#now with the mindset that it was an open canvas

[briardoll]

The Obey Me! Characters react to an MC who talks to themselves!

Lucifer actually thinks it’s kind of cute, but worries you may be lonely, or quite possibly mentally ill. He may ask why you talk to yourself so much so please assure him that you’re fine!!

Mammon thinks you’re crazy, “who likes talkin’ to themselves??” Maybe it’s a weird human thing, or maybe you’re just a weird human. Either way he’s gonna bust in and ask why you’re so passionate in your hatred for modern art. (The kind of stuff where they paint a canvas entirely blue or tape a banana to a canvas and call it art. <- defo isn’t something I’M passionately hateful about (¬_¬))

Levi understands completely what it’s like to have to converse with yourself because you know nobody else understands/cares about what you’re saying. Comes in and tries his best to listen and understand your thoughts!

Satan stands outside and eavesdrops on what you’re saying, uses the information he earns to one-up his brothers by knowing what you like/dislike without ever having asked or being told directly. It creeps you out until you come out of your room unexpectedly and catch him spying.

Asmo will originally think that your live-streaming something and check all your socials, (why would you stream without telling him!? He wants to watch every second you know!) when there are no lives to be found, he comes in and asks to help film the deviltube video with you, realizing there’s no video to film either he decides to get in on the conversation and even agrees with what you’re saying! He never knew you had that much in common before!!

Beel thinks you must be hallucinating, it’s because you haven’t eaten enough of course!! He brings you your favorite meals, drinks, and snacks so that you can regain your mental stability. You tell him that you just talk to yourself to get your thoughts out somewhere and it confuses him, he’s a man of not too many words, and if it’s not about food he’s doesn’t usually pay enough attention to form an opinion. Eats snacks with you and listens to what you have to say.

Belphie thinks you talk way too much about things that aren’t important. Does laugh when he hears about the time a cicada flew in your mouth one summer as a child. “So you’ve never known how to keep your mouth shut, huh?” Whoops, gave himself away, now you know he’s there!!! (Definitely never happened to me and I’m definitely NOT speaking from experience! Actually… yes it did. I’m scared of cicadas TO. THIS. DAY.)

Diavolo thinks you talk to yourself because he doesn’t make enough time for you! He feels bad that you feel the need to talk to yourself because he’s made you so lonely! Please promise him that he did nothing wrong! He’ll still deploy a little D. To be your conversation partner when he’s busy with paperwork.

Barbatos only requests that you speak to yourself quietly, the young lord is working you know! At least now he knows your likes and dislikes better and can better cater to your needs. (him and Satan have similar mindsets in this regard)

Simeon wonders in you’re recording some kind of podcast. He’s never found it online, but it doesn’t bother him because he can listen from right outside your door. Is always excited to know what the next episode is about!

Luke comes in and asks you if you’re sick, when you tell him no, he asks if you’re lonely. You could’ve just asked him to talk! Baked some sweets and shares them with you while you talk about your common interests.

Solomon responds randomly to your rhetorical questions from outside the door. You tell him to go away and that you weren’t talking to him, just when you think he’s gone he answers you again and laughs, it’s now a fun game for him to play when he visits you.

Thirteen plays pranks on you while you do it, knocks on the door really hard and then hides so that when you open it nobody’s there! Will go to the electrical breaker in the house and switch the lights in your room on and off to hear you scream in terror.

Raphael thinks a curse might’ve been placed on you, asks if he needs to rain spears onto the person who did this to you, you tell him that no, you weren’t cursed, you’re just like this. He now thinks you are very odd and may possibly need some kind of mental help.

Mephisto will not tolerate your stupidity. If there is nobody in the room, you simply don’t speak, you aren’t filming a video, you aren’t talking on the phone, and you’re certainly not normal for acting like this! Cease it at once!

[ms-demeanor]

hi! i am not sure if you will have good advice for this but your photography guide made me think about this issue. i grew up quite poor (school supplies were a struggle every september) and now as an adult i am not as financially stable as id like. this has made me very scared to use any art supplies because im always thinking that im wasting them on not good enough projects or not good enough skills or similar thinking. however that leads to me having supplies bc of gifts and whatnot (ie watercolor paper) but not using it out of anxiety. do you have any advice? thanks!

There are two ways that I go about getting over this kind of issue:

Get out the supplies right now and start making any marks. Cut a piece of watercolor paper in half. Draw a line down the center of a page in grease pencil. Do anything to just start using it to get over the "can't open it, must save for special occasions/projects" mindset. Once you've broken the seal on a first use, it's a lot easier to use tools or notebooks or paints a second time.

Plan projects for yourself like they're assignments. Give yourself a deadline and materials list, write it up like a school assignment sheet, and then do the assignment.

And, if it helps to think of it this way: you're likely hesitant to use your materials because you don't want them "going to waste," but at the moment they are being wasted because they aren't being used.

It is solidly my opinion that art supplies used for art are never wasted; not all "art" is meant to be kept and a part of the process of creating art is practice, which should lead to massive piles of clumsily made, "bad" art that you wouldn't want to hang up on the wall but is nonetheless a part of the process of making art that you'd want to hang on the wall.

You may be looking at the watercolor paper and thinking "I shouldn't break into this because each piece of this paper needs to be something special to show that I value this gift" but you don't get better at painting with watercolors if you use them on printer paper. You need to use the paper (and the paints, and your brushes) to maintain and improve your fluency with the medium.

Many people are hesitant to "waste" sketchbooks or good paper or canvas or expensive paint because they think they are throwing away the good things they *could* make if only the had the perfect plan and create the perfect piece of art with each page and each new tube.

But these things are consumables. Your sketchbook is not a guitar, and it is not a finished song, it is a set of strings. The lovely watercolor paper is a gift for you to make art with, but it is also a gift for you to *practice* making art with and the practice is just as much a part of the gift as a finished artwork would be.

So you're not wasting it if you just get out your paper and start painting with no plan, or if you "mess up" a piece, or if you just use the paper for practice.

So, if you're trying to get yourself to use watercolor paper specifically, I have an assignment for you:

Watercolor Thumbnails Assignment

Materials: Watercolor paper, 2 colors of paint (your choice), Hard pencil Tools: Ruler, Small and medium brushes, Palette

Instructions:

Using your pencil and your ruler, divide the page into 10 equal rectangles.

Visit this website and click the "surprise me" button. Select 10 artworks to create monochrome thumbnails of. (you can click as many times as you need to, but the goal here is to do thumbnails of art that you aren't familiar with rather than seeking out art that you know well for this assignment)

Reproduce each of the images as a monochrome thumbnail in the ten rectangles you've marked on your paper. You don't have to mix a unique color for each rectangle, but you should mix a few different colors and use only one for each rectangle. For instance, if you are using green and yellow paint, some images should be yellow, some should be green, some should be green-yellow, some should be yellow-green.

Purpose:

To use your materials

Work on achieving different values with single colors by layering or diluting your paint.

Composition study

Time Limits:

Once you have collected your ten images and have your station set up, you should take no more than one hour to complete your thumbnails.

Due Date: July 20th 2024

___________________

If you are not familiar with watercolor, here's a good video on some of the basic techniques for painting with watercolor:

And this is a good example of a monochrome painting done in watercolor; if you want, you can watch the video and use it as a tutorial to practice getting a feel for monochrome painting.

Use this assignment to practice! Make use of the gift that you were given by familiarizing yourself with the medium and thinking about art and working in color.

I'm going to play along too and will reblog this post with my thumbnails on July 20th - anyone who wants to join in is welcome to do so as well.

And everyone please remember: time and materials spent doing something you love or practicing a skill you enjoy are never wasted. Even if you don't end up with a "good" finished product, you have learned something and that, in itself, is valuable.

[flwerr-ss]

Fantasies That Will Consume You Whole (drabble)

- TW!!! non//con, unhealthy mindset, escapism, implied imprisonment, implied abuse, implied baby trapping, NSFW

f!reader/character

it’s hard to speak when you feel words bubbling from the very pits of your throat trying to claw their way out. prying open your mouth to allow the sound out desperate pleas.

yet when the words finally push past your lips, their nothing but sinful sounds. whimpers that slip past your lips as you bite down until blood is drawn. moans that shaped perfectly into his name.

and all you could do was consume yourself into a sick fantasies of softness. as if pillows could consume those fantasies. ignore, the tight grip that digs into your skin. the sharp pain that tears into your skin, a crimson color shading his nails.

you pretend that it wasn’t grunts of his pleasure that left his lips and flowed into your ears. you bury yourself into the pillow, digging what is left of your now dull nails into the sheets. you just had to pretend that it was him singing melodies of sweet nothingness. the sound of “I love you” as prayers. yet only those could be a part of a distant past, one that you truly don’t know if it was simply a fictional story of your pain.

the feeling of your chest crushing your lungs, as your knees were pushed deeply to your chest, the blemishes of bruises would soon decorate your skin as if a black canvas. it’s the way he wants it, for you to only be touched by his hands. like a brush as soft as fur. yet it burns at your skin.

his touch only felt like prickles of needles. burning your flesh of his desire. the way his lips, were so cold that planted your skin. the open-mouth kisses that were sloppy, but that’s how he wanted it. messy and sloppy.

the sobs that left your mouth, as his teeth dug into your flesh, leaving whatever mark of his. it was so suffocating to breathe when it seemed like he was trying to consume you whole.

you closed your eyes, you dreamed of those fantasies where you could look at him with the feeling of your guts twisting and breaking. where you wouldn’t have a consent purple ring mark around your wrist from how tight the chain was, like a marriage ring that would forever bond you to him. as if you could ever escape, not with the way he looks at you. hungry eyes of a predator who would never allow his prey to leave.

Your eyes shot open when you felt the now sporadic movement. you looked at him pleading, your eyes filled with those glossy tears as another sob left your teared lips from both yours and his teeth.

you tried to push against him, but he only gripped your wrists. his grip leaving a deep imprint on your skin. a pained whine left your lips, it hurts, it hurt bad but he didn’t notice, or at least he pretended not to notice, and lived in a fantasy like you were you were actually in love with him, like that distance past.

he brought one of your wrists to his mouth kissing too softly, almost lovingly making you sick. yet even through all of this, he continued to rock his hips into yours, only this time they became more sporadic, and rough, it was too much, he was too much.

you felt like you could feel in your mouth. yet you couldn’t help the moans that left your lips, shaped beautifully in his name.

you felt his grin on your wrist as you let out a loud sound of pleasure if you could even call it that. you hated that every time he would grin or smile. you would think back to the time you loved him. where there were sweet nothings in your ear, where you wouldn’t forced into this position whenever he had a bad day. when talking to him didn’t feel like a dance on a tightrope. when just living didn’t feel like walking on eggshells.

your eyes rolled to the back of your head as his movement became rougher and more forceful, but he was always forceful. from his words to his actions, it was forceful, never soft, at least like how he was in those fantasies.

he leaned forward his breath hitting the shell of your ear, his breath was hot as if trying to melt your skin. a groan was heard followed by the sound of your name.

his grip tightened around your thighs, a dip imprint on your leg as he pushed even more into your chest your legs feeling crushed as he placed his body weight onto you.

then you heard it

“i love you…”

those words that you fantasized about, yet it was never soft. this wasn’t the love you dreamed about this was your reality..your prison.

the warmth of liquid filled you, you felt sick. you let out a sob as he cooed into your ear.

you wished that your fantasy would consume you whole

[tarotwithdanise]

10 reasons why you should love yourself

༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ how to choose a pile? ✧ . ˚

꒰⠀from left to right ; intuitively choose the pile your mind, heart and soul desire for. if you are having trouble choosing the right pile for you, here’s some tips you can do ; (1) take a deep breath (2) close your eyes (3) ask guidance from your guides (4) finally open your eyes and you can choose the right pile for you by the guidance you ask from your guides. if you are still having trouble by choosing the right pile for you let me know because i am willing to help and guide you.

1 - 2 - 3

4 - 5 - 6

rules, disclaimer and notes ☆

1. Just a quick disclaimer : This reading was made for entertainment purposes only. this is obviously a general reading so takes what resonates and leave when it doesn’t, you don’t need to force your energy to read this and leave such a bad comment just to say it doesn’t resonates with you at all because the answer is very obvious! i don’t own any these pictures i collected them from pinterest so credits to the rightful owners.

2. Please ignore any grammatical errors on my reading since english is not my first language, thank you for understanding!

3. Third to the last one, if you are not an avid fan of this kind of readings and not totally 100% agree about the outcome of this pac please just ignore this post and don’t engaged anymore, this pac can contains harsh, hurtful comments about you or the other person that can trigger you if possible, so kindly read at your own risk and take how it’ll resonates.

4. Lastly, be happy and enjoy reading my works — feedbacks, comments, likes, reblogs and follows are really appreciated by the reader. (that’s me, lol :3)

for tips, donation, masterlist and paid readings ☆

TIPS JAR DONATION BOX

MASTERLIST PAID READING SERVICES

[ ♡ ] check out my second account @danisetarot.

SOURCE AND CREDITABLE : All of the pictures are collected and downloaded from pinterest , I don’t own any of them but credits goes to the rightful owners however edits and reading itself goes and belong to yours truly. I use the editor tools canva and ibispaint for the header and divider.

Pile one

You don't take bullsh*t from others.

Your opinion is way more matters for you rather than other people opinion of you now.

You are good at dancing.

You are highly connected to divine and spiritual realm.

You have a strong fighting spirit.

Cutting people off for you is like as if you were cutting a paper pad. Too easy.

You've got a brightest smile and pretty hands.

You prefer few friends rather than a bunch of friends who are just fake and plastic. Quality over quantity.

You always want to grow and learn from your mistakes.

You are brutally honest person.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

Pile two

You are good with arts, crafting, sewing, music or painting.

You are unique, feels like a weirdo from everyone else. (aquarius?)

You prefer old fashion rather than to keep up with the trends.

You have a peaceful and positive mindset.

You have a nice thighs.

You are passionate and hardworking about your work.

You always stay focus at your project, seems like you are perfectionist individual.

You are a great listener and advisor, probably someone who is there for everyone. A friend that can rely on with.

You are good at reading and observing people.

You are quite person but d*adly scary.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

Pile three

You love taking care of yourself, you prepare for your daily healthy foods and keep yourself hydrated everytime.

You are good at guiding other's, someone who can be a teacher, tarot reader or a leader itself.

You have a high respect for people especially for your parents.

Many people love you online or in real life.

You are grateful that God give and provide your everyday life. You are thankful that God has given you another chance to live again, to prove and improve yourself.

You love the sound of rain while reading your favorite book.

You like reading newspapers even though through online sites and watching documentaries.

The fears you are fearing before, you can deal with them now.

You are creative human, there's something new up and something incredible happening to your mind 24/7.

You finally learn how to say ‘no’ with those things and someone that you think won't serve you. You rather be hated for who you truly are rather than to be someone else who faked everything.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

Pile four

You are soft-hearted individual.

You have a sexy body.

You have this mindset - it's okay to cry then start to fight again for tomorrow and for your future.

You are determined and doesn't give up easily.

You know how to pampered yourself when you have money.

Even though you doesn't seems see yourself as a good leader atleast you always perceived yourself as great team player.

You know how to handle and organize your own time and things.

You think your ship doesn't yet come to the shore and so, you knew there's a lot of lessons for you to uncover in this lifetime.

You are someone who know themselves well, someone who knew that they have strengths, weakness, positive and negative traits about themselves. In short, you accept your own flaws.

You have a strong faith.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

Pile five

You are lucky and grateful about your life and about yourself.

You are kind to yourself and to others.

You are lovable individual, partner, son/daughter and best friend.

Type of person is not easy to get fooled and scammed.

You know how to discipline yourself about something or someone.

You can deal with your personal issues alone without the help of others. Maybe sometimes when you badly needed it.

You have this quote ‘loving yourself first before loving others’.

You know how to have fun and you know how to joke around with other people. You have a jolly and positive energy.

You have a perfect eyebrows?like even though you don't casually wear brows pencil.

You only have you in this world and you have your family.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

Pile six

You have unpredictable nature, that may lots of people wonder what were you thinking.

You are very secretive and mysterious individual.

