#It's fun to think of the ancients some times.

[cuntyji]

you were sure, without a doubt, that math had been invented by the devil himself—or at the very least, some ancient sadist who found joy in human suffering. and who else but the sumerians, the architects of civilization, to introduce numbers and wedge them into the very fabric of reality?

which brought you here, sprawled out on gojo satoru’s bed, textbooks and loose papers abandoned at the edge of the mattress, your laptop open but wholly ignored. your eyes were squeezed shut, thighs trembling, and brain struggling—desperately—to process the numbers being traced against your cunt with his tongue.

“you’re fidgeting too much,” he mumbled against your folds, the vibration of his voice sending another pulse of heat up your spine. he sounded amused, always so amused, as if he weren’t the one making this impossible.

“oh, i wonder why,” you bit back, and your sharp exhale turned into a shaky whimper when his tongue swirled again—slow, purposeful.

"mm, attitude," he teased, pulling back slightly. his glasses—he had insisted on keeping them on, of course, just to be extra insufferable—slipped an inch down his nose. he peered over them, a lazy grin on his lips, cerulean eyes twinkling with mischief. "you should be thanking me, you know. most people have to suffer through studying, but me? i’m making it fun for you, baby."

fun, he says. as if this wasn’t absolute torture.

"fun for you," you gritted out, propping yourself up on your elbows to glare down at him. it was hard to look menacing when your legs were thrown over his shoulders, his breath hot against your dripping cunt.

“fun for both of us,” he corrected, and before you could retort, he dove back in, tongue flat against your clit before spelling out a number with slow, languid strokes.

your back arched. fuck. that was—okay, that was definitely a six. or maybe a nine? shit.

he pulled back again, looking far too pleased with himself. “c’mon, princess. what’s the answer?”

you struggled to keep your voice even, mind still hazy. “si—sixty-nine?”

he huffed a laugh, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh. “mmm, close, but not quite.”

"what do you mean not quite—"

before you could argue, he started again, this time tracing a much longer sequence of numbers, each movement sending sparks of pleasure through your core. your nails dug into the sheets, jaw slack. it took you a second—two, three?—before you realized: oh. he was giving you the answer to the long equation from earlier.

bastard.

“satoru—!”

“concentrate,” he chided, pausing just long enough to smirk up at you before resuming, each flick of his tongue slow, deliberate.

"i—i can't!"

"yes, you can," he murmured against you, tracing another swirl, another long stroke that had your toes curling. "you want that A, don’t you?"

your head lolled back, a moan slipping out before you could stop it. god, you hated him. hated how smug he was, how good he was.

"better get the answer right, or you're getting a big fat D," he chuckled, pressing a final, lingering kiss against your sensitive clit. "literally."

your breath hitched. okay. fine. if this was how he wanted to play, you were going to win this damn game.

you swallowed, chest heaving, and forced your scattered thoughts into something coherent. focus. deep breath. think of the numbers, not the way he was staring at you over the rim of his glasses, lips shiny with your slick, eyes full of challenge.

“eight…three…seven…five…” your voice wavered, but you kept going, pushing past the pleasure clawing at your mind.

gojo’s grin widened, and his grip on your thighs tightened just slightly. “atta girl.”

[side-of-potatoes]

Ooh haven't done one of these in a while, thanks for the tag! (this is potato's sideblog lol)

Favorite color: Cyan lol, any shade of blue is good too

Currently reading: Just caught up with a fanfic I've been reading over the past few days and am now eagerly awaiting an update. Also some murder mystery detective book I got from a little free library that I'm not that attached to (but still reading cause I'm curious to see who did it)

Last song: Ancient Dreams in a Modern Land by MARINA. Not a song/artist I listen to too often but it was on my playlist for this month.

Last movie: I watched Free Guy with my family yesterday. I think we had a movie on last night too but I didn't pay attention haha

Last series: I've been rewatching The Good Place on in the background while I've been drawing. Also have seen the first few episodes of the Star Wars show Skeleton Crew and I like it so far!

Salt/Savoury/Sweet: Mmmm sweets probably, I love my sweets, although salty is good too when I'm in the mood for it.

Craving: I dunno really. I've been on a fried rice kick lately so maybe that?

Tea/Coffee: Tea for sure, I don't like the taste of coffee.

