy to help you enroll in one, but it's abit too late, ain't it?"

He leaned into his chair, spreading his bright vermillion wings out while he scratched the side of his cheek. "The entrance exams for all hero schools in Japan ended weeks ago. Even if I wanted to, I can't."

The brows on your face were knitted together as you frowned. "I'm sure you have the connections and status to get me into one, don't you?" You insisted.

"Geez...did you seriously call me here just for that?" He sighed as he shook his head in mock disappointment. "I don't have a lot of free time these days, ya' know. Asking me to use my status as a hero to enroll you into a hero school... what an underhanded method— that's pretty bold, even for you." The man before you crossed his arms and looked into your eyes, as if he were trying to study you.

That suspicious look in his eyes quickly went away as soon as it appeared. 

"Don't you think it's kinda unfair to the attendees who actually worked hard to get into those schools if you just mysteriously enrolled thanks to my help?" He asked, going back to his usual lax tone. "And it practically goes against the values of being a hero, too."

Running a hand through his blond locks, he looked off into the wall in deep thought. "Makes me wonder why you're suddenly so determined to become one now. Why didn't you just enroll while the entrance exams were ongoing?" He glanced back at you briefly, his eyes filled with curiosity instead of the wariness that previously occupied his mind.

"But, if you want to experience being a hero that badly, I'm sure I can pull some strings to get you into my agency. Or, better yet have you as my sidekick, ey?" He gave you a smile. "You won't have to deal with homework, it won't be unfair to the students in hero courses, and most of all— you get to work with me!"

His idea was met with a scoff, but he seemed persistent. You couldn't tell if it was because he was trying to steer you away from the idea of taking advantage of his status and fame to forcibly get you into a hero school, or if he just really wanted to spend more time with you. It was more likely the former.

"And how often is it that you get to work alongside Japan's No.3 hero, Hawks, huh?"

"No thanks." You quickly refused.

You wanted to enroll into a hero school to complete your tasks; atleast that way, you will be able to avoid the responsibilities that come along with it more easier. But actually working? No. You simply don't have enough time for that, and quite frankly, you won't even live to see the day you become a full fledged pro hero within the ranks like the obnoxious guy Infront of you.

"Aww," Hawks flashed you a mock frown, but behind his yellow visors, his golden eyes were tinted in amusement. "Don't you want to work with— or for— lil' ol' me?" 

"Absolutely not. I hate— no, detest the idea of doing so. Enroll me into a hero school."

He took a bite of his chicken with a sour expression as he grumbled something that fell deaf to your ears. "Well, it doesn't matter," Hawks shrugged it off.

"What's with the sudden request, anyway? Last time I remember, you dropped out of school."

You averted your gaze and crossed your arms. "It's none of your business."

Hawks smile faltered for a quick moment.

"None of my business? Last time I remember you were my business." His tone remained playful, although it had taken an edge that suggested that he was anything but that.

When you chose not to reply, the silence in the atmosphere was so palpable it was like you could cut through it with a knife. Although, the silence between the two of you couldn't even compare to the day you got the news from the doctor. 

It continued on like this for a few moments, staring at you with that same calculative gaze he'd use when interrogating criminals, but without the tenacity or menacing glare he would use to get the villains to spill their secrets. Seeing your unbothered response, Hawks sighed reluctantly. 

"Okay, okay, fine. Keep your secrets close to yourself, if you want to hide them that badly." Hawks shook his head, once again going back to his usual self. "Still, though, there's nothing I can do about it. You either join my agency, or wait next year to enroll."

Nothing you can do about it? Huh... that sounds familiar.

You didn't realize you said that outloud until Hawks raised his eyebrow. "...What?"

Well, since you've already said it, might as well go with a flow. You need to find a way to enter a hero school, no matter what. 

"Nothing you can do about it?" You took a deep breath for what you were about to do. "Are you sure about that? You have the power to do do so, though. But you won't."

"Seriously, I can't, kiddo. It's not good for me to use my status like that-"

"You can't? You can't do anything about it; like the day you couldn't do anything for my parents?"

 And just like that, Hawks expression fell and twisted into a painful mix of guilt, confusion and despair that he desperately tried to suppress.

You arose from your seat, and made your way towards the exit. "Didn't know you were a man who clung to his values that tightly."

"Atleast do this for me, because you couldn't save them."