You look good in every outfits and styles you wear.

You know how to forgive and forget others. But you don't give chances.

You have a great story and will, to share with people.

You have a beautiful and graceful ; soul, body and mind.

You know how to celebrate your own victory. You are happy in small things.

You are generous individual.

You usually have a good music and artist taste.

You know how to defend yourself in a bad situation.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

© daninixx ── all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, alter, or repost my work.

[lenreli]

with a glimpse of your teeth [1/2, Dreamling, E]

[AO3]

CW: Violence, blood, gore, knife play, kidnapping.

Also for dreamling bingo - B3, Endless Family get along!

E, 10.2k. After the unfortunate demise of their parents, life goes on. Continuation of endless pawns playing a fixed game!

-

The months after the yacht are ― chaotic, to put it mildly. Alliances between guards cut, him and his siblings working on taking over the family business in a way that doesn’t cause them to want to kill each other. More than usual, that is. 

And today, Dream’s been stuck with meeting some of the other head’s other families, the dark wood of the huge table, soon filling up with the likes of Morningstar. At least Dream has Hob, who’s currently leaning on the table near him at the moment. 

“Not looking forward to it?” Hob asks, glancing away from his phone and Dream huffs, sliding down in his seat as he leans closer to the other man. 

“Desire’s better at this, but they’re doing something else today,” he replies with a pout. Hob huffs, and a hand comes up to pet his hair, twirling it between Hob’s fingers and Dream leans into the touch. “Maybe I’d do better to not kill them with some incentive,” he purrs. 

At this, Hob pockets his phone and smirks, “one successful murder and you’re so cocky,” Hob says softly, leaning down to press their foreheads together momentarily, and Dream lets out a gasp as Hob tugs on his hair, forcing his head back. “Starting a war that big would be too much even for you and your siblings to handle, so try not to.” 

Groaning, his head thunks against the top of the chair, frowning as Hob continues to stroke his hair. “That’s not an incentive.” 

“The only incentive going through my mind right now is shutting you up as my cockwarmer,” Dream swallows, mouth drying as he leans into the other’s hand, fisted in his hair as he presses his face into Hob’s thigh, looking up at him. 

“Now?” He asks, arousal pooling as he nuzzles at the other’s clothed thigh, face going up ― until Hob grips his hair, dark eyes looking down at him. 

“No, you have a meeting soon. If you behave,” Hob says, sliding out from under him and Dream whines as his face hits the wood. There’s a tug to the back of the top of his suit, pulling him back into a seating position as a finger, two presses into the pulse of his throat. “And it wasn’t using your mouth, pretty as it is,” Hob whispers, eyes flicking down and Dream shivers, arousal flaring. “Now be a good little mafia boss for me and you might get what you want.” 

Rubbing his eyes, there’s the sound of people outside the room as Hob leans against the wall behind him, and Dream takes a few calming breaths as he tries to get into a mindset that can deal with people.

-

Dream looks around his art room, some of his paintings put into crates as he’s waiting for more blank canvases to be delivered, finally managing to find some time for his art after the craziness of the past few months. Checking his paints and brushes, he sits on his chair as he blinks at the paint canvas currently on his easel. 

And now with his art room like this, he realises that he’s not in the mood for art. Groaning, he looks at the ceiling and walks out of the room, making his way to his own room and picking up the latest book he’s reading, sitting on a chair to go through a few chapters to pass the time.

Focused on reading, he faintly hears his door open, and glancing up to see familiar pointed shoes, he goes back to his reading, curling more up onto the chair―

At least, until his book is taken out of his hands, “hey!” He scowls as Hob puts the book onto a table nearby, pages down flat. 

“Weren’t you meant to be doing art today?” Hob asks, eyes bright―and Dream blinks, looking at a spot of blood on Hob’s neck. 

“Apparently not,” he answers, looking to see if he could see blood anywhere else on Hob―which, there doesn’t seem to be. And not that he gets long to look before he’s tugged into a kiss, biting at his lips and Dream’s heart races, grabbing onto the other’s shoulders. 

Hob pulls him as they kiss, clothes being shed as he’s guided to the bed, a leg in between his as Dream focuses on biting the skin around the edges of the other’s shoulder harness, the faint smell of sweat and musk intoxicating. 

A knee presses against his hardening cock as he sits on the bed, hands going down to knead into Hob’s chest hair as he bites more marks around the black harness―until his breath is pushed out of him and his only contact with Hob is the hand gripping onto dark chest hairs. “What?” He asks, brows furrowing as he tries to keep himself still under Hob’s bright gaze.

Hob tilts his head as he settles on top of his hips, and there’s a familiar sound of a switchblade―before it’s put into the bed next to him.

“My bed!” He scowls, glaring at the blade as he hears a bottle cap opening―”Hob,” he chokes out as cold fingers enter him, stretching and pressing as Hob pulls off his pants. Gasping, he shudders and twitches―moving closer to the blade, near the join of his shoulder and neck. Grabbing onto Hob’s hair, he brings his other hand up to the blade, red hilt glinting in the light.

“Don’t touch it,” Hob says softly, crooking his fingers and Dream cries out, shoulder almost grazing the blade as he twitches, hand jerking away to clutch the sheets. “Such a squirmy little thing,” Dream can only cry out as Hob hits his prostate, thoughts vanishing under the onslaught of pleasure. 

“My,” he chokes out, words meaningless as Hob adds another finger, entrance stretching even more around the other’s fingers, “bed.” 

Hob scoffs, leaning down to bite at a nipple and Dream ― squirms, can feel the cold edge of the blade near his shoulder, overtly aware of it as Hob continues to stretch him open, occasionally brushing against his prostate. “Like you won’t just use this to get a new one anyway,” Hob says, pressing into that spot enough that Dream sees stars, trying to curl up under Hob―and failing, only feeling the light brush of the blade against his neck.  

Time falls away under Hob’s hands, under the stubble and lips on his chest as he tries to keep himself still. Hob, on top of him, makes various considering noises as an orgasm gets wrung out of him, heart beating wildly at how close the sharp edge of the blade ends nicks into his throat as he comes. 

A weight lifts off him and he blinks to find Hob at his neck, a dark shirt pressing against his neck as the blade gets taken out of the bed. “You like my squirming,” he mutters, voice slurring as he slowly comes back to his body, skin tingling as Hob chuckles. 

“Wanted to see what you’d do,” Hob says with a shrug and a grin.

-

Hob follows behind, a few paces behind as Dream opens the door to ― well, an apartment. For him, away from the main grounds, and he smiles at his art on the walls, the black fixtures of his new penthouse apartment. After being under his parent’s thumb, it’ll be nice to have more of a space for himself only. “Do you have an apartment?” He asks, walking up to the wide windows to look at the people milling about below. 

“I do. Sometimes I even get to sleep in it,” Hob answers, and there’s a crunch, chewing and Dream looks over to see Hob biting into an apple, taken from the fruit basket in the kitchen. 

“Can I see it one day?” He wonders, sitting down on the black velvet sofa as Hob leans against the other side of the sofa, taking another bite of his apple. 

Hob blinks, tilting his head as he thinks, “I don’t see why not.” Hob moves away, opening the fridge as he eats more of his fruit. “Very small place for you, I’d think.” 

“Well, it’s mine, and I get to come to it whenever I please, so the size of it doesn’t matter,” he points out proudly, getting up to look at one of the two rooms ― this one turned into a miniature of his art room, supplies and more blank canvases. 

“Really?” Hob says dryly and Dream goes to his other room ― black sheets on a four-poster bed. And his paintings of Hob on the walls. 

“My apartment,” he says, smothering a smile as Hob raises an eyebrow, brown eyes narrow as they look at him. “You don’t agree with my tastes?” 

Hob gives him a withered look, scratching his head, “I’m just not interested in staring at art of me while I fuck you.” 

Dream huffs, face feeling hot with how candidly Hob speaks of it, “well, maybe it wouldn’t be you doing the fucking,” he points out petulantly, the words meaningless as Hob crosses his arms, gaze turned scrutinizing. “Especially not after what you did to my bed.” 

“I can make it two-for-two if you want,” Hob whispers, and his pulse jumps as Hob’s hand digs into his jaw. 

“Those sheets are very expensive,” he says with a frown, walking backwards as Hob presses into him, pushing him towards the wooden column of the bed. “They’re silk. No knives,” he orders, head arching up by Hob’s hand.

“No knives, then,” Hob says into his ear, stubble scraping against his throat, the hot line of Hob’s body against his as he holds onto the other’s hips. “Dream,” Hob whispers ― and there’s a pressure on his throat, Hob’s hand cutting off his air and he wheezes, a hand coming up to grab Hob’s wrist as the pressure increases― 

Until it doesn’t, and he chokes for breath as a knee presses into his groin, into his slowly hardening cock. Dream shivers, whining as Hob nips at his neck, sensitive.

“Let’s hear how well you scream in this new place of yours.”

-

“Which colour?” He asks Delirium as she looks over the palette of neon shades, make-up brush in hand as he does her eyes. 

“This one!” She points to a neon green and Dream nods, his sister closing her eyes as he applies the eyeshadow to one eyelid, the other already having a matte orange on it. “I like your scarf. Could use more sequins and glitter though.” 

Dream sighs and adjusts his scarf, hiding the ― well, handprints. Hob does enjoy ravaging his neck, which of course he doesn’t mind, but it’s not something he’d like to show his sister. He’s already heard enough from Desire, and then they complained that they’re going to an orgy sometime because of jealousy or something. “It’s alright. All done,” he says and Delirium’s eyes open, mismatched blue and green staring at him. 

Delirium looks at herself in the mirror, “mother does it better,” and Dream grimaces. She was told what happened, but sometimes she just ― doesn’t remember. “Can we play with the fishies now?” 

“Anything you want,” he says, suppressing a wince as Delirium grabs his wrist, pulling them over to the huge aquarium in her quarters. Delirium pokes the glass, some of her brightly-coloured fish swarming close as she smiles. 

-

Their dinner, usually very punctual, is five minutes late. It’s nothing to worry about, but with the sudden influx of a few guard’s leaving, gets everyone’s attention. At least until Desire goes back to their phone, and Death to hers. 

The minutes pass in silence ― and then Hob walks into the room, which Dream, of course, immediately pays attention to as their dinner finally arrives. The chef looks shaken up as she announces it, but Dream doesn’t pay it any mind as Hob stands behind his chair, fingers digging into the back of it. 

With the chef’s announcement done, Hob speaks up before they dig into their food ― except for Desire, “there was another poisoning attempt,” Hob says and Dream freezes, along with the rest of his siblings as they look at each other. And then to Desire. 

Desire swallows their bite, scowling, “it wasn’t me! If I wanted to do that, then it’d be Dream’s food only,” they say, batting their lashes. 

Hob sighs, arms going to rest across the back of his chair, fingers caressing the back of his head and Dream scowls before taking a bite of his food. “They’re right, in this case. It was an attempt on all of you, and we do have someone to talk to.” 

Despair, sitting next to her twin, blinks and raises her hand, the other one twirling her food absent-mindedly with a fork. “Can I help?” 

Dream looks up, Hob’s surprise a momentary thing across his face, “sure. We can keep them stewing until you’re done.” 

Despair smiles.

-

A week later and Dream has finished a very tiring meeting, finally getting to relax as he sits on the big chair in his art room. Picking up his artbook and a pencil, he sketches mindlessly, ending up with Delirium’s curly hair and bright smile.

“Your sister is brilliant,” a voice says and Dream blinks, confused to see Hob smiling widely at the door. 

“She is?” He asks, confused as Hob stalks closer, bringing him into a deep kiss, sketchbook wedged between them. 

“Despair. She works so beautifully, even Cori probably wants lessons,” Hob purrs, fingers gripping his hair and Dream squirms as Hob sits on top of him, cock filling up from the weight, even as his mind skips over the other’s words. 

“Can we not talk about my sister like this?” Dream asks, affronted and Hob laughs, eyes dark as his sketchbook is thrown onto the floor. Nimble fingers start unbuttoning Dream’s shirt, nails scratching down his chest and he shivers.

“Fine, but you should be very proud of her,” Hob whispers, pointer finger pressing into the dark hair above his pants. Dream swallows a sound as the finger tugs the edge of his pants. 

“Of course,” he chokes out, mind swimming with the way Hob is only ― watching him breathe and twist, a solid weight on his thighs. “How long do you plan to stare?” He asks, voice low and rough as he pokes Hob’s side, who doesn’t react. 

“Until I’ve decided,” Hob answers, eyes zeroing in on his chest as Hob’s other hand comes up, fingers tugging a nipple and Dream chokes on his breath, blood rushing quickly down south. “Or maybe until you’ve had enough,” Hob says with a tilt of his head, a nail digging into his other nipple and Dream cries out.

“Hob,” he whines, panting as his head lolls onto the chair, and Hob hums ― and there’s a brush, pressure against his crotch, and he takes a deep breath, pleasure coiling at the feel of Hob’s arse pressed against him, and Dream grabs onto Hob’s hips in desperation, mind swimming. 

“You haven’t nearly enough yet,” Hob scolds lightly, the hand near his crotch swiftly undoing them―and then making their way up his stomach, nails scratching up as Hob leans down to bite his neck, another new sensation to add and Dream moans. 

“So you’re going to torture me?” He wheezes, unsure of how he got the words out between all the pulling and tugging.

“I’m sure you’ll like it,” Hob whispers, licking up his adam’s apple. Dream shivers, fear and pleasure twisting as a hand makes it’s way back down to his crotch―then goes back up, nails digging into hips as he tries to―keep a presence of mind under the onslaught of sensations. 

“Hob,” he pleads, brain sinking into the feelings, into the over-stimulation as Hob abuses his already red nipples, as the other hand doesn’t go near his cock, the familiar scratch of the other’s beard against his neck, the stinging of fresh marks put over old ones. 

“You haven’t even started screaming yet,” Hob whispers into his clavicle. Shuddering, Dream holds on tighter as Hob continues―

-

Out of all the things he wasn’t expecting, opening the door to Hob’s apartment was ― art, on the walls, as well as what looks like manuscripts and scrolls. They look like they should be in a museum, the mediaeval art in golden frames, the manuscripts and scrolls in sealed glass cases. “These are,” he frowns, staring at a scroll full of Old English in bafflement. 

“Just some things I’ve picked up,” Hob says as Dream looks around, a bookshelf filled with various texts about history or lock-picking, fiction and non-fiction as Hob sits on his red sofa. “I do actually have hobbies outside of my work.” 

“Do you have the Dead Sea Scrolls around here, too?” He asks dryly, walking down a hallway and seeing more scrolls and manuscripts on the walls on the way to Hob’s bedroom. 

“I think I have a replica in another storage vault, actually,” Hob says from the doorway as Dream takes in Hob’s room, quite plain compared to the rest of the apartment. Aside from the bed and another bookcase, there’s a stainless-steel box, brushed silver at the end of Hob’s bed, and Dream reaches forward―until a hand on his wrist stops him. “I wouldn’t do that,” Hob breathes into his ear and Dream swallows. 

“Would it kill me?” He asks as his hand gets pulled closer to him, and Hob sighs. 

“It’d kill both of us,” Hob points out, reaching forward to put a thumb on the box ― which opens up, revealing a variety of weapons, neatly ordered and sectioned. Knives, blades, wires and ropes, vials and syringes, handguns and what looks like larger guns, broken down into their component parts to fit inside the box. Hob closes the box, which clicks shut and Dream leans away from it as Hob sits on his bed. 

Opening the built-in wardrobe, he’s unsurprised to see the suits Hob wears for his job, a variety of harnesses. And, well, Dream blinks at the burst of colour next to the suits, looking at a yellow jumper as he tries to imagine Hob in it, or any of the other colourful clothes next to it. “I thought you just had,” he doesn’t complete the sentence, embarrassed to finish it. What, that he only wore suits exclusively, which he realises is absurd.

“My normal style isn’t black, unlike you,” Hob says, then sighs. “Not that I get much chance to actually wear normal clothes. Well, there’s always undercover work.” 

Dream nods, brain trying to wrap what he knows of Hob as he touches a bright blue shirt. And how much he doesn’t know. “Why all the history?” He asks as he sits next to Hob, the quilt a simple and colourful patchwork, another incongruous thing that makes up Hob. 

