#But Also the name of a mythical city

[eky-funciona]

Ah I think I love her.

[thatonebjp]

Some Magic cards I saw in a dream

[neechees]

Negative & racist depictions, tropes, and Stereotypes regarding Native Americans in Road to El Dorado.

Mayaincatec: The film homogenizes multiple Indigenous cultures cultures into one, specifically and mainly Maya and Nahua cultures, with the story being based on a mythical place set in Colombia.

Mighty Whitey: the basis of the film comes from the Spanish lie and myth that the Indigenous Aztec population worshipped them as gods, with the city of El Dorado doing the same with Miguel and Tulio, who use this to trick Native people to steal gold from them.

Oversexualized Native Woman: Chel’s character has overemphasis on her sex appeal and sexuality, with her character design being very revealing and exageratted on her chest, hips, and thighs. There is little to no exploration of her character outside of her sexuality and servitude towards the White characters. She does not pass the Aila Test and is a near opposite. Chel is a perfect example of how many Native female characters are sexualized

Evil Shaman: The Native religious leader Tzekel-Kan is demonized as evil & plays a heavier role as the main antagonist instead of the famed genocidal colonizer Hernan Cortez. Tzekel-Kan being enslaved by Cortez at the end is depicted as a “good ending”.

Demonized Spiritualiity: connected to the above, all scenes depicting traditional Mesoamerican spirituality/religion or practices are shown as evil, barbaric, savage, scary, and associated with the main antagonist.

White Saviors: El Dorado is saved by the main White protagonists, the idea to destroy the gates to the city is Tulio’s idea, the warriors of El Dorado are portrayed as helpless and no match for the Spanish conquistadors despite Indigenous Mexican warriors going toe to toe with them, and winning against them in various battles in real life.

Whitewashed Colonialism: Cortez, despite being one of the worst colonizers in history, serves as a minor, secondary antagonist & his evilness is only vaguely implied, and never explained why it (his actions) is bad. Cortez has the same goal as Miguel and Tulio (to steal gold from Indigenous people), but the protagonists aren’t shown as bad for doing it. Colonization is essentially excused (& is never explicitly named as harmful) as long as the colonizers are “nice” about it.

There’s likely some other stuff I’m missing but these are some of the big ones that are shown in this film, & its depictions of Indigenous Peoples are extremely harmful. I also don’t wanna see anybody trying to defend any of these with somehow implying “Well it’s not ACTUALLY racist or harmful because-” etc etc save it for a vague post and take our inability to see criticism of racism within a movie you like elsewhere.

[quartings]

I translated and analyzed the leaked Pokemon Theogony diagram!

Here's the non-spoiler version from the Sinjoh ruins Arceus event! The leaked spoiler version with specific and leaked names is below the cut!

Things to note:

1) Tex is Regigigas maybe because it sounds like "Tectonic" + "Rex"? Since it moves the continents? (Dumb joke about how the Regi family can be found below Clay's Driftveil City in B2W2)

2) Despite appearences, the notes say the pink circle is for the god of time, and the blue one is for the god of space- could be cool to see Dialga and Palkia with swapped colors! Also note that Giratina isn't in the original version, but has a circle for it awkwardly added in the final version.

3) Pseudos have their own section- weird that Latias, Latios, and Gyarados are Pseudos but Salamence isn't. They're all bunched up in a section called "Supporting Legendaries". The three gen 4 placeholders for "Dahabu", "Saan", and "Gordon" could be for Garchomp and two other lesser legendaries like Cresselia and Darkrai or something. Or since they omitted Salamence, they could also not include Garchomp and the circle could be for something like Heatran instead.

4) Note that "Supporting Legendaries" are different from the birds, beasts, and regis, which are called "Servant Legendaries".

5) Also "Smilay" (Smile>Gratitude>Shaymin) and "Birthly" (Egg/Phione>Manaphy) are my speculations on the mythicals, but no confirmation, obviously.

6) Also there's a decent chance most of this is now moot since this diagram is from 2005 and we've had over 5 generations since then.

[kiame-sama]

You discussed humanfuckers in the monster au recently and listed several characters who would be among the humanfucker ranks but I was surprised not to see Rook and Rollo on that list. I would have thought they'd be on that list as I can totally see them reading human erotica and 'appreciating' pornographic art of humans , maybe not on Trottr but perhaps published romance/erotica novels and classical style art pieces, perhaps even antique ones from when humans were still around. Also if Malleus is an honorary humanfucker for his interest in THE (his) human rather than just humans overall, wouldn't that mean most of the cast could be considered honorary humanfuckers too, if not right now then soon?

First part here:

