#suite life on deck preferences

[2neaky]

🎤 Thank U 4 The Dono! 💿 P.2

12k words! 𝑹𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒓𝑶𝒏𝒚! ♡ 𝑪𝒂𝒎𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝑶𝑪! | 𝑴𝑫𝑵𝑰 -> 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: size k*nk, or*al (m recieving), p in v s*x (use of a condom), tricking/“paying for p*ssy,” power-imbalance (financial), dr*g use (w*ed), heavy drinking, drunk s*x, morally grey ethics concerning modern-day s*x work and “buying” one’s consent, basically pr*stitution, objectification, egotistical Onyankopon, body mods (n*pple piercings), specific descriptions of body types, use of n-word (characters & writer are Black), roughly edited

Part 1

Finally, the last part! Warning, this fic isn’t the most ethically sound and I, as the writer, can recognize that. I don’t necessarily condone all concepts portrayed in this fic, but it’s just for the plot. Sometimes, I like morally grey shit. If you unable to separate this fictional story from real life, I advise against reading this. Enjoy & reblog! <3

“Right this way! Please follow the signs!”

Standing in a dimly lit corridor, the attendant is dressed in a prim suit as they shout directions to the attendees. 

Echoes of sound check bounce off of the walls of the large stadium. At times, there are minutes of silence before they’re interjected by brief clips of music or even someone speaking into the mic.

This place is massive, built to house thousands of screaming fans at a time.

All of it piques Bliss’s interest as she’s guided along by security. Some part of her wishes she could stay and watch the onstage preparation up close.

However, she forgets about all of that as she travels up a steep flight of stairs, away from the stadium’s general seating. 

Tiny lights, embedded along the sides of each step, light the way through the dark staircase. Kitten heels click softly as she slowly climbs, in line behind another guest. She neglects to hold the railing, preferring instead to latch onto her phone. 

Her other hand grips the wooden baton handles of her newest purchase: a Goyard Saïgon mini bag. 

Truthfully, it was an impulsive purchase made with just a fraction of the money she received from her Halloween Stream—and, speaking of, her bank account has never been healthier. 

That stream has upped the quality of her life, undoubtedly. Not that she wasn’t living comfortably before, but her world has been opened to new experiences. 

For instance, premium seating at a concert of her favorite artist. She’s in a space where she can afford this experience probably three times over. Yet, she didn’t even have to spend a dime to get it.

She can hardly contain a tiny grin with the flash of a memory—a conversation between her and Onyankopon over messages. Just a casual discussion, going in-depth about this entire arrangement.

Anyway, as the little quirk disappears from her face, a burst of light washes over her. She’s finally reached the top of that long staircase. Just a few feet away is the enclosed balcony, cased off behind glass so clean that she’s sure she would’ve walked right into it.

A “Luxury Box” is what they called it—an exclusive lounge, secluded to a balcony room above the stage. There’s a different attendant at its door, greeting each guest as they enter. 

“Good evening, enjoy the show,” the young woman greets with a pleasant smile and gentle nod.

Bliss can’t help but to show teeth, the apples of her cheeks even aching. “Hi, thank you.”

As she spills into the room with the other guests, her eyes are everywhere. The Luxury Box is spacious, considering that there are about thirty people here.

Her first observation is that this place is comfortable. Cushioned chairs positioned before a large glass—it’s the perfect seating arrangement with an excellent view of the stage from its left. 

The floor below the seats is glass, too. The sight gives way to a sea of empty chairs, hundreds of feet below. Soon, they’ll be filled with excited fans.

To the right of the viewing area is the bar, decked out in expensive, unopened bottles. There’s already a bartender behind the counter, wiping down the dark marble. 

And by the looks of it, they’re fully stocked: wine, champagne, beer, juice, water—anything a patron could desire. 

That’ll be the first spot she hits up.

On the room’s opposite side is an array of food spread out amongst a long, cloth-covered table. From hors d'oeuvres to dessert, they have everything. Behind the table, caterers attend to the food, ensuring its presentation is on point.

She needs no more convincing. Whipping out her phone, Bliss is quick to record the sights surrounding her. She slowly pans the camera, trying to catch everything in the video.

She hadn’t known what to expect before coming, however, Bliss had to give herself props. She managed to dress perfectly for the occasion, blending seamlessly with the lounge’s modern chic decor.

Jean Paul Gaultier hugs her body tonight as a black maxi dress with small grey dots that outline the feminine shape. The dramatic curves and slopes of her body stretch it out in a way that elevates the dress. 

No doubt, it’s a wonderful look. However, it’s also a rather sheer piece, as its material is comprised of a thin, but tiny netting. Several times throughout her journey here, she’s had to pull her bundles to the front, having them fall over her chest.

It’s her fault she hadn’t tried on the dress before packing it, she realizes. If she had, she would’ve known to buy some pasties beforehand.

Peering around the room one more time, Bliss seems to recognize a few faces—well known influencers, and even a couple of celebrities.

Be calm, she reminds herself. She’s blended in so far. 

A nervous tick, she glances at the time on her phone. She exhales with the realization that it’s only about an hour and a half more before the show is scheduled to start.

She’s closer to seeing Onyankopon live. Closer to meeting him in person for the first time. The thought has her queasy and excited all at once. She presses a manicured hand to her stomach.

God, she wishes she knew someone here, just so that they may distract her from the “what-if’s” and “maybe’s” running through her mind.

But, really? Who needs friends when there’s a bar just a few feet away? 

Especially when there’s a cute ass nigga behind it?

She just found her newest distraction to take the edge off of things.

•

The stadium’s lights have lowered to pitch-black, darkness, allowing the stage’s to shine. Shades of purple bleeding into white beam brightly. 

The DJ, propped farther back on the large stage, plays tracks that only hype up the audience.

Below the balcony, through the glass flooring, Bliss watches fans flood the stadium. They almost perfectly resemble waves of the sea. Even their cheers can be heard from up here.

As it gets closer to that time, they grow louder. They almost compete with the music.

Nursing her second drink of the night (if she doesn’t count the shot she has in between this and her first), Bliss sits plum in her seat. There’s a pleasant buzz running throughout her, and obviously it’s the liquor.

Just a little bit tipsy, more and more things seem to catch her attention as her body and mind ease up. So many distractions around her, she almost didn’t realize that someone’s come onstage if it weren’t for the screams of the fans beneath them: the show’s opener—Connie Springer.

She makes a quiet gasp around her straw, eyes wide as she leans forward in her chair. 

Bliss has a couple of his songs in her rap playlist. He’s not nearly played as much as Onyankopon is in her household. Still though, the support is there.

She actually found Connie through him. Seeing as they’re closely affiliated and under the same label, his music was recommended after Ony’s. 

Even in a couple of Ony’s Instagram posts, she can spot the other man in the background. She must admit, the rapper keeps a couple of fine ass niggas around him—hence why she follows Connie, too. 

She only hopes Ony doesn’t look too deeply into that.

But, coming back to reality, Bliss can see why Ony had picked the man to be his opener. 

He’s getting the crowd hype, and they’re rapping the lyrics right along with him. By the time his set ends—an unforgettable forty minutes—the audience is even livelier than before.

It’s astounding, really. She didn’t think they could get any louder. And the energy is coming off of the crowd in waves. She can’t be the only one in the lounge affected by it, her skin covered in goosebumps.

“I appreciate y’all tonight!”

The crowd cheers after Connie. His image is blown up on the Jumbotrons, giving every onlooker a view of his gemmed smile.

“I know y’all loud for me, but I’ma need y’all to be even louder for my brother, Onyankopon!”

Deafening shrieks fill the stadium. And Bliss is sure that if she were on the ground, her eardrums would’ve been ruptured.

Even the other guests in the lounge cheer loudly. And she’s thankful, knowing that she won’t have to hide her excitement when the time comes.

As Connie leaves the stage, the crowd chants: “Ony! Ony! Ony!”

With the stage now empty, its lights dim and the music almost completely fades. For a moment, everything seems to still.

The fans grow quieter—even if it’s just by a fraction. But, it’s safe to say that everyone in the stadium is watching the stage closely with bated breath. Waiting for something—anything—to happen.

Then, music strikes with volume that reignites the crowd. 

Almost everyone around her shows their enthusiasm, tempting her to do the same. So, Bliss cups a hand near her mouth, letting out a resounding “wooh” from her seat. 

“ATL, you ready?”

The voice, deep and amplified by the mic, sends a chill through her. For about ten seconds, the music is completely drowned out by the fans’ screams.

Her eyes scour the stage, not finding a single soul on it. It’s still dark, too.

Then, there’s another sound: a low chuckle. 

Her stomach drops. She never thought she’d be so attracted to the sound of someone’s laughter. She’s sure that there are at least a thousand other fans that are sharing the very same experience. She can’t be the only one.

“Nah, I’on think y’all heard me—“

Purple streaks of light shoot down onto the stage. Flames, rigged at the perimeters of the platform, burst out as the man of the hour runs out onto the stage. 

Any music is drowned out by the fans.

The stage’s backdrop illuminates the entire platform as a spinning graphic of the letter “O,” wrapped in barbed wire, displays on the screen.

“Y’all niggas ready?” 

She finally sees him as his image is blown up on the Jumbotrons. It’s not the clearest resolution, but she can tell just how fine he is.

Mic held to his lips, the lower half of his face is hidden. A baggy, black zip up covers his upper half. He’s even got his hoodie up, sadly, obscuring the rest of his face. 

But, as she stares at his image, she notices the flashes of light catching on the cloth. Squinting just a little, she catches sight of the tiny crystals dotting the dark fabric.

As Onyankopon moves about, he glitters underneath the stage lights. Tiny, rain-bowed streaks of light are caught by the cameras, projecting his image.

But that isn’t the only thing on him that shines. Coming around his neck and resting on his chest, is a tangle of thick, heavy looking chains.

His microphone picks up every clank they make. They don’t even need light to shine, his diamonds still dance in the dark. It’s almost blinding.

Large, baggy black cargoes cover his strong legs. However, it’s only the base for the shiny, silver and purple, jeweled buckles strapped all down the length of the fabric.

“Y’all turnt up in here, tonight!”

There’s a slight breathlessness to his voice, and it makes her body clench. If she could bottle up the sound and keep it to herself, she would.

Or is that the liquor talking?

As Onyankopon pulls the purple mic away from his face, a camera picks up on him. The closeup of his face is blown up all over the Jumbotrons.

As the crowd cries out for him, he shows them a perfect smile. His bottom row of teeth covered in VVS diamond lined, opal grillz. 

It’s almost too much, the sight threatening to turn Bliss into a puddle right in her seat.

He lifts the mic to his mouth again, just as laughter tumbles out past his lips. “Y’all right up there with Chicago! Think you could do better than ‘em tonight?”

Fans are going ballistic, jumping and cheering even louder. They begin to chant again, repeating his name over and over.

All of these people, screaming his name, are here to see him. She can’t fathom how he does it.

But watching him, seeing how his smile stretches wider and the apples of his cheeks swell, she sees that he’s in his element.

“Yeah … y’all niggas some real competition!”

More screams. She almost wishes she was amongst the crowd, free to go as crazy as the other fans.

“Do me a favor: keep this energy the whole night! Nothing less—only up from here!”

Those were his last words as the beat to one of his songs begins, and the stadium dissolves into madness. The heavy base punches through every body filling it. 

Bliss can feel it in her chest. Even the luxury box’s glass has the faintest tremor to it.

Ony runs down the middle of the stage, where it stretches out into the crowd. Mic to mouth, he’s on it, rapping over the track with passion.

A nasty mug contorts his face as he performs, clearly feeling the lyrics. And the fans are rapping right along with him. 

One in particular, a young, scrawny man with big glasses, is caught on camera. His body is pressed to the metal barrier, he’s leaning over, gazing up at the rapper as his mouth moves along to every word.

Stepping closer to the area, Ony points a gloved hand at the young fan, making sure everyone—even the cameras—are paying him close attention.

Bliss’s heart swells at the sight of the endearing moment.

Running back to the main stage’s middle, Ony jumps up and down with the song’s beat. The pyrotechnics go off once again as the song’s hook comes up.

The energy consuming this stadium is too powerful to ignore. Bliss loses herself to it. After the first two songs, she can’t even find it in herself to care how crazy she looks—losing herself to the energy of the performance.

Halfway through the show, Onyankopon loses his hoodie. 

She remembers it so clearly, when he had unzipped it. The dark fabric parted and gave way to shiny, deep brown abs, littered with tattoos of all sizes.

Her fingers itched to run down the rigid surface of abs. 

Free from the heavy material, his head is fully visible. His typical inky black waves are sheathed by an equally black, velvet durag. And she’s almost 100% sure that it’s real velvet—none of that suede shit.

What catches her eyes the most is his nickname, “Ony,” spelled with beaded gems in Old English font on the back of the fabric.

One of the cameras, currently projecting his image onto the Jumbotrons, shows the audience the glistening skin of his back as he walks back to the main stage. His tattoos only continue to bleed into the expanse of the dark skin. Strong muscles ripple beneath the smooth skin.

She pulls out her phone, recording yet another clip of the shirtless man as he performs on the stage below. Without a second thought, she posts it to her Instagram story.

He just looked too fucking good for her not to capture. Without a doubt, Onyankopon is putting on a show. 

Bliss can die happy right now…

Except, she can’t. 

Not when the starting melody of her favorite song, catches her ears. She gasps, freezing in her seat.

At the center of the stage, Ony’s pacing slows to a stop. He stares out at the jumping crowd, a smile slowly climbing onto his face. The crowd is in a frenzy.

“What y’all know ‘bout this one?”

They roar louder as he continues to search the stadium, not looking for anyone in particular. Not yet.

“Wasn’t even gon’ perform this one, I ain’t gon’ hold you,” he chuckles.

He begins to pace again, thinking with amusement of just how much shit he makes his DJ put up with—what with him prolonging this track just to speak to the fans.

Bringing the mic to his lips, Onyankopon finally looks up at the large luxury box to the left of the stage.

“But, I know you like it.” 

A camera catches a closeup of him just as he shoots a quick wink. It’s all over the Jumbotrons, and the crowd goes wild. 

As the song finally begins, Bliss’ body catches a chill. She has no choice but to get up for this one, it is her favorite song after all. 

It’s definitely a turn up song, and she does just that. Rapping along, she earns the attention of others around her. So entranced by the music, she doesn’t even realize how they begin to hype her up. And she doesn’t miss a word.

Without a thought, Bliss kicks off her short heels. Holding onto the back of her chair, she bends over and throws her ass in a circle. 

Hoots and hollers from a few of the women around her goad her on, she sticks her tongue out. One or two of them even give her a couple of taps.

There’s lights shining on her, and she’ll have to remember to ask them for the videos. The dress is doing absolutely nothing to constrict the way her body moves, despite how tight it is.

Standing up straight, she does a full body whine, mouthing her favorite part of the song. Without a doubt, this is a highlight of her concert experience.

Sadly, just as quickly as the song had started, it ends. But, Bliss is only smiling, laughing too hard with the other guests.

Now she can die happy.

•

Three hours of performing—it was a dream to witness. And to think, that after all of that, she’s going to meet the artist.

How this can possibly go, she’s can’t imagine. Well—realistically, it can go one of two ways. 

He flew her out for tonight’s show, put her up in one of the best hotels in the city, and even assigned a personal driver to her for the time being that she was here—a big bodied, black truck, of course.

So, there’s only one thing he wants. Bliss knew that coming into this. And she agreed, didn’t she?

The attendants assigned to this luxury box had made the announcement minutes ago to follow the signage for a swift exit, seeing as the show’s over.

Of course, there were a few stragglers—her included. Head buried in her phone, she swipes through the videos she was able to get from the other guests of her “mini performance.”

She’ll definitely have to post these later.

With a ring-dressed middle finger, she’s trimming one of the videos, far too focused to notice the two men approaching her.

“Ms. Bliss?”

Blinking, her head shoots up as her inky black inches fall over her face. She pushes the strands out of the way.

“Yes?”

“Onyankopon’s ready for you.”

Her face blanks as she looks back and forth between the two. Her tongue fumbles in her mouth. So, she remains wordless as she nods.

Coming to her feet, she pulls down her dress and smooths out any wrinkles. Swiping up her mini Saïgon, she follows after the men as they take her to the performer.

•

“Another city finished,” Connie smirks, dapping him up.

Slumped in a chair of his own, Ony laughs. “Yeah, and I’m ‘bout tired as Hell.”

Connie plops down on the futon pushed against the wall of Ony’s dressing room—just a few feet across from the man himself.

“You definitely gonna crash after this,” he laughs, pulling out one of his phones from his pants pocket.

“Nah,” Ony shakes his head. Licking his bottom lip, he tries to conceal a smile as Connie glances at him. “Actually … I got shit to do after.”

Raising a brow, Connie looks at him fully this time. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They both share a knowing look, which only makes this all the more funnier.

“How you meet her?”

Glancing away, Ony bats him off as he sucks his teeth. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“Nah, it better not be ole’ girl—“

“Chill,” Ony quickly looks his way. “Told you I was done with that. This a new vibe. Trust.”

Connie looks him up and down, ultimately deciding to trust his friend. “Alright…”

“Yeah, and speaking of—you gotta get the fuck up outta here.”

Connie makes a face. The question “why” is on the tip of his tongue, ready to fall from his lips, when a knock sounds at the door.

“Shit,” Ony mumbles, slowly getting up on sore feet.

Connie chooses to laugh this time. “Guess that’s my cue to leave.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, twisting the doorknob just before pulling it open.

“Ony,” Mitch, one of the security guards on his team greets.

“Wassup, man,” he nods.

Quietly, Mitch shifts to the side to allow him to see the short woman behind him: Bliss.

Ony’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. Like he’s just been served the tastiest looking platter in the world; The finest piece of steak from STK Steakhouse.

“Hey.” The corner of his lips upturn.

“Hi.” Bliss had seemed to breathe the word out.

Without thinking, Ony outstretches an arm to pull her in for a side hug. 

“‘Preciate it, y’all,” he says to the guards. 

The two men turn away, returning to their stations at the end of the hallway. 

Ony opens the door wider, allowing Bliss to slip past him and into the comfortably sized room. As she makes her way past him, he doesn’t stop his eyes from falling below her waist to check out her body.

Her ass moves like water in that dress. And the perfume wafting off of her, mingled with her body’s natural scent, is rich and warm. Luxurious, even. An expensive one for sure.

“Hey,” Bliss waves shyly, meeting Connie’s eyes.

The man with the bleached, shaved head makes a strong effort to keep eye contact. And if Onyankopon weren’t watching him closely from behind her, he would’ve broken it. If only to admire how her body stretches the fabric out—and how terribly it hides her nipples. 

“Wassup, how you doing?” Connie smiles kindly. Standing up, he pockets his phone while outstretching a hand to her.

Politely, Bliss gives him a gentle shake before letting her hand fall back to the wooden handle of her purse.

“Ony,” Connie moves over to the man, dapping him up.

“We talk soon,” he nods.

As soon as the door shuts, with Connie’s departure, it’s like all of the air in the room has been sucked out.

Slowly, Bliss turns to face him. He’s already staring her down.

“It’s good seeing you in person.”

His voice is low, but soft. 

Her body is covered in goosebumps within seconds. She gives a shaky smile, showing off that cute gap between her two front teeth.

“You, too,” she says.

“You nervous?” He smiles as he heads over to the room’s large vanity.

It allows her the space needed to breathe as she watches him retie the loosened strings of his durag.

“I am,” she giggles, wanting to cover her mouth. “The show was really good, though. I had fun.”

“I’m glad.” He turns back around, leaning against the vanity to stare at her. “Hope you appreciated the song.”

Her smile only grows. “I did, thank you. You don’t even know, I was dancing and everything.”

“Oh yeah?” He raises his brows, watching her beam.

“Yes, it’s my favorite!” She remembers telling him in their DMs that it was her favorite song of his.

However, that definitely isn’t how he learned that fact.

Almost bowing her head, Bliss looks up at him through her thick lash set. “Thank you for performing it.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He looks her up and down. 

He might be exhausted, but he can definitely squeeze out one more performance for the night. 

After all, his body is still running off of the adrenaline from the show.

“How was everything? The hotel good?”

She perks up at that. “Hm? Oh���yes!” She nods. 

He thinks it’s cute.

“The hotel is very nice, and thanks for the driver.”

“Anything to make you comfortable.” He licks his lips. His eyes flick down for half of a second, catching a peak of her pierced nipples through the dress.

Of course, she notices.

“I’ma ride with you back to the hotel, take a quick shower, then we out for dinner. That’s cool with you?”

Her matte lips roll into her mouth and she nods. It’s a weak attempt at hiding an excited smile. They discussed this before—spending the night out together. Yet, Bliss still finds herself unable to really believe it.

His well-groomed brows lift just an inch. “That’s not a answer.” 

She breaks into laughter, feeling silly. “Yes, Ony.”

“Aight. Lemme grab my shit and we could leave together.”

She nods, heading over to the vanity on her own accord as Ony moves about to gather his items. 

As he packs his black, Margiela backpack, she tweaks her appearance in the brightly lit mirror. Smoothing down flyaways, fixing her lip combo—she does it all.

Being the great multitasker he is, Onyakopon sneaks glances at her from behind.

This view is everything: The only thing “covering” her ass in that dress is a tiny, black G-string that disappears between the globes of her cheeks anyway. Her honey-brown skin is dimpled but mark-free. And her narrow waist tempts him to grab it from behind.