Currently working on: I have a one-shot I've been working on for a long time that I'm pretty close to finally finishing, and some more videos to edit. (Lately when my friends and I play games together, I've been recording and editing the videos as if we were YouTubers, it's fun!) I also want to do more art (dunno what yet) and write another what-if or side story for consequences. But I also have some rather annoying real life responsibilities that often have to take priority over my creative hobbies which are slowing me down 😔

Tags:

I don't really tag people in these cause it makes me anxious lol but anyone who wants to do it feel free!

Nine people i want to get to know better

Thank you @shortace for the tag

Favourite colour: green

Currently reading: The Bones Beneath My Skin by TJ Klune and Rivals by Jilly Cooper

Last Song: Wait For It from Hamilton

Last Movie: I Saw The TV Glow (again)

Last series: on a Phineas and Ferb rewatch

Sweet, savory, salty: sweet. But not too sweet.

Craving: choc chip cookies (luckily I have some downstairs)

Tea/coffee: coffee. As black as my soul

Currently working on: much good omens fanfiction. So much.

Tagging: @funky-disco-demon @starks-kid @sweet-omens-good-hugs @turtlenec-crowley @snognes @reese-the-usc-girl @reggie-moony @rjcee-art @snek-of-eden

[agattthaa]

Blue

Paring: Lane/Anna

Word count: 1.007

Rating: T

Summary: Lane could give anything to Anna, as long as the scientist was sure.

Tagging: @rc-catalog

For the first time ever since she remembered it, the thought of staying alone in her room while she worked seemed unpleasant and annoying for Lane.

All her life, all she ever wanted and all she ever needed was her own space, some peace and quiet and something to work on, some puzzle to solve, some ancient language to learn. But as the members of the squad slowly left and Anna's eyes drifted to the open door, she felt almost a bitter taste in her mouth, a feeling of regret that filled her chest and made her want.

An insatiable want. For Anna's presence, for Anna's company, for Anna's blue eyes and sweet scent. But above all else, she wanted Anna to want to stay.

She wanted to know that Anna craved her company, that she also searched for Lane's face in a crowded room, that Anna wanted to stay, to belong, to be hers.

-I'll need to sit and translate all night. Maybe someone could stay with me while I do it?

Noah and Lester gave each other a confused look, but Anna simply smirked when she saw Lane's eyes fixated on her, throwing herself back on the couch and crossing her legs.

-Okay. Then l'Il stay here.

She waved the boys away as if she was the queen of Lane’s room. As if she ruled it all, and on her rule, she was the only one allowed into that room. The only one allowed anywhere near Lane. The only one allowed in her heart.

She kept on dismissing the boys while the only thing she won in return was a roll of eyes from Noah.

-What are you smiling about? You can go get your sleeping bag yourself.

-What for? We'll sleep on the bed. Together.

Lane only lifted one eyebrow in a silent question, but Anna was no longer looking at her. Instead, she was staring at the two boys who suddenly seemed very hurried to leave the room, making Lane smile to herself. Lester pushed Noah out, before closing the door behind them.

-You two have your fun, but not too much. You got training in the morning, Anna.

The scientist only let out a little air thought her nose before just playfully shouting.

-Get out, Lester.

The silence lasted a couple of seconds before their eyes found themselves once again, shifting the entire air in the room. Anna’s blue eyes seemed to burn colder on the dark room, and Lane knew she was uncapable of ever hiding anything from them. The blue still burned brightly when Anna turned her head a little to the side and patted her thighs on a silent demand.

Everything on her mind tried to convince Lane that she shouldn’t. That she was getting her hopes up for nothing. That on the last second, Anna would back away, like she had done on the last time. That she would say that she didn’t understand it, that she needed to think. And she would leave Lane to pick up the pieces of her heart by herself.

But like an addict always running back to their favorite drug, Lane would follow those blue eyes to any pit of hell, so her feet carried her to the couch before she could even open her month, and before she could run off, she was already sitting on Anna’s lap, her knees caging the woman to her, on a weak attempt to keep the woman to herself. Anna simply smiled, touching carefully Lane’s hair and placing a strand of it behind Lane’s ear.

Lane didn’t move, she couldn’t, she didn’t dare to.

She kept on simply diving into those blue eyes for as long as she was allowed to while Anna touched all over her face with her finger tips, slowly, softly, surely. Because it was her territory. It belonged to her. And she knew it.

Smiling, Anna took her own hands to her face, taking of her glasses and placing them on the couch before holding Lane by the neck and pulling her closer. And like a stone sinking on the sea it was Anna, Lane had nowhere to turn, nowhere to hide.

