#how could be and should be to collect better results

[egittae]

Once their new camp was organized, some more wood was gathered to feed the flickering flames stark against the ruins’ rocky walls. It was a strategic location for enemy ambushes- who knows how many tunnels could be hiding underground, concealed by the remnants of the past. “Rest, this should not take long.” It was fact, Griss seemed to be inflicted with some illness or other bizarre ailment. The look in his eyes, his sudden bursts of violence and the pallor of his skin were out of the norm even considering the type of man Griss was.

A moment of rest was better. For all of them.

“Watch your step, we should remain alert both for the enemies and our surroundings. It takes little more than a heartbeat for an accidental slip to turn into a broken bone.” The terrain wasn’t as slippery as the riverbed, but traps and cracked floors that could easily give in had to be accounted for. But before any of those scenarios could manifest however, a horde of enemies blocked their advance.

“Maria!” While the glow of her magic burnt a monstrous wolf to a crisp, another beast took the chance for a surprise attack. The wretched thing, disfigured as if the result of a fusion of multiple animals into one gigantic beast, casted a horrid buzzing magic that filled the air with static. 

Lambert was quick to position himself between Maria and the creature. “Linhardt, Innes, stay back! I will handle this!” But before his blade could make contact with its intended target, a shadow lunged towards him in an almost familiar fashion. That glint of silver beneath cloth, washed away by the river, tainting it a color well beyond blood-

“So you got friends, after all?” 

Lambert 10/10HP critically hits Cloaked Figure 6/6HP twice with Brave Lance  [Roll: 18 + 9 = 20 , 16 + 2 = 18, -9HP (4.5 + 4.5) ; Cloaked Figure 0/6HP] Brave Lance durability 10/20 Cloaked Figure has been defeated.

Electric blaze ran through his veins as his crest soared, his grip on the lance suddenly forcing the material to the brink of its limits. Metal warped and wood splintered- flesh and bone reduced to little more than butter as the blade came down on the cloaked figure in two decisive slashes. The offending dagger flung high into the darkness, its wielder dead before they even hit the ruined stone floor.

Half-Formed Horror has appeared. Shriek! All players are inflicted with -4 Avo for collective 3 AP.

Even as a screech pierced into his mind, making his ears ring and his thoughts scatter, Lambert’s focus didn’t waver. Even as other threats made themselves known around them, he still needed to dispose of the creature that had attacked Maria. “There will be no interruptions this time.” It was impossible to lock eyes with the beast, its appearance making it difficult to even pinpoint something he could identify as a face, but that made things even easier. With no eyes to look into, there was no soul to beg for mercy.

Lambert 10/10HP hits Crest Beast (Amalgam) 6/6HP twice with Brave Lance  [Roll 9 + 2 = 11, 9 + 2 = 11, -5HP (2.5+2.5) ; Crest Beast (Amalgam) 1/6HP] Dazzle activates! Lambert 10/10HP is granted +6 Avo. Brave Lance durability 8/20 Crest Beast (Amalgam) 1/6HP misses with Dark Hexbolt [Roll: 4 + 2 = 6, -0HP ; Lambert 10/10HP ]

Steel edge dug into the beast’s rubbery flesh, carving two wide gashes as it let out an ominous scream and jolted away on uneasy legs. The static in the air rose once more, the telltale of an incoming attack, but Lambert was quick enough on his feet to use a nearby ruined wall as barrier. As soon as the atmosphere returned to normal, so did the might of his crest as the professor advanced towards the beast holding nothing back.

Lambert 10/10HP critically hits Crest Beast (Amalgam) 1/6HP with Brave Lance  [Roll 20 + 2 = 22, -5.5HP ; Crest Beast (Amalgam 0/6HP] Brave Lance durability 7/20 Crest Beast (Amalgam) has been defeated.

The blade’s tip appeared from the opposing side of the monster’s head, its body finally going limp before starting to dissipate into a mist of miasma and ashes with no more blood to spill. “That should be it. Is everyone oka-”

Masked Man appears. Half-Formed Horror is granted +0.5 Str/Mag.

A man stands before all, having pierced the beasts’ frontline. Lambert saw Innes draw his bow towards the newest threat but couldn’t react fast enough before the ground beneath him cracked and jolted. 

Masked Man uses Quake! Lambert 8.5/10HP [Roll: 8, miss] -> 8.5/10HP

The spell was casted with every arrow their archer drew as Lambert struggled to stay on his feet, making a quick move to duck into an area out of the castings’ range and safe from the assault. In the end the injuries he sustained were minimal. “Keep it up, Innes!”

@freliasarrow

let's gather round the campfire and || COMBAT Week 1 Team 1

[cordidy]

Just needed to get this out of my head after Sylus's Myth so i hope you like it :)

TW : drunk MC, fluff, it's sad I guess ? No proof read cause i'm a savage, english is not my mother tongue

“......tail ?” 

“What did you just say kitten ?” Sylus asked, gently patting the back on your thigh while steadying you on his shoulder as you exited the elevator together, .

At first he had been quite surprised to receive your call.

Even more so when you bluntly asked him if he would be ok playing bodyguard and keep an eye on you while you indulged in a night of carefree debauchery at the club but hey, who was he to judge ? 

Besides, if you felt safe enough to be in such a vulnerable state around him, going as far as trusting him with your safety and your apartment key to make sure you would make it back safe and sound, he was not going to complain.

“I….I said…ooooh that spins…do…do you ever miss your tail ?” you repeated, your voice tired and slurred, words barely comprehensive despite your best effort.

Sylus couldn’t help the chuckle that came as you poked his lower back through his jacket.

You really were wasted…

But you had a good reason !

Your week has been shitty as hell.

Your nights were even worse lately, barely getting a couple hours of sleep only to wake up either with a sore throat, screaming or crying at something you could not recall.

And, on top of that, you were off duty as Zayne decided you needed a break and refused to sign your abilitation.

“Come on Zayne, look, I’m fiiiiiiiiine” you tried to convince him with a huge smile and so much concealer on your face you could open your own makeup shop.

“As your physician I cannot let you go on field with such results” he retorted not even looking away from your chart “You should be dead with such a high blood pressure”

“I’m a tough cookie !”

“And you’re going to have to stay in the jar until these get better. You’re not only a danger for yourself right now but also for your partner”

That was a low blow but he had a point.

Clearly, you needed a break, something to unplug your brain, something fun, a good night out to leave all your problems behind and get shitfaced to oblivion. What you did not need though was the unwanted attention a young woman alone at the club would probably get and, while you were very capable of handling those kinds of situations, you did not really want to have to be on the lookout constantly or end up in a cell for assault.

You tried Tara, back to her family for the Holidays.

Simone ? Night shift.

Xavier….doing God knew what God knew where….

So, with a heavy heart you picked up your phone and called your secret weapon…

“Not necessary,” Sylus finally answered in a calm, composed voice, as he opened your apartment door, being extra careful as to not bump you in the doorframe. Based on the current humming coming from you right now and your kicking feet, your head was already going to kill you tomorrow.

Better not add “commotion” to the list of your impending issues.

“To be honest, being half human half cat was quite annoying” he admitted, walking you toward your bedroom to tuck you into bed. “I don’t like not being in control of myself and beside, it was bad for business to be away from the N109 zone for so long...although…I kind of enjoyed having to hide here and spend time with you…” he added with his signature smirk, poking your side before tossing you onto the bed, making you giggle like an idiot as you plopped on your back. It was the first time you allowed him into your room and, although he did plan on being a gentleman despite what you could think of him when sober, he couldn’t help the loving smile on his face as he watched you mumble something about a potato bag while fighting with your plushies for room.

“I miss you tail” you retorted in your drunk voice, closing your eyes in hopes it would help with the dizziness while Sylus started to remove your shoes and socks.

“I quite remember you telling me how insufferable it was” the man said in a collected tone while making his way to the kitchen once he was done. 

“Yeah but it was sooooo pretty…I miss how you used it to grab me with it and…and toss me around ! That was funny !” you laughed, mimicking being tossed around like a ragdoll in the middle of your plushies as Sylus was coming back in your room, a glass of water in his hand.

He stopped in his tracks, a puzzled look on his face.

“I never use my cat tail to...toss you around” he corrected. His Evol, yeah, on a daily basis at some point actually, just to annoy you and enjoy those little lovely sounds coming from your mouth, threats mostly.

He had not been able to use it at all during the time those damn kittens from Hell had turned him into one of them though.

Your foggy brain did not hear him though and just kept mumbling in your drunken state, propping yourself on your elbows, trying to focus your gaze on him.

“You would think scales are cold and harsh…” you started, raising a finger to look all serious before falling back onto your pillow, not registering the look of surprise on his usually steady face.

“Kitten wh…” his voice was faltering as he looked at you getting all comfy like you had not just shaken his world upside down with your words.

“...but it was sooooo soft and sooooo warm…” you continued, grabbing your pillow to hold on tight as if you were looking for said warmth. 

Your voice was starting to fade as sleep was settling in.

“...felt safe when you wrapped it around me…I kept holding mine to sleep after…but…”

The glass in his hand fell to the ground, shattering as he froze in place, eyes wide open in shock. 

“…it was not…not the same…” you mumbled before losing consciousness, your body going limp against your pillow, before starting to snore.

______________________________________________________________ Pssssst, you liked it ? P2 is already up here :) https://www.tumblr.com/cordidy/770227784125677568/a-few-days-ago-i-wrote-this?source=share

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

the right wrong number

pairing: pre/no outbreak!joel miller x soccer coach!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6k

summary:

When Joel receives a dirty text from an unknown number, he gives into his curiosity and messages back.

He doesn’t expect the number to belong to his daughter’s summer camp soccer coach.

dear reader:

this work is a request and a birthday gift for my sweet baby @mydailyhyperfixations , who’s been one of my biggest supporters since i started posting my work on tumblr. ily, and i hope you love the fic! special thanks to @cutesyscreenname for helping me with some lil details to finish this surprise. support and mdni banners by @saradika

content warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), age difference (undefined, but references are made), pre/no outbreak!joel miller, identity porn, wrong number au, sexting, dom/sub dynamics, use of ‘sir’, pet names, praise, thigh riding, semi-public sexual activity, spanking, safe word discussion, dirty talk, p in v. let me know if i’ve missed any!

Unknown Number: I had a really good time at dinner tonight!

Joel stares at his phone in confusion. It’s past midnight and he’s been sitting on the couch nursing a beer and watching Indiana Jones. He’s been in the same spot since Sarah went to bed a couple hours ago. His phone beeps again.

Unknown Number: It’s too bad we didn’t have time to visit Noir.

Joel raises his eyebrows. Noir is a bar in downtown Austin known for its calendar of speciality kink events. He’s seen it come up in his Google searches of local bars and had considered going to an event or two but never worked up the courage. His kinks remain between him and his porn search history.

Unknown Number: Wanna see what you missed out on?

[Photo 01.jpg]

Curiosity gets the better of him and he clicks on the image attachment. He nearly drops his phone when a photo of a woman fills his screen, sweet curves hugged by black lace on white sheets. He should absolutely tell her that she has the wrong number. His fingers type across the screen.

Damn, seems a shame something that gorgeous is going to waste.

Unknown Number: Who says it has to go to waste?

Joel swallows nervously. He’s already hard in his jeans, cock pressing urgently against his pants. He palms himself, trying to collect his thoughts.

Unknown Number: I’m feeling a little needy over here.

[Photo 02.jpg]

Against his better judgment, Joel opens the second photo and has to bite back a groan at the image of the woman’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of the panties, fingers hidden from sight behind lace and silk.

You want me to tell you how to play with that pretty pussy?

Joel squeezes his eyes shut as he presses send. This is a colossally stupid idea. This is a stranger, and he’s not the intended recipient of these messages.

Unknown Number: I’d really like that, sir.

Fuck it, Joel thinks. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Start by circling those fingers over your clit. Nice and slow.

And when you feel like you could cum, I want you to go even slower.

Unknown Number: It’s too slow. I want more.

Be patient, baby. And aren’t you forgetting something?

Unknown Number: Sorry. I want more, SIR.

Joel presses a hand to the bulge in his jeans, the pressure offering little relief.

Now don’t start being a brat, sweetheart. You won’t like the result.

Unknown Number: Oh yeah? What would you even do?

I’d love nothing more than to bend you over the edge of the bed, ass ready to be spanked red.

Unknown Number: Fuck, that would feel so good. Bet your hands would feel amazing marking me up.

You still being a good girl and following my instructions?

Unknown Number: I think I forgot. Could you remind me, sir?

You’ll have to ask more nicely than that.

Unknown Number: Could you *please* remind me, sir?

Joel runs a hand over his beard before reaching for the forgotten beer on the coffee table and taking a swig.

You’re supposed to be teasing yourself for me. Nice and slow.

I want you to pinch your nipples until they’re nice and tight, too.

Unknown Number: Like this?

[Photo 03.jpg]

Joel bites his lip as he opens the third photo. You’ve got your bra pulled down to expose your nipples, hard and perfect and begging for his mouth. He unbuttons his jeans, tossing his phone on the couch only long enough to shimmy the denim down his thighs and free his leaking cock.

Just like that, baby. Such a good girl for me.

Unknown Number: Are you touching yourself, too, sir?

Of course I am, baby.

Unknown Number: Can I see, sir? Please?

Joel’s hand falters as alarm bells blare in his head. He should absolutely not open his camera. And he should definitely not find the perfect angle that doesn’t show his face. And he certainly should not grip his cock around the base, holding it steady as the shutter sounds and a new photo is saved to his camera roll.

No. He shouldn’t do any of that.

[Photo 04.jpg]

Unknown Number: God, your cock would feel so good in me right now.

Joel’s right hand moves at a steady pace up and down his length, left hand fumbling to type a reply.

Why don’t you fuck your little fingers and pretend it’s me, then?

Unknown Number: Won’t fill me up nearly as much, sir.

Be a good girl and follow my directions, baby.

Unknown Number: [Photo 05.jpg]

He opens the photo and his cock pulses in his fist. She has her underwear shoved to the side, two fingers plunged into her glistening pussy. His mind reels with an image of this faceless woman writhing on the bed reading his words, thinking about his cock stretching her open and he has to bite his lip to just keep the responding moan trapped in his throat.

Unknown Number: Can I cum, sir? Please?

Since you asked so nicely, yes. Make yourself cum for me, sweetheart.

Joel sets the phone aside on the couch, closing his eyes as he pumps himself with a tight fist while he imagines your desperate pussy clenching around your fingers. He cups his palm over the head of his cock as his release hits him like a freight train, hips flexing from the couch to chase the lingering sensations of ecstasy from his hand.

He stands, pulling his pants up without bothering to fasten them so that he can wash his hands in the kitchen sink. Guilt settles on his shoulders as he dries his hands with the dish towel while he stares at the couch where his phone is lit up with another message from a stranger he had no business seeing that much of.

He approaches the couch and sits with a sigh, running a hand over his face before picking his phone up to read her message:

Unknown Number: Easily my best orgasm. Hope it was for you, too. Don’t be a stranger xx

Feeling like an asshole, Joel deletes the thread and the wrong number for good, but it’s fine.

It’s not like he’ll ever meet her, anyways.

——————

You’re on the phone with your best friend, telling her about how the last guy you went out with about a week ago, a guy named Jeremy you met on a dating app, still hasn’t reached out to you again despite what you’d thought was a successful date.

“So he just never reached out to you after you sexted him all night?” She asks. “Men are so weird.”

You cradle the phone between your ear and shoulder as you zip up your duffel bag of equipment. It’s the beginning of June and the summer soccer intensive camp for junior league starts today. You’ve got a full registration for the girl’s 13-15 division and you’re excited to get back on the field and help these girls do their best in a sport you love.

“Nope. Maybe I came on too strong? I don’t know,” you reply.

“You did come strongly. At least, that’s what you told me,” she says with a laugh. “Well, that’s too bad. Maybe you’ll meet a hot dad coaching this year.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not fucking someone’s dad.”

“Never say never, babe.”

“I gotta go find my damn cleats. I’ll talk to you later,” you tell her.

“Fine, I expect a full run down of every DILF you meet today.”

You hang up as she laughs, tossing your phone into your personal bag that you keep separate from the gear before you go in search of your cleats from your room.

——————

Joel and an over-excited Sarah sit in the parking lot of the soccer field that her summer camp is being conducted at, ridiculously early at Sarah’s insistence because she didn’t want to be late on the first day. They’re the only car in the parking lot so far, having apparently beat even the coach, and Joel sips at his travel mug of coffee in the hopes that it grants him energy.

Another car pulls up and parks beside his truck, loud music blaring from the open window. Sarah waves excitedly.

“That’s the coach,” she explains.

Joel watches you get out of your car and pop the trunk. You start pulling out bags of soccer balls and stacks of orange cones, bags of agility equipment and strength training aids. He opens the door to his truck and jogs over.

“Hey, you need any help with that?” He asks. You look over at him in surprise, eyes wide.

“Oh, uh, sure. That would be great,” you reply.

“I’m Joel Miller, and this is my daughter, Sarah,” he says, gesturing to the young girl. She gives a little wave and he extends a hand out to you.

You give him your name, shaking his outstretched hand. “Y’all are a little early,” you reply, hefting a bag over your shoulder.

“My dad’s always late but I didn’t want to be late for camp,” Sarah says. Joel narrows his eyes at her.

“Not a problem. You can help me set up the cones,” you tell her. His daughter gives you a bright smile and he almost forgives her for throwing him under the bus. “I’ll grab these two bags, you grab the cones, and Mr. Miller, could you grab the balls, please?”

Joel fights back his childish laughter at your request, grabbing the bags as instructed. “Just Joel, please.”

You smile at him and he feels a bit blindsided by how it makes his heart beat faster, his palms a little sweatier. You’re very pretty, fresh faced and ready for a day of work, wearing one of those quick dry workout shirts that clings to your curves and a pair of shorts that show off your strong legs. Some traitorous part of his brain wonders what it would feel like to have those legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Alright then, Just Joel. Let’s go.”

——————

“Thank you for the help,” you tell Sarah’s dad. You’re trying very hard not to let your eyes linger on the bulge of his biceps or the broad expanse of his back as he sets down the two bags of soccer balls and places his hands on his hips.

He’s a handsome man, older than you by at least a few years, with tan skin and dark hair and kind brown eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles at something Sarah says. His daughter has the same brown eyes and olive skin, her dark curly hair pulled into a bun.

Of course the first parent you meet this summer is a hot dad. It’s like you’ve spoken it into the universe.

“Not a problem. Glad I can be useful if I’m goin’ to be here this early,” he replies with a narrowed glance at Sarah, who is suddenly very interested in the stack of cones she carried to the field. “Anythin’ else you need me for?”

“Let me get you the game schedule and contact sheet.” You open your bag and pull out your folder of materials you like to give to parents, assembling a stack of papers for him. “On top you’ve got the emergency contacts sheet. Fill that out with your contact information and an alternate’s information, too, just in case I can’t reach you or someone else needs to pick Sarah up. You’ll want to have Sarah bring that back tomorrow.”

You flip the page. “The second page is just a welcome letter. It’s got my phone number on it, feel free to text or call if you have any questions or if Sarah can’t make it one day.”

“And then last we’ve got the camp schedule. The girls will have two tournament days where they’ll play against some nearby summer camp leagues. You can sign up to bring a snack by filling out the piece at the bottom. Do you have any questions?”

“I don’t suppose I do. You’re very organized,” he says, taking the packet from you. You can feel your cheeks heating.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “Well, I gotta finish setting up.”

“I won’t get in your way.” He calls out to Sarah and the young girl runs up to give him a hug goodbye. “Be good. I’ll see you later.”

——————

Joel Miller is the first at the field in the mornings helping you set up for the day and last parent to leave at pick-up, after he’s loaded your trunk up with the equipment, wiping the sweat from his brow as he grins at you.

His daughter is a great player, quick on her feet and smart as a whip, picking up the footwork skills you teach like they’re second nature. You’re telling Joel as much Friday afternoon in the second week of camp when Sarah bounds up and asks if you want to get ice cream with them.

“That’s a great idea, baby girl,” Joel says before you can decline. You blink at him and he gives you that lopsided grin that’s been giving you butterflies since the first day on the field. “But if you order mint chocolate chip, you’re buyin’ it yourself.”

“Good news, I’m a plain ol’ chocolate kinda gal,” you tell him with a laugh.

“Me, too!” Sarah says.

“I’ll follow you guys,” you suggest. Joel gives you a quick nod, herding Sarah into his truck and taking off toward town.

You follow them to a little ice cream parlor, the kind that sells old fashioned sundaes and thick milkshakes with red and white striped straws. You park beside them, watching as Sarah hops from the truck with a wide grin on her face and her dad comes around, slinging a strong arm over her shoulder and pulling her close. Your heart feels warm looking at them.

Once inside, Joel and Sarah end up ordering a sundae to split while you get a small cone of chocolate ice cream. You try to tell Joel not to pay for you, but he hits you with a look that has your mouth going dry, any argument disappearing as all your blood rushes south and makes you ache between your legs.

“I’ll go get us a table outside,” you offer, licking at your treat. You don’t miss the way Joel’s eyes track the path of your tongue.

You watch the busy foot traffic while you wait for the Millers to join you, the warm Texas air wrapped around you while you enjoy the slight breeze and your cold dessert.

A deep voice calls your name and you look around, finding a familiar face on the crowded sidewalk.

“Jeremy, hey. How are you?” You ask as the man approaches. It feels like forever ago that you went to dinner together and looking at him now you think he’s handsome but he doesn’t hold a candle to Joel.

“I’m good. Been busy. I gotta say, I was a little bummed I didn’t hear from you after our date. Thought we had a good time,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

“Didn’t…hear from me?” You ask nervously.

He tilts his head. “Yeah. Thought you said you would text me when you got home.”

“Uh…yeah. Sorry. I guess I just forgot.”

The bell dings above the door to the ice cream parlor, Joel and Sarah emerging with a sundae piled with whipped cream. Jeremy looks toward them, then back at you.

“I’m guessing another date is off the table?” He asks, slipping his hands into his pants pockets.

Joel looks between the two of you, brow furrowed as he sets the sundae on the metal table and Sarah takes a seat, digging in immediately.

“Jeremy, this is Joel and his daughter, Sarah. She’s in my soccer camp this summer. Joel, this is my friend Jeremy,” you introduce. Jeremy holds a hand out to Joel, who shakes it briefly, brows still pinched.

“I better get going. Nice seeing you, let me know if you want to get together again,” Jeremy says before turning to leave. When you glance at Joel, his shoulders are drawn up and jaw clenched tight as he stabs his spoon into his ice cream.

“What do you guys have planned this weekend?” You ask to break the silence. Sarah perks up and begins to tell you about how her Uncle Tommy, Joel’s brother, is taking her to a local carnival. You listen and nod along despite the fact that your thoughts are stuck on Jeremy’s words.

If it wasn’t Jeremy on the other end of your conversation that night…who was it?

——————

As the three of you walk back to your vehicles, Joel’s still thinking about that man who’d been talking to you at the ice cream shop and how it made his blood burn hot to hear him mention going on a date with you. His pulse pounded in his ears as he shook the guy’s hand, any information about the guy going right over his head. He didn’t even taste the ice cream or hear the conversation you and Sarah had about the weekend, lost in his thoughts about how between early mornings helping you prep for camp and late afternoons at pick up have all somehow allowed you to burrow into his heart.

A hand wraps around his bicep, halting him in his steps. He glances at your concerned face and suddenly all that tension leaves him in a rush. Sarah says her goodbye, hugging you around your waist before hopping into the truck, leaving the two of you alone.

“You okay?” You ask, taking a step closer.

“I’m great, sweetheart. Get home safe,” he says, eyes dipping briefly to your mouth. Your tongue pokes out, tracing your lower lip. He takes a step back before he’s tempted to lean in and chase the taste of chocolate and you.

“I’ll see you Monday?”

“Bright and early.”

——————

Sarah spikes a fever Sunday night and spends the night curled around the toilet while Joel coaxes some water into her and keeps her hair out of harm's way. When it seems that the worst of her nausea has passed, Joel leaves her to rest in her bed while he goes downstairs and grabs the contact list you’d given him at the beginning of camp.

He starts a text, letting you know that Sarah’s sick and won’t make it to camp, at least for today. When it’s sent, he heads back upstairs, armed with a sleeve of crackers to deliver to his daughter.

Maybe he can squeeze in a little bit of sleep for himself.

——————

Hey, it’s Joel. Sarah’s sick and won’t make it to camp today.

You stare at the text, mind reeling. Not because a parent is texting you, that’s pretty common and you hope Sarah is doing okay, but because you already have a thread with Joel.

One where you’d called him sir and told him his cock would feel so good inside of you because you’d thought you’d been texting Jeremy. Your cheeks feel so hot you worry spontaneous human combustion could actually be a thing.

What are you even supposed to do in this situation? Do you tell him about it?

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. Oh, also, you’ve sent me a picture of your dick.

You delete the last line immediately, hitting your phone against your forehead like doing so might make your thoughts make sense.

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. Any chance you can make good on that promise and bend me over the bed?

You delete the last line again with a groan.

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. There’s something I want to talk to you about. Would you be able to meet with me after practice this week? Or sometime this weekend?

You hit send before you can back out, tossing your phone in your bag as you get ready to head out the door.

——————

Joel wakes later in the morning and reads your text message. His mind races with what you could want to talk to him about. Maybe you noticed how he reacted to your friend and wanted to tell him you’re uncomfortable? Or maybe something to do with Sarah?

Fuck, he thinks, scrubbing a hand over his face. He reads the message a few more times but it doesn’t reveal any additional clues. He types out a message, pressing send before he can overthink the contents.

She seems to be doing better. Should be back to camp tomorrow. I can meet you somewhere for dinner on Friday after camp? My treat.

——————

Joel’s text plays on a loop in your brain for the rest of the week. Unlike the previous weeks of camp, he and Sarah don’t show up early. In fact, he’s been dropping her off almost at the last minute and picking her up promptly when camp ends, always managing to show up when you’re already pulled into conversation with another parent and driving off before you have a chance to talk with him.

