#the shape of the path to victory

[channelchampion804]

Houston Texans versus Baltimore Ravens Game Features | NFL 2023 Divisional Cycle 2024

[ceilidho]

sirius c

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately. Ghost isn't interested in letting him go down that path alone. (ghoap x reader) [read on ao3 here] general dubcon/noncon tag final chapter first part >> last part

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He hungers like a bad dream.

Not one easily shaken off. All his life, it’s been like this. Poor boy with nothing to his name, stomach empty and aching. Every morsel and scrap saved for his little brother, the boy he once thought of as his charge; his to protect. That was a long time ago. Back when he first trained himself to walk on his tiptoes to avoid the loose, creaky floorboard and learned to turn doorknobs slowly so they wouldn’t ricochet back. Back when making any sound when his father wasn’t off working at the scrapyard was anathema. 

The pain of remembering doesn’t come often, but when it does, it pulsates through him. It’d be easy to say that it’s all behind him. Easier said than done. 

Time has changed him though. With his desires pinned down all his life, he’s grown up gnarled and deformed, a hollow coring down the centre of him. 

Even now, the acrid scent of want withers in the air.

“The two of ye have a good time all by yourselves?” Johnny asks when they walk through the front door, talking to the bird but meeting Ghost’s eyes instead. 

Ghost’s smile from over her head is smug. A subtle thing, barely a twitch of his lips. Johnny catches it though, his attention always finely tuned to the little things that Ghost lets slip. Always intentional, always with purpose. 

Jealousy wars with glee briefly before the latter emerges victorious, Johnny’s smile splitting his face in half. Good. Ghost doesn’t enjoy hurting his boy, but he does take pleasure in giving back what’s been dealt to him. Tit for tat. For weeks now Johnny’s hidden this little bird from him; kept her all to himself, under lock and key. Kept Ghost away from her. As if property weren’t nine tenths of the law. 

As if Johnny wasn’t already his. As if what belongs to Johnny doesn’t belong to him in turn. 

“We had a nice chat, didn’t we, doll?” he says. Barely pays attention to whatever she says after that. 

She must say something nice though because Johnny’s smile is blinding. Dusted with some suspicion, but ultimately satisfied. 

She still shakes, even half an hour later, glancing at him from the corner of her eye while cutting flowers behind the desk and baulking when she catches him staring back. He can’t say he’s surprised. His focus unnerves people bigger and stronger than her. Still, after dating the mutt for over a month, her skittishness is unexpected. 

Ghost knows fear makes the meat go sour, but still he relishes in the way she squirms and sweats in his presence. 

For the better part of the afternoon, she avoids being alone in the same room as him. When he speaks to her directly, she answers as quickly as possible, spitting the words out before hurrying to the other side of the shop to tend to some of the plants. Even eye contact is anathema. She keeps her eyes trained on her work, only occasionally interrupted by customers coming to the counter to cash out. 

It grates on his nerves. He doesn’t demand much from the bird, apart from surrender. She can hide her pleasure, cry as much as she wants, shriek and beat his back with her fists—any matter of resistance, so long as she doesn’t try to run away. 

So it pisses him off that she acts like he doesn’t exist. Reminds him again that he can never have anything. It’s an itch he can’t scratch, a pressure building behind his eyes and it’s been there for years. Since birth. It’s a hollow in his belly that he can’t fill. A hunger he can’t satiate. 

He slips away to corner her in the back office when Johnny gets swept up with a customer, pausing only long enough to admire the shape of her bent over her desk. She flinches when he comes up behind her, his hands flat on the desk on either side of her, caging her in. 

“Jesus Christ—” she hisses, her hands tightening to fists on top of the table.

“Don’t let Johnny catch you talkin’ like that,” Ghost huffs, amused. He knows better than anyone how the mutt would take her using the Lord’s name in vain. It pisses him off to no end when Ghost uses it out in the field during a snafu, no reverence of his own for the name. Ghost hasn’t had a god in years. 

“What do you want?” she asks instead of responding to that. He’s tempted to ask her if she already knows how Johnny would react to her little slip of the tongue. 

“You gonna keep pouting or wanna talk about it like adults?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, twisting her head away from him when Ghost dips his head down, smiling at the hard jut of her jaw. 

“Don’t play dumb, bird.” He loves the way she bristles at that. “You’ve been avoiding me since we got back. Hardly said a word to me in hours.”

“What does it matter?” she snaps, still looking away from him. 

“Because it’s fuckin’ rude,” Ghost growls, pleased when she shivers from the heat of his breath on her neck. 

Braced behind her, he doesn’t have a good enough view of her face to see the emotions flashing across her eyes, but he can feel the tension in her shoulders and down her spine. 

“You embarrassed or something?” he asks bluntly when she doesn’t say anything. 

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I’m mad,” she spits out. 

“Mad about what?”

“Are you serious?”

“I can get Johnny’s opinion if you don’t wanna say why.”

That catches her off guard. “No! Wait—please don’t. Please don’t tell him,” she begs. 

“Then spit it out.”

Her mouth opens and shuts on that, the pith of her anger hid behind clattering teeth and a thick tongue. 

“I’m…—I’m mad that you…forced me to do…that, and you made me—” She can’t bring herself to say it, the words catching in her throat. “I—”

“Came all over my fingers?”

“Don’t say that,” she snaps. 

“You just need to get your lick back,” he says, dismissively. “Then you’ll calm down.”

There’s a second where she frowns down at the desk, not entirely comprehending him, and then his hand is on the nape of her neck. He forces her down easily, bending her over the desk and slipping a finger into her mouth when she opens it to let out a shriek. 

She freezes when she registers the intrusion. 

“Go on then—get even. Bite me. Hurt me back.”

His fingers spread over her tongue, feeling the ridges and bumps. Her saliva slickens his finger down to the knuckle. He runs his finger over her gums and molars, feeling around the inside of her mouth. 

Ghost smiles to himself when he feels her teeth lightly press down, the sharp ends leaving shallow indents in his finger. She holds off biting down harder though, not more than a light pinch. Her indecision is a pleasure all on its own. 

“That all? That ain’t gonna do shit, bird. If you want something, you have to see it all the way through.”

Part of him expects the slice of pain through his finger in retaliation for his words. He even feels it for a second—the tightening of her jaw, her teeth digging in deeper, the line of her spine stiffening. It’s the possibility of pleasure that gets him worked up more than anything. The will-they-won’t-they. Like a language he can finally understand; the ringing in his ears clearing for a few precious seconds. 

He tells himself it’s not disappointment that he feels when her jaw relaxes. 

Defeat radiates off her in waves, her body slumped over with it. He lets his finger sit on her tongue for another few seconds before retracting it, the hand around her neck still holding her flat against the desk but only loosely now. She could slip out from under him if she tried. If she wanted to. 

“Okay, doll,” he murmurs before leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

She sags against the desk when he lets her go, her legs almost slipping out from under her. If he didn’t know himself any better, he’d think that the heavy feeling in his chest was pity. 

Too bad he does. Know himself better, that is. 

“Your fingers taste like dirt,” she spits out right before he leaves, his hand on the doorknob, humiliated right down to her core.

Ghost turns back towards her just long enough to pop her on the ass for that, snorting under his breath when she shudders and yelps. 

She still avoids him after that but with less urgency. More like magnets of opposite polarity. Something about her seems subdued though, fatigued. Defeated because a man gave her the opportunity to hurt him back and she squandered it. Chickened out at the last moment and lost her nerve. 

He always knew she was sweet as pie. 

It’s Johnny that talks her into joining them for a pint at the pub down the road. Not that she has much of a say in the matter. It’s twilight by the time they leave the flower shop, the two of them lingering nearby while the bird sets the alarm and locks the front door. The town is ensconced in a blue hue. Neon signs sizzling in the windows of corner shops and laundromats. Stubborn weeds sprout up from between the cracks in the concrete and ivy ropes lick thick tongues up the brick facades of the nearby houses. 

At the pub, Ghost picks a booth near the far wall, nodding at Johnny to get him to slide in first so the bird has no choice but to sit between them. The two of them cut off her only escape routes. Dogs herding sheep; nipping at her heels when she falters and barking when she tries to run another way.

It clearly pisses her off, but there’s not much else she can do besides sit between them and stew in sullen silence. To her right, Johnny yaps about something that she only responds to in clipped, one-word sentences.

Ghost is aware that they’ve only gotten to this point because of her continued reluctance to make a scene. She probably still thinks that after this weekend, she’ll never have to see either of them ever again. That she only has to endure them for a little while longer before being set free—just grit her teeth and bear it.

His lips twitch. If only it were that easy for her. The bird will have to learn that she can’t always get what she wants. Spoiled thing.

He does wonder offhandedly what he’d do if she were to put up a fuss. If she excused herself to take a piss and snuck around back instead. She wouldn’t be stupid enough to just go home. They’ve already broken into her flat once. A second time wouldn’t be nearly as fun. But if she were to flag down the bartender and ask for help or phone the police on her own, would that be enough to chase them off? 

The thought lingers in his mind for a moment before Ghost shrugs it off. Unlikely. He’s as stubborn as the weeds pushing up concrete ten times their weight, unbothered by concepts such as consent or approval. He has a lifetime of unmet needs to rectify now that he’s grown, now that he has the power and means to take whatever he wants. 

Any desire in conflict with his own gets expunged. If there’s something the bird wants, he’ll see to it himself, so long as it doesn’t involve her leaving the two of them. 

He and Johnny carry on most of the conversation without her, leaving the bird to sit between them, awkward and nervous. Her restlessness doesn’t bother him a whit. The only thing Ghost bothers to keep an eye on is whether anyone else in the bar happens to notice her unease. He’s in no mood to deal with someone encroaching on his territory. 

It’s no use dwelling on what he would do if someone were to try and take either the bird or Johnny from him. Even thinking about it makes the blood pound in his ears. The glass in his hand squeaks when his grip tightens. 

Johnny yammers on about the match on the telly, his eyes darting between the screen and Ghost’s face. Back and forth and back and forth. He played football in secondary—it’s a fact he likes to bring up whenever he can.

In between them, the bird continues to sulk, sipping her drink instead of talking. 

When Johnny finally notices her mood, he frowns. “Ye havenae said a word all night, hen. What’s wrong?”

Her lips purse, gaze narrowing and shifting away. “Nothing.”

“Cannae be nothin’—ah’m nae dumb, ye ken.” 

Ghost is quick to notice the stubborn jut of Johnny’s lip and the irritated twitch in his eye. It takes nothing to rile the boy up, and he’s been on edge since they arrived the night before. The bird must notice it too because she tenses. At least Ghost’s mood swings are predictable. Johnny’s temper flares up unexpectedly, swift and furious. 

“I have to go to the washroom,” she announces suddenly. 

It does the trick of jolting Johnny out of the bad mood looming over him like a storm cloud. He blinks instead, the smile shifting back onto his face. The bird forces a brittle smile on her face in return, then scooches down the bench only to bump up against Ghost. He wonders if she expected him to get up to let her out. 

She’ll just have to learn some manners. 

Ghost waits a beat, eyebrow cocked. The bird looks up at him from the corner of her eye like she might compel him to move through thought alone. 

He stares back down at her without moving a muscle. 

“Can you move please?” she finally whispers, lips tight around the question. 

His dick stiffens in his jeans. 

He’s only too willing to oblige when she asks so nicely. Johnny gives her a messy kiss to the cheek before she manages to pull away, wrinkling her nose. Still, he only half-shifts off the bench, forcing her to squeeze out from around him, amused when she mutters a little sorry under her breath and scurries away towards the washroom at the other end of the pub. His eyes follow the sway of her ass until it disappears from sight. 

“So. What’d the two of ye really get up to earlier?”

When Ghost turns to look at Johnny again, his eyes have lost much of their playfulness. Only a sliver of it remains in the quirk of his lips, youthful naivety replaced by a well-worn guile. Sly like a fox. He has no doubt that Johnny’s already drawn his own conclusions from the bird’s twitchiness. 

“What makes you say that?” he asks instead.

“Cut the shit, Simon,” Johnny says, clipped, his shoulders tensing again. The last of his smile slips off his face. “Ye cannae tell me to trust ye 'n' then run around behind my back without telling me what’s going on.”

Ghost blinks, staring down at Johnny.

“Wanna try that again?” A warning.

Johnny’s face screws into a scowl, his upper lip curling back. Ghost waits, anticipating the flare of his anger, but then it recedes after a few seconds of self-control. 

“Jus’ tell me what ye did,” Johnny asks, eyes flicking away for a second before meeting Ghost’s again. He won’t beg, but the desperation is thick in his voice. 

When Ghost scans the bar, looking for any sign of someone eavesdropping on their conversation, he finds nothing. Scattered groups and a few stragglers at the bar, drinking themselves into a stupor, swaying on backless stools. A hazy amber light filters through the bar, dimmed since they first sat down. 

Still, the shift in conversation requires an accompanying shift in intimacy; it’s no one’s business but his. Ghost shifts down the bench until their knees knock together, until Johnny’s shallow breathing is loud in his ear. His hand drops to Johnny’s thigh, palming the muscle there. When he angles his head towards him, it’s just the two of them; no prying eyes or ears to listen in. 

“Been waiting all day to ask, haven’t ya? Thought you’d break hours ago. Had more patience than I thought.”

“Simon,” he whines.

His hand slides up Johnny’s thigh as he speaks. “Ain’t fucked her yet, if that’s what you’re worried about. Only got a couple fingers in her cunt on the drive back.” He gives it a rough squeeze, smiling to himself when Johnny’s leg jerks, knee smacking against the underside of the table and making their glasses wobble. 

“Fuck,” he curses, curling his own hand around Ghost’s thigh, like he has to keep his hands busy somehow or he’ll explode. “Thou—hng… Thought you’d wait fer me.”

“Had to be fair, didn’t I?” Ghost says, unable to resist taunting his boy. “Didn’t want the bird to feel left out after the other day.”

The sharp inhale makes his blood go hot, perverse pleasure coursing through him. 