And she didn’t want to.

Anna’s lips were already so close and she still couldn’t focus on anything other than on those blue eyes. She desperately wanted to believe on what they said, the sure they emanated, the sure her deliberate touch transmitted. But how many times she thought Anna was sure before only to be left bare and alone?

-I can’t do this again. Not if you’re not sure.

-I don’t think you leave me no other choice but to be sure. You are my best friend, no one else matter as much on this world as you do. And knowing that, you still decided to take more and more and more. Even when you know I’m scared of caring too much, of having someone else important to lose. -Her hands slowly creped up to Lane’s face, brushing her lips with her thumbs. -But now, I don’t I have anything else to give, you took everything. I’m already all yours.

Lane never believed a kiss could be that soft, almost featherlightly so. Like it would almost be wrong to be anything else on that exact moment. Like that kiss, even not being the first one, was the most important one. Like it was a ritual, a promise, an oath. A declaration that both now belonged to each other. A confession, that perhaps they always did.

She could feel Anna’s smirk as soon as she pulled away. The smug smile filled her face as she leaned back against her seat, Lane could only smile back, even more pretentiously so.

-Well, it looks like we’re not just best friends anymore.

Anna’s smile turned soft as she pulled Lane close again by her hips and whispered against the cryptographer’s lips.

-What a pity…

And their lips met again and again and again. Leaving between them no space for any other doubt.

[avifaunaa]

i tasted ash and knew [ it was you ] [ pt. 5 ]

Authors Note: i just went through a nasty breakup so. um, the last part of this may be emotional idk🧍🏻‍♀️so in writing this i had to do some digging. rio and wanda were never meant to be pitted against one another in the comics and stan lee had a really firm rule that any character can be stronger than another if the writer needs them to be. in my useless opinion, i believe that rio may have more power and knowledge than wanda, but wanda's abilities and her exposure to the Darkhold leave her incredibly formidable [ see her almost KOing Thanos BEFORE she touches the damn book ]. i do not think it wise to try and make these two enemies on a battlefield or else everyone else around them pays the price. lmao.

More Useless History Facts:

• Quaff-Aid, or brewer's yeast, was a "hang-over fix" that would be passed around at parties to try and prevent hangovers before they happened. It contained a mixture of vitamins and minerals -- and spoiler alert: it was not always successful lmfao

so like, parties were kinda funky in the fifties. they were a mix of formal and fun. i say this with confidence because on one end they had a "drop by and leave whenever" sort of feel and then on the other they were like, "oh here's a dress code and seating arrangements," type deal. not all parties were the same ofc, but it was interesting how people held parties like they were very important events lol even in their own home. it was apart of life and keeping appearances with peers.

Chex Mix was first created as a party recipe to be made in the home! It became a hit and used more broadly with various recipes in the fifties and did not become a pre-bagged snack until much later.

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rio is at a loss when one of Agatha’s old enemies comes knocking at her door, and now both of you are on guard as she plays neighbor until you can figure out what she wants.

Content Warnings: Still dark so ensure you take care of yourselves — period-typical views on gender norms and homophobia, misuse of magic [ Rio ], reader has a severe mental breakdown in one of her flashbacks, manipulation, possessive behavior, territorial bastard Rio, Stockholm Syndrome, Pregnancy and symptoms that come with it,

Word Count:

2024

Rio was very agitated.

You were still cozied up on the couch in the living room, television paused on the Tell All episode of your reality show while Tommy’s stiff form slowly moved over to drape across your body, staring hard at the entry way where Rio had disappeared.

The invisible magic that caressed your neck at all times was thrumming with an uncomfortable buzz — burning and restless like a caged panther pacing back and forth.

Whatever who rang the bell was not a Girl Scout, obviously.

You debated leaving it alone for once and letting the witch handle it like you knew she could. Rio was adept and likely had the place warded with an ancient type of magic that most things sensitive to it would steer from or be wary of.

Ah, but would there be any fun in that? You may have decided to wave a white flag and ceased fighting with her, but what was her life [ or yours ] if you didn’t add to her plate once in a while?

“Off,” you told your new companion, nudging your knee gently upwards until the dog reluctantly moved off of the couch and stalked behind you like a shadow.

“Rio?” you called softly, wrapping your sweater-clad arms around one another as you shuffled down the hall to the entry way. The sunlight outlined her form in the entry way.