On Friday, Joel is at the field early, leaning against his truck as he talks to Sarah. You park beside them, and he helps you unload your car and set up for the day, just as he had the weeks prior, making small talk like he hadn’t just spent the week dodging you after suggesting dinner. When everything is unpacked and Sarah is kicking a ball around, you follow Joel to his truck under the guise of needing one more thing from your car.

“Hey, are we still on for dinner?” You ask him. He runs a hand through his hair and you try not to let yourself zero in on the way his bicep flexes with the motion.

“‘Course. How ‘bout I meet you at that diner downtown? The one with the—“

“All day breakfast?” You finish. Joel grins.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Is six good?”

“Six is great.” You smile back at him, lost in the way his eyes crinkle in the corners and his mouth lifts slightly higher on the right.

“Coach!” Sarah yells, making you jump.

“Guess I better get out there,” you say, shifting nervously.

“Yeah, I’ll uh…I’ll see you later?” He asks.

“Looking forward to it.”

——————

To your surprise, it’s not Joel that picks up Sarah that afternoon, but another man with familiar brown eyes and dark curly hair. You grab your folder from your bag as Sarah greets the man, flipping through the pages until you’ve found her emergency contact form.

“Hey there,” the man says, a grin lighting up his face. “I’m Sarah’s Uncle Tommy.”

You shake the hand he’s held out towards you and introduce yourself. “Nice to meet you. Mind if I check your ID for alternate pick up?”

“Go right ahead,” he replies, pulling a worn brown leather wallet from his jeans and handing you his ID from its contents. “Don’t judge the photo, alright? It’s old.”

A younger version of the man in front of you is pictured on the card, his curly dark hair buzzed short and a grim expression on his face. You note the name THOMAS MILLER beside the picture and check it against Sarah’s emergency contact form.

“Thanks, Tommy,” you tell him, handing back the ID. There’s a brief silence where Tommy seems to be assessing you.

“So…,” he says, rocking on his heels, “you’re the girl that’s got Joel all tangled up, huh?”

You blink. “Uh—“

“Uncle Tommy! Let’s go!” Sarah shouts from the parking lot.

“Hold your horses!” Tommy yells. He gives you one last knowing smirk. “Have fun with Joel tonight!”

You watch him jog over to the truck and get behind the wheel, Sarah waving at you as he pulls out of the parking spot. You wave back, but your mind is stuck on Tommy’s words, the implication of them having your stomach doing backflips.

——————

Joel’s fingers fidget with the straw wrapper, ripping it into small pieces that build in a pile on the laminate table while he waits for you to arrive for dinner. He’s still not sure what this is all about and that uncertainty has had him stuck in his head to the point where Tommy was giving him a hard time at work about it.

“Let me know if you need me to stay with Sarah overnight,” Tommy had said as Joel checked himself in the hall mirror one last time before leaving the house.

“It ain’t like that,” he grumbled back, but there was no changing his brother’s mind.

“Sure, you keep tellin’ yourself that.”

The bell above the diner door rings with a new customer, pulling Joel from his thoughts. You’ve just walked in wearing a dress, a far cry from the soccer shorts and t-shirt he’s seen you in every day this summer. His gaze is pulled to the tantalizing glimpse of your chest he gets from the deep neckline and the way the fabric swishes against your thighs as you approach.

“Hi,” you say, sliding into the booth across from him. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Sure,” Joel says, giving you what he hopes is a confident smile but he’s almost certain it’s more of a grimace.

A silence settles over the table as you both look at the laminated menus like they hold the secret to the universe. The waitress swings by and takes your orders - chocolate chip waffles for you and a medium rare burger for Joel.

“How’s Sarah doing with the camp?” Joel asks.

“She’s doing great. Easily one of the best players I’ve got this year,” you reply.

“Good that’s…good. You used to play for UT, right?”

“Yep, starting forward until I tore my ACL,” you tell him. “Now I coach because you can take the girl out of soccer but you can’t take the soccer from the girl.”

“That’s impressive,” Joel comments. “Is coaching your full time job?”

“No, I work in marketing for an instrument production company.”

“Really? You play anything?”

“Some guitar, a little piano. Nothing crazy. Do you?”

Joel laughs. “Been a while, but I got a guitar stashed away in a closet somewhere.”

The waitress returns with your food, setting the plates in front of you and asking if either of you need anything else before leaving the two of you to your meals.

Joel is a few bites into his burger when you set your fork down and say, “Look, I’m just gonna come right out and say it. You’ve sent me a picture of your dick.”

Joel nearly chokes, sputtering for air around his burger and grabbing his Coke, desperate for relief. He chugs the beverage, tears in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” You ask, wide eyes full of concern.

“No, I’m not okay, what do you mean I’ve sent you a picture of my dick?” He hisses, looking around the mostly empty diner.

“About a month ago I went on a date with that guy I ran into at the ice cream place, Jeremy? We met on a dating app so we were messaging through there and he gave me his number at the end of the night,” you say quickly. “And I texted the number with some…racy photos. And messages.”

Joel feels the rising panic in his chest. No, there’s absolutely no way that random number could have been you. There’s no way he sexted his daughter’s soccer coach.

“I didn’t find out it was you until you texted me about Sarah being sick. I still had the chat with your number,” you finish, reaching into your bag and pulling out your phone. Joel watches with building dread as you tap on the screen and set the phone on the table, sliding it toward him.

You’ve opened the chat with him, the innocuous messages at the bottom about Sarah missing camp giving way to photo attachments he doesn’t dare click on but remembers vividly. He looks up at you.

“I…I’m so sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have replied, the messages weren’t meant for me.”

“I’m not mad,” you assure him. “A little embarrassed, maybe. But also…can I be completely honest?”

“Of course.”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your messages.”

Joel’s mouth drops open in surprise. “You…really?”

“Yeah. And knowing it’s you…,” you say, voice trailing off. Your eyes are dark, a little smirk playing on your lips that has Joel’s cock twitching with interest. “Well, that makes it better.”

“It does?” Joel asks. You nod, picking up a bite of waffle with your fork, a moan of appreciation leaving your lips.

“It does,” you confirm.

Joel turns around in the booth and flags down the waitress.

“Check, please!”

——————

After paying for dinner, Joel walks you to the parking lot, his broad palm on your low back directing you to where his truck is parked.

He’s got you pressed against the passenger door, his chest grazing yours with each breath he takes. He lifts a hand to your cheek, his thumb rubbing across your bottom lip. His gaze grows dark as you dart your tongue out, flicking it against the digit.

“Such a fuckin’ tease,” he says. Gone is the man who was mortified to find out he’d been sexting you and in his place is the man behind the screen. “You wore this little dress because you knew exactly what you wanted, isn’t that right?”

“Maybe,” you murmur. “You don’t like it?”

“Mm,” he hums, “Ain’t a matter of not likin’ it, trust me.”

His hands grip your hips, the fabric bunching in his fists as he moves a thigh between your legs. The sudden friction of his jeans, even through the barrier of your underwear, has you gasping.

“Joel,” you whimper, grinding over the muscle of his thigh. He kisses along the length of your neck, lips right over your racing pulse. “Come on, take me home.”

“You can ask more nicely than that,” he says, hands guiding the movement of your hips, forward and back, across his thigh. You moan, louder than you intended, too loud for the parking lot of a busy diner at dinner rush.

“Please, sir,” you whisper. “Please, take me home.”

“Cum on my thigh and we can leave,” he replies. “Leave a nice little wet spot on my jeans and then I’ll take you home and make you scream my name as loud as you need to.”

Joel’s lips capture your own, swallowing the curse that was ready to spill from them at his demand. His kiss is rough, demanding, his stubble scratching your skin and his tongue tangling with yours as your hips continue to rock over his leg. You dig your fingers into his hair, holding tightly to him while the knot of need in your belly tightens.

“Come on, baby,” he says when he lifts his head, lips still pressed to your neck. “Make a mess, come on.”

You go still in his hands as your orgasm washes over you, your muscles stiff as your pussy pulses desperately over his thigh. Joel pulls you in for another kiss, this one slow and sweet to bring you back to reality.

When you’ve caught your breath, he steps back, adjusting the skirt of your dress back over your thighs. He looks down at his pants and then back at you, a smirk on his handsome face. You look down, face heating with embarrassment as you notice the dark patch of denim.

“Get in the truck, baby.”

——————

You give Joel directions to your apartment, his warm hand on your thigh the whole way there. Your nerves are buzzing beneath your skin again, the effect of your first orgasm wearing off and your desire building rapidly with each mile closer to your apartment.

He parks in the visitor parking and you move to open the door, but a tan arm reaches across and tugs it shut. Confused, you watch Joel jump from the truck and jog around to the passenger side to pull open your door and hold a hand out to you.

You’re laughing as he helps you from the truck and shuts the door behind you, your giggles persisting as you lead him upstairs and his arms circle your waist while you try to unlock your door. He hustles you across the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him and flipping the deadbolt.

“Bedroom?” He asks.

“End of the hall,” you reply.

Joel pulls you along behind him, a man on a mission. Once inside your room, you flip on your bedside lamp and Joel steps in close, framing your face in his hands and giving you another kiss that has the butterflies in your tummy going wild.

His fingers are curling into the hem of your dress, dragging it up your body and breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over your head and toss it to the floor. His lips are back on yours while his hands map your curves, calloused fingers catching on soft skin and making goosebumps erupt in their wake.

“Get on the bed,” he commands. You turn, crawling onto the mattress slowly, a wiggle in your hips. You look over your shoulder at the older man and find his gaze fixed on your ass. He grins. “You remember what I said last time you teased me?”

“No. I think I need a reminder,” you tell him. He huffs, shaking his head.

“Teasin’ me and gettin’ mouthy? Think that might earn you a punishment.”

Joel palms the cheeks of your ass, pulling them apart in a rough grip that has you gasping his name. His fingers dig into the flesh, the ache of them already making your head spin.

“Five ain’t enough, but it’s all I’ve got the patience for right now,” he says. His tone changes as he asks, “You got a safe word? If I need to stop?”

“Apricots,” you say easily. He tilts his head. “It’s from a TV show. New Girl?”

“Never heard of it,” he says. “Alright, apricots it is.”

He pulls your panties down, leaving them around your thighs. His thumbs spread you apart and the vulnerability of this position, your ass in the air and everything spread for him, by him, has you feeling like you’re on fire.

“Pretty little pussy,” he murmurs. “But I already knew that. Because you’re a dirty fuckin’ girl who sent me pictures just because I told you how to cum. Ain’t that right?”

“Mhm.”

An open palm lands on your right ass cheek, hear blossoming on the spot as you gasp, lurching forward. His hands pull you towards him and he presses down between your shoulder blades, your back arching.

“Don’t move,” he commands. “That was one. You count the next one.”

Another smack across your other cheek, more sharp pain that shifts into dull ache as you mumble, “Two.”

He doles out two more in quick succession, each other making your pussy clench with need. You’re drooling into sheets, a whimpering mess as he runs his fingers through your soaked folds and lets out a deep groan.

“Baby, you’re soaked,” he says. “Fuck, one more, okay? One more and then I’ll have you wrapped around my cock.”

You nod your head, bracing for the final blow across your sensitive skin. The sting of his palm as it lands makes your eyes roll back, the line between pleasure and pain so blurry you don’t know which side you stand on.

His hands leave your hips and without the support, you slide flat to your belly. Distantly, you register the opening of your nightstand drawer and the sound of Joel rummaging through the contents, followed by the muted thump of clothes being discarded to the floor.

Joel maneuvers you to your back in the center of the bed, pulling your panties off. “You did so good, sweetheart,” he praises. You smile at him.

“Do I get a reward now, sir?” You ask.

“‘Course, baby. Good girls get what they deserve.”

His hips press between yours, his cock sliding through your wetness and catching on your clit. He positions the thick head at your slick entrance, pressing in the slightest bit. You take in the sight of him, his broad chest held over you by strong arms, the muscles of his neck tense.

Joel slides in slowly, your body accepting him gratefully. The stretch borders on painful but the fullness has you digging your nails into his back, a moan falling from your lips. It feels like ages before his hips as flush to yours and all you can feel is Joel Joel Joel.

“Fuck,” he groans, forehead dropping to yours. “Christ, you feel so fuckin’ good.”

He pulls back slightly, thrusting forward with a sharp snap of his hips. As he starts to set a rhythm, he sits up on his knees, lifting one of your legs up with a hand on the back of your thigh and pressing it to the side. The position opens you up further, letting him get impossibly deeper, and all you can do is allow him to use your body to his liking.

It’s not long before you’re screaming his name, as promised, the knot of pleasure in your core pulling tight and getting ready to snap.

“You gonna cum again for me?” Joel asks, breathing labored as his pace doesn’t falter. “Come on, baby, cum on my cock. You’re such a good fuckin’ girl, I know you can do it.”

“Joel!” You shout, that last thread snapping as your orgasm rushing through you, stars bursting behind your eyelids as they snap shut with the force of it all. Your pussy clenches around him, his hips stuttering and growing sloppy until he’s pressing in deep with a groan of your name.

He collapses on top of you, a heavy weight but not an unwelcome one as you both try to catch your breath, sweat cooling between you. After a moment, his softening cock slips from your body and he rolls to the side, gathering you to his chest.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” Joel whispers back. He sits up, leaning over the edge of the bed and grabbing his jeans, pulling his phone free.

He taps on the screen and brings it to his ear, a distant ringing audible through the speaker.

“Tommy? Yeah, everythin’s fine,” Joel says when his call connects. He takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Could you stay with Sarah tonight? Shut up,” he grumbles. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll be back in the mornin’. Thanks, brother.”

Joel hangs up and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“You’re staying?” You ask.

“Yeah, baby. I ain’t finished with you yet,” he replies, pressing a flurry of kisses to your face, neck, and shoulders, sending you into a fit of giggles.

——————

1 Year Later

“Alright, great job, girls! Let’s get your snacks,” you shout as your summer league girls jog towards you from the field following their third tournament game.

The girls crowd around the cooler that Joel’s prepared, grabbing small bottles of Gatorade or water and a bag of orange slices. They lounge around the sidelines and you step up beside Joel, bumping him with your hip.

“Thanks for the snacks,” you say. He grins at you.

“‘Course. Gotta take care of my girls,” he replies. He pulls one last bag of oranges from the cooler. “And one for coach.”

“How’d I get so lucky?” You ask, looping an arm around his waist.

“What can I say? You texted the right wrong number.”

Joel Miller Masterlist

[kiwicopia]

MDNI | Themetober: Scarecrow

Shapeshifter!Simon x Fem!Reader

CW: brief mentions of stalking, brief mentions of voyeurism/reverse voyeurism, mentions of death/corpses/blood, brief cunnilingus, biting/marking, mentions of begging, some degradation, mating press position, squirting, creampie.

tags: @sweetchildcloud

Themetober Masterlist

You were never close with your grandfather on your mother’s side, with him becoming estranged even before her passing. Which was why it surprised you to get a letter in the mail one day, detailing that he had left you a sizeable piece of land in his will. The little farm he lived on was rundown and in desperate need of repairs, which came easily due to the assistance from local neighbors. The only issue, however, was the scarecrow in the cornfields.

A raggedy thing, you thought, with a hulking body that could easily frighten any creature that wandered onto the property. If it weren’t for its graveyard keeper appearance, and the fact that your bedroom window faced the cornfields, you would’ve thought differently about it. Still, against better judgement, and with it keeping the crows from taking what little corn you were able to grow, you decided to keep it where it was—perched up against a large, steady plank of wood that doubled its own size. 

Honestly though, you should have read the letter entirely instead of skimming it. Perhaps if you did that, then everything that followed would make more sense to you. It would have made sense knowing what it was, and had been, to your estranged grandfather. 

The half-buried animal carcasses on the property, the strange grunting noises outside your window at night—along with the milky white substance in the grass below your window—the large paw prints that littered around the edges of the property—sometimes along with dried blood—and the eyes that would watch you from the shadows, only to vanish the second you blinked. Not to mention how, during visits into town, either a crow or a large, black dog—or what you assumed to be a dog—would follow you. The entirety of it was all so strange, and it did little to prepare you for when he finally came to collect what was owed. 

Unbeknownst to you, and due to the skimming of the letter, your estranged grandfather had a deal of sorts with a certain creature—the scarecrow—which you came to find out a little too late one night. “Been waitin’ for ya,” he huffed. His tongue lapped at your cunt, feasting on it like a wild and starved animal. You tasted even better than he had originally imagined, and the soft and sweet moans and mewls that spilled from your lips caused his cock to throb painfully beneath torn jeans. 

Simon groaned, his patience having worn thin with the needless wait as he pulled back and finally freed himself from the confines of his pants. He was hard and ready, with the tip angry and red while weeping small globs of precum. His large hand wrapped around the shaft, pumping once, twice, three times with achingly slow movements. The nights of watching you through your window as you pleasured yourself while he fucked into his hand—in tune with your soft and tantalizing noises—were over. 

“The old man promised.” He lined his cockhead up to your slit, smearing the tip in your slick before impatiently pushing past the folds. “Fuck,” he groaned. You took him so well, with gummy walls hugging his dick tightly. His body pressed against yours, pushing you down further into the bed of hay as his lips kissed against your neck feverishly, resulting in a whine falling from your lips. 

Simon’s cock twitched at the sound, and his hips pulled back before slamming against yours. The sudden movement pulled a sharp cry from you as he repeated the motion. Faster and faster, his pace relentless as his teeth nibbled on the soft flesh of your neck before biting down. He was marking you as his, and in more ways than one. After all, your grandfather made a promise. 

“S’too much,” you whined. Still, his pace remained as it was as he ignored you. The shifter had waited this long for what was owed to him, and he was taking it without any further delay. Simon’s hands were tight on your hips, his fingers pressing into the plump flesh, keeping you still as his cock bullied your pussy. Your soft whining and pleas for him to slow down faded, having been replaced with neediness as you begged for more. 

“Fuckin’ slag,” he growled, his breath hot in your ear as he bit the lobe. His hips snapped against yours once more as he buried himself to the hilt again, and again. “Makin’ me wait f’ya. Makin’ me ‘ear that old man tell me over ‘nd over ‘bout ya.” He hated that. 

Honestly, Simon was glad for his death because it meant getting you. It was a deal made back when he first arrived on the farm, back when he was a walking body without a purpose. Oh, but your grandfather gave him one. Keep the farm safe and he would receive a reward for his hard work. When that reward became you, his sweet ‘ole granddaughter who lived like the man never existed, that was what kept Simon going—and now he finally had you. 

His hands moved from your hips as his body pulled back just enough to shift you into a mating press. The shapeshifter could reach deeper now, with his cockhead bumping against your cervix with each thrust, earning sharp yet delicious sounding cries from your lips. Simon couldn’t be gentle now, not when he finally had you in his grasp. He waited too damn long, with too many nights of fisting himself to the mere thought of you beneath him like this. 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he growled, again. You tightened around him, causing his dick to twitch every now and then as your velvety walls coaxed him towards his release. The harsh slap of his balls smacking against your skin echoed in the barn, and you whined at the sting that accompanied it. “Little more, almost, almost.” Oh, he was close now, with only a few more thrusts until he came undone. 

When your cunt fluttered around him, that was the last straw. Simon pressed his face into your neck, teeth clamped down in a harsh bite that caused you to scream out and squirt around him the same time he spilled into you. His hot, creamy seed mixed with your juices and dribbled out and down the back of your ass when he pulled out of you. 

“Look a’ ya,” he smirked. “Fuckin’ mess now.” You stared up at him with half-lidded eyes and panted hard before leaning your head back to rest. The man mumbled something along of being his mess, but the pounding in your ears from being utterly fucked out had muffled it. 

Maybe you should have read the entire letter, or perhaps you should’ve had a better grandfather. One that didn’t offer you up like a steak to a starving mutt. Too many could haves and should haves for you to care right now. At least you had something akin to a guard dog now, even if the reward was a good fuck. 

[sayhoneysiren]

Which 48th Law of Power, should you apply to your situation for success?

{Collab with @lavendergoddesstarot}

Pile 1 is on the left side. Pile 2 is on the right side.

Welcome Sirens! This reading is for entertainment purposes only based on the downloads I receive. Do not attack me if the message doesn’t resonate. Keep in mind this is a collective reading, not a individual one. With that being said, enjoy!

Honey $iren🍒

>Join for weekly Tarot Readings here<

⸻⊱༺  🩸 ༻⊰⸻

Pile I

(1st part of your reading here)

When it come to success, you may have the habit of oversharing your ideas with others. Spirit is saying, learn to keep your goals private. You have ideas that are absolutely GOLDEN, but unfortunately, there are bitter and jealous people around you, who want to sink your boat. Your success is a threat to them and when you yap to them about all your ideas, you give them your blueprint to destroy you. The Wheel of Fortune came out for you last, which shows me that when you learn to reserve your ideas or share only fractions of information, luck will be on your side and the wheels will turn in your favor.

~ LAW 24 - PLAY THE PERFECT COURTIER ~

(The numbers 24, 2, 4, or 6. may be significant to you. It could be your birth date number, current age or a significant number to you).

Quote from the book 48 Laws of Power, "The perfect courtier thrives in a world where everything revolves around power and political dexterity. He has mastered the art of indirection; he flatters, yields to superiors, and asserts power over others in the most oblique and graceful manner. Learn to apply the law of courtier-ship and there will be no limit to how far you can rise in the court." - Robert Greene

There's an old saying coming to mind, "Never let anyone see you with your head to the ground." We all have weaknesses and our weaknesses should always be kept to ourselves, until we overcome them. The message for you is to Master you Emotions. Handle your messy business privately. Don’t rant to people about your problems, even if they’re friends. Show a professional, strong face to the world, even when you feel worried. Stay motivated on the end goal, even when you feel defeated.

You may also have difficulties with wanting to prove yourself as worthy or intelligent to others (which causes you to debate, argue, overshare or overextend yourself). Learn to hold back. There's no need to cast your pearls to swine.

ADVICE

Master your emotions. Don't allow insults and threats to pierce you.

Find creative outlets to release your energy into. (If you’re a writer, write to release your thoughts and feelings or to creative stories.)

Learn social protocol, discreetness and etiquette with others.

Trust no one.

Let your actions and results speak louder than the need to prove people wrong or right.

⸻⊱༺  🩸 ༻⊰⸻

Pile II

(1st part of your reading here).

There was something said to you, that made you feel insecure about your self image or your abilities to succeed. You are hanging on to this, and because of this you are not allowing yourself to move forwards and become your greatest. For many of you, it was a person close to you, that you deeply trusted, who hurt you with their words or actions. Here’s what to do. Cry about it, journal about it, meditate on it, THEN LET IT GO. (And if it's better, let them go too).

Your value is never determined by anyone else, it is determined by you. To become your successful self, own all that you are, in body, spirit, emotion and mentality. You are not a mistake. Don’t be fooled by the people who cannot see your value yet.

You are a very grounded and practical person, who holds immense wisdom within'. Your intuitive powers are off the charts! 

These toxic people around you, don't see your power or how your ideas can come into fruition but don't let that stop you from carrying on. You have the ability to manifest like a God or Goddess on Earth and you will be a wealthy person very soon.

LAW 28 - ENTER ACTION WITH BOLDNESS

(The numbers 28, 0, 1, 2, 8, or 10. may be significant to you. It could be your birth date number, current age or a significant number to you).

Quote from the book 48 Laws of Power, "If you are unsure of a course of action, do not attempt it. Your doubts and hesitations will infect your execution. Timidity is dangerous. Better to enter with boldness. Any mistakes you commit through audacity are easily corrected with more audacity. Everyone admirers the bold; no one honors the timid. - Robert Greene

Don't be the victim, be the successor. Push through all negativity until you are successful. Learn to stand up for yourself with boldness and walk your path audaciously. When you speak, speak with firmness and a assured tone. When you have ideas, create and pursue them with confidence. The cards are telling you, that your ideas are brilliant and that they are going to be greatly received by the world (fame is highly likely for you), so don’t feel insecure about yourself. Just trust the process.

ADVICE

Learn not to take criticism personally.

Work on your self value and self esteem.

Work with the Lion totem or the Goddess SEKHMET to be more courageous.

Cut toxic people out of your life.

Create boundaries and stand up for yourself.

Do Solar Plexus practices. Sunbathe. Get an Aura Reading.

[apas-95]

I’m an anarchocommunist that thinks a lot of other anarchists are stupid. For example, I don’t think that most people will just make insulin or do garbage collection/processing out of the kindness of their heart, and I also don’t think if it was genuinely done out of the kindness of their hearts that it’d work great. My idea is that for the “getting people to do the shitty jobs” question, the people that do those jobs should be compensated better in some way. Maybe a larger/nicer house, I’m not sure on the details. But other anarchists will say “all labor is equal”, and while I’d like to agree in the “work is hard” sense, I think things for the obvious common good, like teacher or garbage man or doctor deserve some sort of reward over other jobs. And for the efficiency of the labor, I think *specifically for labor* there needs to be some sort of organization, and we can use what’s worked before. We don’t need to have bathtub insulin if there’s a factory right there, and if there’s no connection from the insulin factory to doctors/pharmacists and truck drivers then it won’t work either. Really, my main problem with Marxism/Leninism or Stalinism or Maoism or any combination of those is that there are specific people with far too much power over others. I’m ok with light power in the way of “man you gotta drive the firetruck to the burning building even though you hate the dude that lives there”, but I’m not ok with the idea of a supreme leader or representatives in a political sense due to as I’ve amounts of power obviously corrupting people.

Really I’m sending this to you to get your criticism of my ideas- I think you’re pretty smart, and even if I disagree with you on some issues, I think I agree with you on others. I also want to say that not all anarchists are… like that.

So, years ago, before I started reading any Marxist theory, this is about where I was at politically. If you think about any of the practicalities, you come up to points where, very clearly, the maxim of 'no authority at all' conflicts with being able to do anything. If you're seriously considering how society could be better organised, if this is something you actually intend on bringing about, then you make some amount of concession to reality - as you did with the firetruck example!