Warnings; yandere, yandere behavior, mention of adult content, by selecting 'view more' you consent to view content and are of age to view content.

~~~~~~~~

Because Rollo and Rook are on their way into it quickly due to sparked interest, but they weren't obsessed over Humans before meeting The Human. Those listed prior were obsessed long before meeting a Human in the flesh.

Rollo, up until he actually meets The Last Human, sees it as demeaning the species as a whole to write such hedonistic trash. He wishes to emulate the Righteous Judge in any way he can and the Judge cherished Humans above everything, even his own life. Rollo sees it like someone is depicting his deities- who he devotes his life to work in the name of- as common whores. He could tell you everything on the written history of Humans and the Humans of Fleur City because he has devoted his own time to learning about Humans. He respects and honors the legacy of Humans in Twisted Wonderland.

His attitude switch towards suggestice works involving Humans is as abrupt and jarring as a flash of lightning when he finally meets the Human of Night Raven and suddenly he sees the appeal. He thought the depictions of Humans were beautiful whenever he saw them, but his more carnal interests only really hit him when he met one. Now he gets it. He will never admit to such vile thoughts, but he has far more than he would like.

Rollo is going to be in future chapters, don't worry.

~•§•~

Rook is awakening into that role and idea. He really only saw Humans from a history standpoint, an end note to file away under mythical tales and long gone creatures. Sure, Human things exist all around him, but he likes to observe beauty in the moment. Why weep over what is long lost when there are beauties to observe here and now?

The Human of Night Raven is certainly now a beauty he can behold and marvel at. He is understanding the appeal and he is becoming more interested in learning all he can about these Humans. He is frustrated there is so little agreed upon when it comes to Humans. Human remains are so contested they can't even classify Humans in any official species. The popular theory is they are closest to pigs, hence the belief Humans shouldn't eat pork often. He thinks that's stupid, where are the pig ears and tails? The Boar variants of Minotaurs were very well known.

He is just falling down the rabbit hole, don't you worry. We will get to Rook's interest soon enough.

~•§•~

Malleus is honorary compared to the others for a few reasons, first; he won't turn up his nose to such works- published works, he still is not fond of technology- but when he reads them, it is his Human he thinks of. Not all Humans or the idea of Humans. That one Human in particular that is part of his Hoard and belongs to him, that one right there. He mentally overwrites all details of the Human love interest in the piece with the details of his Human and replaces himself as the monster suitor. He often imagines his Human as a Dragon as well and the romance the two of you could share as Dragons.

Second; Humans and the truth of them are still as illusory to Malleus as the surface of the moon would be to a cow. According to Lilia, they all looked different and had varying skin tones and hair styles, even eye colors, some even had completely different instincts from others. His entire view of Humans as a whole is based on the idea that no Human is the same or even comparable.

[fairune]

My incredibly self indulgent goddess themed aura trio ginjinkas 🙏🏾 their names are Euxenia, Ker-ys, and An-Nazarene

My initial sketches and some thoughts below !

"beautiful war goddess" is kind of cheesy, but keeping her naked(!) seemed like a good way to translate some of the more interesting aspects of Yvetal's design into a humanoid form 🙏🏾 her name is both a reference to the mythical Breton city of Ys (a city that drowns after its princess becomes a little Too indulgent), and the greek Keres, mythical harpy women who drag the souls of those who die in violence to the afterlife. She's a bit inspired by Aphrodite-Areia, or "war-like Aphrodite."

Euxenia has a Minoan influence! Her design is also meant to tie with that of Ker-ys, so her forehead accessory replicates Ys' face a bit, and also they're both titties out 😭 I wanted her to have a more elaborate outfit as well, and using a Minoan dress style seemed the best way to go about it while also keeping her chest bare. The giant elf ears are because of the little "horns" on Xerneas' cheek too. Her divine inspiration was Britomartis, who is considered a "Minoan version" of Artemis.

Her name Euxenia combines the Greek Eu (good) and Xenos (strange/foreign).

An-Nazarene was actually the first I designed, so here's a preview of her 10% and 100% forms as well 😭 her name is from the Assyrian word for Nazareth, but also it's similar to an old "full name" I used for AZ (Nazhir) which I enjoy ^.^ because I am a "AZ and Zygarde have design / role similarities" truther, I wanted Zygarde to share some similarities to my design for AZ's mother too ... Lady Arissa ⬇️ (I wanted to add another image for crop but Tumblr won't let me sorry 💔)

An-Nazarene's design is also a little inspired by Longnan dragon cookie from cookie run 😭 I thought about Hera and Hestia both while designing her too... I changed her palette a little bit last second but I think the blue tones feel a bit more "mystic"

[konigbabe]

like real people do

Pairing: ID!Leon Kennedy x fem!teacher!reader | single dad AU

Word count: 5.8k

Tags/warnings: no y/n; fluff; eventual smut; p-in-v; slice of life; gendered female reader; gendered female anatomy; original kid Kennedy character

Summary: He's the sun, and you're the earth, drawn into his orbit; yet, he's your student's father. Handsome. Confident. Alluring. But off limits–at least he should be.

a/n: Inspired by @yeyinde’s ask. Also, canon ID!Leon is around 29 but Leon in this '"universe" is aged up to be in his 30s (age won't be specified but I imagine him to be in his mid-to-late 30s).

divider by @benkeibear [source]

series masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

The voice in your head keeps telling you to be professional, the thought of spending an evening with this man hard to resist; his confident, easy-going demeanor, the way he doesn’t give up easily– “So? It’s just dinner.”

The innocence of children always manages to brighten up even the darkest of days, their smiles and eagerness to learn contagious; filling your heart with positivity. It's a feeling that's hard to come by as an adult; life's challenges tend to chip away at your soul and slowly rob you of that childhood magic.

As the clock strikes five and your shift comes to an end, the school falls into an eerie silence. A lingering sense of relief washes over you when leaving the building; you've done your part in shaping young minds.

Walking out the front door, the warmth of the sun caresses your skin, its rays sliding around your bare arms like silk.

Twisting the key in the lock, your eyes catch a glimpse of slight movement from the corner of your vision. Turning your head, you see a little girl perched on the concrete steps below, her delicate features illuminated by the warm glow of the sun.

Her hair, a cascade of light brown waves, frames her chubby cheeks and the crown of her head is adorned with blonde highlights that shimmer like golden threads.

She turns to you when you address her, slowly stepping down to her level.

"What are you still doing here," you sit down, her small backpack creating a wall between your bodies.

As you sit side by side with the little girl, basking in the comforting embrace of the sunlight, she kicks her legs up; eyes up front, both of you watch the cars pass by on the street.

The Washington Spring air’s filled with the sweet scent of blooming cherry blossoms, carried on a gentle breeze that rustles through the trees. The distant sounds of children playing in a nearby park mingle with the honking of cars and the chirping of birds, creating a symphony of noise that signifies the arrival of spring in the bustling city.

"Waiting for daddy," she says with a hint of excitement in her voice.

The little girl looks up at you, her eyes full of wonder and innocence. You can't help but wonder about the mysterious Mr Kennedy and his absence; an enigma surrounding his name.

Like a forgotten toy left on the shelf, the girl's father remains absent from any involvement in her education. Despite several months passing since her admission to your class, there has been no sign of him. No parent-teacher meetings, no Father's Day celebration, nothing.

An enigma.

"Speaking of," your voice trails off for a moment, "How’s your daddy doing?" you question her. You shouldn’t; it goes beyond your job description to put a kid in situations like these. But still–

Her eyes, a vivid shade of cerulean, sparkle like sunlit water as she gazes at you; smile wide upon the mention of her father, the young kid toys with the straps on her bag.

"He’s busy."

A pang of understanding pinches your heart.

–his presence (or rather the absurd lack of it) keeps gnawing at your brain.

"He fights monsters," the girl adds after a moment of silence; her tone more serious. It's as if she's describing a mythical hero, fighting off beasts in some far-off land.

"He seems to be busy quite a lot," you smile to ease the topic; well aware that the girl, as bright as she is, surely catches on as you keep asking the same question every week, "is your mom coming to the parent–teacher meeting?"

The girl shakes her head before she speaks, "I don’t know my mom."

Oh.

You know you shouldn’t push more; well aware of the unprofessionalism you’re displaying.

"The woman who picks you up–"

"–aunt Claire," the kid corrects you, "I’m sorry for interrupting, miss teacher."

You smile, trying to put her at ease. It's clear that she's been brought up with good manners.

Lost in how to answer her, you almost don't hear the sound of a car approaching. The girl jumps up, her face alight with excitement. A low rumble reverberates through the air as a sleek black SUV glides up to the curb, its shiny exterior reflecting the warm rays of the sun.

The tinted windows obscure the view inside the car, adding an air of mystery to the vehicle. As the car comes to a stop, the quiet hum of the engine fades to a gentle purr, and the driver's door swings open.

The girl grabs her backpack at the same time a man steps out of the car; you’re able to only see the light brown hair decorating his head.

"Daddy," the girl yelps in excitement. You stand up, dusting the invisible dust from your jeans.

He stands tall, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of the crisp white shirt, tucked tightly into the blue dress pants. A single button undone on his collar, revealing the curve of his clavicles. The sun glints off his aviator sunglasses, hiding his eyes from view. He approaches the little girl with a warm smile as she runs into her father, you presume; standing still, watching the situation unfold before your eyes.

Lowering himself to her level, he extends his arms, inviting her in. She eagerly accepts, wrapping her little arms around his neck in a welcoming embrace.

"Hey there, pup," you manage to hear his voice; low and soft. Gentle. "Sorry I’m late; got held up by paperwork. Y’know the drill."

The kid chuckles before pulling away, a sound so pure and innocent it brings a smile to your face.

Standing back up, his face turns towards you. You're struck by his imposing presence, the way he commands attention without even trying. His chiseled jawline is dusted with a light stubble, giving him an air of ruggedness. He moves with confidence towards you, one hand enclosed with his daughter’s.

The girl tugs at the sleeve of his shirt, introducing you before he even reaches your standing point–to which he smiles gently.

"Well, nice to meet you," his hand extended in greeting, "I’m Leon Kennedy. Her dad," he nods towards the girl.

"Mr Kennedy," you murmur, taking his hand in yours; noting the callouses on his palm.

As your eyes travel up his arm, they catch sight of a fresh bandage peeking out from under his slightly rolled up sleeve. But it's not until you look up at his face that you see the true extent of his weariness. Small scratches mark his jaw, subtle hues of purple and yellow decorate his cheekbone like a watercolor painting.

It’s clear that he's been through a rough patch. Makes you wander back to the girl’s words–

("He fights monsters.")

–and maybe he does. In some twisted sense.

"I actually wanted to speak with you," you release his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin lingering on your fingertips., "are you free next Tuesday? Around one PM?"

"Am I in trouble," he chuckles; the stretch of his lips exposing a slight scar on his lower lip.

The girl tilts her head, eyes studying you intently. You can't help but notice the slight beauty marks across her neck, the softness of her features, the way she looks up at her father with curiosity.

"Not really; I just need to discuss some matters with you."

"Okay," he responds, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, yet he remains stoic. Posed. "Sure."

"I’ll see you then," you nod and take your leave, but not before stealing a few glances at his back as he turns away from you. It’s impossible not to notice how his broad shoulders strain against the fabric, or how his hair cascades over his forehead; tousled yet somehow perfectly in place.

The weekend flies by, the days blurring together until suddenly it's Tuesday.

Despite his daughter's reassurances from yesterday that he'll be here, the uncertainty of whether he'll actually show up still grips you tightly.

A knock on the open door disturbs your grading.

"Mr Kennedy," you remark upon his arrival. The pen falls onto the desk with a clunk; back straighten, you invite him to sit on the chair prepared for him beforehand.

He’s dressed more casual–the black, expensive looking leather jacket squeaks against the wooden chair as he sits down after a simple "Hello". The faint but distinct aroma of sharp, citrusy notes wafts from his collar; the refreshing and invigorating aroma that catches your attention before your eyes trail to the bandage on his wrist.