When Hawks came back to his senses, you were already gone.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ⋆ ★°

2 days later, the doorbell to your apartment rang and you opened the door to see a mailman handing you a letter.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ⋆ ★°

HI :33 this story and all the OTHER CHAPTERS are available on quotev!! If u liked this one shot (or prologue, rather) check it out<33

[blenselche]

insert for ch2

"Finn, come on."

background items: Marcy Acoustic set poster from Scream Queens, Fern's leaves pressed between glass, Finn's Candy Kingdom diplomat pin, the cash he won in a bet in the comic Marcy & Simon, the dimensional sword, root sword. I wanted to add more but thought it'd get too busy.

closer view and excerpt under the cut

He finds himself before the sink, mussing up his oily hair and disheveled beard to rid himself of wood chips, splashing water over his face and coughing after breathing deep off a stale cigarette. The cherry fizzles back at him against the aluminum as he taps it off into an empty. He tugs at the bottom of his eyelid — the whites of his eyes are yellowing again. Pressing his forehead to the mirror and staring at his reflection he sees Martin's eyes, jaw and brow. He sees his maladjusted view, understands now what he meant, in the end.

He can't look in a mirror without seeing the man staring back at him, and it only gets worse with age.

“You’re fine. Today was just a bad day,” he recites just as he’s been told to, loyal tool of the kingdom that he is, a coping mechanism PB calls self affirmation. He leans back, scoffing, “in a long line of bad days.”

His feet carry him to the stump set before his wood stove, and the air toasts his frozen fingers and melts away the pins and needles in the skin that his port connects to. Anxiety bubbles its way up his esophagus and he drowns it with a long pull off his homebrew, eyes flickering from the bottle to his prosthetic, foot tapping furiously. He sighs and gives into the itch at the back of his brain, taking the wish out and reading it over again, biting more teeth marks into a pencil already shredded down to the lead.

It’s something to look forward to. Something he can put off, hoping ‘it gets better’ but it hasn’t and he’s almost certain it won’t. A morbid form of motivation to get more built, work harder, save more people, hoping against hope he’ll wake up happy before he has to spirit himself away. But none of it matters without fulfillment, sat alone and suffocating under his own melancholy in this empty space, only a facsimile of a loved one on his chest for company. He wants to see his brother, he wants to see his mom. He wants from the bottom of his being to go back and smack himself for being dumb, deaf and blind in the face of his own wants and needs. He hunches more in on himself and clutches it harder, it crinkles back at him, threatening another rip.

Slim, sage colored fingers enter his vision and pluck the precious slip of writing from his hand.

“I’ll give it back if you clean yourself up and go to bed.”

“I have it memorized,” he sighs. “I thought you believed in nihilism, anyway, Miss nothing matters and the wind makes my decisions.” Their eyes meet and he can’t help himself but to smile, though it doesn’t reach the rest of his face.

“I believe in natural predeterminism inscribed on our souls by our great earth mother, not in being a sad sack with whisky dick.”

“Ouch. My ego,” he drones, throwing his palm to his chest in faux hurt. “Like I’m disappointing anyone these days. Cot’s closed, sweetheart.”

“So not why I’m here.” She rolls her eyes and holds her hand out, motioning for the bottle.

“If you crack it open against my floor you owe me a face cord of firewood.” He hands it over by the neck and she takes a fifth straight, wiping her mouth with the back of her glove and gagging. “Christ, bad day?”

“Not yet.” She sighs deeply, clearing her throat of the burn and takes a seat on the floor next to him. “You’re going to be pissed with me. I thought saying anything would just upset you, but you’re still set on doing this,” she waves the wish in her hand, “so. It might help. I don’t know.”

“What are you talking about?” His voice drops decibels, adam’s apple bobbing as he gruffly clears his throat.

“I swear to you I didn’t keep this from you on purpose.” She huffs a sigh and peers up at him guiltily. “You know, Fern crashed in my woods with LSP, but we never spoke. Not until the war.”

“…” his breath gets caught in his lungs, burning.

“I forgot. There was so much going on, back then.” She blinks at him, brows steepled, and covers his hand with her own. “What he said— when I did remember I thought it would just break your heart all over again, so I’ve kept it to myself.”

His hackles raise and defensiveness floods his veins, skin hot and starting to prick with nervous sweat. “Excuse me?” he asks, resistive.

Her eyes hold his though, expression full of pity unchanged. “Finn. Come on.” Her thumb brushes against his knuckles and he shakes her off.

His anger speaks for him, misplaced and protective of his brittle heart. “It’s been a decade and you think I’m like this over some kid I knew for half a minute when we were teenagers?”

“He wasn’t just some kid, I‘ve seen you- you know. Lurking in his tree. It’s a contributing factor in your whole bummer lifestyle because you never processed his death. Or are we still pretending that he has nothing to do with us?” Her voice is gentle but firm, not entertaining his usual evasiveness.

“I'm not doing this,” he snaps, shutting down. He stands and walks to the door, holding it open even though the cold night air will chill the space again. “I am sorry, ‘Tess, for— for whatever you think you know. I can’t rehash it. I’ve buried that shit deep, and it’s gonna stay there.”