Now, myself, I went on like this for a good while, coming up with methods of truly democratic organisation that wouldn't be susceptible to the types of totalitarianism I'd heard about, ending up very similar to your position. I was interested, however, in how these 'failed experiments' that I'd learned devolved into bureaucracy started out, and I started reading up on the history, and realised, with some discontent, that what I'd developed, once I'd made all the concessions for reality that would be necessary if this system were to be the actual one real human beings lives depended on, was essentially identical to the Soviet system.

From there, I read up on Marxist theory, still basically wary that this had all, at some point, been taken over by an evil dictator, but able to see that the earliest stages, at least, had been exactly what I was imagining, but put into practice. Reading the theory, reading how their experience experimenting with different forms of organisation, and the failures of some types, had led them to discover what did and didn't work, and adjust accordingly, made me suddenly appreciate why certain things were done certain ways. The harsh experiences of civil war had revealed certain dynamics and mechanics in the way society and production worked, which translates into political theories that bore out results I wouldn't have expected (and neither had the communists who had discovered them through practice!).

Eventually, with some chagrin and a significant deal of excitement, I realised that much of what I'd passively absorbed about socialism, many of the common-sense maxims that I'd been taught by capitalist society about the nature of power and so on, were very much artifacts of a decades-long war against these communists and the system they'd built, carried out by exactly the corporations and empires I had thought myself opposed to.

I won't critique any individual point of yours, but I will enjoin you to try out some Marxist theory - Dialectical and Historical Materialism, or Socialism, Utopian and Scientific, or Principles of Communism, or even the Communist Manifesto, and to read between the lines of whatever capitalist source you read on socialism, to notice every [citation needed] and wonder what actually happened such that someone felt the need to make something up.

[pursuitseternal]

“I wanted to hear you whimper…” ✨Update to “Bites in the Night”✨

Act 1 Astarion x f!Reader | E | 3K

Summary: After fighting your way out of the Githyanki Crèche, your vampire has a raging… ego. And you need to check it, to remind him his place… and to hear him whimper.

CW: Subby Astarion, Whimper alert, mild bondage, inappropriate use of grasping vines, begging, brat taming, face sitting, anal fingering, oral sex

Ao3 link | series on ao3 | Masterlist

“Well…” he purrs, that aspirate ‘h’ somewhere in the middle of the word making you bristle with irritation. “I thought they’d never leave…” Astarion grins, spattered in Githyanki blood as he casually licks his blade clean.

He’s the image of cool and collected… as if you all didn’t just fight your way out of the entire Crèche in the Rosymorn Monastery. As if Gale didn’t almost die three times and as if you didn’t get your favorite weapons disarmed from your hands twice. “Leave?” you snap at him. “They’re dead!”

Astarion sheathes his blade and starts to suck the blood clean from under his fingernails. “Seems hardly a difference worth fighting over, darling. Same result.”

“No, it’s a result of your big… fat… mouth,” you snip the words, closing the distance to poke him in the leather armored chest with every word. “And you defaced their painting of Vlakith! You’re lucky your undead guts aren’t being used for training targets.”

Astarion just gives that same conceited, shit-eating grin. “My guts are perfectly fine. Theirs are spread on the ground… and, since you seem in a feisty mood…” he leans in close to purr in your ear, “perhaps you’d like your guts rearranged, dear?”

“Ugh!” you gag in disgust at the suggestion. “You arsehole. You should be apologizing for that smart mouth of yours.”

“Darling, I rarely apologize, and I never do when I’m in the right. Thanks to me, we can leave this mausoleum.” He comments with a flick of his wrist, ignoring your enraged glare and heading for camp.

That’s when something snaps inside you. The other companions are already well up the trail from the Monastery. And, by now, when you and Astarion disappear, they know better than to come looking… and Shadowheart usually has her hands already glowing with Lesser Restoration. A nice treat for after feeling the blood loss on your end of your trysts.

But not this time.

“You’re a proper bastard, aren’t you?” you hiss at him, heart racing with the need to fight.

But he just flashes you that cool, collective seductive smile. “Such a mean spirit, you wouldn’t want me to have to teach you some manners… would you?” His lean frame crowds you, one arm reaching to cage you in against the tree behind you. “I’m feeling rather good right now… all that Githyanki blood has given me quite the raging… affliction. I could use your help…” his eyes flash dangerously seductive as he grabs your wrist and guides your hand to his clothed erection.

Tearing your hand away, you cuss at him. “Fucking arrogant Elf,” you hiss, grabbing him by the top of his flushed and pointed ear. “You’re going to learn manners, not me!”

Astarion crumples between your pinching fingers. Knees buckling, voice cracking, eyes tearing… you’d think you had kicked him in the balls with how pathetically he’s reacting now. “Ow, ow, ow,” he whines as you drag him off the path into the sunny woods of the Mountain Path.

You have to reach high to grab it, that pink tip of his ear, but the ache in your shoulder is worth it for how he instantly cows to you. He’s sputtering curses and calling you names, but it’s hard to take them seriously as his voice breaks with shrill whines.

Like a boy in puberty, every word cracks in his voice.

“Cheeky little… argh!” He squeals as you squeeze harder, making his feet stumble. Just in time. You find what you’re looking for.

Grasping vines, a nice little patch.

“You, my vampire, have been insufferable long enough today. Apologize,” you command.

He scoffs, trying to reach for your punishing fingers on his most tender of spots. “I won’t apologize for killing our enemies in battle. They had it coming, those Gith…”

“Hmmm, guess what, my dear,” you cup his bloodied cheek with your free hand, bringing him in for a kiss. His lips tremble against yours, his ear is still nabbed tightly in your grip, after all. You whisper in delicate and threatening tones against his mouth. “Now you’ve got your own thing coming as a result.”

He gasps, cool breath on your face as you guide him to the ground by his ear. “Hands above your head, and if you’re a good boy, I’ll even let you come.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he snarls, trying to jerk his ear free as he lies in the grass and dirt, but the pain only makes him hiss and relent as you hold fast.

“Oh I dare, Astarion. I dare because you’re being an obnoxious, unbearable… louse!”

“I think you mean leech,” he tries to giggle, a snap of his fangs beneath you. “I have more in common with leeches.”

Your withering glare gives him just enough pause, those hard lines of his eyes softening, gaze widening as he realizes you aren’t joking.

“Hands above your head, leech,” you give your icy command.

Those elegant hands move in obedience, slender, skilled digits twitching slightly as they extend across the forest floor until…

…with a creaking groan, the grasping vines do their job, locking his wrists and upper arms neatly in place.

“Wretched hells, you have to be joking,” he growls, fighting against the vines as anger flares in those crimson eyes. “You have got to be joking, darling.”

“Serious as death itself,” you smirk down at him. “Now all you can use is your smart mouth, and until you apologize, I’m going to give it something to do.

You pull off your leather armor and underthings slowly. A smile turns your lips as you watch Astarion try to slip his hand from the vines unsuccessfully. A sweat is dotting his brow, eyes roam your exposed skin and follow your hand to where your fingers slide themselves to bury into your own cunt.

His fangs catch in the patches of sunlight through the canopy. Pupils blown wide, he watches your hand, his pink tongue wetting his lips at the sight. It doesn’t take any effort to perceive the prodding, twitching erection in his leathers. “Are you going to apologize for being a proper twat?”

“As I demonstrated today with our Gith friends, I’m not one to back down from a fight… darling….”

Oh, that smug grin on his face, that tongue teasing the corner of his mouth… you want to smack it from his handsome face, you want to… to…

You step over him. Feet framing his chest, you lower yourself to your knees, fingers parting your folds to show his hungry eyes your swollen little clit. “If you insist on being a cunt, you can taste mine…”

He smirks wider, purring and stretching beneath you. Proud of himself. “Oh darling, I…”

The groan that comes from your mouth as you cover him with your folds is so loud, birds startle from the trees. You grind, slow rolls that push his prominent, aquiline nose right against your aching clit. Finally, that tongue that has caused you nothing but trouble today is put to good use as it thrusts in and circles around your channel. His laughter tickles up your spine from your sex, and you can almost feel his self-satisfaction as you positively drench his face.

But this is supposed to be retribution. A lesson to tame his brat behavior. So you grab a fist of his perfect, blood-streaked silver hair and yank. “Mmmph,” he whines loudly into your folds. Desperation and pain. It’s high pitched, pitiful. And you shake him a bit, your breathing ragged from being driven so close to your release already.

“This isn’t for you, Astarion, it’s for me,” you snap, watching the twinkle of mischief flash in those crimson depths. “You’ve been naughty… intolerable. And now you’re going to pay for it.”

“Oh I quake in my boots,” he thrusts his hips up behind you into the air, miming what pleasures await. “I’m all a-quiver with fear,” he sniggers.

You fist your hand tighter in his hair until he hisses and whines that you’ll ruin it. “Just remember, it’s a good thing you don’t need to breathe.”

Those eyes widen at your implied threat as you sit firmly on his mouth and nose and chin. His skin already slick with your arousal, he works his head and tongue inside your folds for far longer than any mortal would survive. You grind slowly, careful not to let in too much air, savoring all the friction he can give you.

And he… he knows his duty. All fangs and tongue and lips as you roll your clit on his nose. Your walls flutter around his tongue, your pulse thumping in your ears now, no longer from rage but from hot, desperate arousal. “I’m close,” you gasp, and you know he hears you as his pointed ears twitch. “Make me come, and I just might let you, too.” You give a low, threatening laugh, “eventually that is.”

That’s when you feel it on your clit, his face sliding in your folds as he catches your bud in his front, blunted teeth and nips.

You groan, voice breaking in a scream as you come around nothing. Holding yourself up with your fist in his hair, you can’t just let yourself pitch forward or you’ll end up in the vines too. So you shake in your bliss, braced against his face and scalp as your tremors wrack through you.

Raising up, you move to kneel beside him, pulling out a rag from your bag of holding to wipe his face off.

“You just can’t keep your hands off me, even after you’ve come. Isn’t that right, darling?” He gives you that arrogant asshole of a smirk, and you mirror it. Slowly, you pop open the fastening of that blue and burgundy leather armor until his cream undershirt lies damp against his skin. You can feel his belly clenching under your feather light touch, watching it rise and fall with ragged breaths.

As your hand brushes gingerly over the rock hard bulge in his leathers, he hisses, a low giggle of a laugh in his throat. “I’ve made you feel good, haven’t I? I think I deserve a treat,” he sasses you, another roll of his hips to push his erection against your palm.

But you’re not done, and you give his cock a punishing squeeze through his leathers. “Hush,” you snap. You reach into your bag again, pulling out an eagle feather and a bottle of oil. “Now, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll open your mouth to do one of two things: apologize….” You lean forward to place a gentle kiss on his lips, “or beg.”

He laughs, catching you off guard as he bites your lips until you taste blood. “You know by now, I never beg,” he growls, pride dripping from his words.

“First time for everything,” you hiss, pulling your mouth out of his reach and licking your blood from your lips. Reaching for the feather, you tickle it over the sharp, mouthwatering line of his jaw. “We’ll start with something soft, I think…” Just that downy tip traces the lines of his chest, the chiseled muscles underneath flex and constrict as his belly clenches.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his breathing light and rapid. You hear his hands straining against the vines, their growth creaking as he fights for freedom. “Mmhm,” you hear him whine, that feather tracing the line of his waistband as his cock remains twitching.

Untouched.

His eyes are blown, pupils wide and dark as his body undulates under your teasing touch.

“I think I heard you speak, but not to apologize or beg…” you taunt, leaning over him, setting aside the feather in favor of a single finger. Your isolated touch trails the same pattern, those ridges of his abdominals are a map you know by heart now. “So you’ll have to suffer having me touch you like this ‘til you ask nicely…”

Your finger wanders to his hips, just brushing the outline of his cock. He bucks into nothingness, into open air… his breathing rough, his belly rapidly rising and clenching repeatedly. “Eugh,” he whines, your finger tracing that prominent ridge at the base of his cock head.

“Ready to apologize or beg?” you lean down to whisper in his ear, but by the way his fang bites his bottom lip, you can see he’s still clinging too tightly to that insufferable pride.

“Neither,” he says bravely, but the sensation of your hand reaching into his leathers makes an open-mouth whine rip from his mouth. You force your hand into that waistband. It’s snug, especially with how hard he’s gotten. And all you have room to do is squeeze, pulsing your fist around his shaft. You can feel the slow thump of his undead heart in his dick, so hard and so aroused as he is. “Hells… fuck… damn you…” he whines something new with every squeeze you give him.

“Just say ‘sorry,’ or ‘please,’ and all this can go much faster,” you taunt, a singsong in your voice as you release him to unlace his pants. He just gives a pathetic sigh as his cock is freed. You know it aches. All that blood from the Gith, all your teasing has made him flushed and hard and leaking precum profusely. His crimson eyes stare at your lips as you lick them, his whole world narrowed to their wet promise of release and the aching tingle in his cock. It takes a second to shimmy his leathers to the tops of his boots and to uncork the bottle of oil.

A generous amount on your hands and you smile at him. “Come on, you rascal. After all the trouble you caused, don’t you feel the least bit sorry?”

His fangs bite his lower lip tighter again, the sharp lines of his face set, determined to prevail.

Your mouth quirks to one side, hand wandering a single oily finger up his taut thigh, then between those pert ass cheeks of his.

His voice cracks in a whimper, fangs piercing into his own skin as you tease one, single finger around the tight ring of his hole. He tries so hard to snarl, to buck his hips as if he has any control. His cock just juts into the air, twitching and leaking, as you tease inside that ring of muscle just a little more… and more. The oil helps to slide your finger in, just the one digit you thrust in and out. He voices his rapid breathing, quick fire noises that sound so pathetic from his throat, you’re almost tempted to give in and bring him the sweet release you both crave.

“By the hells,” he opens his mouth, whining like a child, “you’re going to really make me pay for just being myself, aren’t you?”

“And just who do you think you are?” You snigger, all those feelings of sympathy evaporate, and suddenly you have two fingers knuckle deep in his ass. Jamming them in slowly, you crook over and over until you find that spot inside him that makes him shudder and writhe. “Ha… huh…” he’s huffing with each stroke you make inside him. “P….p….”

“Is that a ‘p-p-please’ that’s starting to finally form on your irritating tongue?” you chide him, pressing your lips on the spasming plane of his belly even as your fingers fuck him. “And don’t fool yourself, I’m making you pay not because you’re insufferable… or mischievous… or down right maliciously cruel…”

Your fingers continue their torture in his tight walls. Another kiss on his stomach, a flick of your tongue below his navel and more along those deep v cut grooves over his hips, and you hear the most divine noises from his lips. “Just so we’re clear, I’m doing this to show you your place… to remind you, you need to be a member of my party… and just because I want to hear you whimper.” You lower your mouth, his eyes almost black with lust as they stare at you. He watches you lick your lips slowly only to just breathe warm, damp air on his cock. He grunts, fangs and teeth grit as it jerks widely from the promise of contact. “Beg for me, dear…”

You can hear his little swallowed growls in time with your fingers that are still thrusting inside him.

“Beg for me to let you come…”

His breathing comes in rapid succession, hissing between his clenching teeth. Until… finally… he opens them for a single word. “Please…”

But you just laugh, low and rough in your throat. “Louder, you proud, arrogant bastard.”

“Hells, just…. Fuck me… please!” He finally breaks, voice high and breathless as he bucks his hips into the air closer to your face. A desperate attempt at contact. Any contact.

You stick out your tongue, a teasing lick up the underside of his shaft to clean the mess of precum that’s positively dripping in streams. His cock twitches away from your tongue, a mind of its own. And you laugh, letting your lips and throat vibrate as you slowly suckle him down. Your fingers prod just right, and those warm, tight muscles inside him pulse and tighten… until his cum fills your mouth. He erupts with the most pathetic sounds yet… all rapid whines that crack his voice box until he can only grunt in time with his cock spasms. He fills you; the taste is familiar, but his seed is strangely warm on your tongue. Perhaps it’s from positively gorging himself today. Maybe that’s one thing that you could enjoy because of his arrogance. You smile as you swallow, savoring the look on his sweaty face. You pull your oiled fingers free, cleaning you both with a rag.

“Still feeling like a brat?” You taunt him, as you wipe his softening cock.

“I’m hardly ever a brat, darling…”

You scoff, throwing the rag on his face. “Maybe I should leave you like this until the vines decide they’re tired of your attitude too.”

“Gods, no, please,” he adds quickly. And you just smile down at him, naked and triumphant as you say two more words…

“Good boy.”

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

What if all the yeerks suddenly died? AU

Part 3.5; Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 are here. All you need to know from earlier parts is that all the yeerks disappeared at once after the events of #19, and that the Animorphs and ex-controllers have been trying to resume a normal life ever since.

• Hedrick Chapman wanted to be an ecologist when he grew up.  Or a veterinarian.  Barring that, he’d have settled for being rich.  At no point did he ever want to be a vice principal of a criminally underfunded public high school.  That had been a yeerk decision, not his.  Certainly not his.  And yet, here he is.

• Then again, Chapman reflects as he watches Andy Mitchell vomit into the potted plant on his desk, this job has recently involved far more working with wild animals than he initially anticipated.

“It was horrible,” Andy sobs.  “Her f-face, it… it split open.  I could see bones under the—”  He cuts off, retching more.

Probably in shock, Chapman thinks.  A perfectly understandable reaction to having seen someone morph for the first time.  “What did she turn into?”

“What?”  Andy lifts his head.  Milk-pale, except for those red-rimmed eyes.  Definitely in shock.  “What do you mean?”

“Rachel.”  Chapman didn’t get a name, but that description could only apply to so many students.  “What did she morph?”

“I don’t know,” Andy wails.  “Her face got all baggy and horrible, like the skin was coming off, and it…”  He makes a pulling motion, away from his own mouth.

“So she turned into an elephant.”  Chapman notes that down.  “Then what?”

“You don’t understand,” Andy says.  “She… she… her body was melting!”

Chapman sets down the pen, looking him in the eye.  “I believe you.  You saw her turn into an elephant.  Did she try to attack you, once she was done?”

“I don’t know!  I ran for it.”

“Smart choice.”  Chapman massages his left temple, which is where his Rachel-shaped headache seems to have taken up full-time residence in Iniss 226’s absence. “I figured as much, since we’re not having this conversation in the hospital.”

“It was horrible,” Andy says again.

“And what did you say to Tobias Fangor that precipitated this incident?”

Andy blinks.  His color looks a little better, anyway.  “How did you know that?”

Chapman does not roll his eyes.  Because he’s an adult, and in control of his own body.  “I just so happen to be fluent in English, Mr. Mitchell.  Which is, by enormous coincidence, the language used to write your disciplinary file.  I’m also capable of basic pattern recognition.”

“What are you going to do to her?” Andy asks.  “Rachel.  What happens to her?”

An excellent question.  Bringing a deadly weapon to school results in a ten-day suspension.  But if Chapman applies that statute in this case, then he’d be forced to suspend all five Animorphs for the rest of eternity.  Threatening a classmate can result in expulsion, though it sounds like no actual threats were issued.  There isn’t a rule on the books for showing a classmate something so disturbing his brain tries to turn itself inside-out from sheer horror, although in light of recent developments there really should be.

“Not your concern,” Chapman says.  “Thank you for telling me.  Back to class.”

Andy takes several more minutes to collect himself before he goes.  Chapman uses that time to catch up on paperwork, though he does offer the young man a tissue.  And a breath mint.

• Andy is barely out Chapman’s door when it swings open again and Tom Berenson strides in.  “You have to tell my parents it’s not Jake’s fault,” he announces.

I am not your therapist, Chapman would dearly like to say.  I am not your best friend.  I am not, regardless of Iniss 226’s relationship with Temrash 114, your fucking subordinate.  I do not ‘have to’ do anything.

Not being snippy with vulnerable teenagers is probably one of those things they’d cover M.Ed. programs, if Chapman had ever actually been to school for this job.  “Why don’t you take a deep breath and explain from the beginning.”  There.  That sounds like something a vice principal would say.

“Jake.”  Tom sits down.  “My parents keep forcing him to go to school.  They think he’s, like, being a moody teenager.  Or faking it.”

Chapman may not be a therapist, or even a college graduate, but he does recognize that Jake’s entitled to as many sick days as he feels like taking, for the rest of eternity.  However, “That’s between your parents and your brother.”

“You can’t do anything?” Tom asks.  “You have the ability to give kids permanent excuses for made-up medical conditions— Iniss did it all the time—”

“I am not,” Chapman says severely, “Iniss 226.”

Tom stiffens.  “I just meant…”

“I recognize it is not your fault you have entirely too much information about the administration of this school.”  Chapman tries to soften his tone.  “But if you can do without using the Krav Maga or ability to home-assemble a working handgun that you also didn’t choose to receive, you can do without that.”

“But— Jake.  They don’t get it.”

“I will speak with your parents.  I’ll express these concerns to them,” Chapman says.  “In the meantime, might I suggest you focus on your own grades?  Thanks to Iniss, you’ve missed far too much school already.  If you want to have any hope of graduating on time, you need to catch up.”

“Why?”

He says it so simply.  It’s a question Chapman’s been asked before: Why bother?  Of all the kids who’ve asked him, only Marco Santiago has been more entitled to ask.  Why, indeed, bother with school?  Why care about Civics and Algebra when the world itself has already ended around you? 

A real vice principal would make a speech about learning being its own reward, or the importance of insuring one’s future.  “Because,” Chapman says, “when I speak to Coach Lu about letting you back on the basketball team, he’ll point out that student athletes need a minimum two-point-oh GPA.”

Tom’s whole face lights up.  Suddenly looking years younger.  Looking like a kid, for the first time in months.  “You’d do that for me?”

That M.Ed. program no doubt would have advised against bribes.  “No skin off my butt,” Chapman says.  “Now go do your homework.  And let the adults worry about your brother.”

“Yes sir!”  And he’s off like a shot.  Possibly even, miracle of miracles, off to work on that backlog of English essays.

• The first time Jake called a meeting in Cassie’s barn, even though they don’t really have a reason to meet anymore, it was to discuss what they can do to help the hork-bajir—taxxon alliance.  The second time, it was to make a plan to help Tobias get caught up in school.  The third time, he doesn’t even make an excuse.

Rachel complains about the press hounding them for a statement.  Marco complains about his parents making out on the couch while he’s in the house.  Tobias complains about Ms. Paloma’s workload, and about the hork-bajir constitution negotiations.  Jake complains about his dad’s horrifying questions about how morphing affects puberty.  Ax complains about Alloran’s frequent, extremely snobby, emails.  Cassie complains about her parents constantly asking her to morph their patients to figure out what’s wrong with them.

It’s silly.  It’s fun.  It’s playing at being teenagers with teenage problems.

“This time next week,” Jake announces, at the end.  “And if there are any major developments in the meantime, keep the rest of us posted.”

• “Tobias Fangor’s aunt called again,” Principal Walsh says, when Chapman gets to the office on a Tuesday morning.  “Don’t you think we should at least speak to her, see what she wants?”

“No,” Chapman says.  “I don’t.”

“His uncle.  This…”  She glances at the paperwork.  “Axel Mili-Esgarrouth.  Didn’t show up for last parent-teacher conference.”

Small mercies.  Chapman doesn’t explain Tobias’s living situation.  Doesn’t reveal that he owes the kid’s parents the kind of debt that cannot be repaid in an entire lifetime of favors.  Doesn’t deign to find out if Maggie Walsh knows what an andalite is.

“Tobias Fangor,” he says, “is part of the one-tenth of one percent of students who are, somehow, attending this high school because they want to be here.  If you give him reason to transfer out, I will resign.”

• There are reasons that Chapman stays in this job, despite being stashed here against his will.  Not the pay.  Not the sullen ingratitude from the teens he helps.  Certainly not the parents.  It’s because he’s needed here, now more than ever.

• He stays for the times Loren’s kid comes skittering into his office, wild-eyed and muttering, “Sorry, I just, sorry, I’ll be out of your hair soon, I promise…”  Chapman knows to open the window, when that happens, knows to shove a chair already well-deformed with talon marks out from behind his desk.

•  He stays for the kids who on paper had straight As, perfect attendance, promising gigs at The Sharing — and overnight became failing wrecks with insomnia and dozens of unexplained absences.  He can explain to their teachers, to their parents, in a way that someone who hasn’t been there will never be able to understand.

•  He stays for the way Eva Santiago clasps his hand and says, “You will look out for him.”  Half-supplication, half-command.

•  He even, despite himself, stays for Tom.  Who showed up at school the day after Aegas 1909 died, trying to pretend like nothing had happened.  Who is a truly godawful actor — he took one look at Chapman, went dead-white, and ran for it.  Who was backing away even as Chapman cornered him in the parking lot.  “Wait!” Chapman had said.  “Wait! Iniss is dead too.”  And Tom had burst into tears.

•  No one else would understand them.  No one else would know why nearly every one of the seventy-three ex-hosts in this school has been sent to his office for not paying attention, for sleeping in class, for allegedly being stoned during school hours.  No one else would overlook the absolute illegal mess of Tobias’s paperwork, or give Rachel a fortieth second chance after she has yet another hair-trigger reaction to being bumped in the hall.

•  But there’s one reason above all others that he stays in this job.

“You don’t mind?” Melissa says, every single time he offers her a ride to school.  As if he’s doing her a favor, letting her take up space in the car he’s already driving that way.  As if it’s a chore to get to spend time with his daughter and hear about her day.

“You sure you don’t mind?” he always answers, smiling, and she always runs to get her bag.

It takes so little — a smile, a nod, an offer to feed the damn cat, sometimes even just a glance her way — to get her to light up with gratitude.  It breaks his fucking heart to know the reason why.

He drives her every day.  He helps her with homework every night, and cooks her dinner afterward.  He drops more than he can afford on leg-warmers and Lisa Frank and Limited Too.  He’s every parenting cliché: on a trial separation from Alison, spoiling their kid rotten because of the guilt.