If tonight goes as planned, backshots are definitely going to be on the agenda. Now, he’ll eventually flip her over on her back, because that face and those titties are too pretty for that position alone. 

The mental imagine is enough to make his dick twitch. If he didn’t have any sense, he’d fuck her raw. Just to make her feel every inch and vein, and for him to feel the wet heat of her walls. 

But before he gets too carried away with his own thoughts, Onyankopon blinks them away. Slipping into his jacket, he throws his backpack over a shoulder. 

“Aight, let’s go.”

Nodding, Bliss returns to his side. Ony is quick to hold out a hand, which she takes.

“When we leave, it might be some fans and paps outside. I can’t control that, I’m sorry. But, I got my people with us, so you should be good.”

Bliss nods, only able to quietly take it all in. She’s never been in the spotlight before. She only hopes that they aren’t too crazy.

“Oh, wait—“ 

Quickly, she drops his hand to search through her purse. A couple of seconds later, she’s pulling out a pair of designer shades. They’re huge with blacked out lenses, perfect for hiding her face.

Ony laughs. “You got it.”

•

As they’re just a few feet from the exit, body guards at all of their sides, Bliss anticipates Ony dropping her hand, just to keep anymore rumors at bay. 

However, as they pass through the threshold of the stadium and the cool, outside air hits them, her hand is still heavy with his.

“Ony!”

“Onyankopon, look this way!”

“Who’s this that you brought out tonight?”

“Is that your girlfriend, Ony?”

Using her purse, Bliss blocks the other side of her face, hoping the cameras don’t catch anything. Her lips tremble as she tries to keep from laughing at the obscene and invasive questions.

Their driver plucks the back door of their car open—a Rolls Royce. Ony lets go of her hand to let her in first. 

Just as he climbs in, the driver shuts the door behind them. The second his security backs away from the car, paparazzi and a few fans close-in on the vehicle, trying to snap pictures through the tinted windows.

“Wow,” Bliss laughs, breathlessly. She pulls the large shades off of her face, allowing him to seeing her beautiful face.

“My bad ‘bout that. Should’ve prepared you more.”

“It was actually tamer than I thought,” she smiles.

“Shit, my bad. Ain’t know you had it like that.” 

She only laughs at his joke, and he can only think about how much he likes the sound.

As the driver pulls off, heading towards Onyankopon’s hotel, Bliss opens up her camera. She records a couple of clips here and there of herself in the car, careful to keep Ony out of it.

It’s cute, he thinks, how she doesn’t try to take advantage of such a moment. Even more, it allows him to worry less about putting a guard up; He pulls out his phone.

On Twitter and TikTok, he catches posts of his concert, liking and reposting his favorite ones. All of the love from his fans makes his chest swell with pride.

ATL definitely showed out tonight. A contender with Chicago, for sure.

Shutting his phone off, Ony drops it into his lap and leans back in his seat. His gaze is attracted to the woman beside him.  

In the low lighting, she’s gorgeous. As the driver narrowly avoids the greater part of a pothole in the street, the car is unstable for a second or two.

In that time, his eyes fall to her chest, seeing how it bounces even under the confines of her dress.

It triggers multiple images in his brain—memories of her past streams.

Finally shutting off her phone, Bliss does a quiet sigh as she pushes her hair over one shoulder, exposing more of her upper half. 

Blinking, she finally takes a look at him, and they make eye contact. Off of instinct, she laughs nervously.

“Hi.”

He smiles, showing off his grills. “Hey.”

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head lazily. So oblivious to just how impatient he is for her.

A date with Onyankopon.

She, Bliss, is on a date with The Onyankopon. Never did she think that would be her reality.

Before they arrived, he did just as promised—stopping by his hotel to get ready. He had her stay in the car, yet he definitely didn’t make her wait too long.

When he got back into the car, keeping his backpack at his feet, he smelled heavenly. His cologne was arousing—something about a good smelling man really just does it for her.

His outfit seemed to match the vibe she had went for: a brown Miu Miu leather and sheepskin jacket with snakeskin and flowers over the shoulders. His pants are a basic black, baggy fit jean with chains dangling from a pocket. His jewelry, of course, is silver.

And without a durag, his shiny waves were out for all to see.

There’s no doubt, he’d chosen the fanciest restaurant out here. It was a two-level establishment, and they have the entire second floor to themselves.

Just three of Ony’s security personnel guard the entrance and exit to the staircase. It’s quiet up here, yet peaceful. However, Bliss feels quite awkward, as all of the attention is on her.

They had gotten through appetizers before the real conversation began. Well, really Ony had gone through it. After a show like that, it’s no wonder that he’s worked up an appetite. 

Bliss picked at the food here and there, careful not to get full too fast. She also is still nervous.

“What you do earlier today? Before my show.”

Swallowing her sip of the mixed drink she had ordered, Bliss presses a hand to her chest.

“Just some shopping. This is my first time in Atlanta, so I wanted to take advantage of the malls.” She laughs quietly. “I hope your driver didn’t mind.”

Rubbing at his chin hairs, he glances at her purse set off to the side of the table. It’s crisp and the color is well saturated. There’s not an inch of the bag frayed or faded.

“You got this today?”

She follows his gaze. “Yeah,” she says nervously.

He hums. “How much you pay for it?”

She shrugs. “About 6k.”

He smirks to himself, still eyeing the bag. “That’s light … you want it in cash?”

Her eyes almost bulge out of her head. “What? I don’t—“

“If you don’t take the cash, I’ma find a way to get it to you. So quit all’at stuttering, humble shit.”

His voice is calm, quiet too. Which only astounds her, because there’s nothing calm about someone offering her six grand.

But, she’s not slick. Even as her mouth hangs open, he spots the hint of a smile on her stretched lips.

“It’s … I don’t need it, Ony.”

“Shit, I know.” Huffing out a breath of amusement, he smirks down at her. “But you want it, so just take it.”

She looks off to the side, her hair falling in her face before she pushes it over her shoulder for the umpteenth time tonight.

“Y’know, I knew ‘bout you for a minute.”

That stops her in her tracks. 

Her Instagram profile is that of the typical IG model—sponsorships, the occasional risky photo, but overall, pretty moderate.

How long had he known about her page? Was he stalking her profile like she’d done his? Why only now say something?

Her heart races. All of these questions she wants to ask—she opens her mouth to do so.

“Yeah, you cute on ‘em live streams.” He continues rubbing at his chin, still eyeing her.

And as those words left his mouth, her own closes.

Her career as a cam-girl isn’t in the spotlight. It’s no well-kept secret, nor is her page really even hard to find. Still, it’s always jarring when she has to come face-to-face with that in reality.

“W-what?“

Her voice is quiet. The shock on her face is quite apparent, too.

“I catch ‘em when I can.” He sits back in his chair and shrugs.

She knows it’s greedy, but if that’s how she gets her money, then so be it: her streams are only accessible to those subbed to her highest tier on her cam-girl page.

“Oh … my God,” she whispers, putting a hand over her mouth. 

He cracks a smile, a small chuckle falling out past his lips. 

“How long did you—“ She stops herself, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Couple months,” he says, like it’s no big deal. 

Her stomach drops to her ass. And as a new thought emerges in her head, her stomach threatens to fall out of her body.

“What’s your username?”

She almost didn’t even want to ask. Onyankopon can only laugh.

“C’mon, now. Y’know who I am.”

She fears she does. He doesn’t need to say it:

onLyONE1

Falling back in her chair, Bliss covers her face as she groans into her hands.

“Shit was obvious, too—“

“Stop, please!” She laughs, shyly. Pulling her hands away from her face, she reveals a soft pout on her lips. “I can’t believe you saw that,” she whines.

Is it crazy that his eyes seem to sparkle as he smiles? “What? Your body?”

“No! Well—kinda. I mean me crushing over you!”

Now, he’s practically cackling. And Bliss’ face burns with embarrassment.

Calming himself down, Ony sighs. “Relax, I thought it was cute.”

She gives him a weak glance, immediately looking away. 

“I can’t believe this.” She groans. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shakes his head. “That’s federal. I wasn’t even gon’ say nothing, ‘til I found out you was a fan—“

“Ugh,” she looks away, a scowl on her lips. “Don’t do that.”

“You right, my fault,” he chuckles. “A supporter,” he corrects.

“Thank you.”

He hums. “But, that shit was sexy, though.” He shrugs. “So, I had to fly you out here, see you in person.”

When she regains the courage to look him in the eyes, she feels small in her seat. His eye contact is unwavering.

“And get you all to myself.” He scoffs as he runs his eyes over her upper body. “Couldn’t stand you paying attention to all them broke ass niggas.”

His lips frown with thinly veiled disgust. It almost makes her laugh. On the other hand, the statement as a whole makes her tummy flutter.

She hates to admit it, but a possessive man will always be her weakness.

“I’ll double what I gave you, just to get you for tonight.”

“I … Ony…“ 

The offer is tempting, real tempting. But, can she really do this? The whole 'pay-for-pussy' thing?

He senses her apprehension. Wordlessly, he reaches down by his foot.

The low whine of a zipper catches her ears. Before she can question it, three, fat stacks of rubber-banded hundreds are dropped onto the table. Right before her widened eyes.

He pockets his hands, leaning back in his chair once more. “I matched you for the bag, too.” He nods to the stack.

She’s breathless. All of this money, it’s making her head spin. “O-Ony—“

Her resolve is cracking, he can tell. And this has got to be his favorite part about having money—the power it gives him. He widens his legs underneath the table, feeling himself grow stiff already.

“I’ma selfish ass nigga. I know that. And if I see something I want, I’ma get it. All I really need is one night … but, if you fucking with me, I’ll keep you put up.”

Her brain attempts to formulate a coherent thought, yet nothing comes up. This sounds too good to be true.

But, her mind can’t deny what’s in front of her. And, the idea of him spending so much just to have her—even for a night—only gets her wetter by the second.

He stares at her, patiently awaiting an answer he already knows he’ll get.

But, just to get it out of her faster, he turns up the heat: reaching back into his bag, Onyankopon pulls out another fat stack, placing it on top of the others.

Like magic, Bliss finds her mouth moving before she can even really think twice about it.

She’s giggly off the drinks, but she isn’t the only one. As Onyankopon continues ordering more and more alcohol to the table, she can see that he, too, is loosening up.

He’s talking more, a tad bit more touchy, and even bolder in his flirtatiousness.

She likes it.

Another thing about her and alcohol; She gets talkative. Part of her brain is screaming at her to put a sock in it, judging by Ony’s demeanor:

He’s sat back with an arm thrown over the back of the chair, slowly chewing as he stares at her with low eyes. In his hand, his fingers slowly twist a balled up napkin.

But, she just can’t stop talking. Her mouth is running a mile a minute—she doesn’t even remember what she’s talking about. 

However, all of her spouting comes to a stop when Ony finally sits up. Looking elsewhere, he throws the napkin down on the table.

Her eyes dart around. “What happened?”

Pulling out a crisp, black card from his wallet, he snaps it down on the cloth-table. “Ready to go.”

“Oh…”

Oh shit.

It takes almost no time at all for the waiter to take Ony’s card. In the blink of an eye, they’re standing on their feet, ready to leave.

“Don’t forget your cash.”

For a split second, Bliss is confused. But, when she follows the direction of where he points to, she’s quickly reminded.

Those large stacks of cash he’d pulled out for her earlier were sitting so casually to the side of the table, next to her purse. Like it wasn’t money itself. And a lot of it.

She slips her purse over her wrist before scooping them up in her arms.

“Yeah, there you go,” Ony nods, smiling at her.

They follow his security team to the elevator. All the while, he’s got an arm thrown over her slender shoulders.

Only two of his staff follow them into the moderately sized shaft. As the two, burly men stand in front of them, hands clasped before them in similar fashion, Ony’s arm remains around her neck, keeping her back pressed against his front.

And, boy, does it make her dizzy. Not only that, but her body buzzes with a renewed sense of energy. 

Everything about him, physically, is all encompassing. His cologne is so strong that it’s all she smells. The weight of his body isn’t stifling, but grounding. Even keeping her warm. 

And as her body practically melts into his, the fat of her ass is smushed against his front. 

The press of his print, which happens to lie perfectly between both cheeks, is impossible to ignore. She won’t even bother shifting around to get comfortable. Instead, she succumbs to his hold—too easily—and releases a shaky sigh.

Turns out her guess was right, he is big.

When they step out of the restaurant, yet again do they have to shield their faces from the barrage of cameras and flashes surrounding them.

This time, they run to the car, hopping in as silly laughter pours from them. God, they’re so drunk.

“C’mere … so fuckin’ far.” Ony seems to breathe out the words.

Even in the darkness, the look of lust is written all over him. It’s even swimming around in the air. Her eyes do a full sweep of his body, noting how wide his thick legs are spread. 

Like a minx, she slinks over from her seat and right onto the one he presents to her. 

“Mmh,” he hums, immediately snaking his arms around her small waist and dragging her up higher into his lap. 

She giggles, feeling all of him beneath her.

“You smell good.” He mumbles the words into the warm skin of her neck.

Bliss bends her head down and even sweeps all of her hair over the other shoulder to give him more access to her.

The kisses he lays there are hot and wet, pressed into her warm and soft skin. She shivers. One of his hands press into her lower stomach, keeping her from moving too much.

The pulse between her legs has grown into an ache. Every clench her pussy does is almost painful with how strong it is, even worse now that he’s hard beneath her.

God, why did she pick such a long dress? 

Without thinking, she grounds down onto him, weakly. Onyankopon’s other hand travels upwards the middle of her abdomen. 

She doesn’t focus on his lingering touch. She can’t. Not when he’s sucking a pretty bruise into the side of her neck. Her breathing quickens, and slow, tiny pants leave through her parted lips.

His traveling hand slides up between the valley of her boobs and anchors around her neck just as he lifts his mouth off of her. She bites down on her bottom lip, yet another giggle slips through her teeth.

“Thin-ass dress.” He tightens his grip around her neck. “Might as well have not worn anything.”

His deep voice and his rough hand has her pussy leaking into her panties. He lifts his hips by a fraction, and it pushes a small moan from her.

“Freaky ass lil’ bitch. Got ya titties all out—who’s it for?”

Her eyes flutter shut and she swallows thickly. 

He squeezes another moan out of her. “Hm?”

“Y-you.”

He chuckles. “Got my dick all hard, starin’ at ‘em.”

His hand finally moves, and the skin on her neck is cold. She misses it. But, that’s forgotten when both of his hands cup her heavy breasts.

Bliss arches her back, pushing them further into his warm hands. And, never one to refuse a gift, Ony squeezes them. 

Her body is weak as he plays with them, damn-near juggling them in his hands. And as he laughs, clearly amused by her body’s reaction, she can only try to keep her moans at bay.

“So pretty,” he mumbles before pressing a a kiss to the side of her face. “Pretty ass titties.”

His hands still, only cupping them. Then, his thumbs begin slow circles her pierced nipples through the dress’s thin fabric. Its tiny netting does nothing to shield her body against the gentle caress.

She turns her head to the side, her mouth open and desperate for something to plug it before an embarrassingly loud moan leaves it.

And like her knight in shining armor, Onyankopon indulges her in an open-mouth kiss. He wastes no time, sucking on her tongue.

Around her piercings, his fingers pinch and pull at her nipples. Bliss can’t help it, moaning into his mouth. Her hips rock against his, desperate to finally get on his dick.

When he finally pulls back, they can both breathe. And it’s the first time that they notice music playing through the car’s speakers. 

“Mmh, fuck,” he sighs. Ony sits back in his seat. 

Breathlessly, Bliss fixes her hair, trying to distract herself from the way her body was lit on fire from just kisses and fondling.

Ony looks around the back cavern of the car, quickly finding just what he was looking for: his bottle of Don. It’s stuffed in the side pocket of the car door, calling out for him.

Securing an arm around her waist, Ony leans forward to pick it up out of the car door’s side pocket. When he’s sits back, he pulls the top off the bottle and wastes no time taking a sip.

Busying herself, Bliss grabs her phone from its spot in the cupholder. She opens up Instagram and holds her phone up to snap a couple of clips of herself.

The near darkness of the vehicle is perfect, showing not too much nor too little for the camera to see. And every last clip stays in her drafts.

Still, she’s careful not to get Ony’s face in it, only doing close ups of her face as the music plays.

When Onyankopon finally pulls the bottle away from his face, he sees what she’s doing.

As she records another clip, she zooms in on her body, caressing herself and even showing off her pierced nipples through the dress.

A quick thought puts a smirk on his face. He interrupts, bringing his hand into frame as he squeezes one of her boobs. The ring on his pinky finger glistens under the cameras low flash.

With a surprised gasp, she cuts the clip short.

“Keep recordin’,” he says in her ear, gruffly.

“Why?” She chuckles. “You wanna be seen?”

He scoffs quietly. “That’s cute.” Shifting his hips, he pushes his dick harder against her, just for a bit of spite. “This just for you, though. Don’t post nothing.”

His nose and lips to her neck, his voice in her ear, his hands on her body—she shivers.

Pressing record again. She zooms in on his hand as it gropes her yet again. Very soon after, it slides up and wraps around her neck. She stops the video.

With a giggle, she saves it to her drafts. “Should I send it to you?” She questions, tapping away on her phone.

“Nah, keep that,” he mumbles. Turning his head, Onyankopon peers out of the window, watching the city zoom past them. “Got some other shit planned.”

Thankfully, there’s no paps around. No need for them to rush into the hotel or hide their faces.

As they take their time to get out of the vehicle, Ony’s security surrounds the car.

“Wait—the money,” Bliss worries. 

She’s halfway out of the car, a hand in Ony’s clutch as he’s the one helping her out.

“Don’t trip, I’ma have my people get it for you.” 

As her feet land on the concrete ground, Onyankopon laces an arm laces around her waist, pulling her in close.

“Okay,” she hums, bringing a hand to his chest.

As she looks up into Onyankopon’s low eyes, the lust in them is undeniable. She practically shivers with excitement.

“You cold?” He chuckles, cracking a grill-decorated smile. His perfectly groomed brows even pull together.

God, she’s never noticed how perfect his face looks up close.

Dumbly, she nods, her lips stretching into a wide smile. She watches his eyes flick downward to glimpse at her lips.

“I’ma get you warm soon, right?”

“Mmh, okay.”

Shaking his head, he allows himself to smile wider as he follows his security team into the hotel. 

As he said, two men stay behind to clean up the money at the back of the Rolls Royce. Just for Bliss.

Onyankopon’s room is on the eleventh floor. Normally, one would think that the commute from the hotel lobby to his room—by way of elevator, of course—wouldn’t take much time.

Five minutes, max.

But to Bliss, those five minutes are feeling a lot like thirty, at the very least.

While they waited for the elevator, Onyankopon was all over her. Large hands pulling her in and keeping her close—gripping her ass, too.

She’d whine his name, pushing her face into his chest. Because with the little bit of stragglers lingering in the lobby, there were still wandering eyes.

And he’d tell her, “Let ‘em watch,” because that’s the type of nigga he is. 

‘Rapper’ seems like a fitting title for him.

Oh, but when they finally get in the elevator? Not even his security being there was enough to keep him off of her.

He traps her against the back wall of the elevator. His large hand grasps the junction of her neck and jaw.

There’s tongue involved, far sooner than she thought there would be. But, she’s not complaining. Their heads twist as they suck on each other.

She finds herself moaning into his mouth as he applies pressure around her neck.

Bliss is barely able to pull away with the inch of breath that she was able to escape with. Both their lips are glossed over with spit—slimy and sticky. Their rushed pants quickly dry it, however. 

Before either of them can say anything, the elevator dings with the announcement of their arrival to the eleventh floor.

Only once the door to Ony’s suite shuts, is when they finally lose his security for the night. 

Bliss remains near the door, her first thought to take off her shoes. She keeps a hand on the nearby wall as she unhooks the back of her kitten heel from her foot.

It should take only ten seconds to get both shoes off. Yet, she lingers in that spot well after the time is up. Why?

Well, she’s watching him. 

Watching Onyankopon shrug that heavy jacket off of his wide shoulders and throw it down on the mini bar table. Watching him kick off his shoes. Watching him take a seat on a short leather couch, positioned in the middle of the circular shaped living room.

She isn’t quick enough; He catches her staring.

Her second heel finally drops to the ground. It makes a muted thud against the tiled floor—which is cold against her perfectly manicured feet.

With a tired sigh, Ony leans back against the couch, refusing to break eye contact. “Come.”

A faint smile makes the corner of her lips rise, and an amused scoff leaves her.

This time, Onyankopon watches her.

Watches the way her hips seem to perfectly sway—if even unintentional—with each step. Watches how her boobs bounce softly beneath the tight dress. Watches her land softly on his open lap, throwing an arm around his neck, too.

She throws her purse and phone down onto the cushion next to them, completely disregarding the objects.

Softly, he kisses his teeth, his eyes running over her body. 

“When you gon’ take this fucking dress off?”

She laughs. “When are you gonna take it off me?”

He licks his lips as he reaches behind her to slide a hand up her back, searching blindly for—he found it. 

At the top of her back, at the base of her neck, his fingers collect the small zipper and pulls. He drags it all the way down her spine, until the track stops, right above her ass.

“Now you want me to pull it off or you got that?”

Rolling her eyes, Bliss tugs at the tight sleeves of her dress, pulling her arms out. As she drags the constricting fabric down her body, her boobs spill out. 