“I asked him what he was fighting for. He was dying, falling apart under me, I was just trying to keep him distracted," she barrels ahead anyway. “He looked me in the eye and said ‘same as you.’ Maybe he opened up to me because of what was happening to him, or because he knew we had— you in common, I’m not sure.” She looks at him with such compassionate sympathy that it makes him nauseous. “He adored you, Finn—“ his knees buckle, “—he said he was happy to die for you if it meant he could 'make up for everything that happened after you left him behind’.” She stands and reads the wish, scrutinizing. “If you truly need to do this to be happy… knowing that can’t hurt.”

How he’s able to remain upright he doesn’t know, but a flash of devastation covers his face before he can recover.

“Please, don’t tell me his business,” he rasps, voice wavering. “I can’t,” he begs, croaking out the words through the raw vice of emotion choking him. “I can’t think about it.” He closes his eyes, pleading with his whole body.

He feels a hand brush against his cheek, and her lips press to his softly, whispering “I’ll miss you.”

When he opens his eyes again she’s gone. Bottle and paper placed neatly on his stool. He closes the door and leans against it, hugging himself and breathing hard, face hot with upset. The more he tries to calm himself the closer he comes to hyperventilating, and when the tears start his breathing only worsens. He crams his fist against his mouth and takes a shuddering gasp in, close to wailing over it.

[thoughtfulbearpanda]

February 2024 Pick a Card

Piles 1 -> 2 -> 3

Hi there! This is a timeless reading, so remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. Remember that you have free will and nothing is set in stone. Yes, this is intended for entertainment purposes but if any serious topics that come up in these readings that you find yourself resonating with, please seek aid or professional help if you are inclined to do so. Also, if anything in this reading is triggering for you don't feel the need to continue reading; please prioritize your mental and emotional health.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

PILE I

Okana Oracle: Reconcile, Grandma's Baby Lenormand: Whip & Heart, Tarot: 6 of cups rx, 2 of wands, 4 of cups, the Tower rx, 9 of cup rx

What I see you going through in the month of February pile 1 is you walking away from something. With the 6oc rx coupled with the 2ow there may be a decision you will have to make, and this decision could lead to you letting go of past connections, I’m getting ‘leaving the nest' for some of you. Some of you could be moving away, beginning your own chapter of life solo; some of you could be traveling overseas in the month of February, or just simply moving out of house and getting your own place. 

There is also this aspect of fear, not really knowing what you’re getting into, there is the sense of naivety. This could be towards a new job, maybe a change of career path or change in career studies for those who are still in school. This could be a small few of you but some of you may be weighing the decision to drop out of college or school. College/school/work may no longer be as exciting for as when you first started and you may be thinking about just calling it quits, but are delaying this decision because you may not have a backup plan and/or you don’t want to disappoint your loved ones. It’s like ‘I no longer enjoy this.’; ‘What if there is more for me out there?’; ‘What will my loved ones think?’; ‘What if I don’t have a back up plan and this ends being a mistake?’

Life is not full of easy choices. Every day we are proven that life is short. For those who resonate with the school/college message, I am not here to tell you what you should do BUT do what you believe is best for you. College is not for every one, but if dropping out is an option you are considering than have a back up plan ready for when you do. Figure out what you are going to do afterwards. Don’t just dive into this particular decision blindly.

I see you going through transformation pile 1. Some of you may have felt like you lost your spark, your joy, your purpose in life. I see you gaining that back in the month of February. You are going to start making decisions that make YOU happy, that bring YOU joy. February is the month where you consider how to get closer to your ultimate goal in life, and how you can rediscover your sense of purpose.

Shadow Message: Reconcile - “love yourself for only then can you love others” -> What is something that you find yourself struggling to let go of? What is this thing that is depleting you? Is it a job? Is is friends? Family? A partner, past or present? Do you find yourself pouring so much of yourself into this thing and/or person (people) that you barely have enough to pour into yourself? To whomever this resonates, it is time to take a look at your current attachments and come to terms with whether it is healthy or if you are simply a victim of codependency. Is this thing or person feeding off of you? If so, then it is time to cut the cord on that. Do some 'spring cleaning'. For some, it may not even a person or a job. Sometimes it just simply clearing out the old within your space, getting rid of old clothes, trinkets, furniture etc., to make room for the new. Find what is weighing you down emotionally, spiritually, mentally; find what is depleting your happiness and take the necessary steps to rid yourself of it.

Message(s) from the Ancestors: Whip & Heart - 'Sacrifice' & 'Love' -> Whip: "Everyone must pay. Nothing worthwhile or lasting was ever achieved by simply wanting it to be ours...sacrifice and work move things further than desire alone." Love: "There is an infinite supply of love for us to draw on, whether from platonic or romantic relationships, living or dead...but if we often lose ourselves in the need to nurture others, hiding in them to avoid being in ourselves...we must learn to love ourselves so deeply we find joy in solitude instead of heartbreak."