Anyway, time with Melissa is worth a hell of a lot more than mere money.  And it’s almost enough to make up for dealing with parents.  Almost.

•  “But Cassie’s a good kid,” Michelle Logan says.  “She’s always been responsible, and she’s always taken care of herself.  There has to be some kind of mistake.”

Chapman looks at the good kid sitting between her parents.  Thinks of watching her rip a hork-bajir’s throat out, taking an innocent life along with the guilty one.  Trusts that she had no choice in the matter, because if it was him she’d killed instead then he would have understood.

“I recognize that Cassie has had an overall clean record thus far,” Chapman says.  “However, the Rain Forest Café is filing charges against the school for the impersonation and theft of several live animals, and I don’t have other suspects.”

“Cassie would never,” Michelle said.  “She’s a good kid.  She just fell in with the wrong crowd, that’s all.”

“Of that,” Chapman says dryly, “I have no doubt.”

Cassie lifts her head then to look straight at him.  “I’m sorry,” she says, not sounding it.  “I was trying to help the parrots.”

I.  Yes, she’s a good kid.  “It’s admirable,” Chapman tells her, “that you’re covering for your friends.”  Probably also on the list of things a real vice principal wouldn’t say.  “But there is no way that you could have acted alone.”

“Can you prove that?” Cassie asks.

“Can you even prove it was her?” Michelle says.  “What about Marco, or Rachel?  They morph.  Isn’t Tobias a bird quite often?  Who says it wasn’t him?”

Cassie and Chapman make eye contact.  Marco is one incident away from being expelled.  Rachel is about negative eight incidents away, and Chapman can only do so much to protect her.  Tobias isn’t supposed to be at this school at all, which the board will surely notice if he comes to their attention.  Cassie confessed, because Cassie can take the heat.  And Chapman’s letting her take that fall.

“It’s okay,” Cassie tells the adults.  “It’s only a week of detention.”

Because that was the lowest sentence he could propose, while still avoiding a legal proceeding.  She really is a good kid.

•  “Where you going?” Jake asks, not looking up from his Spanish homework, when Tom unlocks the front door at 8:00 PM on a Sunday.

“Sharing meeting,” Tom says casually.  “Wanna come?”

Jake sets down his pen.  He looks at his brother.

Tom stares back, smirking.

“Where are you actually going?” Jake says.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”  And with that, Tom walks out the door.

Despite himself, Jake follows.

 • It’s an under-21 nightclub that Jake vaguely recognizes as being a front for The Sharing, but the crowd spilling onto the lawn around it is truly all ages.  There’s a giggling pair of 10-year-olds standing too close to the beer keg for his comfort, a middle-aged guy handing out glow sticks, and a woman with gray hair and a hand-knit sweater smoking a joint on the curb.

“Tommy-boy!” That’s the guy standing next to the door, an ex-controller Jake thinks is named Bill.  He throws out his arms and, before Jake can react, has grabbed Tom, spun him around, dipped him, and kissed him on the mouth.

“Hands off, asshole,” Tom says, laughing as he pulls loose.  “You are so fucking drunk.”

“Sssshhhhhh,” Bill says, not disconfirming the accusation.  He points to the Employees Only printed on the door.  “Just meat-puppets tonight.  Ditch the tagalong.”

“Oh, come on.”  Tom gestures at Jake.  “The kid was a controller for a hot second last November.”

Bill squints at Jake.  “Wait, really?”

Jake shrugs.  He doesn’t want to talk about it.  “Yeah.”

“Well all right, then.”  Bill ruffles Jake’s hair, Tom slaps Bill on the ass, and they shoulder their way inside.

• The club is jammed full of bodies, most of them sweaty and partway naked.  Jake retreats until his back is against the nearest wall, looking over the mess of dancing humans.  Tom has split off, chest-bumping with some other guy Jake doesn’t know and stealing a drag off his cigarette.  None of them are acting remotely like controllers, which is reassuring, and now he’s wondering if it’d be rude to leave without Tom about 10 seconds after having arrived.

 No one would notice if he turned into a bug, he decides after about an hour of this.  Seriously.  This crowd would not notice, and it’s not like they’d care if they did.  Tom can find his own way home.

A small form sidles up next to him.  “Hi, Jake.”

“Melissa!” he says too loudly, glad to see a familiar face.  “Hi.”

“You want some drink?”  She holds up a clear plastic cup, three-quarters full of liquid.  “There’s plenty more over…”  She points to the punchbowl behind her.

“Drink?” Jake asks.

Melissa shrugs.  “From the empty bottles, it’s mostly beer and tequila, with a little bit of Bloody Mary mix.  Which is probably why it…”  She grimaces down at her cup.  “Looks, smells, and tastes like urine.”

“Um.”  Jake peers at her cup; her assessment isn’t wrong.  “I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Cool.  There’s also a guy around here with E, if that’s more your speed.”

“Gee.”  Jake looks back over the crowd, which includes several couples openly pawing at each other, a group of four with hands inside each other’s clothes, and Tom apparently attempting to eat some woman’s tongue before she can eat his.  “There’s ecstasy here?  I never would’ve guessed.”

“People are just glad the war’s over,” Melissa says.  “And your brother’s a really good kisser.”

It’s official: this is worse than the gathering of alien slugs plotting Earth’s destruction that Jake expected to find.  It’s not even a proper orgy, just a whole crapton of giddy ex-hosts hugging each other and then getting too enthusiastic about the hugs.

“Look,” Jake says.  “This has been nice, but I have school tomorrow, so…”

•  Which is when the commotion breaks out near the door.

“Gatecrasher!”  That’s Bill, brandishing a mason jar as he continues to yell.  “We have a gatecrasher!”

Several people crowd around him to get a better look, someone holding up a glow stick to reveal that, sure enough, the jar in his hands contains a single wolf spider.  Among this crowd, animals that act strange or aren’t native to California don’t go without notice.

«I’m innocent!  And even if I’m not you can’t prove anything,» the spider says.  «Maybe I just wandered by accidentally, and this is all a big misunderstanding.»

“This thing’s for full members only,” Tom says, straight-faced.  “There’s a sign on the door, can’t miss it.”

«Maybe I want to join the Sharing?» the spider suggests.

This gets him several unamused looks.  “Toss him out,” Li says.  “And let’s get back to the keg stands.”

“Nah, let him stay!”  That’s Koko, piping up from the back.  “God knows every person in this bar owes the Animorphs a drink.”

Looking between them, Bill turns back to the jar.  Finally he lifts it up to eye level, starting at the spider’s middle two eyes.  “Repeat after me,” Bill intones.

«Uh-huh.»

“What your mom doesn’t know…”

«What my mom doesn’t know…»

“Will not hurt her.”

«Dude, I wouldn’t narc on you!  What do you take me for?»

“A chip off the old block,” Tom mutters.

“Repeat it,” Bill says severely.

«What my mom doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.»

“Great!”  Bill unscrews the lid of the jar, dumping it out on the ground.  “Welcome to the Sharing.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Melissa says to a slowly-demorphing Marco, “I got the same speech.”

“It really does.”  He presses a hand over his heart.  “Now, someone mentioned buying me a drink?”

•  A small nightclub on the outskirts of the city burns to the ground, shortly after having every piece of its furniture and glassware smashed in a pile in the middle of the floor.  The local police force, over 30% of whom were controllers three months ago, elects to ignore this development.

•  Chapman loathes paperwork to the absolute depths of his soul.  Nothing, absolutely nothing, is worse than filing paperwork to get permission to file paperwork, and yet here he is.  The state of California cannot possibly need this many copies of Ashley Shawn’s transcript.  This has to be a torment invented by an evil god to punish him for everything he did aboard the Jahar.  There is no other explanation.

So when Ms. Hanna comes skidding into his office and announces “Science wing! There’s a brawl!” his first thought is, oh thank god.

His second thought is to wonder why she came to get him, skipping the security officer and Principal Walsh, but they’re already running by the time that occurs to him.

When they get there the press of screaming-chanting bodies fills the hall from end to end, but kids still find room to crowd out of the way when they see Chapman coming.  The circle of spectators breaks long enough to reveal the melee at the center, and—

Oh hell.  Chapman can tell exactly why Ms. Hanna got him first.

Fiona Aherne has one hand fisted in the collar of Tom Berenson’s shirt, and is punching him repeatedly in the face.  Joe Lassen catches her around the middle and rips her off Tom, tossing her to the floor, only to be caught in a side-tackle by Li Saren.  Beyond them, Hailey Ng and Bill Renaldi are hanging onto Asher Reed, until Asher suddenly rolls forward and body-slams Bill to the floor.

Chapman winces — so much for not using that Krav Maga. He's knocked aside as Jake shoves past him and dives in to the fray.

Principal Walsh is across the battlefield, staring in bafflement.  Shouting ineffectually for everyone to stop.  She doesn’t know, of course, what Tom and Joe and Asher all have in common.  What Bill and Li and Fiona and Hailey do.

Li has Tom by the throat from behind, which is why Jake throws himself onto Li with the gracelessness typical of a high-schooler.  Li head-butts Jake, only to have Jake, snarling, bite him in the face.

“Stop!” Chapman bellows.  “ALL OF YOU!  STOP!”

Jake drops off Li.  Hailey drops Asher.  Slowly the others lower their fists, glaring.

Good to know everyone’s fear of Iniss 226 is still good for something.

“Everyone in the Biology classroom,” Chapman barks, pointing at the door.  “Bill’s lot near the windows, Tom and the others by the door.  Move it!”

Principal Walsh stares at Chapman in confusion, which deepens when everyone obeys him without question.  He beckons first to Ms. Hanna, then to Mr. Tidwell, pointing them into the room as well.  They also take their places without question, Mr. Tidwell supervising the voluntary half of the room as Ms. Hanna covers the involuntaries.

Pausing in the doorway, Chapman turns at last to face Maggie Walsh.  His boss.  Who has the ability to fire him, if she misunderstands the situation.  “It’s about yeerks,” he settles for telling her.

Her look of bafflement doesn’t fade.  “How?”

Chapman opens his mouth. Hunts for words.

“Jake had nothing to do with this.”

Chapman doesn’t have to turn his head to know who spoke from the involuntary side of the room.  What a surprise, a Berenson kid running his mouth.

“Thank you for your input, Thomas.”  He spins around.  “That isn’t your call.”

Tom crosses his arms.  Between the fingernail marks down his cheek and the broken knuckles of his right hand, he looks the very picture of delinquency.

“He’s right,” Joe says, from the voluntary side of the room.  “It’s nothing to do with Jake.”  In Chapman’s peripheral vision, Maggie Walsh blinks several times.  He’ll explain later.  Or try to.

“Fine,” Chapman says.  “Jake, get back to class.”

Jake lifts his chin, blood striping the lower half of his face.  “I chose to get involved,” he says.  “I’ll take my punishment.”

“Oh yeah?” Tom says.  “Then what was the fight about?”

Jake looks from one side of the room to the other.  Both sides have ninth graders, twelfth graders, jocks and nerds, white and Black and brown kids.  Jake’s probably smart enough to identify several ex-controllers, and to guess at the rest, but unable to tell how or why they sorted themselves like they did.  Nonetheless, after a second he opens his mouth.

“That’s what I thought,” Chapman cuts him off.  “Anyway, if I suspend you then Marco and Rachel will have burned down the school within a week.  Fix your nose, then back to class.”

Knowing when he’s beat, Jake leaves.  Chapman makes a note he’ll also have to explain to Maggie how morphing works, and that he didn’t just order a 14-year-old to hand-set a broken nose.

“The involuntaries started it,” Bill announces, the moment Jake is gone.

“Yeah,” Tom snaps, “and the voluntaries are the ones who—”

“Who were lied to, instead of being coerced?” Mr. Tidwell suggests.

Tom shuts his mouth.

“Asher called me a traitor.”  Li points a finger across the room.

“Six months ago Li told me,” Asher says quietly, “that I should really join the Sharing.”

“And so,” Chapman drawls, “you had no choice but to punch each other in the face.  Is that correct?”

Tom mutters something under his breath that Chapman chooses not to catch.  He can’t threaten them, not this crowd.  Most of them have survived worse hells than the Geneva Convention ever dreamed of.  Detention means nothing.

Fine.  Persuasion it’ll have to be.  Fuck his life.  Chapman raises his voice to address the involuntaries.  “They—” He points to the voluntary side of the room.  “Are not the enemy.  The yeerks are the enemy, and the yeerks are dead.  Don’t start doing their work for them, you hear me?”

There’s a long silence.  Asher scuffs the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“Yeah,” Tom says at last.  “We hear you.”

“Everyone get checked at the nurse’s office,” Chapman tells the room at large.  “You’re all suspended for the rest of the week.”

Maggie Walsh takes a seat next to Chapman, even as the kids all file out.  Yeah.  He owes her an explanation.  Taking a deep breath, he tries to sum up what just happened.  Hopefully in a thousand words or less.

Don Tidwell, coward, takes that opportunity to slip out the door.

•  “Does anyone have anything to report?”  Jake looks around Cassie’s barn.  It’s still odd to see Ax and Tobias sitting out of morph and in the open.  There was a brief collective panic when Cassie’s mom poked her head in earlier to ask if they want any lemonade or feeder mice.

“I have,” Marco says grandly, “a date… with Destiny!”

«Oh, you mean Destiny Trembull in tenth grade?»  Tobias immediately undercuts this, because of course.  «She seems nice.»

“And we don’t even have to spend the next three days following her around,” Rachel comments, which gets Marco to lob a horse comb at her head.

«I have accessed one-hundred twenty-three additional channels on my television,» Ax adds.

Cassie and Jake exchange a glance.  “How’s it going, getting a ride home?” Cassie asks.  “Any word on that?”

Ax shrugs — he isn’t even going to fit in on the andalite homeworld anymore when he does finally get there — and looks away.  «I’ve been told that there are more important priorities concerning the Navy.»

«Their gratitude,» Tobias drawls, «is overwhelming.»

•  Chapman explains to Jake’s parents that Jake needs a therapist, and also permission to miss school if he needs to.  Chapman explains the Yeerk Empire and how exactly they recruit humans to Li Saren’s parents for the third, then the fourth, then the fifth time, until they are in tears and begging their son’s forgiveness for doubting him.  Chapman explains to the district that he has no idea how the school ended up with a staircase leading from a supply closet to the alien sinkhole, but that he wants it sealed up posthaste.  Chapman explains himself to Naomi Berenson, and then he does his best to explain Rachel as well.

• "No," Chapman tells the officious-looking little man sitting across his desk. "I don't know of anyone like that. I'm sorry, I wish I could be more help."

The man — he's probably a real detective, he has a badge — leans across the desk to push the photo array a little closer to Chapman. "You're sure? None of these individuals is a..." He glances at his notes. "Voluntary controller."

Chapman looks at the array, which includes images of nearly 100 students. Some of whom weren't controllers at all — that's Tobias Fangor in the upper left corner. Some of whom were lied to by the Sharing, and then lied to by the Yeerk Empire. Some of whom, like Bill Renaldi and his absolutely debilitating major depression, felt they had no choice but to give up their bodies. "Sorry," Chapman says. "None of these individuals appear to be voluntary controllers to the best of my knowledge."

The detective stares at Chapman, waiting for more information. Chapman stares back, waiting for the detective to get bored. He can do this all day, literal hours of silence if that's what it takes. He doubts any mere civilian can say the same.

Sure enough, the detective breaks first. "You see," he says, "we know for a fact that some of these individuals did, in fact, collude with the Yeerk Empire. And we have CCTV footage indicating that you might have been one of those colluders yourself. So anything you can do to help us out..."

Chapman lets the silence go for another minute, long enough for the detective to shift in place. "You're mistaken," he says at last. "About what it means to be a voluntary controller. Or an involuntary one, for that matter. The distinction you're seeking does not exist."

"I'm sorry." The guy has his notepad out now, pen moving. "You're saying... there's functionally no difference between the voluntary hosts and the involuntary ones?"

"Yes," Chapman says, unaware of the hell he's about to unleash. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

•  “Ms. Paloma’s being a butt,” Melissa says, spinning her chair with a toe on the floor.  “I told her that I have a French test the same day as the Bio one, but she just said that means I have to learn to manage my time.”

She just walked into his office.  Without knocking.  Without asking if he’s busy, if he minds, if he’s sure.  Without apologizing for her existence.  She walked in, she sat down uninvited, and now here she is complaining to him like any normal teenager.

“That sounds stressful.”  Chapman is choosing his words with infinite care.  He’s six years old again, holding a butterfly cupped in his palms and knowing that even a millimeter’s clumsiness will crush this precious living jewel.  Thinking this.  This is what I want.  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says.

She came in unprompted.  She just walked right in.

“I hate French.”  Melissa spins the chair again.  “It’s all those lists of vocab words, and I can’t even say half of them correctly…”

“Do you want me to help you study?” Chapman asks.

Her head pops up with the force of her surprised, pleased smile.  “You’d do that?”

That’s it, then.  He’s never leaving this job.  Paperwork and all.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Disco Elysium's setting was formerly the site of a communist revolution that established the Commune of Revachol. It didn't last long. The Coalition of Nations brutally put the communists down, divided the city among themselves, and enforced a free market capitalist system. The results are depressingly apparent in Revachol's dilapidated district of Martinaise. "The literacy rate is around 45% west of the river," Joyce Messier, a negotiator sent to parley with Martinaise's striking union, tells our protagonist. "Fifty years of occupation have left these people in an *oblivion* of poverty." This state of affairs is overseen by the Moralist International, a union of centre-left and centre-right parties that professes to represent the cause of humanism, but whose primary concern is transparently the preservation of capitalist interest – a Coalition official happily tells us that "the Coalition is only looking out for *ze price stabilitié*", arguing that inflation in Revachol must be prevented, comparing it to a heart disease that could block the "normal circulation of the economy". The people of Revachol don't matter. Their suffering and oppression is only significant as a necessary symptom of the system functioning as intended.  The most biting aspect of this critique of capitalist exploitation can be found in the cynicism of those who represent Moralism, or at least, its interests. The aforementioned Joyce Messier is its perfect embodiment. She does not believe in the facade of humanity Moralism presents to the world, and is under no illusions about what it has done to the people of Martinaise. She tells you how bad things are, freely admitting that the pieces of legislation put in place by the Moralist Coalition to govern Revachol are there to keep "the city in a [...] laissez-faire stasis to the benefit of foreign capital". This corrosion of belief via cynicism, this depiction of a system that continues to operate unimpeded despite few believing in it, feels all too familiar.  This critique of liberal capitalism's hypocrisy, cynicism, exploitation and deep-rooted connections to colonialism, is particularly powerful in recognising the precarious position it finds itself in. It has reached a stasis that seems, paradoxically, both insurmountable, and on the verge of collapse. Moralism relies on this contradiction. It's unofficial motto, "for a moment, there was hope", underlines the degree to which its dominance depends on the preclusion of the idea that a better world is possible, that there is no alternative, echoing the End of History sentiment that created the (rapidly disintegrating) political consensus of our lived reality. Despite growing dissatisfaction with the status quo in the real world, it has, indeed, proved difficult to imagine an alternative. The oft-repeated phrase attributed to literary critic and political theorist Fredric Jameson, that is is easier to imagine the end of the world than it is the end of capitalism, has almost become a cliché. However, the mistake Joyce makes, and one that we should avoid, is to assume that this means an alternative won't emerge nonetheless.

[...]

In a world where everyone is encouraged to look out for themselves, Disco Elysium suggests we should remember the value of collectivity, camaraderie and community. The Deserter has forgotten that though the communism he identified with is dead, the values that brought people to its cause in search of a better world remain as valid as ever. Bleak as it is, those values exist in Martinaise. They exist in us. Their latent power has the potential to lead us towards better horizons. 

[vintagehellfire]

Danse Macabre | E.M x Reader

summary: Your best friend invites you to a concert that you're less than keen on but you get much more devil worship than you bargained for.

warnings: porn without plot, plot? What plot?, choking, nipple play, blood play, bruising, oral (m receiving), sacrilege, bdsm, dom sub dynamics, just really stupid horny honestly. Eyefucking, teasing, edging???? Spit kink, mask kink, devil worship. This is just pure filth honestly, piv, unprotected sex (don’t do this with strangers ya’ll pls I’m begging) mdni 18+

word count: 8.6k

Thank you to @the-unforgivenn for beta reading this pure filth for me and for correcting my atrocious keystroke mistakes. I love you so much babe.

part two

How you got dragged to some sort of musical satanic ritual by your best friend Lilly was far beyond you. The heavy instrumentals contrasted too harshly with the light and theatrical vocals. If looks could kill, Lilly would be dead. This wasn’t your scene, it never would be, it’s what you told yourself. Sipping your gin, arms crossed, you scrunch your face, the bartender having been too busy staring at your chest while he poured your drink, resulting in a rather disgusting concoction. As if the night couldn’t get any worse. 

One of the lighter intro songs came to an end before the pyrotechnics roared to life next to you, one of the guitarists emerged from behind the waft of smoke. It was then that your breath caught in your throat, the way that he played had you hypnotised, placing you in a trance so deep that you couldn’t tear your eyes from him even if you wanted to, veins protruding. Your eyes trailed over his body, tight jeans fitting to his body and a uniform dress shirt adorning his torso, long sleeves and turtleneck underneath, hiding any soft skin. As you would be met with a face, you were surprised to find that you were met with a helmet of sorts, breathing tubes and other such accessories adorning it, as well as sticking out the top. His eyes burned red like embers behind the wide goggles, a darkness swallowing the man behind the mask and drawing you in. Curiosity got the better of you, you watched closely  when he stomped to the beat of the songs. he fans collectively let out a wave of screams, throwing flowers on stage. You rolled your eyes so hard they probably should have rolled out of your head. Were you attracted to the masked musician? In some capacity sure, but wholly? No. They just… they knew how to play well and those hands… you could admit those hands were something. You shook your head to rid yourself of impure thoughts, it wasn’t like you liked the music anyway. 

Your face was stone cold and your arms were crossed over your chest unhappily, cleavage pushed up, and the leather of your jacket creaking. That was the thing about you, you’d rather die than remove your prized biker jacket. It was your battle armour, much like the guitarists get up seemed to be the band’s uniform. To them, it protected their identity, and it protected you – you wouldn’t be caught off guard, you wouldn’t be vulnerable, you couldn’t. Your icy stare pierced through the smoke, through the flames, as you focused your gaze on the guitarist in front of you. His white guitar distinguished  him from everyone else just as your expression did you –perfectly sour.

The crowd behind you chanted along to the songs, screaming about Lucifer and the congregation and whatever other shit you chose to ignore in favour of your best friend. Lilly was one of them, jumping up and down, chanting every word of the hymns the lead singer belted out to the tune of the strong bass line and the chugging of guitars. As much as you wanted her to have fun, you rolled your eyes, this wasn’t your scene. Every song that started out heavy led to a disappointment with the vocals or the rock opera and so you just opted to be the designated party pooper and give your best glare towards the lead guitarist who seemed all too interested in your corner of the stage. He wailed on his guitar harder than you’d seen anyone wail on one before, a flash of worry briefly crossing your mind but you quickly pushed it down. 

The masked man played through his songs flawlessly, fingers moving expertly across the fretboard, mind and body completely in tandem; however your pout, your knit eyebrows, and crossed arms caught his eye, he’d stare back at you through his tinted goggles, smiling softly to himself at how adorable you looked when you were so grumpy. He could tell this wasn’t your scene and so during the slow and long intro to a song he walked over to the very front, standing just a few feet above you.  He tilted his head to the side, his mask listing as he stared, playing the intro as his eyes never left yours. 

The small movement caught your attention, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as you felt like the glowing embers behind the goggles were burning into your very soul, dissecting every little secret. He slowly points to himself before he gets his queue to jump into his next riffs, stomping away as he pushed through the heavy chords that thundered through the concert hall. You dared not admit it to yourself, but something inside you snapped, a warmth starting to spread between your legs. No, no you couldn’t possibly be attracted to this, right? But just as that thought entered your mind, it shot out of your head and straight to your heart when you saw the man before you strut over to his bandmate. The two bent over backwards together, the taller of the two supporting the back of the man with the white guitar. A cute moment, or so you thought, but as soon as the shorter was up for his solo, the taller wrapped an arm around him and pawed at his cock, tugging him into his muscled body, catching the one you had your eye on off guard. He rocked his hips into the other and rested his masked head on the shorter shoulder, fake panting. He did not falter however, and that had your brain reeling. 

With a small smack on the ass, the taller let him go, strutting away as the crowd erupted in ear shattering screeches, and if what had just transpired wasn’t one of the hottest things you’d seen, you would have absolutely rolled your eyes, but instead it had you shifting in your place, all too keenly aware of the small flare of heat that lapped at you and the proximity of the other bodies surrounding you. You suddenly felt small, trapped; and you wanted nothing more than to run out and dunk your head under some ice cold water. What was wrong with you? Your eyes darted from side to side, hoping your best friend Lilly wouldn’t notice. 

What went on next was just about to make anyone lose their minds, the lead guitarist started to throw guitar picks into the crowd, plucking one last one from his guitar and marching over to directly in front of you. The song they played next was clearly well known but it was only vaguely familiar to you, it was one you would listen to ironically while doing the dishes, one that you didn’t care much for, but was catchy nonetheless. What you didn’t realise was just how suggestive the lyrics were – and so when the man with the white guitar stood in front of you, spreading his legs to put himself in a more comfortable playing stance you thought nothing about it but his next motions had your panties soaking themselves in your slick. A long and crooked finger pointed to himself quickly, then he went back to wailing on his precious guitar just before giving himself a window of about a second to stop, his ring and middle finger very rapidly turned upwards, flicking rapidly as if motioning fingering you, his goggles deadlocked on your eyes. You could tell he was watching you for a reaction, and how you knew you wouldn’t be able to tell. Christ, maybe you should have listened to Lilly when she was telling you this band was horny. Truthfully, you had shrugged it off, what, some singer in a pope mask acting all horny? That didn’t exactly get your rocks off, but the moment you laid eyes on the masked men playing their instruments, all rational thought flew out the window. 