The piercings immediately catch his attention. He resists the urge to reach out for them and touch.

Pulling back her hair, she tosses the bundles over a shoulder, allowing him to see everything. For a moment, she stands, only to pull the rest of the dress down.  

When she finally steps out of the pool of her own clothes, the only thing that covers her is that tiny ass G-string.

“Wish I could’a seen you at the show,” he tells her as she comes to sit back down on his lap.

Bliss licks her lips, looking down into his eyes. She hums, gazing at him. “I was dancing and everything.” 

“Oh, yeah?” His voice is soft and hushed, like hers. “Show me how you was dancing.”

She bites down on her lip, trying to stop her smile from growing.

He shifts beneath her, if only to pull out his phone. It’s a seamless process, how he was able to connect his phone to speakers that seem to be connected throughout the entire suite.

She almost laughs, if it weren’t for how serious he is; It’s one of Ony’s songs from his recently released EP. 

“Be my dancer,” he says in her ear, smiling wide.

She almost shivers. 

Wordlessly, she turns her back to him and puts hands on his spread knees. Leaning forward, she starts a slow whine. And Ony is all too happy to watch her ass move in circles right on his lap.

Reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulls out a rubber-banded stack, just a bit thinner than those he had at the restaurant. He pops the elastic binding all of the bills together.

The beat changes, and Bliss shakes her ass side-to-side. Ony stretches an arm over her. The quick flick of his thumb pushes fifties and hundreds fluttering over her.

Entranced by the way the fat of her ass moves, he palms one cheek with the other hand.

As he begins to rub, Bliss returns to a slow whine before dropping it in his lap, earning a grunt from him. When she lifts her ass to do it again, Ony smacks it, gripping her immediately after.

Every time, she bounces her ass harder against him. She fights the urge to stop dancing and just solely grind against him, because at this point it’s getting hard to ignore the way he’s poking through his jeans. 

Her bounces grow shorter. The pressure and friction threaten to make her eyes roll back. She’s close to moaning out.

“Shit…” He bites down on his lower lip as he grips the fat of her hip. “Sexy ass lil’ bitch,” he groans.

In all this excitement, he almost forgot what they were doing. Picking the stack back up, he resumes the money shower, allowing the rest of his bills to rain down on her.

She looks back at him over her shoulder, noting the hand in his lap, holding his belt.

Biting down on her lip, Bliss fluidly turns around to get on her knees between his legs. The fallen bills keep her skin from touching the cold tiles.

One hand is positioned on his knee. The other snakes up his other legs, heading towards the buckle of his belt.

“Oh, you wanna get nasty?” His smile is full of mischief.

She nods as she focuses on opening his pants.

“Shiiit, go ‘head.”

And he didn’t need to tell her again. 

Manicured hands pull him out of his boxers. Bliss has to take a minute to cement this moment in her brain. Her heart is pounding in his chest.

He’s heavy in her hand. The very tips of her acrylics just barely touch as she’s wrapped around him. His thickness makes her tummy stir. She can’t wait to take him.

All of those nights she’s spent in bed, imagining him buried deep in her guts—now, it won’t be a toy doing the work. It’ll be the real thing.

Leaning forward, Bliss presses a kiss to the underside of his head. Quickly, she stretches out her tongue and laves it. 

“Don’t try to be cute,” he says through gritted teeth. Immediately, a hand swabs around the back of her head to gather her bundles in a messy, yet tight ponytail. “Suck me up like you do with them toys.”

She opens her mouth wide. Carefully tucking her teeth, Bliss engulfs his entire tip. She keeps him between her tongue and the roof of her mouth, sucking.

Her pace isn’t necessarily slow, that wasn’t even her intention. But, she’s not fast enough, either.

The hand in her hair guides her, encouraging a smooth push-and-pull of her head.

He sucks in air through his teeth. “Oou, just like that. Yeah—relax that throat.”

Her hands stretch across his denim-dressed knee caps, squeezing tighter as she struggles to keep up.

There’s a soft clinch in her face, eyes watering, as she gently gags.

“M-make sure you get that shit wet—mmh. Get it messy … just like that, get my dick messy.”

His voice softly coaxes her on. The firm grip on her hair paired with his commands has her doing everything he wants, and probably more.

His pace picks up, his force getting rougher. And even beneath the thick fans of her lash extensions, he can see her eyes rolling back.

Her gags are heavier, louder. His dick stabs her throat, causing wet clicks every time he touches the back of it. 

He groans out, his stomach clinching, as he feels her tighten around him.

“Sshit!” He laughs, her choking music to his ears. With a hiccup, a large rivulets of spit leak from her puckered lips and drips down his dick. “Yeaaah, just like that!”

As he chuckles over her, her pussy bares down on nothing. Her body is obsessed with the way he sounds.

It’s messy—so messy. Frothy bubbles of spit and cum gather at the rounded corners of her mouth. Thick globs hang from her lips, some of it even rolls down her neck. But all of it drips onto her bare chest, sticking to smooth skin.

And she doesn’t intend to do anything about it. The only goal she aims to accomplish at the moment is taking this dick without throwing up all over it.

Ony hooks a hand on the underside of her jaw as the other only tightens around her hair. All movement of her head is halted and the brief moment of stillness allows her to breathe properly—through her nose, of course.

“You gon’ swallow?”

“Mhm,” she nods eagerly. The fragile hum crackled as it left her.

Ony gazes down into her tear-filled eyes. He notes the mess clouding the bottom of her pretty face

“Sure?”

Her muffled ‘yes’ almost makes him laugh. She can hardly speak around his dick.

“Aight then.”

This time, he’s driving his hips forward, face-fucking her. Bliss lurches forward, hacking as he drills her throat. Yet she doesn’t tell him to stop. Nor does she pull away or even tap his thigh.

“C’mon,” he grunts, the deepest scowl on his face. “Take this dick, take this … f-fucking dick.”

Her body goes pliant as she allows him to use her face like a toy. However, her lips remain tight around him. She doesn’t even try to keep the spit from falling out of her mouth.

The longer he continues, his dick glides in and out of her lips. It’s all so slippery, she gags less and less with every thrust.

There is no announcement of his arrival. Only one more brutal thrust before he presses his hips to her face. They occasionally twitch as he shoots thick ropes of cum down her throat.

She almost chokes. Almost. It’s difficult to swallow his load around his dick, she lets out a gag or two.

When he finally drags himself out of her mouth, webs of spit and cum stretch between his tip and her swollen lips. She heaves, his hanging dick still in her face.

Too focused on gathering her breath, Bliss doesn’t see as he pulls his shirt off.

“Lift ya head,” he says, a soft hand cradling the back of hers.

Bliss looks up, staring into his eyes as he uses his Coogi shirt to wipe the muck off of her face.

His brows are furrowed as he concentrates on cleaning her off. “Yeah … can’t have all this shit drying on ya skin.” He even goes as far as to get her neck and chest. “Aight … there. You good now.” 

He pats her cheek with a smile, earning a giggle from the woman on her knees.

“Thank you.”

He outstretches a hand, helping her up on her two feet.

“It’s nothing,” he says softly. Using his soiled shirt, he wipes down his dick and inner thighs. And when he’s done, he tosses it aside.

As Ony is pulling up his pants, his dark eyes roaming her bare body, he gets an idea—eager to have her participate in it.

“You tryna smoke?”

•

The blunt shakes between her unsteady fingers. She doesn’t get a good inhale in—can hardly even pass it back to him.

Onyankopon does her a favor, taking the blunt back as he pushes his dick back in.

“Oou—shit.” Her shaky groan is music to his ears.

Holding the thick blunt between his lips, he takes his time bottoming out, both hands on her hips.

Her pussy flutters around him, her stomach stirring. This is the deepest he’s gotten, feeling his tip smushed against her cervix. Her head’s dizzy.

“Fuuuck, Onyy—“ A weak hand, hesitant in nature, cradles her lower tummy,

“I’m deep?”

“Mh—yes.” Her breath hitches.

He lifts a hand from her skin to pluck the blunt from between his lips. A thin cloud of smoke puffs from his nose.

“You could handle it,” he rasps. 

The slowly burning blunt dries his throat out, almost makes it scratchy. And yet the wetness between Bliss’ thighs makes it easy to forget the minor discomfort.

A shaky gasp slips from her mouth as he begins a slow stroke. It’s no surprise to her when—even as he’s the one fucking her—he pulls her back by the hips. The quiet clap of her ass against his pelvis and thighs cheers him on. It encourages him.

He wants her to be louder. He wants to hear more.

One minute he’s delivering slow, deep strokes, letting her body sing. Her pussy’s got a vice-like grip around him as it creams around him. Before long, she’s gripping the sheets tight and her legs tremble. 

Blunt be damned; Onyankopon drops it onto the floor in favor of focusing on the woman below him.

Her moans are loud and guttural as his dick punches her stomach from the inside. Even as they’re loud, the bed’s pristine, white sheets weaken the sounds.

And that just isn’t doing it for him.

“Nah, c’mere—“

Fingers grip her hair to yank her face out of the sheets. Her neck strains as her head is angled so far back, that she catches sight of something she’d been too horny to even see before: the mirror above the bed.

She’s got a clear eye-view of herself getting fucked as roughly as she’s always dreamed. It makes her clench down on him harder, she even whimpers seeing it. In such a fucked out state, it’s a drug seeing the way her body ricochets against his.

A small part of her is embarrassed seeing the faces she makes, she’s out of it. Yet, she loves it all the same. With Onyankopon as another set of eyes, she loves it even more—being watched while he turns her out.

Moan after moan pours from her lips until her throat is sore, and even then she still continues to yell at the top of her lungs about how good his dick is.

“Yes—yes! So … fuckin’ big—oh fuck!”

It’s impossible  to keep her grip on reality. Her knees can barely hold her up. The sweet pain in her lower stomach has her eyes rolling back. Ony tugs at her roots harder.

“Know you see yourself,” he grunts. “Know you see how I’m fuckin’ you.”

His smirk and breathless voice is just the cherry on top—she trembles as she squirts on him. But her release doesn’t make him slow down. In fact, Onyankopon goes harder.

“Mhm … cream on my shit. Squirt on my shit—drown me.”

Every time she tries to look at their reflection her eyes either crossed or she just can’t keep them open. All of her strength is reduced to nothing.

Onyankopon’s strokes, which hold an ungodly amount of force behind them, shakes the woman to her core. It knocks the air from her chest. 

A choked noise followed by heavy breathing is all that her body can muster. Seeing his response, Ony does it again, loving how it leaves her breathless and with no sound. 

He does it again. And again. And again. The clapping of skin is deafening to Bliss’s ears. Her vision blurs and all her body can do is focus on one thing at a time. All sounds begin to fade out. She can only spotlight the repeating jabs to her insides.

Every time she tightens around him, he finds it harder to hold back. But he keeps up. The faster he goes, the more sloppy and less accurate he becomes. 

As they continue on it doesn’t matter, Bliss is so close to another release, that it would only take a couple of these blind thrusts for her to cum again. 

“Shiiit!”

“What? It’s not enough?” He pulls out, and quickly thrusts back in, feeling triumphant when she yelps out.

“T-too mu—much,” she hisses.

He pulls out and she gasps, her body clenching around nothing. He takes himself in his hand, rubbing the head against her lips. He smears her cream around with his latex-covered tip.

She’s been stretched open, making it all too easy for him to see the creamy pinkness typically hidden behind brown lips. It’s a sight for sure, one that he can’t look away from as she pushes out some of her previous release.

However, he hadn’t realized that he was pressed for time; Bliss whines out, pushing back on him. Even her cunt clenches down, like it missed the fullness.

“C’mon,” she mumbles into the sheets.

He laughs. “You was just crying it was ’too much.’”

A brief moment of strength strikes her as she pulls her head out of the pillows to look back at him. “Put it in, Ony!”

With little to no effort, on account of how wet she was, he slips right back in, granting her that satisfying feeling of being stuffed. 

She moans sweetly and drops her head into the sheets, a long groan moving past her lips and he rolled his hips. The feeling of him stroking her insides, so good, better than good. 

It was great, and her eyes rolling back were evidence of that. He pulls out and pushes back in, repeating that movement at a fast pace. She sank her teeth into her lip, trying to stop herself from being too loud.

Bringing her hips up higher, Onyankopon achieves a better angle. She was getting drunk off his strokes, as well as the sound of him blowing her back out.

“Oh—oh… God,” she drawls.

The pleasure is overwhelming and she scoots up, trying to lessen the hits to her guts.

“Oh, so you runnin’? I thought you wanted me to beat it up?”

He pulls her back and holds onto her shoulders. Applying pressure, he uses that leverage to repeatedly bring her back on him, his thrusts hitting harder and deeper..

“Oh fuuuck,” she groaned and gasps, shutting her eyes to stop them from rolling back.

“You confusin’ me, mama.”

He’s reveling in the tight, warm and wet hug her body offers. He looks down, noting how her her body coats his dick in her cum.

“Shit, shit, oh fuck,” she whines.

He smacks her ass and keeps going.

“Oh shit…” he groans. “So… fuckin’ good,” he says under his breath, closing his eyes and getting lost in the feeling.

Bliss’s whimpers bring him back. Her thighs shake and her arch comes undone. 

In a flash, the desire to see her face again hits him like a freight train. And what other choice does he have but to do something about it?

It’s hard, but Onyankopon pulls out. Using what’s left of his strength, he flips her over on her back and drags her body to the edge of the bed. He’s wordless in his actions, she’ll see his point very soon. 

But, for now, Bliss sits up on her elbows to watch with tired confusion as he moves her.

Strong hands grabs her thighs and pull her flush against his front, eliciting a yelp from her. Instinctively, she wraps her legs around his waist, giving him the perfect opportunity to lift her hips completely off the bed.

“What the fuck?” She laughs, her fatigue so apparent in her hoarse voice. 

She has to make a great effort to hold herself up. Of course, Ony holds her, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t doing some type of work. 

“Trying something different. You good with this?”

She doesn’t think she’s ever been in such a position. It excites her, makes her giddy. It even brings a renewed sense of excitement and energy to her body. Her hair falls in her face as she gives a loose nod.

The muscles in his bicep flex as he transfers all of her weight to one hand, busying the other as he grabs himself. Just like this, she’s like a five-star meal placed before him, ready for him to demolish. 

He gives himself two quick tugs before aligning with her weeping center and slowly pushing back in.

The stretch is wonderful every time, evidenced by the way Bliss throws her head back.

He fucks into her, holding onto her hips so tight that his thumbs press against her hip bones. She writhes, and her legs damn near squeeze the life out of him as he hits spots in her that she didn’t even think to be possible.

“Keep squeezin’ me like that—yeah,” he groans out, throwing his head back as well.

Her moans seem to have run out despite her mouth hanging wide open. She’s completely silent, unable to scream as he digs her out.

“Uh—fuck, I’m ‘bout to c-cum—” Ony’s resolve seems to be cracking as his voice waivers with his moans.

Her legs tremble and her pretty toes curl so tight that her feet almost cramp up.

A burning heat flashes throughout his body as his orgasm catches him by surprise. His mouth drops open and his muscles tense before he leans down, dropping them back onto the mattress as he pushes his face into her neck. 

Senselessly, Onyankopon ruts into her, riding out his nut until he stops filling the condom. The overstimulation pushes Bliss over the edge as well. 

Her orgasm comes crashing down around them as her pussy clenches down on him, only wetting his dick further. She hugs him close, keeping him from pulling out too soon.

“Awe fuck,” he mumbles. As his lips had moved against the skin of her neck, it tickles her.

She giggles.

“Fuck you laughing for?” 

She can hear the smile in his voice.

“Tickles,” she breathes out. Shifting beneath him, she can still feel him inside of her, softening by the minute.

His chest rumbles with a deep sigh. “This shit got me … wantin’ to pass out.”

She hums in agreement, slowly dragging a hand up and down his back. His body is hot, a bit sweaty, too. She doesn’t doubt that hers feels the same way to him.

Movements filled with fatigue, Onyankopon pushes himself up to look down at her. Her makeup is definitely fucked up, courtesy of tonight’s events. And yet, he can’t stop himself from smiling when he stares at her.

“What?” She laughs, growing just a little bit shy.

“You better than a fuckin’ blunt after a show.”

She breaks into a full on laugh, giving him a much clearer view of her cute gap. “Thanks?”

“Nah,”  he says, shaking his head. “I definitely gotta keep you around.”

And even if he didn’t want to, Bliss doesn’t think she’d let him go.

…

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[f1ora1f1owerswrites]

packing it up

–hi! this is officially my first tumblr fic, i thought of this when listening to “packing it up” by gracie abrams (i’m actually so obsessed with that song) and thought it really fit jake. i would love some feedback if you stop by for a read :-) warnings: jake seresin x reader. straight fluff. maybe slight angst if you really squint and tilt your head. she/her pronouns used. no use of y/n. probably grammatical errors :/.

Summary: Jake Seresin had always been the kind of guy who kept everyone at arm’s length, no matter how cocky or confident he came off as. He’d learned the hard way that getting too close meant eventually getting hurt. But when you walked into his life, everything changed. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was timing, but one thing was certain: you happened when he needed it the most.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin had always been fine on his own. Hell, he preferred it that way. He had his wings, his crew, and the endless rush of being a Top Gun pilot. It wasn’t that he didn’t want something more—it was just that life had a way of showing him that when things were going right, something was bound to go wrong.

So he kept his distance. He kept things casual, whether it was with women or friends. There was no need to get too attached when it always ended leaving him with nothing but disappointment.

But then you happened.

Jake didn’t believe in fate, not really. He’d always chalked up the little moments in life to coincidence, never willing to put too much stock into anything that couldn’t be explained by logic and reason. But the first time he saw you, that stubborn, independent look in your eyes as you stood sticking out like a sore thumb at the Hard Deck, he knew something had shifted.

You weren’t like the others. You didn’t need to impress anyone, didn’t care about what others thought of you. You were grounded, real. And that had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. You made him question everything he thought he knew about himself.

It had started slowly. “Accidentally” running into you on his way to the jukebox to play the same song for the third time that night (really just to be near you and the girlfriend you were with), the way you didn’t let him get away with his usual one-liners when he offered to buy you a drink. At first, Jake tried to keep it friendly, and nothing more. You were a civilian. His lifestyle was chaotic, unpredictable. He couldn’t promise you anything, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to pretend he could.

But every time you smiled, every time your eyes sparkled with something that wasn’t pity or curiosity, he felt his walls crumble just a little more. You didn’t need him to be perfect. You didn’t want him to fix his shit or his cocky behavior. You just wanted him.

And that scared the hell out of him.

It was a week before he was set out for a month-long mission. He had spent nights staring at the ceiling of his room, wondering what it would feel like to be somewhere stable, maybe even back in Texas. To be somewhere that didn’t cause the slightest of fear to bubble up. To be with someone who didn’t see him as just a flight suit or a handsome pilot.

That was when you called.

He picked up on the first ring, having a specific ringtone just for you, but he swore to himself that it was just a friendly thing to do. Nothing more.

“I was thinking about you,” you said, your voice familiar and warm, like a comfort he hadn’t realized he needed. “I thought maybe… you could come by? If you have the time before you leave?”

Jake hesitated. The thing with you was that you didn’t make demands. You didn’t chase. But he could hear it in your voice—an uncertainty that he’s never gotten from you. It made him pause.

And for the first time in months, Jake felt like he wasn’t running from something. He was running toward it.

He showed up, not because you asked, but because he needed to know what it felt like to have someone who cared. Someone who saw him for who he was underneath the persona he sometimes had a hard time losing.

That night, you had sat by the sand close to the Hard Deck. A place that had become common ground for the two of you. The air was cool, a slight breeze blanketing the two of you. Jake had never felt more at peace, and it terrified him. You were sitting so close, your shoulders brushing, but you weren’t rushing him. You didn’t pressure him to talk about the things he didn’t want to, and you didn’t pry into the past he so carefully guarded.

It wasn’t until you laughed at something he said—genuine and unforced—that something inside him broke. The walls. The distance. The shields he’d carried for so long.

“I wasn’t looking for anything,” Jake admitted suddenly, his voice low. “I didn’t want anything. I thought I was better off alone.”

You tilted your head, looking at him with those understanding, yet curious, eyes. “And now?”

“Now,” Jake whispered, his heart racing for reasons he couldn’t explain, “I don’t think I want to be alone anymore.”

Things changed after that night. It wasn’t instant; it was slow, careful, like testing the water before jumping in. He wasn’t used to that. Jake didn’t do vulnerability, and you didn’t demand it. But with every conversation, every shared moment, you both let your guard down just a little more.

There were nights when Jake would wake up in the middle of the night, startled, only to find you lying next to him, breathing softly, looking so peaceful that it almost felt like a dream. It was new for him, having someone so close to him, a feeling that he wasn’t sure he was ready for. One that he found himself craving all the same.

One night, as the sun dipped low in the sky, the two of you found yourselves at the Hard Deck, one of the rare nights that the rest of the Dagger Squad wasn’t accompanying the two of you. It was quieter than usual.

Jake looked over at you, your laughter filling the space between the songs. There was a moment of stillness, a pause where he realized just how much he needed this. He needed you.

He was so damn close to packing it up and walking away from everything just to protect himself from the mess he was making, but then… you happened.

“I swear I wasn’t looking for someone,” Jake muttered under his breath, and you tilted your head, giving him that soft smile that made everything feel right.