“How’s that fair?” Johnny pants, grunting under his breath when Ghost squeezes his hand around his bulge. A flush sits high on his face already, his cheekbones stained red. 

“You got yours yesterday on the mats and now she got hers. ‘Sides, the only one who should be pissed is me. Didn’t even ask me before you fucked her for the first time.”

Even trying to muffle his sounds, Johnny’s noisy. Soft grunts and moans slip out unbidden, his legs spreading wide under the table, hips bucking up into Ghost’s hand. The sluttiest thing that Ghost has ever put his hands on. Soft, parted lips and heavy-lidded eyes, glassy with his arousal. 

“Bile yer heid. She was mine first,” Johnny grunts. Big words for a man falling apart from having his dick touched.

Ghost squeezes his hand, smiling when Johnny hisses through his teeth. “You were mine first. And what’s yours is mine.”

“Yer a lunatic, Lt,” he says, but the look in his eyes is fond, raptured. 

He doesn’t respond to that, already beyond their conversation. Truth doesn’t merit a rejoinder. It is what it is. And maybe he is damaged; maybe there is something deeply wrong with him, buried generations deep. Deeper than subcutaneous fascia; tucked beneath the dermis. Maybe he waters the seed of evil within him with enough violence to keep it dormant. 

It doesn’t change the way things are. 

His hand squeezes around Johnny’s length and gives it a rough jerk over his clothes before letting go. “Go take a walk, MacTavish. Been a while since our girl left for a piss.”

Johnny has to step outside for a moment after their conversation, heart pounding something fierce. It’d be more manageable if he knew he could sneak off to the bathroom with his girl to take the edge off, but with her still mad at him, he has no choice but to keep his hands to himself. At least until they get back home. 

Someone bums him a smoke out front, which he thanks them for before ducking into the alleyway around the side of the bar, leaning against the cold brick. 

It’s easier to collect his thoughts away from the noise of the other patrons. Smoking is Ghost’s bad habit, passed on to him over the years they’ve worked together, and it does little to relieve the tension in him. It gives him something to do with his hands though. He’s a fidgeter unless he’s out in the field; fingers drumming against his legs or stroking his girl’s hair or fiddling with the coins in his pocket until someone hands him a gun and tells him to lock in. 

He thinks maybe suppressing his impulses for so long out in the field is what leaves him so restless when he’s back on dry land. 

His cock still throbs from Ghost’s manhandling. Easy to jerk him around and leave him wanting more. Both his girl and Ghost have perfected the skill. Ghost could’ve tugged him off under the table and milked the tension from his bones, but instead he sent him outside to sulk in the cold, waiting for the bird to do something as stupid as leave without telling them. 

Johnny’s mind is in such a disarray that he can only stare in disbelief when the backdoor swings open and his sweet bird comes tumbling out. 

His mood flips so fast that it nearly blinds him. Anger snaps into him like a rubber band, quick and sharp. He almost can’t believe it. She tried to skip out on them without being noticed. Only happenstance had him already loitering in the alley, practically waiting for her to make her escape. 

The look on her face when she spots him is priceless though. Shocked dumb, her eyes big and wide, and her mouth gaped open. He stubs the cig out beneath his boot and stalks over to her, still rooted in the same spot by the backdoor looking guilty as sin. 

“On yer way out, hen?” he asks, stepping in close enough that his chest almost bumps hers. 

When she takes a step back, she bumps into the steel door behind her. Johnny follows her step for step, blocking her in with his body. Cutting her off from the rest of the world. 

“I was gonna—” she mumbles, but he cuts her off before she’s finished her sentence because he’s nearly out of patience. 

“Gonna what?” he mocks. “Go home? Without us?”

“I didn’t want to go out in the first place,” she snaps, her anger flaring up suddenly. Johnny’s cock pulses, leaking against his thigh. 

His temper nearly gets the better of him. For the way he lets Ghost treat him, he doesn’t extend that same liberty to anyone else. Even his girl. He has to slow his breathing, let it wash over him and wash away the anger blistering his insides. 

He barricades her in with a hand on the door behind her, lets the sheer size of him do the talking instead. His breathing picks up when her eyes widen. 

“Bit impolite to ditch us without even sayin’ goodbye. Matter of fact, ye havenae said a word to me all afternoon.” He ducks low enough that their noses touch. “Ye’ve had a real unpleasant fuckin’ attitude today and I’ve had it. What’s got ye all agitated?”

Her attitude breaks there, anger receding back into her. There’s a moment where he doesn’t think she’ll answer him, that she’ll try to bolt down the alleyway instead and he’ll be forced to chase her down and pin her to the dirty ground like a runaway animal. His pulse ratchets up at the thought. 

Then her bottom lip wobbles. 

“On the drive home, we—” Here she draws in a watery breath, looking almost too ashamed for words, “—Simon and I, we…—” 

He tilts his head with faux sympathy. “Ye did what?”

“He put his…” she cringes, still unable to finish the sentence. 

“Ye fooled around before driving home, hen? Is that it?”

She nods, teeth sunk deep into her bottom lip to keep from sobbing. 

Seeing her break down makes him go gooey soft. He wraps both arms around her waist and pulls her in close, resting his chin on top of her head and swaying with her in his arms, a gentle rock meant to calm her down. “Och, I ken. That’s what’s been botherin’ ye?” 

She stares up at him woundedly. “He told you?”

“‘Course Simon told me, baby,” Johnny coos. 

It’s not altogether truthful, acting like he’s known all along when in fact Ghost only told him moments ago. But he likes the way she looks up at him with big, guilty eyes, tears clumped in her lashes. 

She cringes, mortified. “And you’re—are you mad at me?”

“No, baby, I’m nae mad,” he protests, letting go of her waist to cup her cheeks, dropping a soft kiss on her parted lips. “How could I be mad at ye? My perfect, perfect girl. You’ve done nothing wrong at all.”

“I don’t get it. You should be mad at me, I—” Again she cringes and his heart hurts. His poor girl. “I…I just…I feel like I cheated on you.”

“Ye dinnae do anythin’ like that, baby,” Johnny tuts, dropping another kiss on her lips. 

Comforting his miserable girl is a treat that he didn’t even realize he was missing out on. It almost makes him feel bad for withholding the truth that would actually comfort her. If she knew what he’d gotten up to with Ghost on the gym mats the night before, she wouldn’t be making herself sick at the thought of betraying him. That time has long come and gone. They’re both under new ownership, new rules. 

She follows him back inside because she’s a good girl. Always has been. The past week has been a challenge, sure, but nothing insurmountable. Nothing that could ever really come between them. Not that he’d let it. 

Besides, all it tells Johnny is that their relationship is built on a solid foundation. Strong as bedrock. 

He guides her back in with a hand on her back. She still seems dazed when she’s back sitting between the two of them, Ghost now barricading the other side of the booth. His lieutenant barely looks fazed at the sight of the tear tracks running down her cheeks or the slight wobble of her bottom lip. 

“Thought you weren’t coming back,” Ghost says, his tone ambiguous. It’s anyone’s guess if he means it or not. Johnny’s hard pressed to believe it though. Something about the dull amusement glinting in the dark of his eyes contradicts his words. 

“We jus’ had a wee chat outside,” Johnny says, speaking for both of them. 

“All good?” 

“We sorted it out.”

Johnny knows that Ghost sees something else when he glances over their girl. She looks lost between them. Out of sorts. 

“You still upset, doll?” Ghost asks her, prodding more than comforting. 

Her bottom lip trembles. “…Yes.”

“Spit it out then. All that stress ain’t good for ya.”

The look she tosses him out of the corner of her eye is dark. “Everything about this is just so fucked up.”

“Why do ye keep thinkin’ this is bad?” Johnny asks. He drags his nose down the side of her throat while he speaks, gorging himself on the perfume of her skin. Her natural scent is pungent with anxious sweat, a sharp, acrid note that he aches to lick off.

“Because it’s not normal—I didn’t go into this thinking that—” She stiffens when Johnny dips his tongue into her collarbone to lap at the salty skin there “—Johnny, knock it off. We’re in public!”

“So what?” he murmurs, licking the same spot again, the flat of his tongue running over her skin and leaving a wet trail up the side of her neck.

Around them, the lights flicker as people walk from the bar back to their tables, shadows dragging across the floor and over the walls. A server passes by with a round of beer for a nearby table. 

“Where does this even go?” his pretty girl croaks, tears brimming in her eyes again. “What happens after this?”

Johnny glances up at Ghost almost instinctively, looking for something. Reassurance; an answer. Even he’s not clear on what exactly he needs from the man—just that it’s important. Just that it’s the only thing that matters. 

“The same thing as always, hen; nothing has to change. Just have to think a bit bigger.”

“But what if I don’t want to?”

The look Johnny gives her is pitying. 

“Ain’t that kind of situation, doll,” Ghost grunts. 

A tear spills over her waterline and down her cheek. Johnny barely restrains himself from leaning over and licking it up. 

Getting her back home without a fuss is nothing short of a miracle. Johnny keeps an arm around her waist the entire walk back just in case though, Ghost at their rear following them from just a few steps behind. No chance of her slipping off without one of them catching her.

Part of him feels for the poor bird. She never would’ve chosen this for herself—two brutes following her home, intent on keeping her. But the heart wants what the heart wants. He doesn’t think he’s strong enough to give her the option to leave. 

It’s not like he knows what he’s doing either. Life was simpler before he had Ghost’s voice in his ear. Back when it was just his own voice in his head.

But the bird has never had just him, has she? They’re always been a package deal, him and Ghost. One and the same. Ghost’s voice in his head telling him where to go. She’d know if she could crack open his head and look inside; root around until she found the bit of Ghost lodged in him like shrapnel in a wound. 

Sometimes he wonders at his luck in picking the right people to call his own. The wrong person might have taken advantage of his nature.

She sniffs, resigned to her fate when Ghost opens the door to her flat, her key somehow already in his hand. Must have swiped it at one point during the night. Still, she follows him inside without remarking on it. 

“Would you like coffee?” she asks sardonically, her tone belied by the way her hands shake when she hangs up her sweater. 

“Dinnae bother, hen,” Johnny says, almost pityingly. 

They both know what’s coming. What’s just around the corner, waiting for them to drop the ruse. Ghost stands in the hall like a spectre, staring down their girl with an intensity that doesn’t waver even when his gaze shifts to Johnny. He’s always looking down at them. 

Johnny preens under his gaze. It’s nice being wanted. More than nice—it’s an imperative. The thought of losing Ghost’s attention leaves him cold, an ache deep in his core, like a cancer spreading from organ to bone.  

Breathe in and out.

This time when he tugs her in by her waist, she goes limp, stumbling into him, hands splayed on his chest and her chin already tilted up. 

Johnny gets lost in the kiss, his lips sliding slick over hers, tongue licking into her mouth. Her taste is familiar, but it’s different this time somehow. Heightened. Creamier, sweeter. She whimpers into his mouth when he squeezes her closer, her breasts squished against his chest. Tits so soft that he salivates thinking about popping her nipples into his mouth. 

His hands run up and down her back, groping her hips and waist and the underside of her butt, squeezing her cheeks until she squeaks and tries to pull away from him. 

“Wanna wrestle? Is that it?” he purrs, strands of saliva stretching between their lips when he breaks the kiss. 

“Johnny—” she gasps, twisting her face away to breathe only for him to chase after her, hand sliding up her back to grip her by the neck. 

There’s no plan for how this should go, but when Ghost grabs a handful of her shirt and rips her from Johnny’s arms, he knows his turn is up. The shock of feeling her ripped away almost sends him spiralling, teeth already bared. Animalistic rage washes over him. That’s his girl, the one he hunted down to exhaustion and dragged home. 

“Stand down,” Ghost snarls when he takes a step forward. His instinct is to charge, overwhelm the man circling wide, rough hands around his girl’s arms and tugging her close. 

The sound of Ghost’s voice stops him in his tracks. Keeps him from taking another step closer. He shakes off the anger, the red rage seeping from his vision. 

“Aye, sir,” he croaks. When he swallows, it’s thick. Viscous. 

Watching someone else strip and take his girlfriend apart fills him with equal parts nausea and delirium. Johnny follows the two of them into the living room on shaky legs, bracing his hand against the doorframe to keep from stumbling. Her shirt comes off first. Ghost 

It’s not like the thought never occurred to him. Ghost even told him earlier about their romp in the van. It’s the seeing that’s pain inducing. World changing. His reality collapses around the notion that he’s letting this happen again. That he’s encouraging it this time even. 

Saliva pools in his mouth when Ghost pulls the bird into his lap, forcing her to straddle him. With Ghost still fully clothed, the contrast between the two of them is stark. She trembles over his lap, naked. Vulnerable. Her knees have to spread so wide to touch the couch under him that her bare cunt is forced to grind against his jean-covered crotch. 

When she glances over her shoulder, looking to Johnny for reassurance, his heart almost breaks at the distressed look on her face. 

Viper-quick, Ghost grips her by the chin and turns her head to look at him instead. “Don’t look at him,” he murmurs, a soft command in his voice. “Eyes on me.”

She listens like a good girl, hands perched delicately on his shoulders. “But, I want Johnny—”

“You’ll get him later. S’not about him right now.”

Johnny’s head spins, dizzy with lust. He has to rub his hand overtop his jeans, palming the shaft straining against his zipper. 

The moment Ghost reels her in for a kiss, a big hand on the nape of her neck, and their lips slot against each other—the first time Johnny’s seen Ghost kiss someone with his own eyes, the first time he’s watched his girlfriend kiss another man, and not just any man, but his superior, the man he’d build an effigy to if it meant he got to keep him for the rest of the time—his vision doubles. 

Ghost kisses like a plundering, holding her in place while he takes what he wants. When she whimpers into his mouth, Johnny’s cock jumps. Broad hands hold her in place, one sliding down her back and curving over her ass until calloused fingers rub at the soft folds between her legs, one finger to stretch and two to make her whine. 

“Get over here, pup.”