Clearly seeing the way your eyes subconsciously linger on the piece of medical tape, Leon puts his other hand over it, shielding your view. Silently focusing your attention back on his eyes; the same blue hues as his daughter’s.

Sitting before you, legs spread apart, the undeniable similarities between him and his daughter are glaringly apparent. The way he holds himself commands respect, his posture erect and confident.

"Mr Kennedy, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you in person."

Fingers interlocking as you lean on your elbows, his gaze following your every movement like a predator stalking its prey; almost as if he’s sizing you up. His eyes watchful.

"Okay," he responds casually, a hint of question behind the simple word.

You clear your throat before continuing. "Your daughter is a remarkable child," a small smile accompanying your words. "She's well-behaved, intelligent, and often surpasses her peers."

Leon nods, lips pressed together.

"Got that from her mother, probably," he remarks. Almost bites back. Jaw tightening.

Leaning back, your fingers drum a quick rhythm against your desk.

"But we’re not here to evaluate your daughter; but you, actually, Mr Kennedy."

Leon’s brows arch up, highlighting the soft surprise that flashes across his face. The subtle shift in his expression does not go unnoticed by you.

"Didn’t know I was being evaluated," his voice trails off.

You nod in acknowledgement, sensing the man's confusion.

"You’re aware of our school assemblies, right?"

His face remains stoic, so you continue.

"Father's Day, parent-teacher meetings, career days, sports day," you list a few, hoping to spark the idea in the man’s mind.

"So," he leans back against the chair, arms folded on his chest.

With an exhale, upon your failed attempt to make him take the hint, you resolve to explaining the school rules to him.

"Our school mandates that the child’s parent or legal guardian be present at at least three of those assemblies per school year. You haven’t been present on any of them, not even last year."

He lifts his chin slightly and raises his eyebrows, eyes fixed on you with a look that suggests he's waiting for more information or an explanation.

"There’s actually a policy within out school that allows teachers to prohibit the child from participating in certain activities or events if a parent is not present–"

"–you’re kidding," Leon interjects, his tone laced with disbelief.

Raising your hand, you stop him from continuing, "and your daughter is a great student, so I don't expect that to happen to her. But with your continuous absence, she's at risk of being excluded from certain activities."

"My job keeps me busy. And I don’t really have a say in it," Leon retorts.

Arms still folded across his chest, his brows furrow in frustration. Defence sets inside his flesh; jaw slightly twitching, his eyes bore into yours.

"Maybe her mother could–"

"–not an option," he stops you before you manage to finish the sentence.

You nod in understanding. Leaving forward, you hope to appeal to Leon’s sense of responsibility a little more.

"In that case; we’re having a sports day this Friday. If you could just show up to support your daughter, I could mark it as you being present."

Leon chuckles, his voice smooth. Looking out the nearby window, he stares into the field right next to the school for a moment, deep in thought. The sunlight filtering through the window casts a warm glow on his sharp features, highlighting the intensity in his eyes.

Silence passes before he speaks up, "Wouldn't a dinner suffice instead?"

You clear your throat and try to compose yourself, feeling your heartbeat pick up at the unexpected request. "That's not very appropriate, Mr Kennedy, " you say softly, attempting to hide the fluttering in your chest. "Let's see each other at the soccer match."

"Sure. I’ll see what I can do; is that all?" he asks, head turned to the side. You gaze upon the now exposed wound on his jawline, vaguely resembling a cat’s claw scratch. The bruise colors on his cheek faded over the past few days.

"Yes," you assure him.

"Y’know, this whole thing could’ve been an email."

You smile wryly, "Would you react to that email?"

Looking back at you, there’s a flicker of mischievous dancing in his eyes. Leon's gaze holds yours for a moment longer, and you find yourself drawn to the subtle crinkles at the corners of his eyes, evidence of his amusement.

"You got me there."

The sun blankets the field in gold, casting elongated shadows of the children as they scamper around in pursuit of the ball. It’s still quite early. The air’s crisp and fresh, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and; sound of excited cheers and shouts echo throughout the surrounding area.

It’s comforting. Soothing in a way.

With a group of teachers, you watch the little girl darting across the field, her movements resembling that of a graceful gazelle as she expertly maneuvers the ball. She weaves in and out of the other players, a look of determination etched on her youthful face.

A chorus of her name echoes across the field, drifting like a wispy trail of smoke. The other kids cheer her on as she makes her way towards the goal, her tiny frame seemingly defying the laws of physics with her quick and nimble movements.

A round of applause erupts when the ball meets the back of the net. You watch as the little girl’s teammates rush to congratulate her.

"And who is that," a woman’s voice tears your gaze away from the cheerful moment, hands stopping mid-clasp.

Curious, you look at her. The other teachers already gazing to your right. To the parking lot.

Leaning against the sleek car, its design demanding attention; even from further away, he exudes an air of quiet confidence that's impossible to ignore. Eyes covered by another set of sunglasses, the same leather jacket strains against his folded arms.

Mr Kennedy.

Leon Kennedy.

Something about him always seems to draw attention; to captivate anyone who catches a glimpse of him.

It’s odd. Uncanny–

You should know better than to think in such a way about your student’s father.

–and you wonder if it’s just you who feels that way.

As the group of teachers chatter, a voice pipes up, "Is he someone's father?"

"He has to be," the conversation carries on, "or he wouldn’t be here–"

"–or he’s a creep."

Turning to face the person who said it, you scoff at the teacher before speaking up.

"He’s her dad," You nod in the direction of the girl with a beaming smile on your face, as she energetically waves at Leon. His response, though polite, is less enthusiastic, evident by the restrained movement of his hand.

Escaping the gossip, you follow the white boundary lines of the field towards your target, the soft grass crunching beneath your feet. Leon's eyes are fixed on the field, his sharp features softened by the spring glow.

But he's quick to notice your approach, turning his head ever so slightly to the left. It makes you feel naked as he shamelessly watches you coming closer.

"Mr Kennedy," you greet him.

As you approach, the warm spring breeze ruffles your hair, the sweet scent of blooming flowers mixing with his heady aroma. Posture relaxed, his broad shoulders almost blend with the darkness of the car behind him.

"Just call me Leon."

Eyes back on the field, a tinge of carelessness in his voice, a small tug on his lips. Hesitating momentarily, you put your hands in your pockets.

"I’d rather stick to being professional."

It makes him chuckle; voice rumbling with amusement–

"You’re making me feel old," he teases.

–making your chest tighten. His words brush against your ears like the gentle rustling of leaves on a cool autumn breeze.

The lightness in his tone, the hint of playfulness, stirs something deep within you.

It’s your turn to return the light laugh. The sound mingling with the chirping of birds in the distance.

"It’s good that you’re here. Your daughter seems to appreciate it as well."

Leon's eyes flicker to his daughter, still surrounded by her teammates; a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"Yeah," he says, the warmth in his voice evident, "she’s been talking about this game for a week."

"She’s really talented in sports."

A cool breeze brushes against your skin as he removes his sunglasses. Eyes reminiscent of the clear waters of a mountain lake–the color seems to deepen and intensify as he looks at you, drawing you in.

"That she got from me," the corners of his mouth curve up into a charming smile. His voice deep and smooth, like a glass of well-aged whiskey. You can sense his confidence, the way he carries himself with ease, and it's hard not to be drawn in.

It's alluring. The way he exudes a sense of self-assurance.

Smiling lightly, hand resting on the cool hood of his car, you both watch the children race each other. Cheers fill the soccer fields.

Even in momentarily silence, it’s comfortable–

"Well, she certainly inherited some good genes, Mr Kennedy."

–there’s no awkward cluster around the two of you. It’s natural.

It draws Leon’s attention back to you. Arms folded, his fingers sneak around his bicep, gripping gently as he shamelessly looks at you. His face a canvas of chiseled features and sharp lines. reminiscent of a Greek statue carved out of marble. A faint scent of musk and cologne lingers around him, blending with the sweet aroma of blooming flowers in the air.

"Just so you know, miss teacher," his voice soft melody that lingers in your mind, "the dinner invitation still stands."

It’s tempting.

The words hang in the air, tantalizingly close.

A whistle cuts through the sounds of the soccer field, interrupting the moment. Leon’s attention briefly flickers towards his daughter, checking as the little girl sprints towards the two of you, before returning to your face.

"And I should remind you, Mr Kennedy, that it’s not very appropriate to ask your daughter’s teacher out."

The voice in your head keeps telling you to be professional, the thought of spending an evening with this man is hard to resist though. His confident, easy-going demeanor, the way he doesn’t give up easily–

"So? It’s just dinner," his tone is almost conspiratorial, as if he's sharing a secret with you.

–it makes you feel alive.

(Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s not strictly forbidden.

Only frown upon. Harshly.)

It's like he's the sun, and you're the earth, drawn into his orbit.

"Daddy," his daughter doesn’t hesitate, jumping straight into her father’s arm; yet Leon isn’t phased at all, hoisting her into his arms, "Did you see my goal?"

"I did, pup," arm sneaking underneath her knees, you notice the bandage gone, "you killed it."

"Miss teacher," the kid addresses you, hand sneaking into her dad’s hair to hold him tightly while looking up at you with bright, curious eyes, "Did you see me? Did you see my goal?"

"Of course," you answer with a warm smile, "you did great. Seems like you got good genes for it."

The little girl beams with pride, hugging her father even tighter. Leon chuckles, the sound low and rich, and nods his head in agreement.

"I’ll see you on Monday then; pleasure seeing you, Mr Kennedy," as you turn to leave, you can't help but feel a twinge of regret.

The low hum of chatter fills the air, punctuated by occasional laughter and the clink of glasses. The dim lighting casts a warm glow over the wooden booths and bar, giving the place a cozy feel. The smell of fried food and beer lingers in the air, adding to the ambiance of the traditional American pub.

From a corner, a live band plays classic rock tunes, and the patrons nod along to the rhythm, singing softly under their breaths. It's a perfect spot to unwind after a long workday, catch up with friends. Or even make new connections.

Your little freedom.

Away from responsibilities. From the stress of daily life.

This is your escape, your sanctuary, where you can let loose and just be yourself.

Coming to the bartender, you order another round for the group you’re with, only to be taken back by a familiar voice saying your name.

Turning to look at the man by your right, the white stripes on his jacket contrast against the dim, warm ambiance of the room. Fingers tapping on the rim of the glass of whiskey, he takes a sip, his gaze fixed on you; the amber liquid catching the light, casting a glow across his features.

"Mr Kennedy," you exhale, almost in disbelief by the sudden situation.

Mind whirling with surprise and curiosity; the bar is chill against your exposed arm as you lean onto it, turning to look at the man by your side.

"Wouldn’t expect a teacher to be in a bar on Friday night," he smirks, the corner of his lips curving up in amusement.

"We’re not as frigid as people have us to be," you replied, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your lips.

Voice like a smoldering flame, waiting to be ignited, he tilts the glass towards you, "Oh, really."

The allure of his presence tangible.

A gravitational pull.

"Well, Mr Kennedy," the words roll off your tongue smoothly, "I suppose we all have our ways of letting loose after a hard week."

He chuckles, the sound deep and throaty; making your pulse quicken, heartbeat pick up. "I couldn't agree more," he says, taking another sip of his drink.

You study him for a moment; taking in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, how his hair fal across his forehead in a disheveled yet stylish way. There’s something undeniably attractive about him, something that draws you in against all odds–

–like a moth to a flame.

Life has a funny way of working out.

You should stop.

But ‘should’ doesn’t exist in the moment of impulse. In the realm of desire. Pure, unblistered passion. The temptation to follow desire is too strong–

The world falls away.

–and all thought of 'should' dissipates.

Leon's hands slide around your thighs, gripping the flesh firmly as his body pushes against yours. Pinned to the wall; his lips trail the pulse of your neck. The tip of his tongue leaving wet patches on the heated skin.

The sudden intrusion of reality makes you gasp,"What about—".