Little did you know that the guitarist did have his eyes set on you, all queues already learned, his body moving on auto pilot, his performance was deliberately exaggerated just for you, his motions tailored to get you hot and bothered. He knew he played the best role, and as the show went on, with the lack of water, and the horrid head, he knew his veins were pronouncing themselves even more, fingers sliding around, fingering the fretboard with an expert speed. Every nook, cranny, and metal notch memorised by the calluses on the pads of his fingers, like an old lover he’d always know how to please. He would pride himself on it, on his accuracy, and he was thankful, oh so thankful, that his death metal band had allowed him the dexterity to pull something such as this off. 

Your eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from his figure, stalking his every move like a predator with their prey, A game of cat and mouse you both played with each other from the stage and the crowd. At this point, all shame was thrown out the window and you were openly eye fucking him, blood boiling in your veins and mouth starting to run a little dry. 

The final nail in the coffin was during their heaviest song during the show, a calm moment before the storm, before the stadium exploded in a downpour of black and white paper confetti. Your eyes fixated on the man before you as the song slows to a steady chug, breathy whispers sung into the microphones. It made your head spin as you were trying to compose yourself, breath hitching as the object of your lustful affection met your gaze. His black inky goggles bored you as he brought a shaky hand up, his other hand chugging the low E of his guitar. You were transfixed by the man, unable to peel your eyes from him as he slowly and seductively licked his hand, tongue expertly flicking between his fingers, his shaky breaths becoming ragged and exaggerated. Pressing his hand to his chest, he threw his head back in a moan, sliding his elegant fingers down the front of his uniform until it was level with his guitar, and exactly in time with his strumming, he fisted his hand and with a teasing motion he tugged at the air. Your mouth ran completely dry as you registered that he was feigning masturbation in front of thousands of people. He had you caught in a trance, hypnotised by his agonising motions, his eyes seemingly staring into your very soul, picking apart every last bit of you - he saw the scars inside and your desires all rolled into one. As his actions picked up, one hand still busy on his guitar, you let out a choked breath, transfixed by the man, ghoul, whatever he was, before you. He commanded all your attention, causing your mouth to run completely dry but it couldn’t have prepared you for his “release”--  letting go the moment the confetti cannon exploded. Your jaw slacked, a strangled moan flying from your mouth as you clenched your thighs together, mouth slightly agape. 

The guitarist knew he had you in a chokehold at that very moment, smirking from underneath his coverings. Flawlessly he jumped back into the song and turned away from you, the game of cat and mouse had become too much, too real. It had only taken him an hour and a half to break you down, but once he did he felt a satisfaction he couldn’t explain, and of course he would try to hide it as he continued to strut across the stage as if he owned it. The reality was that he didn’t want to give away just the way this little game had affected him as well, an undeniable strain in his lower half. If his bandmates had noticed, they had clearly made it their mission to torture him, the rhythm guitarist getting on his knees in front of him during a solo, fucking into his own guitar as he pressed his head to the lead guitarists thigh. It wasn’t until the lead placed a boot on his shoulder to push away from him that the one on his knees relented, the crowd exploding in a rain of screams, and yet all you heard was the rush of blood in your ears. You resigned, the game had been won.

As you tried to catch your breath, you looked over to Lilly, thanking Satan that she hadn’t noticed your turmoil. The rest of the show had you holding your breath, knowing that the masked musician had made it his mission to play games with you.  the show ended, you were relieved, you might have a moment yet to go home and get yourself off, forgetting the whole of the events that transpired. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here and to the merch table before it gets too crowded!” Lilly cheered, sticking her handout for you to take, but as soon as she looked over your face her eyes drained of excitement. “Oh, are you okay? You look a little pale,” she noted, tilting her head to the side. 

“Y-yeah, I,” You cleared your throat, “I’m fine, just feeling a little warm. I think I might head home but you go grab some merch. I’ll text you,” you lied cooly. You didn’t want her to know the profound effect that the lead guitarist had on you. With a nod she gave your shoulder a squeeze and darted off. 

You could finally breathe, the suffocation that gripped at your throat just moments earlier had slightly dissipated. As dirty as your thoughts were at the moment, it was in your best interest to get moving, and so, as if on autopilot, you let your feet carry you as far from the stage as possible. You slipped past the crowd, weaving in and around groups of friends, teenagers reeling about the show, displeased parents. You wanted to beeline it out of there before anyone noticed you but unfortunately your plan was short lived as you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist and tug you behind a closed door. 

Your brain ran at a mile a minute, trying to figure out whether it was cause for alarm, but as your back collided with the wall behind you, you were met with the masked ghoul from the stage pressing his knee between your legs, pinning you in place. All colour drained from your face as your breathing laboured. There wasn’t any fear in your body, not any longer, and if there had been any,it had been replaced with undeniable arousal, heat being sent straight to your core. It took all your willpower not to grind into his thigh.

“Hey, sweetheart.” The husky voice purred, a small accent peaking through. He smelled intoxicating, like amber and cigarettes, a tinge of iron poking through in the softest of undertones. It drove you crazy, mind spinning, dizzy with want. He cocks his head to the side, his nautical mask tilting, the black goggles seemingly bottomless, swallowing his eyes. The musician’s expression is completely unreadable and if you knew any better you’d say it was like a predator who had caught his prey. Your mistake was thinking the little game you both played was over, yet now it seems like it had just begun. The man leans into you, invading your space completely, his covered mouth coming up beside your ear. “Oh you thought our little game was over, didn’t you?” He pulls back, allowing your caged body some space. “Don’t think I didn’t see you, little one.” His sweet voice purrs, setting you over the edge, hips finally pushing into his leg as your head tilts back, smacking softly into the wall.

“Fuck…” The syllable leaves your mouth as a groan before you can do anything about it. Surely you were dreaming this, but when you opened your eyes, you were met with the same mask, the same expression that stared at you from the stage. 

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart, I’ll have to bring you to the green room. We’ll paint it red in sin .” You swore you could hear him wink from behind his coverings but you didn’t care, satan, you didn’t care as long as you could have him. You’d worship him in uniform, all sweat slicked and bloody if you had to. In this moment you had a one track mind and you’d be damned if you didn’t act on your desires… but maybe having these desires meant that you were already damned. “What, not as bold anymore? Devil got your tongue?” He mused. 

“Are you going to run your mouth or are you going to fuck me?” You spit out at him, a feigned venom behind your words, but they were too lust drenched to be taken harshly. In an instant his body was against yours, thigh pressing into your cunt, slowly rubbing back and forth.

“Earn it.” He growled out, face burying itself into the crook of your neck to pepper both kisses and love bites across your jugular. Your body caught fire, desperate to be taken by the mysterious man then and there. You hadn’t seen his face and you were mildly worried that seeing it would ruin the illusion. Would you even find him attractive under all his coverings? You didn’t have time to think about it before his hands came to the meat of your ass, tugging you against him with a burning desire, fire coursing through his veins. The strangled moan that ripped from your throat was one you weren’t expecting, but did it ever feel right, his strained cock digging into your hips as he pushed your body closer to his. You could tell he was well endowed even through the fabric of his trousers, a heat creeping up your neck at this realisation. 

“Don’t tease.” You spat, hands coming up to grip his slightly torn jacket, his arm coverings hiding any identifiers. You were going off of nothing aside from the little fire element pin that was securely pinned to the lapel of his uniform. Your hands found themselves tugging him forward, daring him to kiss you. 

“Don’t be a brat.” The stranger growled, swiftly lowering the cloth covering his mouth before assaulting your lips with his. It was all teeth and tongues, pure lust taking over every one of your senses, and it seemed to be true for him as well. You kissed back furiously, nipping at his bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from him that would turn into a groan as you rolled your hips against his, begging for some relief. “Easy, pet.” He muttered against the plushness of your mouth, a small tender moment slipping through the cracks. As much as you enjoy rough, there was a certain swell that filled your heart in knowing that he wouldn’t push too far. 

Your escapades were all tongue, teeth, and lips, strangled moans, and tugging at each other’s clothes until you both reached the green room wherethe band was supposed to be, however, your mystery man had ensured to clear it before he went out to find you. The only time either one of you broke from one another was for air or to push the door closed, locking it in the process. Both of you were too impatient, a carnal desire for one another pooling into your veins, fire spreading through you both and kindling in that very low spot in your abdomens.

“If you need me to stop, the safe word is Beelzebub.” The man’s husky voice cut through the groans, tugging your hips forward into his by the belt loops. He gave you a moment to process what he had said, but instead you grabbed onto his mask and tugged his head forward, lapping at his bottom lip in order to gain access to his mouth. As soon as he parted his lips, you were welcomed by his tongue dancing in tandem with yours. He tasted of wintergreen and cigarette smoke, a combination so sinful, so depraved that you should have been turned off, instead it flooded you with desire. 

“Need you.” You panted out between kisses, the man unrelenting his assault on your mouth. You were utterly soaked through, and you were certain that the musician could smell you but you didn’t care, not right now anyway. You should have been embarrassed by being taken like this but it just turned you on even more knowing that maybe you would get to live out your newly discovered kink instead of trying to soothe — or smother — the flames by yourself. 

“Do you need me?” The man mused. “Mmm, prove it to me, my little devil.” His hand crept from your waist down to your hips, and from your hips down to between your legs, agonizingly circling your cunt, thumb pressing into the seam of your jeans in the exact spot your clit would be in. “Show me how needy you are for me… Go on…” His husky voice teased. When you didn’t react he spun you so your back would be to him, a strong arm holding you against his body while the other busied himself with teasing you. His breath was by your ear now, and his cock pressed into your ass. He was so worked up that he began to rut his hips forward, moaning at the friction. His moan elicited a reaction in you, causing you to throw your head back onto his shoulder, mouth falling open. The tassels on his overcoat swayed with each rut of his hips, tickling the side of your face. You couldn’t imagine he wasn’t warm in his get up but you were too occupied to do anything about it. 

“Please, fuck, I need you.” You choked out, eyes screwed shut as he teased. You felt him lick a stripe up your neck before nipping just underneath your ear as a small warning before latching his lips to the sensitive spot, sucking a dark bruise into your skin. The sickening combination of his lips on your neck, his hard on rubbing against your ass, and his fingers teasing your clothed cunt was becoming too much, driving your senses crazy. A low growl emanated from deep within his chest, reverberating across your back from the proximity.

“Then get down on your knees….” He spins you around, voice low and husky as he shoves you down, a mix of fear and burning desire settling in the deepest pits of your stomach. Your knees hit the ground with a thud and you’d be sure to bruise later, but that was a small price to pay. You watched him undo his belt and pull his zipper down before bringing his hand back up to his face, licking it slowly like he had during the show. You knew what was coming but what you didn’t expect was him to give you one last order as he spidered his fingers down the ruffled fabric of his shirt. “And pray.” An animalistic snarl came from beyond the mask as his fingers trailed into his boxers this time. The man tugged his cock out and began to stroke himself, chest heaving, his breathing became laboured. 

“Oh, god.” You uttered, but the musician didn’t seem to like that. He let go of his cock, allowing it to bounce against his stomach, a stark contrast with his black attire. It looked delicious with the little opalescent bead of precum nestled on the very tip. 

“No, my pet,” he purred, his thumb coming to your lips, slipping past them and into your mouth. It tasted of brass and sweat yet you opted to hollow your cheeks around it anyway, “you answer to our savior, satanus here. You are no longer in the house of god.” There was a cruelty behind his voice, corruption on his tongue. You would have thought the theatrics would have instantly had you shoving him away, but instead it left you craving the masked man, mouth salivating at the thought of him completely ruining you. 

Without much warning, he tapped his cock on your lips, his precum smudging across your lips, and satanus, was it going to be his death. Your dark smudge of red lipstick would become ruins in the wake, the thought of a red ring around his member had his brain short circuiting, if you didn’t take him in your mouth soon he was going to lose it. Luckily you complied, opening wide to accommodate his size, letting your tongue lap at his tip as he slid in. He started slowly, almost carefully in order not to hurt you but soon enough you pushed his cock to the back of your throat, eliciting a strangled moan from him. His hands flew to your hair, desperate to hold onto something, anything, and he tugged you forward, pulling a moan from the very back of your throat. You pulled back, saliva building up in your mouth mixing with the salty taste of his seed.It wasn’t something you expected to like but you found yourself chasing it, craving more. 

Your head bobbed over his length, your moans muffled as you tried to take him deeper, his tip brushing the back of your throat. His delicate resolve broke then and there, slamming into you at a frantic pace. He chased his high, immense pleasure searing through his veins as he fucked into your mouth like an animal, all sense of self control was gone. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, giving him the most innocent look you could muster as you flicked your tongue over his tip, lapping at his slit. Agonisingly you pulled back, employing the aid of your hand around his length, taking only part of him in your mouth. You jacked him off as you hollowed your cheeks around his tip, tongue expertly flicking over his frenulum and eliciting the most pornographic moan from him.

“Satanus, save me.” The man hissed from above you, pulling on your hair to draw you closer. He was losing control, babbling about how pretty you looked on your knees for him. “You are so exquisitely sinful, my pet.” His chest heaved with every breath he took, fingers tangling themselves further into your head of hair, fingernails practically at your scalp. 

You take the praise and you run with it, taking it as a signal to keep going, and this time you move your free hand up his leg, rubbing over his thigh as a tease, a preamble to what you were going to do next. You took his groan as a confirmation to continue, his breaths coaxing you to keep going. You slid your hand up, opting to rub his thigh teasingly, savouring the feeling of the looser material under your fingertips, toying with it before you continued your journey up. While your mouth and right hand busied themselves with his thick cock, your left hand came up to fondle his heavy balls. Who knew that praying to a false idol could be so pleasurable. 

“Oh, oh, f-fuck.” The taller threw his head back, voice gruff and fucked out, clearly enjoying this more than he should have been. He was rapidly losing any grip on the situation and he needed to extract himself from it unless he wanted to spill into your mouth. It was his nightmare, his most sinful fantasy, having you like this after the show – a stranger, a person in the crowd. The amount of people that would absolutely kill to be in your position and it was likely that you weren’t appreciating it as you should have been. The man keened before tugging you back harshly, his hips stuttering at the sudden loss of contact from your mouth. “If you keep going like that, I’m going to cum down your throat, sweetheart.” There was a certain level of concern laced into his tone, one that you glossed over through your lust. 

“Holy shit…” You breathe out, pupils completely blown, the colours of your irises practically disappearing due to how clouded your mind was with him, only him, nothing but him, and how divine his cock was. At your words, something inside him snaps and he grabs your throat, pulling you up. You could feel yourself growing more aroused by the minute. How he had guessed that you’d be into choking was beyond you, but fuck was this doing things to you that you hadn’t even thought possible. 

“There is nothing Holy here.” He growled out, a darkness overtaking his voice. His words sent a cold shiver down your spine, one that found itself shooting down towards your core, causing you to press to him. The ember glow from behind his goggles scanned over your face, flickering, igniting a fire in the bits of your belly. “Here we succumb to our lust.” He breathes before letting your neck go only to bring his hand down to your chest and massage your breast, pinching gently through the fabric of your tank top. In an instant, his mouth attacked your neck savagely, teeth nipping at the thin skin, tongue flicking over the bites to soothe them. You tilt your head back to accommodate him, your breathy moans coming up right beside his ear as you rut into him. You’re desperate to be fucked at this point, needing him more than you need to breathe. 

He pierced your skin with his canines, an animalistic desire for you taking over him. He could no longer think, all consumed by his desires. You felt his lips trail down, soft as a butterfly’s wings, stopping at your jugular vein before he bit down, causing you to let out a yelp. Your cry of pain turned into a pornographic moan as he sucked and lapped at your salty skin, a small sheen of sweat starting to gloss over you as you burned up. If this was what being in hell was like, you’d have a hard time coming up with reasons to wind up in heaven. Your torture didn’t end there; however, as he snaked his free hand up to your cheek, holding you in place tenderly as he continued his assault on your neck. He made it his mission to mark you up as his but you were too far gone to care. 

“Oh Christ.” You moaned as he lapped at the bite marks he left, but he didn’t seem to like this. Not that you could see this much, but his eyes turned dark as he trailed his lips farther down, burying his face in the crook of your neck before he bit down hard enough to draw blood. Your pain was immediately covered in a strangled cry of pure ecstasy as he tugged you towards him, his hand on your breast moving to your hip, surely bruising it, fingerprint embedded in the skin of your hip bone. 

The taste of iron filled the musician’s mouth, his hard on reacting to your metallic taste, pressing into your hip involuntarily. He couldn’t get enough of you - the intoxicating smell of amber and palo santo mixed with the salt from sweat, and the citrus of the gin… He wanted to ruin you once and for all. 

“No, my pet, you are not in the house of God. Only the devil resides here. Will I need to have you pray to me again?” The growl that ripped from his throat has you soaking your lace panties, a choked sob escaping from your parted lips. As he took you in, he noted that you already looked completely fucked out, the bruising on your neck blooming like deep red roses, a symbol of both love and devotion. The only thing you could do was shake your head in answer to him. “Mmm,” the stranger hummed, “your body and blood are mine, sweetheart.” He teased you. As your chest heaved, you examined him, traces of your blood down his chin, and some smeared across his mask, his lips were swollen from the harsh and animalistic kisses he was giving you, and satanus were you ever attracted to him in this moment. 

“Please… Can I see you?” You plead, your hands coming to his waist, trailing down slowly, your right hand making contact with his cock. The soft cant of his hips encouraged you to grip it gently, stroking him languidly as you await his answer. “Please…” You repeated, eyes desperately boring into the void behind his goggles. 

“Oh, is my little pet desperate to see me?” He cooed out, his fingers skillfully finding your belt, undoing it at a painfully slow pace. It was your turn to buck your hips into him, rolling them into his touch. “Mmm, such a little slut, can’t wait until I get my hands on you, can you?” He teased. 

“Satanus, yes, please! Wanna see you.” You groaned, breath catching as he slowly teased you through your jeans. “Need you, need- need- ah!” You cried, throwing your head back once again, eyes fluttering shut from absolute pleasure. It’s then that the man opted to unzip your fly, pausing his animalistic activities to gently tug your jeans over your hips. You weren’t having any of this slow and sweet shit; however, and kicked them off as soon as you got the chance to, allowing him easier access to your sopping cunt. The smell hit him immediately and he moaned, head falling against your forehead, his breathing ragged and strained. His cock reacted, bouncing in your hand and you continued your teasing. 

“Then beg me for it, pet. I don’t think you’ve earned the opportunity to unmask me just yet.” His resolve crumbled with every soft touch, every stroke. He pushed into your hand and you took that as a sign to speed your motions before you pushed him back. Confusion was written across his features, that was until you let a healthy glob of spit hit his angry cock. “Oh mother fuck.” The man hissed out, crashing his bloodied lips into your own, allowing the metallic taste of your own blood to permeate your tongue. You reciprocated, tongue swiping across his bottom lip, begging for entrance. He parted his lips, granting you access, as he swiftly moved your panties to the side, his thick fingers slipping between your weeping folds. It took everything in him to not take you then and there, your pussy sucking his fingers in, tight and wet. 

“Please, please, I need to see you.” You sobbed out between kisses, but it was clear that it wasn’t enough. The musician growled at your words, dipping his index into your slick and using it as a lubricant to tease your clit with, it took him a moment but he found the bundle of nerves. The instanthis calloused finger landed on your clit, your vision exploded into stars, mouth practically running on its own, incoherent pleas and various iterations of “more” tumbling from your swollen lips. You were finally giving him something to work with, the pleas, the praises. He continued working your cunt, curling his fingers into the sweet spot deep inside you, warm walls squeezing against him. 

“Oh, darling. I’ll give you whatever your sinful heart desires.” He nipped at your bottom lip, splitting it with his canines before he pulled back, panting as he tried to catch his breath, however he refused to remove his hand from your cunt, slowing his movements only a fraction so that he could catch his bearings. “Are you sure?” He asked you, a worry laced in his voice. You nodded fervently, a saccharine look in your eyes peeking through beyond the undeniable lust. Whether you understood he was anxious about what you would think of him or not wasn’t apparent but regardless, you wanted to know who the man you were bound to fuck was. 

With a swift move he tugged the mask off, tossing it to the couch behind him and removing his balaclava. What you hadn’t expected was the sight to take your breath away completely. His hair tumbled out of the bun he had it tucked into, and the messy curls cascaded down his shoulders, doe eyes framed by the prettiest eyelashes you’d ever seen, and his swollen lips? God you couldn’t even think anymore. You immediately kissed them, nipping at his lips, taking his bottom lip into your mouth and sucking, tearing a moan from him, his lust filled eyes expanding even farther as you continued your assault on his lips. You bit down harder this time, cracking his lip. This time the metallic taste belonged to him and you couldn’t help but moan at his taste. You needed more. 

“Please, I- I need you…” You panted, eyeing the man with carnal desire. 

“Eddie, my name is Eddie.” And with that final confession he grabbed you by the hip and dragged you back to the roomiest surface he could find. It was all teeth, tongue, and the metallic taste of each other’s blood. Your hand on his cock and his fingers still working you open, movements becoming more erratic as he practically drilled into you with his fingers, setting an unrelenting pace that he seemed eager to keep up. Your knees hit the back of a couch, and his arm immediately shot to the small of your back, gently lowering you, a contrast to how he was abusing your needy body. Your hands moved to his hair in preparation for what was to come, yanking at his soft locks, releasing a deep moan from low in his chest. His hair was silky underneath your fingertips, few tangles in the way or your mission. 

“Eddie, please.” You whined, flush with desire, unable to think of what you wanted anymore than wanting him. A smirk adorned his lips and he sank his knees onto the soft cushion, knees bracketing your hips perfectly, his hands coming up to frame your face, curls ticking your cheekbones as he did so. 

“Open up, sweetheart.” He cooed. Instinctively you parted your lips for him only to feel a glob of his spit fly into your mouth. “Now swallow like the good devil worshipping slut you are.” You obeyed without question, swallowing down his spit with a pornographic moan. As you did, he took a moment to line himself up for you. “God, you look so beautiful, blasphemous doesn’t even begin to cover it, pet.” He praised as he rubs his dick against your soaked entrance, your hips rocking into him, threatening to suck him in. He hissed but slid his hand down your body, tracing your figure with his fingers, teasing in the most tantalising way, once he reaches your ass, he gives it a harsh slap at which you gasp out, choking on your breath, the sting of his hand making contact with your ass radiating a heat you hadn’t thought possible. You hadn’t expected it in the least but it was welcome nonetheless. “Behave.” He growled out, a darkness seeping into the word.

“P-Please, Eds… I need - I can’t, please.” You babbled, words completely incoherent. You weren’t even sure what you were begging for at this point. His cock? His fingers? Were you asking to be fucked stupid? In all your incoherent ramblings and begging Eddie caught one thing that made his brain fuzzy around the edges. “Corrupt me satanus, corrupt me, please.” Playing into the whole devil worship aspect had him gone, his hips violently snapping into yours, completely disregarding that you might need to adjust to the stretch. Part of him felt bad, but your immediate response was to wrap your legs around his waist, crying his name out as tears brimmed your eyes, mascara beginning to run down your cheeks. To Eddie, you looked absolutely perfect. He leaned in and peppered kisses across your face to wipe away the tears that trickled down. 

“S’this what you want, my little pet? You want me to ruin you?” His husky voice was in your ear as he dipped his head lower, his hips rolling into yours slowly. He moved masterfully for someone so scrawny, cock buried to the hilt as he rocked into you. Your mouth fell slack, tightening your legs around his waist and tugging him into you. “Come on, answer me, sweetheart.” He coaxed, pulling out of you slowly before snapping his hips into yours. The pleasure and pain mixed together in a teasing dance, keeping you on the edge and overwhelming your senses all the same. You couldn’t verbally answer and so you turned your head, tucking your face into his neck and kissing up to his ear. About halfway up you landed on a sensitive spot, causing a moan to tumble from his lips, a shiver running down your spine. You latched on like a vampire, sucking over the spot, lapping over it with your tongue to soothe any violent bites you inflicted upon him. In turn he bit into your shoulder, trying to ground himself in reality instead of losing himself to carnal pleasure, the coil in his abdomen tightening evermore. His plan had gone to shit the moment you continued to nibble on his neck, your hands tugging harder at his lock, pulling him further into you. With a slight upward tilt of your hips, Eddie hit a new angle when he snapped his hips into yours, ploughing deeper into you. The both of you moaned in unison before he released a strangled whimper. It was your turn to break skin, your mouth filled with the crimson substance that sustained Eddie’s life. Releasing your lips from the wound, you kissed over his neck and to his shoulder, smearing the fluid across his upper half. 

His pace picked up, slamming into you, deeper and deeper, nothing but the sound of breathless lovers, bodies colliding, and the sweet ecstasy of carnal desire flooding the green room. Your hand then came to his back, scratching down it and eliciting a whine from the man above you. 

“Please, please, please.” You chanted into his neck. It was as if he understood what you meant, his hand coming down between your joined bodies to rub over the bundle of nerves, little figure eights being drawn over your clit. You were going to lose your mind, and maybe even your soul. Would selling it to the devil be so bad? It didn’t take long after that for a white heat to build, a pressure that you weren’t used to building, the coil tightening, threatening to snap like an elastic band. 

“Oh, shit, sweetheart, I’m close.” The man turned his head, kissing up your neck, over your cheek, and found your lips. His kiss was searing hot, burning with need. He chased his release with you, trying to bring you as close to the edge as he could, hoping you might be able to finish at the same time. “Don’t want to finish until you do.” The devil could be generous if he wanted to be.

“S’close.” You panted against his swollen lips, unable to give any coherent answer to him, not that you cared. If laying in sin felt this good, you’d bed the devil any day. “Please, Eds… Don’t stop.” And somehow he kept at it, the same pace, same pressure, same rough and unrelenting fuck that he had been using for the past few minutes. He knew that don’t stop also meant that he shouldn’t change a single fucking thing he was doing, and rightfully so. With a cry, you closed your eyes tight, lights dancing behind your eyelids as you came, the elastic finally snapping, and your release soaking Eddie’s stage uniform. 