He almost doesn’t hear the command at first, his attention wholly fixated on the way Ghost’s fingers piston into his girl’s pussy, the veins in his hand flexed and protruding. 

“Johnny.” He hears it the second time, head snapping up to find Ghost staring him down. “Come here.”

The moment he lets go of the wall, his knees buckle, sending him to the ground. He crawls the rest of the way over, half-delirious. The coffee table is pushed unceremoniously out of the way, books tumbling onto the floor. She squawks in protest; says something about scratching the floor, but then Ghost pulls out his fingers to give her pussy a sharp slap and her eyes roll back in her head, the words knocked clean out of her. 

“What do I…” Johnny asks, trailing off when Ghost’s fingers slip back into his girl’s pretty, stretched hole. 

His mouth waters at the sight. 

He wets his lips when Ghost spreads his legs, forcing the bird’s legs to spread wider as well, ignoring the way she whines at the stretch. The thick fingers spearing her open pull out, dew-coated and glistening. His groan is guttural when Ghost’s fingers drag from her hole to her clit, stroking her back and forth before 

“Put that mouth to good use,” he orders, spreading her lips with his fingers and framing her hole. 

It wouldn’t be more inviting if she hung mistletoe over it. He goes willingly, crawling forward until he’s between Ghost’s legs, his nose almost grazing her pussy, eyes locked on the wet hole between her legs and the tight rosebud winking at him from just a bit higher. The most gorgeous sight in the world. Men have fought and died for less. 

Despite the fact that this is his girl, there’s something sacred in being chosen by Ghost. Being given the honour of eating his girlfriend out. He’s always enjoyed the thrill of being Ghost’s chosen favourite. Unspoken, maybe, but undeniable. They orbit each other like binary stars. 

It's a bit different when his lieutenant is holding his head down into his girlfriend’s pussy and telling him exactly how to rub his tongue over her clit. Ghost’s hand like a brand on the back of his neck, tears building in the corners of his eyes because it’s too much, too much, too much. 

“There, bird,” Ghost murmurs, stroking a hand up her back. It barely settles her. “Ain’t that better? Still gonna cry when you’re getting your cunt licked?”

She does cry too. Big, fat tears that Ghost licks up when they dribble down her cheeks. Johnny barely registers it though, face buried in her cunt, tongue shoved in her hole and dredging out every drop of slick. 

It ends too soon for him. A hundred hours would be too soon for him though. Ghost fists the back of his mohawk and tugs him away from her drooling cunt, nearly ripping out his hair when Johnny resists, trying to chase after her pussy. 

“Simon—” he gasps, tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Fuck. That desperate, pup?” Ghost sneers. 

“Please, Lt,” Johnny pleads, licking her essence off his lips. “Jus’ gimme five more minutes. Ah need it—look at her—”

“Johnny,” his girl begs, thrusting her cunt back towards Johnny’s face. Ghost grabs a handful of her ass to hold her still, chiding her when she whines.

“Desperate fuckin’ slags,” he sighs, beleaguered. Long suffering. Like no one in the world has had to endure the hardships he’s faced. 

The next few minutes disappear into a blur of clothes tugged off and thrown across the room, Ghost dragging the two of them into the bird’s bedroom. Her little bed hardly seems big enough for two grown men, but there are no other options and Johnny’s hardly solution oriented at the moment. 

He hasn’t had enough time to think about what it might be like. For all of the assumptions that could be made about his sexual proclivities, he’s kept a few things close to his chest. Never shared a girl before, no matter how many times the thought has crossed his mind. It’s a desire he’s kept at a distance, only looked at from afar. 

The reality is so much worse.

Worse because Ghost’s hand curls around his cock when he guides him through it, slick with lube. Almost too tight at first, clearly mimicking the way Simon likes to jerk himself off, even though Johnny prefers a slightly looser grip, a little slower, more indulgent.

Worse because it’s so much better than anything he could’ve ever imagined.

Ghost positions Johnny over her, big hands on his hips and Johnny has never felt like he had narrow hips until this very second. Lube is drizzled over the furl of his entrance and his head is spinning, staring down into his girlfriend’s eyes as she watches the two of them wide eyed, still so anxious and it makes him want to soothe her, coo down at her that he’s got her and everything’s going to be just fine, but that thought is snipped right out of him when Simon lines himself up and presses in and Johnny’s vision goes white.

He loses himself in those first few moments. The girl beneath him vanishes. She’s just a warm, wet hole for him to fuck, to relieve himself from the pressure of the cock seated in his ass. 

The blunt intrusion has him gasping for air. It’s beyond the pale; a sensation beyond whatever he might’ve imagined in the past. He’s thought about it once or twice—never with enough detail to guess how it might feel to have a man fuck him, but enough to think that he might like it. 

He never could’ve anticipated just how much. 

It’s sublime. White hot; scorching. Any lingering pain dissipates, chased away by the blinding pleasure of the cunt wrapped around his cock. Hot and tight and dripping wet. When she clenches around his dick, Johnny’s mind shatters. Fragments into a million pieces. He’s held in place by the rough hands on his hips, the nails dug into his back. A man’s lips on the back of his neck press a kiss into the sweat-coated skin, sweeter and softer than he deserves. 

“Fuck,” he gasps into a sweaty neck, eyes squeezing shut. 

Don’t get all quiet on me now, Johnny hears from behind him, Mancunian accent slipping into his ear. Some of the words disintegrate before reaching his ear. Too far away. 

The massive weight of Ghost at his back acts as a lodestone. A star guiding him home. A voice in his ear growling about how tight he is, how good his hole feels around Ghost’s shaft. His perfect pup and bird. 

Tell me I’m good enough for you, tell me I’m good, I’m good. 

Gentleness is a luxury he isn’t granted. When Ghost draws his hips back, he expects a moment of reprieve, a moment to catch his breath. Then he snaps his hips forward again, hurtling Johnny up the mattress, the bird smothered under him. 

“Simon—fer fuck’s sake!”

Underneath him, his girl keens, stuffing her own fingers in her mouth to muffle her screams. 

He grunts out a curse when Ghost batters into him harder than before, his hole burning from the stretch of taking Ghost’s cock. Hung like a bloody horse. The hands on his hips shackle him in place. He couldn’t wiggle out if he tried.

It’s all too good, too much. Staggered breaths, black spots on the edge of his vision. Hips pumping mindlessly, rhythm dictated by Ghost’s pace. Better than anyone or anything that’s ever come before. 

“Good fuckin’ boy,” Ghost growls at his back, voice pitched low. “Better like this, ain’t it?”

Johnny chases after his release like it might get away from him, pounding into the plush cunt beneath him with a mindless fervour. Her little yips are music to his ears. 

“Sir, please—” he gasps, feverish, his drool pooling in the divot beside the bird’s neck. “I need ta—lemme come, sir, please—”

His mind is emptied out, full of cotton and dreamy thoughts of pussy and cock. Her wet hole squelches with every thrust, creamy soft around him. 

He yelps when a big hand is shoved between his legs, fingers circling the base of his cock squeezing. 

“Gotta earn it, boy,” Ghost pants, a harsh laugh to his voice. “Haven’t heard the bird come yet.”

Her eyes widen, the space between her brows pinched. 

“I got ‘er,” Johnny slurs. His eyes go half-lidded. “Ah’ll make ‘er come.”

Johnny’s hands grope all over her face, squishing and pinching her cheeks. Brushing her hair out of the way. Wiping away stray tears and licking them off his fingers. Feeding her his tongue. 

It’s a shame no one else will ever be able to see his pretty girl this way, eyes glossy and mouth hung loose, her perfect pussy stretched open on a big cock. But he’d kill anyone other than the man bruising his hips for seeing her like this. Even the thought makes violence fester in his belly. Images flash across his mind: gouging out their eyes with his thumbs, tearing their throats out with his teeth. 

Her teeth clack together with each thrust, jolting him back into the real world. 

“J-Johnny—” she gasps, on the verge of hyperventilating. 

“Shh—yer a’right,” he shushes her, dragging a hand down her face. 

He can feel it in his loins, balls tightening. Stomach clenching. He needs her there with him though, dangling over the edge of release. A thumb on her clit has her in near hysterics, on the verge of hyperventilating. Chest arched, beaded nipples hoisted high enough for Johnny to dip his head and suck them into his mouth, one after the other. Then chewed and licked and bitten for his pleasure.

“Nono, it’s too—hng, shit, ohohoh—h-hard, Johnny—”

He runs his tongue up the crevice between her tits, sucking on the delicate patch of skin at the base of her throat. 

“Squeezin’ me sooo fuckin’ tight, hen—shitshitshit. Ye gonna come?” Johnny asks, pinching the little bud between her legs until she squeals and clenches around him. His words are slurred, whole body on fire. 

“No—no—I’m not—”

“Don’ hold it back—c’mon, gimme it.” His lips split open, feral, a snarl revving deep in his throat, teeth bare like an animal. “I wan’ it, I wan’ it, I wan’ it—”

When Ghost’s fingers loosen around his cock, Johnny comes harder than he ever has in his life. It knocks the wind out of him. Submerges him in dark water, choking him. Electric pulses up his spine and down to even the backs of his knees, his whole body electrified. 

And his pretty girl takes every hot rope of come spurting out of him. Lets him come deep in her slick hole. Legs spread wide for him, hips gyrating. Fuck, take it, hen, jus’ lemme—tha’s it, what a good fuckin’ girl. 

Johnny barely registers collapsing on her. He does register Ghost pulling out of him, his hole clenching around nothing. In another life, he might be grateful for the reprieve, but in this one he groans, mourning the absence. 

“Simon?” he mumbles into the bird’s tits, his words almost smothered.

A hand cards through his hair. “Down, boy. Need to clean up.”

Ghost leaves them there, tangled in the sheets, Johnny’s hips still flexing in half-hearted thrusts, chasing the last of his orgasm. Only when his cock is too sensitive to keep in her does Johnny pull out, flopping onto the bed beside her. 

Johnny hears Ghost turn the tap, water running into the sink. The going-ons in the bathroom are beyond his purview though, too fucked out to pay attention. His body throbs with a deep ache. Tomorrow he’ll be sorer than sore, no use to anyone. 

When he hears the water turn off, his eyes crack open, flicking over to the man walking out of the bathroom, his bare cock swaying between his legs.

His cock is an ugly, brutish thing. Thick at the base with prominent veins running up the underside. Johnny’s mouth waters. Part of him can’t quite believe he took a cock of that size, his first ever. His first. The longer he stares, the deeper that thought penetrates. That dick took the only virginity he had left. The big, angry thing dangling between Ghost’s legs, flushed red and uncircumcised, the skin around the head pulled back. 

Ghost comes over to the bed only to grab their girl by the ankle, tugging her towards the edge of the bed. 

“S-Simon?” she stutters, eyes wide and concerned. Ghost ignores her panic, climbing over her prone form. 

“What’re ye doin’?” Johnny mumbles, twisting over onto his side. 

“Had your fun,” he grunts, spreading her legs wide enough to accommodate him, unmindful of the way she gasps and tries to squirm away. “Now’s my turn.”

“Oh god—” she whimpers, already shaking, a nervous sweat building over her brow. 

Ghost heaves her legs over his shoulders, nearly folding her in half, before driving into her with the single-minded intensity of a rutting bull. Their poor girl hangs on for dear life, hands clenched in the pillowcase. The tattooed arm braced beside her head bulges with every thrust, the muscles bunching with the effort to hold himself up. 

He’d feel worse for her if he had any energy left in his bones. 

“Fuckin’ ‘er like a stallion, Lt,” Johnny murmurs, lips forming a loose smirk. Teasing now that he’s not on the receiving end. 

Ghost ignores him, too intent on chasing his own release. 

It doesn’t take long for Ghost to come, pounding her sore cunt with deep, powerful strokes until a groan rumbles out of him. The base of his cock is frothy with their mixed release, Johnny’s come slicking his way. Johnny can’t see much from his vantage point on the bed—can’t see the way Ghost’s ass flexes with every thrust or the way his balls tighten up right before emptying out into her waiting cunt—but he recognizes the telltale signs: the deep plunges, the loss of rhythm, Ghost’s flared nostrils and pinched brow. 

The bird pants under him, on the verge of hyperventilating. She doesn’t so much as twitch when he pulls himself off her, legs akimbo. Ghost’s softening cock rests against his thigh still drenched in her juices. Distantly, like a thought cast off into orbit, Johnny wonders what Ghost’s cock would taste like if he were to slide it down his throat now. 

His heart goes firehot when Ghost rearranges the two of them so that he sits against the wall with the bird between his legs, her knees hooked over his, drenched pussy open for his gaze. Ardour moves through his sluggishly, energy renewed. Reinvigorated. Ley lines crossed through him, trenches scored through the muscle and meat.

Ghost hooks an arm across her chest to hold her in place, anticipating her instinctive attempt to squirm away. Her blown out pupils speak for themselves. 

“What’re you still doing over there?” Ghost grumbles, spreading her folds wide with two fingers. “Get over here and clean her up.”

Like a dog on a leash, he goes, a thick finger tugging him by the collar.

[mysticheathenn]

Reassuring Messages From The Universe

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is all about messages reassuring you that everything is going to be okay. I felt called to do this reading, hopefully, this reading gives you some sort of solace, peace, and hope.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help. Tarot should be used as entertainment and not a for sure answer to your problems but as a guide, a sense of hope, and amusement.

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

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Pile l:

What are your reassuring messages? Tarot: The Chariot, 6 of Swords (Clarified by 2 of Swords, reversed), 4 of Pentacles (Clarified by 4 of Pentacles), The High Priestess, King of Wands.