It’s Leon’s hand on your breast; squeezing, teasing the clothed flesh through the thin material, thumbing at the erect nipple, that earns him a moan. His daughter’s name spilling over into a sound so soft. Inviting.

Like a hummingbird.

A content hum echoes in his chest; pressed tightly against yours. Feeling the muscles contract beneath you, respond to your movement; to the way your hips press against the growing bulge in his pants.

"—she’s stayin’ at my friend’s," he mumbles against the curve of your collarbones, teeth grazing the firm area.

With a strong grip, your fingers entangle in his hair. The texture soft and silky, like running your hands through fine threads of spun gold.

"Isn’t she young for sleepovers?"

It makes him look at you. Eyes glazed over; hungry. Primal–

He pulls you into an embrace, arm wrapping around your back, his palm cupping your ass. The heat of his body seeps through your clothing, searing your skin with its intensity, his breath ghosting over your lips as he whispers, "I really don’t wanna talk about my kid right now."

It’s a command rather than anything else.

Followed by your clothes.

He has you bare before you make up your mind.

–causing your skin to crawl.

With every touch, every whisper, every breath, he leaves you feeling more exposed, more vulnerable.

Limbs tangled together, lips pressed against each other; there’s no beginning and no end. When one begins, the other follows, like an unbroken circle of passion and desire.

Utter consumption by the fire inside you.

Leon’s hands feel scorching. Each stroke branding your skin.

He splits your apart, fills you to the brim. The head of his cock kisses the innermost parts of you as you stay seated on top of him. Nails scratching the firm muscle of his breastplate; he grips your sides. Digs his fingers into the soft, plump flesh there.

Teeth nip at your chin. Gently nibbles accompanied by your hips circling on top of him.

Cascade of groans, grunts and moans echo throughout Leon’s bedroom; each sound building on the other to create a crescendo of pleasure. The mattress beneath you creaks and strains under your knees.

Lost in the feeling.

His words a salacious melody; sung in a sultry whisper followed by his teeth, nibling at your earlobe; securing your grip on his shoulders feeling the strength of his muscles as he guides your moves.

Up and down. Up and down.

Circle your hips when your pelvis meets his. When your ass touches his thighs; when his fingers dig into the round flesh.

The rhythm builds, the tension mounting with every breath. The ache of desire deep inside, a longing that can only be sated by him. With each movement, you feel closer to the edge, your body aching for release.

Leon whispers encouragement, his voice like a caress against your skin. Head buried in the crook of your neck, your arms tighten around his shoulder. Face buried in the top of his head, the scent of him fills your senses; a heady, intoxicating aroma that envelops you in its warmth.

You breathe him in, savoring the subtle notes of bergamot and spice, the rich undertones of musk and earthiness.

Leon’s name leaves your lips in a soft, breathless moan, a prayer to the god of pleasure.

His lips brush against your collarbone, lingering there for a moment before trailing lower, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Skin erupting in goosebumps as his breath tickles your chest, your body bows like a taut bowstring, a supplication to his touch. Offering yourself up to him completely.

Hands roam over your body, tracing the curves and planes of your skin with reverent fingers. As if he knows just where to touch you.

With a strong pull and push, your back meets the hard mattress. His hands move over you like a painter's brush, each stroke bringing out a new hue of pleasure. Hips grinding against yours.

Pressing your body closer to his, chest to chest, he rocks against you. The intensity of his movements leaves you gasping for air, a low moan escaping your lips as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge. His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your skin as he continues to rut into you.

Long lost is the slow motion–

Your pelvis meets his in a harsh, demanding thrust.

–now he’s chasing his own high. His own release.

His hand slides to cup your jaw, grip your shoulder, eyes boring into yours; intense and unwavering, as if he’s trying to read your thoughts through the depth of your eyes. Consumed by the heat of you.

Head thrown back, you close your eyes; unable to match the fire in his as he grinds against you; his breaths ragged gasps, the only sound in the room the soft rustling of sheets and the slapping of skin against skin.

Leon knows he won’t last long. Not with the way your mouth remains agape, nails digging into the firm tendons of his biceps; heels digging into the flesh of his ass, pushing him deeper. Demanding him to go harder.

You just look so pretty underneath him.

Fingertips trace the warm flesh of your curves. They move slowly, mapping the supple contours of your body with precision; each touch deliberate, a way of committing the curves of your form to memory.

The sensation is electric, every nerve ending on high alert.

His thumb finds your clit, circling it with teasing precision, a feather-light touch. Pushing your hips into his, he obliges your silent demand – adding a bit more pressure with each pass. The slow, steady rhythm of his touch in bright contrast to the sharp thrusts.

Building the tension inside you, until you feel like you might burst. But he doesn't let up, not yet. He's savoring every moment, enjoying the way you writhe beneath him.

Your breath hitches, body tensing as he works you with an almost clinical precision. The ache between your legs grows, spreading through your entire body. He watches you, gauging your reactions, and adjusts his touch accordingly.

The way he focuses on you, with a singular, unwavering intensity, is both thrilling and terrifying.

As for Leon, every movement, every sound, is calculated. He wants to make this last. He wants to make you lose control.

His muscles tense as he drives into you, each thrust bringing him closer to the edge. His breaths come in short gasps, matching the rhythm of your moans. The heat between you intensifies, a physical force that binds you together.

With one final push, final flick of a thumb, he takes you over the edge, his name on your lips.

Clenching around him, walls fluttering, his thrusts grow slow. Leisurely.

As if he’s tantalizing himself. Savoring the feel before he lets go with a groan; a guttural sound that echoes through the bedroom; body spasming. The two of you entwined in a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

There should be some sort of regret.

Standing by the foot of Leon’s bed, still searching for your clothes amid the scattered chaos of the apartment, covered by a random shirt you’ve found on the ground (that’s definitely not the one you’ve come with), you can’t help but be drawn to the sleeping man lying before you.

The sheets barely cover the curve of his lower back, and even in slumber, the muscles of his back remain visible; the outline of his physique remains defined and sharp, even in relaxation. The memory of his back muscles beneath your palms lingers on your skin, as if he were still present with you in that moment.

There’s no regret.

Exiting the bedroom, you walk past the kitchen into the hallway. The emptiness of the space is palpable, with nothing adorning the plain white walls; no family photos or decorations to add personality. Only the essential pieces of furniture remain. The floor creaks beneath your bare feet as you open the door closer to you–

(It’s almost like he doesn’t have anyone.

A sense of desolation creeps in you.)

–and are met with a blinding contrast to the rest of the apartment. Rainbow colored sheets neatly tucked into the small bed, pillows in shape of various animals. Light furniture covered in school supplies; and a photo decorating the nightstand.

You pick it up, immediately recognized the two people. It might be the first time you’re seeing Leon actually smile, wide and bright. Happy; with his daughter tightly wrapped in his arms. Faces pressed together, smiling at the camera.

"I hope you're not trying to steal anything," Leon's voice interrupts your reverie; low and husky, still laced by the morning sleep, "I don't have much, y’know."

As you pivot to face him, you can't resist noticing how his bare feet stand out against his fully-clothed form. Hair tousled and messy, only adding to his rugged appeal.

An irresistible wave of attraction washes over you as you scrutinize his appearance, and his playful tone only adds fuel to the fire.

"Don't worry, I'm not after your prized possessions," you reply with a smirk, feeling emboldened by his proximity.

Leon's eyes twinkle mischievously as he steps closer to you, his warm breath brushing against your cheek. "Well, in that case, what’re you after?"

"I was just looking for a bathroom."

Leon's gaze lingers on you, lips curled up in a half-smile. "The bathroom’s down the hall to the right," he points with a nod of his head.

You nod back, trying to ignore the electric sensation that courses through you at his proximity. "Thanks," you say, stepping past him towards the direction he indicated.

As you walk down the hallway, you can't shake off the feeling of emptiness that you felt earlier. It's clear that Leon lives a minimalist lifestyle, but the lack of personal touches leaves you with a sense of melancholy.

Entering the bathroom, you take a moment to splash water on your face, trying to compose yourself before facing Leon again.

His voice echoes through the small apartment as you make your way towards his voice, entering the kitchen; you're struck by how immaculate it is. Everything’s in its place, and there isn't a single dish out of place. The countertop is spotless, the sink free of any debris, the stainless-steel appliances gleam in the light.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air with the morning sun streaming through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room.

"I’ll pick her up in an hour," Leon stands in front of the refrigerator, two mugs in one hand, bare feet making a soft thumping sound against the linoleum floor. His hair’s still tousled from sleep, his t-shirt is wrinkled, clinging to his muscles as he holds the phone to his ear.

There’s a certain charm to his disheveled appearance that you find appealing.

Looking at you, he makes no effort to stop the call, instead a playful undertones his voice as he hands you a mug and motions towards the coffee machine, "yeah, just woke up. Had a long night."

Shaking your head at his words; he watches you with a small, amused smile, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.

"See you then. Bye, Claire,” he ends the call, turning his full attention to you.

"Y’know, miss teacher," he pours himself a glass of water, "if you just wanted to skip the whole dinner thing, you should’ve just said."

[whencyclopedia]

As the cradle of European civilization and a meeting place of diverse cultures, Crete is a magical island that stands apart in the heart of the Mediterranean sea. Its prominent place in world history dates back to the mysterious and fascinating Bronze Age civilization of the Minoans, who were building lavish labyrinth-like palaces at a time when Athens was just a village. In the Odyssey, Homer describes Crete as a rich land, filled with countless people who speak several languages. The location of this mountainous island, at a crossroad of three continents, has been a natural outpost of consecutive invaders, including the Greeks, Romans, Venetians, and Ottomans, who have left their mark on Cretan culture. Remainders of Crete's extraordinary past are scattered all over the island. Today, travellers come to explore and discover not only its five-millennium-old history but also its extraordinary natural beauty and diversity. As I journeyed through the Cretan landscape, I visited its most important ancient sites, including the famous Minoan palaces, but also veered off the beaten track to explore the lesser-known archaeological remains. In this tour of western Crete, I invite you to delve into the long and rich history of this fascinating island. The Minoan civilization emerged on the island of Crete in the Early Bronze Age at the end of the third and beginning of the second millennium BCE. It flourished from c. 2000 BCE until c. 1500 BCE with the establishment of centres, called "palaces" by modern archaeologists, that concentrated political and economic powers, as well as artistic activities. Of particular significance was the religious role played by the palaces in the cult of the Mother Goddess. These impressive edifices were built at Knossos and Malia in the northern part of the island, at Phaistos in the south, and Zakros in the east, all sites with a rich agricultural hinterland and direct access to the most important sea routes of the time. The British archaeologist Sir Arthur Evans discovered the first of these palaces in Knossos in 1900 CE and named the people who built them after the legendary King Minos. It was King Monos who, according to tradition, ordered the construction of a labyrinth in Knossos to hold the Minotaur, the mythical half-man, half-bull creature. The Minoan culture spread throughout the entire eastern Mediterranean world and its stunning art and architecture deeply influenced the Mycenaean Civilization (1600-1100 BCE) that would succeed it. After the downfall of the Mycenaeans, Crete was ruled by various ancient Greek city-states until the Romans conquered the island in 69 BCE and made Gortyn their capital. Under Roman rule, Crete re-emerged as a major cultural centre and became the joint province of Crete and Cyrenaica and a centre of early Christianity. When the Roman Empire split into two, Crete was made part of the Eastern Empire. It continued to prosper during the Byzantine era until it faced repeated Arab raids and, ultimately, full conquest in the 820s CE. Today the central and western parts of the island are blessed with archaeological treasures which include the famous sites of Knossos, Phaistos and Gortyn but also Aptera, Phalasarna and Eleutherna, all with significant architectural remains as compelling evidence of Crete's long and varied history.