“Oh- fuck!” The man squeaked, his own release following shortly after. He could have sworn he saw stars in that moment, arms shaking beneath his own weight. His body fully collapsed on top of yours, your arms wrapping around him tightly, kisses tenderly placed on his shoulder. “So perfect f’me.” He mumbled into your sticky skin, reluctantly peeling from you. His brutal and domineering demeanour melted away, replaced by a certain level of care. You could see it behind his eyes clearly. “You okay, sweetheart?” He cooed, brushing your hair from your face, a few strands sticking to your forehead. 

“Y-yeah.” You shakily breathe out, your voice hoarse from the activities that had just taken place. As you try to prop yourself up on your shoulders, you wince, a pain shooting through you. “Just sore.” You murmured, suddenly shy under the musician’s gaze. You didn’t dare look at him anymore, a twinge of shame filling your heart. 

“Hey, sweetheart, come here.” He mumbled, scooting closer, not daring to pull out just yet. He pulls you up, legs entangled with each other in a pile of limbs, unsure of where one person ended and the other began. He pressed your warm body to his, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, rubbing soothing circles over your back, his gentle voice whispering sweet nothings to you. 

“Thank you, Eddie.” You mumbled into his skin, placing a tender kiss over a forming bruise. “That was something else.” He hummed in agreement, allowing his eyes to flutter close for a second, letting himself enjoy a fleeting moment of human contact while he was on tour. While the guys were wonderful and he loved them to death, there was a certain intimacy that he missed in lovers. One that he didn’t indulge in as much these days. 

Reluctantly, he pulled out and you pulled away, debating whether to say anything to him, or whether you wanted to indulge in some more pleasantries. If you were any wiser and more observant you’d have noticed the longing in his eyes, his gaze trailing over your figure as you pushed away to gather your belongings. It was odd to say that the musician would have wanted you to stick around for some more aftercare, it would have been even stranger if he admitted to you that he just wanted you to stick around post coitus and have a drink, maybe a smoke, and get to know each other. 

“Hey, hang on, let me clean you up.” His voice softened, taking you aback. “Come on, pet, I’m not gonna leave you like this.” He gets up only to tuck himself back into his slick soaked uniform, cringing as he does so. He grabs a water bottle from the nearby table and a small cloth kept on the vanity in the far corner of the room. “Come on, just sit.” He motioned back over to the couch and watched as you hesitantly padded over. You sat down on the cleanest area you could find, squirming as you began to feel Eddie’s cum slipping out of you. 

“S’fine, you don’t have to.” You mumbled, turning away from the man. He sighed as he approached you, sinking to his knees before starting to clean your thighs. He worked his way up between your legs, cleaning the leaking spend from your cunt. He placed a few gentle kisses to the tops of your thighs, your eyes flicking over to him as he did so. That was the moment you got a good look at the man. Dark ink littered his skin, barely an inch was pure, untouched, the only areas you couldn’t see his tattoos were the areas in which you had drawn blood, the dried fluid flaking slowly. He continued cleaning you up, rubbing gentle and warm circles with the wet cloth. Part of you couldn’t help but find this incredibly thoughtful, your heart squeezing at the gestures, but the other half of you believed that you were probably just an easy lay. 

“Hush, yes I do. It’s the least I can do.” His doe eyes met yours as he looked up at you through his lashes. “I made a mess of you, darling, and I need to clean you up.” His voice was sincere, soft even, and you couldn’t help but melt. You allowed him to tend to your tired limbs, and once he got to your neck, he apologised, knowing that it would probably hurt. You couldn’t help but stare at the softness behind his eyes, the fire that burned within had fizzled out and was replaced by some unnamed emotion. As the towel made contact with your neck, you winced, earning yourself a kiss from the musician. It shocked you that even after the heat of the lustful moment he was still willing to kiss you but you accepted it, melting into his lips. They were soft, a little chapped, but inviting nonetheless. 

“Thank you.” You whispered against them, afraid your voice would give out if you spoke any louder. Your hand came up to his face, brushing your thumb over his sharp cheekbone before placing your forehead against his. “You’re sweeter than I anticipated.” 

“And you’re kinkier than I anticipated.” He retorted and moved back gently, only to give himself room to fold the towel over to a clean side before cleaning up your face with a gentle hand. “Thank you for indulging me.” He cooed out to you, his sincerity going straight to your heart. You couldn’t help but nod. 

“I should go.” Your voice broke, and in that same moment, so did Eddie’s heart. There was something to you that drew him in, that he wanted more of, that he craved. It flew past just the need for human contact, part of it had to do with the way you ran with the punches he threw, you went with the game you played from the stage all the way to the back room. Eddie nodded solemnly, pushing away. 

“Yeah, uh…” He bit his lip, tossing the washcloth on the coffee table. Surely worse things had been on that surface in the past, but right now Eddie didn’t care about that, not about what was on that table, what would be in the future, or what he just threw onto it. “You don’t have to, I actually, I don’t know that I want you to. Can I at least buy you a drink?” He asked, standing up straight. You turn around, grabbing your pants so you could slip them back on over your legs. 

“You want to buy me a drink?” There’s a hopeful tinge to your voice, head shooting over to look at the musician in question. As you did, you hissed out gently, the garden of blooming roses on your neck blossoming farther across your neck, bite marks adorning your skin like dark tattoos. There was no denying what had gone on. 

“Sweetheart, I think we both left a mark on one another,” he teased, “when you pray to the devil so well, I think it’s hard for him to resist.” A twinkle in his eyes told you it was more than just the sex you both had. “Besides, it might help with the pain. What do you say?” 

“Mhmm,” you hummed as if you were deep in thought, “only if the devil can treat me right.” You mused. “You going to change first?” You waggled your eyebrows, referring to his squirt-soaked trousers, only to receive a smirk in return.  “Oh no sweetheart, I wear my battle scars with pride.” With that, he pushed back to grab his helmet, slipping it back over his head before taking your hand in his and leading you off to the bar. He wasn’t what you expected, none of it was, the show, the music, Eddie, but as you took his hand you couldn’t help the feeling brewing in your chest; the feeling that maybe the unexpected was exactly what you needed.

taglist: @munson-blurbs @the-unforgivenn @littlesubbyflower @word-wytch (if you want) @rip-quizilla @hellfire--cult @mystish

[nxrcissablacks]

thinking about a fangs of fortune modern day law firm au where:

zhao yuanzhou is That Law Firm partner - yes, the one who has been there since the beginning of time and no one knows how or when he joined the firm; he just is a fixture, and who:

disappears mysteriously from his office on occasion (bai jiu, in hysterics: “But I really need him to sign off on this document right now!!!!!!”)

closes cases with suspicious methods (zhao yuanzhou, blinking innocently: “Yes, I just had a little coffee with him and he agreed to settle for a million. Isn’t that nice?” wen xiao, wondering innately if coffee is code for something else: “…yes…”)

has a never-ending rotation of nice, ridiculously expensive suits. even zhuo yichen can’t beat him on this front, and the only one who comes remotely close is li lun (more on this later)

was rumoured to be work-rivals with zhuo yichen’s brother right up to his untimely death. the streets say that zhao yuanzhou deliberately played a card on the last case they worked on together that caused the company they were going after to send hired hitman after them both (the reality was really that even zhao yuanzhou did not expect something so extreme as becoming the target of murderous assassins, and that card was unfortunately a trump card that Needed to be used). zhao yuanzhou survived but zhuo yixuan did not.

has a complicated relationship with zhuo yichen as a result - constantly saves his ass even though zhuo yichen does not need saving thank you very much - takes the hits for him when things go wrong, and feels constantly as though he owes him (zhao yuanzhou, drunk: “hey bro you wanna stab me or something? Just offering.” zhuo yichen: “is that an innuendo? No. And stop calling me bro. The fuck.”)

zhuo yichen as his constantly exasperated counterpart:

worked diligently and was known as a stellar associate before getting promoted to partner on his brother’s unfortunate death - feels rather pressured to live up to his brother’s legacy and do him proud

claims to detest zhao yuanzhou and blames him for causing his brother’s death BUT the secretaries will not stop telling people about the time they saw “Mr Zhuo went into Mr Zhao’s office and draped a blanket over Mr Zhao’s sleeping form!!!!!” - zhuo yichen repeatedly denies this occurrence and zhao yuanzhou doesn’t suggest otherwise; the blanket in question is, however, neatly folded in a drawer in zhao yuanzhou’s office

deep down, he has already forgiven zhao yuanzhou - ever the studious lawyer, he went over the case files from that deal and realised he would have made the same call as zhao yuanzhou, and he guessed his brother would likely have done the same.

never declines a call from zhao yuanzhou to go out drinking even though he makes a lot of grouchy sounds because Someone has to put the man in a taxi home before his self destructive tendencies get the better of him and that Someone is unfortunately zhuo yichen (taxi driver: “you should wake your husband. We’re here.” zhuo yichen, flustered and trying to get zhao yuanzhou’s heavy ass head off his shoulder: “he’s Not my husband.”)

li lun as the barrister whom zhao yuanzhou insists on using on all his cases (zhao yuanzhou: “bc he’s the best, dude”) but who zhao yuanzhou refuses to email or communicate with on pain of death, so zhuo yichen has to send all the emails and have awkward little meetings going through cases with him:

ruthless af in court and tears everyone to shreds (including the judge on occasion)

encyclopaedic knowledge of law rivals zhao yuanzhou

collection of expensive suits ALSO rivals zhao yuanzhou (wen xiao, appreciatively, every time li lun walks into a meeting room in the firm: that man is a dick but he sure has Taste)

his superior taste includes, much to zhuo yichen’s horror: zhao yuanzhou (zhuo yichen, wishing he could dig his eyes out and run them under water: “wen xiao, zhao yuanzhou swanned past the meeting room we were in and i swear to God. li lun was undressing him with his eyes. and then he turned to me and said, i kid you not: seems like zhao yuanzhou’s been spending some time in the gym. i can see his chest muscles have gotten bigger since the last time we met.” wen xiao, having had the downlow from zhao yuanzhou about his complicated on and off situationship with li lun: “mm hm.” zhuo yichen, moaning with his head in hands: “and once he tried to show me a folder on his laptop but clicked on another by mistakes. and it was just filled with files labelled ZYZ1 ZYZ2 ZYZ3 and so on. They were IMAGE FILES, wen xiao!!! IMAGE FILES!!!! PNGS!!!! wen xiao, mentally making a note to blackmail zhao yuanzhou about the existence of those images: “yeah.”)

was the sole reason zhao yuanzhou didn’t get murdered along with zhuo yixuan in the while hired hitman saga (wen xiao: “but why did he have a gun.” zhao yuanzhou, shrugging: “the only time li lun’s into following the law is when he’s in court. other times, less so.”)

Also featuring:

wen xiao and pei sijing as the two senior counsels (pei sijing, when asked why she declined partnership: “ew, why would anyone want a role in partnership, that’s for losers who actually like networking”) who think no one knows that they are in a relationship (yinglei: “they have couple mugs. and i know they are couple mugs because i saw wen-jiejie happily point at them in Soho Home and pei-jiejie immediately put them in her shopping basket.”)

yinglei and baijiu as the baby trainees who are there just to watch the office drama unfold and give each other unnecessary stress about deadlines (baijiu: “what do you mean this was due on the fifth. That’s yesterday’s date.” yinglei: “fuck.” baijiu: “fuck.”)

[saturnsbabyboii]

🧿Ruler of the 12th house Through the Houses🧿

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

🧿Meaning and Symbolism of the 12th House🧿

The Twelfth House is the House of the Unconscious, the House of the Unseen, the House of Sorrow, Loss, Shadow, the Inner World, and Invisible Enemies. It is ruled by the sign Pisces and the planet Neptune (Jupiter in classic Western).

The unconscious state can help us create successes and cope with failures. This house could be called the House of Retribution and Fate because it is here we review where we have been, where we are, and decide where we are going. It also discusses hidden strengths and weaknesses. While placements in this house have an active role, the sign that resides over it and its planet of rulership and placement acts as a gateway into our psyche's deeper and hidden aspects. Our subconscious works tirelessly on our behalf to make sense of our lives. This shadow play is slow, drawn out, and frequently fraught with fear and pain. We are confronted with our sorrows, suffering, and the secrets we keep from ourselves and others.

Here we meet the outcomes of everything we've done. This emphasizes repressed desires and restraint even more. What we have created in our lives is a significant theme of the Twelfth House ruler placement, and we will deal with it both consciously and unconsciously. The unconscious can teach us a lot. We will be prompted to be charitable in its most noble form. We are better equipped to move forward if we learn our lessons, both past and present. The Twelfth House compels us to seek spiritual closure to aid positive growth. The twelfth house shows how you undermine yourself. It's also referred to as the house of secret enemies. But if you think about it, these enemies are very often in the place where you'd never look for them: in yourself. It contains many patterns of behavior that don't serve us Or are straightforward destructive! Loops that are repeating themselves over and over harm us in many ways. The worst is that you aren't even aware of them, and it often takes years to realize that something isn't right (this is why I love astrology, it quickens up the process of self-discovery).

Often, you build your own prisons. Most people are the captives of their own limitations and false beliefs. A way to let go is by finding the connection with the source. The twelfth house in your natal chart suggests issues holding you back. The last house ruler also recognizes where we can feel stuck and confined. It governs places that restrict freedom, such as prisons, hospitals, institutions, and asylums, to name a few. Danger, secret enemies, and secret affairs add to the lugubriousness of the Twelfth.

On the other hand, this house champions positive transformations. This is where we stand on the ridge and decide how to proceed. We can learn about the future by visiting the unconscious and meeting with the past. If the 8th is the house of cycle death and transformation, the 12th house is the house of the ultimate end, soul ascension.

-Note: This is for entertainment purposes only and should not be taken as professional advice.-

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

🧿The ruler of the 12th house in the 1st house🧿

The ruler of the 12th in the 1st can indicate that you have a deeply spiritual and intuitive nature. You may have a strong connection to the subconscious mind and are highly in tune with your emotions and those of others. As a result, you may naturally tap into the spiritual realm and receive messages or guidance from higher powers. 

Mirroring yourself and being aware of your surroundings have been significant issues in your life. Depending on the signs/placements/aspects, you may be overly concerned with yourself, the impressions you leave, your place in the world, who you are, and how you can improve or change yourself and the world as a collective. This placement can also suggest a tendency towards self-sabotage or self-destructive behaviors, so staying grounded and aware of any negative patterns in your life is necessary. You need to be more open to expressing yourself and be completely authentic. Understanding grief, pain, solitude, loss, escapism, and the unknown and becoming aware of self-defeat and destructive behaviors will improve the relationship between your outer conscious persona and your inner true unconscious self.

Your emotions are one of the first things people notice about you. You wear your heart out for the world to see; even though your first impression is mysterious and difficult to pin down, your emotional state radiates through. This may make you feel like an outcast or an extraterrestrial. As such, you can form an internal image of yourself as a victim or someone who has suffered enough from the outside world. Your ability to express yourself is limited by your worldview and other people's perceptions. You may withdraw from your surroundings to maintain a sense of self and identity. Be wary of falling victim to constant daydreaming, escapism, and substance abuse (in extreme cases). You draw attention to your suffering, and your outlook on life is shaped by your encounters with unexplainable supernatural or paranormal events. You might feel isolated. People notice you as you have a spiritual perspective with a mystical and difficult-to-fully-grasp aura.

Be wary of associating with people who do not have your best interests at heart, as you undermine yourself. The 12th house deals with secret enemies, and yours may influence how you present yourself and your appearance. Don't fall victim to alleged healers, abusive lovers, enablers, difficult therapists, and associating with people of an unsavory caliber. Keep an eye out for red flags and people that force getting to know you hastily. Trust your gut feeling and intuition regarding what enters your life and what you're willing to share.

🧿The ruler of the 12th house in the 2nd house🧿

The positioning of the 12th ruler in the 2nd suggests that there may be some hidden or subconscious fears or anxieties around money, possessions, or self-worth. As a result, you may feel the need for privacy and solitude when it comes to financial matters. 

Finding solace, engaging in psychic activity, and recognizing self-sabotage all contribute to financial stability, defining personal values, and accumulating possessions. On top of that, incorporating meditation, dream work, and spiritual practice can positively impact your self-worth and self-esteem. However, experiencing intense grief and loss can have a negative effect on your self-esteem and make it difficult for you to recover from hardships quickly.

You may feel the urge to escape from the reality of working for a living, particularly when you can't afford the things you desire. This can have a severe impact on your mental health. Consider working in an environment that aligns with your intuition or imagination. You may also have a strong attachment to your belongings and a desire to become one with them. Engaging in dreamwork, meditation, spirituality, and counseling could help you increase your income or attain financial security. It's important to recognize that your escapes from reality can influence your financial stability, but you can use your alone time to increase your net worth and earn more money. 

Having time alone is crucial for your well-being, as seclusion and isolation play a significant role in your spiritual growth. You may attend retreats to boost your self-esteem and self-worth. Participating in charitable work can help you put things into perspective and align your purpose in life with your values, particularly when loss and grief impact your values. When it comes to self-worth and money, it's easy to lose your boundaries. An unhealthy attachment to money and possessions can lead to self-destruction.

You may spend money as a way to escape, numb, or improve your mental state. However, depleting your resources can lead to stress and dependence. You may also fantasize about having more money. It's important to take time for self-reflection and trust your intuition when making financial decisions. Seeking the advice of a trusted financial advisor or therapist may also be helpful. Your spirituality, constant desire for growth, and good use of intuition are qualities to be proud of. Prioritize your well-being, and don't let money or possessions define your sense of self.

🧿The ruler of the 12th house in the 3rd house🧿

The placement of the 12th house ruler in the 3rd house can significantly impact how a person thinks and communicates. This placement suggests a tendency to keep secrets and maintain privacy in daily interactions, as well as an interest in spiritual or mystical topics and a desire to uncover deeper meaning in intellectual conversations.

Furthermore, this placement can aid in communication, information gathering, and everyday interactions by providing solace, escapism, and awareness of self-sabotage. Those with this placement may be drawn to topics such as psychic and paranormal phenomena, conspiracy theories, folklore, kidnappings, and missing persons. They may even write about their experiences in prison or mental institutions or on topics related to mental health, spirituality, and the paranormal.

Individuals with this placement may work in fields such as hospital dispatch, prevention helplines, school counseling, or group-focused healing. They may also have a talent for singing and prefer one-on-one communication over group settings.

However, this placement can also lead to preoccupation with sorrow, grief, and loss, which may affect communication in everyday situations. These individuals desire meaningful connections with others and often incorporate their dreams and fantasies into their conversations and writing. Walking is a way to connect with the inner selves. However, they may also have experienced loss in their relationships with siblings. They can also be hidden enemies. Placing the 12th house ruler in the 3rd house can provide a unique perspective on communication style and internal information processing.

🧿The ruler of the 12th house in the 4th house🧿

According to astrology, the ruler of the 12th in the 4th may cause hidden emotions or past traumas to affect your home life and family relationships. To improve emotional security, familial relationships, roots, and heritage, it is recommended to release grief and sorrow, practice solitude, and become aware of self-sabotage. Loss and grief can impact your psychological makeup, while loneliness can affect your emotional security. Dreams also have an impact on your emotional well-being. 

You may experience sadness and loss through family relationships and grief and sorrow through parental relationships. You might welcome people down on their luck into your home and volunteer at a homeless shelter. However, you might also live with people who do not care about your well-being, and your secret adversaries might be right in your own home. 

Privacy and alone time are important to you at home, and family ties can sometimes contribute to self-undoing. Encounters with your ancestors or roots may also contribute to self-undoing, as it is a family tradition. You might have a dreamy or otherworldly presence in your home and family, and you may practice spirituality, prayer, and meditation in the privacy of your own home. 

Addressing these issues and working on healing is important to create a more harmonious living situation. This placement also indicates a need for solitude, introspection, and the potential for psychic or intuitive abilities. Exploring these spiritual gifts and utilizing them in your daily life is recommended. Remember to prioritize self-care and seek support from trusted friends or professionals.

🧿The ruler of the 12th house in the 5th house🧿

With the position of the ruler of the 12th in the 5th house, you have a strong inclination towards expressing your creativity through spiritual or subconscious themes. Your personal experiences in finding solace, escape, engaging in psychic activity, and even self-sabotage are all influential factors in the way you channel your creativity, hobbies, risk-taking, romantic pursuits, and interactions with children. Notably, even your grief and sorrow can contribute to your creative work, such as music, art, theater, photography, or dance, which can have a dreamlike quality and may even involve entities from other worlds. 

Your passion for physical self-expression is evident in your participation in sports programs and artistic endeavors and your involvement in charitable activities related to it. However, when alone, you tend to express your spirituality through creative pursuits, such as writing spiritual music, creating spiritual imagery, and meditating on paintings. You also have a strong interest in surreal photography and exploring spirituality and the paranormal. 

It is important to note that your relationships with children may trigger feelings of grief and sorrow, and you may struggle with self-sabotage in matters of pleasure and romance. Therefore, to experience personal growth and fulfillment, you must delve deeper into any underlying fears or limiting beliefs that may prevent you from thoroughly enjoying these aspects of life.

🧿The ruler of the 12th house in the 6th house🧿

The positioning of the ruler of the 12th in the 6th house indicates that you may have a tendency to withdraw from work or health-related activities and prefer solitude. This could make it difficult for you to maintain a routine or a healthy lifestyle, leading to feelings of guilt or inadequacy. 

You find solace, escape, and psychic activity in activities that help improve your health, work, routine, and animal interaction. Your interactions with animals may lead to feelings of sadness and loss, but they also help you connect with your spiritual side. You receive health advice through your dreams and working with charities is a regular part of your routine. However, working in places like hospitals, prisons, or other institutional settings is also a regular part of your job, exposing you to grief, loss, and sadness. You deal with grief one step at a time. 

Your desire to escape reality affects your work. You dislike routine, office jobs, or conforming to set schedules. You may be unfocused at work and daydream a lot, but you bring creativity to your daily work. You may feel loss and sorrow through interactions with coworkers and employees. They may be your secret enemies, and you are more likely than others to lose your job due to your own undoing or that of a coworker. You want your work to be a part of you, but it may also bring you suffering through servitude. 

You feel more comfortable completing daily tasks when you are alone, but you need to work on being more methodical when it comes to your health. You approach your interests from a spiritual perspective and practice meditation to improve your health. Health problems may cause you grief and loss, and too much alone time may also be detrimental to your health. You have a creative approach to nutrition and health. You communicate with spirits through animals, have a strong appreciation towards spirit representations of animals, and build strong emotional bonds with animals. However, your self-undoing may also come through animals. 

It is important to remember that self-care is crucial to your well-being, and seeking support from others can help you overcome any challenges you may face. So stay positive and persevere to find a balance that works for you and achieve success in your personal and professional life.

🧿The ruler of the 12th house in the 7th house🧿

When the ruler of the 12th house is positioned in the 7th house, it can indicate a significant correlation between concealed apprehensions and intimate relationships. This specific placement may suggest that the individual might encounter difficulties in releasing past traumas or hidden secrets within their relationships. Furthermore, it can indicate a desire for privacy and a need to keep certain aspects of their relationships hidden from others. Releasing grief and sorrow, solitude, escapism, psychic activity, and becoming aware of self-sabotage serves cooperation, conflict, significant partnerships, and negotiations. 

You experience sadness and loss through substantial relationships. You get in touch with your spiritual side through marriage and committed partnership. You marry an ex-con. Dreams show you your marriage partner. You have an otherworldly, spiritual connection with your significant other. Involvement with people who need help affects your significant relationships. Your grief and sorrow affect your relationships. You express sadness to your partners. Your approach to significant relationships is dreamy and unfocused. You bring imagination to your partnerships. You sabotage yourself in significant partnerships. You want to experience complete bliss with your partner. You experience complete merging with your partner. Your partner desires to escape from reality as much as you do. You lose your boundaries when it comes to significant relationships. You transcend boundaries through significant relationships. 

Your experiences with loss and sadness fuel a business venture. You become a lawyer on behalf of a hospital or charitable organization. Your interest in paranormal and psychic phenomena affects your significant partnerships. There is a tendency to trauma bond and develop a codependent relationship.

You experience loss, grief, and sadness when relating to others. Your desire to escape reality affects your ability to maintain a serious relationship. You experience spiritual connections with other people, particularly angelic or ethereal beings. You find release through getting to know partners intimately, whether through couple therapy or something small such as playing question and relationship games.

It is highly recommended for individuals with this placement focus on addressing and releasing any concealed fears or emotional baggage to sustain healthy and fulfilling relationships.

🧿The ruler of the 12th house in the 8th house🧿

When the governing planet of the twelfth house is situated in the eighth house, it can exert a profound influence on an individual's existence. This celestial positioning implies a pronounced inclination towards investigating the enigmatic aspects of existence, such as the subject of death and the afterlife. Such persons with this placement may possess heightened levels of intuition or extrasensory perception, facilitating their immersion into the world of the unseen. They may also gravitate towards spiritual pursuits such as meditation, yoga, or energy healing.

However, those with this placement tend to be highly reticent and guarded about their private lives. They may harbor deeply rooted fears and insecurities, which they keep concealed from the outside world. Owing to the twelfth house's proclivity towards escapism, these individuals may be vulnerable to self-destructive or addictive behaviors.

On a positive note, this placement also signifies the potential for immense personal growth and metamorphosis. By confronting their fears and traversing the depths of their subconscious mind, individuals can attain an enhanced comprehension of both themselves and the world at large. They may also possess a natural talent for counseling and aiding others who may be undergoing similar tribulations.

🧿The ruler of the 12th house in the 9th house🧿

If the ruler of the 12th house is located in the 9th house, it suggests a strong inclination toward seeking spiritual knowledge and higher education through introspection and solitude. In addition, this placement implies a deep interest in exploring foreign cultures and beliefs and a desire for travel and adventure. However, it is important to note that individuals with this placement may tend to escape or avoid responsibilities, as the 12th house ruler signifies a need for retreat or withdrawal from the outside world. 