“It’s interesting, learning how people were before today. Maybe in another life I’d be a boring history teacher.” 

Scoffing, Dream lightly kisses Hob, then another as he sits on top of the other man, “even if you were, you’d never be boring,” Dream sighs, melting on top of the other’s body, Hob’s arms winding around his waist as they continue to kiss.

“If you say so,” Hob whispers into his mouth.

-

If there’s one thing Dream is grateful for, is that none of his subsequent kidnappings followed the formula Burgess’s did. Desire had rusty old chains and a damp, ancient room. And this time, his wrists are bound in chains, up above his head, tied around the steel beams of the small warehouse he’s in, surrounded by those who kidnapped him. 

He doesn’t appreciate the ache in his shoulder blades though, from being strung up like this. The many people around, seeing him like this, also doesn’t help. 

In between irritation that a certain “bodyguard” hasn’t razed through the place yet, is Dream wondering if the people coming after him are because he’s a middle child. Perhaps the logic isn’t sound, with the aching pain of his shoulders and biceps and lack of anything substantial since yesterday, but― 

There’s a commotion, the people around him getting out their guns as the two near the door collapse onto the floor. And then more, groups of two, out of nowhere and Dream’s heart jumps, looking around for something familiar. 

And eventually finding it on the steel beams on the middle level of the warehouse. Smiling, he watches as Hob takes out more of the people, and there’s a gunshot, the other people finding Hob on the beams. Hob scowls and puts away whatever knives he was using, then swings down from the beam, onto a man’s face, a deep cracking sound making Dream flinch as the man’s head hits the pavement, crushed under Hob’s feet. 

Hob leans down, taking the man’s handgun and shooting the two people closest, too fast for them to react and Dream watches, enraptured and blood rushing south as Hob uses up the gun ― then gets out one of his switchblades from his jacket. 

Even as Hob swiftly cuts down people, the only spot of blood Dream can see is on the sole of a pointed shoe as Hob makes his way closer, the veritable army of people in the small warehouse down to ― three. Two. And one, which is right next to him as Hob sticks the blade into the man’s eye, and there’s a piercing scream as it’s dragged down his face, his throat― and he stops, flopping to the floor as the blade leaves him. 

Hob is ― standing there, taking out a black piece of fabric to clean his blade, a down turn to his lips and a particular darkness still in his eyes, that makes Dream’s insides twist with heat. “Hob? Aren’t you going to free me?” He asks, chains rattling as he tries to drift closer. The other man raises an eyebrow and turns away, walking towards the other end of the warehouse to retrieve his other weapons. “Hob?” 

The only sounds are the fleshy sounds of knives being taken out, the tap of Hob’s shoes, the chains keeping him there as his heartrate spikes. 

“Hob. Free me,” he orders roughly, and tries not to let his growing terror show as Hob comes up to him, an eyebrow raised. 

“Why? You paid for this, after all,” Hob says flatly. 

Fuck. Fuck. “I don’t know what you mean,” he croaks, tensing as Hob leans into him, eyes dark as fingers ― spotless of blood, even with all the gore and carnage around them ― tug open the first of his dress shirt’s button. “Hob,” he pleads, voice cracking as Hob steps away, hearing as Hob ― steps behind him, and even if it wasn’t the shoes, it’s his shirt being pulled out of his pants ― and the cold, flat feeling on the end of his spine. 

“The way it was only me who found out, the money which I eventually traced to one of your shell companies,” Hob says, and Dream shivers at the breath on his ear, “if you didn’t want me to know, you’d have to try much harder than that. So. Why?” 

“I―I don’t,” the knife taps against the vertebrae and Dream gulps, mind trying to get a hold of the familiar terror and arousal mixture. “I,” he tries again, sighing as the blade stops, on the vertebrae above. “I wanted to see you work,” he offers quietly. 

There’s a huff, and Dream can almost see the way Hob smirks, and Dream lets out a whimper as an arm goes around his hips, the clink of chains ― and the cold blade, still against his spine as a nose presses into his ear and hair. “And did you have fun?” Hob asks gleefully, fingers digging into his hips, “was I a good spectacle for you?” Hob’s voice is sharper and Dream shudders as the flat edge of the knife continues up his spine. 

“Y―yes?” He answers, dick throbbing even with fear running through his veins, mind pulling up if that knife just slipped―”I, Hob, I’m―” Hob’s arm pulls him closer to the blade and he grips onto the chains, pulling himself away from it. “I won’t do it aga―”

There’s a bark of laughter right next to his ear and he represses a flinch, and he shivers as warm hands unbutton his pants, “I don’t care if you do it again. I just have a few notes,” Hob says, voice slipping into a faux cheerful tone as the hand near his pants circles back around ― and the flat of the knife presses into his spine until he twitches away. 

“Notes?” He wheezes, squeezing his eyes  at the sudden cold at his hole, two split-slicked fingers entering him roughly and he whines, head arching back onto Hob’s at the pain. 

“Now, I do like the way you’re tied up here,” Hob offers, tone now conversational and not like two callused fingers are painfully stretching him, “but for some variety, I think maybe you should let one of them plug you up. Or you do it yourself somehow,” Hob hums and Dream cries out as fingers brush his prostate, the pain burning. 

“I―ah―back pocket,” he chokes out ― and he sighs in relief, going lax in the chains as the fingers leave, no doubt finding the packet of lube in there. 

“But really,” Hob continues, and the knife moves, the blade and handle pressed flat against his back as lubed fingers enter him once more, “if you keep wanting to get yourself kidnapped, I’m thinking of a video for ransom next time, of one of them forcing you to lube yourself up for me.” 

Dream gulps, dick twitching and he tries to say something, but another press against those nerves makes the words fall out of his head.

“And it’d give me extra incentive to do this again,” there’s a sigh and Dream writhes, pleasure overtaking pain and terror as Hob puts another finger inside, “and of course, I’d kill the one who watched you first,” Hob nuzzles his ear, stubble scraping along it as the knife vanishes from his back. “And really? Only twenty people?” 

Gasping, Dream can only manage vague moans and whimpers, choking on air as his pants are pulled down to his thighs. 

“Only twenty,” Hob punctuates the number with a twist of fingers and Dream wails, cries echoing throughout the warehouse, “you insult me.” 

“Please,” he pleads, voice broken and breathy, twitching in the chains, and he whimpers as another hand grabs his throat, near his jaw and ears, “please.” 

“I don’t know if I want to free you yet,” Hob whispers, nails pressing into his throat and he whines, his shoulders twitching from the pain of being held up, and another finger enters him ― four, at his hazy count. “After all, you paid to be like this, and I should get my money’s worth.” 

Dream wails, cock twitching as his orgasm rushes up to him ― and is stopped by Hob’s hand, the stopping of it, and the feel of Hob’s hand making his body flare with toomuchtoomuchnotenoughmorenomoreplease. 

“Fifty thousand, you paid for this,” Hob says into his ear, and Dream can only twitch as another finger goes into his hole, and he whimpers as five fingers stretch him, relentlessly pushing the nerves into blaring pleasure-pain. “What do you think that was? Ten thousand? Maybe less?” 

“Hob,” he begs, the only word he can manage.

“I don’t know. Getting fucked may cost you extra,” Hob says, and he can feel teeth against the shell of his ear as Hob tugs him closer, and he sobs, eyes wet at the feeling of a hard cock brushing his arse. 

“Please, anything, yes,” Dream slurs, chains rattling as he tries to get closer to Hob’s cock, even with it being clothed, and even with the many fingers still inside him. There’s a squelch and Dream whines, fingers leaving him empty ― and Hob moans, a hot length entering him and lighting Dream up inside with pleasure. 

Dream can only sway in place, an arm going around his waist as the other pulls his head up, throat straight and aching as Hob nips at neck, and Dream twitches, sinking into the way Hob breathes against him, the other’s cock fucking in and out of him brutally, even with the way it slipped into his loose hole. 

He shivers, another orgasm making it’s way through his body ― until Hob stops it, and Dream keens. “HobpleaseIpleaseletme,” he babbles, the words just a stream of consciousness, brain only pleasure, the way he’s being used. 

Hob groans, biting his ear as Dream continues to plea, then there’s a bite to his ear as Hob comes, leaking out of him. Dream whines, cock still hard and twitching, neglected as― he crumples to the floor, chain cut off as it pools to the floor. “A week, I think,” Hob says, his pointed shoes showing up in Dream’s periphery. There’s a tug on the chains still around his wrists as Hob pulls him up, feet pushing his legs apart. 

Dream groans, mind blank as Hob tugs down his pants more, and there’s a wet feeling on the edge of them―blood, from the corpse near him. 

Hob hums, and there’s a hand on his jaw, pulling it up as he stares into Hob’s eyes, “you’re pretty deep in there. Just look at me,” Dream leans into the hand, brain fuzzy as there’s a sudden sting on his inner thigh, like a cut and he furrows his brows, looking down to see Hob’s hand, a blade―and the cut, the knife so close to his cock. “Time for us to go,” Hob says, pulling him up with the chains, other hand doing up his pants. 

―

“Deep in where?” He asks, voice slurred as he comes back to himself, finding himself in his room. And what feels like a bandage around his thighs, shoulders and wrists aching a lot less then he thought they would as he groans, face full of Hob’s chest hair. 

“Subspace,” Hob replies, stroking his hair and Dream sighs, feeling the quilt on top of them. “A firm hand and you go right under.”

Dream blinks, twitching his hands as he realises they’re still there, as he pats Hob’s chest and remembers his last partner, how they’d take him to that space every time, leaving him afterwards, and how horrible he’d usually feel the days after. “Huh.” Mind still coming back in pieces, helped along by the warmth of Hob, the hand patting his hair, “when did we get back?” 

“A while ago. Just relax, I’m only done with you for today.” Dream whines, nose pressing into dark hair as he moves up to bite at Hob’s collarbone, making Hob chuckle. “No more,” Hob says, voice soft as fingers continue to twirl through his hair, as he feels Hob’s other hand caresses his spine. 

“But I’m still,” he frowns, voice muffled as he tries to place it, the burning desire in his veins muted, but still there. 

“Tomorrow,” Hob says with a sigh. Dream groans and licks more of Hob’s collarbone, trying to elicit a response ― which he doesn’t get.

-

“You’re not even listening to me,” Desire says ― whines, and Dream blinks, trying to get some thoughts together, away from hot skin and―”Dream!” 

“Yes?” He asks, still not looking at his sibling as he adjusts the shirt collar around his neck, fingers brushing against the harsh red marks on his throat. He vaguely remembers a meeting, which seems to have ended and left only them.

“You’re more spacey than usual,” Desire says, and he becomes more present as there’s a poke against his side, then more until he scowls, chair scraping as he moves away from Desire’s pokes. “What’s that master of yours been doing to you?” 

“Nothing,” he mumbles, face feeling hotter as Desire raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Aren’t you meant to be with Despair?” 

His sibling pouts, resting their face on their hands, “she’s having fun with all that down in the skeevy bits in the basement. Last time I went there was all blood and bone,” Desire says and Dream scrunches his nose at the picture Desire paints. “I’m happy for her, but I just can’t. I prefer keeping my hands clean, you know. At least, of blood and gore.” 

“Naturally,” he says dryly and Desire hmph’s, leaving him a shove and Dream can only watch blankly as Desire gets out their phone, touchscreen keys clacking. 

It’s been three days, and Hob has decided to drive Dream insane. A week, he blearily heard Hob say before he passed out. It’s the fourth day and Dream wonders how he’ll survive, getting out intact.

The first day, Hob smiling, stubble scraping his stomach as he goes down, hot mouth swallowing him fully, orgasm being sucked out of him―he wishes. 

Second day, Dream begging and pleading as Hob fingers him for hours, other hand around his cock, stopping him from coming as he gets increasingly more desperate and incoherent, with Hob only smiling and laughing, biting at his shoulder and neck― 

And yesterday, kevlar rope around his neck as Hob takes out the butt plug he put in the day before, the lack of air and Hob fucking him roughly, and the complete lack of― 

A hand, callused and familiar, touches his neck, thumb grazing across the sensitive marks and Dream heaves, brain sparking and collapsing with the touch as he curls into it, grabbing onto Hob’s wrist as his skin tingles. “Hob,” he breathes, cock hard and leaking ― constantly, but even more with Hob’s touch.

Hob’s hand trails down to his collar, taking him out of the chair and Dream follows almost blindly, seeing the black of Hob’s suit and the brightness of his eyes as Hob leads him ― wherever. 

“Please,” he croaks, uncaring of anything else as he’s taken into a small room, bright with windows, and he can only obey as Hob pushes him to the floor. 

“Soon,” Hob teases, smiling down at him and Dream whines at the rough tug to his hair, lighting his brain up with pleasure-pain as a leg, a pointed leather shoe gets put between his legs, and Dream cries out as the shoe presses into his arousal. 

“Not soon enough,” he breathes, body collapsing onto Hob’s leg, fingers clutching desperately at the other’s thigh, hiding his face near the other’s crotch as Hob huffs, leaning against the wall.

“Oh Dream,” Hob coos, the hand in his hair going down to his jaw, and he can only whine as a thumb touches his bottom lip, his body moving onto Hob’s shoe, his ankle without his input, brain flaring with constant pleasure ― and the way he knows it’ll end today. 

“Please,” his voice cracks and Hob shushes him, tugging him up by the jaw and he shivers at the change of angle, the point of a leather shoe pressing into his cock. He’s only nerves and bundled pleasure, bordering on pain as he grinds into the other’s shoe― 

And can only gasp as once again, his orgasm is ripped away as Hob tugs him up by his neck, nails digging into the rope marks. “Not yet,” Hob whispers, eyes dark yet sparkling and Dream shivers, unable to stop the strung-out whine as Hob kisses him lightly. 

-

The other days go by in a haze, and Dream’s just lucky there’s no intensive meetings as he tries to focus on ― anything but Hob, just the thought of him enough to heat his blood. He does manage to do some abstract paintings, full of red and black, hazy and tense like he feels. 

The day after, the weight of Hob on top of him, his fingers making Hob moan as they brush against the other’s prostate, strong hands eventually guiding his cock into Hob. Having a simple black cock ring put onto him after Hob’s come, who leaves him with a peck to the cheek. 

And the next day, waking up with Hob in his bed ― who wasn’t there that night, as he gasps awake at warmth and wet around his cock, and for all he knows, hours of lapping at his cock and balls, still unable to come due to the cock ring, but red and leaking in Hob’s mouth, bringing Dream to an edge of insanity he wasn’t aware of as he screamed and pleaded― 

Then, of course, Hob leaving. He didn’t get out of bed that day, only aware of the passage of time with Hob coming back with meals and drinks as he did rough scribbles in his sketchbook, or read a book. 

He only notices the paintbrush he’s holding is shaking with the way it splatters against the canvas, and he takes a deep breath, putting it down, stomach twisted in anticipation for whatever torture’s in store. His face and neck feel hot and Dream briefly considers putting his head through the canvas, the still wet paint would be cool, right? 

Grimacing, he rubs his throat, feeling the warm skin under his hand before he gets his phone out, finding it almost midnight, and Dream has a brief worry that Hob’s hurt somewhere―

―More likely wanting to drive you insane, he reminds himself, the thought calming the spike of worry as he groans. Staring at the canvas blankly, he gets up, chair scraping as he walks out of the room, wound-up tight as he makes his way back to his room, avoiding the other guards, and a brief glimpse of Death in a room, phone to her ear. 

Taking his shoes off, he settles on his bed, brain caught up in hot skin and dark eyes as he drags his hand down his chest, shutting his eyes as he gets out his dick, aching and red, leaking in his hand as he starts to slowly stroke it. Groaning at the cock ring still around the base, he takes it off with a sigh, whining as he continues to lazily rub his dick, pre-come making it smoother as it gets smeared with his fingers, arching into the sensation. 

Huffing, he pushes his pants off as he strokes, his own fingers nice ― but lacking, the pleasant feeling of an incoming orgasm seeming to move further away, even with his hard and aching his cock is. Biting his lip, he thinks of the metal tang and musk of Hob, of rough hands as he drags himself to an orgasm, the only sound in his room, his breathing and the slick slide of his hand as he gasps, thinking of scratchy stubble along his throat.