Final Messages:

"What is past is gone, what is hoped for is absent, for you is the hour for which you are."

"Wisdom outweighs strength."

"A snake that you can see does not bite."

"You cannot blindfold a man and expect him to ferry you across the river."

"Whoever stands in the need of honey should not be afraid of bees."

~additional messages: unexpected good fortune, generosity, possible travel, changes, postponement, disappointment and opposition

**PROVERBS 15:13 and DANIEL 10:6 for some of you**

PILE II

Okana Oracle: Grit & Confide, Grandma's Baby Lenormand: Rider rx & Clouds, Tarot; Page of swords, Queen of wands, 9 of cups, 7 of swords rx, & ace of wands Rx

The month of February is going to be very abundant for you pile 2. I see you socializing and being so vibrant and free, being the talk of the town. I'm getting 'social butterfly'. This month is going to be raining down blessings for you with the 9oc here. I see you filled with so much gratitude and happiness. Wishes will be coming true for you in the month of February; whatever you have been wishing for, praying for, hoping for, it will come true. I see you getting that dream job, dream car, dream house. Whatever you've been wishing for, you will be receiving it this month. Some of you could be starting a new project or job, and I see you being so excited about it. You have this eager, 'go getter' energy.

With the QoW here, a feminine figure could be significant for some you. This person could be mature, or just has a lot experience and wisdom under their belt. Who knows how to work a room, use their charm and charisma to achieve their goals. I see this person being some sort of a mentor figure to you this month. Someone that will help you harness this vibrant, off the walls energy that you may have. I see you shadowing this person, soaking up all the knowledge that she has to offer. *Be sure to take head from whatever advice this person gives you*

For some of you, there could be some snakes in your mists. In the month of February you may find yourself being on the receiving end of a lot of 'evil eye'. I see you being highly favored in the month of February, and with that comes with a lot of jealousy and attempts at sabotage. You may end up encountering a lot two-faced people; those who smile in your face but are quick to pray and revel in your downfall. Some of you may be up for promotion or have been promoted - BE CAREFUL. Be wary of those who are quick to befriend and try to get into your circle. It's like that saying 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer' - that is the mentality of these haters toward you. Just know that secrets don't stay buried and will eventually come to light. Karma never misses, so whatever these potential sabotagers have planned will back fire. You are protected by the Divine and your Ancestors.

The month of February, some of you may find yourself consumed with the drive to get something started. There may be an idea/project that you are trying to get off the ground to this point where you are obsessing over it. You are trying and trying and becoming more and more frustrated because it's not going the way you planned. With the ace of wands rx, you are being called to take a break. Step away from the idea/project and allow yourself to breathe. When we are so hyper focused on something, it can become easy for use to become consumed by to the point where we forget why we started said project/idea; and in some instances lose our passion fro what we do. That's why in moments of frustration we need to take a step back, put on pause on things. If this resonates, Spirit is prompting you to take a look out where you are, how far you've come, and remember why you started. Stop and smell the roses. Allow yourself to look at it from a different perspective.

For others, there could be a whole idea that you abandoned completely because it never got off the ground, someone may have told you that idea is not good, or maybe you felt like it could never be. Maybe it's time to revisit that project/idea from a new, fresher lens.

Shadow Message: Grit & Confide - Grit: "when a needle falls into a well many people will look into the well, but very few will go down after it" -> Take a look at yourself this month and ask yourself 'Am I biting off more than I can chew?', 'Am I involving myself in projects or places that do not pertain to me?', 'If I am doing all these things: why?' If you find yourself spiraling or just taking on so much, unnecessarily, maybe it's time to take a step back from it. It's good to have drive to have that grit/conviction but not to the point where it is at your own detriment. It can be easy, being caught up in 'the grind' and all but we also have to remember to take breaks; Confide: "all things are good to eat, but not all things are good to say" -> February is looking to be an abundant month for you, but remember to not get caught up in the high. You may be on the receiving end gossip, but try not to perpetuate the same behaviors as your haters. If find yourself engaging gossip with others ask yourself 'Is it true?', 'Is it kind?', 'Are these people doing the same thing to me behind my back?', 'Will they go back an twist my words to said person?', 'Why are they trying to get me involved gossip to begin with?'. Remember: Karma. Never. Misses.

Message(s) from the Ancestors: Rider rx & Clouds - 'Intention' & 'Denial' -> Rider rx: "Don't be hasty, Baby. Before taking action, we must be clear on our intention. And be certain our actions align with that intention." Clouds: "Clouds can be information that is hidden and outcomes that are uncertain...we must know truth before we know miracles, and what is before we know what can be."

Final Messages:

"Not to know is bad, to not wish to know is worse."