Some of you may be dealing with depression, anxiety, or in general, your mental space has not been in the greatest of shape lately. Something is going to give you your spark back to help you trust and lead you on your way towards victory. You've been in your shell long enough holding onto the reality around you. For some of you, this is by choice but for the majority of you, this is because of your circumstances. You could be dealing with financial struggles or whatnot, either way, I see you finally walking down the path of where you want to go with no fear as to what will or can happen because you are trusting more in the universe (God, Allah, etc) that everything will work out. You're walking away from what could be a job, relationship, friends/family, or even just no longer letting your mental health and mindset get the best of you anymore and finally deciding enough is enough. If not you the universe will show you that enough is enough, this doesn't feel like a thrust into your new direction like a tower moment but more so of a gentle hand. Similar to how an animal is scared or nervous in their new home and you are gently letting them feel the lay of the land and giving them pets here and there of encouragement that everything is fine and that they are safe. This next chapter feels like safety, reassurance, and guidance from the divine. You may still be scared and may sometimes even revert back to what you know best but it will be more so of a quick mindset switch before you continue on this new path. I'm hearing where you are is no longer serving. Trust that you are being led to victory and not another lesson, financial bankrupt, etc. Lead with passion, lead by your passions, and live your life passionately. Be Bold and stop shrinking.

Extra Messages: Tea Trea Oracle: Strong emotion passionate love or hate. November. A period of ill health/Depression. Do not lower your standards. The key to the outcome of your problems. Involvement with the law (contracts or winning a legal battle). Obstacles you will overcome. Happiness.

Pile ll:

What are your reassuring messages? Tarot: 9 of Wands, Strength (reverse), 10 of Wands (reversed), 10 of Cups, 9 of Pentacles.

Weirdly "Hit Me Baby One More Time" came to mind but not in the sense of what the song is about but more so that you are constantly being knocked down by life's challenges and most of you aren't sure if you can get up again. "Knock me down 9 times but I get up 10" - Cardi B (Get Up 10). Your strength is weary but something in you still has that hope and faith that something better is coming and you are right. With the 9 of pentacles and 10 of cups card something better is coming. Because everyone's desires and goals are different whatever this is that you have been dreaming, manifesting, praying, or just working your ass off for is finally coming into fruition. You just need to not give up before the finish line, you're almost there. "I'm almost there" - Tianna, Princess and the Frog movie. Your story might be similar to Tiana's or you may have a deep admiration for her for how she worked hard and finally got her dream of owning a restaurant. Tiana is you, you are Tiana in this reading. She went through some tough times and even thought about giving up a time or two but something in her just like yourself is holding on to that thread of hope that everything will pay off, you just need a sign. This is that sign. Keep hanging on, hold on to your guides/Universe/Ancestors/etc hand during this process when you feel you need that extra push to keep going. I am hearing some of you a fast may help give you more clarity or bring this to fruition faster. Some of you may have been thinking about fasting. Fasting can be anything. It can be not eating from 8am to 8pm, not eating breakfast and lunch, sustaining from social media or sex, etc etc. Whatever it is fast may give you the clarity and strength you need. Fasting is only for some of you

Extra Messages: Tea Tree Oracle: October. January. Good Fortune. Protected from negative forces beyond your control. A sincere wish will be granted. Period of frustration, lessons to be learned. The most difficult part is over. Major challenges to overcome. Something important, such as a new job or raise.

Pile lll:

What are your reassuring messages? Tarot: 10 of Cups, 5 of Wands, 7 of Swords (reversed), The Hermit, 4 of Cups, 9 of Pentacles.

There are two different messages for this pile. For some of you, you are dealing with someone in your life that is causing you a great deal of emotional and mental turmoil. You may even daily try to pray and wish this person away because you don't have the strength to do it yourself, while others of you are in hermit mode because you are tired of receiving people in your life that does nothing but make you hate people, wish you never met them, or just not want to connect with others in general. Either way, the main gist of it all is people are stressing you out and have not been treating you well forcing you to rethink everything in life. Some of you might even question your existence as if you are here to be a punching bag for those who have not healed their inner wounds. For those still dealing with toxic people I am seeing you going into a period of isolation. Your prayers, manifestions, cord cutting rituals are being answered. I'm hearing be careful what you wish for. So for some of you, this isolation is exactly what the doctor ordered while some of you will like it in the beginning but slowly realize exactly what this period of isolation may mean. You may be the type that doesn't do well alone or not always surrounded by people and this isolation it will teach you not only how to see your self-worth and what truly matters in your life (what you want and not allow people to treat you). Others who are in a period of isolation already may have been working on something if not you will receive an idea something that will bring you the emotional and financial fulfillment that you have been desiring for a while. Either way, at the end of both periods of isolation blessings, emotional, and financial blessings are to be found. Take this period of self-reflection as a blessing and utilize it to the best of your abilities to explore yourself. I get a sense that you don't know yourself pile lll. Some of you may have an idea of who you are, what you stand for, and your morals/integrity.....but do you really know yourself..the real you and not the one you put on as a facade. Do not be afraid of what is to come. Do not be afraid of peace and quiet. Embrace the silence. Embrace the change and shift in the current.

Extra Messages: Tea Tree Oracle: Honor and respect will come to you. Changes in your life. Sorrow over a loss. Financial Pinch. Happiness. Peace and Harmony. Deep personal strength and peace that assures success (period of isolation).

Pile lV:

What are your reassuring messages? Tarot: 9 of Cups, Awakening, The Hermit, Queen of Wands (reversed), King of Wands

Similar to pile lll, but different. Instead of this being about others causing yourself turmoil this is mostly about you not feeling confident in yourself or your abilities to do anything right especially regarding goals, talents, etc. For some of you, this idea was implanted by someone you once looked up to but for most of you, this has more to do with either perfectionism or just comparing yourself to someone else. You aren't realizing that the reason the grass is greener on the other side is because that person too had to put in the work to make it in such a state. They didn't just wake up with green grass but they nurtured it, fed it nutrients, and kept unwanted and negative pests or harmful animals away from it. You need to do the same for yourself as well. You are the grass that needs to be nurtured, loved, and spoken to with such kindness. Anything else that does not give you the feeling of growth, happiness, and peace has no room in your life pile lV. As mentioned before, in pile lll you may either be in isolation or in need of isolation to help clear your mind. Either way in this isolation, you will be finding yourself again. Some of you may even look up things on Tumblr, Pinterest, etc on how to be "That girl/boy/person", Cottage Core, or whatever aesthetic or vibe that you have been wanting to do either way you want to become more tapped into who you are without caring what others may think. You are stepping into your power and becoming happy with life and possibly even trying to romanticize your life more. Some of you may even want to start a YouTube channel to help romanticize your life with edits and so forth. Weirdly I am feeling the vibe of slow-living content (only a few of you.) If not slow living waking up at 5 or 6am in the morning type of routine. Either way, this message is to reassure you that you are and will be coming back to yourself. It may take some time, trial, and error but when you listen to only yourself and not others, you will flourish beyond belief. Take this time to document your journey so you can see your growth as to when you become the person you are meant to be. Being yourself is the key to your financial abundance. That's all I hear. I don't know what they may mean for you either way being and finding yourself is the key. This could be like I mentioned YouTube, this could be giving into your desires to knit or crochet weird things or even making figurines and selling them on Etsy...whatever the thing is, being authentic is the key.

Extra Messages: Tea Tree Oracle: Someone or something is trying to come between you and something you want. Recognition, Reward for merit. Chain of events that will affect your life. Career. March. News of a birth or new business opportunity. Happiness. Money will be coming to you. A goal-oriented person.

Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.

Stay safe and be blessed

Next Reading: Patreon Related

[rosieofcorona]

Fellchaser

Hi my sweets, I bring to you some freshly baked Solavellan yearning. Also posted on Ao3, if you prefer. As always, thank you for reading. 💕

This is how he remembers it, the first night Solas knew that he loved her. 

He cannot say with any certainty, after all these lonely years, what had happened directly before or directly after, cannot make out the finer details in the grand tapestry of things. But he knows by heart the shape of that hour, the way she had come to him after a victory, flushed with wine and the chill of the evening, her hair curling up in the damp autumn air.

*****

He declines, as he always does, their invitations for a celebratory drink, preferring the relative quiet and solitude of his own quarters.

For many hours, he can hear them– Bull and Sera and the rest– their cheerful noises bouncing off the castle walls like skipping stones. It annoys him for a time, disturbs his solitude, his study, until he hears (or thinks he hears) her voice among them. 

Solas can picture her then, in the tavern. Bright mind, bright eyes, bright laughter. Vibrant even in the dimness of the room. And there’s a flicker of a thought he can’t keep smothered– that he should’ve gone down there with her, despite his judgment. 

It makes no matter how he tries to keep his distance. She seeks him out, as she always does, as he knows she will. When he doesn’t stop her, he tells himself that it’s because she’s their Inquisitor. He tells himself she can go where she likes, that duty alone compels his counsel. 

He knows a lie when he hears one. 

He’s nearly talked himself into making an appearance when she shows up in his doorway, hazy and loose with the aura of drink, the tips of her ears and her cheeks turned rosy. 

He does nothing to discourage her entering. He says nothing to send her away. 

“Hello,” she says simply, when he sees her. Her head tilts against the frame, her gaze fond and unfocused.

“Hello.”

“You never joined us.” An accusation. Lightly leveled, lightly slurred. The syllables tumble in her mouth like stones in a river.

He wants to say, I could not bear you being so close and sweet and real. He wants to say, You are a distraction I cannot afford.  Instead he says, “I was preoccupied,” knowing that answer is insufficient.

She makes her way into the chamber, weaving an unsteady path to the table where he has laid out all his books, his quills, his ink. 

“With what?” she murmurs, curious even in her state.

Solas knows he should excuse himself, conjure a reason to stay at a distance. But he finds himself wanting to– what? Talk to her, tell her, keep her close?

“Translating a record,” he says at last. “Of ancient practices in Arlathan. Ritual offerings to the gods in exchange for their…favor.”

Solas stumbles on the last word, something bitter in its taste, and where she would normally probe him further she takes no notice. She’s busy poring over the largest book, its contents all in Elvhen, the ink and vellum faded by the centuries. “I can’t make out any of this,” she frowns. “Perhaps I’m worse off than I thought.” “Perhaps,” Solas huffs out a laugh. “Although the language has shifted with time. Some words may yet be familiar, if not–”

“Oh, here!” She gasps delightedly when she finds a phrase she knows, though she says the syllables slowly, as if they are new. “Sa-lath. One’s love, one’s only love. Something like that.” 

“In the modern parlance, yes. But here,” he says– and he leans over her to tap the page for emphasis– “Here it means something like ‘beloved.’ The words come together, see. Salath.”

It’s the wine he smells first, that rich, warm scent that floats from her up close, but there’s something different, something distinctive hiding beneath. He wants to taste it and find out, to slip his tongue into her mouth, and– 

“They would offer something beloved, then?”

Solas clears his throat.

“Or someone,” he nods, breathing deeply. “A high price for favor.”

She goes quiet for a moment, tracing the small shapes of the letters with her finger. Such a fine movement is made imprecise by the drink, but she repeats it as if she is carving it into her memory. “Salath,” she whispers, tasting the word. “Salath, ‘beloved.’ I will remember that.”

He very much doubts that she will, come morning. But it stirs something inside him all the same. Beloved, beloved.  

“What would you demand?” She says, sweeping the thought from his mind. “If you were a god.”

If, he thinks, that one word louder than all the rest. 

“I suppose it would depend what was being asked of me.”

“Your favor,” she tells him. “Your love.”

“Ah.” There’s a twist in his chest, like an arrow wrenched free, pain and relief all at once. “The heart of a god is not easily won. I would require yours in return.”

She laughs a little, as if he’s jesting. “That hardly seems equal. A mortal heart for a god’s?”

“Your heart,” Solas says, in a gentle correction. “For mine.” He does not kiss her, like he wants to. He does not stop her kissing him. 

The press of her mouth is a summer fruit, warm and sweet and bruising lightly beneath their wanting, their mutual hunger grown apparent. 

Only once has he kissed her before this. A dream, an impulse, he’d told himself then. A mistake that he wouldn’t repeat, no matter how tempting. 

So he’s grateful, now, that she’s been drinking, that she’s given him an out. He can call this her impulse, even as he takes more, tastes more. He can call this next part chivalry. He knows a lie when he hears one. 

“We can’t,” he says, when they come apart. “You are not yourself, and the hour is late. You should get some sleep.”

She’s disappointed, he thinks– and is it cruel to hope she is? To hope she still wants him as he wants her, even as he turns her away? 

Best not to dwell on it.  

“I will help you upstairs,” he tries again, and she brightens a little. “Can you manage the walk?”

There’s a part of him that wishes she’ll say no, give him an excuse to lift and carry her to her quarters, to feel the weight of her pressed against him. But she says, “Yes,” and, “I’m not so far gone,” and Solas breathes out another laugh. 

He knows a lie when he hears one.

All the same, he takes her hand in his, lets her lean on him as they make the long walk to her quarters, each step its own little feat. She stumbles more than once; more than once, he catches her gently. 

It is worth being gentle for her. 

In her room he removes her boots, knelt at the floor as if an altar. He hardly knows the last time he knelt, only knows that now he wants to.

When he rises she says, “Thank you,” and the following word may be his name, or another entirely. Solas tries to ignore it, tries to let the sound be lost in the lingering silence but he needs to know, as he always does, needs to be certain. “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘thank you,’” she hums, laying back on the bed, and this time he leans in close to hear the rest. 

“Salath.” *****

The walk back to his quarters is longer, somehow. 

He thinks of her all the way, her hair in a dark spill across the pillows, the way she rolled the old sounds of his language around in her mouth. He thinks of her when he undresses, when he slips into his own bed, when he indulges in the fantasy of feeling her under and around him. Just this once, he thinks, as his hand begins to move beneath the covers, slow at first and then more desperate. Just this once won’t hurt, won’t hurt, won’t– 

Ah.  

He is in love, he knows it now, as he shudders and gasps out her name. How tragic it is, and how lovely. How foolish, how sweet. His love for her could level cities. It could grow flowers.

A mortal heart for a god’s. Beloved, beloved. 

He imagines what he would sacrifice for her, if he has to, when he has to. The answer surfaces in his mind like something dredged up from unfathomable depths, some unknown factor which demands to be accounted for, and which fills him with dread.