You knew Rio in the same way she claimed to know you — it was a mirrored understanding of each other and years of memorizing the very molecules of both of yourselves.

She was extremely agitated. She had one hand stretched out against the corner of the doorway, blocking the view and entrance to the visitor of her home. Her stance wasn’t aggressive, but it was deceptively polite — almost friendly.

She stiffed slightly at your call, fingers pressing deep into the fixture that decorated the door to your home as she sent you a brief glance.

Her eyes swirled with a dark green and brown flame.

Normally, the bluer the flame the hotter it is and the more damage it does. But you weren’t sure those rules applied to Rio — most of them didn’t anyway.

Her eyes were quickly off of you and returned to whoever stood at the edge of the doorway, responding to a question asked by a curious, friendly voice.

A head full of fiery red hair popped into your line of view before Rio could block it. “Oh — is this your sister?”

You almost laughed if the recognition of who exactly the fuck this was wasn’t hitting you like a tone of bricks. All in a bag and dropped straight down from a high point of distance.

“No,” Rio replied tightly as you edged forward, Tommy on your heels. You brushed your fingers along his leather collar. The tags jingled with contact. “She’s —“

“I’m her wife,” you announced, releasing Tommy and quickly stepping the rest of the way over. You rest your chin on Rio’s outstretched arm, remaining behind her but making yourself appear in easier view. You tell her your name.

“Wanda, it’s nice to meet you,” she introduces, a smile dimpling her cheeks.

“We know who you are,” Rio responded lowly. Formalities dropped, and an uptick in the breeze outside had you shivering slightly. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Am I?” Wanda interlaces her fingers together. “I suppose so, yes. I made it seem like that.”

She seemed rather whole and put together for a woman who magicked an entire mountain down on top of herself after a fierce battle and using a lot of her powers.

You decided to not comment, instead focusing on burying your nose into Rio’s arm and inhaling her scent.

“What do you want?” the words vibrated against your cheek as you eyed the details of the area around Wanda. The garden needed a better upkeeping in the front.

“I made mistakes,” the once-Avenger confessed, “and I regret them terribly. I’m seeking to make them right.”

You moved your face so that you could see Rio’s expression. You found it to be as blank as a fresh sheet of snow. “This has nothing to do with me. I was not involved nor do I have any care to. The Darkhold is yours, no?”

Wanda tapped her fingers together. “I don’t. Not anymore. I destroyed it when I took out Wundagore. But I went to Westview and looked for Agatha — turns out she was swept away by a detective called Rio Vidal.”

Rio tilted her chin downward dangerously. “Was she, now. I’m surprised they let you back in and didn’t call the government.”

“I used magic to cover my basis.”

A mean smile crossed Rio’s lips. “You didn’t learn the first time?” she asked, condescending. You winced — and oh you were pleased to not be on the end of the time she used for once.

Wanda swallowed. “I regret using it — and I wish I hadn’t been so careless in my grief. But I do need to find Agatha Harkness. She’s . . .”

“I know what she is.” A flash in Rio’s eyes silenced Wanda Maximoff. “You’re not going to find her here. She’s dead.”

Wanda’s face dropped and she slumped visibly. “I see.”

“And even if she wasn’t,” Rio continued, ice starting to creep through her tone like a blade, “I wouldn’t so much as give you a hint. You left her at the mercy of those people with her mind in shambles until I could fix her.”

Wanda curled her lip, a mixture of shame, guilt, and anger rising in her, “She tried to steal from me. I don’t have much of an appreciation for that — especially with my track record. I wasn’t going to let her take what I had.”

“You had won your battle,” Rio rebutted, though she didn’t outright disagree with Wanda’s defense. She was right in that regard — Agatha had played a stupid game against a witch more powerful than her at that time. “What you did to her after was not a fit punishment. She was stuck inside of her own mind and could not escape — she was a slave to the magic that you put upon her just like you did to everyone else in Westview.”

There was a part of you that wishes you could call Rio out at this moment — she was scolding Wanda about breaking some rules of magic and being morally incorrect while at the same time breaking multiple rules of her own nature.

You dug your chin into her arm instead of speaking out, and when she glanced at you, you hoped whatever she saw in your eyes was enough to get to her.

The three of you remained in an awkward, tense silence. Wanda had turned red from her shame and Rio was still posturing in the doorway.

“I made mistakes,” Wanda started, “after Thanos. Big ones that can never be forgiven. But I lost so much to this world and was never given anything in return. How is that fair? Who gets to decide how much loss someone experiences before they break?”