"Fire surrounded by elders cannot burn you."

"Luck at times will visit a fool, but it never sits down with him."

"Truth cannot be hidden forever beneath evil."

"He who wakes up early in the morning receives bundle of blessings."

~additional messages: good luck coming to you, harmony, property, achievement, love, dark-haired woman who is strong, helpful and attractive, warning of loss of friendship

**EXODUS 24:15 for some of you**

PILE III

Okana Oracle: Harmony & Reconcile, Grandma Baby Lenormand: Fish & Mice, Tarot: 10 of swords, 2 of cups, Knight of wands, 5 of pentacles rx, ace of swords rx

Are some of you in a relationship, pile 3? Or is there someone on your mind? Cause with the 2oc here there is a potential for love to blossom for you in the month of February. You could have met this person or will meet this person and you guys hit right off the bat. The knight of wands indicates that you and this person will 'click' so fast, and so unexpectedly. This person could be a fire sign; they could be someone who is vibrant, and has a lot of energy and passion to them. They could be 'go-getter', someone who acts before they thinks, who likes to dive into things head-first. And it doesn't necessarily have to be a romance either. This could be someone who you will end up having a genuine bond and connection with. This person could be a bit of foil to you if you are more on the shy side, or this is someone who will match your energy.

Some of you may have dealt with betrayal in the past, like been backstabbed by a person/people that you've trusted. This has possibly resulted you in having trust issues, you questioning the motives of those who try to get close to you. This connection coming in is going to help you heal those wounds. This connection coming is someone you can trust and they are going to prove that to you. They will be patient with you. Maybe this person coming in has probably dealt with same thing, and this connection will be healing for both of you.

For others of you, you may have fallen on hard times in the past pile 3. Some of you may have dealt with a lot of spiritual warfare. What I mean by that, is that you may have been feeling empty spiritually. Doubting your religion, your ancestors, spirit guides, or even the concept of spirituality itself. *With everything that has been going on in the world, I can understand* Maybe you've hanging on to this concept of religion or spirituality in hopes it will make your life better because that's what you've been told, only to be met with disappointment after disappointment. Maybe recently you've had one too many disappointments and began to question yourself: 'Am I doing something wrong?' 'Why isn't working?' 'Am I just playing myself for a fool?'

I see you starting to come back to that pile 3, because you can't ignore the call forever. I see rekindling your relationship with the Divine, with God, your Ancestors, whomever you believe in. That tarot deck that you've put away? You're dusting off and getting back into the swing of things. That altar that you abandoned, walked away from? I see resetting it and familiarizing yourself with your guides, with your gifts. And honestly, sometimes walking away is needed pile 3. It's okay to take a break for a while, reconnect with yourself, ground yourself, and find your way back to it eventually.

Shadow Message: Harmony & Reconcile - Harmony: "where there is life, there is always hope" -> You could be dealing with bouts of loss or despair in February. Have you lost all hope of being happy? Content? Have you lost hope in ever being able to trust again? Have you become a glass half-empty, glass half-full kind of person? It's time to confront those doubts, pile 3. Time to challenge those negative beliefs you've become accustomed to. Make the effort of bringing harmony and positivity back into your life; Reconcile: "love yourself for only then can you love others" -> It is time to heal pile 3. Heal those wounds. Hanging onto that hurt is giving the person who hurt you more power over you. What is something you have trouble letting go of? Is it the betrayal? The backstabbing? Is it becomes you should have saw it coming? Are you ready to let it go? Are you ready to move on?

Message(s) from the Ancestors: Fish & Mice - 'Gifts' & 'Fear' -> Fish: "If we give birth to what is within us, what is within us will save us. If we do not give birth to what is within us, what is within us will destroy us." Mice: "If we feed fear, we will be eaten alive."

Final Messages:

"You can kill the identity of a man on earth, but you cannot kill his spirit."

"Respect begets respect."

"Even as the archer loves the arrow that flies, so too he loves the bow that remains in his hands."

"The path to wisdom is a lifelong commitment."

"It is the one who lives in the house that knows where the roof leaks."

~additional messages: friendship, success, business meetings, reliable friend, conflict, love, affair, worry and fear

**JONAH 1:17 for some of you**

That's all I have for you! Thanks for reading! Stay safe, stay blessed!

Asé

[sunboki]

— KOREA'S MOST WANTED (BLACKWATER) : TEASER

🎥 : The Cypher! Seo Changbin x fem. reader

TROPE. part of the “Korea’s Most Wanted” universe, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, criminal! au, ‘The Gunsman’ (Christopher Bahng) is a coworker of ‘The Cypher’ (Seo Changbin), fwb

WORD COUNT. estimated to be around 5k-10k words

WARNINGS. murder, guns and other weapons, descriptive violence, mature themes, alcohol, blood, lying/hitman activities (??), smoking, cursing allusions to sex/drugs

PLAYLIST.