He whines, orgasm still out of reach, insides twisting at how much Hob has power over him, even when he’s not there, as he strokes himself roughly, the precipice of it still unattainable. 

“Please,” he whispers, moaning as he tries to get over that edge, but nothing seems to reach as he cries out, arching into his hand in frustration― 

And his knees hit something solid. Opening his eyes, he’s shocked at Hob sitting on the edge of the bed, his knees against Hob’s hip.

“Hob,” he croaks, straightening himself on the bed, hand leaving his cock under the other’s dark stare. “Please,” he asks, frozen as Hob continues to look, eyes dark as they trail up his bare legs, to the plain black shirt on his chest, the gaze almost tangible as it makes him shiver. 

A hand, Hob’s hand, moves onto his thigh and he lets out a whine, cock leaking at the simple touch. “I was enjoying the show,” Hob whispers, fingers dancing up his inner thigh and Dream traps the hand between his thighs. 

“I can’t,” he breathes, twitching as fingers brush against his cock, feeling out of his mind with desperation and renewed pleasure, even with Hob only having on his thighs. 

Hob smiles and takes his hand away, and Dream swallows down a groan and a pout as the hand is put next to his leg, making Hob loom over him. “Of course you can,” Hob says, other hand gripping one of Dream’s, intertwining their fingers as it’s guided to his cock, making him keen as the combined touch strokes him. 

Then Hob pulls his hand away and he cries out, the surging frustration making his eyes water, “can’t,” he breathes, unable to even feel embarrassed, only absurdly twisted up with frustration and pleasure. “Need you.” 

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” a hand grabs his wrist, the other’s eyes black and depthless as they stare, as his hand is guided past his balls, and he twitches and whines as a finger, sticky with pre-come, is put inside himself. Hob lets out a breath, gaze hungry as Dream twists the finger inside, eventually adding another one as his stomach flutters, orgasm feeling more in sight with Hob watching. 

His hole, still loose from the week, accepts his fingers easily enough that he adds a third in, and he gasps, throwing his head back as they brush across his prostate. Keening, he chases the impending orgasm, adding a fourth finger as he can feel Hob lean closer, breath on his thigh ― and a hand on his hip, digging into it, another spark of sensation. 

“Beautiful,” Hob breathes, voice even lower and Dream moans, crying out as he fingers himself, mind sliding away as a particular press on that spot inside makes him see stars, orgasm crashing into him ― and, after a moment of the weightlessness, he looks down to see Hob’s face covered in it, in his beard and hair and Dream’s spent cock twitches, come leaking out at the view. Hob only blinks and uses his free hand to wipe some of it from his forehead, sucking his fingers clean. 

-

“People always forget that I do remember what they say,” Delirium says, putting a mahjong tile in the center of their game, and Dream blinks. When he came into Delirium’s room with her table impeccably set up with rows of mahjong tiles, he knew she was in one of her better days.

“Like what?” He asks, taking his turn as he looks over his two rows of tiles, eventually putting it on the one inside. 

“Like that you all plotted our parent’s death,” Delirium chirps with a smile, and Dream freezes, eyes going wide. “None of you told me,” her voice isn’t angry, but Dream winces anyway, guilt twisting. 

“I… we didn’t worry you. And. Well,” he stops, picking up a tile for his turn and fiddling with it as he discards another, putting it in the center. Maybe you would’ve objected, he doesn’t say. 

“I wouldn’t have. They were going to take me away,” she says with a frown and Dream’s guilt eases, just a little. The door opens and Delirium smiles. Dream, facing away from it, turns around, blinking to see Hob coming over. 

And then he feels only a little bit of offence at the way Hob goes to Delirium, putting a hand in front of his mouth to whisper into her ear. “Still, I… apologise,” he offers, eyes narrowing as Delirium nods and smiles. Confused, he has no idea what to say as their game continues, Hob watching from his sister’s side, occasionally whispering something to her. 

“Mahjong!” Delirium says with a giggle, taking the rack of tiles closest to her to show them and Dream scowls at Hob’s pleased smile as the completed row lays flat. 

“You’re helping her,” he accuses, “and you,” he points to his sister, competitiveness burning within him, “still have one row to do before you win.” 

“I’m more giving her suggestions,” Hob says with a shrug and Dream continues to scowl, trying not to be swayed by Hob’s sparkling eyes. 

“This is the one you’re one with, yes?” Delirium says, eyes going over her remaining row of tiles and Dream nods, “I like him. Much nicer than the other guards.” 

Dream sniffs, “yes. He’s alright when he’s not helping you win,” he mutters and Hob’s eyebrows raise, leaning against the table. 

“So you don’t think she could win on her own, then?” Hob says with a grin and Dream goes back to scowling as Delirium blinks, leaning forward. 

“I didn’t say that, she’s great at playing it, but this seems a bit excessive,” Dream pouts, and he can only watch as Delirium and Hob laugh, trying not to join in with their infectious happiness as picks up a tile.

-

Dream stares at the blank canvas, still ― accusingly blank, even with the hour of working out what he wants to paint, an itch building under his skin to finally do it―

Except, the warm weight under him, an arm around his waist as Hob is on his phone, and his cock, spent and soft, keeping him full of the other’s come, and Dream finds it increasingly hard to concentrate, the white of the canvas mocking. 

Blinking, he stares at the brush in his hand, no paint on it at all, so he pokes Hob’s arm with it. “Hob,” he says, definitely not whining as he moves, jostling the cock inside. 

There’s a sigh against his bare shoulder, his shirt left on the floor somewhere as Hob marked up his neck, with Hob still in his suit and shoes, the feel of cotton against his back as Hob’s head rests on his shoulder. “Weren’t you going to paint?” He asks, eyebrows raising at the canvas. 

Huffing, Dream relaxes against the other’s chest, his own prick hard in his pants, which were hastily tugged down just for the important parts, “Hob,” he doesn’t whine, though it’s definitely in his tone, and he bites back a gasp at teeth biting into his shoulder, Hob’s other arm joining around his waist, tugging him closer. 

“Always so needy,” Hob whispers into his skin, and he cries out as Hob’s hand goes under his pants, roughly stroking his dick. Moaning, arching his back as fingers play with his slit and balls, pleasure building as he feels Hob’s cock start to harden, filling him up even more and he whines, reaching back to grab a hold of the other’s hair. “You didn’t even start.” 

A sound gets torn out of him as Hob pulls him flush, hard cock pressing against his prostate and whatever he planned to say disappears as he holds on, mind crashing at the teeth and tongue on his throat, the hand on his cock.

Having Hob’s cock in him, even soft, helps his orgasm come much quicker, and there’s a huff in his ear as he comes, fingers on his cock pressing the cockhead and he shivers, panting as his cock dribbles even more. 

“I do have an idea,” he gets out, head still scrambled by coming ― and still feeling the hard cock, not moving, but still in him, “but I kept being distracted.” 

There’s a nibble to his ear as he pants, loose-limbed as Hob licks up his neck, stubble scratching against it, “and you had all this talk about being able to handle this,” the teasing tone makes him shudder, Hob deciding to keep his cock pressing against his prostate ― and Hob, pulling out his semen-stained hand to take one of his, intertwining it and putting it against his stomach, where he can almost feel it. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you more time.”

-

Dream stares at the cafe around him and feels ― incongruous, even with a plain black turtleneck and black jeans with boots, as he watches ordinary people go about their day. And he’s nervous, waiting for Hob to appear. 

Mainly because from a certain point of view, with him asking for Hob to arrive in his normal clothes, like it could be a date. 

That he wants it to be a date, which seems absurd but also wonderful, nerves a ball in his stomach as he looks at what’s on offer. Hob chose the location.

The cafe is warm, wood and plants hanging from pots, and Dream gives a side-eye to the clear case showing a variety of desserts, and he thinks about which of them he should try once Hob actually― 

A familiar sound, Hob’s voice, makes his head whip up, and he takes a deep breath at seeing Hob near the door. Chatting with someone, smiling brightly as he describes something, hands gesturing. As Hob points his way, the apologetic smile is broadcasted easily as Hob makes his way through, ending up talking to someone else a table away.

Dream blinks, brain almost not registering the blue dress shirt and green cargo pants that Hob’s wearing over the way that he apparently knows the people here. His regular cafe? Dream thinks.

A knock against his boot shocks him out of his thoughts, Hob done with catching up with people and sitting across from him, their feet touching under the table. “Hello,” he breathes, brain lagging as Hob smiles, leaning in to kiss him, softly―but leaving with a bite against his bottom lip.

“Not what you expected?” Hob asks, eyebrows raising.

“I―I don’t know what I was expecting,” he chokes out, coughing afterwards as Hob laughs. Feeling his face heat, he ignores it, “what would you recommend here, then?”

Hob tilts his head, a head reaching out to hook a pointer finger underneath the edge of his sleeve, “I’ll get something for you,” Hob says, leaning in to give him another kiss. “Stay here.”

As Hob gets up to join the queue for ordering, Dream sees a pair of ratty sneakers, white and green and old, and Dream tries to wrap his head around it. At the way Hob is just so ordinary, would look past him if he hadn’t seen him take down buildings of people single-handed. 

Dream wonders how Hob has probably hidden knives under his normal clothes, how he smiles so easily as he strikes up a conversation with the person in front of him in the queue. Soon enough, Hob joins him back at the table, grinning brightly as he puts down two plates. “Coffee’s on the way,” Hob says as he digs into his own dessert, a slice of red velvet cake. 

“Thank you,” he replies automatically, staring at the slice of key lime pie in front of him, eventually taking a bite and humming at the sweet-tart of it. “Not what I expected either. Isn’t there anything English on the menu?” 

Hob chuckles, “there are. But all their things are also sourced locally, if your English sensibilities are feeling hurt,” the other man says, raising an eyebrow in challenge and Dream scowls. 

“Don’t you consider yourself English?” He frowns, and Hob laughs even harder. “What?” 

“I’ve done too many things for this country to ever consider myself patriotic about it. I live here, I’m British, but,” he shrugs, “now I look after a mafia family who are quite up themselves sometimes,” Hob mutters, twirling a forkful of red velvet before eating it. 

Dream scowls, unsure what to say in reply that wouldn’t cause a scene, or that wouldn’t cause Hob to leave or something worse, which means he just screams inwardly for a few moments. “Fine,” he says through gritted teeth. Hob smirks around his fork. 

Thankfully, their coffee arrives soon after and his knee jerk feelings vanish with a sip of his caramel latte. Hob, to his surprise, also has a latte, which is chocolate ― and Hob lets him try. 

Hob leans forward, legs hooking around one of his shins as he finishes off his cake. “Something’s off,” Hob says casually. 

“Off?” He frowns, looking down at the key lime ― or himself.

“No. Something else,” Hob tilts his head, brown eyes looking past him, “we’re being watched.” Dream turns his head―or tries to, considering the hand on his cheek, stopping from doing that. “Not there. And don’t look. You’d be a horrible spy.” 

Dream scowls, “well, by who then?” 

Hob scowls and there’s a scraping, metal on porcelain as the hand on his face goes to his jaw, gently tugging it open to feed him a bite of his pie. “Don’t know. It’s more a feeling than anything else, but it’s kept me alive all this time.” 

“Wonderful,” he replies sarcastically after eating his bite, resisting the urge to pout as Hob tugs him into a kiss. That, at least, makes him feel less miserable at the apparent eyes on them. 

“Don’t worry, we can go to my place after,” Hob breathes, eyes darkening and Dream swallows, blood rushing at the heat in the other’s gaze. 

-

After, Hob seems to forget the news he shared as he talks about coffee, while Dream only half-listens, feeling unseen eyes on his back as he occasionally offers his own opinion, relentlessly tearing into a napkin due to nerves. Dream, for the tiniest bit, hates how casual and relaxed Hob is as they get up, Hob intertwining their hands as they walk out of the cafe, Hob pointing out other favourite stores as they walk the few blocks to Hob’s apartment block. “You’re very tense,” Hob remarks and Dream gives him a glare.

Hob sighs as they go up the stairs to his flat, Dream holding onto Hob’s hand tightly as Hob checks something at his door, then nods and opens it, Hob pulling him in and cornering him against the door, lock clicking under his back as they kiss. 

Nails dig into the tense muscles on the back of his neck and Dream resists the part of him that wants to sink into that space as Hob devours his mouth. “Relax, they haven’t gotten inside, and the windows are closed,” Hob breathes and Dream opens his eyes, body relaxing a fraction at the blinds blocking the windows, as he reaches up to pet the other’s beard. 

The hands on his neck move down to his shoulders, and his mind slips a little into that place at the thought of Hob pushing him onto the floor, arousal rushing through his body as a leg slips in between his. Hob briefly presses against his cock, then he whines as the kiss ends, following blindly as Hob tugs him away from the door. 

Dark eyes light him up as he manages to swoop in for another kiss as his hands go to the other’s thighs, and he lets out a relieved huff of breath at the familiar thigh holster underneath the horrible green cargo pants. Finally reaching Hob’s room, he whines as arms go under his arse, pulling him onto Hob’s lap as they kiss and rut against each other, clothes being thrown off as an afterthought. 

Dream shivers at the feeling of Hob’s hard cock pressing against him, desire building up, a base need with how much he wants Hob inside, whining desperately into the other’s mouth. “Need you,” he breathes, a hand in Hob’s chest hair, the other holding onto the thigh holster, gripping at warm skin and hair. 

“I have a better idea,” Hob answers, tugging his hand off his chest, “with those fidgety fingers of yours.” Hob’s eyes are dark and his cock twitches as his hand is guided between them. 

-

Dream wakes with a sour taste in his mouth, sinuses burning―which, Hob definitely did nothing to make that happen, considering he’s pretty sure Hob and he didn’t even talk the day before, and the fact that he’s not comfy in Hob’s bed tells him nothing good, and he definitely didn’t pay for this one. Opening blurry eyes, he’s in a familiar room, ornate fireplace crackling with fire, chandelier as ornate as always. 

Surrounded by armed people, with Lucifer Morningstar looming above him, made even taller with the way he’s cuffed to the chair, can feel the steel chafing against his wrists. “Lucifer.” 

“How nice of you to join us,” they sneer. “Your dog was quite the trouble to come quietly,” they nod to the left and Dream scowls, aching head turning to find Hob glaring at Lucifer, a slash across his temple, blood dripping down his face and jaw, teeth bared in a bloody snarl. And many people holding him down, along with cuffs and ropes, keeping him to the chair. Dream doubts that even all that would be able to keep him there if he didn’t want to be. “It was very rude.” 

“Is this because of how we ended things?” He asks bluntly, not in the mood for the games, “or did you forget the attempted murder?” 

At this, there’s a scuffle and shouting and more people move over to where Hob is ― trying to get to Lucifer, presumably. “Of course not,” they say smoothly, cheek twitching as they cross their arms. “I simply think that the Endless territory is simply too big, and needs a trim.” 

Dream blinks, tilting his head as he considers. Especially with the latest poisoning attempt, the people following them… “as you say,” he replies, shaking his bound wrists. “Why even handcuff me? You know I’m nothing compared to him,” he says, motioning to Hob, and Dream has a moment to marvel at the weirdness, seeing Hob bloody at all, dripping down onto the collar of his suit. 

“It does seem to be a preference for you these days,” Lucifer purrs, eyes flickering down his body and Dream sneers. “Fine. Your dog,” they spit the word, “is tied up more securely than you anyway, and we can talk about this civilly.” They motion and the cuffs are undone, and Dream sighs as he rubs his bruised wrists. 

Frowning, Dream pats his torso, then hides his surprise at how he can still feel his harness ― and the gun in it. And it’s not like they’ve managed to take any of Hob’s weapons off him, or Hob would’ve been stripped by now, with what he knows of how Morningstar works. Arrogant, he thinks as he rests his arms on his legs. “And what? Will the negotiating happen before killing me, I hope?” 

Lucifer gives a small smile, pleased, “it’s the easy way,” they raise a hand and the sound of many guns being cocked makes Dream twitch, even though he still feels confident―mainly because of Hob, “or the hard way.” 