“I would give everything,” he says aloud, to himself, to no one. 

The words hang in the air like ghosts, the same lament in all their mouths.  Beloved, beloved. Tags by request (thank you, angels!): @meg-does-art, @lavellanart

[artytaeh]

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

THEODORE NOTT— a popular slytherin, an introvert at heart, despite his reputation as a womanizer. theodore nott, who has a big, terrible communication problem.

with the pure terror of displaying his vulnerable emotions, theodore smokes cigarettes to force his emotions to disappear with the wind; bites his inner lip and cheek until his mouth bleeds, so no tears threaten to make way to his eyes.

when theodore nott cries, he stares blankly into the wall. he doesn't sob— sobbing would make him even weaker, more vulnerable, less capable and definitely useless, in his father's eyes.

silent tears are the epitome of theodore's sadness, because other than that, his sadness, stress and troubled thoughts are never known. hidden by a mask of stoic expressions.

theodore nott is 'stupid' smart. if he wasn't a slytherin at heart and soul, then he'd be a ravenclaw, or at least that's what the professors comment amongst them. theo enjoys reading, and would easily spend his afternoon on a silent, vacant corner of the castle, devouring a book in few hours.

he lies, saying that it's simply because knowledge is a good weapon. he'd be saying the truth, if theodore confesses that he reads this much, because whether be it fiction or not, he can escape his thoughts to fully concentrate on the book's contents.

theodore nott is knowledgeable, theodore nott is a good, straight-A's student. theodore nott is quick-witted; you wouldn't want to banter with him, because usually, he gets the last word with a victorious, cheeky smile— an insufferable cocky grin.

and yet, shamefully, theodore nott has no idea how to verbalize his feelings.

every good liar is like this, he'd argue. in exchange of spilling the most atrocious lies with a straight face and nonchalant tone, theodore finds it awfully hard to tell the truth.

ask him what's wrong— you can do that, sure. now, if theodore will answer you, that's another story. and to give you a genuine answer, if he doesn't snap? then an angel must have fallen down its altar.

then, if he can't verbalize or trust anyone, not even mattheo riddle or lorenzo berkshire on a good day— what does theodore nott do, to deal with his full mind and empty heart?

theodore nott destroys.

he destroys other living beings,

being the first one to join mattheo riddle, with a smile on his face, when his best friend snaps at the smallest hint of disrespect. throwing a (not really) deserved punch at a guy that honestly, if you ask him afterwards, theodore has no idea what he done wrong.

when lorenzo scolds mattheo for starting a fight and reprimands theodore for indulging it, the slytherin simply shrugs. he's "looking out for his bro", he says. that's only partially true, as much as he deeply cares for mattheo.

everytime that he starts fights, like a rabid dog. theodore doesn't really know when he stopped being il dolce ragazzo of his madre. when he became a dog that bites without thinking about barking first. "so much for claiming to be the logical one," — lorenzo muses.

... he destroys himself.

which would explain the concerning amount of muggle, wizarding, flavored, all shaped packs of cigarettes he owns. there isn't a brand that he didn't try, at least once— the more harmful, the better.

smoking until his lungs become as black as his heart, as his dark thoughts. smoking, until he drops dead with his worries. smoking, until theodore nott becomes a better man (something that he doubts he could do, for he was born a broken man— born from a couple that should have never crossed paths with each other).

consequently, damaging his hands. skin that becomes calloused and slightly scarred from the cigarettes. knuckles constantly bruised from throwing punches at gryffindors or smartass ravenclaws.

so, theodore nott starts believing that he's unlovable. that loving him— oh, that would be torture. pure masochism, that he wouldn't wish to anyone, not even the witch he dislikes or rolls his eyes at the most.

and that becomes a creeping fear of his. oh, theodore is terrified, when the thought of becoming like his father plagues his mind.

to think that he'd become such a disgusting man, the man who brought so much pain to his mother, that killed the only person who truly loved him.

what would his mother say, if she saw him like this?

would she be disappointed, would she be ashamed to even spare a look at him? would her beautiful porcelain face become a frown, would she walk away, disgusted?

theodore consumes three more cigarettes on that thought alone.

... or would she give him a sympathetic look, gazing at her dolce, bravo ragazzo with those tender eyes of hers? a shade of blue, that theodore was fortunate to inherit.

a sad smile makes its way to his lips. because now, even for a brief moment, theo is himself again. he's not a casanova slytherin, he's not the heir of the nott family. theodore nott is simply his mother's little boy, her teddy.

in honor of such bittersweet memories, theo drops his cigarette and doesn't smoke for at least 24 hours.

theo doesn't know how to deal with comfort. genuinely tender touches, fingertips grazing his skin so lightly—

of desperately needy, lustful touches, he knows. he knows them very well, from all those times he slept with a woman, ruined her for the next guy. from the times a slytherin girl gripped and pushed his hair, needing, begging more of his mouth on her; or when a gryffindor got so lost in pleasure that she left the mark of her nails on his back; when a hufflepuff senior clenched her fingers on his torso, hips and shoulders, screaming for more, deeper, faster; that time when he found a way to shut up a particularly insufferable ravenclaw know-it-all by fucking her mouth, and when he felt the back of her throat on him, the stubborn ravenclaw gripped, scratched, protested on his thighs.

of harsh, violent, cruel, merciless touches, everytime mr. nott decided that a disgusted, disappointed gaze wasn't enough to educate his son. when those knuckles adorned with rings curled into a fist, and theodore was beaten into discipline. all those times he started fights and consequently got hit by a punch or two, even though theodore is a good fighter, and makes sure that even if he does get hurt, the receiving end is in worse state, in need of more than one night in the infirmary wing.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

... but comforting, meant to soothe, gentle touches? oh, theo is terrified of them. rather than flinching away from a fist coming his way, theo looks like a scaredy cat when fingers come to brush his hair away from his face, with all the love and care of the world.

theo doesn't know those touches. to be fair, yes, he was acquainted with them once— but that was long, long ago, when his mother was still alive. a life ago, really, because sometimes theodore wonders if he's the same teddy he once was, under the protective but loving arms of his mother.

so at first, theo panics when you hug him, when you physically bring comfort to his broken, damaged heart.

but then?

then, after he gets a taste of how heavenly it feels to be held by someone he loves? then, theo embraces the fact that he is indeed a touch starved man. then, theo completely and shamelessly melts under your touch, relaxing in your embrace, wishing to never leave this safe haven.

( or maybe he does. a little voice on the back of his mind, menacingly suggesting that this safe haven, this loving harbor — you — might disappear into thin air by the cruel hands of his father, the same he did with his mother. )

but before his truly prodigious brain dares to overthink once again— your hands comb through his hair, brushing it back along with his worries, massaging the scalp and melting the troubled thoughts away. that's when theo closes his eyes. that's when he, finally, is in peace with himself.

and if you'd ask him; this is when and where theodore nott is the happiest. this is when theodore nott is teddy again.

౨ৎ these voices in my head screaming ♡ ͡

run now. i'm praying that they're human . . .

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

— my motivation? it's a silly little drabble, about my favorite slytherin. theodore nott deserves love, seriously.

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

[obsidian-pages777]

Pick a Card: A Love letter for an Introvert.[Pick a mythical aesthetic]

Pile 1-Fairy core, Pile 2-Water Nymph core, Pile 3- Witch core. Left->Right

Introduction

These are love letters to each one of you that picks a pile and if you happen to be an introverted soul walking on this earthly realm of existence give this reading a glance. I hope this works as a perfect- pick me up- for anytime of your day, whether you are stuck with massive amounts of boredom, back home from a tough work day or school day or even if you happen to be trying to find that quiet corner that you feel the most comfortable in, in this loud bustling world. Hope this gives you a sense of reassurance and peace.

The Music to help you today is in the link below:

Aurora- Your Blood

================================================================================================

Pile 1

Dearest Gentle Soul,

I write to you today with a heart full of admiration, for I have watched you navigate the winding paths of life with such grace and quiet determination. You have some qualities that you may not always see in yourself, but that shine brightly to those who take the time to look closely.

You have accomplished so much, my fren. The battles you’ve fought, though often silent and unseen by others, have shaped you into the remarkable person you are today. The world may not always recognize the quiet victories, but I see them in every step you take. Each obstacle you’ve overcome has been a testament to your resilience, a reminder of the power that lies within you.

Be proud, for you have come so far. You have faced challenges that others may never understand, and you’ve emerged stronger, wiser, and more compassionate and determined. Your journey is one of quiet triumphs, and though the road ahead may still hold its share of trials, remember that you are more than capable of continuing to rise above them.

With every achievement, no matter how small, you are crafting a life that is uniquely yours—a life built on the foundations of strength, courage, and self-belief. So take a moment, to bask in the glory of all you have done. Let pride fill your heart, for you have earned it a thousand times over.

With all my love,

Your Fairy Companion [wink wink]

================================================================================================

Pile 2

Beloved Introverted Heart,

Today, I find myself compelled to remind you of the extraordinary beauty that lies within you. Your soul tells a tale of someone with a soul as deep and vast as the ocean, filled with nuances and subtleties that are rare and precious.

Your uniqueness is a gift, a treasure that sets you apart in a world that often celebrates the loudest voices. It is your quiet nature, your introspection, that allows you to see the world in ways that others might miss. You notice the details, the small moments of magic that others overlook. You bring thoughtfulness, understanding, and a calm presence that is a balm to those around you.

There is a power in your stillness, a wisdom in your reflection. You are not meant to conform to the expectations of others, for you are a rare gem, one that sparkles brightest in its own light. Appreciate these qualities, for they are what make you so incredibly special.

Do not seek to change or mold yourself into something you are not. Instead, embrace the beauty of your introverted nature. It is in your quiet strength that you find your true power, in your gentle spirit that you touch the lives of others in profound ways. It is okay to retreat from this loud world from time to time. The world needs your unique light, and it shines most brilliantly when you allow yourself to simply be.

With appreciation,

Your Friend from Seas Apart

================================================================================================

Pile 3

Dearest Kindred Spirit,

I see the path you walk, and I am here to tell you that you are doing incredibly well. The cards reveal a journey that is not always easy, but one that you continue to face with unwavering dedication. You work hard, often without the recognition you deserve, yet you keep moving forward with quiet determination.

I want you to know that your efforts are not in vain. Every step you take, every task you complete, brings you closer to the life you are striving to create. It is in these small, consistent efforts that great achievements are born. You may not always see the progress, but it is there, building with each passing day.

Take heart, darling, for you are on the right path. Your hard work is a testament to your strength of character, your commitment to your goals. Even on the days when it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, know that you have the power to carry it. You are stronger than you realize, more capable than you give yourself credit for.

Do not lose faith in yourself, for the journey ahead is bright with possibility. Keep pushing forward, even when the road seems long. Your dreams are within reach, and your hard work is the key that will unlock them. Remember, you are not alone on this path—your angels walk with you, cheering you on every step of the way.

With unwavering encouragement,

Your Witchy Companion.

[thatfandomslut]

Kiss Me Forever

Regina George x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Trigger Warnings: making out, kisses in random places, a lot of fluff, a lot of love, a very brief mention of internalized homophobia

Request:

Valentine's / Followers Celebrations; Regina George w/ quote 3 and piece of chocolate number 12. Or: “I wanted it to be you, I wanted it to be you so badly.” w/ random kisses

Valentine's / Followers Celebrations Requests are closed.

There was a soft sound of laughter from the room, Regina cupping (Y/n)’s cheek, softly squeezing them into a kissy face gently. “You’re so childish,” (Y/n) teased, her voice altered from the way Regina had squished her cheeks. Regina ignored her words, releasing her lips as she kissed her deeply. (Y/n) grinned in the kiss as Regina rolled into her arms, the two tangled into each other’s arms. It was sloppy but it was comfortable as they laid in each other’s arms. As they pulled away there was a large grin on their faces as they stared at each other for a moment. “You’re so pretty,” (Y/n) stated softly. There playful moment turned into a pleasant sense of calm.

Regina’s nose scrunched delicately as she pressed a soft kiss to her lips again. “Thank you, baby,” she whispered on her girlfriend’s lips. “You’re so pretty, too.” She stated as she kissed her, deepening the kiss with a smile. (Y/n) reciprocated happily as pulled away for a moment to appreciate Regina. They had known each other since middle school, but it took until they got into the same college, and happened to be dormmates to finally do something about their mutual feelings. Now, here they were, lying together in a communal silence, appreciating the fact they finally found each other.

There was a long moment of silence before Regina’s forehead leaned against (Y/n)’s. “Why didn’t we get together sooner?” She asked softly. A couple quiet moments passed, thought taking over (Y/n)’s eyes. She took too long to consider this, in Regina’s opinion. Pulling away gently, she searched her girlfriend’s eyes. “Was it because of me? Was I mean to you? I tried my best not to be.” Regina spoke with worry filling her voice. She understood her past wasn’t as clean as it could’ve been. But she had power, and she didn’t want to lose all of that. Unfortunately, she hurt a lot of people during the process.

(Y/n) looked at Regina a bit sheepishly. “You were just a bit snappy.” She confessed, tracing some shapes on Regina’s waist. She didn’t want to upset her girlfriend. There was another long silence that resulted in (Y/n) placing a kiss on Regina’s nose as she pouted. (Y/n) would kiss all of the freckles that Regina didn’t hide this late at night if she could. Instead, for now, she settled for the tip of her nose. It seemed to provide a sense of comfort for Regina as a tiny smile began to gently tug on the corners of her pretty pink lips.

“I probably was avoiding my feelings. We grew up in a heteronormative society. I knew it was okay for others to be gay, but I didn’t know if it was okay for me to be gay. But, I wanted it to be you, I wanted it to be you so badly. I was like on love with you.” Regina said softly, and (Y/n) listened to her quiet confession. By the quiver in Regina’s lips and the watery look swimming in her beautiful blue-green eyes, (Y/n) knew Regina was close to tears. “Middle school, and even high school, me… I would be in shock and disbelief. Sometimes, I still am. I love you.”