AUG'S NOTES. and.. without further ado, the teaser has been posted! welcome to ‘Korea’s Most Wanted’, the second adaption!!!please tell me your thoughts! :))

SYPNOSIS. The Cypher leaves his mark even when his presence is gone. Though, you knew Seo Changbin, not The Cypher. Not until an act upon feelings led to unwanted discovery, in which the question lies: Who really is the man you’ve fallen in love with?

or alternatively :

If everything goes to doom, let it be with you.

CRIMINAL #0003 — SEO, CHANGBIN.

CRIMINAL RECORD

Changbin has been convicted of murder using a baseball bat and is described to be aggressive and out of control. Please proceed with caution.

⭑ REWARD

⎯ CRIMINAL FILES (additional cases)

There are many things you remember from him.

He smokes. You don’t like the smell.

His favorite shirt is a worn one.

He believes everything has a purpose, including the goldfish bowl he keeps below his bed, filled with used packs of Marlboro cigarettes.

You also remember his bad habits, and his good ones.

He is an intricate man, after all.

You remember his hands. Stubby fingers, bruised knuckles he never talked about. Dirt and grime smeared in the creases of his palm.

He has a ferocious temper, but is also kind hearted. A juxtaposition of many things all at once, scrambled together in the scars by his ribs, the details carving him physically as opposed to his mind—intricate and delicate, too frail to touch.

Amongst many things you could recall from him, after he left, you allowed him to take himself with it. You bought air fresheners to rid of his smell, and always donned new t-shirts, ones lacking holes gaping at the armpits, without stretched collars.

Slowly but surely, you got rid of him, and yet, he stays. 

Seo Changbin can never stay somewhere for too long, but he still resides in your apartment.

Like an apparition, roaming about whenever it pleases.

Here, and yet not.

Maybe that’s another bad habit you forgot to add.

“And as for the next week, we’re expecting warm temperatures in the east–”

Accidentally pulling the wrong cord, the weatherman’s voice abruptly cuts off. From your couch, a groan resounds in response.

Rising up from your squat on the floor, your slippers squeak as you walk across tile, stained and scratched a distasteful baby blue as you throw a kitchen towel at the man.

His hand covers a lighter, held up to the cigar dangling from chapped lips.

Leasing the cheapest apartment in Seoul came with a price. That, along with letting him linger around.

“I told you not to smoke in here, the ventilation sucks,” You grumble, wandering around to the window, trying to budge the halfway broken glass coverage up to no avail.

Of course, Changbin, the man in question, doesn’t listen, eyes drawn to the panties peeking from beneath your big t-shirt (his big t-shirt) instead.

Quickly snuffing the lit embers against his palm without so much as a hiss of pain, he stuffs the remnants in his pocket to dispose of afterward, walking on up to where you continuously try lifting the unwavering window.

“Bin, help.” Managed as a grunt between heaving breaths, your expression pinches in irritation.

Alternative to the request, he scoops you up, big palms wrinkling your shirt as his hands wander upward, effectively hoisting you into his arms. Wordlessly does his face tip down to litter kisses along your neckline, pulling you flush against him.

“Don’t wanna,” He grunts, humming along to your hand reaching behind for him, holding his kiss to your skin, lips parted whilst staring ahead dazedly.

Control. The one thing you hate when it comes to Changbin. The thing his lips render you unable to gain a semblance of.

As for him, he likes that face on you. Likes when he kisses you a lot, when your lips get all puffy and kiss-bitten. Likes when you drool while he stuffs your face into the mattress those nights you were supposed to ‘just have a drink together’.

He’s always been a fan of your lips.

Then again, if you’re listing his worst habits, you might as well confess one of your own.

You can’t say no to him, not even when the window remains unopened, smoke mogging the air when he takes you on the couch, ignorant to the thin walls as usual.

“Y/N, c’mon,” Changbin groans, his bottom lip jutting outward in a pout unfitting to the man’s disposition.

His hair’s a mess from your tugging, looking honorably disheveled. You can't say you look any different, if not worse, leaning against your doorframe.

“You know how we end up. I let you in and thirty minutes later we end up fucking,” You cross your arms over your chest, eyeing him up and down. 

Obviously wracking his mind for an excuse, he mimics your crossed arms, tongue poking into his cheek—an action that would’ve caused you to fold any other day if you weren’t attending a friend’s birthday party tonight.

It’s true, and serves as an additional factor keeping Changbin’s mouth closed. Each time, without fail; wrapped around your finger, you wrapped around his.

“But–” 

“Nope! Bye!” Interrupting his impending words, you hastily close the door, awaiting an entourage of incessant messages a few minutes later, full of frowny faces and helpless pleas.

Who knew such a man could behave so pitifully?