Swallowing a sigh, he stands up, crossing his arms, putting one under his suit jacket to grab a hold of his weapon. “And if I don’t, let me guess,” he frowns, “you did like choking me,” he states. “One last time before I die?” 

“If you go about things the right way,” they say, honey-laced poison of their tone as they put a hand under his jaw, nails pressing into it as Dream freezes, gripping his gun tightly, “then you won’t die at all.” Dream chafes under the hold, the smug way Lucifer smiles ― which turns into a frown as he pushes the other’s arm away with his, flicking the safety off the gun as he aims it up at Lucifer’s head. The sound of Lucifer’s people aiming their guns is clear, even with the way they hold a regal hand up, keeping them from shooting. “How disappointing.” 

“If only I cared about your opinion,” he says, the muzzle of the gun pointed to the middle of Lucifer’s eyes. Lucifer heaves a sigh, hands held together at their waist. 

“You won’t shoot me, Dream, don’t be ridiculous,” they scold, like Dream’s a misbehaving kid, so sure of themselves, of their people. Much like Dream’s parents were. 

Dream lowers the gun and Lucifer smiles brighter, mouth opening―and he shoots Lucifer in the leg, making them kneel to the floor with a pained gasp, eyes wide in shock as the muzzle presses into their forehead. “Maybe I wouldn’t have, before,” he concedes.

“If you shoot me again,” they hiss, glaring up at him, hand on their leg, red spilling out from underneath it, “you’ll be dead before the bullet’s done killing me!” 

Dream cocks back the hammer, the tension choking as Lucifer glares daggers at him, can almost feel the guns trained on him. He tilts his head, hairs on the back of his neck standing up under the scrutiny, “you really should’ve kept those focused on my,” he pauses, frowning, “dog, as you put it.” 

Suddenly, there’s shouting and gunshots, and Dream keeps his eyes on Lucifer’s shocked, turning horrified expression as there’s more shots, and the people closest to the door crumple to the floor, the sound of people gurgling to death behind him. A callused, bloody hand covers his own, and he relaxes as the gun fires, Lucifer collapsing to the floor, bullet between their eyes. 

“You kept it,” Hob says, sounding awed as Hob pulls him closer by his hand, dark eyes focused on the weapon between them. 

“Of course. You gave it to me,” he smiles, looking around at the bodies around them, then at the cut on other’s forehead as he puts away his gun, flicking the safety off. “You’re―” his words become a moan as Hob kisses him, hands framing his face, thoughts vanishing under the possessive way Hob’s kissing, like Lucifer’s ghost can still see it as he whines, leaning into the other’s body. He pants, mouth tangy with Hob’s blood, “you’re hurt,” he breathes. 

[shogvnate]

GODS & MONSTERS. yan! re8 ladies x reader.

general yandere headcanons + snippets pt 1.

contains; mother miranda, mia winters.

warnings; extremely toxic and unhealthy behavior, broken mindset, body mutilation on miranda's part, potentially triggering content, yandere. you've been warned.

⸻ 🐦‍⬛ mother miranda

obsessive, stalker, and training type

arguably the worst.

other than how to revive her deceased daughter, her thoughts revolve around you, you, and you. It drives her absolutely insane that she's drifting from her original plans of marking you as just another one of her failed experiments.

you can never feel alone, no, not with her being lovesick.

her crows are always watching, always listening.

she knows everything, don't try to hide anything from her, it never ends well.

she despises disobedience, no one wants a darling who's rebellious, no?

at some point she'll definitely break your mind, it's unavoidable, basically.

rarely ever affectionate, shows her love in other extreme ways such as giving gifts (eg. putting a golden bracelet still attached to a severed hand in front of your bedroom door for your 'anniversary', wrapped in the guts of the lycan who attacked you earlier that week), and of course, words of affirmation.

she truly does love you in her own sick and twisted way, but oh, darling, she's too far gone to save.

"don't deny me. worship me, acknowledge me as your one and only savior, and you shall find what you need," her smile was like a blank canvas, begging for someone to add value to it. it made you sick the more you think about it.

because she didn't want no simple mortal.

she wanted you.

miranda drowned herself in the way you gazed at her numbly, twirling a lock of your hair in her clawed fingers. "anything you could ever possibly need will be with me."

how you hated her smile.

⸻ ❄ mia winters

removal, isolating, and manipulative type.

mia doesn't like it when you smile at anyone other than her. she doesn't know why, but she loathes the feeling of being ignored for someone who clearly doesn't fit the standards for someone like you.

she goes to unhealthy measures to make you stay by her side. gaslighting, threats, guilt tripping, you name it.

someone asking you out for lunch? they didn't show up for lunch and they never talk to you again.

gets scolded by her peers due to her constantly being in your shadow and controlling everything you do but she shrugged them off.

most of the time she's not aware of how she's acting like she can't breathe without you being in the same room as her but when pointed out by you, she usually apologizes.

physically affectionate, too physically affectionate. so much so that she comes off as smothering.

unlike miranda, she can still grow and change as a person so you have hope…?

"mia, this isn't right." you pushed her away slightly. she was getting too comfortable in your personal space. it was supposed to be the only thing she'll never get a hand on but she managed to do so in the end too.

she already took too much from your life. your friends, your co-workers, your favorite florist from the subway, your bed, your house, oh the list goes on forever.

the most outrageous fact was that you were the one who actually let her do whatever she wanted. now look where that got you.

"what makes you say that?"

there it is.

her frown, something she knows you can't stand seeing.

"i thought you knew i'm only doing this because i love you?"

"it's just…" you bit the inside of your cheek, "it feels... wrong."

"tell me more about it, maybe I can help you understand how I see you," she suggested, but when you looked at her dull eyes and warm smile, you could hear something on the back of your mind telling you not to push it.

you sighed, opening your arms for her to bury herself in again.

"changed your mind?" she cooed.

"forget I said anything, mia."

‎

‎

[bleach-your-panties]

💔the pathological liar - pro hero! yo shindou x fem! pro hero! gf! reader

warnings: characters aged up to 20+, lying, cheating, arguing, manipulation, gaslighting, sexual activities, non-con (reader does say no), dub-con, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, name-calling, physical struggles, physical fighting (one-sided, so assault?), reader has a smart ass mouth and is kinda toxic as well, slight!yandere!yo, toxic relationships, toxic mindsets, false imprisonment, triggering subject at the end. read at your own risk!

☠️: some dialogue/actions inspired by true events.

💔: banner images from pinterest. 

💔: banner made by me with canva. 

post themes: say my name - destiny's child

                      confessions, parts I & II - usher

                      take a bow - rihanna

                      shake it off - mariah carey

💔 3.5k words

💔read in dark mode for best experience!

🖤series 🖤touya.

—--

—--

I know you say that I am assuming things

Something's going down that's the way it seems

Shouldn't be no reason why you're acting strange

If nobody's holding you back from me

'Cause I know how you usually do

When you're saying everything to me times two

Why can't you just tell the truth?

If somebody's there, then tell me who

—--

"Baby, ain't nothing good. It's all bad."

—--

'Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice message system: 

"Shindou, Yo". Cannot come to the phone right now, please leave your message at the tone-'

Before the recording could finish, you were throwing your iPhone across your bed as you shrugged your backpack off of your shoulders.

Your boyfriend, Yo Shindou, never answered his phone when you called. Never when you called, but he'd always immediately send a text or call you back hours later, claiming that his phone was dead or that he'd misplaced it somewhere at the agency. 

Like now, for example. 

'ding'

'Sorry babe, got caught up in something last minute at the agency. Call you back when I'm home. Love you.'

You scoffed as you read over the message.

You wouldn't be getting a call back, that much you knew for certain.

With a sudden urge to be petty, you texted back:

'Something like what, Yo? Another bitch's pussy? Yeah, people at my agency are starting to talk and guess who's the topic of conversation? Just know that the label of 'cheating boyfriend' won't do your "picture perfect" image any justice. Bitch.'

After hitting send, you tossed the phone back onto your bed and that was where it would lay until you got out of the shower. 

As soon as your bathroom door closed, the phone vibrated with another text. 

'Oh, so we're doing this shit again? Bet. I'll be over in 20.'

—

After moisturizing your body and putting on some pajamas, you climbed into bed and pulled out the book that you'd been reading. Leaving your phone discarded somewhere in the covers.

It was starting to get to one of the more interesting parts when a chorus of loud, booming knocks came on your front door.

"Who in the fuck?" You threw the covers back furiously and slipped your fluffy slippers on. 

You walked out of your room and down the hallway, the beating at the door only growing more intense as you sucked your teeth.

"I'm coming, dammit!"

Pulling the door open without checking the peephole first would be your first mistake of the night.

When the messy mop of dark locks, green/yellow hero uniform, and chiseled pecs came into your view, you immediately tried to slam the door shut. Yo wasn't having any of that.

He grabbed the edge of the door, wedging half of his body inside of your apartment before he pushed it forward with force, making it slam and bounce off of the wall. 

Once his boots made contact with the carpeted floor of your apartment, you took multiple steps back, putting about two feet of distance between the two of you.

"What's wrong, baby? You don't look too happy to see me."

Scoffing harshly, you bit your bottom lip between your teeth as you glared up at him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? Beating on my goddamn door like you've lost your mind. Thought you were caught up in something? That just goes to show that all you do is fucking lie. You bitch." 

Yo just looked at you with his face scrunched up. He was clearly irritated with your antics, especially the name-calling. Kicking off his boots, he began to walk towards you. 

"Stop fucking being difficult, Y/N. You know, baby, if you missed me and wanted some dick, all you had to do was ask nicely." 

He said in that irritating, condescending tone that he always uses when talking to those that he feels are beneath him. You being one of those. Even though you're a pro-hero just like he is. 

Not believing what you were hearing, your mouth dropped open. You could feel the blood begin to rise in your ears, loud and whooshing against your skull. 

A dry chuckle then left your lips. 

"You think…that all of this is because I want some dick? Trust me, sweetie, if I just wanted some dick I could go get it from any one of your co-workers. A lot of them have been giving me the eye, you know. Especially since you're never around and I just changed up my hero uniform, so the skirt is short-" 

Yo cut you off by grabbing you by the biceps and yanking you towards him, making you stumble and throw your arms out to try to balance yourself before he then slammed you up against the wall. 

"Don't fucking play with me, Y/N. If you know what's good for you, you'll think twice about trying to entertain one of those bastards. Especially-" 

"Especially who? Bakugou? Oh, he'd be my first choice if I were to step out on you." You smirked up at him. 

He snarled. Your smirk widened as you could physically hear him grinding his teeth. 

Yo was quiet for a moment, just glaring at you as you stared right back at him with a bored look on your face. You even went as far as to yawn.

"Yeah, it's not so fun when the rabbit has the gun, huh?" 

He didn't answer, but instead pulled you off of the wall and hoisted you up over his shoulder. A big hand came up and smacked forcefully against your ass. 

"That's alright. I know how to fix you." He chortled darkly, moving away to begin walking down the hallway to your bedroom. 

"I don't want your community ass dick! Put me down, Yo!" 

He just ignored you and kicked open the door to the room. 

"Sure you don't. You always do this shit to get my attention, Y/N. Catch an attitude, start a stupid ass argument, and then I fuck it out of you. Same shit, different goddamn day, baby." 

Yo said after tossing you onto the bed, making your forgotten phone flop onto the floor. He gave it a puzzled look. 

"Oh, so that's why you seemed so surprised to see me. You didn't read my text." 

He chuckled, reaching to grab your hip to flip you over onto your stomach as if you were a pancake. 

Rough hands began to caress your feet, ankles, and legs, all the way up to your inner thighs and bottom of your ass cheeks, just under the hem of your nightdress. 

"No panties? Yeah, you were definitely planning on getting dicked down tonight, you needy little slut." 

SMACK

SMACK 

Your back arched off of the bed at the painful stinging of Yo's slaps. His hands felt heavy as lead as they connected with your soft flesh. 

SMACK

SMACK

SMACK

"Where are you going? Thought you liked when I spank you, huh?"

Yo wrapped an arm around your waist to bring you back when you tried crawling up the bed to escape him.

"Stop it, Yo…hurts…" You whined. 

"It hurts, Yo, please stop." He mocked. "Stop being a fucking brat, then."

He grabbed one of your ass cheeks and squeezed hard, making you moan out involuntarily. 

"Moaning like this but you don't want my dick? I bet you're dripping fucking wet for me right now, Y/N. Dare me to check?"

You didn't respond, which prompted Yo to do as he suggested and slip two fingers underneath you between your ass cheeks to get to your slick folds.

"Damn baby, all this for me, yeah? Only me."

He growled. With his large hand, he covered your entire bare pussy and activated his Quirk.

A harsh shiver wracked through your entire body, another soft moan leaving your lips. Yo only pressed harder, moving his fingertips to graze over your clit repeatedly.

"Y-Yo…please, daddy…" You whined, making him smirk down at you. He increased the vibration of his fingers along with rubbing your clit from side to side.

"Say you're sorry for bringing up Bakugou and I might let you feel this fat dick next..." Yo rested his upper body against your back and snaked his free arm under you to hold you up off the bed just a bit.

"No..I'm…n-not sorry. I meant it. Oh fuck!" 

Yo grimaced before grabbing you and flipping you back over onto your back. 

"What did you say?" 

Your e/c eyes were wet with unshed tears as you frowned up at his handsome face. You didn't falter.

"You heard me." 

"I thought I told you that if you know what's good for you, you won't even think about that motherfucker!" He seethed.

"I obviously don't know what's good for me if I'm still fucking around with you!"

Before you knew what was happening, Yo had pinned you to the bed by your throat. Moving between your legs, he used his knees to spread them.

"Yo, stop!"

"Shut up, bitch. You'll learn to stop pissing me off one day."

His belt hit the bed as he undid it, his black pants and underwear soon following it. You tried to pull your legs up, but he surged forward, pushing his hard dick inside you with one thrust.

Head falling back against the soft mattress, you couldn't help but keen as Yo began a rough, fast pace. He gripped your calf to pull you closer and stretch you open wider for him.

"Yes, Yo…right there! I'm going to cum!" 

Yo grunted in response, trying to hold back from cumming himself.

"Yeah, baby? My fingers got you all ready to cum on my dick? Let it go then, oh shit." 

He sped up even more, making your free breasts bounce outside of your nightgown and the headboard hit the wall. It already had a small dent in it from your previous heated romps, but neither of you seemed to care very much.

It could be painted over once you moved out.

"Oh God, I…!" 

Your release splashed against Yo's pelvis and drenched the sheets beneath you.

"Ah, fuck. Yeah, made that little pussy squirt, huh? Stay still for me, baby. I'm about to nut." 

Your eyes widened. "Yo, no. You're not wearing a condom and I haven't replaced my NuvaRing yet!" 

It had been out for five days now while you waited on your doctor to send in a new prescription. 

That didn't stop him. Either he was too deep into his impending orgasm to hear you, or he was flat out ignoring you. 

"Yo!"

"SHIT! AGHH!" 

Blind fury clouded your vision while Yo's was clouded for a completely different reason altogether.

"Damn…" He breathed out, making sure to stay deep inside you until he was finished cumming.

Once you got your bearings, you sat up abruptly, making Yo stumble back onto his elbows. He sucked his teeth once he saw your angered face. 

"What's wrong, sweetheart? You don't want to have my baby?"

"Yo, we're both in our early 20's at the height of our hero careers. We're nowhere near ready for a damn baby!" 

The raven-haired man was about to respond until a soft, vibrating sound silenced the both of you.

You slowly swung your legs over the side of the bed, searching for the source of the noise.

Bending down, you surveyed the floor briefly. Your forgotten cell phone lay halfway underneath the bed.

It's not your phone going off. 

Yo could've been mistaken for a ghost; you watched his face blanch white while he patted the pockets of his discarded pants searching for the missing device.

A race against time, but you spotted it first.

With the rectangular device being tangled in your covers, Yo almost knocked you off the bed trying to get to it, but you were way faster than him. It was already in your hand.

tatas💕: my appointment is at 3pm tomorrow. are you going to be able to make it?

You scrunched your nose and swatted Yo's hand away while reading the text.