[theotherdragomirgirl]

ELIA OF DORNE and ANDROMACHE OF TROY

I have long wanted to write this meta of sorts, because if there is one mythological woman Elia Nymeros Martell has always reminded me of, it's Princess Andromache of Troy (or Andromache of Cilician Thebe).

In Greek mythology, Andromache was the wife of Trojan Prince Hector, daughter of King Eetion, and sister to Podes. She was born and raised in the city of Cilician Thebe, over which her father ruled.

Following the Trojan War, after Achilles has killed Hector and Troy is being captured and sacked by the Greeks, her son by Hector, named Astyanax (born Scamandrius) was murdered by being thrown off the city walls. His killer, Neoptolemus, son of the mythical warrior Achilles, then took Andromache as his concubine. By him, she was the mother of Molossus, Pielus, Pergamus and Amphialus.

The world of ancient Greek Mythology mostly does not sees rape of women conquered in war as rape at all, and yet, King Priam of Troy, father in law of Andromache, himself talks of the mass rape that will happen should Troy fall.

In Iliad, Andromache is portrayed as the perfect wife, weaving a cloak for her husband in the innermost chambers of the house and preparing a bath in anticipation of his return from battle. Just as Princess Elia is said to be "a good woman, kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit", enough so that even her melancholic prince, who even by accounts of those who admired him most, did not have it in himself to be happy, grew "very fond of her".

Just like Andromache represents the injustice done to the women of Troy, to women of war torn lands in general, Elia represents the injustice done to women in King's Landing during the sack of the city.

Andromache and Elia are both widows of Crown Princes when their cities are sacked, but that doesn't save them from gruesome fates. If anything, being married to the dead heir to the throne dooms them too. One to a lifetime of misery, the other to an unbelievably horrific death.

We first learn about Elia through Daenerys, as she imagines the fall of the Targaryen dynasty:

"Yet sometimes Dany would picture the way it had been, so often had her brother told her the stories. The sack of King’s Landing by the ones Viserys called the Usurper’s dogs, the lords Lannister and Stark. Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar’s heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. The polished skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly from the walls of the throne room while the Kingslayer opened Father’s throat with a golden sword."

Daenerys' description of the sack, and what happened to Elia and the rest of the Targaryen royals during it, is very similar to what befell Andromache. Her son was ripped from her arms, and murdered before her eyes, while her father-in-law was murdered by the invading forces. Elia and Andromache's role as mother, a fundamental element of their position in marriage, is emphasized within the text of their respective tales.

Following the murders of their sons (and daughter also, in Elia's case) both women are subjected to aggravated rape. Andromache is made a sex slave, and Elia is raped to death.

Both women had their family entirely stripped from them by the violence of war, making them fulfill the fate of conquered women in ancient warfare.

Both are wives of admired, beloved crown princes seen as the hope and future of their dynasty. And later, widows.

Both loose everything due to their husbands dying in war at the hands of a great warrior. Robert of House Baratheon, in case of Elia. And Achilles, in case of Andromache.

The so-called (or so-perceived) "good guys" of the stories victimize Elia and Andromache, or outright benefit from their victimization.

In some versions, it is Odysseus who kills Andromache's infant son, and then takes her mother-in-law, Hecuba, as his war prize.

Robert Baratheon had a just cause to rise against the man literally named "the mad king", but he defiles the justness of his own cause by walking to his throne of swords over the brutalized dead bodies of Elia and her children (Princess Rhaenys, not even three years old, stabbed half a hundred times, infant Aegon bashed into a bloody pulp against the wall, Elia raped with her son's blood and brain on her rapist's hands, then cut in half by him), calling them "dragonspawn" with disgust. Not only refusing her family justice, but actually awarding the man who orchestrated the monstrous deeds with a crown for his daughter.

Then there is their treatment by other women:

Hermione, daughter of Menelaus, king of Sparta, and his wife, Helen of Troy, wife of Andromache's captor and rapist Neoptolemus, blamed Andromache for her inability to become pregnant, claiming that she was casting spells on her to keep her barren. To the point that she asked her father to kill Andromache and her son while Neoptolemus was away at Delphi.

The same way, in text, Cersei Lannister blames Elia for her unhappiness as wife of Robert. Basically declaring that if Rhaegar had only married her, not Elia, everything and everyone would be well and happy. That it must have been madness that drove King Aerys to marry his son to the Dornish Princess.

Outside of text, we have the fandom's treatment of, and attitude towards, Elia. People who prefer Rhaegar Targaryen with Lyanna Stark, treat Elia as if she was the interloper in the marriage, and not his lawfully wedded legal wife, in eyes of both the Old Gods and the new. I have seen people outright say "fuck Elia and her children". It is honestly... Bizarre.

Andromache was famous for her fidelity and virtue. And it is safe to say Elia was both of those things too. Since even her biggest detractors, Jon Connington and Cersei Lannister, two people who wanted her husband for themselves, could not find any fault in Elia in that regard. Jon could only complain that Elia was sickly and unworthy of Rhaegar, despite the fact that she gave him two children in two years, and Cersei could only complain about Elia's breast size.

And yet, for all their amazing qualities, both women still suffered unquestionably and immensely, all for someone else's "love story".

Paris made off with Helen, and Andromache payed the price with all that she held dear.

Rhaegar loved his Lady Lyanna and thousands died for it. Including his innocent wife and children.

Andromache.

Elia.

Daughter

Princess

Sister

Wife

Mother

[deception-united]

What are ways to come up with names for fantasy worlds/countries/regions? I’m struggling a LOT with this

Hi! Thanks for asking and so sorry for the late response.

Places will usually be named for or after a significant person, god or deity, mythical creature or legend, natural element, historical event, abstract concept or virtue, in celebration of a major achievement, or to reflect the region's characteristics, climate, or features. As with most things, there are a number of ways to go about the naming process, but my go-to method is linguistic experimentation. When creating names for places, countries, events, or world, I like to use words from existing languages—particularly older ones, like Latin, Greek, or Old English—and playing around with prefixes, suffixes, or various conjugations until they sound right.

Here are some tips:

Modify endings: Feel free to adjust the endings for more phonetic appeal (for example, change "Terra-" to "Terri-" if it sounds better)

Blend words: Create compound words by blending whole words with prefixes or suffixes (e.g., "Aqua" + "polis" = Aquapolis)

Add consonants/vowels: Sometimes, adding a consonant or vowel between a prefix and suffix can make the name sound more natural. For instance, if you want to combine "Theo-" and "-aria", you might want to discard one of the vowels or add a consonant (for example, you could add a "t" to make it "Theotaria")

Here are a few in the aforementioned languages you might want to experiment with:

Latin:

Prefixes:

Luna-: moon

Terra-: earth

Magn-: great

Novi-: new

Sub-: under

Trans-: across

Suffixes:

-ium: place or region

-or: agent or person

-is: neutral noun ending

-ensis: related to

Examples:

Lunaris (Luna- + -ris): A moon-themed city or region

Terranova (Terra- + -nova): A new land or country

Magnor (Magn- + -or): A great or powerful place

Subterra (Sub- + Terra): An underground city or region

Greek:

Prefixes:

Theo-: god

Geo-: earth

Neo-: new

Hyper-: above

Paleo-: ancient

Poly-: many

Suffixes:

-polis: city (e.g., Acropolis)

-cracy: rule or government (e.g., Theocracy)

-ther: place (e.g., Panether)

Examples:

Theopolis (Theo- + -polis): A city dedicated to the gods

Neochron (Neo- + Chrono-): A new era or time period

Hyperion (Hyper- + -ion): A place above or exalted land

Polydia (Poly- + -dia): A land of many valleys or diverse regions

Old English:

Prefixes:

Eald-: old (e.g.,

Beorht-: bright

Midd-: middle

Sūþ-: south

West-: west

North-: north

Old English suffixes:

-burg: fortress or town

-ham: home

-stede: place

-tun: settlement

-weald: forest

-dun: hill

-wic: village

Examples:

Ealdorland (Eald- + -orland): An ancient land or old country

Beorhtwyn (Beorht- + -wyn): A bright or blessed place

Middgard (Midd- + -gard): The middle land or realm

Westfold (West- + -fold): A western region or land

Name generators:

You could also use online name generators, and either use one of them or modify it to better fit your world. Here are a few popular ones:

Fantasy Realm Names Generator

Name Generator

Seventh Sanctum Name Generators

Fantasy Name Gen

LegendKeeper Fantasy World Name Generator

DonJon's Fantasy Name Generator

Portmanteaus:

Another method is portmanteaus—blending parts of two words together to create a new term. This can work with the most random, unrelated words; for example, you could combine "velvet" and "orion" to create the word "Velorian". There are really no rules involved.

Hope this was helpful! Happy writing ❤

Previous

[st-just]

ive seeeen you mention listening to history podcasts before, are there any that youd recommend? I have looked at whats out there but a lot of the popular ones I saw seemed to be rather dubious if you get me

So an assortment off the top of my head

Mike Duncan's stuff is both generally very good and also the inspiration of 90% of the history podcasts I listen to, so useful for cultural literacy if nothing else. (He podcasted his way into being a bona fide public intellectual for a moment there!) History of Rome is exactly what it sounds like, a narrative history from the mythical foundation of the city to the fall of the Western Empire (getting much more detailed and in depth as it gets into the imperial era). Revolutions is an anthology on what can be called the great revolutions of the modern western world, with series on the English, American, French, Haitian, Spanish American, German/Italian/French again (1848), French round three (Paris commune), Mexican and Russian (also includes a semester-length intellectual history of 19th C europepan leftism) revolutions. First two series are fine but it really gets good with the French Revolution and the Haiti series is some of the best pop history I've listened to or read. Also doubles as just a decent history of the long 19th century in Europe.

Tides of History is the only one of this list that feels like it has an actual production budget and more than one person working on it as part of their actual job. The host is the other guy whose podcasted himself into being a bit of a public intellectual (would rec his substack!) The downside of having a budget is most of the older stuff being locked behind a paywall, which is a shame because the early seasons are some of the best approachable history on the late medieval and early early modern period in Europe I've heard or seen. The current season is about the late bronze age world, and continues to be excellent.

History of Byzantium is explicitly an attempt to pick off where Duncan left off and follow the Eastern Roman empire from the fall of the west to 1452 (it's still in progress, now well into the 13th century). Also much like History of Rome, it starts off fairly general and vague but gets much more detailed as it goes. The general narrative history is intercut with semi-regular interviews with academic historians about the subject of their expertise for more in depth and probably rigorous discussion.

Speaking of Byzantium and Friends is hosted by one of the more prominent working byzantinists and consists of absolutely nothing but that. Much, much more academic - there's a level of assumed background knowledge to get much of anything out of the episodes, and and a level of academic inside baseball, but accurcy-wise this is the podcast I trust most out of all of them.

History of Japan is, again, what it sounds like. One of many podcasts begun by a grad student probably procrastinating working on his thesis that has lasted long enough for him to graduate, get married, and settle into a full time job. Vast majority of episodes are 20-30-minute mini-histories on, say, the biography of a particular political figure or part of a mini-series on the spread of Buddhism or something (plus a few much, much longer series on e.g. the Meiji Restoration). Currently in the middle of remaking/expanding a series that's a general high-level survey of Japanese history to celebrate hitting episode 500.

Criminal Records shares a host with it, but is (intentionally) less rigorous and much more bantery (having two hosts helps, them being married presumably good for the chemistry), also technically a true crime podcast - specifically about weird crimes and legal cases throughout history. My favorite episode is the one on the oldest surviving court case in the record from ancient Sumeria.

The History of the Crusades and it's sequel Reconquista continue the trend of admirably self-explaining names. They're nearly-entirely narrative and political histories, so if you're not interested in crowns, marriages and wars probably give them a pass, but very granular and detailed as they go. Crusades finished after the fall of Jerusalem and then a follow-up about the Albigensian Crusade, Reconquista currently still ongoing (in the 11th century at the moment, I believe).