Yet, no such messages notify your phone, failing to buzz on the bathroom sink while you clean up your mascara with a q-tip, leaning over the faucet, face pursed with focus. 

It’s not often you get the excuse to go out, and with Dixie’s being the party spot in particular, you won't waste the opportunity of attending one of Itaewon’s most frivolous clubs.

As for you and Changbin, the understanding rests on your lack of commitment. He wanders, you wander. He isn’t one to put down roots, and you respect that.

Granted, the sex is mind-blowing, so it wouldn't be a surprise if the frequency of your nights are accompanied by him, but it’s never shackled that way. 

Although, that isn’t your goal tonight. Earlier today was enough to satiate, and your newfound goal consists of enjoying free drinks and the obnoxious bass blasting through your ears, numbed amongst the sea of bodies crowding every side.

Upon arriving at the entrance, you flash your phone in the bouncer’s direction, displaying an invitation before he unhooks an old-fashioned barrier rope—allowing passageway into masses of sweaty bodies and the nauseating stench of alcohol overtaking everyone’s inhibitions.

Navigating around to the private booths, it doesn’t take long to find the crowned birthday queen by the squeals of laughter and enthusiastic clinking of beer bottles, an expansive array of liquor displayed on any surface available the moment you walk inside.

It’s a relief, surrounding yourself by happy faces and busied chatter, senses buzzing each shot you take, unsure whether it’s vodka or water entering your system at a certain point.

“So, how’s that hunk of muscle doing?” Sabina piques, her overlined lips pursing, huge hoop earrings dangling from heavily pierced ears.

In the blue-tinged lighting, she looks ethereal, dark skin practically glittering with her recently applied perfume.

If you’re drunk enough, you might’ve considered switching sides for this absolute angel. This girl was gorgeous and quite literally everyone’s wannabe-with or wannabe altogether.

“You guys aren’t exclusive, right?” The birthday girl, Margerie, adds, slumping on the leather cushions, her stiletto heels propping on Sabina’s thighs. 

These two have been your ride or die since college, and you're more than happy to spill every aspect of your life’s complications and delights at any chance to who you like to refer to as your big sisters.

“Mhm, he stops by on a daily basis.” 

Swishing the clear liquid in its glass, you watch the deceiving concoction catch light, periodically looking back to them.

Sabina barks a loud laugh, one that ushers everyone else into laughter as well. Infectious.

“On a daily basis?” She chokes, slapping Margerie’s calf. “What? Gettin’ his daily head?”

Safe to say she earned a threat after that jeer.

“Well, I respect your decisions, but I think ya’ll would be great together, y’know. Don’t think we don’t see the way he looks at you,” Margerie snaps her fingers, the two sharing an agreeing nod you dismiss with a roll of your eyes and a scoff.

“Oh please, you met him once at a bar and he was already wasted, you can’t base his love for me on that!” You interject indignantly, immediately shrinking under the girls’ scrutinizing stares.

“Um, yeah, we can.” 

Your silence beckons either of them to burst into laughter again, assuring you their words were all in good fun while you playfully grovel, rising up to excuse yourself to the bathroom and assuring your giggling, now drunken messes of friends you’ll be back soon.

Unfortunately, you end up walking in on a couple certainly enjoying the booth’s privacy, earning your hand slapping over your face while blindly stumbling in the opposite direction.

Even better? The next room you accidentally approach leaves you dizzy with the overbearing reek of nothing short of hard amphetamines, the cherry on top in your sad pursuit of a simple bathroom break.

It’s just your luck getting lost, but at least you’ll have funny conversations to bring back to girls.

However, your continuous search is cut short when a booming echo is heard in the main club, and you watch in horror–having finally escaped the maze of the booth section to peer through the joint doorway–as a bartender’s head slams onto the countertop, a pool of blood cascading around him.

In a fit of panic, outrageous gatherings of people ram themselves out the doors, screaming as they go, trampling each other with only one goal: escape.

All you can do is stare, frozen in your spot, eyes frantically flitting between the now-dead bartender,—bullet-hole puncturing straight through his head— the surging crowd, and whoever the assailant is, where they may be.

Yeah, you’ve certainly lost a need for the bathroom.

Instantly, your heart ascends to your throat, wobbly, unsteady feet climbing back through the booths, desperately slamming open doorways in your search before a “Psst!” breaches your ringing eardrums.

Sabina, holding an utterly wasted Margerie against her shoulder, crouches down behind a door, gesturing for you to rush over and claiming a second exit should be near the back. 

Police sirens blare in the distance, and through repetitive words of encouragement to your petrified frame from the older girl, you escape from the first exit in sight, gasping for the air unwilling to enter your lungs.

“I already called a cab for this gal right after hearing the shots,” Sabina relays, rubbing soothing circles on your back as she regards a very much intoxicated Margerie. 