"Appointment? What is this about, and why does Tatami need you there?"

Cold e/c eyes turned to stone while you watched Yo fidget nervously. This is one of the only times you've seen him like this; the other when he asked you out for the first time.

"Y/N…do you love me?"

"What kind of question is that, Yo? If I didn't, would I still be with you?"

"Unconditionally?"

Your nose scrunched. Something isn't right…

You knew all about Tatami. Yo's ex-girlfriend from high school. He told you that he broke it off during their third year because she was becoming too clingy. You'd even met her once, when you had a joint mission with her agency.

"Yes…"

"Say you'll never leave me?"

Oh hell no. He was asking too many questions now.

"What did you do, Yo? Huh?!" 

He just hung his head. His phone vibrated again in your hand. 

----

Everything that I've been doing is all bad

I've got a chick on the side

With the crib and the ride 

I've been telling you so many lies 

Aint none good, it's all bad

And I just wanna confess, it's been going on so long 

Girl I been doing you so wrong and I want you to know that 

----

"Everytime you called my phone, I wasn't at the agency working overtime…I..I was with Tatami."

A long, loud sigh left your lips. Your free hand came up, knuckles resting against your forehead.

I don't want to look, but I know I have to…

"Y/N.." Yo warned.

new message

"Y/N, please, baby…"

tatas💕: i know the doctor said that we won't know the sex until about 20 weeks, but i can't help being so excited! we're possibly going to have a little yo running around soon! 👶🏻

Your grip on the phone tightened. 

----

If I could turn back the hands of time 

And start all over I would

Instead of everything being all bad, baby

Everything'll be all good

I know today is the day that I end all the lying and the playing and the bullshit, girl 

----

"Y/N, I'm sorr-" 

WHAM!

Your knuckles that you'd been resting against your forehead went across Yo's face at the speed of light. You punched him hard as hell in his face, making him tumble over and off the foot of the bed. The sight would've been hilarious if you weren't so fucking pissed.

"I knew I was right…." You chuckled. "I fucking knew it. You knew that she was pregnant, too. You've known for months."

Yo looked up at you with big, watery eyes full of regret. Almost like he was a different person entirely. 

One hand clutched his throbbing cheek. You'd hit him so hard that his lower lip busted. His perfect face would soon be discolored black and blue, across his forehead, nose (that was also bleeding now), and right eye.

"I'm sorry! Baby, I'm sorry!" 

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, YO! YOU'RE ONLY SORRY BECAUSE YOU GOT FUCKING CAUGHT!"  You raged. You lunged off the bed at him and started hitting him everywhere, as hard as you could. You even grabbed two handfuls of his black hair and yanked his head around.

Yo finally grabbed your arms and pinned them against your chest. You'd grown exhausted, so you just let yourself fall against his naked chest.

A bitter chuckle, then the tears, hot and angry. You couldn't hold them any longer as you looked up at Yo, staring at his swollen, beaten face.

"You're so fucking ugly when you cry. What the fuck are you crying for, huh? I'm the one that got cheated on. Lied to, played with, manipulated." 

"Not only did you fucking lie to me and cheat on me, but you fucked around and got the bitch pregnant, too. This has got to be a joke."

Yo slowly crawled up from the floor with you in his arms, blood dripping down his nose and lip, staining the carpet, then the bedsheets while you covered your face with your hands and sobbed. 

He cradled you gently and laid his head against yours, lips kissing at the temples.

"Baby, please…we can work this out. I don't love her. I love you, but I…I still want to be there for the baby…"

Your brokenhearted wails only increased in volume.

"Don't cry, baby. I promise I'll be here for you and our baby, too."

—-

Three Months Later 

Yo made good on his word to be there for you.

Shortly after his "confession", you found out that you were pregnant as well.

Tatami is currently six months along, while you're only three.

Turns out that all of this was a part of Yo's twisted plan. 

Instead of your late birth control being due to your doctor's or the pharmacy's incompetence, it was Yo who called the doctor's office pretending to be your husband and had them cancel your refill request. 

Yo then demanded suggested that you take time off from hero work while you were carrying his child, which you slightly agreed with, but still did so with reluctance.

You don't know how he did it, but you guessed being one of the top 20 heroes carried with it a lot of weight for him to be able to take off enough to make it to all of yours and Tatami's appointments.

He even moved you out of your apartment and into his. Into your own room. 

The reason that you had your own room was because Tatami ended up losing her apartment due to being out of work, so Yo moved her in as well. 

With the way that the living arrangements had been set up, you and Tatami might as well have been sister wives.

To attempt to keep things "fair" between the both of you, Yo would designate certain nights where either of you would get to sleep in the room with him. So neither of you would feel neglected by him.

His heart was in the right place, wasn't it? 

Even when you could clearly hear the whispered moans and soft creaking of the bed from Yo's room on Tatami's nights.

No matter how you tried to make yourself not hear it. 

Yo didn't want you stressing out, he claimed, so he bought you many expensive gifts and gadgets to help you get a good night's rest.

None of them worked. 

Not when the walls in that apartment were paper thin.

Many nights you cried and raged to yourself. 

Obviously all of that stress wasn't healthy for the baby.

Which leads you to today.

A pair of dark sunglasses hiding your eyes along with a long trench coat and hat to conceal the rest of your persona.

They were loud and jarring as you walked in, but your world had gone numb three months ago. Now you were trapped inside your own world as you stepped up three flat steps into a white, brick building. 

A ghost clutching a brown clipboard only made the atmosphere even gloomier before whisking you away from the judgemental eyes and into a plainly decorated room with blue walls.

She read over the papers first then handed the clipboard to you, one more questioning look being shot your way. 

You just gave a simple nod.

—-

"You have reached the voicemail box of L/n, Y/n. I can't come to the phone right now, but leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!"

BEEP.

Yo sighed heavily and put his head in his hands before standing up to walk out of your completely barren bedroom.

Before he closed the door, he whispered softly,

"Why, Y/n?" 

Your location on his phone showed him exactly where you were.

—-

Gotta make that move 

Find somebody who

Appreciates all the love I give

Boy, I gotta 

Gotta do what's best for me

Baby and that means I gotta shake you off

—--

a/n: i think this piece was a pretty strong start to the series! i'm really proud of it! stay tuned, there's plenty more bullshit to come!

*remember, if you get angry enough at your partner that you feel like wanting to put your hands on them, just walk away! 

[vitaminseetarot]

Quick General Advice for Your Situation (PAC)

One thing I want to mention is that all three piles had earthy palette cards with something spicy on the back of each pile's deck. This could have been the influence of Moon in Taurus as the lunar nodes are beginning to switch over to Aries. I'm sending frustration with all three piles but also a lot of passion and motivation.

Pick which earthy palette color you prefer for some quick guidance.

(piles 1, 2, 3 - images from pexels.com)

Spring Grass: XV Devil, Page of Swords, III Empress (Back: 3 of Wands)

The energy you're building up is leading you to seek out or attract new opportunities to travel to places you haven't experienced before. I'm sensing a strong draw towards what's new at this time, so it could be literal travel or you're seeking out a new experience overall. This could be a radical change from what you're used to. If you feel you're not in any position to travel soon, this may still be your pile, so hang on! Don't feel stuck! I'm letting you know now that plans can change quickly and spawn out of nowhere just as quickly. Your advice is to be in a state of expansion and open mindedness. Although 3 of wands is Aries energy, you're being asked to step into more Sagittarian energy of enthusiasm for adventure and optimism for brighter times. There might be a long period of time where this traveling doesn't happen even when you finally get itchy for it. That's because you need to sit down and do some planning. Make an itinerary, even for a fake trip. Look up photos, have conversations with people about it. Get in the mindset for it. Yes, it's possible to experience the impossible. But you have to be in a state of preparedness for it. Get your basic needs in working order so that when the opportunity does arrive, you'll be more than ready for it, inside and out.

Pink Quartz: Hermit, XIII Death, XVIII Moon (Back: 5 of Wands)

Even though you feel motivated enough to move forward, there's still tiny threads trying to pull you back into overthinking things. It can feel like you're busy when in reality your plans go nowhere because they're dead on arrival. It's one thing to be sparked by an idea, it's another to put it to print without losing what made you want to do it to begin with. I'm seeing an image of somebody sitting hunched over at their bench, writing down one sentence on a sheet of paper before crumpling it and starting again. This isn't a healthy mentality as you're not giving you and your imagination a chance. Your advice to be kinder to yourself by giving your inner vision more space to breathe. Being in stillness and sitting back with a blank canvas is part of the creation process and is in the end more productive than deleting the first page of your book over and over again. You have all three cards as major arcana, so learning this lesson will prove to be monumental to your life's overall progress.

Stone Brown: IV Emperor, III Empress, 7 of Swords (Back: 7 of Wands)

I think this pile is definitely experienced when it comes to making big plans and carrying them through. It seems the one thing that motivates you most is the feeling of "this has to be done, whether or not I like it." You put on a strict poker face only to fall apart as soon as no one's looking. Please let me tell you, pile 3, that you do not always have to be strong for everyone else. It's beautiful for you to see yourself as an important part of what makes life work, that your skills and patience are needed and appreciated. But all the praise in the world won't make up for that hollow feeling of coming home and realizing that you have to be strong for yourself, too. Your advice is similar to pile 2. You need to greatly soften your approach. Allow other people to pick up the pace and help you every now and then. Especially if there are many moving parts and you get into "octopus mode" of needing to be involved in all the cogs of the wheel. It shouldn't always be equal work, going out and dealing with people, then dealing with yourself. When you need time for yourself, take the chance. Ground yourself through nurturing and soothing habits at home, something that lets you take off the "big boss" mask for a while.

[leading-manhattan]

Dysfunctional || Modern AU

You can also read on Ao3!

David is dead on his feet. After a day of morning classes and the shift he picked up at the restaurant he feels like every spark of energy he had in him has been drained away. The only thing keeping him from sitting down in the stairwell of the apartment complex and passing out then and there is the promise of Jack waiting for him up on the second floor. There's nothing more satisfying than shoving his keys into the lock and pushing open the door. Unsurprisingly the lights around the flat are all on. It's not a big place by any means, they were two broke college kids lucky enough to find an affordable single bedroom near campus, but Jack often flipped on all the lights when he was working late into the night on a piece. In the center of their living room Jack's easel was set up with a medium-sized canvas nearly finished perched in its grip. Hence the lights.

David throws his keys on the counter, glancing around the space to see if Jack is in the room but quickly coming up short. He takes another look at the painting and furrows his brow. He recognizes the painting, splashes of navy and shades of purple that he couldn't name flowing together in a brilliant forest scene, it was the same commission Jack's been working on for the past week. The same commission that Jack's client was supposed to pick up tomorrow. It should've been finished by now so it'd be ready to collect by the evening after Jack wrapped up his classes. 

"Jack, I'm home!" David calls just in case Jack didn't hear him come in from, he assumes, the bathroom. A soft grunt comes from the couch, the cushions blocked by the back facing the door, and a sense of dread starts to stir up in David's gut. "Jackie?" He murmurs much softer into the quiet air of the apartment, slipping his bag off his shoulder and hanging it off the back of one of their dining chairs as he makes his way towards their makeshift living room.  

He's close enough now to see just who's on the couch and his chest constricts at the sight of his boyfriend. Jack is stretched out on his side, head propped up on one of the throw pillows, staring listlessly at his unfinished painting. He's still clad in the tank top and sweats he was in this morning when David left, streaks of paint scattered about his arms and clothes, and his eyes look so dead that for a moment David doesn't feel like he can breathe. He gently bats his anxiety aside and lowers himself slowly onto the armrest by Jack's feet. David swallows thickly, trying to think of the best way to approach this, but ultimately tries to take a casual approach.

"Is this the one you were working on when I left?" David asks softly, careful still not to break the fragile bubble that seemed to encase them. Jack offers another noncommittal grunt in response. David tries to push down the worry that flares cold and demanding in his chest. "I thought they were gonna pick this one up tomorrow, did they say they couldn't make it?" He presses tentatively.

Jack makes a choked sound deep in the back of his throat and David feels like his whole world collapses when Jack's lifeless expression cracks and tears quickly flood his eyes. Jack curls up, arms wrapping around his middle and legs pulling up to his chest, and David immediately jumps into action, leaping from his seat and immediately rushing to Jack's side. It's an awkward fumble lifting Jack up from the cushions high enough so that David can slip onto the couch but he manages and settles Jack lovingly against his chest. Soothing words spill from David's lips as he holds Jack tight, pressing soft kisses into his hair while Jack trembles violently with the force of his repressed emotions.

"I just couldn't do it," Jack gasps, arms uncoiling from his waist to latch desperately onto David's work shirt. He's sure there's a sauce stain on him somewhere but neither of them is in any mindset to care. "I was so prepared to finish it today, I was, but then I just sat down and suddenly it was like I couldn't get up and I-" Jack chokes on his words, a strained sob ripping from his throat.

David feels even more helpless than he did before, arms tightening around Jack while the other man tries pathetically to hold himself together. David's familiar with executive dysfunction, his anxiety has put him in very similar positions to Jack, but he also knows that there's nothing he can really do now to help. It was far too late for Jack to try and finish this painting for his client and Jack had classes tomorrow that he couldn't taint by pulling an all-nighter anyway.

"Hey, hey, hey," David says frantically into Jack's hair when he hears Jack's breath hitch. "It's okay, baby, it's alright. You can have an off day, that's okay." He promises warmly, nuzzling the top of Jack's head softly. He projects as much care and assurance into every movement, throwing himself into the act of holding Jack together.

Jack sniffs and shakes his head, burying his face into David's chest, "I gotta have this done by tomorrow. Ain't no way I'm gonna get this finished. They're gonna drop me and then I'm gonna 'ave a random paintin' I won't be able to sell." There's an undercurrent of anger and bitterness wrapped in Jack's sorrow and David hates how much self-loathing he can hear in Jack's voice. He slides a hand up Jack's back and runs his fingers soothingly through Jack's hair.

"How about this, huh? You're gonna tell the guy that you need a couple more days-" Jack looks up and opens his mouth to protest but David presses a swift kiss to his forehead to silence him. "And if the guy is a big enough asshole that he can't understand than I promise you so many people would love to get their hands on that painting. Jack it's gorgeous. No matter what you're gonna sell it." There's not a doubt in David's mind that if Jack were to list his painting somewhere it'd sell quickly. Jack was incredibly talented and even if he only did commissions sparingly there were plenty of people around the campus familiar and infatuated with his work. Jack's biggest critic was himself.

Jack lets out a watery laugh, offering David a shaky smile that nearly melts him with relief, "Just like that, huh?" Jack asks.

"Just like that." David promises easily. Jack swallows thickly, gaze drifting back to the unfinished painting that was taunting him a few feet away. "Hey, how about we turn off all these lights and order in? We can put on one of those musicals you like." David is determined to keep Jack's focus away from the easel that Jack's been lost staring at for who knows how long. If Jack sat down and just couldn't get himself back up David wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't eaten anything all day and that just wouldn't do.

Jack snorts, unclenching a hand from where it was fisted in David's shirt to wipe away the tears in his eyes, "Shuddup, Jacobs, don't act like you don't like 'em too."

David finally relaxes as the dread and worry start to uncoil. It makes room for the fondness and love that Jack imbues in him. "Yeah, they aren't so bad." He concedes agreeably. David didn't mind musicals but he'd be lying if he said that Jack singing along wasn't his favorite part.

"Can we get Chinese from that place over in Queens?" The tension is bleeding out of Jack's body and without it he melts against David's chest. He's quickly becoming a dead weight, perfectly pliable, and while this makes it a little harder to get up and turn off the lights David can't really say he minds.

"Of course we can." David nods easily, still carding his fingers through Jack's dark hair. Jack sniffles and turns his face into David's chest once again. The feeling of defeat and guilt isn't just going to leave but David's still glad to see that he's helping to make it more bearable.

"You're covered in sauce," Jack mumbles, a whiny note to his voice.

"You're covered in paint." David throws back.

A pause. "Touché."