Engaging in activities such as seeking solace, exploring psychic abilities, and becoming aware of self-sabotage can help broaden horizons, travel, publish, and explore foreign cultures and belief systems. However, recognizing that traveling and meeting people from different countries can lead to exposure to grief and despair in the world, which may lead to feelings of sadness and loss. Moreover, one's belief system may also contribute to self-undoing, mainly if it is dogmatic or rigid. 

Higher education can provide a path toward spiritual exploration, while dreams can serve as a means of travel and awaken one's, inner explorer. Religious practices may also be approached from a spiritual or otherworldly perspective. Nevertheless, loss and sadness may affect one's relationship with faith and religion and interactions with people from other cultures.

Fascination with paranormal and psychic phenomena may also influence one's belief system, while interest in such activities may fuel the desire to travel. In addition, it may inspire individuals to become journalists. First, however, it is vital to ground oneself in practical realities and pursue spiritual and intellectual interests while fulfilling responsibilities in daily life.

🧿The ruler of the 12th house in the 10th house🧿

The ruler of the 12th house in the 10th house could mean that the person is strongly inclined towards being alone and reflecting on their career or public image. It suggests that they might have an unconscious desire to withdraw from the world and seek inner peace, but they may find it challenging to balance this with their work life.

Attaining acknowledgment and discovering a rewarding occupation can be aided by surmounting grief, isolation, evasion, and self-sabotage while heightening extrasensory perception. Nonetheless, interactions with authoritative figures may also instigate feelings of melancholy and deprivation, and aspirations and societal status can lead to self-defeating behavior. Similarly, parental bonds and reputation can also evoke sorrow. Striving towards spiritual objectives can enable you to channel your creativity and actualize your aspirations, even potentially leading to a position as a CEO. Your spiritual outlook toward career and achievements brings mindfulness to your professional pursuits, yet your encounters with sorrow and despair may impede your ascent to the top. Your fascination with paranormal and extrasensory phenomena, alongside your losses and publicly expressed dismay, may be widely acknowledged. Escapism could obstruct tangible accomplishments, rendering you renowned for your escapist tendencies. You may yearn for absolute elation and unification with your public persona, but this may result in the dissolution of boundaries and transcending them while pursuing your dreams.

To achieve a sense of harmony between these two seemingly divergent paths, these individuals must discover methods to honor their need for privacy and reflection while simultaneously pursuing their aspirations and objectives in the public sphere. Through conscientious attention to both their inner and outer worlds, those with this placement can successfully attain both personal fulfillment and professional achievement.

🧿The ruler of the 12th house in the 11th house🧿

If an individual's ruling planet of their 12th house lies in the 11th house, they may tend to avoid social situations and feel disconnected from groups. This can pose a challenge in forming deep connections with others, despite having a strong sense of the collective unconscious and a desire to aid others through spiritual or humanitarian activities. Furthermore, this placement may imply a need for solitude for clarity and rejuvenation. Through the release of emotions and embracing alone time, one can form connections with like-minded individuals, work towards social reform, achieve long-term goals, and foster friendships and admirers. This arrangement also allows one to explore psychic abilities and overcome self-destructive behavior.

Participating in social causes and making friends can positively affect one's ability to cope with feelings of sadness and loss. However, group participation can also lead to self-destructive behavior due to mob mentality or groupthink. Therefore, balancing the internal world and social interactions is crucial to enrich one's life. The desire to become involved in spiritual activities with like-minded people with similar interests and goals can be a powerful motivator to become a social reformer. Dreams can offer guidance toward achieving objectives and becoming a force for positive change. While partaking in group activities can be advantageous, it is essential to ensure that one's friends share similar interests and aren't merely a means of escapism. Striking a balance between solitude and social interaction can result in connecting with one's spiritual side, forming meaningful connections with others, and accomplishing objectives.

🧿The ruler of the 12th house in the 12th house🧿

If the ruler of the 12th house is also situated in the 12th house, it could signify that the individual possesses a deep sense of introspection and spirituality. Such people may tend to withdraw from others and feel compelled to engage in self-destructive behaviors. For individuals with this placement, it is extremely important to prioritize their mental and emotional well-being since they may be susceptible to depression and escapism. It would be beneficial for them to dedicate time to dealing with their sorrows and pain, spending time alone, exploring their psychic abilities, and identifying any self-destructive tendencies that they may have.

Dealing with grief and sadness can be overwhelming and leave you feeling lost and confused. It's important to give yourself permission to process those emotions instead of trying to suppress them through meditation or isolation. While solitude can provide some comfort, it can also worsen feelings of sadness and loneliness. You may find comfort in connecting with your spiritual side if you have psychic abilities. Additionally, involving yourself in social work or charitable pursuits can help you better comprehend and empathize with those who are experiencing grief and sadness. Remember, seeking support and assistance whenever you need it, whether incarcerated or hospitalized, is perfectly acceptable.

Excessive isolation, confinement, acts of altruism, and intense emotional bonds with individuals or spiritual practices can cause self-undoing. Additionally, being overly susceptible to unconscious forces can exacerbate this issue. In such circumstances, an elevated state of awareness may encounter difficulty discerning actuality from deception.

If you wish to connect with your spiritual side, you can take two distinct paths. The first option is to fully dedicate yourself to a monastic lifestyle. The second option is to delve into the depths of your subconscious through your dreams. This process allows you to tap into the collective unconscious and better understand yourself and the world around you.

You possess a deep spiritual understanding, as evidenced by your approach toward prisoners. By counseling those in need, you can offer guidance and support to those who may feel lost or alone.

Your imagination is truly remarkable, and it's clear that you possess a high level of sensitivity. These qualities allow you to connect with others on a deeper level and to offer unique insights and perspectives that others may not be able to provide. Overall, your spiritual depth and insightful nature make you a truly remarkable individual. However, with a heightened sense of self-awareness and a solid commitment to personal growth, individuals with this placement have the potential to access profound insights and spiritual wisdom that can significantly enhance their lives.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

I hope you enjoyed this post. Please let me know what you think, I appreciate the feedback. (Even if I don't respond 😅)

[kooldewd123]

The scene of the Animorphs voting whether or not to make David one of them might be one of the best character moments in the entire series. You can read into everyone's actions in this scene so well.

Marco sees "the bright, clear line." David hasn't seen any of them yet. He doesn't know anything. Just giving him up to the Yeerks is incredibly cruel, but it's the safest option. At the same time, how much of this is just his personal feelings? He's the only one who dissents on the basis of personality. He doesn't really like the way David acts, but is that enough reason for concern or is he just writing him off because he can't stand being around him?

Cassie is eager to go for it. She had just taken a massively risky leap of faith with Aftran, and it had actually paid off. And if trusting a Yeerk could lead to good things, surely trusting a human would turn out even better. She's already seeing the big picture: maybe David is the first of many. Maybe they could extend their force even more and give themselves the opportunity to make a bigger difference.

Rachel starts out against it. Despite their frequent disagreements, she and Marco both share that ruthless streak and often end up on the same side of heavy decisions as a result. She's the first to agree with Marco about giving David up, and the first to voice against making him an Animorph. But Cassie's argument sways her over. Cassie is probably just thinking that more people equals more power, but Rachel frames it by saying that more people means they can afford to take bigger risks (something that Marco can't help but agree with). Cassie is thinking optimistically, but Rachel sees it from a warrior's perspective.

Tobias is for it, and of course he is. David is just like Tobias was back then: no real family, no real home, and effectively a stranger to the rest of the group. He can't give up on David. He needs to have faith that things will work out, the same way they did for him (in a way). There's literally no other choice, as far as he sees it. He says Jake should make the ultimate call but clearly doesn't actually believe that, seeing as how when Jake replies that they need to put it up to a vote, Tobias immediately votes in favor of making him an Animorph.

Ax in particular is fascinating to me here because he's the one who actually suggests making David an Animorph in the first place. At the start of the series, breaking the law of Seerow's Kindness and sharing Andalite technology with humans, let alone a complete stranger, would have been completely unthinkable to him. But now he's seen just how fallible Andalites can be. He's begun to doubt the pillars of his society, and has thrown his lot in with the humans instead. He makes a very human suggestion here. It's something you'd expect Cassie or Tobias to come up with, not Ax. When the vote actually comes around, however, he votes against it. Like Rachel, he views it from a military perspective, but comes to the opposite conclusion. More Animorphs would be good to add to their ranks, but he's been in an army before and this ain't exactly one of those. A seventh member isn't enough of an added benefit, and putting a stranger in the role is too much of a wild card when they're about to undertake such an important mission.

We don't know what Jake is thinking. He never provides an opinion, only stating the facts of the situation and prodding the others for their votes. He's presumably freaking out inside, but trying to keep a calm demeanor in the face of the biggest decision they've had to make up to this point. Any weakness at this pivotal moment could skew everything, so he has to remain as neutral as possible until he can properly collect his thoughts. He's the last of the group to make his vote, and he really doesn't end up making one in the end. David wakes up, sees them, and Jake decides to bring him into the group. If David hadn't woken up there, what would Jake have chosen: Safe but cruel, or risky but optimistic? We never get to find out what was going through his mind at that exact moment, only in the aftermath.

And of course, this is all underscored by the dramatic irony of what this will eventually lead to. The group decides against inaction, but by their actions, they will commit a horror upon David arguably just as bad as the Yeerks would have. Would it have been better to leave him behind and be haunted by what they didn't do, or to have tried to save him and be haunted by what they did do?

[amyhayanora]

KHOC WEEK 2024 Day 2 - Past

the things for my OCs are now the only ones I do, so, off with the annual @khoc-week appointment.😂

The protagonist of this post should have been Aspis, my little Anguis kid, but since Aspis is deeply connected to another character, it's probably better that I start with some headcanons I have about the Foretellers. Between those and the designs, at this point they feel a bit like OCs too. even tried to do a Nomura-esque version for the occasion.

The assumption is that the Foretellers were one of the many attempts on the chessboard of the Master of Masters to face the Darkness. He gathered under his protection a group of lonely and desperate kids, with a tormented past, acting in the grey area more than out of affection. He bet on them. He sought out children who possessed specific flaws of distinct deadly sins, trained them, and made them his apprentices on a journey designed to make them overcome their "sin" and use it as a virtue that will be essential to their future "roles." For example…

Gula, who lived on the streets as a feral child, has known hunger, and food is also how MoM attracted him. Gula suffered from bulimia and nervous hunger for years, before managing to direct his anxiety towards logic and study, becoming an analytical boy "hungry" for knowledge.

Ava, sold away by her once rich family fell in disgrace, wanted EVERYTHING back. everything she had lost, or that she wanted but could no longer afford. Mom was the one who has bought her, she's too young to understand the extent of the family tragedy. that's why she later was the perfect one for the task of choosing any wielder she desires or attracts her eye, without limits, collecting the Dandelion.

Aced has always used his muscles to win easily, alone, without effort and without ever really try to improving himself, until carelessness cost him his tribe and an eye… he is now a loyal follower and uses his strength to defend the group, the arm of the law under Ira.

Ira, balances strength in combat and intelligence, which are also the qualities of his union. stubborn and rebellious, as an angry teenager he ran away from home, losing his path. He was the first one found by Mom, and he owes him his life. He learned to control his anger because of him, obtaining determination, willpower and the courage that made him choose as Leader.

Luxu carried the burden of being an unwanted child, the result of an affair, from an early age he felt cursed by that because of a big birthmark on one eye that vaguely resembles an X. shy, insecure and reserved, people pleaser, until life with his apprentice companions brought out his mischievous and creative personality. His being a people pleaser made him incredibly attentive to the behavior of the people around him and the ideal candidate to infiltrate among people and live their lives, one after the other.

Finally, Invi.

like all the other foretellers, her name is more of a title. Her real name is Nivea, and she was isolated from her village because white hair was considered a bad omen. The resentment of having to survive alone, with a little brother to support, he too with lighter hair than was welcome, soon turned into Envy, gnawing at her insides every time Nivea stopped to observe the normality of other families, lurking and hating everyone but her brother Aspis.

MoM saved both, proposing a deal to Nivea: he would take care of them, they would have a roof over their heads, education, a future, as long as she studied under him.

With no other real choice, the children accept out of desperation.

Nivea and Aspis initially lived together, but as they grow older she is forced to uphold her end of the bargain, spending more and more time at the clocktower. Aspis and Nivea's relationship is ruined irreparably, as Invi begins to enjoy her studies and the company of her peers, spending less and less time with her brother "for a higher purpose".

On the other hand, Aspis, who has always remained silent about a subtle hostility from the inhabitants of Daybreak Town due to his bad temper and sharp tongue, is left almost alone. His only wish was not to be a burden to his sister, who therefore always believed everything was fine and let him go without regrets. Aspis is full of resentment towards Mom, blaming him for brainwashing his sister, now obsessed by Light and darkness, when she clearly only wanted a better life for them.

Aspis and Invi do not hate each other, but the lack of communication makes it difficult to make peace, they will miss their chance before the War.

Aspis eventually made some friends along the way, that made his loneliness bearable. he is in a sort of trio with Lupe and Leonna, and a little girl who for some reason adores him like a big brother, Velcia (she's @alchemist-of-thebes 's oc). he'll never admit it, but he would die for her.😂

concluding this post with some old foretellers art dump xD

[cobaltperun]

Lost (8) - Collect Call

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 9.1k

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-Wishing you could keep me closer, I'm a lazy dancer when you move, I move with you-

Woodsboro was a small place, frankly, you were amazed it even had a proper gym, even if it wasn’t as well-equipped as you would prefer. Still, it had a punching bag, plenty of space to do push-ups, you could run, do pull-ups, lift wights, the basics were there, and you easily spent four to five hours in it a day, sometimes more. In fact, you just completed a two-hour work-out and were in the process of taking your gloves off.

Life moves on, no matter how hard you wish to stop it at times, to just remain in the current moment. Right now, however, you eagerly accepted the passage of time, after all, the sooner what Amber and Richie did became left in the past, the better, especially for Tara.

It's been almost three weeks since Tara was first attacked and for the most part, everything was returning back to normal. The wounds healed, well, aside from Tara's broken leg, that would take some time, but the scars remained, with two being more prominent than others, the stab through Tara's left hand and the slash that went horizontally just beneath the right side of your jawline. Other stabs and gunshots left their own scars, but those were easy to cover with clothes. Thus, you caught Tara's regretful gaze checking your scar out. Not that you blamed her, you glanced at her own scar every now and then. You still caught yourself wondering if there was anything you could have done to keep her safe, to prevent the first attack. The answer was always a definitive ‘no’ but you still wondered.

The Babadook theme rang almost immediately after you put your gloves in your bag and wiped the sweat off your face and hands with your towel, and you eagerly answered. "Hey, Snuggle Bear," you said teasingly before taking a sip from your water bottle. Damn, you missed having these phone calls with Tara while she was with Amber, and from the looks of it she had every intention to make up for the lost calls. Even with how much time the two of you spent together she still called you at least three times a day, often more.

"As if you're not as much of a snuggle bear as I am," she teased back, though there was a bit of nervousness in her tone. You’d leave that for when you met up.

With a broad smile on your face you faked sighing in defeat. "You caught me, only with you though," there was a small pause once you said that, but the silence felt comfortable.

"Exactly the way it should be," Tara set the boundaries, your boundaries to be precise. Possessive little snuggle bear. Granted, considering what those cuddles and snuggles included you couldn't say you blamed her for being like that. "Anyway, don't forget to pick me up in an hour," you stopped for a moment. Tara didn't have a check-up today. Hell, her next check up wasn’t until next week.

"Huh?" you were trying to think of the reason for picking her up. You didn't make any plans. Not that you minded abruptly spending time with Tara, but you were still a bit confused.

"Y/N," Tara groaned your name and you could hear her head hitting the pillow. "Your results are in. For your heart. Remember?" oh, that was today, well, at least that explained why she sounded a bit nervous before. She was anxious about the results. Damn, you, on the other hand, managed to forget all that. Your heart felt fine, so you kinda stopped being worried.

"Right, I'll come pick you up in an hour," you reassured her and began packing your stuff as you exchanged goodbyes with Tara.

Almost an hour later you parked in front of Tara's house and knocked several times. Most of the times since the attack you’d just unlock the doors yourself and go in, loudly announcing your presence even though Tara expected you. But most of the times Tara was alone, while this time her mother was home, and you did not want to deal with her mother making a scene for whatever reason. You could hear shuffling inside the house, and then there was some stumbling until the doors finally opened and a very drunk Christina Carpenter leaned against the doors, a bottle of whatever alcohol she was currently drinking in hand.

"Y-" she hiccuped and you could smell the alcohol even if you were over a dozen of feet away from her, let alone right in front of her. "Y/N, how you doing?" well, at least she could form some kind of sentence, even if her words were slurred.

"Good. Is Tara upstairs," you sure hoped she was because you didn't trust the drunk in front of you to help her down the stairs and Sam was out at the moment, probably covering someone's shift to earn enough to get by.

"Tara?" you felt a vein popping on your forehead. "She's not with you?" your blood would have run cold at that if anyone else said it.

"Please let me in," you did your best to be as gentle and polite as you possibly could. You knew the consequences of confronting Christina well enough. The last time you did it took a month and a rather expensive bottle of whiskey to let you back into her house.

"Hmm? Sure, suuuree," she stumbled to the side, and you quickly went up the stairs before she could try to continue the conversation.

You reached Tara's room and knocked.

"Come in," you heard Tara's voice from the other side of the doors. She sounded frustrated.

"Hey, you okay?" you came in and saw the issue. She was struggling with her jeans.

Tara laughed uneasily and just gave up, falling back on her bed and spreading her arms in defeat. "Shit, am I late?" she asked, a bit out of breath.

You offered her a smile and knelt in front of her to help her. You began pulling the jeans over her cast as she sat up, her breath hitching as you pulled her jeans up to the middle of her thighs. You stood up and put your arms around her waist so you could lift Tara up. That way she could pull her jeans up all the way and finish getting dressed. You smiled slightly when you felt her leaning her forehead on your shoulder, still embarrassed by how often she had to rely on you or Sam for even the simplest tasks. You didn’t think anyone could get as red as she did the first time you helped her take a shower. Not that you were unaffected, you just managed to separate doing something out of need and out of want, and that was a need, not a want for Tara. "Nope, I got here early," you reassured her, leaning to the side to kiss the top of her head, you always knew Tara was touchy, and that she craved physical touch and affection, but it only intensified after the attack, and what used to be hugs and occasional cuddles turned into still friendly kisses, sleeping with you almost every night and a lot of snuggling. "Ready now?"

Tara nodded as she pulled away, she picked up her handbag and put her arm around your neck as you lifted her up. "Think we can avoid mom?" she asked as you stepped outside her room.

"She's probably still at the doors, so unlikely," you sighed. It wasn't the first time Tara was uncomfortable about her mom seeing the two of you together, but there was something different about the way she worriedly looked away from you. "Did she say something?"

"Just another fight with Sam, well, another Sam just taking it and mom screaming at her," Tara explained and took a deep breath. "Sorry, you're worried about your results and I'm complaining about my family," she apologized making you nudge her lightly with your head.

"Hey, none of that, or do I need to remind you I forgot about the results? Besides, we support each other, right?" you reminded her as you went down the stairs.

Tara looked away. "It feels one-sided lately," she whispered so quietly you nearly didn't hear it. You were certain she didn't intend for you to hear it, so you just pulled her a tiny bit closer. You'd eventually have to talk about all the feelings that remained unresolved, but it didn't feel like today was the right day.

Luckily Christina wasn’t in the hall, you guess she went somewhere else to drink, and Tara seemed to relax a bit due to that, but she was still tense, even as you sat her down on the passenger seat.

As you drove to the hospital your mind raced in the other direction. You wouldn't say Tara has been difficult ever since what happened, hell, given what she went through, you thought she was handling things better than most people would. However, there were definitely more difficult moments, especially after she learned she would never have full use of her left hand again. She struggled to keep a firm grip on anything smaller than a cup or heavier than half a pound, not to mention reduced mobility and occasional cramps.

Mood swings, while understandable, were abrupt and immediately noticeable, which, you guessed, was to be expected. Something would trigger Tara, and it would be as if a switch got flipped. All Sam and you could do was remain patient with her. Neither of you could say you knew exactly what Tara was thinking, she refused to talk, but there was a pattern you recognized.

Christina screaming at Sam? Mood swing.

Sam being gone for too long? Mood swing.

Anyone mentioning Amber? Being reminded of Amber? Mood swing and a half.

Tara being unable to do something for herself due to her leg? The worst mood swing of them all.

Combination of any of those? Or all of them? Not fun. Currently, you were dealing with a combination of the first and fourth, perhaps the second as well, depending on when Tara last saw Sam.

Sam also told you that being away from you, even if it wasn’t for that long, caused just as big, if not even bigger mood swings, during which it wouldn’t take long to irritate Tara into an angry outburst. You, personally, didn’t deal with angry outbursts, Tara would get annoyed, or alternatively possessive and/or jealous, but you wouldn’t describe it as angry outbursts.

You stopped at the red light, a few more minutes and you'd reach the hospital.

"Y/N," the softness of her voice calmed you down, it let you know she was gradually getting less irritated.

"Yeah?" you allowed yourself a quick look at her, before turning your attention back to the road.

"I've been difficult lately, I'm sorry," that caught you off guard for a moment.

"I'd rather have you expressing everything you're feeling than the opposite. Both Sam and I will be here, no matter what, so be difficult if it helps," the lights switched to green and you drove for a bit before parking the car in the first open parking spot, still a bit away from the hospital. You turned in your seat, looking at Tara with utmost seriousness. "But, if at some point it stops helping, talk to us about that too. Just don't try to deal with it alone, rely on us."

What else could you tell her? This soon after everything happened? You were sure Sam told her something similar at least once a day, you told her as often as you could. There was no way to tell if it was reaching Tara or not. A shaky breath fell from her lips and Tara turned away from you and looked at the cars passing by your own. "We'll be late," she whispered, so you drove once again, choosing not to push or force the conversation further than she was ready to accept it.

By the time you were inside the hospital, with you sitting across from the doctor and Tara standing on her crutches next to you, you could only see the worry in her eyes. The irritation, the frustrations, it all vanished now that you were waiting to hear the results. You could see her anxiety going through the roof and wrapped your left arm around her waist, pulling her closer to you to help her clam down.

The doctor came in and you felt Tara firmly grabbing your shoulder. "Good news, miss L/N," you noticed Tara visibly relaxing and her grip on your shoulder getting weaker. "The heart attack was due to extreme circumstances. According to the tests your heart is a textbook example of healthy. You've got a long MMA career ahead of you with these results," oof, that one wasn't going to age well. You couldn't help but chuckle at that. If only the good doctor in front of you knew...

Tara, overwhelmed with relief and happiness flung her arms around you, causing you to quickly get up so she wouldn't hurt her leg. "Oh, thank goodness," she trembled in your arms as she, over the top happy as she currently was kissed your cheek several times. There was no way the corners of your lips didn’t touch a few times with how she was kissing you and you had to resist the urge to kiss her properly. It was getting more difficult though. Every time she looked you in the eyes a bit longer than she used to, every time she pressed up against you more than it was necessary, every time her lips lingered on your cheek, you had to control yourself and hold the need to kiss her back.

You worried it was too early for her to jump into another relationship, especially given what happened with Amber. "Easy, Tara," you laughed and offered a quick apology to the doctor.

"It's all good," he raised his hands. "I get it. Get out though, other patients are waiting," he chuckled and handed you Tara's crutches that had fallen to the floor.

Still, with Tara this happy, and with a movie night scheduled tonight at the twins' place, you figured nothing could cause another mood swing.

Famous last words, as some would say.

~X~

When you brought Tara back to her house and left her in her room once again, she caught herself glancing at the calendar on her phone. It's been three months now. With some trouble, she went over to the desk in her room and pulled out a box. She went back to her bed and got comfortable before opening it. The necklace inside was her favorite piece of jewelry. Simple at first glance with its round pendant, but the details were intricate and required a closer look to be seen. She traced the round patterns and the small sapphire in the middle with her fingertips, smiling as she remembered what you did back then.

~X~

It was in April 2020, it was a Saturday and you, quite easily, convinced Tara to come with you to another town, one, as you said, better equipped to handle what you wanted to do. You said you needed her help, and it wasn't until you were sitting in a confectionery store that you told her what you needed to do.

"So, there's a girl," she immediately froze when you opened with that. "I really care about her, and her birthday is coming up, and I wanted to get her something, I guess, a bit more, uh something. I thought about getting her a necklace, but I don't know anything about all that stuff."

Tara found it difficult to swallow the piece of cake she mistakenly put in her mouth before you spoke up. She still smiled, even if it didn't reach her eyes. "So, you thought I could help you?" she despised how her voice nearly gave her away when she started talking.

You just rubbed the back of your head sheepishly. The grin on your face told her everything. "I'd appreciate it."

"Do you, uh, do you really care about her?" she couldn't bring herself to ask if you were in love. The way your eyes brightened was enough of an answer without verbal confirmation.

"I do," not a moment of hesitation. Tara felt jealousy consuming her. She felt regret at not saying anything to you. She wanted to yell at you that you weren't being fair, but how could she do that when you looked so happy just thinking about that girl.

How amazing did that girl have to be to get that reaction out of you? She tried to keep her face at least neutral, even as her emotions spiraled out of control, self-doubt consuming her. She dared to hope that maybe, at some point, you might start seeing her as more than just a friend, but now she doubted that would ever happen. It would be too good to be true after all.

"Let's go then," neither one of you was done with the cakes, but she wanted, no, needed to get this over with. She'd help to the best of her abilities, but she wanted to be quick about it.

You blinked a few times, but didn’t say anything. You must have noticed her mood dropping though, because you placed an arm around her shoulders for a brief moment and smiled at her. She returned the smile, as genuinely as she could, but her heart still sank at the thought of you loving someone else.