(Y/n) smiled a bit at Regina’s words, kissing the blonde softly. There was a bitterness to the kiss as stray tears made their way down Regina’s cheeks. “I love you, too,” (Y/n) whispered before kissing away Regina’s tears. A sense of victory swelled in her chest when laughter erupted from Regina’s chest as she kissed feverishly all over her girlfriend’s cheeks. (Y/n) grinned as she pulled away triumphantly, and Regina reciprocated the grin as she kissed (Y/n). The connection of their lips didn’t end as Regina’s tongue traced a path on (Y/n)’s lower lip. This led to a slow make out session with (Y/n)’s hands holding Regina’s waist as Regina cupped her cheeks.

There moment was ruined by a knock on their door. Regina groaned softly as she rolled off her girlfriend. They had momentarily forgotten they made plans with Cady and Janis for a double date. “I’m not even ready,” Regina glanced over to (Y/n), who was just as equally not ready for this double date. “What if I sent them away?” The blonde still got up, to throw on a different shirt and brush her hair. But (Y/n) had to admit that offer sounded much better. Still, she followed Regina in getting ready to go to their double date. Just as (Y/n) was about to speak, the knocking increased. It was Janis knocking, obviously. She was always impatient.

(Y/n) laughed as Regina rolled her eyes. Janis then began yelling through their dorm door. “Hurry up,” and they could hear Cady trying to calm the firecracker that was Janis Imi’ike. This created a brief thought to (Y/n) that she could just play sick and get this out of this date. Regina seemed to be thinking the same, but in the end they knew it would be wrong to cancel. But they were having such a sweet moment filled with beautiful, random kisses. Why do they have to go now?

Before they left, despite the rushing knocks, (Y/n) pulled Regina in one more time. Pressing her lips to her girlfriend’s, the two momentarily ignored the knocking and teasing from Janis as they kissed. “When we get home, we’ll plan to never leave the bed again,” (Y/n) assured Regina, though they both knew the idea was impossible. Still, it provided Regina with a grin as she nodded at the idea of them coming home and doing what they had been doing earlier: nothing.

“Okay, that’s a deal,” Regina agreed, not having to think about it. As they exited, they were exposed to a sheepish Cady and Janis who had her arms crossed as they were waiting. Janis then went on about how long they took and Regina narrowed her eyes at her as (Y/n) took her hand to keep her from snapping at Janis. “You’re going to have to repay me later and just kiss me forever.”

[underlove-official]

What is UnderLove?

"UnderLove" is an AU created by Radicalrainbow, based on the renowned role-playing game Undertale. In the universe of UnderLove, the struggle between love and hate shapes its story. It introduces a unique twist with love-centric magic and the contrasting power of hate. Characters’ appearances are heart-themed, adorned in shades of pinks, reds, and whites, with frilly trims, fluffy details, and prominent heart motifs embracing a Valentine's/Lovecore theme. Yet, this AU can show more than just one side of the coin.

Underlove's history

History of the Underground: Long ago, humans and monsters lived separately and in disarray upon the surface. Humans were known for their ruthlessness, hostility, and HATE, which led them to push the kind and loving monsters away.

Tragedy struck one night when the king’s life was brutally taken, leading Asgore to ascend to the throne. Blinded by his own growing anger, Asgore sought to avenge his father, and the once kind and loving monsters turned hostile as war was declared against the humans.

The war raged on, with magic clashing and bodies falling. Eventually, humans emerged victorious, and with the help of a powerful mage, they sealed the monsters underground. The Underground was filled with despair and darkness, but the magic of LOVE gradually began to bloom again, restoring harmony among the monsters.

The royal family made certain that their people remained full of LOVE, fearing the resurgence of HATE that had swept the surface. Royal guards were tasked with protecting the Underground by preserving love and happiness, removing those who began to corrupt with hatred, and dealing with any humans who entered their realm.

Chara’s Arrival: After many years after banishment, their peace was interrupted when a human named Chara fell into their midst, seeking refuge from human cruelty. The Dreemurr family adopted Chara despite their initial wariness, it came to be the best decision of their lives as the two kids grew up together.

Tragically, Chara fell terminally ill from consuming red rose seeds, causing them to cough up petals and roses. Before the illness could fully silence them, Chara expressed a dying wish to see the surface sky one last time.

Asriel, their adoptive brother, absorbed Chara's soul and carried them through the barrier that separated their world from the humans. However, upon reaching the surface, they were met with misunderstanding and rage, resulting in the tragic demise of both Asriel and Chara.

The Dreemurr family, torn apart by the loss of their beloved children, decreed that any human who fell into their realm would be imprisoned in the depths of their castle dungeon.

Official Character Illustrations

FAQs [to be updated]

Question 1: What inspired "UnderLove"? Answer 1: [I've always favored the theme of Lovecore and the holiday of Valentine's Day!]

Question 2: How is "UnderLove" different? Answer 2: [UnderLove started off as a simple theme overhaul, with the characters and locations falling into its theme. Yet I wanted it to be unique, so the story follows a different path from Undertale and other AUs]

Question 3: Can I create fanart for "UnderLove"? Answer 3: [Yes! Absolutely! I'd love to see artwork done of these characters! Just make sure to tag me or use the hashtag #UnderLovefanwork so I can see it!]

Question 4: Can I draw my OC depicted in "UnderLove"? Answer 4: [Of course! I'd love to see what their designs turn out to be and how they'd interact with the cast of characters.]

Question 5: Does "UnderLove" have a wiki page? Answer 5: [Yes it does! I created it a while back and I intend to keep it as updated as possible for UnderLove]

Ask Guidelines

Respect: Be kind and respectful in your questions. Any asks that reflect HATE or are disrespectful will be ignored. No NSFW Content: Please refrain from submitting any NSFW content or questions as this blog and AU are intended for all audiences to enjoy.

Topic: Try to keep asks relevant to the blog and UnderLove in general. Any asks that are off-topic may be passed over to my main blog @radicalrainbow

Repetition: Before submitting your ask, check if it has already been answered via the hashtag on the blog #AsksofLove

No Roleplay Asks: While I love the enthusiasm for the characters and its story, this blog is not set up for roleplaying.

Patience: I try to respond to asks as quickly as possible, but response times may vary depending on the volume of questions and the progress of the story. If your ask doesn’t receive an immediate response, please be patient!

UnderLove's story

The official story of "UnderLove" will be told as a written narrative across multiple chapters. Each chapter will feature illustrated titles, and the written story will be accompanied by drawings that bring key scenes to life. These illustrations will help you better visualize the scenes that are being told. Artist Collaboration While I will be the main artist creating these illustrations, I’m excited to announce that other artists can collaborate on this project! If you’re an artist and would like to contribute: Contact Me! Reach out via my Discord handle or send an ask to the blog (please note that anonymous asks won’t be considered). We can discuss how you can get involved and the specific scenes you might illustrate.

All contributing artists will be fully credited, and I’ll link back to your social media profiles so the community can see the amazing work you’ve contributed!

Written Story chapters

Chapter 1: The Journey Begins

Chapter 2:

Chapter 3:

There's alot more to come to Underlove, so stay determined and keep an eye on this blog for the upcoming story, official artwork, fanart, and updates! Your support and love fuels this story's creation!!

In this world it's Love or be Loved!

[winningismyjob]

Embrace the journey you're on, even when the path seems uncertain or the steps feel heavy. Remember, growth doesn’t happen in comfort zones. The struggles, doubts, and detours you face are shaping you into a stronger, wiser version of yourself. Trust the process, keep moving forward, and know that every small victory, no matter how insignificant it may seem, is a step closer to your dreams. Your persistence today is the foundation of the success you'll celebrate tomorrow. Keep going, you’re doing better than you think!

[aphroditelovesu]

Hey, i'm also from brazil and i love the way you write! Taking advantage of the fact that I saw you talking about yandere apollo pjo, could you do some headcanons about what he would be like due to the differences? like, in today's world. Would he look at your phone or something?

❝ ☀️ — lady l: it's a headcanon, in a way, but also an imagine, a combo of both! I ended up geting excited and focusing more on the platonic part and I hope everything it's! I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes!

❝tw: obsessive and overprotective behavior and fluffy.

❝☀️pairing: yandere pjo!apollo x gender neutral!reader.

❝word count: 742.

Apollo is the god of poetry and will always be writing the most beautiful poems for you. All of his hymns will be dedicated to you and any pop influence he will use as inspiration to worship you. Apollo dedicates each verse to you, each word carefully thought out in the overwhelming love that the god feels, transforming pop influences into hymns of worship.

In the intervals between his divine exploits, Apollo is captured by the passion of modern melodies. Transforming pop influences into passionate songs, his lyres resonate in heavenly places, echoing the immortal feelings he has for his earthly muse.

Apollo as a divine father is smothering and protective. He doesn't give a damn about the rules that govern the gods, not when it comes to his favorite child. He will distribute gifts, presents and will help and support them in everything he can. Apollo will always make it clear that they are his greatest pride.

As you face challenges and monsters, Apollo protects you, interfering in divine destinies when necessary. The sun god becomes a constant presence, guiding and encouraging his favorite child to embrace its heroic nature. Apollo, the divine father, defies heavenly rules in the name of love for his child, doling out divine gifts and guiding them along the path to greatness.

One day, while you were facing a particularly difficult challenge, Apollo decided to intervene in a more direct way. He descended from Olympus, enveloped in golden light, and appeared at your side. His presence was warm and comforting, like the rays of the sun emanating from his divine form.

"My dear child," Apollo said with a beaming smile. "The time has come for me to join you on this journey. Together, we will face the challenges that present themselves, and I will guide you with my divine light."

Apollo watched with beaming pride as his child flourished under divine tutelage. He guided the mortal steps with the light of knowledge, shaping the favorite's destiny as a sculptor carves a masterpiece. Each of his child's deeds was a glorious echo of the pride Apollo felt, reflected in the rays of sunlight that illuminated his celestial face.

Apolo is very connected to modern technology, oddly enough. He would have a cell phone, the best and most expensive, and it would be full of photos of you. His music playlist would have all genres, an eclectic god, after all, he is also the god of music and appreciates all types, honoring his essence as the god of music.

He wouldn't touch your cell phone unless you allowed it or if he had some kind of suspicion. In this case, you can be sure that the god will search your cell phone in search of something. And he will definitely take selfies of himself to leave for you.

During moments of rest, Apollo shared divine stories and ancestral teachings with you. His words were like ethereal songs, dancing in the air and penetrating your heart. Each narrative was filled with wisdom and profound lessons, like the notes of an eternal melody.

On a starry night, after an especially epic victory over a colossal beast, Apollo gathered the gods and goddesses for a divine celebration on Olympus. Heavenly music filled the halls as everyone rejoiced in their achievements and the union between the divine and the mortal.

At the height of the party, Apollo raised his golden lyre and began to sing a song that transcended the limits of Olympus. His melodious voice resonated, telling the saga of his favorite child, full of courage, triumph and divine love. The song inspired tears of joy in the eyes of the gods and goddesses, witnessing the success of his protégé.

At the end of the performance, Apollo looked at you with pride in his eyes. "My child, you are a masterpiece that surpasses any divine song. Your heart is a melody that enchants the gods and transforms Olympus into a more radiant place. May your journey continue to shine like the stars that adorn the night sky."

Since that day, the bond between you and Apollo has only grown stronger. The god's blessings continued to guide you, while the teachings shared under the stars became a beacon of wisdom on his journey. And so, under the protection and love of Apollo, the heroic epic unfolded, marking destiny with the eternal light of the god of music and poetry.

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

Why the Alpha Timeline is the Alpha Timeline

I figured I'd make a post, since it's pretty subtle and I think it genuinely passed a lot of people by? Homestuck is made up of a lot of words, haha.

The alpha timeline is described by Doc Scratch, functionally, as "the timeline that causes LE to exist."

The path which alone has my absolute mastery is the alpha timeline, a continuum I define as that which boasts exclusive rights both to my birth and to my death, two circumstantially simultaneous events.

Aranea also gives the explanation that the alpha timeline is the one where reality is perpetuated.

AG: Reality itself is using you and many others to propagate its own existence. Strictly speaking, there is only one path to its successful propagation. 8ut it still permits you to make choices.

Caliborn also states that his quest as a Lord of Time is coming to terms with the inevitability that everything, ever, in all of time, will be because of him - that he'll be the one to shape it, including the circumstances of his own defeat.

uu: AS A LORD OF TIME. I THINK I'M GOING TO MASTER TIME. NOT WITH MY BRAIN. WHICH WOULD BE TOO HARD. BUT WITH MY INSTINCTS. uu: LIKE IN A WAY THAT WORKS WITH MY NATURAL IMPULSES. SUCH AS MY AMBITION. MY WILL TO COMMIT MAYHEM. MY DESIRE TO PUNISH THOSE I DESPISE. uu: SO IF I WANT YOU TO BECOME STRONG. SO YOU CAN CHALLENGE ME LATER. AND I SEE EVIDENCE. THAT YOU PROBABLY BECOME SUCCESSFUL. uu: I THINK TO MYSELF. WHY SHOULDN'T I BE THE ONE TO MAKE THAT HAPPEN? IF IT'S GOING TO ANYWAY. uu: I THINK PART OF MY PERSONAL QUEST. IS TO BECOME AT EASE WITH THE FORCES OF INEVITABILITY. uu: INEVITABILITY THAT ALL THINGS SHOULD AND WILL FALL IN MY FAVOR. THAT ALL CAUSALITY ANSWERS TO ME. AND THAT ALL OUTCOMES NOT ONLY SERVE ME. BUT CONSIST OF MY BEING. uu: SO I FEEL THAT. THE MORE I GROW IN POWER. uu: THE MORE STUFF IT SHOULD TURN OUT I AM RESPONSIBLE FOR. uu: UP TO AND INCLUDING. EVERYTHING THAT EVER HAPPENS. uu: EVEN IF IT HAS TO BE. uu: RETROACTIVELY.