“I wasn’t either,” you replied, taking his hand in yours, your fingers lacing together with a familiarity that made his chest ache.

“I’m glad we found each other anyway,” Jake said, his voice thick with the emotion he couldn’t quite put into words.

You leaned in closer, resting your head on his shoulder as the warmth of the bar surrounded you both. For once, Jake didn’t feel the need to run. He didn’t need to pretend. You were right there with him, steady and real, and that was enough.

“I hope we get everything we could ask for,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the hum of the room. “Even if it’s just… this. Right here.”

Jake smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I think we’re already there.”

And for the first time in a long time, Jake Seresin felt like he was finally home.

i hope you loved reading this as much as I loved writing it! it was a bit tricky for me at first, but I think I really love the way it came out! feedback always appreciated!

[themindofachronicdaydreamer]

Suites & Sweets

freshman year at Jujutsu University Tokyo seems like it will be uneventful. and, well, that's true... until you meet the boys in the suite across the hall, and one in particular piques your interest.

satoru gojo x reader | jjk college au | no curse au | fem! reader | fluff, angst, & slow burn | SMAU & writing <3

introduction | previous | next PSA: this series deals with a lot of mental health struggles, but in this chapter, we delve deeper into more darker, sensitive topics. If you are in any way sensitive to subjects relating to: addiction, drugs/alc use/abuse, manipulation, infidelity, or feel in any way uncomfortable please do yourself a favor and skip over this for your own sake. ily all! take care of yourselves <3 ₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.

ˋ°•*⁀➷˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 19. 𝓣𝓗𝓔 𝓐𝓦𝓐𝓚𝓔𝓝𝓘𝓝𝓖 ⍣ ೋ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ... wc: 4.8k

Of all the things Ino regretted in his life, the one that stood above the rest - the one that clawed at him in quiet moments and loomed over every misstep - was befriending Naoya Zen’in.

If he could go back in time and make it never happen, he would in a heartbeat. Becoming friends with Naoya was his ultimate mistake, a blunder with consequences he feared he could never fully escape from.

When Ino was five, he and his mother moved into a run-down condo in a dingy corner of suburban Tokyo. It was a fresh start for his mother, freshly divorced and struggling to make ends meet. The condo was small, the walls thin enough to hear every argument and every sob from the neighbors. The plumbing was unreliable, and the residents fell into two distinct camps: those who pried too much into others' lives or those who preferred to keep to themselves in a manner that screamed... sketchy. It was perfect for the two of them.

When Ino was five, he moved into a run-down condo in suburban Tokyo with his mother, freshly divorced and trying to make ends meet. The walls were thin, the plumbing was unreliable, and the neighbors were either too nosy or entirely sketchy.

At the edge of their modest neighborhood stood an anomaly: a pristine Zen’in grandiose family mansion, with high gates and sprawling grounds. Its polished exterior seemed designed to mock the surrounding houses, towering over the other homes.

Inside that mansion was Naoya Zen’in, a boy born with a sharp tongue, an even sharper attitude, and a bank account that rivaled small nations. Even as a child, Naoya wielded his family’s wealth and status like a weapon. He was the kind of kid who had the newest toys, wore the best clothes, and flaunted his superiority with a confidence so unshakable it made the other kids resent him yet also crave his approval.

Ino was, admittedly, no exception.

At first, when Ino's mom began getting coffee on the regular with Naoya's mom, the Zen'in boy ignored Ino entirely. Ino was too quiet, too unpolished, and too beneath him. Ino was awkward, skinny, and wore his cousin's hand-me-down sneakers. He was nice, yeah, but he had nothing much to him, and he was not up to the standards Naoya held for his friends (though, to be fair, such standards were so high, he had no friends). Naoya barely even bothered glancing in Ino's direction.

One summer afternoon, the day after Ino's eighth birthday, things forever shifted. Ino accidentally kicked a soccer ball over their fenced lawn and into Naoya's pool. Panicked, Ino scrambled over the fence and snuck into their backyard, only to freeze when Naoya appeared, lounging on a deck chair like a king on his throne, sipping an overly sweet lemonade.

Naoya's smirk widened as he picked up the ball, holding it just out of the reach of the intruder. "You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today," Naoya hollered, a sly grin plastered across his face. "Try not to be such a klutz next time. I get second-hand embarrassment from you."

Ino, desperate for acceptance in a neighborhood where he already felt like an outsider, laughed along. His face was hot with embarrassment as he stammered an apology, but Naoya waved him off. "Relax," he rolled his eyes. "I guess you're not the worst person children can manage and get away with.

From that moment on, Naoya decided Ino was his new project - a loyal sidekick; a shadow to his bright, obnoxious spotlight.

Years passed and their dynamic remained largely the same. Ino played his part well. He laughed at Naoya's jokes, even the ones that made his stomach churn. He followed along when Naoya decided they were too good for the other neighborhood kids. He turned a blind eye in middle school, when Naoya began to wield his family's wealth and influence like a weapon, Ino found himself caught in the crossfire, complicit in ways he didn’t like to think about.

High school was where the cracks began to really show. One core reason for this was that Ino met you: someone who saw past his facade he wore around everywhere and made him feel like he could be more than just Naoya’s shadow.

Ino really thought he could take control of his own life when he began dating you. Month by month, however, he slowly lost his grip, slipping back into the behavior he knew best and blindly following Naoya's lead.

Naoya didn’t take kindly to this... distraction. So, he made every effort to be rid of it. He guilted Ino when he made plans with you, claiming he was choosing a random girl over his lifelong best friend. He would argue that Ino could do so much better and have someone so much more compliant, since you weren't wife material, too opinionated and outspoken. Naoya would complain whenever you were around, and when you weren't, he would somehow find ways to complain about you. He poisoned the air with snide comments until Ino began to doubt even his own feelings.

And though Ino tried to stand his ground - more so at the beginning of your relationship - he always caved in the end, too scared of losing the only friend he’d ever had, even if that friendship was toxic and led him to losing others. He felt he owed it to Naoya, who took him under his wing and shaped him to be well-liked from the awkward boy he once was. For that, in Ino's mind, whatever Naoya wanted from him never seemed too unreasonable. Naoya only exploited this weakness of Ino's, wielding their shared history like a leash.

Which meant hurting you.

It all became too much to handle, really. He loved you. He loved you so much. But Naoya had too much hold over his life and person, he was more of a puppet than a human being. It led him down a path he swore he would never go down, especially after what how his father treated his mother. Ino found himself partying nightly: different girls all over him, different substances effecting him, different places and DJs, yet all the feelings within him numbed to practically nothing. By becoming the one thing he swore he wouldn't, Ino finally found peace in his terrorizing mind.

Some may call the way Ino acted a self-fulfilling prophecy. Others may call it the effects of his father's actions. But nowadays, Ino likes to call it how it is: his own fault.

He knew what he was doing when he shit talked you, another girl on top of him. He knew these were the things Naoya loved to use against him, which was exactly what he did. When he felt Ino drifting apart, he would reel him back in the only way he knew how - leading to him sending you the video of the scene, and leading to six months of hell for both you and Ino.

But Ino knows he's responsible for all of that. He was always able to say no, even though it really felt like he couldn't. He was the one who let the girl all over him, he was the one who reciprocated her touchiness. He was the one who, knowing Naoya was recording, said whatever he wanted him to. He dug his own grave.

After that, for some unknown reason you stayed. Maybe you knew he was struggling and you wanted to try and help, or maybe you just had zero self-respect. All he knew was that he did not deserve you, but he was happy and ready to make a change. He was ready to become better for you.

Something about you was off, though. You were untrusting and hesitant, and the relationship was rocky with tension. You were quick to accuse him of cheating, you wanted nothing to do with Naoya, and you were, frankly, not doing the best mentally. He saw that, and he knew he was the cause.

Yet, for some reason, instead of changing for the better, he decided to dig himself a deeper hole. He delved further into his cycle of partying, girls, alcohol, drugs, Naoya, and then apologizing to you a couple times a week, promising he will be better.

You both knew he was lying, every time. For some reason, you still stayed.

The reality check for Ino came when Naoya hosted the prom afterparty junior year. It was supposed to be a celebration, but it turned into a disaster. Ino went to prom with you, and everything was great, and it was nice to have a night with just you, regardless of the unspoken tension, of course, but then the party happened.

Somewhere between the music and the drinks, Naoya handed Ino a pill, smirking. “Lighten up,” he said. "You need it."

What followed was a haze of colors and sensations, blurred edges and muffled sound. When the bathroom door slammed open and your face appeared - shock and heartbreak etched into every feature - Ino blinked down at himself, at the girl draped over him, and felt his world tilt.

The image of you standing there, eyes brimming with tears from the sting of betrayal, burned itself into his memory. No amount of Naoya’s empty laughter or substances could drown it out.

Now, years later, Ino couldn’t erase the mistakes he made under Naoya’s influence. The permanent shadow Naoya casted on his life was overwhelming and inescapable. But he also couldn’t escape them. Naoya’s shadow loomed large over his life, a constant reminder of every decision he wished he could undo. Naoya's intimidation, manipulation, and overall power had such a hold on Ino, he feared he would lose everything if he cut Naoya off.

But he already lost you.

He wasn't exactly sure when it clicked in his mind that he had control over his life. Maybe it was the existentialism unit in philosophy class senior year of high school, or maybe it was his frontal lobe finally developing further. It doesn't matter, though, because at some point, Ino knew he had to cut Naoya off, and he had every right to. He came to the realization that his life was in his control, not anyone else's, and especially not Naoya's.

Slowly, but surely, Ino stopped responding to Naoya's texts and answering his calls. At first, Naoya hadn't noticed, but after Ino ignored him for two entire days, the Zen'in came knocking at his door, yelling about how disrespectful he was being. Ino was about to give in again, but remembered he had to hold firm, or his life was never going to change from the miserable state it was in. He was graduated and attending college. He was an adult.

Naoya leaned against the doorframe of Ino’s house, his arms crossed and his signature smirk plastered on his face. “You’ve been real quiet lately,” he sneered. “What, too good for me now that we're out of high school?”

Ino hesitated, his resolve once again wavering for a moment. Once he thought of all the nights he’d spent hating himself for letting Naoya control him, for hurting the people he cared about, he took a deep breath and stood straight up. If he feigned confidence, maybe he could feel confident.

“I’m done, Naoya,” he said, his voice firmer than he thought it would be. “Done with all of it. I’m not your sidekick anymore.”

Naoya’s smirk twitched, and for the first time, Ino saw a flicker of something resembling disbelief in his eyes. “Excuse me?” he said, his tone dangerously low.

“You heard me,” Ino said, stepping closer, growing bolder. “I’m not your servant. I’ve got my own life to live, and all you've done recently is fuck with it.”

Naoya’s face twisted into a sneer. “You think you can just walk away from me? After everything I’ve done for you? What, you think you're better than me?”

“Yeah, actually,” Ino said simply. “Because everything you’ve done for me came with a price. I'm not paying that shit anymore. Find a new minion.”

Naoya’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say another word. He turned on his heel and stormed off, slamming the wooden door behind him.

For the first time since he met his now ex-best(?) friend, Ino felt like he could breathe.

Until last night, standing in the backyard of the Sigma Pi frat party sipping on a lukewarm beer, Ino thought he could finally put that part of his life behind him. He was at a new school - college, Jujutsu University - with new people. It was the fresh start he needed. He was finally free from the chains of his childhood. He ended things with the girl he was halfheartedly dating since (and during) when he was with you, leaving the last crumbs of Naoya's influence behind. Things were looking up - he finally was in control again.

That was until Sukuna cornered him.

The air around the frat house was thick with the scent of spilled beer, cigarette smoke, and damp grass. Laughter, conversation, and music invaded the air, but it all seemed muted as Sukuna stepped into the dim glow of the backyard's string lights. His presence was suffocating. The man was an enigma, intimidating and unflinching, and utterly unapproachable. Ino's mind raced with what he could possibly say to him.

“You’ve got some nerve hanging around Zen’in, Beanie” Sukuna said, his voice a low growl.

Ah, there it is.

Ino froze. The nickname stung more than he cared to admit. “I’m not hanging around him,” he replied after a pause. He took a gulp of his drink, tightening his grip on the neck of the bottle. “Not anymore.”

“Not anymore,” Sukuna echoed, a ghost of a smirk curling his lips. He creeped a step closer and Ino instinctively shrank, the dark shadows on Sukuna's face making him look scary, almost inhuman. Sharp, red eyes bore into him. “You used to, though. Long enough to know how that shitty snake operates.”

“I made mistakes, okay,” Ino admitted, his voice quiet. His palms feel sweaty, as if they're losing their grip on his beer. Sukuna's unblinking stare makes it that much harder to talk. “But I’m not hanging around him. I'm not that person anymore.”

Sukuna chuckled darkly, the sound rumbling in his chest like distant thunder. "Mistakes," he echoed again, almost amused at the words spewing from the boy's mouth. "That’s a cute way of putting it. But the thing about mistakes, Beanie, is that they don’t just disappear because you’ve decided to grow a conscience."

Ino’s hands balled into fists at his sides, his fingernails clawing at the skin of his sweaty palms. He wanted to argue, or to tell Sukuna that he wasn’t the same weak, spineless kid who let Naoya control his life. But the truth was, he didn’t know how much of that was true. He was still figuring out who he was without Naoya’s shadow hovering over him and scrutinizing his every little move.

Sukuna leaned in, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “Do y'know why I’m even wastin' my time talkin' to you right now?”

Ino shook his head, unable to form words under the intensity of Sukuna’s gaze. The movement is hurried, nerves making his movements jittery.

“Because Zen’in," he spits, "still thinks you’re his little bitch. He’s been sniffing around places he shouldn’t, thinking he’s untouchable. And you?” Sukuna jabbed a finger into Ino’s chest, the pressure just shy of painful. “You’re just a pawn in the cruel games he plays with other people's lives. I mean, why else would you be standing alone, outside, at a party like mine?”

Ino’s stomach dropped. He thought cutting Naoya off meant he was free, but Sukuna’s words planted a seed of doubt. Could Naoya still be using him somehow, even now?

“I’m not in his life anymore,” Ino said, his voice barely above a whisper, throat straining. His pulse quickened as his face settled on an expression somewhere between angry and ashamed. “I swear.”

Sukuna’s smirk returned, but it was colder this time. “You better not be. Because if I even think you’re involved in one of his schemes, I won’t bother warning you again.” His hand gripped Ino’s shoulder, his fingers digging in just enough to make his point clear. “And believe me, you don’t want me as an enemy.”

Ino nodded quickly, his throat dry. “I understand.”

"You ever hear what he did to my brother?” Sukuna’s voice cut through Ino’s spiraling thoughts like a freshly honed blade. The shift in his tone was subtle but lethal.

Sukuna’s grip tightened slightly, and his eyes narrowed, as if daring Ino to answer incorrectly. Ino shook his head again, his voice trembling as he managed to whisper, “No, I haven’t.”

The pink-haired man let out a dark chuckle, releasing Ino’s shoulder with a rough shove that sent him stumbling back a step. “Figures,” Sukuna said, his tone dripping with disdain. “Zen’in’s good at keeping his little secrets. Let me clue you in on something, Beanie. My brother? He doesn’t get involved in petty games, and he sure as hell doesn’t cross paths with people like Naoya. After a dumbass martial arts competition where Yuuji carried their team to regionals and won the whole thing, Naoya was pissed. You know what happened?”

Ino’s silence must have been enough of an answer because Sukuna continued, his voice low and icy. “He hurt him. Not physically - Naoya doesn’t get his hands dirty like that. But he went after my brother’s name, his reputation, his livelihood. Claimed he was possessed, a freak. Naoya turned people against him, twisted words, and when he couldn’t win outright, he lied until he could.”

Ino’s stomach churned. This wasn’t a side of Naoya he had seen firsthand, but it was one he could believe all too easily. He had seen the way Naoya manipulated people, the way he used his charm and his name like weapons. But Sukuna’s brother? What could Naoya possibly have gained from targeting him?

“Why?” Ino croaked, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

Sukuna’s expression hardened, and for a moment, Ino thought he might regret asking. But Sukuna answered, his voice a low growl. “Because he could. Because my brother bested him, and for some reason, Naoya saw even his soft ass as a threat. And because Naoya’s the kind of bastard who doesn’t just want power - he wants submission.”

Yuuji, despite his unassuming nature, carried himself with a quiet confidence that didn’t fit Naoya’s worldview. He wasn’t deferential to Naoya like so many others were, and that alone was enough to draw the Zen’in heir’s ire.

Ino felt sick. He had known Naoya was ruthless, but hearing this painted a much darker picture than he had ever let himself imagine. He had been so overwhelmed by the idea of Naoya controlling him, he never stopped to think too deeply about how Naoya controlled others as well.

Sukuna stepped closer again, his towering presence suffocating. “So here’s how this is going to work. You’re done with him - fully done. You don’t talk to him, you don’t even breathe the same air as him if you can help it. Because if I catch you even looking like you’re on his side, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Ino swallowed hard, nodding quickly. “I'm telling you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’m not with him. I’m not.”

Sukuna stared him down for a long moment before stepping back. “Good,” he said simply. “Then we won’t have a problem.”

Naoya might have thought he won with Yuuji, but he didn’t account for one thing: Sukuna never forgets. And Sukuna never forgives.

Sukuna hovers for a moment before continuing, “You think Naoya’s done pulling his shit? Think again. He’s got his sights set on someone else now.”

Ino’s stomach dropped in knowing. “Who?”

Sukuna’s gaze was ice-cold. “You know exactly who. And if you’ve got any shred of decency left, you’ll make sure he doesn’t get the chance to ruin her again like he ruined so many others. Including you.”

Ino’s mind was all over the place, memories flooding back of Naoya’s snide comments and veiled threats about you. He thought he’d escaped Naoya’s shadow, but now it was clear that shadow still loomed over him. And if Sukuna was right, you were standing right in its path.

For the first time in a long time, Ino felt a surge of resolve. He couldn’t change the past, but maybe, just maybe, he could stop Naoya from hurting you—or anyone else—again.

Ino nodded slowly, trying to process Sukuna’s words. His mind wandered, unbidden, back to high school. He remembered a conversation he’d had with Naoya during their junior year, late one night after too many beers. Naoya had been ranting about some kid who "didn’t know his place," someone Naoya had "put in his place for good."

Could he have been talking about Yuuji?

“I… I think I remember him mentioning your brother once,” he admitted cautiously. “He said something about teaching someone a lesson.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Did he now?”

Ino swallowed hard, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. But now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop. “It was years ago. He didn’t say much, just… that he did something to get back at your brother. Something big.”

Sukuna took a slow, deliberate step closer, and Ino felt his pulse quicken. “And you didn’t think to do anything about it?”

“I didn’t know what he meant!” Ino stammered as he tried to defend his past actions, an old habit he was having trouble getting over. “I swear, I didn’t know it was your brother. I didn’t know anything. Naoya's cryptic and won't let others in on his plans, only parts of them. I only heard because I had come over to his house and he didn't know.”

Sukuna’s gaze bore into him for a moment longer before he exhaled sharply and turned away. “Typical. The brat's always been good at keeping his hands clean while everyone else does his dirty work.”

Ino hesitated, his mind racing. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to think long and hard about the kind of people you keep around,” Sukuna said coldly. “And because if Naoya’s pulling the same shit now, I need to know.”

Ino’s stomach churned as he thought back to the way Naoya had treated you, the way he’d manipulated and belittled everyone around him. If Sukuna’s brother had barely survived Naoya’s games, what did that mean for the people Naoya was targeting now?

And then it hit him - a memory from high school. Naoya had once mentioned wanting to make you "pay" for something, though he hadn’t elaborated. At the time, Ino had brushed it off as idle talk, but now, in light of Sukuna’s words, it felt more sinister.

Ino’s voice was shaky when he finally spoke. “I… I think Naoya might still be at it. I don’t know what, but he’s planning something.”

Sukuna’s expression darkened further, his jaw tightening. “Then you’d better hope you figure it out fast. Because if he so much as breathes wrong in her direction, there’s not a force on Earth that’ll save him from me.”

“If you see him messing with someone important to me - anyone - I expect you to act. Understand?”

The implication was clear. Sukuna wasn’t warning Ino for Ino’s sake. He was issuing an order, one that came with unspoken consequences if ignored.

“Yeah,” Ino mumbled. “I get it.”

With that, Sukuna turned and walked away, leaving Ino standing there, shaken and alone. He let out a shaky breath, his mind racing. Sukuna’s warning wasn’t just about Naoya—it was about everything Ino had let himself become under Naoya’s influence. And if he was going to change, truly change, he couldn’t just cut Naoya off. He had to figure out who he was without him, and he had to start now.

Sukuna’s words rattled around in Ino’s head, a constant echo that refused to fade. For the first time, he found himself questioning everything - his friendship with Naoya, his choices, and most importantly, his role in the mess that had hurt you so deeply.

The guilt lingered like a shadow, heavy and inescapable, until it finally drove him to pick up his phone after the party. He stared at your contact for a long time, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, knowing the likelihood of getting blocked by you was high. And when you did, and it stung although he wasn't surprised, he didn’t stop there. He sent a message to the one person he thought might actually listen to him: Satoru Gojo.

As much as he tried not to, Ino was a lurker. He couldn’t help it. Late at night, when the weight of everything felt unbearable, he’d find himself scrolling through your Instagram, looking at the fragments of your life that he was no longer a part of. It was self-inflicted torture, but he couldn’t stop.