Pax Brittancia is the one I just finished binging as depression-ameliorating background noise and what I've been posting about recently. Another begun by a grad student avoiding their thesis who has since become a doctor (who had previously completed a podcast on the history of witchcraft, which I have not listened to). It's ostensibly a history of the British Empire, beginning with the Stuart Dynasty (and personal union with Scotland) and moving forward with sufficent attention to detail that after five years and change it's objectively just a very in depth history of the Wars of Three Kingdoms (incl. causes and aftermath). Includes many, many interviews with established historians, including a whole series on Covenanter Scotland and whether its rise should be considered a Scottish Revolution. The narrative just reached Cromwell's inauguration as Lord Protector.

[11queensupreme11]

So I know that there is an entire au dedicated to torturing Cu Chulainn and his life as Percy's unpaid babysitter in her original universe, but I'm curious as to how the others would react.

Like, they are sent there for some reason, but they are cursed to have the powers of a demigod (could PJO demigod or ROR demigod, either way; they are not as strong as they previously were). I'm just imagining them losing their minds and finding out what a heart attack feels like (dispite being gods) over everything Percy gets into 😅

THIS IS HILARIOUS THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS 😭😭

for comedic reasons (which will be explained later), i'm gonna make it so that they're a ror demigod instead of a pjo one. so basically, they're gonna be 100% human with the strength of a god HOWEVER!!!!!! i'm gonna have them keep their godly aura, but have it be diluted enough that they're mistaken as a pjo demigod AND they will also have a few of their powers (just weaker)

ALSO!!!!! this is gonna be like one of those isekais where they get sent to the past ksdafv so basically they get isekai-ed to the past events of pjo by the bifrost 💀 (so they know who percy is, but she doesn't know who they are)

now... poseidon: this man is PISSED. not only was he turned into a fucking human, de-aged to look like a child, but he was also sent to the shitty mortal city of new york. probably beat the shit outta so many huge rats while walking around, fuming. then he runs into a very familiar child: percy and realizes that holy shit, he got isekai-ed to his daughter's past. now remember everyone, this man is unhinged and extremely possessive. you best believe he would kill gabe AND sally because he is the only one allowed to be percy's parent (ofc percy doesn't witness it at least). now anyway, somehow he and percy gets to camp, percy gets claimed but pjo!poseidon's just looking at this other blonde kid with an aura just like his but weaker and his powers as well and goes "huh, did i have another forbidden kid? oh well" and then BAM claims him and chiron goes

"and all hail... what was your name again?"

"poseidon 😠🔱"

chiron thinks, wow, what a fitting name! alright then, "all hail poseidon JUNIOR, son of poseidon."

and he fucking loses his shit

but anyway, he's gonna be so fucking annoyed cuz now everyone thinks he's also a forbidden kid cuz he was mistaken as a son of poseidon, but everyone's confused af cuz nothing really bad is happening to him. all the bad stuff is happening to percy (the actual forbidden kid) and he's just pissed and stressed trying to keep his baby alive AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY FATHER'S NOT DEAD AND MY DAUGHTER HAS TO FIGHT HIM, CAN YOU PEOPLE KEEP YOUR SHIT TOGETHER???? and then hoo happens and his baby goes MISSING 😭😭😭😭😭😭

hades would also have a terrible time. at first, everything was fine. sure he's a human kid now, but he found his baby niece, got rid of gabe, and convinced sally to take him in. then shit hits the fan when percy gets introduced to the mythical world. hades is unaware of the whole forbidden child thing so when he gets to camp and uses his deathly powers to protect percy from a monster or bullies, EVERYONE thinks he's a son of hades and avoids him which he's like ???? tf wrong with hades?? anyways, the first quest starts and everything spirals from there because suddenly hades is fighting for his life trying to keep this girl alive 😭😭😭 he keeps trying to prevent her from going on quests but she keeps getting out of it and going; this man is in tears like pls stop sneaking out to go on quests plssss 😭 AND WHEN HE FINDS OUT KRONOS IS STILL ALIVE IN THIS UNIVERSE??? HE'S GONNA ACTUALLY CRY, HE'S SO STRESSED PERCY PLS HE'S UR UNCLE GIVE HIM A BREAK. he's gonna be all like "don't worry sweetie, uncle's gonna send you back to my universe where you'll be safe!!!" and percy's just like "???? uncle???? but we're cousins??? also why're you talking in 3rd person that's weird...."

apollo is having a terrible start because he's human, homeless, and giant rats keep trying to gnaw at his beautiful long pink hair. probably ends up meeting percy somewhere in the city where she sees him getting bullied by the giant rats and helps him out. apollo OBVIOUSLY would recognize the love of his life regardless of age and realizes that he's been isekai-ed to percy's universe, but in the past. babie percy's wondering if this kid escaped a mental hospital or something and goes to tell her mom about some weirdo kid she met. anyway, fast forward to camp, apollo gets claimed by his alt self who thinks he's his kid he forgot about (he finds that offensive, are you not keeping track of ur kids????). the aphrodite kids give him shampoo and conditioner for his hair, everything is fine and dandy until The Plot hits and percy goes on a quest... and then another... and then another... his beautiful hair's gonna fall off from the stress of it all, he's losing his mind from the constant worry and stress and chiron ACTUALLY has to ask mr. d to give him counseling but mr. d ends up needing counseling too after the first session 😭

imagine beelzebub balding and that's basically what's gonna happen in this scenario 💀 he has it easier AT FIRST, cuz percy's just a kid and since sally's made the horrible mistake of taking him in, he has more access to percy and can easily manipulate and mold her young mind. he becomes her best friend, her confidante, her "big brother" (and soon her lover), the number one person she trusts aside from her mom. he's basically grooming her to love and trust him and only him.... but then all his hard work goes to shit when The Plot happens and sally gets kidnapped and percy focuses all her attention on getting her back. camp also ruins his hard work because she's now friends with luke, and chris, and she succeeds on so many quests later on and more and more ppl start to befriend her and he HATES it. he was supposed to be the only person in her life but all these ppl are getting in the way and what's percy's fatal flaw? LOYALTY, so how do u think this poor devil feels when he sees her risking her life for others????? he loses his fucking mind that's what. he's one of the overprotective yanderes here, this is HORRIBLE for him. he's ripping at his hair, bawling his eyes out, dramatically falling into a fetal position, etc. every time there's a goddamn prophecy with her name on it. he has most DEFINITELY killed sally, anthonius, grover, rachel, etc. etc. cuz he cannot stand the thought of percy risking her life for these ppl. camp is at a terrible state for the war because of how many camper's they've been losing and mr. d and chiron are eying beelzebub suspiciously and knowing how sneaky he is, he probably finds out about the Great Prophecy early on and snaps; he'll actually kidnap her from camp and hide her away while he desperately searches for the bifrost to send them back to ror verse with him

loki hates everything about the pjo verse and he makes it everyone's problem 💀 percy calls grover her best friend? welp, the goats dead! percy cares more about saving her mom than staying safe? well after sally gets returned from the underworld, she's gonna be sent right back but as a ghost CUZ HE FUCKING KILLED HER. he's gonna be worse than beelzebub because he's at least smart enough to cover his tracks, loki doesn't give a shit. clarisse tries to bully percy by dunking her head in a toilet? yeah no cuz loki's slaughtering the entire ares cabin and now the bathrooms are soaked in blood and percy's screaming. loki gets kicked outta camp, ares is hunting him down, but he's already a step ahead with a tied-up percy in the trunk of a stolen car, driving straight for the bifrost to take them back home.

anubis is having a great time until anthonius comes into the picture. percy and anubis are great friends, but ever since she came back from her first quest with anthonius, suddenly anubis is feeling neglected 🙁 percy is spending so much time with anthonius, she talks about him a lot, even has a picture of him in her binder, she blushes whenever his name is brought up and that makes anubis sad 🙁🙁🙁 he's miserable and pathetic and begging for percy's scraps of love until he gets the bright idea of just killing anthonius!!!! 😃 then percy will pay attention to him again!!!! 😃😃😃 oh, rachel likes her too??? anubis will just kill her next! oh, so does ethan??? he's dead too!!!! bianca has a secret crush on percy??? well that's not very nice, so anubis will have to kill her as well??? oh, calypso likes percy??? well now anubis is sad cuz calypso's a titan and deities can't be killed in this universe 🙁🙁🙁 but then he remembers that's she's forever trapped and is happy again!!!! until the war is declared and percy's sweet scent becomes more and more tinged in depression and she's too tired and broken down to even return his affection and it breaks anubis poor lil human heart, but it's okay cuz he's gonna find a way to take her back "home" where all she'll ever need to worry about is loving her husband and kids 😃💖

[hellishjoel]

when you know, you know (mini chapter)

3.2k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | Notifications Blog | Ko-Fi

summary: A flashback shows Tommy’s crew enjoying Christmas Eve at the diner. Frankie makes his first move with a New Year’s kiss. 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), half-ass editing because I’m exhausted (I’ll reread it tomorrow and fix any errors I catch, food and alcohol consumption, reader is has no physical description, swearing, smoking, pet names (princess, asshole ((yes it’s a pet name to me))), christmas/holiday themes, a first kiss is shared that starts this whole journey.

A/N: look at these stinkin cute dividers I made for Table for Two! like shut up! I hope this mini chapter holds you guys over for a little as I also give my focus to cherry thrill and delicate with the beautiful and talented @thetriumphantpanda! also thank you to @undercoverpena for helping me dial down my brain and helping me focus on writing what I really want to write first 💛

Tommy’s Diner. One year ago. The recollection of events is slightly impaired due to alcohol consumption.

The last time it snowed on Christmas Eve in Texas was 2012. It wasn’t a normal, pretty, White Christmas. It was snow. And sleet. And pea-sized balls of hail. The winter storm began in Breckenridge, near Denver. It grew and spiraled, traveling southeast to Northern Texas. 

By the time the storm saw Austin, it barely affected the city in terms of transportation. Just beautiful little white flakes, all of them unique, not one like the other. And it was dazzling. 

Now, ten years later, in a mythically euphoric way, they land on the pavement in front of your sneakers. A snowflake lands on the toe of your shoe, melting quickly into the material. You let out an appreciative hum and bundle yourself tighter in your jacket, letting the size swallow you. 

The diner bustles inside. It’s busy, very busy. You thought people would like to be at home on Christmas Eve, celebrating with their families before the holiday rounded out in the following twenty-four hours. But some people have traditions here. 

Older couples who met here on a first date still make their anniversary appearances. There’s this older couple you see like clockwork every year, Maude and Gil. 

Gil said he met Maude by accident. Took off from the lumber mill in a hurry to grab a late lunch. Maude was there on a date with another man. 

But Gil said it was love at first sight, watching her push her straw around the milkshake glass and trying to seem moderately entertained by her date. Gil thought they were a total match the instant he laid eyes on her. 

But Maude didn’t think the same. Not at the time, anyway. 

Gil said it was fine because he knew. He just knew. Even if Maude thought their timing wasn’t right at the moment, he’d try again when it was right. 

Maude said she found it endearing; how he’d chase, beg, concede, anything he had to do to get her to at least go out with him. He was persistent. And it paid off. 

Now, all these years later, with kids and grandkids, they were celebrating a date night before they travel to their daughter’s house for Christmas tomorrow. 

After penning in their order, you can’t help but smile at the couple. 

“You two are really cute.” A sweet grin is shared between the two patrons before they turn back to you. 

“When you know,” Gil pauses to take Maude’s hands across the table, wrinkles forming around old gold wedding bands, “you know.” 

You usually don’t get along well with older people. Sometimes you didn’t know how to talk to them. You didn’t understand the references they made and felt awkward trying to navigate back to the menu selections. That, or sometimes they were just plain rude, but you suppose anyone at any age can be fucking rude. 

In this part of Texas, some folks felt all too comfortable pushing religion or politics into your lap. And when they weren’t doing that, they were complaining about things that were out of your control. 

That light is giving me a headache. 

You don’t have any trees to park my car under. 