Aradia's stint as stewardess of the afterlife is explicitly described as "service to the lord of double death," and Dave explains that he acts instinctively - like Caliborn does - to fulfill the conditions of the alpha timeline. It's also worth noting that their classes, Maid and Knight, are roles that directly serve a Lord in the real world.

TEREZI: LUCK1LY YOU M4K3 4N 4DOR4BL3 H4NDM41D TO TH3 M4ST3R OF D34TH, 3SP3C14LLY 1N YOUR CUT3 CH3RRY P1X13 3NS3MBL3 ARADIA: you think so?

GG: well youre from the future right? GG: dont you know already if itll work? TG: yeah more or less TG: i never really studied how it went down all that closely TG: i just figured when the time came to sort it out the right thing to do would be obvious TG: like it is now TG: managing the loops is a balance of careful planning and just rolling with your in the moment decisions TG: and trusting they were the ones you were always supposed to make TG: by now im pretty used to having my intuition woven into the fabric of the alpha timeline

I'm starting with all that so I can explain that the GAME OVER timeline doesn't end when the time players disappear from it, like doomed timeline offshoots normally do, because it IS the alpha timeline: the sequence of events that causes GAME OVER to occur is the sequence of events that Caliborn/Lord English have chosen: one where (nearly) everyone dies, all hope of victory is lost, and his servant, the Condesce, gets to claim the Ultimate Reward, perpetuating the same misery and oppression in the new universe, and presumably all universes to come.

We see from Caliborn's chess match with Calliope that his (and by extension, LE)'s modus operandi is to follow the rules to the letter, while manipulating his opponent, tricking them with "shitty twists". It's always been explained that LE's actions have been "sanctioned by paradox space," that is, everything he's doing is explicitly allowed, nothing he's doing is against the rules - including the fact that he must be defeated. He has, via his mastery of time, perfectly engineered a situation where the only viable reality is the one where yes, he IS defeated... in the dream bubbles, by the dead and doomed, whom he sent to the dream bubbles in the first place via Condy, Jack English, and all the other boss fights. And his will, his ideals, are imposed on the new universe in spite of his defeat.

In a completely Watsonian read of the text, Lord English is an incredible villain because - subtly and unsublty - he IS basically responsible for every bad thing that ever happens, ever, to everyone. He has legitimately been the puppetmaster pulling the strings the entire time, pretty much all because Caliborn is a huge asshole who loves to hurt other people, and wants to do it as much as he can, to as many people as he can, for as long as he can.

But I think he's especially interesting through a Doylist perspective, through a reading of the text as a coming of age. Homestuck is a worth riddled with theme and symbolism, and thematically, Lord English represents everything that these kids need to overcome in order to mature into kind, empathetic adults who will be one day responsible for the care and oversight of a new universe. He represents selfishness, sadism, greed, destruction, oppression, fascism, murder, genocide, and hatred. And also literally the patriarchy.

And, you know what? Don't take my word for it. Here's Andrew Hussie's commentary from Book 6 Act 5 Act 2 Part 2:

Much of the logic [for who contributes to Lord English] orbits around these negative traits associated with men, or more specifically, the “toxically masculine” aspects often linked to certain male personalities. Dirk has a lot of these traits, which are central to Dave’s feelings of tension and abuse concerning his bro. The intellectual aggression, the power of assertion, the knowitall-ism, the mansplaining. That’s a lot of Dirk stuff when he’s at his worst. Equius shares a lot of those traits too, with some different points of emphasis. Both of them have this creepy-guy streak running through them, with strange or offputting interests, and seem to get a quiet kick out of making others uncomfortable through demonstrations of these fascinations. They are actually pretty similar characters in this way.

He's invited into the trolls' universe (and, by extension, the kids' universe) via the Dancestors, in an original sin kind of way. I'll let Hussie explain on their Formspring (emphasis mine):

We learn more about the troll race, as a once peaceful species and such before kid-ancestors as players scratched their session, though the short term relevance of this is mainly as a preamble to Scratch's religious story. Establishing an Eden-like paradise from which there is some departure through sin is sort of the boilerplate basis for religious lore. ... The failed players from peaceful Alternia made a classic "deal with the devil" move by causing the scratch after being given a choice by the mother of all monsters. (Echidna. Hey, she's a big snake!) By doing so they brought Scratch into their universe, and therefore all the things you'd expect that comes with summoning the devil.

The Dancestor's "departure through sin"? It was the fact that they couldn't get their shit together and grew up inside the Medium. That's why they're the age they are, 9 sweeps - adulthood by troll standards. They aren't kids anymore because that's the ultimate sign of having failed to do a coming of age. Symbolically, the Dancestors represent a prior generation of grown-ups that fucked everything up, leaving a huge mess for their descendents to clean up after. In fact, Doc Scratch even describes the alternate choice Echidna gave them:

The heroes could either accept their defeat along with the extinction of their race, and put no others at risk.

In other words, they could have stopped LE if they'd simply chosen not to Scratch. But once more, in line with their behavior up until that point, they chose the selfish option, and bore descendants into the world they ruined. They're immature, nasty, mean-spirited, cruel, callous, and shallow on purpose, because their role in the story is antagonistic. They're aligned (even if unwittingly) with Lord English, as they're the ones who directly invited him in via their failure to grow the fuck up.

There's also a reason why SBURB/SGRUB directly tie achieving godhood and reaching the Ultimate Reward to planetary quests fundamentally designed to help children mature. God-tiering is supposed to come at the end of one's quest, as achieving it directly teleports you to the Battlefield for the final boss.

AG: I really think how successfully they mature is tied to success in the game. It challenges the players in all the ways they need to 8e challenged to grow, which is different for every individual, and veeeeeeeery different for every race. AG: I don't think we were so hot at that aspect of the game. In fact, I'm sure we were quite awful. Hell, even I wasn't that gr8 at it! I actually just kinda fell ass 8ackwards into the god tier, to 8e honest.

And there's a perfectly functional Watsonian explanation for this - in order to increase the odds that the new universe will successfully propagate new universes, it's ideal to leave it in the hands of kind, mature people. But the Doylist explanation is, again, even more interesting.

Hussie has spoken extensively about the comic having always been about two things at its core: first, a creation myth... and second, a coming-of-age. These are complimentary themes, as Homestuck also makes statements about society and its effects on kids. In the real world, the kids of today become the voters, revolutionaries, and lawmakers of tomorrow. In Homestuck, they create, and are responsible for, a new universe.

I always saw HS as an exploration of young people developing relationships over the internet […] There’s a lot more to HS than just that obviously, but if there’s anything which it’s been about through and through, it’s modern kids relating to each other from afar, developing as people and growing up.

In fact, all the initial kids' entry artifacts are metaphors for "departures, loss of innocence, and sometimes the journey from childhood to adulthood outright." John biting an apple, symbolizing the act that cast Adam and Even from Eden. Rose breaking a bottle, the act of christening a boat, and an item integral to the main means by which she relates to her mother, alcohol - an adult substance. Dave hatching an egg, literally the act of bringing new life into the world. Jade shooting an effigy of her dog, both symbolic of Old Yeller, and of breaking a pinata, an act often done at quinceneras.

There comes a point in childhood where the child stops being a child - the safe, familiar, comfortable world that they knew stops existing, and they can never get it back. They are thrust into a world that is alien and massive, and forced to grapple with the weight of their future duties. They deal with losing their guardians and finding direction in their absence. They must decide how they want to grow up, and then are responsible for shaping the society that comes after them. In other words, SBURB/SGRUB in this metaphor represent adolescence.

Within that context, God-tiering is actually interesting because it symbolizes adulthood - a semi-permanent state that a child is supposed to reach at the end of their SBURB/SGRUB journey. And, in fact, it's treated that way - none of the characters reach god-tiering the "proper" way... and of our god-tiered characters, nearly all of them have some sort of emotional struggle with growing up too fast. Vriska with the expectations of her shitty society, Rose with her emulation of her mother, Dave with his abusive brother, and the Alpha kids with substance abuse (the jujus) and romantic drama.

Anyway, sometimes when Mario's running sideways he gets a star that makes him magic and invincible. OH. YOU MEAN HE BECOMES TRICKSTER MARIO. Yes, but less stupid. So for a while he becomes flashy and hyperactive and nothing's challenging anymore. He just starts barreling over mushrooms and leaping over pits as fast as he can, then gets to the end and jumps on the flagpole and that's it. Mario "wins". But the point is, he didn't really win. That magic star was actually devastating to his development as a human being. WHY. Because he skipped over many critical trials on his spiritual journey. Mario NEEDS to stomp on all those mushrooms. He NEEDS to bonk those bricks with his head, for the sake of his personal growth. By using the star, he is denying himself many powerful moments of catharsis.

Like... I dunno... seems pretty blatant to me!

So with Homestuck so firmly being a coming of age, and with the Dancestors - whose primary failure is that of unrelenting immaturity - being cast in an antagonistic role, doesn't that make Caliborn's position of ultimate final boss extremely fitting when we take this conversation into account?

You may be destined for bigger things, but you’re still an atrocious, stupid child. And you may have won the “game” with your sister, but that doesn’t mean it was the best thing for your development as a person. You had her dream self killed, which is not an opportunity your species typically gets. So she died prematurely, instead of allowing the conflict within you to settle itself naturally. In short, you forced your predomination to happen a little too early, and now you’re stuck. STUCK? Yes. Your personality is stuck in some sort of cantankerous prepubescent limbo. You are going to be a stunted, miserable tool forever.

He's literally a child who chose to stunt his own growth so that he could reap all the game's rewards for himself. Someone who so stubbornly desired the selfish, greedy, and immature option that he was willing to hurt himself to achieve it. Caliborn - and by extension, Lord English - is a direct symbol for the refusal to mature, to be kind, to care about other people. By including Dirk, Gamzee, and Equius at their worst, he also comes to represent misogyny, toxic masculinity, the patriarchy. He's the Condesce's master, and so by extension, he represents fascism and oppression; as Doc Scratch, he gets off on abusing girls, and so he also represents predators and abusers. And his goal is to perpetuate himself, his ideals, what he symbolically represents, down every successive generation. Much like how these cycles of abuse and oppression seek to perpetuate themselves in the real world!

And that's why the alpha timeline, the GAME OVER timeline, is the way that it is: it's one where Lord English WINS. In Lord English's version of the story, everything is fucked up forever. He might be defeated, as is the timeline's inevitability, but his politics, his bigotry, and his ideals live on.

Except.

Our Breath player gains a power that literally unsticks him from time.

Now, personally, I don't believe that the ending we got is the one that was originally intended. I don't feel the need to elaborate upon that here, but suffice to say, given how clearly and consistently these themes are set up throughout the entire rest of the comic, it just makes sense to me that the ending we got, where characters stay dead, never finish their character development, etc. etc., is a MASSIVE tonal and thematic departure, which smacks of external pressures and influences. Everything after [S] GAME OVER is soft canon to me for this reason. But there's things that survive in it that are really really interesting, so I'll mention some.

First, the pre-retcon versions of the characters still exist, as we see from (Vriska). That means that everyone who died in GAME OVER would not necessarily have stopped mattering to the plot. I firmly believe that the original ending would've seen Lord English confronted by the GAME OVER (characters), who would also have the most karmic claim to beating Lord English's face in. This would also satisfy his whole deal of playing by the rules - he knows he HAS to be defeated, he just gets to choose the circumstances of his defeat; without realizing that John's retcon powers can rewrite a timeline, he would've set up his own death to be in the bubbles, at the hands of the already-dead, while Condy claims the Ultimate Reward - thus making it so that he still wins in the end.

But Breath represents freedom, choices - and the retcon powers are something John gains mastery over after completing his personal quest, which we've established is directly tied, both literally and symbolically, into growing up and maturing. By becoming a kind, empathetic, mature adult, John is able to choose something else.

Second, that the Ultimate Self is brought up at all, which seems to me like it would mitigate the bittersweetness of the (characters) from GAME OVER staying dead - because, in my head, the original plan for the retcon was that it would bring everyone back, and therefore, all the (characters) from GAME OVER would live on through the surviving post-retcon gang, who will eventually achieve Ultimate Selfhood, as Davepetasprite^2 says they will. This would also directly mirror the words Godtier!Calliope gives to her counterpart:

CALLIOPE: bUt then... CALLIOPE: what shoUld i do? CALLIOPE: you don't need to do anything. CALLIOPE: be who you've become, and who i didn't. CALLIOPE: consume the fruits of an existence i could never understand. CALLIOPE: live.

Third, there's just so many outstanding plot threads, even for the characters that DO survive. Jake's prophesized to defeat Lord English, Dave never actually gets over his hesitance about time travel and defeating Lord English, Karkat has multiple means of bringing his dead friends back to life and doesn't say anything, Vriska and Terezi still aren't 100% reconciled, Gamzee's tragedy is never addressed, Jane, Dirk, Jake, and Roxy never really figure out their situationship, etc. etc. etc. ... to say nothing about all the plot threads left dangling for the characters that stay dead.

And finally...

Isn't that just kind of a better story? One where the kids get to grow, change, learn from their mistakes, and create a better, kinder universe, after defeating the avatars of cruelty, oppression, and immaturity?

Is it just me? Haha.

[avissapiens]

How to be a Jock Ch8: Elements

(Model ID: David Laid // https://www.instagram.com/davidlaid/)

Sharp, hardened, honed. Forged in the fires of ruthless ambition  until that jock edge is so fine you can cut through the competition like butter. Mined out of the rough ground up masses and refined into something finally valuable. Pounded and molded into the shape you know will suit you best. Melted down and recast at the smallest sign of failure or impurity. Always polished and glinting in the sunlight like a medal on a star athletes chest.