[numinously-yours]

Pick a Painting: Your Higher Purpose

Choose a painting above and read about your higher purpose in this life down below <3 If you feel inclined, reblog and tag which group you chose. If it resonates and you're interested in tipping, I have $1 and $5 tip options on my Etsy :) My Etsy Shop Here

Group 1

What is your higher purpose? The Sun reversed

You are here to be a silver lining of the dark clouds. Your spirit and energy bring optimism into spaces where things feel hopeless. You are here to remind people that, no matter how bad it seems, there is always something to look forward to and find beauty in. This comes from the things you actively do for people as well as the way you live your life. People cannot help but feel a little lighter with you in the room.

What can you start doing to get there? Six of Swords rev., Four of Cups, Queen of Pentacles rev.

You may be having your own internal conflicts at the moment. Maybe you feel stuck in a rut and are having a difficult time finding the light at the end of the tunnel even for yourself. How on Earth are you expected to do that for others? First, your mere existence is the light. You are not required to DO things for others if you don’t have the capacity. What you do have/should find the capacity for is finding the good in the every day. You may be going through some transitions in your life that has made this harder than usual. The chaos may feel overwhelming, but if you approach it with a different mindset and meditate on your worries, you’ll start feeling less heavy. The more you actively do this for YOURSELF, the more that positive energy is going to radiate from you.

Anything you should stop doing? Ace of Wands, Seven of Pentacles

Stop giving up on yourself! I think there are times where you start a project, or think about starting one, and you make a little progress, but then you stop. Maybe the progress isn’t happening as quickly as you want, so you don’t think it’s going to be successful at all. But that’s right when you need to keep going. The finish line is right over the hill. As you start projects, remember that things take time and THAT’S OKAY! Powering through these times is what brings long term results.

Other advice? The Fool, The Empress rev.

Keep an open mind and make self-care a priority. I think this really reiterates the things you can start doing. Find the good in your OWN life. As the saying goes, You cannot pour from an empty cup. It’s okay to prioritize yourself! Do some fun & creative things – even if you think you suck at them. Doodle, paint, sing karaoke in your living room, anything to bring a little inner child joy to your life.  Don’t be afraid to be a little spontaneous, either. Some of the best experiences come from our spur of the moment experiences 😊

What is your higher purpose? Nine of Pentacles rev., The High Priestess

The higher purpose in your life is to become more in-tuned with yourself & the way of the world. Particularly, in the spiritual realm. How can you and the world create a give and take relationship? What will the world show you about yourself? How will you help the world? This lifetime is all about finding those answers.  

What can you start doing to get there? Six of Cups, Death

I definitely think some of the people who pick this pile have had previous lifetimes. I was already thinking this with the high priestess but now with these two cards we have:  reminiscing (6 of cups) and transformation (death). Even if you don’t remember your past lives, you will bring in some of your skills from those lives to start helping you find your answers. You’re going to feel some strong gut instincts when you are thinking about new paths to go down – trust those!

As a whole, though, whether you have past lives, are brand new, or have no idea: Start each new day with a blank canvas. Live in the NOW. Remember the things that once brought you joy and implement them into your life again.  If you have kids in your life (your own children, nieces/nephews, students, etc), try to see life through their eyes when you’re around them. They will teach you how to just BE, to let go of the bullshit, and embrace the innocence you have subconsciously forgotten.

Anything you should stop doing? Strength rev.

Stop doubting yourself! You may have been on a journey to find your purpose for your whole life and you are never quite sure if you found it. There always seems to be something “missing”, but I truly think that’s just what life is like. It’s the opportunity for constant learning. It is your push to stay present and understand the now. When you don’t feel “productive” it doesn’t mean you’re lazy or failing. In times of doubt, remember the amazing things about yourself. Be kind to your mind.

Other advice? Ace of Pentacles

This is my favorite card in tarot <3 This is my “everything is, or will be, exactly how it’s supposed to be” card. If there is something specific that you are trying to manifest, the universe is telling you that you can do it. If you’ve been waiting for a sign to get started, this card is that sign! And regardless, the Ace wants you remind you to be consciously aware of your blessings and KNOW that you deserve every single one of them.

What is your higher purpose? The Magician

You are the one who shows people that anything is possible. You always seem to find a way to make something out of nothing. Manifestation is your middle name and people wish it was theirs. You tend to know your “why” whenever you go into any situation. “Why am I here? To make people happy, to get things done, to have fun?” You act according to this “why” and it seems seamless to those around you. You inspire them to take action in their own life.

What can you start doing to get there? Strength, Three of Wands

I think you might be doing everything you need to do – so this message is to keep it up! Continue to have patience and be calm in the storm. Continue to be determined to make your dreams come true. Continue overcoming fears and challenges. Every single step you take brings you a level of progress you didn’t have before. The only advice would just be to explore options you haven’t tried before. Otherwise, it sounds like what you HAVE tried is working really well 😊

Anything you should stop doing? Ten of Wands

Stop carrying the weight of others on your shoulders! I think you care about people a lot and you want to help them reach their full potential. This can be exhausting. Being exhausted from that doesn’t make you a bad person, it just makes you human. You can still be there for people in other ways, but you won’t be able to help them if you deplete yourself of all your energy.

Other advice? Judgement, The Fool

I’m not sure if this is correlated to this reading specifically, but the universe has a message about starting over. There may be something coming to end or you are considering ending a cycle. The universe wants you to know that this is going to open up soo many new opportunities. Allow the changes to happen, even if they make you nervous. A spiritual awakening may be on its way, too, which sparks this new beginning. You may realize something new and it brings a newfound energy to your life. Don’t over think think, let it happen.

What is your higher purpose? The Hanged Man, The Sun

Your higher purpose in this life is to be peaceful and happy <3 A lot of the time when we think about our purpose, we want to know what we can do for others while we’re here on earth. How can we make the world a better place? Your embracing of the warmth and different perspectives will do this, even if it seems like it’s only for you. Similarly to the other piles, others will observe your happiness and your ability to let go of the small things and feel inspired to do the same. Just by existing, you will bring light to the lives of those around you. If you have had past lives, they may have been difficult. This is your chance to enjoy all that life really has to offer you.

What can you start doing to get there? Ten of Wands rev., Seven of Pentacles

Look at the things that don’t add value to your life. Are there things in your life that disturb the peace you’re trying to create? Are there investments you want to make but something else is in the way? Explore that and determine if you really need it or if you can replace it with the thing you want to be investing in instead. It’s always okay to take a step back and make adjustments where needed. It doesn’t mean you don’t appreciate what you have, it just may not work for you anymore.

Anything you should stop doing? Judgement

Stop ignoring your intuition and stop resisting “moving on”. You’re ready for the next step in your life, whatever that may be! You probably are feeling comfortable, and the unknown is always scary, even for the most positive people. Let yourself step into new opportunities. What is great is that every step you’ve taken up to this point has given you the tools you need to keep stepping.  You know the things you need to feel safe and secure, and those aren’t leaving. What they are doing is reminding you what is important and giving you something to keep your eyes open for.

Other advice? Page of Swords, Queen of Cups

The very first phrase I thought of when looking at these two cards were “Nurture your curiosity.” The Page is full of energy and is ready to explore. They want to see what is out there. They want to learn new perspectives, gain knowledge, and discover new ways of self-expression. Let this part of you feel the love! Encourage the Page’s creativity. Trust your institution and your heart as your curiosity decides where it wants to take you. When the Page’s plans don’t go as intended, be gentle with yourself, too. It is all about learning, and even the set backs teach us something.

[dolisi]

Daily Saris Verse: The Thought of Creation

As we continue our exploration of the “Pelomuni” or “The Awakening,” we reach a significant moment in the Saris creation story. Today’s verse reveals the first thought of creation—a thought not born from need, but from the desire to explore the infinite possibilities within Nu’s boundless consciousness.

Chapter 1: Pelomuni (The Awakening)

Verse 7

English: “And from this ripple, a thought arose—a thought of creation. Not a creation to fill a void, for Nu was complete in itself, but a creation to explore the depths of possibility, to bring forth that which had never been.”

Dolisi: “A ishereti zume va, isiyonelu eyun—nesun eyun mu. Igu hri vunin nesun nulis, bowas Isuni ajuhrosam Nu Li ga, vo chahridaru hri nesun omu tsusheri mu, simaru hri zu ko hronesunu vunumin.”

Dolisi Script:

Commentary on Verse 7:

Verse 7 marks the emergence of the first conscious thought within Nu, specifically a "thought of creation." This verse is significant because it introduces the concept that creation is not born out of necessity or lack, but out of a desire to explore the infinite potential within Nu’s consciousness.

The "ripple" mentioned in the previous verse now gives rise to a distinct thought—a conscious decision by Nu to begin the process of creation. This thought is pivotal because it represents the first instance of intention within Nu’s vast consciousness. It is the moment when the boundless possibilities within Nu start to take shape as distinct ideas, setting the stage for the unfolding of the universe.

The verse carefully distinguishes this creation from the idea of filling a void. The phrase "for Nu was complete in itself" emphasizes that Nu did not create out of need or deficiency. Unlike many creation myths where the act of creation is driven by a need to fill an emptiness or address a lack, here, Nu’s creation is an act of pure volition. It reflects the idea that Nu, in its infinite completeness, seeks to explore and express the possibilities within its own being.

This "thought of creation" is thus an expression of Nu's desire to "explore the depths of possibility." This phrase underscores the vastness of Nu’s potential, suggesting that even though Nu is all-encompassing, the act of creation allows it to manifest and experience aspects of its own consciousness in new and diverse forms. The goal of creation is not to fulfill a need, but to bring forth "that which had never been"—to manifest the unmanifested, to realize the potential within the infinite mind of Nu.

For the Saris, this verse is crucial in understanding the nature of the universe as an intentional and voluntary act of creation by Nu. It teaches that creation is a deliberate exploration of potential, an ongoing process driven by the desire to bring forth new realities. This perspective reinforces the Saris' view of the universe as fundamentally good, born from the intentional and thoughtful act of a complete and benevolent creator.

Moreover, this verse highlights the concept of creativity as a divine attribute. In Saris thought, the act of creation is not merely a mechanical process but a deeply meaningful expression of the divine will. It suggests that the purpose of existence is tied to the exploration and realization of potential, both on a cosmic scale and within individuals, who may see themselves as participants in this ongoing creative process.

This idea of creation as an exploration of possibility also serves as a philosophical foundation for the Saris' approach to life. It encourages a mindset of openness, curiosity, and creativity, aligning with the belief that existence itself is a canvas for the expression of potential—a belief that is reflected in the Saris’ cultural, spiritual, and intellectual pursuits.

Join us tomorrow as we continue to uncover the unfolding of creation in the Saris tradition, one verse at a time.

[fioras-resolve]

"Games mean via their dynamics."

It's a sentence I've heard a few times from different people. These are professional game designers, who have thought a lot about this art form. I think a lot about this art form too, which is why I seek out every talk, interview, and book I can find on the topic. And these people are trying to find the answer to "How do games create meaning?"

"Games mean via their dynamics."

This is a reference to the MDA framework, which stands for Mechanics, Dynamics, and Aesthetics. It was some game scholars' attempts in the mid-2000s to put a science to the art of game design. In this framework Mechanics, which are the rules and logic behind the game, create Dynamics, all the interactions and behaviors that happen at runtime. These then create Aesthetics, the underlying feelings of the game, the reasons why we play it. As an example, a shooter having a low ammo count (Mechanic) forces you to conserve your ammo, (Dynamic) which leads to an atmosphere of tension and caution. (Aesthetic) Designers are trying to achieve specific aesthetics, but only have direct control over the mechanics. That middle layer makes all the difference, and that can be frustrating.

"Games mean via their dynamics."

This is an interesting thing for me, as a burgeoning game designer. I like to think that stories, characters, and themes can be conveyed through mechanics. A lot of my work on games like Fiora was done with this exact mindset. But what this sentence means is that I can create all the mechanics I want, deciding for myself what they mean, but all of that intent vanishes as soon as it gets in the hands of a player. And that terrifies me.

Games mean via their dynamics.

If a designer puts a mechanic into a game, and it creates no dynamics, does the mechanic mean anything? I think about this a lot when looking back on Fiora: Full Bloom, possibly my most well-known title. It's a turn-based RPG, made using the vestigial functions of an engine designed for walking simulators. It has a lot of clever ideas, and I'd recommend you play it to see them, but relevant to our conversation is this: The stats and formulas underlying Fiora's combat are deliberately obfuscated. It shows you attributes like Power and Resilience, but they don't mean what you think they mean, and it's on you to interpret their functions. I actually included a stat, called Logic, which does nothing. Literally nothing, it does not matter whether you raise or lower it. This was meant as a "checkmate, atheists" kind of burn, as logic alone cannot get one out of an emotional spiral. But crucially, in early versions at least, I didn't *tell* anybody that Logic was a useless stat. I wanted people to come to their own conclusions, hopefully realizing naturally that Logic doesn't do anything, and questioning what that means. I wanted players to create their own understanding of the mechanics, to have Fiora be a canvas of interpretation. But...

Games mean via their dynamics.

Ultimately, the open interpretation canvas didn't work. I'm sure for some people it did, but most players ended up confused, nonplussed, or just checking the guide I wrote. The game hid its true colors too well, and most people only connected with its message *after* checking the guide. The game was just better when it was explicit, and it was more meaningful once players understood the mechanics. A mechanic inert, standing in the code, means nothing unless the player experiences it.

A mechanic on its own cannot create an aesthetic, there *must* be a dynamic.

I'm working right now on a party game about pirates and capitalism, getting extremely antsy waiting for the first playtest. I have all these high-minded ideas of what the game is about, but ultimately the players are the ones who decide what the game is. In his talk, "Dynamics: The State of the Art," Clint Hocking argues that a multiplayer game like Go, Badminton, or Street Fighter might not mean much innately, but an individual session can be loaded with meaning. Go isn't "about" a conflict between traditionalism and progressivism, but Shūsai vs Kitani was. Two kids playing Badminton in the backyard might not be particularly rigorous, but a game between Djokovic and Federer can influence a nation's view of its own national identity. A fight in Street Fighter isn't really about Ryu vs Ken, but about two players with different ideas of what the game is about, fighting to see who's wins. By this framing, a game means something different each session. The mechanics just give players the tools to create meaning of their own.

Games mean via their dynamics.

This is death of the author, only so much worse. At least in a book, the words are the same. Each word might mean different things to different people, but we can still have a consistent idea of what a sentence, in the abstract, "means." A movie may be interpreted in countless ways, but it's still the same shots, the same cuts, the same directorial decisions. It's still the same story, you know? But when you make a game, each player will have a different story, even in a largely linear affair. Your playthrough of Pokemon Legends: Arceus will not be the same as mine, it will have different characters, different challenges, different arcs. Your player character may have been a trainer or a surveyor, but mine was a hunter. And that was achieved through my personal interaction with the game's mechanics.

It was achieved through the dynamics.

This is *why* Roger Ebert said that games could never be art! Creative control isn't strict enough, the creator doesn't get to decide what the game is about, they don't even decide what it *is!* But he said that over a decade ago, and he's dead now, so who really cares anymore? Well, I do. Not because I'm insecure about the legitimacy of games as an art form, but because I worry that my game's meaning is out of my control. I can say that my game is a critique of capitalism, but is it really? Will people really come out of this game liking capitalism less? Or will I fall into the Monopoly trap of making capitalism fun? It's not about what I personally want, because like,

Games mean via their dynamics!

In the 2010s the popular conception of games was that they are "empathy machines," letting you understand someone's situation in a way only games can allow. This was a big part of the conversation surrounding games like Depression Quest, Dys4ia, and Cart Life. But is that what they're trying to be, and are they successful? In his talk, "You Have No Idea How Hard It Is to Run a Sweatshop," Soren Johnson talks about the ways games have tried and failed to create empathy in audiences. A game that put you in the role of a poor person made players think the poor just need to ration their money better. A game that made you a sweatshop manager to show how increasing quotas make you sell more of your soul ended up creating more empathy for the managers than the workers. All of the mechanics were in place to make a pointed message about the state of our world, but when put in the hands of players they sent the exact opposite message.

Games mean via their dynamics.