“You,” She points in your direction, brows lifted. “Call your man. And don’t tell me he’s not your man, he will come and get you.”

All you can do is nod, hands fervently scrolling through your contacts, pressing onto his number as you bring the phone to your ear.

The line crackles for a moment before you realize he picked up, sounding rather out of breath for some odd reason. Must have been at the gym, although it is pretty late.

Ignoring any questions, you get straight to the point.

“Binnie,” You urgently whisper, voice breaking a bit.

The man in question immediately perks up at your tone, nudging the screen closer to his ear with his shoulder, using his teeth to get rid of the gloves on his hands.

“Mm? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He quips, concern evident.

No matter your relationship status, he still cares. For you, for your safety.

Ah, he makes no-strings difficult.

“I.. I need you to pick me up, I’m really scared right now.”

Stifling, you wave a very wasted Margerie off in her taxi, craning whilst awaiting his response, Sabina remaining beside you.

“Send me the address, I’ll be there,” Changbin soothes, pulling the magazine from his pistol and stuffing it in his ‘gym’ bag, washing his hands in the sink of the exact bathroom you’d be searching for.

And when your text comes in after he hangs up, his face contorts into that of surprise upon finding you in the same location he was at: Dixie’s.

Because while you were partying, Changbin was completing a job.

No, The Cypher was completing a job requiring the death of a certain someone, a certain bartender who just so happened to be the murder you were a first hand witness to.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[justabunchofdragons]

explanations of what they all do under the cut! (information from this website) no option for no opinion because you have to have an opinion (<- my decree as pollmaster)

musculoskeletal system - mechanical support, posture and locomotion

cardiovascular system - transportation of oxygen, nutrients and hormones throughout the body and elimination of cellular metabolic waste

respiratory system - exchange of oxygen and carbon-dioxide between the body and air, acid-base balance regulation, phonation (the production of sound and speech through vocal cords).

nervous system - initiation and regulation of vital body functions, sensation and body movements.

digestive system - mechanical and chemical degradation of food with purpose of absorbing into the body and using as energy.

urinary system - filtration of blood and eliminating unnecessary compounds and waste by producing and excreting urine.

endocrine system - production of hormones in order to regulate a wide variety of bodily functions (e.g. menstrual cycle, sugar levels, etc)

lymphatic system - draining of excess tissue fluid, immune defence of the body.

reproductive system - production of reproductive cells and contribution towards the reproduction process.

integumentary system - physical protection of the body surface, sensory reception, vitamin synthesis.

[im-ovulating]

Not proofread, or thought out. I just opened the draft and started writing after getting the idea from a gc. Everybody say, "Thank you, Paws!"

@pawspurpaw @alecvolturi @kiiwiigii

It happened because of a joke. A pretty low tier joke too-

You had brought home a new collar for that damned dog of yours, only to jokingly put it on and run off to find him with the sole purpose of hitting him with a singular, 'Woof'. Once you saw you weren't getting more than an unamused, deadpan stare, you had turned tail (ha) and ventured off to put it on the actual dog. What you hadn't known was that the expressionless stare wasn't because Alec is a wet blanket, rather, it was due to the system reboot he had to go through when the sight of that strip of leather around your delicate throat sent a shockwave through him and ignited a primal sort of heat within him.

All of that to explain what brings us to the current scene: you on your hands and knees as Alec pounds into you from behind. His hand is wrapped with the thin cord of a delicate silver leash connected to a pretty pink collar that he's buckled securely around your neck. He uses his hold on the lead to tug and pull you back as you try to squirm away from the overstimulation.

Between your thighs is a sticky mess of your arousal and his cum. It drips obscenely to the silk sheets below as you cry out about it being too much despite the fact that you can feel that all too familiar coiling deep in your tummy.

"Too much?" Alec mocks, giving a harsh tug and momentarily cutting your oxygen intake off. "If it's too much, why are you clenching like you're about to cream all over my cock again?"

Your cheeks burn with a mixture of arousal, humiliation, and exertion. It's a little shameful to admit that it has you teetering even closer to the edge.

"That's it, pet, submit. Submit to the feeling. You're *mine*- My mate. My toy. My pet-" he growls low in his chest as his buries himself deep in you, spilling one last round of cum into your already flooded womb.

Your arms are shaky, your legs jelly, your messy cunt puffy from abuse. And yet you feel yourself tumble over the peak once more. Your arms finally go out and you collapse face first into the sheets, ignoring how the collar digs uncomfortably into the skin of your neck as you strain against the firm grip he holds on the leash. Your mind goes blank as you let out a choked version of his name.

You swear your vision blacks out and your ears are ringing, but through the muffled sound of the world slowly fading back in, you here, "That's my girl... my good, little pet."