The mashed potatoes aren’t mashed enough. Like, sorry guys, but that sounds like a problem between you, the line cooks, and your denture implementation specialist. 

Then there were the more generous guests, those who tip well and sit in your section because they like your playful personality. Where talking doesn’t feel like a chore, and you’re so goddamn funny that they laugh at everything you say. 

There’s this ongoing joke between you and these older gentlemen who come every Sunday morning for breakfast. It goes something like,

“Hey, doll, did you put the whiskey in the coffee like I asked ya to?”

You’d playfully gasp, widen your eyes, and look at them with your mouth agape before you lightly smacked their shoulders with your ticket pad. “I certainly did not, my manager would have a fit.” You’d tease, wink, and pour a little extra coffee to top them off as they snickered. They were just guys young at heart who enjoyed making you laugh. 

Frankie would play cards with them on his break. Spin the chair around and have the back against the table, thick thighs straddling the seat as he nibbled on a toothpick. He always lost to them at poker but won at blackjack. 

Unfortunately, someone really did put some sort of schnapps in the coffee. The staff’s coffee. You weren’t going to name names, but you definitely saw who did it. And you weren’t telling. Especially since you were enjoying your third cup. 

Christmas music plays loudly in the back of the kitchen, the restaurant having been closed for the past hour. But for the love of God, Rudy couldn’t get you all to clean up the place and go home. 

“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock! Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring! Snowin' and blowin' up bushels of fun, now the jingle hop has begun!” The entire kitchen sings, all terribly off-tune, but it makes it all the funnier. 

You double over in laughter as Carla, your five-foot-tall manager attempts to put a Santa hat on Frankie’s head. He simply crosses his arms and shakes his head, unwilling to bend down and let her put the stupid thing on already. 

Finally, with a roll of his eyes, he kneels down and takes the red Santa hat like a crown to a king. 

“You’re only fueling his ego!” You boo, Carla walking over and cheering her cup of coffee with yours. 

The kitchen is noisy after hours. 

All the crew has funneled to the back, sitting on countertops as Lou mops the floor and tells people to stay out of his way. Water sprays from multiple sink faucets as the dishwashers clean at a leisurely pace, too busy singing a rendition of whatever Christmas song played next off the radio. 

The old dishwasher hums along as it cleans. People talk or sing over each other, and it’s just loud. You’d be overstimulated if it wasn’t for the spiked coffee in your hand. 

“You put this booze in here, didn’t you?” You whisper to Carla as she circles back to your little corner of the counter, looking straight ahead as if she didn’t hear you. She’s as silent as a rock, which you can respect. 

“Alright, some manager you are.” 

She snickers at that, playfully slaps your thigh with the back of her hand, and watches the line cooks and busboys lazily scrub pots, pans, and plates, too busy howling out what they think are the correct lyrics to the classic Mariah Carey song playing. 

“Frankie!” Carla growls, her actual manager tone coming out now. Even Rudy shudders at the lion’s roar. 

Frankie looks up, wide-eyed like a kid about to get freshly yelled at. He’s got a cigarette hanging from his lips and a lighter one centimeter away, finger on the trigger ready to light it. 

“Go outside and smoke that, you know I can’t come home smelling like cigarette smoke! My kids will get mad at me. Shoo! Shoo!” She ushers with her hands, Frankie smirking against the cig and holding his hands up in playful defense. 

“Sorry Mama Bear, I’ll take it outside.” 

Carla playfully scoffs as he ducks down to kiss her cheek, giving him a roll of her eyes in return. 

Frankie’s eyes meet yours and he nudges his thumb into the pack of cigarettes, one inching out towards you. 

“Come on, princess. Let’s go.” 

You purse your lips to try and stop the smile, but you can’t help it. You push yourself off the counter and join him outside, the kitchen door closing behind you with a whoosh. 

It’s colder outside now, and the snowflakes fall faster but still melt as soon as they hit the pavement. 

You walk with Frankie to the loading dock. Tommy’s doesn’t have an actual loading dock, but it has an attached storage garage that houses old equipment. The concrete has questionable stains of varying colors and sizes. A game you and Frankie play is coming up with dramatic stories for each one. 

The large maroon puddle was definitely a murder covered up by a secret crime syndicate. The dark green dribbles every few inches are from a lizard-like monster, trailing its way through the garage where its buried itself under the concrete until it’s resurrection day in one thousand years. Or so they say. 

Frankie pulls a blue tarp off an old brown leather couch, both of you falling into it with a heavy sigh. 

Tonight was exhausting. The holidays in general were. 

“You goin’ anywhere for Christmas?” Frankie asks as you hold out your hand for the cigarette, but he lifts it to your lips instead. 

A playful smirk dances on your lips as you lean in and take the cigarette obediently, both of Frankie’s hands coming up as one flicks the lighter and the other shields the snowy breeze. 

The nicotine swirls down your throat and chills your chest, a nice contrast between the warmth the alcohol has spread through your tummy. Your eyes magnetize to the pretty orange blaze glittering at the end of the cigarette. 

“Yeah,” you breathe out, smoke billowing through the air and then into nothingness. “I took off from Christmas to New Year’s, so I’ll be at home with family. You?” 

Frankie makes a noncommittal noise, distracted by lighting his cigarette. He flicks the spark wheel multiple times, but the flame only grows smaller and smaller. To Frankie’s relief, it catches. He takes the dead lighter, damn near out of juice, and makes a long chuck to the dumpsters where it clatters deep inside. Dink-bong. 

“I’ll be here- wait, until New Year’s?” Frankie asks in disappointment, head tilting affectionately like a dog’s. 

You’re a bit shocked by the dramatic reaction, eyes scanning over him.  

“Uh.. yeah. Why?” 

He’s silent for a bit, eyes avoiding yours before he looks out beyond the freeway and into the void. You shrug it off and lift the cigarette to your lips again. If Frankie wants to say something, he will. 

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” You nod your head towards the snow and Frankie agrees as he looks up at the sky with a fond little smile. 

“So, no New Year’s at Tommy’s for you this year, huh?” He circles back, and you’re all too curious. 

“Why do you care so much if I’m here on New Year’s or not?” Your demeanor is playful, but he’s dancing around the subject and you’d wish he’d just come out and say it. 

But he wanes on your temper and plays oblivious. “Was that Maude and Gil out there earlier?” 

You roll your eyes and shuffle closer to him on the couch. Frankie does the same. “Yeah. I wish they came here more than just on Christmas Eve. They’re so refreshing. They’re older, but cool.”

Frankie nods and lets the calm settle between you both. 

“Before Tommy retired and moved to Florida... Or ran and hid from his bookie due to his crippling gambling addiction, he said that he was long-time friends with Maude and Gil. They’ve been coming here for like… fifty years.” 

You scoff in disbelief and glance over to him. “Who would want to come to this dump for fifty years?” 

Frankie shrugs and smiles, leaning into your side as you lay your head on his shoulder. He’s warm. 

“I guess it’s all about perspective. We see Tommy’s as clock in, clock out. Run around until our feet hurt and work until we’re sweating pigs. The customers, people like Maude and Gil, they see this place as where their lives began.” Frankie’s eyes look beautifully starstruck in this moment. “Where they started, and where they reminisce. Where it all began. It’s perspective, princess.”

And just like that, he crashes the moment. Again. 

With a roll of your eyes, you sit up properly, shoulders shuddering inward from the cold. You shove off his hand that has somehow gone below the radar on your thigh, crossing your leg over the other and tugging down the skirt of your uniform.

“You gotta stop fucking calling me that incessant nickname, asshole” 

Frankie scoffs around the exhale of his cigarette. “Why don’t you make me?” 

“Oh, I could definitely make you, but where’s the fun in that, Francisco?” You smirk in his direction, but something shifts. 

His lips part but he’s at a loss for words, and his eyes dance over your face like he’s trying to memorize each pretty eyelash and the slope of your cheekbones. 

A weird feeling of charged energy zigzags back and forth between your bodies, stitching you closer together. Where the flirting goes a little too far and something could happen. It could keep going, like a snowball effect, both of you unwilling to stand down to the other. How far could things go? How far would you let them go?  

His eyes look incredibly deep brown in the night, but they pour into you all the same. The red bandana tied around his forehead keeps his unruly dark curls out of his eyes as the wind makes the strands flutter. He’s overwhelmingly handsome. You can feel your breath change, but you don’t want him to notice how your chest falls shallow under his eyeline. 

His husky voice breaks the pretty silence. 

“If you’re not here for New Year’s, then how are you supposed to be my New Year’s kiss?” 

An unbeatable smile breaks out across your face, feeling your stomach summersault. Oh, Frankie. 

You playfully shrug as you look beyond the loading dock at the snow that amounts to nothing, still melting upon greeting the asphalt. 

“Well. Sounds to me like you’re kissing the back of your hand on New Year’s. Just the same as last year. And the year before that. And the year before that.” 

“I’d rather kiss your ass, princess.” 

“Oh, I bet you would.” You both snicker and shake your heads. He’s still staring all too longingly. 

“Come on.” He speaks softer now. His head tilts so it’s closer to your level. “Lemme kiss you.” His head is hanging to the side, and he speaks with need. His tongue lines his lips and your breath staggers again. 

Your and Frankie’s cigarettes burn with abandonment, dangling between fingers settled in your respective laps. 

Why can’t a fire break out in the kitchen right now? It would be convenient. Anything to get Frankie from getting too close. Not that you wouldn’t mind kissing him, you just fear that you’d like it a little too much. And he would like it too. What if things changed?

All you can think to do is try to lighten the mood with a little teasing because it feels all too serious right now. 

“You don’t wanna kiss me.” 

Frankie scoffs and suckles on his cigarette again like it’s the most unbelievable thing he’s ever heard. “I would, I really would.” 

Fuck, it’s not working. “What if it’s weird? We work together.”

“It won’t be.” 

“How do you know?” You tease. 

“I just know.”

“Okay, but how do you know.” Frankie shrugs nonchalantly like it’s no big deal. “When you know, you know.” 

Surprise lines around your wide eyes, recognizing the all too familiar sentiment shared by Maude and Gil. The sentence you didn’t realize had so much importance to you until Frankie uttered the same words. 

“I- what did you say?” You ask, surely he didn’t just share the same expression. Or spare the same meaning. 

A cocky smirk tilts the right side of his mouth upwards. “When you know, you know.” He repeats unphased, eyes twinkling all too sweetly as he looks at you like you’re a wonder. 

It’s just one kiss. Nothing else will happen. You wouldn’t let it. 

Before you can overthink any further, before you can decline, his large palm casts itself over your cheek, thumb skimming across the silky flesh. Warmth floods your body, and it feels like time has frozen. The snow falls silently around you both, a soft whisper of the wind hissing through the air. 

“This alright?” He whispers. You feel so caught off guard, unable to respond with words, just a lousy excuse of a nod. 

The heel of his palm guides your jawline upward, lips mutually parting as you take each other in. Anticipation fills the air, fuels the rapid beat slamming around in your chest and nudging itself up in your throat. 

Your lips meet, warm and plush. You’re sure he’s not this gentle all the time, but he is in this moment. It’s tender and delicate, slowly taking you all in as if this is the last time he’ll ever get this chance. It probably will be. The bite of each other’s cigarettes tangle in your mouths. 

It’s unclear who deepens the kiss first, but there’s more of a desperation to this part. Both of his palms are on your cheeks now, bodies inching closer as your smaller palms fist lightly at the neck of his dingy white tee. You’re keeping him close, fuck, it’s so undeniable. 

The intensity that follows highlights a level of emotion you had far long ago locked away. Shoved into a locked crate and stored in secret under your bed. You didn’t like those feelings, they were cute looking from afar, but up close, they were monstrous. But you can’t deny you enjoy the movement of his lips against yours, both of you melting into a sweet rhythm that’s lined with desire. 

His tongue explores your mouth. Your fingers dance up the dip of his neck and sink into the warm flesh. He must like the feeling of your skin on his because he lets out a low hum of appreciation. The charged energy you felt before was now flooded, running on all cylinders to keep up with the feelings you and Frankie were exploring for the first time. 

It’s heated and flickers like his dead lighter. The bond grows deeper at this newfound connection, much different than a simple peck on the lips for a New Year’s kiss. 