You got to the store, and she looked around, wondering if she could really do it. "What did you want me to do, exactly?" she asked.

"Uh, look around and find the one that catches your eye the most? Let's say as if you were choosing something for yourself?" you looked around, completely out of place. Tara guessed you really never had the time to figure something like this out, with all the training and fighting, and now a job as a cook, you simply didn't have time.

So, going as far as to ask for Tara's help, not to mention taking an entire day off from everything, really made her envious of that mysterious girl of yours. How far were you going to go for that girl if you were taking a day off for a gift? What if she likes you back and you start dating? Who was she kidding with that last thought? That girl would have to be crazy not to like you back. It wasn't just jealousy over that, it went further, to how it would affect your friendship when your already limited free time got occupied by another girl.

So, to keep her mind off those possibilities Tara turned to her task. "What's your budget?" she asked absentmindedly.

"I didn't really consider it. Don't look at the price," were you being serious now?

"Y/N, what are you doing?" Tara asked in a hushed whisper, she knew how careful you were with money, yet here you were, acting like you’d spend a small fortune if needed.

"Buying a gift?" you didn't seem affected by the prices in the store. Well, if you weren't going to care, then Tara would do it for you.

"Welcome, is there anything I can help you with?" a woman interrupted the two of you and Tara gave her a tight-lipped smile.

“Please do, we’re looking for a gift,” you told her and seeing how certain you were of that the woman didn't seem to mind Tara’s not so happy smile as she began showing the two of you different pieces of jewelry.

Tara considered something cheaper than a necklace, like a ring… actually, no, no ring! Too much! But something like earrings or a bracelet. Despite those intentions her eyes kept going back to one necklace in particular. Simple, golden, necklace with a beautiful circular design on the pendant and a tiny sapphire in the middle of it. You seemed to catch that, and Tara had long since noticed you weren't paying attention to the jewelry as much as her reactions to them.

"Could you maybe try it? You know, to see if it's comfortable?" you sheepishly asked and Tara sighed, that ugly jealousy increasing tenfold. Did you really have to buy that girl one thing that genuinely caught her eye? And to make it even worse it fit her like a glove.

"Thanks," you looked almost mesmerized at the sight of the necklace around her neck.

"Mhm. Lucky girl," she swallowed down those feelings as your eyes met.

"I'm the lucky one," the tiniest bit of raspiness in your voice as you whispered those words sent a shiver down her spine.

With the necklace paid for the two of you went back to Woodsboro. As payback she made you watch The Babadook and Hereditary back to back. You never mentioned the girl again. She asked what her reaction was, you just shrugged. She asked to meet her, you gave vague excuses not to. No matter what she asked, or how she approached the conversation you remained tightlipped about it. You still had that look of absolute adoration in your eyes when you talked about her and Tara just couldn't take it, so she stopped asking.

Eventually, by the middle of November, she couldn't keep it in anymore. Amber really, really disliked you, probably even hated you a bit, and telling her about what happened would only make it worse. Mindy would tease her, so she couldn't go to Mindy either. And while she loved Chad and Wes, she did not want to discuss the jealousy that was eating her up from inside with them. You were obviously not an option, so, she was really left with the worst possible option.

"I don't know what to do, mom," she lamented when she told her mother the story. She was fairly certain half of what she said was already forgotten by the half-drunk woman.

"That's bad," her mom said, looking straight through Tara with her hazy eyes. "Girl's parents are rich, when she sobers up from her rebellious phase, she'll go back to them and all that money will go to her," Tara felt like vomiting as her mother hiccupped and gulped down another glass of wine. "It's not like they have other kids."

Your parents were rich. There was no denying that, but to think that was why her mother was so supportive of her friendship with you. Tara felt sick. She barely kept her breathing under control and, as subtly as she could, used her inhaler.

"You clung too hard Tara, and she got sick of it. Keep doing that and people will abandon you again," with tears in her eyes Tara ran outside, with her mother not even calling after her. She was clutching her inhaler and phone to her chest as tears streamed down her face. It wasn't the first time her mom had said something like that, that she clung too hard and that it was the reason Sam and her dad left her.

She couldn't call you. She couldn't be that clingy. Instead, she ran until her lungs burned, which, admittedly, wasn't too far. Tara gasped for air, trying to calm down and avoid an asthma attack. This wasn't the time or the place, but the cold air made everything more difficult. Almost out of the blue, she began shivering, only now realizing she wasn't exactly dressed for the cold, she was in her pajama shorts and T-shirt and only had slippers on her feet, not to mention she was disoriented, cold, and out of breath.

"Tara, sweetie?" a voice she barely recognized called her name and she abruptly raised her head to see none other than the lady that owned the restaurant you worked in. A middle-aged woman with hair seemingly permanently in a bun and a kind face that made working with customers seem easy. Tara suddenly found it really difficult to recall her or her husband's name, but the couple was amazing from what you told her, and you loved working for them. And they were always kind to her as well, letting her into the kitchen to spend time with you as long as she was careful.

"What are you doing out at this hour and dressed like that?" the woman quickly wrapped Tara in her coat. "Dear Lord, you're freezing," Tara looked down, ashamed of being caught in this state. "Let's go inside," only then did Tara realize she somehow stumbled to the restaurant you worked in. And with that close to your apartment as well.

"N-No, I'm fine," she tried to refuse, her mother's words echoing in her mind.

"Y/N will go crazy if I leave you like this, come on so I don't have to get scolded by my own employee," she guessed she couldn't argue with that. She knew you, if she refused and left, and the woman told you about it, you’d start looking for Tara and then Tara would feel even worse.

The lady took her through the front doors, through the small restaurant with nice wooden tables and into the kitchen where Tara saw you wrapping up the cleaning. The kitchen was still warm and she gave the coat back to your boss. The woman was reluctant to take it, but seeing the look in Tara's eyes as she watched your back made your boss take the coat back.

"Y/N," her voice was barely louder than a whisper, yet somehow you heard her and whipped around almost as if you couldn't believe your own ears.

"Tara?!" your jaw dropped as you saw her. Immediately you dropped what you were doing and pulled her as close to you as possible. Tara didn't know if it was instinct or habit, but whichever it was it took over and she clung to you as if her life depended on it, gripping the back of your uniform and taking all of you in, the warmth of your body, your scent mixed with the smell of the kitchen and all the food you made tonight, the feel of your muscles underneath your clothes, she took it all in. "Shit, you're freezing! And you were crying? What happened?" you turned to your boss, looking for answers.

“I don’t know, I just saw her outside,” your boss raised her hands while Tara kept shivering in your arms.

“I owe you one,” you turned your attention back to Tara and picked her up by her waist. The familiar feeling of being in the air, her body leaning against yours and your arms holding her up was the comfort she desperately needed at the moment. You went over to your hoodie hanging in the back and gave it to Tara the moment you lowered her back down.

“Sorry, Y/N,” Tara whispered and let go of you just enough to put the hoodie on.

“Hey, it’s okay,” your smile warmed her up as you brushed the tears from her cheeks and only then took your white uniform off, leaving you in a plain red T-shirt. The moment that was done Tara went right back to hugging you. Just for a bit longer, she told herself, just until the words her mother spoke became less loud. Just until she was certain you didn't mind. Then she let you go, only to feel you pulling her into your side and leading her outside through the back doors.

"Thanks! I'll make up for this tomorrow!" she heard you hollering as you took her straight to your apartment.

By the time the two of you were in your apartment, Tara was calm, for the most part. You set your priorities straight, cranking the heating up to the max and getting Tara to lie down in your bed to warm up quicker. You even tucked her in, wrapping her in your blankets. Only then did you send a message to her mother. Tara frowned at that. As if her mother cared. And it wasn’t that you thought her mother cared, you just didn’t want to take any chances that her mother would end up calling the police and causing issues.

"What happened?" you finally sat down on the sofa next to the bed and Tara wasn't sure what to tell you. She didn’t know how to even approach the topic, how to tell you what she was feeling and what caused her to run from home like that.

"Am I too clingy? Does it bother you?" she eventually blurted out before she could change her mind.

Your eyes widened at that. "It could never bother me, Tara," you assured her, your eyes carefully studying her. "Where did you get that idea?"

Tara sat up in your bed, now feeling warm, for more than one reason. "Mom said I clung too hard, and you got sick of it," Tara just admitted it, she wouldn't tell you what made her mother say that, but she figured she should tell you what made her run from her house like that. "Then she said people will keep abandoning me and I got emotional, so I ran. I didn't even realize where I was."

You clenched your fists and Tara could see barely contained anger in your eyes. "Of course, it was your damn mother," you growled, leaning back and glaring at the ceiling. “Why don’t you just come and live with me once you turn eighteen?”

It wasn’t the first time you asked that question and Tara wanted that, she wanted that so damn much, but she knew you were saving money for the future, and that you would have to get a bigger apartment if she started living with you. Even if you started sleeping together, which, given you were just friends, might become a bit weird over time, she wondered how the rest of living together would work. And then there were your fights… Frankly, Tara didn’t know if she had the strength to see your bruises after fights, even if everything else was fine.

“I… I don’t think it would work,” she gave you that same answer and at first you assured her you’d make it work, and she’d just tell you she was fine in her house.

“Tara,” you sighed, and she could see the complaint at the tip of your tongue.

"Especially since you will have less time for me," Tara finally opened up about what had been bothering her since April.

"What?" you suddenly sounded confused, the question of Tara moving in forgotten for the time being.

"The girl? The one you bought that necklace for. You'll have less time when you get together with her," she explained, not sure why you didn't get that. You were usually more than aware of how much time you could spare on what. Even if you told her your friendship wouldn't suffer because of your love life, she honestly couldn't believe that. Tara was the one you spent most of your free time with, and that would have to be shared once someone else comes along. And she knew she couldn’t see you hugging and kissing that girl, or any other girl, so the more serious the relationship got the less she’d see you. And she dreaded that thought, she hated how it made her feel like maybe there was some truth in what Amber was saying.

"Is that what you've been worried about?" you asked and moved to kneel on the floor next to her.

Tara just nodded, not trusting her voice right now.

You sighed and reached for the nightstand drawer. Tara's eyes widened when she saw the same box you got from that jewelry store. "There's no girl, Tara, the necklace is for you," you opened the box and looked her in the eyes, almost silently begging for permission. When she, too shocked to say or do anything, just kept looking from the necklace to your eyes you took that as enough of a permission to put it around her neck.

It still fit her like it was made for her, and she felt a shiver run down her spine when your fingers brushed against her neck. "What did you say?" her throat was dry all of a sudden.

You smiled sheepishly, pulling your hands away from her neck. "It was meant to be a gift for your eighteenth birthday, and I really don't know shit about jewelry, so the only way I could find something good would be to, you know, trick you into choosing your own gift like eight months in advance," at least you looked embarrassed.

Tara still couldn't believe what was happening, too speechless to even react. So, you took that as a sign to keep talking.

"I'd rather ruin the surprise than let you worry about something like this. For what it's worth, I didn't think you'd think there could ever be a girl that could take your place. Hell, I was scared you'd see right through me," you chuckled a bit and took her hand. "Please say something," you pleaded, and she pulled you into a hug.

"You're crazy, you know? What were you thinking spending all that money on me, hmm?" she felt tears running down her cheeks. You, damn, dumbass she was so hopelessly in love with.

"Yeah, you kinda make it hard to think clearly," you teased, and she jokingly gave you a light smack on the back.

"I love it," she relented, knowing better than to argue with you about this. "Thanks, Y/N," she muttered into your neck wishing she had the courage to just move up and kiss you.

~X~

Tara smiled as she remembered all that. She spent the night, sleeping right next to you, not quite as close as she did over the past few weeks, but back then it didn't matter. It wasn't the first time the two of you slept like that, but it didn't happen that often, especially in your bed. So, back then she cherished the nights that would end like that. A plan formed in her head, she hadn't worn your necklace over the past three months, due to Amber's jealousy, or well, what she thought was jealousy. So, it was about time to correct that.

~X~

When you arrived at Chad and Mindy’s house, you found Sam on the porch, smoking a cigarette.

"Before you ask, I'm trying to quit," Sam said as you reached her and leaned back against the fence. You just raised your hands, understanding it wasn't the easiest task. As long as she didn't smoke anywhere near Tara you honestly didn't mind.

"You know, I don't think I'll ever miss Woodsboro, but you can't deny the sky is beautiful at night," you pointed out as you looked up over your shoulder.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Sam nodding. "Can I ask you something about you and Tara?"

You met her eyes, slightly confused as to why she'd ask you instead of Tara. "Sure."

"Do you know? How she feels?" it was a question that could make or break your relationship with Sam.

"That she loves me? Yeah, I've known since she was sixteen," you admitted. "Her eyes are just so expressive, you know? I can see the way she looks at me. I know the way she clings to me isn't exactly friendly either," the looks, the lingering touches, the apparent need Tara had to just stay as close to you as she physically could ever since she was attacked… You noticed it all. Truth be told, you and Tara had always been touchy with each other. Whether you were carrying her on your back when you were kids, or she just randomly hugged you and wouldn’t let go until she was content throughout your entire friendship, or falling asleep next to each other and eventually watching a movie while cuddling, sure, you guessed some friends did that, but all things considered you couldn’t deny that Tara was in love with you, or that you were in love with her.

Sam clenched her fist. "And you?"

You looked at her as if she suddenly grew another head. "Seriously? That's a question? I love her, Sam."

Sam relaxed at that, at least a bit. "What's stopping you then?"

You looked away from her and back to the night sky. "It was never the right moment. I figured it out a bit before I turned eighteen, but I was about to leave my parents. Then I had to find the balance between MMA, work, and everything else I now needed to handle on my own. I just wouldn't be able to be what she needed in a relationship," not to mention Tara was sixteen at the time, well, sixteen and a half, but you didn’t want to rush her into a relationship until she was ready. Until she knew what she wanted and needed in a partner, you wanted it to work, and it felt like waiting a few years was the best way to make sure it would work, and not fall apart because you were still too young to know what you wanted.

The circumstances were much different now, though. Age and maturity kinda weren’t a factor anymore, not after what the two of you, and especially Tara, went through.

Sam nodded, apparently understanding your reasoning. "And now she went through a traumatic experience, and you want to give her time to heal?" Sam was spot on. Now you were sure you and Tara would work, but between what happened, and the way Tara was handling it, you didn't think it was the right time to get together. That being said, you doubted you had it in you to resist if, say, a kiss was about to happen.

"If something happened I think I couldn't fight it, but I'm not going to pursue anything right now," you admitted and the two of you fell into a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes.

"Oh, yeah, Tara is waiting for you in the guest room. Apparently, she has something to ask you," Sam's statement puzzled you. You and Tara already spent plenty of time together today. Couldn't she ask before?

"Thanks, Sam," you got inside and found Chad and Mindy in the living room trying to decide which movie to watch. "Hey," Tara's question could wait a minute or two. You approached the twins and gave them a quick hug. "How are you?"

"Doing better," Mindy shrugged, grinning a bit, even though you could see her subconsciously reaching for her chest where Amber stabbed her, it was a miracle she survived. It was a miracle either of the two of them survived, and you could see that night haunting them in the way their eyes lost that childlike innocence they had before this all happened. Other than Tara, the rest of your friends had normal childhoods, parents that were normal, that cared for them, they were never abandoned, and now, completely out of nowhere, a close friend tried to kill them and killed Wes and Liv. They would never be as trusting as they were, and you couldn’t blame them. "You know how it goes, we're all dealing with it one way or another," she said, for once choosing not to be snarky or sarcastic.

You nodded. Hoping the answer was honest because, as much as it hurt to admit, you didn't have it in you to fully be there for anyone else.

"Chad?" he was in a rather special situation, seeing as Liv was his girlfriend. You heard from Tara Liv's parents didn't take it well when he tried to talk to them. He dragged her into that mess, they said. It wasn’t fair, but in their grief and anger and no one left to pay and suffer for their daughter’s death, the only target left was Chad. There was a chance Tara would have been the target of their rage as well, seeing as she did introduce Liv to the rest of the group, but they just never had the chance to take their anger out on Tara.

"Hanging in there. Going back to practice has been helping to get my mind off of things," the only one who visibly took all of this worse than Chad was Tara. For a moment you wondered if Tara would be able to handle it better if she wasn't stuck in one place pretty much all day.

You patted Chad's shoulder. "If you ever want to spar, or train together, you have my number," and you most definitely would train with Chad if he asked.

"I'll keep it in mind Champ," he smiled slightly. "Tara's waiting for you," he gestured upstairs, and you nodded, leaving the two to find Tara.

“Second door to the right!” Mindy added as you began climbing up the stairs.

“Thanks!” it was a testament to how rarely you visited their place. If the times you came to pick Tara up were excluded, you were fairly sure you could count all the times you spent time in this house on your hands. In all the years you’ve known the twins. As kids you just used to spend time in the park, or at the school playground, afterwards Tara’s house became the usual place to hang out, and by the time you turned eighteen most of the time it was just you and Tara anyway.

When you found Tara, she was sitting on the bed, with a box in her hands. It looked like a jewelry box? "Hey, what's up?"

Tara blushed slightly. "Uh, could you open this box?" she offered it to you.

You tilted your head in confusion but still took the box. You remained on your feet, in front of Tara, not entirely sure if you'd need to move right away. Things became even more confusing when you opened the box. You recognized the necklace immediately and you looked at Tara, a bit lost at the moment.

"Could you put it on me?" Tara asked, clearing your confusion.

Your heart began beating a bit faster. "Of course," you spoke softly and leaned forward to put the necklace around her neck. You tried not to notice how her lower lip trembled, or how it felt like your fingertips touched fire. It wasn’t like this when you first put it around her neck, and your heart threatened to leap out of your chest when you looked at the necklace around her neck. It felt good to see it there once again after more or less three months now.

"I took it off exactly three months ago. It felt fitting to put it back on today, especially if you put it on me," her eyes held a bit of uncertainty as she placed her hands around your neck.

With anyone else, they'd have to work for it, but with Tara, you just moved, letting her pull your head down. She kissed your cheek and then moved her lips closer to your ear. "You're the only one whose mark I'll ever wear," your eyes widened, brain short-circuited, body moving on its own as you pulled her closer, heart hammering in your chest as she looked you in the eyes. Was she leaning in or was that you?

"Tara, Y/N, we're ready to start the movie!" Mindy's voice startled both of you and you awkwardly separated from each other the moment Mindy came in. The fuck? Didn't the three of them send you up here? And now they interrupted you? "Come on," she ushered you and then probably connected the dots. "Hey, wait a second, did you two just-" she had the most infuriating shit-eating grin on her face.

"No!" both of you denied even if you could feel the tingling sensation on your lips. It wasn't even an almost kiss, your lips definitely touched for a moment, and judging by Tara absentmindedly touching her lips she felt it too,

"Sure, you didn't," Mindy rolled her eyes. "Make out later, we got a movie to watch."

"We weren't-" Tara began and you could see a very prominent blush on her face. "Why am I even bothering?" she gave up prompting you to chuckle.

"Let's just go and watch the movie," you gave up and picked Tara up. The warning you silently sent Mindy luckily kept her from saying anything, she still had an infuriatingly teasing smirk on her face and it only made Tara hide her face in the crook of your neck.

"T, we all know you're not hiding because you're embarrassed," Mindy just couldn't help herself.

"Dude, let me have this," Tara groaned, making Mindy laugh as she led the two of you to the living room.

Your phone rang just as you and Tara settled in, and you glanced down to see it was your coach. Sighing, you pulled away from Tara and smiled apologetically at her pouting face. "Sorry, I have to take this, don't pause the movie," you stepped outside the house and answered. "How did it go?" you immediately asked, you kinda knew the answer already, you were already perfectly fine with it, you just wanted to hear it.

"You're out Y/N, they agreed to let you have two more fights and then you'll have to retire," you couldn't remember ever hearing him so devastated. You didn't get it, honestly, this was much better than you expected. You thought it would be instant retirement.

"Got it. Well, let's just make those last two fights memorable," you said, you didn't try, he tried, and there was nothing else to do but accept the complementary paycheck and retire without making a fuss.

"Why did you have to go after those two?" he asked again even if you answered that same question when he told you the situation you were in.

"I told you. They hurt the one I love," you'd do it again, and again, and it didn't matter what the cost would be.

"Y/N, come on! The movie's really good!" you heard Chad hollering from the living room.

"Sorry, I have to go, we'll talk tomorrow, okay?" even if you were fine with it, you did wish there was another way, but there wasn't so, that's how it was.

"Yeah, sure. We'll talk," he hung up, sounding even more dejected, before you had the chance to do it and you went back inside. You felt Tara's eyes following your every move, even when Mindy teasingly told her the TV was in the opposite direction. Tara flipped her off, but didn't look away and as you sat back down you saw concern in her eyes.

You smiled, leaning in, and kissing the top of her head before pulling her closer to you. "It's nothing urgent, I'll tell you tonight," she'd sleep at your place tonight. It was a bit of an unspoken deal. If Sam couldn't sleep at Tara's place, then Tara would sleep at your apartment. And since Sam narrowly avoided another fight with her and Tara's mother, they both decided it would be for the best if Sam didn't sleep there for a night or two. Just to let things cool down a bit.

Tara looked you in the eyes with an intensity that made you wonder if she would settle for your answer. Luckily, she nodded and went back to watching the movie.

Three and a half hours later you couldn't avoid telling Tara about what happened anymore. You wanted to delay it a bit longer, let her rest, and not worry her about how you were taking the news because you knew she'd be worrying regardless of what you told her. So, you took your sweet time to get ready for bed, hoping she might fall asleep.

She didn't. Of course, she didn't.

"Y/N," there was a playful warning in her tone, one that told you Tara saw right through you.

"Sorry, sorry," you rubbed the back of your head nervously as you lay down next to her. Tara was on your left side, much like she was in the hospital. And just like in the hospital, you were closer to the doors. Ghostface was gone, but Tara did at one point sleepily mutter to you that she felt safer when she was between you and the wall, safe from both sides.

"So, what was the phone call about?" Tara demanded as she got comfortable next to you, and you pulled the covers over the two of you.

"I'm retiring from MMA," you just dropped it on her and watched as her jaw dropped, as her entire face morphed into pure shock.

"What? Why?" she questioned the moment her brain processed the information you just gave her.

"Apparently, a case can be made that I went looking for a fight, for both times I fought Amber and Richie, especially the one at Amber's house. So, while a lot of people accept the self-defense and/or keeping my loved ones safe as a valid excuse, at least just as many people are saying I could have stayed out of it and/or that I took it too far," you explained the gist of the situation. It was a perfect storm, really. You, a young, new fighter, came along, and defeated a bunch of fan favorites, only to then get caught up in a conflict that left more than half a dozen people dead and just as many heavily injured.

"That makes no sense. What were you supposed to do, let them kill you?" Tara's voice shook with barely restrained fury.

"No one is saying that, but plenty of people are saying I went to Amber's house intending to kill her, which, to be perfectly honest, is true," you couldn't argue against that, you really did plan on killing Amber.

Tara frowned and sat up, looking down as you kept lying there. "We went to save Sam," she argued, even if there really was no point in arguing.

"Tara," you sighed, reaching up to brush a couple of strands of her hair behind her ear. "You and I both know that's the official statement. Yes, saving Sam was important, but if Sam woke me up, or if you had told me it was Amber before we went to sleep I would have done the same thing Sam did."

"I killed Amber," Tara kept arguing, even if she did lift her hand and placed it over your own.

"Valid. I still wanted to do it. I would have done it if I had anything but the gun in my hands," you argued back, still fairly calm about everything. You knew damn well that you would have killed Amber and Richie with your bare fists if you needed.

Tara leaned over you, gripping your shoulders. "Why are you like this? Why are you taking the side of people that are against you?" she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes.

You frowned, choosing the next words carefully. "It's not about sides. It's as simple as acknowledging that I had those intentions. Even if my reason for fighting was justified, and it was, there have to be consequences. Otherwise, you might as well openly give a highly trained group of people a loophole on how to get away with fighting outside the cage, or ring, or whatever," you firmly believed what you were saying. You were fine with this outcome. This was the price to pay to keep Tara safe? Hell, you would have paid a much higher one if it was needed.

"It's not fair," Tara whispered, as she lowered her body down to your own, no longer capable of staying in the position she was in. You were honestly impressed she held out for so long. You just pulled the blanket over your bodies and hugged her. Tara sighed, gently running her fingers through your hair.

"Is the phrase we-" Tara immediately placed a finger over your lips.

"-only use when things don't go our way, I know. You keep repeating that," she huffed, annoyed.

You still kissed the tip of her finger and grinned when she blushed. "It's not so bad. I'm retiring, but I'll have two more fights and I'll get some money to retire quietly. Everyone will end up more or less happy by the end of this deal," you tried to get her to see the brighter side.

Tara, instead, just narrowed her eyes.

"Okay, that's not working. How about this? I get to go to college and work at the same time, while spending plenty of time with you, instead of sacrificing the job in favor of fighting. It's really not that big of a loss Snuggle Bear," you didn't know what else to say to her that could get her to just accept it as it is. It really shouldn't have been this difficult. Tara hated that you fought, before all of this went down, she herself tried to talk you into quitting several times, so all of this, her entire reaction, baffled you.

You understood that she knew how much you loved MMA and you guessed she would be worried about how you'd take all of this, but this was a whole different reaction from what you imagined. And you couldn't put a finger on what was the reason for this shift to save your life.

Though she struggled to do it, Tara moved away from you and tucked herself in the corner. "I wish you didn't pretend you were okay, Y/N. For once be open about your feelings," you didn't have to see her face to know she was crying.

"Tara," you tried, leaning over to wrap an arm around her waist, but she pushed against it. You took a deep breath and sat up. For once you were completely honest about being fine. But that was the point, wasn't it? Because it was for once. So many times, you pretended to be fine, keeping the fact that something was troubling you from Tara and now that she knew you did that for years there was a crack in her trust in you.

You got up from the bed and lay down on the sofa to give her as much space as your apartment allowed. It was a long, silent night, with neither of you saying a word or getting any sleep.

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