This is all very high-minded and academic, from someone who cares about this stuff a lot. But maybe it's overthinking things a little? Like, both Hocking and Johnson say that games are about their dynamics, and not their cutscene narrative. But does it have to be an either-or? While people who don't give a shit about mechanics and play games for the traditional stories are enjoying games in a very different way than I tend to, I wouldn't say they're enjoying games Wrong. I think game literacy requires an understanding of how gameplay creates meaning, but that doesn't mean games have to be "pure" in their ludic narrative. I think back to Ian Danskin's video about Bastion, where he points out that there is no pure storytelling medium, and that all stories bastardize the medium they're told in. But every medium gives a unique method for telling stories, that we shouldn't dismiss just because they're not "pure" forms of the medium. Games mean via their dynamics, and they mean via many other things too, and that array of possibilities is what gives games their character. So just, make games, you know?

I wrote most of that last night, and now today's the day of my playtest. I think I'll be okay with whatever happens. Whatever dynamics the game creates will help guide my development in the coming weeks. I can't control the dynamics, and that's the beautiful thing about them. But I can create the right conditions for fun, entertaining, and thought-provoking dynamics. The designer of a playground can't control how the kids play, but they can influence it by giving them the means to make their own fun. Playgrounds are an art. And I encourage you, if you've gotten this far, to think harder about the meaning created by the games you play. Not just by the dialogue, or the cutscenes, or the "story" as it were, but by the moment-to-moment interactions in the game's dynamics. Think about what the game does to you, and what kind of person it makes you. Because I love this medium, and I hope I've made you love it just a little bit more.

[heronchildlove]

Hello! I was wondering if you could write a Jamie and Matthew one where Math shows up at his room completely wasted and James just holds him as he cries? It would be based after Chain of Gold

James knew, before the door had even opened, that he was coming.

He could feel it, in the pull behind his ribs, in the knot in his throat, in the achines in his soul. The whirlwind of feelings that were too messy and too tangled for him to decipher but that knocked the air out of him like a punch to the stomach. Such were the whims of alcohol and such were the whims of Matthew's moods: most of the times his emotions were muted and dull, no cracks in his armour, but eventually one glass too many or the wrong mindset would send him directly to the other end of the scale, feeling everything at once, intensely and heartbreakingly.

Tonight was one of those nights.

The door opened and closed without a sound, and the corner of James' bed dipped. He turned and shifted, body taking on a shape ingrained by familiarity. They had shared many nights sleeping on the same bed growing up, exhausted after training, chatting in the dark until the moon was high on the sky and they just slept as they were, the separate rooms and beds their parents used to make for their sleepovers always untouched.

Matthew never used to cry back then. He used to say he had everything he wanted now, so he had no need to cry like he had done that day at the Academy.

Now, he only climbed on James' bed when he was crying.

His arms went around Matthew, holding him close, rubbing his back with his hands. He tried to wait out the storm, to calm Matthew down by being calm himself, it usually worked, but not tonight. No matter what he did, the rolling of thunder and storm inside Matthew only seemed to get worse, tears turning into sobs until the front of James' night shirt was soaked, and he had to blink fast to keep from crying himself, if from a mirror of Matthew's feeling or just out of sheer despair at seeing the other like this he couldn't tell.

"Math... Mathew bach, what happened? What's wrong? Please talk to me, let me help."

Matthew jerked and his fingers clung tight to James' back for a moment. "The monster wants to come out, but I don't want it. I won't let it. It's over, this is the last time. It's over. Over."

For a moment, he felt like he could make out the shape of Matthew's feelings, lined on a canvas, but the veil was deep and the picture was unclear. Was that loneliness? Shame? A splash of abandonment? Envy? It shouldn't be so hard to tell, it shouldn't. He knew that if only he could see, he would be able to help. But James' soul was covered in silver, and Matthew's soul clung to sanity by a thread. He couldn't find the words he needed, and the moment passed; the whirlwind took over again, Matthew's feelings scattered in the breeze, drowning again.

He kept crying, and crying, and although James held him, he couldn't think of anything to say.

[anotherwvba]

Challenge Accepted pt. 10

The Omni Arena was dark and quiet, save for the dim security lighting that cast eerie shadows across the canvas. Skye sat alone in the center of the ring, her legs crossed and her eyes closed. It’s almost here. My first fight. Am I ready for this? Can I really go toe-to-toe with someone like Reina Adora? Her heart pounded in her chest, a tempest of conflicting emotions swirled in her mind.

Shaking her head as if to dispel the doubts, Skye rose to her feet and took a deep breath. She began to move around the ring, her steps slow and deliberate, her arms flowing gracefully.. She tried to envision the ring as a stage, a place where she had always felt at home. Just another dance, another performance, another stage, she repeated in her mind like a mantra. Except the stakes are real. The punches are real. The pain is real.

Just then, the door to the arena burst open, followed by a metallic crash. Light poured through the doorway as Skye's heart leapt into her throat. Security? Damn, I’m busted.

The figure stepped into the dim light, revealing Niki, who was picking up a ladder she had just dropped. "Hey, Skye. Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. What are you doing here so late?"

Skye let out a sigh of relief. "Just trying to shake some pre-show jitters, you know? What about you? What's with the ladder?"

Niki propped the ladder against the wall. "I need to check the wiring on the projector. Gotta make sure we have the right cables and connections for the anime party on Sunday."

"Oh, right, the anime party. I'll be there," Skye said, her voice subdued.

Niki climbed into the ring, her eyes narrowing with concern. "You alright? You've seemed so pumped in the gym, so full of energy."

Skye leaned on the ropes, her gaze distant. "I'm just so nervous, Niki. This might be my only shot, you know? I'm not even signed, but tomorrow night? I will be in this ring with a WVBA boxer and I’m scared. What if I’m in over my head?”

Niki nodded, her expression softening. "I get that. A couple of weeks ago, scared out of my mind. My first fight. Yeah, it was against my best friend, but I thought Cutie was gonna wipe the floor with me."

"How did you get over the nerves?" Skye asked, her eyes searching Niki's for an answer.

Niki sighed. "I didn’t. But, I focused on what I could control. My training, my mindset, my strategy. And I leaned on my support system. Let go of the outcome and just fight my fight."

Skye shook her head. "It's not that simple, Niki. You’ve trained for years, I’ve trained for months. I don’t know what ‘my fight’ is. This is the real deal, and I don't know if I can—"

“Sometimes,” Niki interrupted, resting a steady hand on Skye’s shoulder, “you’ve got to just dive in and find out what you’re made of.”

Skye looked Niki in the eyes, her own still uncertain, “I wish it was that easy for me.”

Niki, a sudden spark in her eyes. "I have an idea. Wanna play a game?"

Skye looked at her, puzzled and intrigued. "A game?"

Niki grinned. "Yeah. How about we go a round? Right here, right now. No crowd, no cameras, no pressure. Just you and me."

Skye hesitated, her eyes widening. "Are you serious?"

Niki nodded. "Absolutely! Sometimes, the best way to face your fears is to confront them head-on. So, what do you say?"

Skye looked at Niki, her eyes widening with confusion and concern. "I say you’re crazy! We don't even have gear, and my debut is tomorrow!"

Niki chuckled, shaking her head. "Whoa, whoa, I'm not suggesting we beat each other up. I'm talking about shadowboxing. We'll move, punch, and defend as if we're each other's shadow. No contact, just a way to work on our skills and shake off some nerves."

Shadowboxing? Skye thought. I've done that plenty of times, but never with a partner. Skye thought, then said, "Okay, I think I get it. Kind of like a dance, but with jabs and hooks?"

Niki grinned. "Exactly! Think of it as a competitive improv dance. We're going to mirror each other's moves, anticipate, and react. It's all about focus and rhythm. All the work and learning and none of the black eyes and bruises."

Skye's eyes lit up, her apprehension giving way to excitement. "Alright, I'm in. Let's do this."

Niki started to loosen up, rolling her shoulders and stretching her arms. "Good. But don't hold back, okay? I'm going all out, and I expect the same from you."

Skye moved to the opposite corner of the ring, bouncing lightly on her toes as she started to loosen up. "Don't worry, I won't go easy on you. Prepare to be amazed."

Niki pulled out her phone, setting a timer. "We'll go for three minutes. Come out swinging when you hear the bell." She placed her phone on the apron and stepped back into her corner.

Skye nodded, her eyes focused, her body taut with anticipation. The buzzer on Niki's phone blared, and they both sprang into action.

For the next few minutes, the ring was a whirlwind of motion. Skye moved gracefully, her feet gliding over the canvas as she threw a series of jabs and hooks into the air. Niki countered, her own movements sharp and precise, her imaginary punches aimed with intent.

"Come on, Skye, is that all you've got?" Niki taunted, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Skye chuckled, her competitive spirit ignited. "You wish! You ain't seen nothin’ yet!"

Both women moved in a fluid dance of feints, jabs, and dodges, their playful taunts filling the air. "You're good, but you’ve got nothin’ on me," Skye shot back, ducking under Niki's imaginary uppercut.

"Oh, you think so?" Niki retorted, sidestepping and throwing a pretend jab at Skye's head.

As they continued to shadowbox, their movements became more synchronized, their playful taunts turning into words of encouragement. "Nice footwork!" Skye called out as Niki slipped an imaginary straight right.

"Right back at you!" Niki replied, mimicking Skye's bob and weave.

They continued to dance around the ring, their movements fluid and precise, each woman pushing the other to react faster, move smarter. It was a ballet of feints, jabs, and dodges.

The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the round. Both girls were panting, their faces flushed, their clothes damp with sweat, foreheads glistening from their effort. They met in the center of the ring and hugged, their earlier tension dissipated in the heat of friendly competition.

"Skye, you're good. Really good," Niki said, her eyes sincere. "You've sparred with Joe, and now you have been in this ring with a WVBA boxer. You’re not just ready for tomorrow, you belong here."

Skye smiled, her eyes shining with gratitude. "Thanks, Niki. I really needed this. It helped, more than you know."

Niki looked at her friend, her eyes searching. "Still nervous?"

Skye burst into laughter. "Hell yeah, I'm still nervous!"

Niki joined in the laughter. "Good. Nerves keep you sharp. They make you respect your opponent and the sport. Use them to fuel you, not to hold you back."

Skye nodded, her eyes meeting Niki's. "I will. Thanks, Niki."

Niki picked up her phone, turning off the timer. "This isn't the last time we'll be in this ring together, Skye. Next time, it'll be a real match."

Skye's eyes sparkled at the thought. "I hope so. Because dancing with you for real would be awesome."

[residentdormouse]

Scrupulously Seeking Out those Stellar ‘S’ Words

Sorry for the slow response, @mrsmungus . I should have spoken sooner, but supervising small ones at home from school and speeding about the space does not support the silent state needed to suspend disbelief. Spontaneous writing is subsequently stilted to short spurts. Still, searching for specific segments provides a sort of subconscious satisfaction from the sentimental feelings attached to these Stand characters that sends a shock of serotonin to my scatterbrained self. Sure, I’m a sap, but it does also serve as a springboard for subsequent or supportive spinoff stories to shoot up.

My Words: Shiver, Stare, Shower, Storm, Sprawl

Your Words: Thrill, Thrive, Theory, Tease, Task

As usual, if you want to jump in, send an ‘@’; this is always open for all.

Shiver:

(only one instance of this, so uh, spoilers?)

Lloyd wandered out into the hallway, still not sure what to make of what she was saying to him. He was calling for him? Randall Flagg?

“But to be working for that fuckhead? To be involved with him… You were more than just his lackey, weren't you?" She waited for a second, but he didn't know how to respond. His weak attempt to deny didn't even make it past his lips. "Fuck! I knew it… For him to be muttering about you. I guess, you just didn’t strike me as the type to go for someone like him.”

The water shut off, but Lloyd hadn’t registered the change. Flagg was calling for him? Randall Motherfucking Flagg? Was he asking for his help? Or was he asking for revenge? The thought made his breath catch, and he felt himself shiver in his spot. Bobby Terry was eaten alive for not following an order and mouthing off. What would he get for blatant betrayal? For everything he said before the…

“Earth to Lloyd?”

Stare:

(Not only are we staring, we’re doing it in stunned silence. Bonus points, right?)

"...Glen, did you see that in a dream?"

On the canvas was a perfect image of her cottage.

"Yeah. Right after Stovington, I think, yeah. I was having that usual nightmare I told you about, the one with our dark denim friend. Thought for sure it was heading for a confrontation, but everything just… changed." Gesticulating as he made a 'poof' sound, it was clear to Hayden that he found amusement in it all. "Great timing too I'd say, I got the impression he'd finally found me."

Concerned at the implications, Hayden stared at him with stunned silence. He apparently took it as confusion and continued, "Hard to describe the mechanics, really. Not in the right mindset, I guess. Best I can say, it felt like the son of a bitch was being pushed out." While he turned to his painting, he was clearly staring straight through it, his mind going back to that night. "Wind... The wind picked up, obstructed my view, and then, there I was, standing in front of this place." A cheeky smile came back to him as he looked up at Hayden. "Didn't even get a chance to say 'Fuck off'."

Shower:

(Tried to avoid the NSFW stuff and Spoilers. Didn’t leave much…)

“Oh, too late now, kiddo.”

“I will bring back ‘Grandpa’, don’t push me.”

Just hearing Bateman’s laugh was enough to sour his mood, but paired with Max’s unexpected arrival after their last meeting; it was enough to amplify his already prickly default setting. He could push it down, old Harold certainly would have, but now? Now he just didn’t feel like trying to hide anymore.

“Fine, just… give me a minute.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get a shower, all that jazz, and meet us across the hall. Things to discuss.”

Bateman lost no time pulling an about face and heading back to his suite, but Max had lingered. Only a second, but enough to note. Also worth noting was the missing lines around her smirk.

She had a mask as well, and she felt the call to use it.

Storm:

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have stormed off like that.”

“Hey, hey it's okay.”

“You’re looking out for me, I get it. And if it were you, if this was reversed, I couldn’t–”

“Appreciate it, but, well, it’s not just that…” He let out a sign, and ran a hand through her hair stopping on her shoulder. His face held a gravity that had obviously been weighing down on him for some time.

“I don’t know if you see it too, but it's pretty clear to me pieces are lining up for a confrontation. Flagg, whoever or whatever he is, he has his sights on us, I have very little doubt about that. And we can strategize and plan and plot, do all the normal things men at war do, because, make no mistake, that’s what he means for this to come to. But at this point, with what I’ve seen, I don’t think sociology or psychology, or any ‘ology’ is going to help end this. I think only magic, white magic, will do that. And what you can do, what you might be able to do, it’s more valuable than anything we have here.”

Sprawl:

(TW violence and blood)

By the time Glen and Hayden reached the back bay, the conflict had already resolved itself. Harold was helping Teddy into a wheelchair, taking care to not jostle his leg which was wrapped up pretty tight. Once the man was sitting comfortably, he gave a glance over to Max and Lloyd, who were working together on cleaning up what was left behind. By the looks of it, it was going to be just as bad as the body crew was.

The body they were carrying out the back exit looked to be the best out of the three; a simple gunshot to the head. His contribution to the brawl. An IV pole was shoved through the chest of another assailant, pinning the limp form to the wall. The last was sprawled on the floor, and all that remained from where its head should have been was a clump of blood, brains, and fur.

“‘Bout time it was somebody else’s turn to deal with that shit, huh Hawk?”

Despite everything, Teddy was still trying to joke, and Harold gave a slight smile as the man nudged his arm from his seat. Nobody would be expecting any body clean-up from him this time around. No way he could offer it in this state.

“No, I think you’re on sabbatical until you learn how to drive again. What the hell happened out there?”

[anannabelle]

one of the big things i want to work on as an artist right now is moving on to a one and done mindset towards my drawings. i want to be the kind of artist where i can open up a new canvas, start drawing with an idea in mind and then see it through to an end, any end as long as its finished, with whatever style or medium i started with and no do overs to try and make it look better. i hate this perfectionist trap that ive fallen into

of spending 5 or 10 or more attempts on a drawing only for it to end up looking basically the same as the first attempt and get just as much attention as the first attempt would have too. my art just isnt that complex or interesting enough to warrant so much time spent on trying a failing to get it exactly right. much better i think to just get it over with and out there so i can move on to the next thing