It feels like it lasts forever but it’s gone so soon. You find yourself pulling away first, despite it taking all of you to do so. Frankie’s head naturally follows your own, wanting more, drunk off the taste. His lips brush yours again as you laugh. 

Both of you grin before you can stop yourselves. 

“Shit,” he mutters, pulling away finally as warmth kisses the apples of his cheeks. His thumb lines his lower lip like he wants to remember the electricity and the pattern of your kiss. “Sorry.” 

“No, it’s- fine.” You’re all flustered, both of you shifting farther away on the couch. 

“I got carried away,” 

“Yeah. You did.” Lie. 

“I liked it.”

“I know you did, Francisco.” The tight-lipped grin on your lips won’t disappear. But you could. 

Everything that follows is muddled sentences and interjections on both your parts. You start. 

“I’m gonna head back inside. Carla probably needs some help-”

“Yeah-”

“Are you-”

“Yeah, I’ll stay out here for a few more.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay.” 

You’re both nodding and you’re scrabbling for balance as your feet pace on shaky ground. You nudge your jacket tighter around your body as you drop the cigarette and smother it with the toe of your shoe. 

A shaky breath leaves you as you walk away and smooth out your uniform, thankful to have your back to him as you walk off and return to the kitchen’s back door. Or else he might see you smiling sheepishly. 

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | Notifications Blog | Ko-Fi

[quillpokebiology]

Talonflame Facts

(Art by @the-upper-shelf )

-The scientific name for Talonflame is "Falco cinialus" which translates to "Ash falcon"

-Talonflame are birds of prey and are close relatives of Pidgeot and Fearow

-Talonflame'a habitat includes woodlands, deserts, and cities. The ones that live in woodlands and cities make their nests on high trees or tall buildings, while the ones in deserts will often make their nests on top of large bolders

-Talonflame are one of the fastest flying types that aren't legendaries or mythicals, being able to fly at 310 mph

-Talonflame hunt many small bird pokemon like Pikipek and Wingull

-While fletchling crossbreeds or pokemon crossed with fletchling aren't rare, the Talonflame rarely mate pokemon that aren't Talonflame due to them being very prideful

-Unlike Fletchling and Fletchinder, who need to heat up their flames, Talonflame's flame sac is always burning hot. To prevent overheating, Talonflame will fly at top speeds to let their flames loose

( Art by SATOSHI NAKAI)

-To protect their eyes when flying, Talonflame have developed third eyelids

-Along with that, Talonflame have indented eyes and black markings around their eyes to protect them from the glare of the sun and the wind

-While fletchling migrate to warmer climates during the winter, Fletchinder and Talonflame stay since they can create enough heat to keep them warm. During the winter, parents of young fletchling will guard stay in their nests to keep their young warm, while their partner goes and brings them food. They switch rolls every couple of hours(they get really fat in the winter as well and it's adorable)

-In the winter, Talonflame will puff their feathers out to keep warmth in, which also makes them fluffier

-Female Talonflame tend to be larger than the males

-In Kalos, Talonflame are one of the main natural causes of wildfires

-Talonflame has also been known as "The Sun Bird" throughout Kalosian myths due to their flames and flying type

-Throughout many Kalosian, Paldean, and Armorian myths, Talonflame's feathers are said to give the ability to regenerate limbs

-Talonflame feathers are very hot and very popular with collectors. But most researchers suggest that you shouldn't pick them up without proper protection because they can and will spontaneously combust

[meiieiri]

LITTLE NYMPH OF HIS HEART — GETO SUGURU

❁—SYNOPSIS: in which suguru meets his newborn daughter.

a/n: my writer’s block has me in such a horrible chokehold that this took me an hour to write. also, fuck why isn't this real UGH (⇀‸↼‶)⊃

only an hour and twelve minutes old and she’s already crushing his heart into irreparable smithereens. and she isn’t even doing anything.

she doesn’t have to, really, she could just sleep soundly, and maybe let out a tiny little coo now and then, and her father would weep a million tears to flood the entire earth and plunge it into the realm of archaic legends maybe even more mythical than that of the ancient underwater city of atlantis.

suguru sniffles, holding the little bundle closer to his bare chest when she yawns and shifts ever so slightly, favoring the warmth of her father’s skin. so this is what the doctors meant when they said that the first skin-to-skin contact with his newborn was going to be an emotional affair, he downplayed it as some gross exaggeration and even refused the roll of tissues the nurses had been offering him.

and what a huge blunder that was.

“look at her,” he brings a calloused thumb to stroke her rosy cheek, fearing that the weight of his entire hand would overwhelm the little girl. no, his little girl — your newborn daughter.

“it’s like she knows she’s a heartbreaker,” he turns to look at you, his eyes glossy with joyful tears. “just like you.”

you could only let out a quiet tearful laugh, your voice absolutely shredded and strained from the harrowing ordeal of bringing your most precious one into the world.

“or you,” you retort, leaning your head back against the many pillows that suguru had the nurses bring in. “just how many nurses did you have to wink at for these?” you joked, gesturing to the pillows, and the many comforts such as hot compresses and ice chips sitting atop your hospital bedside table.

suguru rolls his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. he turns his attention to the little girl who, seemingly having heard her parents’ voices, feels a little left out leading her to create a slight fuss in her dad’s arms, hiccuping once.

“oh,” suguru coos, consoling her by tickling the soft skin of her feet. “it’s okay, mama’s just being mean.”

despite his words though, he slowly stands up and carefully joins you on the bed, instinctively wrapping an arm around you to tuck you into his side, his heartbeat on the high line knowing that both his girls were safe in his arms, where the both of you rightfully belonged.

“but you’re gonna love her anyway. i know i do,” he reassures his daughter, stroking her little tuft of obsidian black hair, his first gift to her, as if the newborn had the intellectual capacity to understand a single word that comes out of his mouth.

you indulge him anyway, leaving him to his sweet ramblings, preferring not to say anything that could sully this moment of pure unadulterated bliss, a mere passing second in the vast expanse of the turbulent life you and suguru will have to lead as protectors of those who are vulnerable to the demonic forces that lurk in the world’s many back-alleys where even the purest sunlight could not reach. suguru’s soul had been so tormented by the abyssal darkness that slowly consumed him owed to the many cursed spirits he’s had to exorcise that he had long believed himself to be damned, forsaken by the heavens.

but now, how could he still find the nerve to hold on to that pessimistic and borderline cynical belief as he cradles the little nymph of his heart in his arms?

suddenly, a thought hits you and you sit up to stare down at your daughter who was contentedly and happily gurgling away as suguru pokes the tip of her nose.

“akari,” you whisper, testing out the feel of your daughter’s would be name on your lips — the faithful companion that will walk with her for life, a sacred gift that will outlive you and her father. suguru’s eyes widen, awe-struck at the notion of you wanting to name your daughter after the brilliant morning sun, the same one that had greeted her the minute she came into this world.

“akari,” suguru’s voice wobbles. overwhelmed by the rush of emotions, he shifts to press a loving kiss on the crown of your head before bringing akari’s little hand to his lips, softly kissing her minuscule fingers in pure adoration. “heaven’s light.”

[useless-catalanfacts]

Hi, so as far as my family knows, our family name is Catalan, but we can't trace our family line before we moved to Cuba. So I was wondering if many Catalan people moved to Cuba when it became outlawed in Spain? Or in the times leading up to it being outlawed?

Thanks!

Hola!

Cuba is one of the countries with a largest Catalan diaspora. Catalan people were forbidden from going to the Americas (who were Castillian colonies) until the year 1778, and it still took a while for people to start going in large numbers.

Catalan people first migrated to Cuba in the 19th century, a few were rich people who went there for commerce (even involved in slave traffic! 😱) and soon more poor people started going, too, after their lives were turned upside-down by the phylloxera pest. Back then, in many parts of the Catalan Countries most people worked in the vineyard fields or related trades that had to do with winemaking, but in the mid-1800s the phylloxera (an insect from North America that destroys vineyards' roots) arrived to Europe and destroyed the fields. The effects of the phylloxera were absolutely devastating: thousands of people lost all their vineyards, whole areas lost their income, poverty reached the extreme. With the countryside ravaged, people desperately looked for new jobs, and many found that the only option was to emigrate. The vineyard-making rural areas suddenly lost population, who were going to the cities or abroad. Most of these Catalan farmers who went abroad went to Cuba, because it was seen as a land of opportunity where people could make a good living. Usually (and like many economical migrants nowadays), they had the idea that they would go, make money, and come back home, but (not unlike many economical migrants nowadays) most did not make that much money, and decided to stay in Cuba. Many Catalan immigrants in Cuba ran corner shops, they were so poor that they slept behind the shop's counter because they didn't have any other home than the shop. I have read that in 19th century Cuba, people even used the expression "to go to the Catalan on the corner" (el catalán de la esquina) or just "to go to the Catalan" (el catalán) to mean going to a corner shop (same as now many European countries say "to go to the Pakistani"). Besides these ones, a strong network of Catalan merchants also established itself in Cuba, trading with sugar and coffee.

Of course, the "corner Catalans" could not afford to come back, but the ones involved in slave trading or commerce with products grown by slaves often could. The poverty at home and the return of these rich people created the image of the "indiano" or "americano", meaning someone who had gone to Cuba (or, less commonly, Puerto Rico), had become rich, and had come back dressed in elegant fashionable clothes, the man smoking a thick cigar, and built a beautiful house in his hometown. The "indiano" became part of the collective imagination, and was a very prestigious person. These "indiano-style" buildings (they sent the command to start building the house from America, before coming back) and the presence of the "indianos" promoted the idea of Cuba as a place of opportunities even more. Still nowadays, in Catalan we have the expression "fer les Amèriques" ("to do the Americas") meaning to get very rich.

Examples of indiano houses in Begur and Cadaqués.

Examples of indiano houses in Sitges.

And the same happened the other way around a bit later: in Cuba, art nouveau was introduced in large part by Catalans, and the early houses built in this style were called "catalanadas" by Cubans.

In Sitges, there's even a pair of "giants" that represent these "indianos". "Giants" are a traditional element of Catalan folk culture, they're hollow figures that represent the mythical founders of a town or someone important from their local history or legends. In the case of Sitges (like in many more towns that used to be the border between Muslim and Christian kingdoms when they were founded), it's a pair of Muslim nobles and Christian nobles from the Middle Ages. But in the 1960s they decided to add another pair of smaller giants to represent the "indianos". This goes to show how the idea of the "indiano" almost as a mythical category has survived.

The "americanos" giants in Sitges.

For these reasons, there is a long list of famous Cubans of the Catalan diaspora, including the president of the first independent Cuban constitutional assembly (Asemblea de Guáimaro) Bartolomé Masó, Facund Bacardí (founder of the Bacardí rum company), the revolutionary and Cuban independence hero Leoncio Vidal, the musician and conductor Xavier Cugat, the poet José Martí, la reina del bolero Olga Guillot, the dancer Aurora Bosch, the anti-Fulgencio Batista intellectual Mario Llerena, the anarchist thinker Fernando Tarrida del Mármol and his uncle the Cuban independence general Donato Mármol, among others.

Besides Catalan-Cubans being involved in Cuban independence from the Spanish empire, they also were involved in the Catalan independence movement. For example, the flag of Catalan independence (estelada) was created in the early 1900s by a Catalan in Cuba, who used the triangle of the Cuban flag that means independence.

The Cuban flag and the Catalan independence flag.

The Catalan diaspora in Cuba also created the first "Casal Català" ("Catalan house") in 1840 in Habana. A Casal Català is a social centre where Catalan emigrants meet, for example to celebrate the Catalan holidays, and also open Catalan culture to other people, such as by offering Catalan classes. Nowadays, there are 128 Casals Catalans in all 5 continents.

Another way in which Cuba has had a deep mark in Catalan culture is the music genre havaneres, which are melancholic songs that fishermen, sailors and emigrants sang.

The other moment with a highest number of Catalan emigrants (refugees and exiles) was after the fascists' victory in the Spanish Civil War (1939), but few of them went to Cuba then. Most went to Mexico, Venezuela, and France, and some also to Chile, Argentina, Colombia, and to a lesser extent the UK and the USA.