So when you began hanging out with Satoru, he was curious.

It wasn’t a surprise that you had met someone new, but it still stung. He had lost his right to expect forgiveness a long time ago. From the photos, it seemed like you were happy now. There were pictures of you laughing with friends, trying out new cafes, and exploring places he’d never been with you, and never will. It gave him a strange, bittersweet sense of comfort.

At least you were doing okay.

At least you’d moved on.

Even if it hurt to watch from afar.

It gave Ino a tinge of hope. Yeah, he screwed over all of the chances you gave him, but at least you're happy now, even if he can only watch from afar.

That was why, when you started hanging out with Satoru, Ino’s curiosity got the better of him. At first, he told himself it was nothing - just a passing friendship or a coincidence. There were subtle, fleeting comments, and casual mentions from mutual acquaintances. Ino was sure that you had a lot of new friends, and Satoru was simply another one of those.

Yet the more he saw, the more his unease grew.

At some point, Satoru wasn’t just in the background of your stories; he was an entire presence. He was an character in your life with an active role. Satoru was in the comments, cracking jokes and bantering with you in ways that felt too natural, too intimate. He was the one taking candid photos of you laughing in the kind of way that felt too personal to be platonic. There was a new energy in your posts, a lightness in you that Ino hadn’t seen since before you were together, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who was responsible.

What Ino was feeling wasn’t jealousy, exactly. He knew had forfeited his place in your life, and he knew it. But seeing you with someone like Satoru - a guy who had everything he didn't - left a bitter taste in his mouth. Whether it was shame or regret or whatever, he didn't know. He just knew he hated it.

Satoru was everything Ino wasn’t: confident, charismatic, unapologetically himself. He didn’t shrink under the weight of anyone’s expectations, least of all Naoya’s. And you? You looked free with him. Happy in a way that wasn’t curated for the camera. Genuine smiles, the corner of your eyes wrinkling in the kind of way that radiates joy. You were glowing, your smiles wide and unguarded, the kind that used to make his heart skip a beat. It gave him a bittersweet sense of comfort.

Ino told himself it didn’t matter. He was just curious. Just watching from the sidelines. But as the days turned into weeks, the guilt gnawed at him with increasing intensity. It made him think of all the times he’d laughed along with Naoya instead of standing up for you, and of all the ways he’d let you down because he was too afraid to push back.

He told himself it didn’t matter. He was just curious, just observing from the sidelines.

But the truth was that somewhere in the back of his mind, he craved a sense of closure he feared he may never find.

The least he could do was try and help, right?

₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.

TAGLIST (currently open!):

@kentozwife @inthedarkshadows000 @yoimiya-m @makeshiftproject @frogfishie

@therealanxiety @kaged-kitty @pellucid-constellations @fuckisthatahotghost

@harryzcherry @briezy04764 @ohio-gyatt-mega-sigma-rizzler @babysoo-meu

@sorenflyinn @raquel12 @ermbehindyou @bxnfire @muli-wam @emlient

@diearama

₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.

getting to know a bit more of Ino's perspective <3 i wasnt going to make this this long but i kept typing and here we are... hope you enjoyed!

[punkpandapatrixk]

Full Wolf Moon in Cancer ♦︎ Moon Magick Pick A Card

The first FM of 2025, although aenergetically still a full moon of the previous year, the Full Wolf Moon was in Cancer on 14th January. Food is scarce during winter and the wolves howl more because of that🐺My gosh, aren’t we hungry for more sustenance?🍕Amazingly, the Cancer aenergy is all about food and nutrition!🥗Starting this FM, you may feel the urge to develop a healthier relationship with food and sustenance~♦︎

The world is healing and so many people are elevating spiritually, and with that, our awareness of the relationship between what we consume and how that affects the mind and body grows correspondingly. The true revolution of humanity is Environmentalism!🫒This is also a time the Full Moon invites us to reconsider what we individually deem as ‘healthy work-life balance’. It’s a good idea to move the body more and/or create things with our very own hands; reminds modern people what it means to be…Human. To be actively human🤸‍♀️

If you’ve ever sustained some kind of trauma related to ‘hard work’ in which you felt underappreciated⚰️or that your efforts gave you no gain whatsoever in return💰and all that you got was heartache…💔this FM in Cancer is inviting you to reframe that trauma🧬Starting this year, if and when it suits you, try to 'get back to nature' by refamiliarizing yourself with touching real materials or making real things that stimulate the creativity through motion~♪

You are Human—you're supposed to emote a lot🏄‍♀️And most of all, whilst learning to ‘live again’, so to speak, remember that your T.I.M.E is essentially unlimited as you live fully in the present moment~♡

move: Ballerina CORE & POSTURE Workout by Everyday Ballet

make: Those Famous Blue Chinese Bowls Come From This Town by Goldthread

deck-bottom: 9 of Swords, Gold Magus (Johannes Faustus), Priestess of Happiness

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Pile 1 – The Reclamation of Individual Thought!

pizzaaa: New York Pizza Vs. Italian Pizza by Joshua Weissman

mind – 7 of Cups

You are such a gentle Soul—and most likely identify as an altruist?🕊There’s a chance you have significant Mercury/Virgo/6H or Venus/Libra/7H placements. You’re the type of person who genuinely values every person’s individual thought, input and opinions on a matter. Actually, you’re a natural-born peacemaker and this penchant for listening and appreciating people’s individual preferences is in essence a display of your deep empathy and incredible intelligence🦌

Buutt…a little downside to this is that you sometimes put yourself last. You don’t think you’re important enough or you simply get confused. Thing is, if you never took the chance to prioritise your own ideas, perceptions and opinions on a matter, you’d never matter either🦑And that wouldn’t be fun at all, because deep down, you yearn to be recognised as someone unique who has a plethora of interesting perspectives!⚖️

The Full Wolf Moon in Cancer has sent an invitation for you to gradually develop a sense for individual thinking🍳Check out the strengths and uniqueness of your Mercury sign and placement (as well as what it’s aspected with) and find your validation for a very unique way you can communicate/express all of the wonderful ideas that are stored inside of YOU~🥘

body – 2 of Cups

Still within the realm of talking/eating here, oohh…someone needs to fix their relationship with food and learn balanced eating here🌞The Cancer/4H and Capricorn/10H axis is all about tradition and responsibility. Some of you tuning into this as your main pile may have dealt with varying levels of imbalance in the way you eat or how much you eat🥡This has everything to do with a forced sense of ‘control’ and ‘discipline’. In astrology, Cancer is mother and Capricorn is father—now go figure how this applies to your situation😉

This FM you’re being invited to reframe the ‘trauma’ that’s the root cause of this imbalanced eating, so to speak. It’s all emotional, honey. Eating disorders of any kind is rooted in the emotions—I’d suggest looking on YouTube some videos by Teal Swan on this topic; very enlightening🍵Anyway, you can also look up ways and methods to balance and strengthen your Sacral and Throat chakras. Eating and talking are all within the realms of those two chakra points🥭

Other than that, whether or not you have problems with eating enjoyably and sanely, this FM is also inviting you to rethink what tradition or custom means to you on a personal and spiritual level🍱

spirit – 10 of Pentacles Rx

All of this rumination that you’re being invited to partake in, ultimately will lead to developing a stronger sense for individual thinking🐉See? It’s all leading back to that. People naturally should be responsible for their own thoughts and decision making, irrespective of what kind of tradition or community they were born into. Freedom in thinking is man’s greatest treasure that should be cherished. This FM is simply inviting you to rediscover your sense of unique identity whilst being part of a community or any other kind of a collective🌕

The truth of the matter is—especially if this has been your main pile—you’re part of a group of Souls (ironic🤣) that are meant to break some rules in this Hyper Game. Now, if you’re going to break rules and customs, you need to know how they were built in the first place, then can you intelligently decide the values that are inconvertibly good and then discard or improve upon whatever no longer serves the Highest Good of the community🍊

You’re a System Buster. I know you know that deep within your Soul. As much as you care about people, also understand that YOU~ ain’t responsible for saving nobody. People don’t need saving as much as they need a reminding. If tomorrow extraterrestrials came down from the heavens, even they wouldn’t save nobody from the misery of their own creation—aliens most likely are just going to remind Humans that the only thing capable of saving them is just them quitting being so negative, conflicty and shitty in the first place🐀

full moon self-care🔻🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Silver Historian (Polydore Vergil) & Priestess of Inspiration

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Pile 2 – Flirting with Life Because You Have a Lot to Offer~★

pizzaaa: Midnight Margherita Pizza in Naples by Jamie Oliver & Gennaro Contaldo

mind – King of Wands

‘Life is colourful!’🎨I feel like that’s the numero uno vibe that you’ve been enveloped in lately (or soon to experience) due to your own elevation in vibration. Other than elevation, you may have done something to further shield or protect yourself from all of the world’s low-vibrational thought and emotional patterns. In essence, if this is your main pile, you’ve done a massive spiritual purge—which seems to be a message that has been coming up a lot in the collective lately—and all of that shadow work, so to speak, is bearing fruits~🫐🍓🥝

With all of the limiting beliefs from which you’ve managed to set yourself free, you’ve come to a much, much deeper understanding of how your states of mind, moods, and sense of inspiration all hold the magical codes for co-Creation with the ever-benevolent Universe💫Essentially, what comes after that is either complete faith in the trajectory of your Destiny, or you’ve simply given up on feeling anxious about where you’re being led to, or both🦉Oh! Isn’t that so liberating~?🐣

Babe, people call something magic when they don’t understand its logic, but to those who do truly understand magic, quite everything about it is scientific🎼This year is all about you awakening more fully to the magic deep within, and seeing and experiencing for yourself how your physical Reality gradually aligns with your personal values and desires~🐾

body – 6 of Pentacles

Those of you who’ve been struggling financially, this FM was a gateway towards your physical abundance, for real. Basically, whether or not you were struggling financially, there was a sense of lack or limitation that was always making you feel unstable or insecure. You couldn’t always do or get what you needed when you needed it. Starting this FM—and yes, this is your theme throughout 2025—you’ll be seeing for real how your sense of ‘security’ or ‘abundance’ gets rectified by the Universe~⚖️

For some people, yes, it is about money or a job opportunity; for some others, this could revolve around time spent with loved ones, or even a greater sense of ease in pursuing your creative hobbies/interests. Bottom line is, trust that this FM in Cancer is opening up the floodgates of GOOD VIBES and confidence what will make your entire year so much easier to navigate. I sense that this in itself is just preparation for you to manifest something MUCH, MUCH, MUCH MORE VALUABLE than this peace of mind🚁

I’m hearing: before the summer, use this time to take very good care of your physical avatar. Eat whatever you like as much or as little as you want, and see for yourself what kind of eating habits suit you~🌭

spirit – 4 of Cups Rx

If this is your main pile, you surely have worked tirelessly at something that actually took away a great amount of JOY from your everyday Reality. I’m being told—and I’m being told that you need to really, really believe this—that all of the good times you’ve missed during survival or trauma healing or shadow work are going to be fully compensated by the abundant Universe🛍🎡🥂

Lately I’ve been seeing these vids on YouTube that have titles like: ‘God can make up for your lost time’ or something along those lines~🥞Maybe such ‘prophetic words’ could heal some of the emotional pain you’ve sustained during spiritual purging🍋It may seem endless at times, but if you’ve resonated with this pile so far, your Spirit Guides are insisting that your GOOD TIMES are chasing you hard this year🌊🌊🌊

With that said, keep the faith, act like it’s already yours—because it really already is; and most of all, know that you deserve all of this goodness because the ‘you’ now also have so much good to share with the world!🌟🌟🌟

full moon self-care🔻🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Silver Alchemist (Ramon Llull) & Priestess of Healing

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – Figuring Out More Deeply How the Matrix Works!

pizzaaa: How to Make Perfect Pizza by Gennaro Contaldo

mind – XIX The Sun

Wow! Two major arcana for you, boo~🍻But listen, Pile 3 aenergy is somewhat heavy in the sense that you do have a huge responsibility in this incarnation—and I’ve a feeling this is a pile not that many people are gonna choose or resonate with🦞

It’s very likely that this year you’re going to begin reuniting with your—let’s say… Soul Comrades? lol🦁These are the Souls that share multitudes of mission with you and of course many of them could be true Soul Fam, but there are just as many that aren’t necessarily family with you on a Soul level. This is big, ma man—if this is your main pile, you’re obviously an important, high-ranking Celestial who has infused your consciousness deep into the Earth-Matrix Experience (Human ver.) programme🐦‍🔥🐲

Did you know that you came here to hijack the Game—the System?👾Your entire Life you were learning to redirect aenergy and thought, as part of the liberation of Mankind’s collective consciousness. You’ve the ability/access to hijack back the matrices of evil and suffering by entering and rearranging codes in the Records!🕹

body – 9 of Pentacles

Now this FM being in the Cancer-Capricorn axis—the axis of traditional values—you may have felt a deep desire to ‘touch grass’ more lol🍃The last time Pluto was in Capricorn, or when Capricorn Pluto generation (equivalent of today’s Gen Alpha) were young adults, Humanity was in the Romantic Era. This era came right after the Industrial Revolution whereby intellectual young adults rebelled against rapid ‘modernisation’ by deliberately returning to what was beautiful and poetic albeit impractical—but that is exactly the point, right?🌷

If you’ve chosen this as your main pile, chances are, you’re someone who inherently appreciates the beauty of the natural world🪺You could still be into technology and are appreciative of the ease of modern amenities, but deep down, you know that ‘modernity’ shouldn’t have to equal drabness or ugly buildings—or ugly everything on that matter🦚

What you’re being led to, aenergetically speaking, is an awareness of this mechanism of how ‘evil powers’ that are holding this Matrix hostage are deliberately making everything uglier so as to kill the Human Spirit🥀And thus, by realising this trick and noticing the patterns, you’re meant to rebel against the equilibrium of boredom by being weirder and more colourful still~🌈

spirit – VIII Strength Rx

What Humanity is going through right now, I’m sure you of all people understand that we’re watching the crumbling of the establishment that was founded on deceit and funded by lies, in real-time🍭That’s why economies are weakening and so many are struggling for food and other forms of basic necessities. But for you, Pile 3, it could be that you’ve been swimming in that exact frequency for a while…🧆

But starting this FM—and for the rest of the year if not the rest of your Life—you’re going to be so abundant now that you’ve finished gathering data for why the Human Matrix is filled with a ‘lack consciousness’—not just mindset but ‘consciousness’ altogether🍬Right now, there’s a sense of needing to rest… No, actually, from now on, you’ll always have the freedom to manipulate Reality—aenergy and timeline and such—in accordance to what you like, when you like it🍽

You aren’t doing this all by yourself, you know. Your Spirit Guides and Cosmic Ancestors are all in this with you. Anyway, learn to embrace this feeling of peace because you seem like you’ve forgotten🎂You have the power to choose to be so deeply grounded in your Divine Consciousness that nothing outside of that calm can shake your foundation~🥘

full moon self-care🔻🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Red Astronomer (Johannes Kepler) & Priestess of Luxury

Access bonus, cards + affs on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

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[flamemittens]

56. playing with their hair

Ask Me No More

Pairing: F!Rogue Trader x Jae Heydari Rating: M Word Count: 1.5K Tags: Alcohol, Smoking, Implied/Referenced Sex A/N: Thank you for the prompt (from this list here)! I got a little carried away, but the 'playing with hair' is in there, I promise :) Also: Efreeti is quite similar to Persian, so I've used an extra Persian phrase in this which is translated at the bottom. Fic is on AO3 too if you prefer.

If her brother could see her now, Nora thinks, he would have two main things to say.

The first, arms flung out as wide as the grin on his face, would be ‘void take me, look at you now, you mad woman’—or bitch, if he’s feeling edgier—and the second? The second would be slid over to her more quiet-like with a slow whistle and a knowing head tilt towards her present companion: ‘what’s going on here, eh sis?’’.

And she would smile, say ‘I don’t know’ and then ‘can you drop it’, and they would laugh and move on to the next thing. There always was something for them to do together, to keep their partnership exciting, and, most importantly, profitable. Until there wasn’t. Until Atti was crushed under the weight of circumstance and betrayal, and she was left to pick up the pieces—of herself, mostly—and move on without him.

Now, she is here. Surrounded by people and wealth and opportunities, the extent of which she has never known the like, levels of which she could not even dream of back when she and Atti—well, before.

Of course, she’s accustomed to constantly being around people, being a lynchpin for those in need of such a thing, living on the edge. That was the life, and she reveled in it as much as she longed for some peace. But in those moments on the Patient Fortune, when the most pressing duties are done, when she retires to her private deck alone and rattles around this opulent, expansive Lord Captain’s suite like a lone lasgun in an empty cargo bay—she feels…an absence of something.

Perhaps that is why she finds herself inviting her current company to her quarters more often than is perhaps prudent. Incidentally, that is an assessment she has heard Abelard make, complete with van Calox’s answering barb that made the old seneschal’s jaw clench so hard she feared it might crumble.

Jae Heydari sits to Nora’s right, legs curled underneath her, one knee resting on Nora’s thigh. Her coat and gloves are discarded over a chair, her boots abandoned somewhere nearby. The belt with its aquila buckle and chains is gone too, cast off with a huff somewhere after the first mouthful of the second glass of high-grade amasec. Tonight is a decidedly more sedate occasion than the last however—the last of course being a regicide match with shots in lieu of pieces, and Nora, in possession of a high tolerance for such things, declared the eventual winner after Jae had to admit defeat and excuse herself.

However new this……friendship—yes, she thinks that is the right descriptor, or at least it will do for now—of theirs is, it is one that gives Nora more than she cares to admit. A thread back to the past, a low lumen light washing over a memory. A space between filled, for a time at least.

She watches as Jae brings the lho stick elegantly balanced between her index and middle fingers to her lips, and takes a long drag.

“Tell me something about Efreet” Nora says, to dispel whatever she is feeling, to not have to follow it back to the source.

For a moment, she thinks the other woman may not answer, but then she is graced with an exhalation and a sly smile. “Are your intellect and memory, famed throughout the Expanse, failing you?” Jae teases. “Have you forgotten everything I have told you so soon, shereen?”

Jae takes another drag, shifts in her seat and leans forward until they are but inches apart. She cups Nora’s chin in one hand with a faint ‘clink’ sound, that of metal against metal as Jae’s fingers come into contact with the augmetics on her jawline. Instinctively, Nora parts her lips, and lets Jae slowly exhale the smoke into her open mouth.

The moment hangs, and Nora’s pulse starts to thud.

And then, through the scent of sweet smoke and florals and warm sand, Nora sees Jae’s dark eyes widen a little as she says, “Jae Amira Fathreen Tameri ash Efreet: humour me. Please.” And the intended meaning slid underneath it—my memory is perfectly fine.

“What is there to tell that you do not already know, shereen?” Jae replies, letting her go and sitting back in the chair. “It is dry, dusty and hot. In places, barren as an Administratum official’s sense of humour. Barely anywhere at all.”

It is a deflection, but in that moment Nora realises she is too relaxed to care, too relaxed to mount a challenge—so she sighs and drops her head back until it rests on the back of the chair. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpses Jae studying her, and somewhere in the back of her mind ponders what this Cold Trader, this consummate dealmaker, sees and what calculations she is making this time. What she will ask for. What Nora knows she can—will—give her, because now, it is all just a drop in the ocean. Even a colony, she thinks, with a smirk. A smart suggestion from Danrok, and one she had to give the man due credit for.

Jae reaches over and deposits what is left of the lho into the ashtray, then turns back, her gaze sweeping over Nora’s form. She takes the closest of Nora’s long braids into her hands, and, with fingers mechanical and flesh, begins to deftly unwind it, twist by twist.

“Exalted One knows, I would much rather learn more about you” she says, voice velvety and low. “An infinitely more interesting topic, by far.”

Nora listens to the soft rustle of fabric, of Jae’s shirt sleeve as it slides against the cushions while she works. The question feels loaded, but Nora asks it anyway. “Very well. What would you ask of me?”

“Perhaps….” Jae pauses, and Nora wonders if she is thinking of something genuinely new to ask or if she is pulling forward a topic already measured for usefulness and stored for the right time. “….perhaps about the world you, the Koronus Expanse’s newest mighty warpstrider, grew up on.”

“Scintilla?”

Jae’s laugh is rich and warm. “Oh shereen, I know all about that world.”

“Baraspine, then? Cogitator cells and pottery, ceramic matter storms that sheer flesh from bone in seconds?”

“Ha! I know more than a few azhi who would benefit from a visit to a place such as that” Jae says, pursing her lips. She finishes the first braid and reaches for the second, and Nora finds herself putting down her glass of amasec and turning slightly to make it easier. The movement brings Jae’s knee to nudge up against the apex of her thighs.

Jae makes it halfway through before she continues. “Is that where you developed your iron stomach for swill and local moonshine alike?”

“Hmmm?”

“They talk of you in Adeptus Amasecus, shereen” she half-whispers, scandalized and conspiratorial, as if she is imparting a salacious secret of some noble house and not the results of a very minor taste test in Footfall’s notorious bar. “The second person to hold down the ‘octane blend’, and not only that, but to not even react!”

“Ah, that. Scintilla and all its charms has the claim there” Nora says.

Braids unwound at last, Jae threads her fingers through the loose strands a few times, skimming the open edge of Nora’s shirt. She slides a hand around the back of Nora’s neck, over her cervical spine augmetic, and, after a brief pause, starts to rake her nails up onto Nora’s scalp with just the perfect amount of pressure.