Your heart broke for this woman, who the world sought to fear — the woman from rubble and war and death who never seemed to achieve the peace she seemed to desire the most.

“Death,” Rio said simply. “Death gets to decide. It is not your responsibility to work around Her to try and cheat.”

“I just wanted a family.”

Rio found herself trying not to look at you at all. “I know. But I cannot help you with that. Agatha is gone, Wanda Maximoff, and I am in no position nor have any desire to make an attempt to seek her out in whatever afterlife Death has stolen her to."

The way those words leaked from her . . . the disdain within them was not directed at Wanda in their delivery, but rather like a sharpened dagger aiming for herself.

You ran your chin along her arm in hope she would take some form of comfort in you being close to her, but if she did it went unacknowledged and her muscles stayed stony beneath you.

The unfamiliar weight of a gaze had your attention returning to the Scarlet Witch, who looked at you with a seemingly more tired stance that she did not carry moments before.

"I understand," she finally relented softly, nodding. "Thank you. I am sorry . . . about Agatha."

Rio locked up and regarded the fellow witch coolly, but kept a leash on whatever threatened to rise to surface. "You knew nothing of her," she said shortly, "and her death had nothing to do with you in the end. Agatha's life was lost at her own hand and another's -- not yours."

Wanda tilted her head to the side, just slightly, and you wondered if she had the urge to use her abilities on Rio. If they would even work against her -- and you wondered just how evenly matched they would be should they have to end up on opposite sides of a battle.

"I plan on sticking around for a while," Wanda started as she gestured toward the street with her body. "I will . . . I need to learn how to be human again."

"Think you can handle that without warping everyone around you? Because you will not like what my answer to your actions will be should you decide that course," Rio told her shortly, lips thinning. The dark swirled in her eyes again and a chill swept across your skin despite the warm clothes you were bundled in.

The redhead hesitated, too, it seemed. "No magic," she vowed quietly. "Just living."

Rio glanced at you. No magic, seemed to echo a lot around her head these days.

"I cannot control you," your keeper said slowly as she began to inch the door closed in a way that would end the conversation, "but I will be keeping an eye on you. This is my territory, Maximoff. Tread lightly."

Wanda opened her mouth but Rio slammed the door in her face.

1955

"Go away," you moaned from under the sheets as a chilly hand crept up your naked spine. You were hiding from the shame of last night's events and no amount of seduction would rip you out of hiding.

The New Year's party Rio and you had hosted had been successful. There had not been very many people at all, only around fifteen in total. Her coworkers and their wives or sweethearts. When questioned about your status, you were easily able to lay on the widowed wife tale.

While most parties had a tendency to be formal and therefor fancy, Rio had no such taste and simply passed out invitations at the drugstore and gave a time in which the party would start and that there was no requirement to stay for a certain period.

You had decided on a different spread for the food after Rio had left for work that day. You went with your mother's Swedish meatball recipe and made life simpler on yourself by making finger sandwiches.

Shrimp cocktails were easy to procure -- all you had to do was make those just before the party guests would arrive and have them ready on the coffee table in the living room.

By the time Rio had returned from work with two hours before the party, the house was cleaned obsessively and you had showered and changed twice.

She paused in the kitchen where you were pulling out the Party Mix from the oven and pouring it into the large serving bowl for snacking on later.

"Angel." Rio watched you with hawk-like eye movements as you adjusted the placement of your creation on the table where the shrimp cocktails would be going later. "You are outdoing yourself."

"It's a party you are hosting," you said as you turned to her. She quirked her lips up at you in amusement as she strode toward you. "I decided to do something a little different than what we talked about yesterday."

"Hmm," she murmured as she wrapped her arms around your waist and drew you in for a soft kiss. One, two, three. Then a warm smile when she saw your sparkling eyes. "Whatever my girl wants."

You groaned when the hand ran up your back again. "Rio, please. My skin hurts and if I am forced out from under these covers I may simply vomit everywhere."

The hand paused movement and pressed directly into the middle of your back. "Awe, my poor Angel," the raspy voice responds from above you. Usually a comforting, welcoming sound brought pounding to your head in the moment.

"I shouldn't have had more than the cocktail."

A soft laugh that reverberated through Rio's body down to the hand still glued to your back. You closed your eyes tight and breathed out when the vibration threatened to upheave the uneasy calm in your stomach.