The Metallic Jock core might seem cold and unapproachable at first. But when jocks meet the clashing and crashing of those ores can glow red hot. Sparks flying as they compete to be the best. Yearning for more. Never stopping the constant battle for self-perfection. Squeezing, bending, deforming, but never breaking. Never stopping. Too powerful to ever be broken. Both a link in a chain and the chain itself capable of holding the whole world up. Rewarded with glittering treasure beyond belief. The steely gaze of your eyes claiming conquest over every resource you covet. Flaunting that ownership and superiority with your weaponized body. Those cut, abs like titanium plating. The sheen from your sweat and exertion over bronze sunkissed skin; the perfect mirror for lessers to gaze in with envy. That vice grip over what you have won and what you desire to win. Abundance and endless victory totally magnetized towards you.

Let your potential and greatness surge through you like a copper wire. Let them lust after your success like gold and silver while you remain as stainless and strong as reinforced steel. You are sharper and harder than damascened iron.  Clear the path ahead of you and become something pure and great. Authors note: I was very annoyed that tumblr doesn't have Yellow as a font colour which is my go-to for jock. So just imagine all the Blue highlights are Golden.

For Resources to help embody your Jock Journey you can check out the Jock Archetype guide for free on Patreon. Support me on Patreon, where you can find a number of high-quality Jock file exclusives. And go and follow me on Youtube for just a taste of my catalogue. Also be sure to Join me and my community on Discord where you can get instant updates for everything important in the abyss.

[kentstoji]

ㅤㅤㅤ NECTAROUS

ㅤㅤㅤ pairing. mk men x gn reader.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤsetting. mortal kombat.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤtype. headcanons (a little suggestive).

ㅤㅤㅤkissing liu kang was a divine experience, akin to discovering a new world and venturing into it, relishing every romantic ecstasy. his arms were strong and warm, carrying a distinctive fire befitting his position attained after his triumph against kronika. being enveloped by him in a loving and almost possessive embrace was like diving into liquid lava, yet the flames were harmless. (the most they could do was leave purple and reddish marks along your beautiful neck, while liu kang's experienced and bold lips traced a path, and your face took on undesired shades of scarlet.) your lips part in fervent lamentation, breathless.

ㅤㅤㅤbi-han was, by nature, a conqueror and consequently, a born leader. a dominator in various aspects, and in the romantic realm, this particularity wouldn't easily alter. honoring the element he proudly manipulated, bi-han had frigid lips, like a morning after an intense snowstorm. his hands, firm and calloused by years of battles and victories, established a rule at the base of your neck, keeping you under the grandmaster's longing, shaping you to fulfill his needs and desires. it was a selfish dance in which you never had the chance to be victorious, but teasing him to the limit was as satisfying as winning a battle. he exploded, and you loved paying the price. (kissing him was like feeding a voracious, wild creature that had no basic knowledge of emotions. the beast, however, calmed when tasting the flavor of your lips, biting them until he felt the sweet taste of your life essence flowing crimson between his lips.)

ㅤㅤㅤjohnny cage was a provocateur, and you were his favorite victim. maintaining a playful spirit, Johnny's kisses were a wet mess, lips colliding eagerly, a overwhelming need. his hands fixed themselves on your waist, squeezing and pulling you closer as he yearned to merge into one body, immortalizing the passion and love between you. it was common to find a glistening line of saliva when you finally parted. you were breathless, your chest moving frantically in search of oxygen and... something more. johnny would notice this. (of course, he would notice. he always made a point to observe the reactions when you were together.)

ㅤㅤㅤ"can you handle more, sweetheart?" he questions, his pink, swollen lips curving into a wicked smile, full of cruel promises.

ㅤㅤㅤwithin and outside a relationship, you are shang tsung's test subject, the perfect specimen at the mercy of his dark ideals. breakable and submissive, like a pet, you've become his favorite pastime, the perfect challenge. unraveling the mysteries of your body is an art for him, a game where every touch and kiss are strategies to corrupt the remaining shreds of sanity within you. he appreciates knowledge, and your genuine reactions are accompanied by translucent pearls of warm tears. tears of ecstasy, he concludes with arrogance. shang tsung is a selfish partner; (his kisses are long and suffocating, embedding themselves in you like a parasite.) the scent of his perfume will linger, intoxicating and persistent.

ㅤㅤㅤhanzo is an uncontrollable romantic, and his soul is as warm as the affections he displays in the comfort of the space he now calls home in your relationship. kissing him is an open invitation to be consumed by hungry flames, much like his emotional yearning. his hands rest on your face, fingers gliding in a long, gentle caress, savoring every reaction you show: the flushed face and trembling hands are signals for him to continue. with your consent, he does. you are led to a dark precipice with kisses planted at the base of your neck, discreetly directed towards your chest. hanzo, experienced and considerably older, knows what he's doing, aware of the buttons to press to make you dance with madness.

ㅤㅤㅤ"breathe, my love," he says, noticing your open eyes, seeking more of his touches. "the night is still young, and we are just getting started."

[dgrailwar]

Round 13, Day 5 - A Wish for the Future

It seemed like the majority of you were willing to side with the goddesses. The tensions seemed high for just a moment, before the Ancient God's anger seemed to subside briefly, an expression resembling gratitude slowly forming on her face.

' I thank you. This future… '

There wasn't a moment for the Mother of Monsters to fully indicate her own gratitude, as another voice rumbled.

' I'VE HEARD YOUR WISH… A WORLD DEVOID OF HUMANS AND MONSTERS… '

The ground rumbled.

A massive beam shot towards Echidna, aiming straight for the core of the 'Grail'.

"...!"

The Ancient God's eyes widened, her own mystic eyes flaring with immense magical energy in defense of the Mother of Monsters as her curse flared outward, meeting the sudden attack head on and the resulting clash causing the chamber to rumble. Even then, the Ancient God's attack didn't seem to be enough, as two more waves of energy spewed outward, the cascade of magical power slamming into her massive form and causing her to stumble back with an agonizing roar.

"He's awake…?"

' Typhon… that is not my Typhon… '

While it did look almost identical to the dragon that Avenger and his Masters had seen, the pulsating purple growth on its chest was new. A small shape circled around the behemoth, white wings fluttering as dark ooze began to drip from the beast. Each dark puddle formed into a creature, as the three-headed dragon let out a massive bellow, the ground shaking once more as the Servants stumbled, quickly trying to catch their balance.

' I WILL GRANT YOUR WISH. '

The voice, that seemed to rumble like thunder and quake the earth itself spoke again.

"Hrm. So, the moth carrying Pretender's curse still lives, and it has begun piloting the Father of Monsters instead. How… vexing."

"Wait, a Pretender-Typhon? Not to steal MoonCancer's thunder as the worrier, but Pretender was already an incredibly powerful dragon… hooking up a fragment of him to one of dragonkind's progenitors is both way too compatible, and way too dangerous."

"Wait… why'd he talk about the wish being 'a world without humans or monsters', rather than a 'world of humans and monsters'…? Do you think that whatever Pretender's 'infection' is, it's like… twisting wishes around?"

The Gunner shrugged, before focusing his gaze on the Ruler and the MoonCancer.

"So, seems like the dragon doesn't want our world either. Plan on joining its team, or are we putting grudges aside?"

"...At least your wish considers humanity. Even if I don't agree with the principle… I'm not going to abandon my Masters or mankind! We're fighting together! To the end!"

"As if I'd turn down the chance to fight a final boss like this! I mean, I'm still super scared, but I've got to show off my god's divine might, right?"

"Hahaha! Glad that we're in agreement, then!"

The Avenger boldly stepped forward, throwing his arm outward. His mana, flames of vengeance and disaster, flared violently around him as you felt his Spirit Origin expand and grow in might, pushing his manifestation to the absolute brink.

"Kuhahaha-- KUHAHAHAHAHAAA! Behold, the giant Typhon! Beyond mortal, beyond dragons, beyond gods! Birthed of the Earth and the Abyss, his might was not meant to be overcome by humanity, nor his own kind! However, this serves as our final trial! A world of human and monsterkind, this is the path that our Masters have chosen!"

"I am Avenger! My True Name is the Count of Monte Cristo! Let us burn our spirits to the limit, and push on to a bright future!"

One by one, you felt as your Servants began to push their own Saint Graphs to the brink. Magical energy, prana surging like rapid rivers as they prepared to throw everything they had against the massive godkiller.

"Masters, let's prepare for battle! Show me the faith in the world you want, and I will respond in kind! You have Jeanne d'Arc's banner, so let it fly in the name of victory!"

"C'est la dernière danse! One last performance before it ends! I hope you're prepared, Masters, because there's no time to get cold feet now!"

"Alright, here goes nothing… Shree Vakratunda Mahakaya Suryakoti Samaprabha… Nirvighnam Kuru Me Deva Sarva-Kaaryeshu Sarvada…!"

"Go! Kiheitai! Come forth, Proto-Arahabaki! We're sparing no expense, we're pushing with everything we've got, so let's put on a show that'll make even the gods tremble!"

The Gunner pointed his hand outward, the space on the ground being filled with a swath of armed and ready soldiers, his mana burning alongside the others as he leapt upwards, landing on the shoulder of a massive pseudo-divine machine.

"This is it… one more battle, and we'll have done it…!"

The massive form before them let out an echoing, terrifying roar.

The six remaining Servants readied their skills and weapons, preparing for the fight of their lives.

Behold, the ancient weapon that struck fear into the heart of the king of gods. A god-killer, world-shaker, he who could rip asunder the cosmos. Behold, the ancient ephemera that struck him down in the short time of its manifestation. A being that holds no desire for wishes, but only a desire to see one's hopes laid low and their hubris brought crashing down.

The Progenitor Dragon, corrupted by the Mors King's curse! Typhon-Ephemeros!

The Extra Class of Twisted Wishes, Pretender!

[tifaisms]

RWBY and Trauma

So, i want to talk a little bit about RWBY. Specifically, with regards to its thematic storytelling. I think I made a post about this a few days ago but im gonna make a longer one here.

RWBY tackles a lot of themes in its storytelling. Death, grief, fear, trust, etc. to name a few.

One of the bigger themes is "keep moving forward", which was also Monty's motto. It is exemplified through the characters, both heroes and villains, and how they handle trauma and suffering.

The villains have pretty much all suffered. Salem, Cinder, Hazel, Mercury, Emerald, Roman, Neo, even Watts, all suffered. They experienced trauma, and hardship, and it shaped them.

The big difference between them and team RWBY is that they cannot move forward. Where team RWBY learn to grow and change. Salem couldn't accept loss, and grief, and instead turned those emotions to anger, same with Hazel, Adam, Neo, they all refused to move beyond their trauma. Yang put it pretty well in V8 - all this death and destruction because something bad happened to you once upon a time?

Trauma is inevitable. But the difference between the heroes and the villains is how their trauma impacts them going forward. And not just in a "the villains react negatively and the heroes don't" because Ruby reacted poorly, as did Blake, and Weiss in the early volumes. Qrow drinks to deal with it, and Ozpin let the betrayal he experienced define him.

The difference here is that the heroes try to grow and stop making their suffering everyone else's problem. You cannot use your trauma to justify lashing out at the world and other people. I think Kratos in God of War put it quite well - "Do not be sorry. Be better." You can't hurt people because you are traumatised, because all that does is traumatise everyone else. It isn't a justification for lashing out. Salem was traumatised, and she murdered so many people, and traumatised a bunch of other people, who will only continue that cycle.

It is worth noting that some of the antagonists do grow and change and become better. Ilia, Emerald, Hazel, and Neo are the big examples. They were all hurt by the world, and they turned to anger and violence. But Ilia is convinced by Blake that it isn't what she wants, and Blake is right. So Ilia turns away from that path. Hazel and Emerald both change and grow, and whilst Hazel gets the noble sacrifice, Emerald has to make amends for hurting people by being and doing better, and trying to make a positive impact on the world. And Neo had an entire arc culminating in her seeking revenge, and getting it, and realising that it was a hollow victory that left her with nothing but directionless grief and anger. When she had nothing to pursue, she was forced to confront the fact that she was just running from her actual feelings and lashing out. In the end, she chooses to go to the tree willingly, which is essentially willingly giving in to change and growth, because that's what the tree does.

The central conflict of the show is essentially that everyone has suffered, and experienced trauma. But it is the hero's ability and desire to grow beyond it and be better, so that they stop hurting the people around them, that sets them apart from the villains, who refuse to keep moving forward and instead just let their suffering infect everyone else, perpetuating an endless cycle of violence and conflict.

[bloomzone]

HOW TO SET YOUR GOAL !

“It may take time, but I think that dreams do come true as long as you do your best.”

-Tzuyu of TWICE

Setting goals effectively involves a structured approach. Here's a simple framework to guide you:

by: byeolgirl..

1. Be Specific: Define your goals clearly and precisely. Avoid vague objectives like "get in shape" and instead specify exactly what you want to achieve, such as "lose 10 pounds in three months."

2. Prioritize: Determine which goals are most important to you based on your values, aspirations, and long-term vision. Focus your time and energy on these key objectives.

3. Break it Down: Divide large goals into smaller, more manageable tasks or milestones. This makes the process less overwhelming and allows you to track progress more effectively.

4. Set Deadlines: Assign realistic deadlines to each goal or task. Having a timeframe creates a sense of urgency and helps prevent procrastination.

5. Stay Flexible: While it's important to have a plan, be willing to adapt and adjust your goals as needed. Life is unpredictable, so staying flexible allows you to navigate challenges and seize opportunities.

6. Visualize Success: Imagine yourself achieving your goals in vivid detail. Visualization can boost motivation, increase confidence, and help clarify your path forward.

7. Track Progress: Keep track of your accomplishments and setbacks. This could involve using a journal, apps, spreadsheets, or other tools to monitor your progress over time.

8. Celebrate Milestones: Acknowledge and celebrate small victories along the way. Recognizing your progress reinforces positive habits and keeps you motivated to continue working towards your goals.

9. Stay Committed: Maintain a strong commitment to your goals, even when faced with obstacles or setbacks. Stay focused, disciplined, and resilient in pursuing what's important to you.

10. Review and Reflect: Regularly review your goals and progress. Reflect on what's working well and what needs adjustment. Use this feedback to refine your approach and stay on track towards achieving your goals.