Nora can’t help the sound that escapes her lips, then—a ceded middle ground between a sigh and a groan. It’s cut off though, swallowed when Jae closes the gap between them and kisses her. She tastes of sweetness and smoke.

“Answer me this, yeki talayi [¹]” Jae says next, after pulling back. “Nora, Nora….Nora.” The way the name rolls smoothly around and off the other woman’s tongue stokes the heat that has been quietly simmering in her belly for the last half-hour—one that has very little to do with the alcohol. “Is that short for something?”

“Yes” Nora replies with feigned indifference, leaving it just there for Jae to pick up the trail.

It works.

“Well?” Jae says, after only a few seconds have slipped by. “Do not keep me in suspense.”

“Yes” Nora repeats, She clears her throat and gestures with a level of whimsical theatrics that she knows Jae will appreciate: “It’s short for ‘Lord Captain Nora Von Valancius’.”

A deflection of her own.

Jae throws her head back and laughs. “Do not think I will never get it out of you, shereen. And in the meantime, we will have so much fun together!”

Later, in her too-large Lord Captain’s bed, when at last Jae draws the flat of her tongue along the seam of her cunt, Nora thinks that she can agree with the sentiment for now.

****

Translation: [1] 'yeki talayi' = 'golden one' (Persian)

[jenlrossman]

Tuvix as a metaphor for Janeway's mindset throughout Voyager

When Tuvok and Neelix merged into a new individual after a transporter malfunction, Tuvix was born. Possessing a combination of the memories and personalities of his component parts while still being his own unique self, Tuvix quickly proved he was more than just a transporter accident, showing he had potential to find his place among the crew of Voyager and settle in to this new normal.

And when Janeway learned of a way to separate him, bringing back Tuvok and Neelix, Tuvix was killed. Against his wishes, against the doctor's ethical subroutines, Tuvix was killed.

I'm not going to discuss whether or not this was right. That's an entirely different subject that many people have debated ad nauseam.

I just want to talk about how the decision to kill Tuvix and bring back Tuvok and Neelix might actually be the defining moment in developing Kathryn Janeway's mindset for the rest of the series. The sometimes questionable mindset best described as

"There's the right way, the wrong way, and the Janeway."

To Captain Janeway, Tuvix is a problem to solve. He is the thing standing in the way of the status quo, the thing preventing her from seeing her loved ones again.

She says as much, when Kes is expressing reservations about developing feelings for Tuvix and says she hasn't given up on the idea of him being separated.

You’re experiencing what people on this crew have been going through since we first got stranded in this quadrant. Do we accept that we're separated from our loved ones forever, or do we hold onto the hope that someday we'll be with them again?

Tuvix, therefore, is a physical representation of being stuck in the Delta quadrant. He is the thing preventing them from being with their loved ones, and she might not be able to get everyone home right now if ever, but she's going to do everything she can to see Tuvok and Neelix again.

Whether or not it is right for her to kill Tuvix, that isn't as important to her as proving—to herself and to her crew—that she is going to do anything she can to get them home, and killing him is a symbolic representation of that.

We see this mindset continue throughout the series, and the Lower Decks episode Twovix gives us some great examples.

While most of the crew is dealing with another transporter malfunction, Boimler and Rutherford are dealing with holographic representations of various things the Voyager crew encountered. And they just happen to be some of Janeway's greatest hits… Or misses.

Michael "delete the wife" Sullivan—Janeway's holographic Irish boy toy, who she widowed and altered to suit her preferences even though those episodes deal with the possibility of all holograms having a chance to achieve sentience

The macrovirus—which was dealt with by Janeway unleashing it on a crowd of (again, possibly sentient?) holograms

The personification of fear—the clown who was defeated when Janeway went so far to save her crew that she literally made the concept of fear afraid of her

Chaotica—Janeway didn't particularly want to play the role of Queen Arachnia but she got very into it because when push comes to shove, she really doesn't mind being the villain if it means protecting her crew

And of course, the Borg…

The series finale of Voyager is the ultimate example of the "anything to see our loved ones again" mindset Janeway shows in Tuvix.

Voyager gets home. It takes 23 years, but they get home.

However, Seven is lost along the way, Chakotay dies after reaching earth, and the delay in getting home has exacerbated Tuvok's Vulcan equivalent of Alzheimer's to the point that he is not himself anymore.

Three of the most important people in her life, gone.

So what does she do? Of course she doesn't accept that, she can't, she never has been able to.

Kathryn Janeway goes back in time, erases the lives of everyone in the universe to rewrite history on her terms, she defeats the goddamn Borg—just to see them again.

And of course she does it herself. As we learned in Tuvix when the doctor refuses to separate him, Janeway doesn't care. She'll do it all herself, ethical consequences be damned, she just needs everyone she loves to get back to the Alpha quadrant.

So whether or not it was right to separate Tuvix, it doesn't matter. The right way, the wrong way, none of that matters. Not to her, not as long as doing things the Janeway gets everyone she cares about home safely.

[ironandrue]

New Deck Interview Questions

@nettleandwhimsy dropped questions they've been using to interview their decks in the @spindleandscroll discord, and I wanted to share here!

These don't have to be pulled in any specific spread/format.

Personality/Voice of the Deck - What unique personality or "voice" does this deck carry? How will it communicate with me?

Strengths - What are the deck’s strengths? What qualities or areas of wisdom does it excel in?

Weaknesses - In what areas might this deck struggle or provide less clarity?

Connections to Deity or Spirits - Are there any specific deities, spirits, or energies associated with this deck that may come through in readings?

Lessons the Deck Has to Teach Me - What core lessons does this deck have for me in our work together?

Best Area of Focus - What themes, areas of my life, or types of questions is this deck particularly well-suited to explore?

Type of Readings - Does this deck prefer to be used for personal/private readings? Is it open to being used to read for friends or for clients?

Final Advice - How can I work with this deck most effectively, respecting its energy and our relationship?

Posted with permission from Nettle. If you want to join the discord we're a 21+ Witchcraft Community and would be thrilled to have you! We have weekly discussions, daily questions, along with a fun place to chat + a ton of channels for different practices and such.

There's also the @spindleandscroll blog too which is pretty neat. :)

[fourraccoonsinacoat]

Sneak Peek Sunday

Mongrel Hearts: Chapter 12

Heinrix approaches Danrok with a request ahead of his evening engagement with Visenya. No need to worry, Danrok's always got a plan - and sass.

------

The Interrogator disliked having to admit that a subject was not his strong suit. And as the High Factotum eyed him with his usual air of lofty aloofness, Heinrix was beginning to suspect he would need to swallow his pride and confess his ignorance. He knew the difference between a fine spiced blush and common port, but it was only enough to make him dangerous. And this was not an occasion for risk-taking.

Heinrix cleared his throat, deciding to phrase his question in a way he hoped didn’t sound like a cry for help.

“Do you have any insight into what the Lord Captain would appreciate?” he asked, arching a brow at Danrok. “It’s a little difficult to discuss amasec preferences in between cutting down cultists and trying not to take a bolter round to the head.”

It wasn’t a lie. Truth be told, Heinrix didn’t actually know much at all about Visenya’s personal tastes or inclinations. She had her habits and quirks, of course. Her affinity for recaf, the meticulous way she disassembled and cleaned her firearm after combat using incense and oils that smelled of herbs and citrus. The way she would tuck a strand of hair behind an ear when she was nervous, or how she bit at her bottom lip when thinking. But, when it came to Visenya’s life, thoughts and feelings, Heinrix knew verry little. And what he did know had been provided by the Lord Inquisitor in a dossier containing an impersonal assemblage of facts and data.

He hoped this evening would provide an opportunity to remedy that deficiency.

“What I shall say is this,” Danrok began, pulling a dataslate from inside his coat and tapping through a series of prompts on the screen. “If Her Ladyship’s taste in wine is anything like her taste in recaf, you’d be better off scrubbing the lower decks and distilling the scud water into moonshine than trying to guess what will appeal to her audacious spirit.”

[rigelmejo]

Guide for picking which study approach may suit you best

(aka some rough suggestions for who's "study method" to follow, what study resources you'll like best).

At the end of the day, in real life, you'll likely do a mix of these. You'll likely enjoy certain aspects when working on certain goals, or certain aspects at particular stages of learning.

1. You like learning directly from context, you don't like using tools - Comprehensible Input Lessons, Crosstalk, Graded Readers with pictures, Nature Method textbooks. Once you are no longer a beginner, learner podcasts and higher unique word count graded readers fall into this category. Once you are intermediate or above, this turns into just learning by extensively reading or extensively listening to stuff you understand the main idea of.

2. You like learning directly from context, you do like using tools - get yourself a translation app (Examples: Google Translate, Pleco, Yomiwa) and watch shows or read things, looking up words and grammar as desired to increase understanding. This can be done with learner materials as a beginner if you desire easier material to start, for example learner podcasts (Example: Nihongo con Teppei), or graded readers (Tadoku Graded Readers), just look up any unknowns you wish to know more about.

3. You like getting an explanation before you engage with things in the language - textbooks, grammar guides, word lists with translations, learner podcasts that include explanations (examples: Coffee Break French, ChinesePod101, Language Transfer), sentence audio flashcards with target language and translation audio (Example: Glossika), anki flashcards, classes.

4. You like getting an explanation before you engage with the language, but you want the quickest explanations possible - anki decks, SRS sentence apps (Example: Clozemaster), sentence audio flashcards, word lists that include example sentences and audio, textbooks that have very little fluff (Example: Japanese Sentence Patterns for Effective Communication: A Self-study Course and Reference)

If you want to have specific things made for native speakers in the language you want to understand ASAP - explanation study (3 or 4) followed by using tools (2) is the quickest way to get to the point of being able to watch a show, read a novel, etc. MIA/Refold/AJATT is basically 4 while also doing 2 immediately. Particularly tough individuals just jump right into doing 2 and learning everything that way. 2 is basically the shortest path to engaging with things made for native speakers, but it feels hard. So many people supplement doing 2 with doing 3 or 4 first, or doing 3 and 4 concurrently.

If you want to learn by directly using the language only, and are okay with waiting a while to understand things made for native speakers, then do 1. You can just do 1. You'll get to the point of being able to understand things eventually, it will just take a while. Great path for those who prefer to learn by doing, and learn in context.

If you want to be able to speak with others ASAP - tutors, classes focused on speaking, sentence audio flashcards, sentence anki flashcards, all can contribute to the skill of speaking provided you repeat/practice saying what you want to say often. Explanation (so 3 or 4) then 2 is your best bet - for 2 you would be looking up exactly what you want to say, and looking up translations/explanation of what people say to you in a language exchange (or if you pay a tutor then they may explain all those things if you ask). Again, 2 is the quickesy path since you're directly looking up what you want to say, and what people are saying to you. Doing 3, 4, or 1 for a while, before doing 2, will make 2 easier. The people I have seen who successfully learn to speak in a short amount of time (like Language Lord on youtube who learned to speak French in 30 days), do an intense amount of 2 - looking up what they want to saty, practicing saying it, conversing with others and looking any unknowns up to understand better and prepare for how to respond next time.

[itsdeniini]

OMG, hi!! I've become a huge fan of your work, it's so pretty the aesthetic and everything, I really enjoy reading your posts 💕

Can I ask for a twin flame reading for Jungwon?

˚୨୧ 🍵💭 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ hi c: ty for ur kind words boo ! here is the : JUNGWON'S TWIN FLAME TAROT READING >ᡣ𐭩<

໒꒱🌱⠈⠂. n 0 t e 〃

♡1: i am a self-taught tarot reader, and the interpretations i provide are personal. if anyone would like to share their own insights, i would be more than happy to hear them! please be kind <3

♡2: in this reading, I will be talking about a person from the future and how their relationship will progress at the moment when they are already know each other; that's the twin flame that he's yet to meet.

GENERAL READING 𓆤

Jungwon's twin flame is currently trying to work with him on how to mold their lives together to be one in the physical aspect. There could be talks to meet up, important phone conversations, being honest, open, and vulnerable with one another. And part of Jungwon is ready to accept this, but part of him is hesitant due to the turmoil in the past; he doesn’t want to repeat another cycle and end up with The Ten of Wands, and that's the only thing that's holding him back. At the same time, I feel Jungwon has successfully broken through any negative thought patterns that prevent him from moving forward in his own life because I pulled out all the other 10’s of the tarot deck here, EXCEPT for the Ten of Wands, so that's very good! The only ones here are the wands, but this is recent past energy he has either finished moving through or will be moving through. Next in his current energy, I have The Knight of Cups, The Ten of Pentacles, and The Eight of Swords, so this really tells me he has a slight fear of this connection finally taking off because it would mean that it enters into a new cycle that he doesn’t know exactly how it’s going to go because it won’t be easy because his twin flame is a mischievous and unpredictable person, and this scares him beyond anything. What he doesn’t see with this is that on the other side of fear (the moon) is the Ten of Cups. This is quite literally everything he's been wishing for and manifesting. And this is something that will be in balance, indicated not only with the Six of Pentacles but also with the Temperance right next to it and the Nine of Cups. He will keep pushing through his fear; the turbulence of separation is falling away naturally, and this is meant to let it fall gracefully as he sheds previous layers to move into your true divine happiest self. They’ve had or will have breakthroughs that will be long-lasting and will bring happiness and the opportunity for new beginnings.

Now on to the near portrait of Jungwon's twin flame:

☀️ In Cancer

First of all, she is a girl and is a very intuitive person with a lot of knowledge. Her intuition comes naturally. She likely relies on her gut feelings and has a strong inner knowing that guides her decisions. When she is off her professional field, she is often sensitive, emotional, and deeply connected to her home and twin flame. Being a water sign, she can easily pick up on Jungwon's emotions, understanding him like nobody else.

Influences: 🪐♅

Saturn’s influence suggests that she's a person who values hard work, has a strong sense of duty, and approaches life with a mature and realistic attitude. Uranus’s influence indicates that she's a person who is original, forward-thinking, and possibly unconventional. She may embrace new ideas and technologies, often standing out for her uniqueness. Also I can associate her overall energy with the Solar Plexus Chakra from the 7 Chakra system, it is associated with personal power, self-confidence, and control. A strong Solar Plexus Chakra suggests she is someone who is confident, has a strong sense of self, and can assert her willpower effectively.

Personal Style:

She has a preference for classic, elegant, and professional attire, like suits and ties for example. She values a polished and put-together appearance, likely reflecting her disciplined Saturn influence.

Interests and Passions:

EDM/Dubstep Music >.< This genre of music aligns with the innovative and unconventional traits of Uranus. She's into Enhypen music a lot; that's just her style. Her favorite song could probably be Go Big or Go Home or any other song that Enhypen will release in the future with this sound. Additionally, she may be into self-care and exploring new technologies that could make her appearance better; she is most likely attending cosmetologists and facial massages quite often, not forgetting also about make-up and hair salons.

Career:

She's most probably not from the showbiz field, although she may actively run a page on Instagram or any other social media; I would say she is implicated in the medical field, or perhaps she is an educator or teacher.

Personal Traits:

Dark hair

Dry sense of humor

Family-oriented

Egotistical (mostly at the work place)

Materialistic

Protective

Tan Skin (she may be of a mixed race or have it naturally)

[snippychicke]

Me? Becoming obsessed with Hazbin Hotel? Nahhhh...

Okay, yes. I am.

So here! Have some wholesome threesome between Husker, Angel, and (gender neutral) Reader! Maybe someday I'll make more out of it, but for now, mostly fluff and a little spice.

You had been desperate to sell your soul. Needing to escape the asshole that was the reason you were in hell in the first place. (Ok, yes you had killed him in a rather… savage manner, along with his goons, but he had started it.)

Overlord Husk had tempted you into a little wager. A little game of cards which totally hadn't been rigged in his favor. But you had been willing to do anything regardless, at least he had given you an (un)fair shot.

Yet despite his Overlord status, Husk wasn't that bad of a man (demon? Cat? Owl?) to be under--in more ways than one. To the rest of hell there wasn't much between you, other than you worked at his casino with at least a dozen other souls that were bound to him. A little dancing, a little waitressing, a little work at the tables as a dealer. You were a jack of all trades, but you were safe. Safer than you had been when you were alive.

Happier too.

Because when the ‘day’ ended, you often found yourself wrapped in furry arms, claws tracing up and down your arms as the Overlord of Gambling murmured sweet nothings in your ear with that deep voice. Then laying a plush bed decked in black and crimson bedding with the Overlord above you, wings spread wide as he takes what you offered freely.

And as time passed, you only grew closer behind closed doors. They say demons didn't feel love, but you weren't sure what else it could be. Lust didn't have you slow dancing in the kitchenette of the Casino's royal suite, or confessing the regrets you harbored from life in lieu of pillow talk and wiping away tears with soft kisses.

And then Alastor entered the stage. You had been working that fateful day as the others felt their bindings change. Sure, Husk had lost a hand or two before, and therefore a few souls, but it was never very many and he generally won them back.

But that day it had been everyone. You had watched as everyone paused and stared at the heavy chains of a new Overlord in both confusion and horror. You held onto the ribbon tied around your wrists, as if you could will it to stay the same as you were the last to still be owned by Husk.

Then the delicate ribbons became thick heavy chains that made you cry out in shock and disbelief. Husk had risked your soul… and lost.

It was even worse when Alastor appeared on the casino floor, Husk beside him looking absolutely defeated. Alastor's grand speech fell on deaf ears, because all you could do was stare at your lover. Part of you was hurt that he would ever gamble you, while part of you reasoned he must have been absolutely desperate, considering the collar and chains that now linked him to the Radio Demon.

You could see his plea for forgiveness in his eyes, and you realized you had to love him to forgive him.

Because you did.

---

Husk wasn't the same afterwards. Depressed and full of self-loathing with an even worse habit of trying to find the nonexistent sunshine at the bottom of the bottle. Nothing you could do or say seemed to help, though you didn't give up.

Alastor hadn't cared if you stuck around or not, yet you did anyway. The Hazbin Hotel was far too big for little Nifty to clean by herself-- especially considering your new coworker preferred to chase down bugs and dust bunnies to kill.

You didn't find things that bad, all things considered. Sure you had loved the glamor and glitz of the casino, but the Hazbin Hotel had its own charm. Maybe it was because you had never been at the top but lived your life (and part of the afterlife) at rock bottom, while Husk had been among the greatest and most powerful before his metaphorical wings had been clipped.

Actually, you actually were happier working at the hotel than the casino, though it was greatly overshadowed by the rift that had formed between you and Husk. Even though you forgave him, he hadn't been able to forgive himself.

And then Angel swanned in. You were so used to bantering with patrons of the casino you didn't think twice about doing the same with the flirtatious twink. You actually found it fun to flirt back and forth over a drink or two, especially when you heard Husk huff in an almost laugh, light returning to those dark gold eyes of his.

You had missed his sly smile so much. If you flirting with some other demon was all it took, you would happily do so.

And slowly you started to see parts of the demon you loved come back.

Especially when Angel would try to convince you to do something more than flirt and you turned him down each time. ‘I prefer my men a bit huskier,’ you'd tease as you pressed your finger to Angel's lips and pushed him away gently. ‘Plus I'm not good at the whole casual sex thing.’

That would always gain a chuckle from Husk, though Angel never quite got what was so funny.

One night Husk cornered you in the hall, to your surprise. It had been such a long time since you had felt his paw-like hands trail along your body, his deep voice reverberating against the skin of your neck as he admitted how much he liked to watch you banter with the sex-worker.

If you had any positive feelings for the guy upstairs, you would have called Angel a god-send. As time passed, you knew your own feelings were getting into the mix no matter how hard you tried not to be enamored by the star. It wasn't the over-the-top showy persona, but those moments you were able to catch the man behind the mask. The soft, witty demon you enjoyed bantering with.

You knew you weren't the only one, judging by the fond looks you saw Husk shoot towards Angel when the pink demon would snort a laugh, his walls temporarily down.

‘We both like him, don't we?’ You posed late one night, only to have Husk try to bury his face in your chest with a groan. You chuckled as you rubbed his ear, a deep purr quickly emitting from his chest and against your loins as he continued to lounge between your legs.

‘Him, and not that fake-ass that he pretends to be,’ Husk finally admitted before peeking up at you. ‘...You don't mind?’

‘Well, I mean we are demons so being hypocritical would be par for the course… but you also know me too.” You were emotional, bonding quickly with anyone showing you a hint of kindness.

A smile grew, showing his sharp teeth. ‘You know, I have imagined you and him going at it a few times, and damn if that wasn't the hottest thing ever.’

Convincing Angel was far more challenging. Less to the idea of polyamory, but the simple idea that both of you liked him. Not Angel Dust, but the real Angel (because he did not like being called Anthony). That took time, arguments, and a few barbed words as Husk was able to get through to him.

You weren't good with arguments, but convinced him with honest kisses and more sincere flirting. Soft touches that reassures him more than anything.

And when finally you all three were piled into bed in a tangle of too-many limbs and the odd wing, the room full of both laughter and other sounds of bliss, you were pretty sure you'd give heaven the middle finger if they tried to take either of them from you.

(And when Heaven really did, they found out why you were in hell in the first place. Righteous fury and desperation to protect those you loved went hand in hand and made you a force to reckon with.)