"You had fun," she murmured. You heard the rustle of sheets and covers over your head and you readied yourself for their removal. Cold air overtook the warmth that you once were cocooned in. Soft lips on your temple. "Do you want me to get you some ginger ale and perhaps a painkiller?"

"Please," you moaned, burying your face into the pillow. The lights were off but the light from early morning was piercing.

Rio scritched nails down your tender skin before padding into the master bathroom. You heard her moving around and searching for the painkillers and not long after, the bed dipped.

“Ale?” you slurred, eyes opening to a foggy Rio, still naked and smiling sweetly down at you when you turned over.

“Right here, Angel.” She briefly turned her back to wrap her hand around the neck of the bottle, newly opened and still cold as she helped you sit against the headboard. “Open.”

Your mind wandered to how quickly she gathered everything as she deposited the medicine and washed it down with the ginger ale. You didn’t hear her go downstairs, the loud humming of the fridge being opened and closed. You didn’t so much as hear the stairs creak.

But the drink was ice cold, and the bottle cap still lay atop your side table. Had you drifted back to sleep and lost time? Had she gotten the ginger ale before coming to wake you?

“You’re fading on me again, my sweet,” Rio commented as she pressed the cool glass against your temple. The effect was immediate — it pulled you straight from your own thoughts and you moaned. “That feel good?”

“Mhmm. Everything hurts. I am not a woman of the drink.”

Rio laughed, obviously amused by your lightweight approach to your own hangover as she sat the bottle back down and rubbed the back of your neck. “I suppose not. You enjoyed yourself, though.”

“Did I? I cannot seem to remember.”

And with a crushing reality, you couldn’t. You were sure Rio spoke honestly in that regard — but the last thing you can recall is greeting the last of the guests and enjoying the Swedish meatballs before pouring yourself wine after you finished your shrimp cocktail.

Did two drinks truly do you in?

Your teenage self would be ashamed.

“Hmm, maybe we keep you away from the wine. Or the cocktail mix?” Rio teases, leaning down with pressure keeping the ache at bay to kiss you sweetly.

“I feel as though I must go back to sleep, but I can’t even come to think about how many dishes I must do.” You raised the heels of your palms and rubbed your eyes. “Oh, the vacuuming, too.”

“I will do it, Angel,” Rio, your beloved gentle Rio, announced as though she were taking on a difficult quest in one of those fantasy films you’d seen grow popular lately. “You get some more sleep. Take a bath. But do not touch a dish in that sink or breath near any vacuum in the house.”

Your cheeks turned red as you watched her dress into some slacks from the previous night and a barely buttoned white shirt, hair messy and undone as she smirked at your expression.

“If you feel better, I wouldn’t mind an audience,” she added offhandedly, then broke into laughter when you dove back under the sheets, still in love with your shy nature.

You don’t remember falling back asleep, nor do you remember waking up. What awakens you isn’t a noise or a hand along your back so comforting, this time it’s a taste so foul in the air that you nearly choked on it.

Your head throbbed and the time was barely past noon when you sluggishly peeled away the covers and got into a sitting position. Why was the air so . . . Angry? Sad?

You forced the bedroom windows open on the other side of the bed, letting winter air rush across your skin and into the house.

It only allowed for little more breathing room, but you took whatever you could get. You swiped the bathrobe off of the door and tied it on as you snuck out into the quiet hall.

This was not the quiet you so adored with Rio. The quiet you two had built like a new home that you could fall back on when you needed it.

This was a quiet that was so familiar, with bitter reminders and tension stringing tight.

It lured you down the stairs as you called out for your lover, wondering why such an air filled your home that not even hours ago was happy.

“. . . me to leave you alone. Couldn’t find you, so I gave you what you wanted. Now you seek me out?” Rio, sounding much unlike herself.

You paused at the end of the stairs, hidden from the living room and kitchen both. Waiting.

“Gave me what I wanted,” an angrier [ angry like the air ] reply chortled back, a hard clank of something landing on a surface. “You took whatever you wanted, you mean.”

“I had no choice,” oh how you twitched in place at the pain in your Rio’s tone. How it echoed so freely within her in a way you’ve never heard her speak of before — not about her husband. Not like this. “I do not know how long you wish to punish me for my nature. For what I am.”

You placed a hand smooth on the wall, words spoken sinking into you and only filling you with a spiral of confusion. Nature? What she is?

“For the rest of time,” the other female promised darkly, deep and almost like some sort of contract signed with words rather than pen and paper.