[nomercymaster11]

Silent tides

Over the two years since you joined the Heart Pirates, you’ve been doing fine. It's dawned on you that you’re developing feelings for your captain, Trafalgar Law, despite his cold and stern demeanour. However, you’re hesitant to express your emotions, fearing it might alter his attitude toward you.

One day, Law catches sight of you on the submarine's deck, perched on the rail and gazing up at the sky. Law approaches with an air of authority, his stoic expression revealing little of his inner thoughts.

"What are you doing here, lost in thought? The sea requires constant vigilance," he remarks, a hint of concern in his deep voice.

A touch of surprise colours your response,

"Oh, Captain. I didn't notice you were there." There's a subtle sense of guilt, as if you've been caught off guard.

Law stands beside you, facing the sea. The vastness of the ocean seems to echo the uncharted territory of your emotions.

“Sorry for catching me lost in thought.”

You shift away from the rail, directing your gaze towards the serene sea. The air thickens with unspoken sentiments, a contemplative silence enveloping both of you as the waves continue their rhythmic dance. The moment hangs in the balance, a delicate interplay of emotions beneath Law's stoic exterior and your unexpressed feelings.

Law's stern gaze lingers, probing beneath the surface of your guarded response.

"Silence doesn't suit you. Speak your mind. We're not here for idle contemplation. If there's an issue or something on your mind, lay it out."

An uneasy tension settles in the air, and your heartbeat quickens its pace. The weight of unspoken emotions lingers, a palpable undercurrent in the conversation.

“Problem? Um, no. Everything's good.”

Your words sound hesitant, revealing a reluctance to unveil the complexities hidden within.

Unyielding in your resolve, you press on. “So, Captain, what's on your agenda? What's the plan now?”

Law’s response carries a sense of duty and purpose, a reminder of the relentless challenges that define life at sea.

"The plan is as always – navigate the Grand Line, face whatever challenges arise, and ensure the crew's survival."

There's a steadiness in his voice, a captain's assurance. Yet, his attention shifts, a keen perception honed over years of leadership.

"You, however, seem distracted. Focus on the present. The sea demands our attention."

The sea becomes a metaphor, demanding not just vigilance but also a reminder to confront the currents of emotion swirling beneath the surface.

Our eyes met, and in that brief connection, a sudden weight settled on your cheeks. There was an unspoken exchange, a subtle dance of emotions. You tried to dismiss the feeling, but your expression betrayed you. Unease lingered, casting a shadow over the moment. To conceal your vulnerability, you started to walk away from him.

"I'll whip up some snacks. Captain, any preferences?" You offered, seeking a distraction from the uncharted territories of emotion.

“Just make something edible. We're short on time and can't afford culinary experiments. Stay focused.” Law's response carried the familiar sternness.

His words left a subtle disappointment lingering in the air, a desire for something more than the practicality he often exuded. Yet, understanding that deciphering his thoughts isn't a simple task, you accepted the reality of his demeanour. There's a complexity to the captain's character, a puzzle of emotions beneath the stoic exterior.

After meticulously crafting tuna onigiri for Law and the crew, you returned to the deck, the scent of seawater and anticipation lingering in the air.

Law, ever inscrutable, takes a bite of the onigiri, his expression remaining stoic. “Decent enough. Don't let sentimentality interfere with your duties.”

A flicker of defiance sparks in your response, “Why advise against sentimentality when you're here with me on the deck, alone?”

“I have no interest in sentimentality, but I do have an interest in a functioning crew. The sea doesn't wait for personal reflections.”

The exchange carries a weight of unspoken expectations, the sea beneath you mirroring the depths of our uncharted understanding. Seeking reassurance, you press,

“Am I doing fine as your crewmate?”

“You're holding your own. Actions speak louder than words. Stay vigilant, adapt to the challenges, and you'll continue to prove your place among the Heart Pirates. The Grand Line is unforgiving, but so far, you're managing.”

"Nice to hear that from you."

The words hold a mix of relief and gratitude. In that moment, the captain's rare praise becomes a lifeline, a reassurance that you’re navigating the complexities of the Grand Line with a measure of success.

Relief enveloped you like a warm embrace. You stole another glance at Law, finding him gazing into the distance, lost in the flavors of his tuna onigiri. A subtle air of introspection surrounded him, and you hesitated to disturb the tranquility of his thoughts.

As Law finished his onigiri, a rare moment of satisfaction painted his face. "Focus on your duties. Again, sentimentality has no place in the Grand Line. We sail forward, not backward."

His words resonated, a reminder of the relentless nature of the sea and the challenges that awaits the crew. Yet, being in his company provided an unexpected sense of safety and security. Revitalized by the interaction, you returned to your customary, cheerful demeanour.

“CAPTAIN!!”

The sudden exclamation from Bepo sliced through the air, startling you from the contemplative moment with Law.

“All repairs are complete. We can set sail at any time now.”

The urgency in his voice drew your attention, and you turned to find Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin on the deck, their sudden appearance catching you off guard.

“Oh, <y/n> ! I didn't realize you were there,” Bepo continued, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Looks like we interrupted something,” Penguin teased, his words tinged with playful mischief.

Law's expression tightened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.

“We don't have time for idle speculations! Finish your tasks and prepare to set sail!”

His command snapped through the air, dispelling any lingering distractions. The crew, momentarily diverted by the unexpected reunion, refocused on the impending journey.

As you inquired about potential ways to contribute, a sense of genuine interest and eagerness coloured your words.

"Is there anything specific I can help with?" you asked, hoping to bridge the gap in your communication.

Law, ever focused on efficiency, responded with a stern directive, setting the tone for your interaction.

"Check the supplies and ensure everything is secured for the journey. We don't need any surprises at sea. Once that's done, be ready to set sail at my command. The crew's efficiency is paramount."

Yearning for a more personal connection, you ventured into uncertain territory.

"Will we encounter the Straw Hats crew in the New World? I'm eager to meet them once more."

Law's response was a sobering reminder of the unpredictability of the sea.

"The sea is full of uncertainties, and desires won't always align with reality. If our paths cross with the Straw Hat Pirates, so be it. Until then, stay focused on the journey ahead. The Grand Line has much to offer, and we can't afford to be distracted by personal wishes."

Growing somewhat frustrated with the unyielding nature of your conversation, you sought a moment of connection.

"Could you, just this once, talk with me as if we're friends? I get that you're our Captain, but come on, loosen up a bit."

Law's response was laced with annoyance, his stoic exterior undisturbed.

"Friendship doesn't alter the reality of our circumstances. The sea demands vigilance, not relaxation. If you want camaraderie, find it among the crew. My role is to lead, not to befriend."

Feeling an impulsive urge, you playfully squeezed Law's cheeks, a brief attempt to break through the captain's formidable façade. Surprised by your own spontaneity, you quickly pulled away, catching a subtle softening in Law's gaze.

As he shot you a reproachful look, his stern demeanour momentarily wavered. "We're not here for games," he declared with a stern tone, yet a glimmer of vulnerability lingered in his eyes. "Focus on the tasks at hand, and remember, emotional indulgence won't serve us well on this journey."

"Got it! I'll concentrate on the tasks at hand," you declare, turning away and suppressing a small laugh at the memory of his earlier irritated expression.

Law watched you depart; he watches you with the faintest hint of a smile. The amusement glimmers in his eyes, a subtle acknowledgment of your frustration and boldness in challenging his stoic demeanor.

Turning his attention back to the ship's preparations, he stood ready to navigate the unpredictable waters of the New World. The unspoken complexities of your interaction lingered in the salty sea breeze.

[enemyoflactose]

It's her. The Enemy.

Here she is!!! My yugisona Enemy (Emmy)!

She's more of a deck builder than a dueler, but she tries her best.

Some background on her:

Enemy is believed to be an all powerful cat goddess from another dimension that was sent to this one as punishment for an attempted overthrow. Her time in this dimension has greatly weakened her to the point where there is little hope of returning to her old home. She decided to instead take over this universe! Not just for power, but so she and her beloved cat, Pompom, can live out the rest of their lives without working at all!

It's important to say that all of this is just what she believes. None of that is true, except for the desire for cartoony world domination, Emmy is just a chuunibyou.

She was born on Earth just like everyone else in the yugiverse was, but that won't stop her from believing in her delusions! She wants to be the world's greatest duelist because she knows that that's the only way for her to have even a chance at a life of laziness!

This leads her to building many decks! Some are good, some are terrible, most are alright. She prefers decks that revolve around beasts, plants, or insects because those are cuter in her eyes.

She isn't the best at dueling. Her response time isn't good, she's bad at thinking ahead, and forgets to read her cards properly most of the time, but she always tries her best. Her wins and losses are forever at a permanent tie.

Enemy wears a variety of masks and glasses to appear "mysterious". She buys blank masks and then decorates them to suit her many, many outfits. The glasses she just buys as is and wears cat ear headbands with them.

I like the idea of the masks and glasses being expressive like they are in cartoons, so Enemy's do that.

Her favorite color is pink, but because that isn't a scary color unless combined with black, she usually wears blue and purple when enacting her diabolical plans. Sometimes she wears yellow, but not all the time.

I'm still working on her full story, just know that I'm planning on shipping her with Zorc/Yami Bakura because she's based off me and I'm infatuated with those two specifically.

I wanted her to use the decks I run IRL, but since she lives in DM world, I can't let her have Melffy or Naturia.

There were supposed to be more drawings, but I got hit with not wanting to draw for awhile.

[gaysetokaibas]

i don't think kaiba is materialistic in the way that he has to own the most expensive things or cares about being seen as classy, but i do think he does it out of an obsessive need for quality and perfection.

random hc that came to me:

seto kaiba gets obsessed with mechanical keyboards. it's not because he thinks they're something super beautiful or that he particularly likes them, but in my vision, he's working at the office and gets randomly really frustrated by his work. it's a lot of effort, deadlines aren't lining up, whatever the reason, but everything feels like it's going wrong.

in particular, the sound of his clack-y generic keyboard is pissing him off. he can't fix the scheduling and production issues, but he can fix this.

so, he spends any free time he can researching the best parts. he buys multiple different switches, different boards, plates, foam, stabilizers... he tries dozens of combinations until he can find something that finally fixes the frustration in his bones, until he's spent thousands on miscellaneous parts and pieces. he gets there, eventually, and when yugi comes to his office he takes note of the fancy looking keyboard and goes "wow, i didn't know you were such a keyboard enthusiast" and he's not. its just how he finds some semblance of control in his life amidst everything else.

in my head, kaiba does this often. a lot of people just think he's the type to gain and abandon multiple hobbies or interests because of it, but really its how he keeps himself sane. he just fixates on something that he can actually fix and control when things around him are spiraling. he finds the most extravagant and niche watch designs that satisfy every minute thing he could want, while keeping the aesthetics that he prefers, before proceeding to mass-manufacture them as an excuse of "it's for the business." his suits are tailored to perfection, because when he's frustrated and over-stimulated, he hates the way certain stitches feel against his skin or how the forms look in the mirror. he ends up spending exorbitant amounts of money in the process, but doesn't realize it until weeks after it's passed.

joey def hates this, by the way, because he can relate but it's not the same. most people don't really get why kaiba does this stuff, but joey picks up on it instantly. he's the type of person who, when struggling with something, he pours himself into a new video game or a new duel monsters deck archetype and studies it obsessively, and when it's reflected in kaiba he's upset because its just another habit that they share, but he feels like he has to work for whereas kaiba is just throwing money at the wall until he's happy again.

idk how to end this post so stan seto kaiba i guess

[random-things-of-mine]

𝘕𝘰 𝘚𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩?

Vaquero Wally x GN Reader

- - - - -

The cartel was in need of new workers, the last few proved to be distrustful and spies where not welcome, so new applications where in order. Narco Home held up a signed contract for his face, grinning as he saw the name written down of his newest asset. Vaquero, who had been more or less persuaded under stress to sign his free will and human rights away. If only he knew-

He carefully put the important documents away, hiding it in a carefully selected place.

As long as he had these papers none of his staff would stay out of line, these where legally binding contracts, all in his own favor. And if someone still acted up he had other more painful means.

Narco Home stood up from his desk as he heard his guest arrive. He opened the door for Y/n, like a gentleman but his actions where calculated and firm as he invited them in his office. It wasn't so much as a invite as it was a demand.

"Me alegra que hayas venido con tan poco aviso, cariño."

(Glad you could came on such short notice, darling.)

"Yeah... no worries, anything for our boss."

He dismissed their uncomfortable chuckle, used to it from them.

Narco Home was a towering figure (a puppet not a sentient house in this au), decked out in a black cowboy suit that matched his intimidating demeanor. His fiery red hair peeked out from beneath his black cowboy hat, and his piercing green eyes struck fear into the hearts of his enemies. He knew he could come over as intimidating.

Y/n on the other hand, was a bumbling member of the cartel. They had inadvertently stumbled into the criminal life as they too had been desperate for a job unaware it would be anything like this, dealing in illegal substances and drugs.

They zoned out slightly as their bossy boss was starting off a whole story in Spanish, the language spoken by everyone here.

Everyone that wasn't YOU.

Y/n has always done their best to blend in, not to stand out in either a negative or positive way. They had accepted the fact they couldn't leave this cartel, the only way that was possible was in a body bag and they preferred to stay alive breathing and well. So they just did what they where told, nodding along to conversations they did or didn't understand and hoping for the best. Their biggest struggle in life really was the language barrier.

And somehow no one knew about it. Their lack of understanding even when whole business meetings or appointments where given or shouted in Spanish. All cause they where good at faking they understood it all (and secretly using a shitty translator app when no one was looking).

Y/n got snapped out of their daydreaming as Narco Home's eyes pierced though them, slightly frowning as he was getting suspicious they weren't paying attention. And he didn't like that.

"You got it?" He said condescendingly.

"SI- I so got this! But uhmm if you could just repeat that last part, that be soooo amazing." They nervously smiled, as they frantically moved their hands unsure where to keep them.

He looked unimpressed with their statement but gave in, repeating his words, still in spanish this time.

"Dije que mostrarás alrededor a mi nuevo trabajador Vaquero, su primer día fue bastante... desordenado y creo que podría usar un recorrido extra y una presentación. ¿Puedes encargarte de eso, verdad?"

(I said, you will show around my new worker Vaquero, his first day got quite...messy and I believe he could use a extra tour and introduction. You can handle that, can't you?)

"Of course, sure thing..."

Well that's useless, you hardly understood that.

Thankfully they did overhear Poppy talk about comforting someone new here with the name Narco Home also mentioned.

So it was up to them to probably give instructions to the newbie or to show them around.

"Vaquero right?"

Y/n curiously eyed up the newest addition to Narco Home's crew. Vaquero was a breath of fresh air, clad in a vibrant blue cowboy blouse that matched his blue pompadour hairstyle. Though he seemed a bit unwell and shaken up (must have had to do with why Poppy had to comfort him) but overall like a sweet, naive person. Someone to be exploited by their boss for sure.

"Sí, ¿y me dijeron que eres Y/n, ¿verdad?"

(Yes, and I was told you're Y/n, correct?)

They nodded to hearing their name, even while oblivious to what he was saying. Why did he have to reply in Spanish as they addressed him in English? WHY?!

Without further ado and to avoid looking stupid they just started walking, motioning for him to follow.

Some time went by and Vaquero might have been still not all there considering what transpired the first time he arrived here but he wasn't stupid. He noticed Y/n's odd behavior of one word response with either si or no or replying in English while heard everyone else around here use Spanish, more often than not.

"You know... if you aren't good at Spanish, you can tell me."

"What are you talking about, I am... absolute great in it. What gave you that idea." They tried to gaslight him, as they once gain moved their hands around unsure how to hold them as didn't want to look defensive or nervous but it was creating the opposite effect.

"Está bien. Así que por favor, repite esa oración de nuevo pero en español, debería ser bastante fácil."

(Alright- So please, repeat that sentence again but in Spanish, it should be easy enough.)

As he spoke he could tell they didn't understood him, it was very clear now he payed close attention to their face. His eyes also drifted to the phone they clutched behind their back, as it translated his spoken words but not very proficiently.

The situation was almost silly.

And for a moment he forgot about the traumatic incident that had been on his mind for a while, letting out the slight chuckle as he feigned a look off disappointment.

"Oh come on, you really are bad at hiding it, just admit it, you didn't understand a word I said."

...

...

...

"Fine! I'll admit it! I suck so bad at Spanish, for the life of me, I cannot comprehend it. Like some words, yeahhh but most of it no way! It's embarrassing I know but you can't tell the others."

"You know it's a bit worrying, how did you even manage hiding that? Won't you get in trouble if you misunderstand your given assignments or deals that take place here?"

Vaquero joked but he clearly seems genuinely baffled and concerned.

Y/n felt their own face heat up from humiliation.... and somehow also flattered he seemed to care for them.

"Just please, I beg you, don't tattle about this. I'll normally just wing it and improvise, I cannot stress enough that the others can't know. Please. Por favor!"

They looked at him pleadingly as they put their hands together in a prayer.

"Por favor? Is that the best you can do? Have you even tried learning the language, I'm sure there are many ways to learn it online."

"HUSHH and I'm not going back to Duo Lingo, I already lost my streak to many times. That bird has it out for me the moment I disappoint it again."

Vaquero knew he shouldn't but he couldn't hold back a amused laugh from his mouth as he saw the serious look in their eyes yet he their words sounded ridiculous.

"Hey! Don't laugh at me... I'm not bad at it on purpose..."

He started to feel bad as he saw the look of hurt and anxiety on their face. He hadn't meant to upset them, especially not after they unintentionally brightens his mood. Giving him some hope it wouldn't be all bad here. With people like them, like Barnaby and Poppy he might manage it here.

"Mis más sinceras disculpas, that was insensitive of me. Let me make it up to you mi querido/a. I'll teach you Spanish and in return you help me fit into this place. There is still a lot I have to get used too, and if you are still able of giving out those cheeky smiles I may be too."

"That does sound like a fair trade, and it's nice finally having this secret of my chest.” They smile at him before shaking his hand with new enthousiasm. “Proposal accepted. Welcome Home into the cartel."

- - - - -

[chimaerakirin]

SOULSEKAI

It's the end of the world as they know it, and Shigaraki Tomura feels fine. February 26, 6 AM. This is not what he was planning to do today, but he can work with it. Frankly, this might be even better. This is not at all what Midoriya Izuku was planning to do today, and it's a disaster. He's going to miss the UA Entrance Exam! Where are his shoes, and who's this voice in his head calling him Ninth?

Rated M for violence (Soulslike-appropriate) and Language (also Soulslike-appropriate). Later chapters may go up to E, because I will not allow Tomura to be maidenless.

<- First - Second - THIRD - Fourth ->

The Scribe

Looting is slightly more difficult when most of the mobs are still smoldering and the door they're keeled over next to is actively on fire, but a combination of dirt flung from a shovel found in the stables and buckets of water from the well put it out well enough, then both buckets and shovel go into their inventories. The former after being refilled, when Tomura discovers [Bucket of Water] is a valid singular item, which makes Midoriya wonder out loud about trying to stash a cubic meter of dirt. Well, at least the kid knows Minecraft. Loot from the mobs turns out to be close to two dozen more bone darts, a six-pack of proper throwing knives, four consumable [Repair Kits], a few [Styptic Salves] that treat Bleed, another pack of crossbow bolts (again on an enemy that didn't have a crossbow), four more Lightstones, a set of [Loaded Dice], a set of honest dice, and a deck of cards with weird suits.

Looting Ivar, on the other hand, yields the full [Reaver Baron Set] of armor, a [Captain's Longsword] with a Wind Slice Glyph (five Force damage and forty Slash damage at a cost of thirteen FP), and [Reaving Claws], which don't have a Glyph slot but deal 100 Slash and have a specifically stated bonus to causing Bleed. Of course, they have to return to the Cairn first, because it turns out that a 'Skymarked's' body disappears as soon as their Mote of Life is claimed, and they have to go through the menu to get the gear out.

"Like extracting a zipped file," Tomura mutters.

"…Did you just verbally say 'lol' as a word?" Midoriya wonders. "…No, I would not prefer 'lulz.' Anyway, what are we going to do with the sword? I don't know how to use one."

"Hold it in inventory until we find a merchant," Tomura says. "Anyway, here's the Stele option."

"R-right." Midoriya holds out his hand. "[Forebearer's Aid]…"

A bit of the Cairn's light streams off at the command, bleaching silver and swirling up to form a spectral figure that starts out borderline featureless, but then gets more and more distinct. Maybe Tomura's age, shoulder length straight hair in a wispy sort of sheepdog cut, delicate features and a slim build, and a shirt remarkably similar in cut to Tomura's favorite style if a lot baggier, and similarly slightly-too-short pants, although his footwear seems to come up far enough to hide it. One arm is outstretched, his fingertips meeting Izuku's in a touching-the-mirror pose. Then the very Dark Souls Phantom-looking figure fills in further, the shirt and hair staying white, but the pants turning dark green, the boots going black and gray, and the skin going basement-dwelling-human pale. The eyes are, for some reason, the exact same shade of white-pupiled green as the kid's, and fixed on the point where their fingers are touching.

"…Yoichi?" Midoriya whispers.

The new guy withdraws his hand, looks at it, then pokes Izuku a few times in the cheek. Then he grabs both freckled cheeks and squishes and pulls until Izuku smacks at his wrist. Finally, he grins in manic triumph. The expression looks weirdly familiar, actually.

"I LIIIIIIIVE! Haha, holy crap it's been ages, hey I wonder if I can eat like this, I'd even take one of those awful can-meshi we swiped from the JSDF. Wait, do I still have my allergies?"

"Yeah, that's Yoichi," Midoriya confirms, glancing at Tomura and rubbing his cheeks. Then he double takes. "Wait, you used to steal from the JSDF?"

"The JSDF had anything worth stealing?" Tomura wonders. "These days they've got like… eight Type 10s and a few crates of Type 20s."

"Wait, really?" Yoichi asks.

"It's not that bad!" protests Midoriya.

"Well, no, but no one gives a shit about them anymore. Their budget is whatever the Diet finds in its couch cushions and only when the fucking HPSC President doesn't want a drink from the vending machines, so not only do they not get new stuff, they can't maintain the old stuff either. Supposedly you can just walk in, hand over a case of beer, and walk out with a rifle depending on who's on duty that day, but you might get one with the firing pin rusted out so you're better off going to the Korean smugglers." Tomura snorts. That was an interesting lecture from Giran. The man usually won't say whether it's raining unless he's paid, but give him some bourbon and he'll complain about the market for hours. "These days, you wouldn't need to steal those can-meshi, but they might be older than Quirks."

"The ones we stole were about that old back then anyway," Yoichi deadpans. "I'm not sure we were really screwing those soldiers over to begin with, but that was never the point. Anyway, hi, nice to meet you. I'm Shigaraki Yoichi, and I've been preparing to get isekai'd since I was sixteen."

"That's five years max," Tomura points out, squinting at him. "If you're more than a year older than me I'll be amazed."

"Actually I was somewhere in my forties when I died. I think. I'm not actually sure how long I spent in that vault. How long has it been since the Glowing Baby?"

Vault? Wait, this guy died? Didn't Midoriya say he was a Quirk?

"A… a hundred and sixty seven years?" Midoriya answers. "At least, that's the current consensus. They found a surviving active server three years ago but with bit rot the digital forensics analysts still haven't confirmed if it actually ran the whole time. If it did, it might only be a hundred and sixty-five years."

Yoichi blanches. "Wait, really? But it's only been about a hundred years total from— Ohhh. Oh damn. Now I get it. Nii-san you son of a— Aargh!" He clamps his mouth shut and inhales through his nose. "…Okay, rant about that later. Leveling up now."

Tomura, who was this close to tuning out the chatter, perks up. "You know how to do that? The Cairn doesn't have an option for that."

"Did you look at all the options already?" Yoichi asks, eyebrow raised.

"The one between Map and Cache is completely hidden."

"And you didn't use…" Yoichi taps the stone and looks at something in midair. Tomura can't see it, but from the way Midoriya's eyes track, he probably can. "Set Sanctuary?"

"Couldn't guess what it does. A Stele is obviously an Effigy of the Martyr, considering you just got summoned using one."

"Then pass me that sword just in case and let's find out!" Yoichi holds out his hand expectantly.

Tomura pulls it out of his inventory. "…Do you know how to use it?"

"Of course! I told you I prepared for this. The Society for Creative Anachronism was invaluable, even if my brother never let me join it."

"I have so many doubts right now…" Tomura grumbles, but hands the sword over anyway.

Yoichi hefts it a few times, then draws it, gives it two slow practice swings, and blinks. "Huh. I'm actually way stronger than when I was alive before… Okay! [Set Sanctuary]!"

Light explodes out from in between the Cairn's stones in a circle, stopping at a radius of roughly ten meters then starting to drip upward along a curve like water rolling off an umbrella in reverse, until it rejoins the main pillar. Immediately, the bare sword in Yoichi's hand and the mace at Midoriya's belt are circled with chains of faint blue-gold runes, and when Tomura draws his knife, he sees the same thing on the blade.

"Huh. It's a literal sanctuary," Yoichi observes, trying the edge of the sword on his finger and not getting so much as a papercut going by his reaction. "PvP, PvE, and maybe terminal dumbassery seem to be blocked. I bet if you somehow managed to take down all of your own health through sheer clumsiness or with cast-from-HP spells, you'd automatically respawn."

Tomura snickers. "Like using Chikage in the Hunter's Dream."

"Exactly." Yoichi sheathes the sword and holds it loosely at his side. "So! Can you see that blocked out thing in your menu now?"

Tomura turns to the Cairn's interface and examines it. The black glass appearance of the window is now trimmed in the same blue-with-gold-sparks as the Motes icon in his basic HUD, and the white of the text periodically sparks gold. There, between [Map] and [Cache], is [Appeal To Empyreal Scribe], and he reports as much to Yoichi.

"I-I don't have that," Midoriya says worriedly. "I can't read what it says, it's, it looks like the same symbols as on the weapons."

"Your Personal Skill summons the voice in your head and now this, you're weird. All right, I'm gonna use it." Tomura taps the [Appeal] option.

The Cairn's light changes again. It's like summoning Yoichi all over again, but instead of white, the light is the same Tron blue as every fucking other thing seems to be around here. This time, the figure that appears is closer to Midoriya's height, and unlike Yoichi, the colors appear before the solidity, from the bottom up. Pale leather sandals on otherwise bare feet, a shin-length vest-styled tabard in midnight blue with laced sides and five buckles up the front, a knee-length white dress with a gold-embroidered hem and elbow-length bell sleeves, sky-blue undersleeves that cover the back of the hand, and a short hooded mantle in blue-trimmed white. Clutched in both hands is a short staff made of what looks like blue crystal and white marble, if marble swirled like Kurogiri's mist, with a gold starburst just under the bottom hand.

Then there's the face, and Tomura just kind of. Stares. Because. Holy shit. Not-quite-black hair that might be purple or blue but definitely isn't in between hangs around a face with pale, vaguely iridescent skin, full lavender lips, and eyes such an inhumanly vivid shade of blue it would be wrong to say they glow. Instead, the color seems more like it would just ignore the darkness, and look just as bright in cave-black shadow as they do here and now.

"Well met, Skymarked. I am Danelys, Empyreal Scribe of the Third Rank, and if it pleases thee, I shall attend thee on thy journey."

And Tomura keeps staring. He's vaguely aware his mouth is dry, and that the brat and his summon are still there, but mostly he's hyper-aware that his skin is a wreck, his hair isn't much better, and that he has literally never once talked to an actual girl, especially in person.

Yoichi elbows him in the side. The side that got shredded by claws, and thus automatically twinges with remembered pain even though he checked earlier and it's completely healed. With a jolt, he realizes that she's staring at him too, but in her case it's expectation and some kind of confusion. "Uh, hi-i," he wheezes, voice cracking like he's fucking fourteen again fucking hell can he reload this cutscene and try again? "I'm— khff, Shigaraki Tomura, and… it… does?"

"Then the pact is made," she responds. "I shall— I do beg thy pardon, but thy garb, it is… not of these lands, is it?"

Shit, when was the last time this particular pair of pants went through the laundry? "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all. Only, with thy name… does that mean thou art…" She looks around before leaning in slightly and whispering, "an otherworlder?"

He blinks. "Uh… Yeah?"

She lights up like Christmas. "Ooh, I knew it! This is wonderful, I did so hope I would get one of you! Many of my sisters are quite put out, but they do little to convince me they simply don't want to be bothered. They call the Worlds Beyond nonsensical, not having the Records of Sky, but I think it runs marvelously well for not having any gods to manage things. Oh, but you needn't worry. I am quite happy to explain any queries you may have, although I must admit I may have many of my own."

He blinks again. Her dialect just shifted forward at least a century or two, or at least that's what it sounds like through whatever automatic translation is happening. She's still not speaking Japanese, any more than Ivar or his thugs were. "Right. First question, I guess… You're the level-up girl, right? You take my Motes and use them to make me stronger?"

She nods cheerfully. "You've gathered as much already? You must be one of the 'game-boys'—" She pauses and frowns. "Wait, that's not the right word."

"Gamer?" Midoriya offers.

"Yes, gamer boys!" She points at the kid, but keeps her attention on Tomura. "Ellethyl said her new Skymarked is one, and Doraline's as well, and you all seem to be doing the best thus far."

"Wait, how many otherworlders are there here right now?" Yoichi cuts in. "And how long have they been here?"

"A shocking number, really. The Scribes have been very busy this morning, as you all seem to have arrived not quite three hours ago. But I am uncertain precisely how many of you there are. Many have yet to appeal, so there isn't a proper final count among the Scribes. Some of my sisters have gotten two at once, though. That's quite rare, you know, even if two new Skymarked appear at the same time and appeal at the same Cairn, the Record Keeper almost never assigns the same Scribe to them."

Tomura blinks. "How many Skymarked does a Scribe get?"

"Oh, that depends on their rank. Thirds like myself only have one at a time. Seconds might have two or three. But most First Ranks also only have a single one, the most successful of them."

"The ones that make it to endgame." He wonders if there's an NG+ available. "Wait, so you're only my Scribe? Not the kid's?" He points to Midoriya.

"Yours alone," she confirms. Then she gives Izuku a once-over. "You've not appealed yet?"

Midoriya turns bright red and stammers for several seconds before choking out, "I-I don't know if I c-can? I um, I can't read that line on the, on the Cairn window. I-it's in the s-same text as this… stuff." He gestures to his mace.

For the first time, she looks taken aback. "…You wot? Let me see."

The kid pulls a scrap of paper and a bit of charcoal out of his inventory and scribbles something down, glancing up at the air every few strokes, then holds out the paper for her to read. "This."

"What? That makes no sense whatsoever. Who did you summon?"

"Um, him?" Midoriya points at Yoichi. "It, it's my Personal Skill? It's called [Forebearer's Aid], if that helps…"

Danelys examines him, then whirls to stare at Yoichi. "Forebearer's? You're certain?"

"Yes?"

"Are you able to view his Skymark Records?" she presses.

"If you mean his stats, skills, and gear, yeah?" Yoichi answers.

"That shouldn't be possible. I've no idea what… I need to speak to the Record Keeper." She turns to Tomura and bows. "I beg thy pardon, my Skymarked, but may I have leave to see to thy Pact-mate's status before I see to thy Motes?"

Tomura takes a second to parse through that, then nods. "Yeah, sure. He's supposed to be my party healer and he's already behind me in level, so if he's glitched or something it affects me too."

"My gratitude. I shall return forthwith." She vanishes, far more abruptly than she arrived.

There's a moment of silence, then Yoichi breaks it. "Top-tier waifu, dude. You even rolled an RL-otaku. GG, but F in the chat for that intro."

Tomura gives the man his best Villain Glare, then turns to Midoriya. "Do you mind if I kill him? Just to see how resummoning works." Normally he wouldn't bother asking, but not pissing off your only healer is just common sense.

"P-please don't," Midoriya begs nervously. "Yoichi, don't t-tease him about that! I've never talked to a girl before so I'd have done worse!"

"Hey, F means sympathy and support! It's not like I ever talked to a girl either!"

All three stop and stare at each other. "We're, uh… kinda sad, aren't we?" Midoriya ventures.

"Bit, yeah. But!" Yoichi raises a finger, smiling brightly. "That's the glory of getting isekai'd! New world, new start! Best chance to reinvent yourself! And if it's one of the ones where there's a way back after you slay the Demon Lord, you've got all that confidence to help you with getting back to your old life."

"Just how badly did you want to get isekai'd?" Tomura wonders.

Yoichi droops. "Oh, so much, you have no idea. Like, seriously. You?"

Tomura has to take a minute to think about that. Then another. Yeah, he hates Heroes. Yeah, he blames All Might. Yeah, he enjoys destroying things. A world without the former two where he can indulge in the latter sounds great. On the other hand, not being the one to kill All Might is… Huh. That's… kinda weird. The idea doesn't outrage him like he would have expected. Sure, he doesn't want to disappoint Sensei, and Sensei wants him to kill All Might, and it's not like either of them are short on things All Might needs to pay for, but… is that it? Does he just. Not care? As long as All Might gets punished?

And All Might will be punished eventually. Even if it's just by time. Sensei said he's getting weaker, and Tomura knows he's getting older, he has to be at least fifty and whatever his bullshit Quirk is it can't be immortality too. Sooner or later, he'll have to quit, and Tomura bets he won't realize it until he just… fails. Completely. Publicly. He'll fail to save someone when it matters the most, and everyone will realize he's not a god, and whether they turn on him or not, he'll stop smiling.

So Tomura doesn't really have to do anything at all to make it happen. And if he doesn't have to do it himself, and doesn't mind not doing it himself, then. Well. It really is just for Sensei. Who he owes everything to, don't get him wrong. Everything. Even if Sensei didn't intend to make him his successor. Which, he's not stupid. He's not well-versed in normal social expectations, but he knows how generous Sensei has been to him. He knows that anyone on the street would tell him he's got massive obligations because of it. And he is grateful, really. But this…

By now, he's sitting on the ground with his back against the Cairn, staring blankly at the sky. "I dunno. I always thought it'd be kinda cool, but I have shit to do back in Japan. Important shit. So I was mostly happy just getting to play video games whenever I wasn't busy."

"What kind of important things?" Izuku asks. "I-if you don't mind telling us, that is."

"Family shit," he answers, after a moment to consider. "I'm an orphan. My adoptive dad's business hasn't been the easiest on his health, so I—"

Before he can finish, the Cairn pulses with Danelys' return. She looks around, then spots Tomura and bows to him. "My apologies for the delay, my Skymarked. I do hope I was not away too long."

He waves. "Nah, that was only a few minutes. What'd you find?"

She straightens up, then turns to Midoriya. "Midoriya Izuku, thou art found to be Marked not only be Sky, but also by the duty of thy bloodline. To that end, thy Forebearer is bound to guide thee, taking precedence over the House of Scribes, wherever that purpose may take thee."

Midoriya blinks at her. "…Huh?"

"She means the Scribes can't help you because you have some kind of family business that your ancestor called dibs for," Tomura translates. He speaks fluent Quest. "And since Grandmaster Geek here's got the exact same eyes as you and he said he's been dead for a hundred years, and he's the one you summoned, that makes him your… I dunno, great grandpa or something."

"Uncle," Yoichi corrects absently. "Never had kids, remember? Wouldn't have thought my brother ever would either, but you do kinda look like him when we were younger, now that I think about it. His hair would probably do that if he ever let it get long enough."

"Wait, you said your brother got punched flat by—"

"Atatata, let's not talk about that right now," the man interrupts with a finger on Midoriya's mouth. He looks at Danelys. "So am I still dead or what?"

"Er, no. I do not think so. But nor are you alive, truly. You are tied to your Ward, your strength is tied to his when you are summoned to this form, which may be done at any Sky Cairn or Cloud Stele, within a distance of two rods of the latter."

"How far is a rod?" Midoriya asks.

Danelys gestures to the light dome around them. "The Cairn's Sanctuary field is four rods wide. You are not bound to stay within the influence of the Stele, but you may not stray far from your Ward, and you must be within the influence of a Cairn to assign Motes of Sky. If you haven't any understanding of how to manipulate Motes, I am to instruct you."

"Can you teach me magic, too?" asks Yoichi. "We have an [Empyreal Acolyte's Breviary] but we haven't figured out how to use it."

Danelys opens her mouth, then stops and looks at Tomura questioningly. When he nods, she tilts her head in thought. "As to you, I cannot say. Only gods and godlings, those of Empyreal, Draconic, or Gigantic blood, can touch the Records directly. The Skymarked have conduits, their Motes of Life, through which the knowledge can be granted. You are neither Skymarked nor god, which would by rights mean you must learn as the mortals do, but Forebearers aren't mortals either…"

"Well can you teach Izuku then?"

"Under any other circumstances, it would be forbidden outright," she admits. "Scribes may not interfere with any Skymarked not their own. But since the Record Keeper told me to deal for myself with the limitations you encounter as a non-Scribe, they are Divine Prayers, and my Skymarked has already given me leave to assist his Pact-mate… I can grant him the knowledge to use the Prayers in this breviary, and only these Prayers. Any further tomes or scrolls, be they Prayer or Thaumaturgy, will have to be taken to a Skymarked instructor as is the standard practice."

"Would you be able to teach me Thaumaturgies?" Tomura asks.

"…That is… not necessarily forbidden. But we are intended to only provide assistance in learning Divine Prayers, which is to say that which calls on the Empyreals. Thaumaturgies are mortal magic. It isn't forbidden because no one would think to do it, put simply."

"No one but an otherworlder, you mean." He smirks. "That's the nice thing about being new around here. Anyway, if stats work like we think they do, I can't use Prayers anyway. Six DVN. But my INT and FOC are good, so I'm leaning toward a Nightblade type build."

She blinks. "Six Devotion? That is low. Very low, I should say. To become Skymarked, one must have at minimum five points in each Attribute. To have less is to be unable to withstand the Mote of Life, or in some cases, make use of it."

"Do you have to have a Mote of Life to have attributes?" Midoriya asks.

"Yes, but also no." She sits down on one of the flat rocks littering the area and lays her staff across her knees. "The attributes of one's body, mind, and heart become the Attributes of one's Mote, but not the reverse, at least not in total. To use Devotion as an example, it is quite literal. It is the measure of how much one believes in and adheres to the gods… or a particular ideal, though I am not supposed to encourage that. The Divine, Chthonic, and Primeval are the only sources of godly power officially acknowledged, any other belief that may fuel a Prayer is considered Heretical."

Tomura snickers.

"What's so funny?" Yoichi asks.

"Nothing. Just, Hero fanboyism is heresy. Hey, is there any punishment for heresy?"

"Not as such, no. I know not what Heroes you're speaking of—" and up goes Tomura's approval of her, "but those powers which are actively discouraged are the sort that inflict their own punishments. But regarding Attributes, below five Devotion, one actively rejects the idea of higher powers. As that includes the Records themselves, such a person cannot accept a Mark."

Tomura wonders again why his DVN is so low. She did just say it doesn't matter if what you believe in is a god or not. But he shelves the idea for now, because Yoichi is asking about starting stats.

"How do you get high starting Endurance?"

"Physical persistence, primarily. It's most commonly found at a high value in hunters who spend days on end tracking prey, or ascetics who spend an inordinate amount of time on surpassing their limits." She looks sad for a moment. "But it is sometimes the mark of a scapegoat or outcast. Pain is something to be endured, after all."

Midoriya raises a hand to rub his shoulder, looking away, and Yoichi looks… eerily similar to Sensei for a split second, before the anger disappears from his face.

"Wait, so, you can train attributes by using them?" Tomura asks, shoving his attention away from that fairly disturbing sight.

"Well, yes, of course. A Skymark hardly inhibits personal change. I should say that it is distinctly easier at lower levels than higher ones, however. Skymarked Attributes surpass mortal limits quite thoroughly."

"So diminishing returns on the grind, got it."

"And overtraining physically leads to Endurance, not Strength or Dexterity," Yoichi adds. "How do you train mental stats or Fortune?"

"Focus is, like Devotion, literal," Danelys explains. "The two are best trained in conjunction, by keeping your thoughts centered on your prayers or the contemplation of your ideals for extended periods, or with Intelligence. The latter is not entirely literal, it is more a measure of your curiosity and will to comprehend what you're driven to learn, although your ability to comprehend is still measured. What you choose to study makes little difference, simply that you do. And to gain Focus with either, one need only deny distraction in the process."

"So meditation and study. Right."

"Fortune, meanwhile, is more… abstract, to a degree. It is your perception, your ability to read the path of events from cause to effect, and your ability to step into the most desirable of those paths. It is best trained by practicing divination and games of chance or skill. It is commonly possessed by treasure hunters, but also by archers who practice long-distance shooting."

Yoichi nods. "Right, a sniper has to be able to read the wind and do trigonometry in their head. And an arrow is even more affected by that than a bullet. Lower velocity, higher surface area. Sounds like reading cause and effect to me. Not sure about the gambling through."

"Probability," Tomura answers. "Counting cards. Reading how the pachinko ball falls. Maybe reading people and their bluffs. And not sure about divination but… Where's Waldo kind of shit, to practice finding the needle in the haystack."

Danelys beams. "Yes, exactly!"

"All right, good. Then let's get started on our Motes. I've got…" Tomura looks at his counter. "Three thousand, eight hundred, and sixty, plus the boss Mote."

"I have two thousand one hundred," Midoriya says nervously.

Tomura extracts the Mote from his inventory and holds it up. An apple-sized prism like a ten-sided die, it looks more like a hologram than a crystal, and has no texture whatsoever. "How many Motes are in this?"

Danelys slides off her rock and reaches out to touch it with the butt end of her staff, making the whole thing glow. "Two thousand." She looks at Tomura, then at Yoichi. "What level is your Ward?"

"Six."

"Then he will need all he has and a small bit more to reach my Skymarked's level." She turns back to Tomura. "With what you have claimed, not including the Mote of Life, you may reach Level 13, then you will have three hundred and thirty Motes of Sky remaining."

Tomura weighs that for a minute. With the boss's Mote, he can probably hit 14, if not 15. But that'll leave Midoriya under 10… "Here, catch."

Yoichi snatches up the Mote when Midoriya fumbles it. "Thanks."

Tomura waves him off. "She might need to teach you how to use that anyway." He turns back to Danelys. "One attribute point per level, right? Give me two points in VIT and one in DEX."

Danelys bows, then drops to his eye level on one knee in front of him. Very close in front of him. "Thy will be done, my Skymarked. I grant thee the power within the Motes of Sky, and let the Record reflect thy choices." She leans in close and—

Tomura bluescreens.