“Why are you here, Agatha?” Rio finally asks after the two of them — her and this Agatha — fall into a pit of tense silence again. Rio sounded more exhausted right now than she ever had since you had met her. 

“I need to have the Road brought back. To be used. I think I’ve been able to master myself again and I want more.”

The Road? Your head was spinning again, and you lowered yourself on the steps before a fall overtook you. Black spots invaded your vision. 

“No.” A firm answer, unmoving and stony.

“Excuse me?”

“I said no, Agatha. I have given you everything and anything I could. Your last and final request of me was to leave you alone and never come to you again — I am fulfilling that request.”

You startled when a shatter and hard creaks groaned across your tiled kitchen floors from the chairs, no doubt. You hoped Rio cleaned the glass.

“Control yourself,” said woman snarled.

“You owe me,” Agatha announced, sounding suddenly closer to the archway of the kitchen that lead to the hall. “You owe me this after — after —“

“He was my son, too,” Rio spoke so lowly that you almost missed what she said at all. Even then, in your foggy state, you were unsure you heard right. “You don’t get to claim what you’re owed when I tried my best even when I prevented it for as long as I could. Because I loved you both, so very much.”

A son. A son. He was my son, too.

Who was this woman to Rio? How deep did her lies go?

“Your claim on him is null,” Agatha spat and hurried footsteps sent you careening upstairs as quietly as you could but it was too late. You heard a disbelieving scoff behind you, and you could not force yourself to keep from looking.

She was wild, and fury, and everything a feminine beauty demanded. She broke all laws of nature and she was dressed in flaring purple robes with a broach on her chest. Her hair was purposefully untamed, her eyes dark with a merciless glare.

Agatha — apparently.

“She found another one, did she?” Purple began to dance around her fingertips and you blinked multiple times.

“I think I may need a hospital,” you said in response, once again collapsing on whatever stair you had been stopped at. You would be sent off to the hospital and never released if Rio decided you weren’t fit anymore.

But the woman you loved so was hovering behind Agatha and suddenly shot forward. “Enough. She’s not like us.”

The glow flickered with Agatha’s arching brow, surprise sprouting on her features with a smirk. But then it ebbed, and her hands dropped. “You’re shacking up with a human woman?”

“Leave, now.” Rio put her body between you and Agatha as though it would help your hallucinations from taunting you. “I gave you an answer, and we have nothing else to say to one another.”

Agatha’s eyes were stormy, but she slammed the door shut behind her as she left.

Rio stared out the window for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth wildly for a brief period of time before she slowly turned to you and narrowed her eyes to study you closely.

But you . . . Were stuck in a motionless state, staring back at her, throat dry and sandpapery as you swallowed.

She went to climb the stairs and you flinched, forcing her to stop.

“Angel,” she said, crooning soft. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“Am I having a terrible dream?” you asked her as she drifted closer slowly, inch by inch, eyes beginning to have a glow around the edges.

“Yes, yes it’s all but a brutal nightmare, my sweet,” she murmured as her fingers trailed up your jawline as she stood over you. “It will all be fine when you awaken. I’ll be there to ease the panic.”

“You never married a man . . . Did you, Rio?” you asked, distantly and blinking at the beautiful woman you had trusted so.

“No, Angel, and you’re incredibly intelligent to come to that conclusion and confront me about it.” A pause as you nodded dreamily. “But I’m afraid you won’t be privy to that when you wake up. I can’t . . . I can’t lose you.”

“Where would I go?”

“Away from me. Something I simply cannot allow.”

“I don’t understand. Why would I leave you?”

“Why indeed?” Rio agrees gently, crouching down on one knee and pressing her lips to your forehead. “That is why I am going to go inside and fix this little tidbit. You never have to worry about being scared around me, or feeling lost.”

You leaned into the woman’s warmth even as her skin gave off a warning chill. You buried your nose into her soft shirt and inhaled this scent that you had come to know as yours.

“So pretty,” Rio murmured as a heaviness threw you into knowing no more.

2024

“Rio my feet hurt,” you called, laying on a thick tone of pleading as you watched her pace like a caged beast near the windows.

Two more episodes of your show and she was less eased after Maximoff had left.

She still donned her robes as if they were armor, but now that cursed dagger was back to being belted on her hip, catching the light whenever she moved into the light and nearly blinding you.

“Rio.”

A pause, glancing at you with darkened eyes as she let them roam you. She hesitated for a few seconds and decided against ignoring your calls again, striding over like a pissed off cat.

She sat down gingerly next to you, the robes fluttering gracefully around her as she took one of your ankles in hand and lifted it into her lap. They felt swollen already and you were barely pregnant.

“You’re in a foul mood.”

“Did you not see the Scarlet Witch parade herself up to our doorstep?”

“What’s she going to do, exactly? Magic some sugar from our cabinets?”

Fingers dug into the fleshy part of your ankle, the only warning you’d receive for the attitude you just gave her. “You’re a smartass.”

“You knocked me up, so you’ll deal with whatever comes with that.” You waved her off and let your neck angle backwards and groaned

As thumbs dug circles into the sole of your foot. “Jesus Christ, Rio.”

“I don’t trust what she’s doing here,” your captor said, eyes watching couples yell at one another on the television screen. “My instincts are telling me something about this is off.”

“Your instinct always tells you that everything is off,” you muttered, cheek resting against the body of the sofa. “Part of being Death, having Deathly duties.”

“You’re mouthy.”

“Why are you so worried? Aren’t you like — I don’t know. Death?” You smirked, lifting your head.

“Yes.” She wouldn’t meet your gaze. “But she is the Scarlet Witch — and that has always been a match against Death.”

Rio and reader will return in part six.

PART SIX

my often forgetful taglist: @dandelions4us , @flow33didontsmoke , @girlsgotissues

[caramelarrowswife]

heyyy love your work! <33

I’m sorry if youre sick and tired of the purecacao/Dark Cacao promps but could I request ancients being invited to the Dark Cacao Kingdom for Choco’s birth/bakening(?) and they all absolutely fall inlove with that little bugger?

With some (not so subtle) Purecacao in the background? Maybe PV adoring Choco to the point of it bordering on fatherly love and Cacao getting so so flustered over it </33

Friends Being Foes

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

The new Heir to the Dark Cacao Throne had been born; a small warrior with the name Dark Choco Cookie.

It had taken a few days of convincing the very paranoid father, but the Ancient Heroes were finally allowed to visit the little boy.. and by the Witches, did the little boy enjoy the attention.

A/N: not at all sick and tired!! this was such an adorable request, i had a blast writing it hehe :3

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

The group of five made their way towards Dark Cacao Cookie’s bedroom; the warrior-king made sure he arrived at the cradle first, but this didn’t stop Hollyberry Cookie from getting a hold on the baby first.

“Look at you! You look just like your old man!” Hollyberry said, grinning ear to ear. She held Dark Choco up as if he was a rare gem that needed to be studied in daylight.

Dark Cacao’s hands twitched and he smiled tightly. “Why don’t we put him back to bed-”

Dark Choco babbled something incomprehensible, chubby little hands grabbing at Hollyberry’s face. The queen let out a loud chuckle, handing the baby over to White Lily Cookie.

The gentle lady looked at the small child with curiosity and wonder.

“Hello, small one..” she murmured, softly caressing Dark Choco’s cheek with her thumb. He made small sounds, grabbing for the lily on her head.

 White Lily smiled softly, handing the fragile child over to Golden Cheese Cookie - who was a little less careful.

“Hello there, tiny man,” Golden Cheese cooed. “Oh, look at you, reaching for the shinies - you want that? You wanna have my spear?”

Dark Cacao barely stifled a scream when Golden Cheese flew higher, towards the ceiling, with his baby in her arms. The winged queen laughed loudly at the sheer panic in his eyes.

“Don’t stress it, grandpa!” She said teasingly. “We don’t want to get your blood levels too high!”

“My blood levels are fine! Get down right this instant!” Dark Cacao shouted, his voice a pitch higher than usually. “I’m not joking, Golden Cheese!”

“You never are,” Golden Cheese pouted. “May you be more fun than your daddy, my little treasure..”

Dark Cacao sighed in relief as Dark Choco was brought down again, holding his hands out for his child - until the baby was taken by Pure Vanilla.

Very well, then. Dark Cacao could trust his small son in the hands of a capable man. A man that had caressed his skin at night, a man that had healed his wounds with the tenderness of a lover. Pure Vanilla would be sure to keep his boy safe-

The healer threw Dark Choco into the air, at least four feet towards the ceiling. Dark Cacao could not silence his scream this time as he shouldered his friends aside to catch his (now loudly giggling) baby.

“You’re all mad!” Dark Cacao whisper-shouted. “Vanilla, what the hell?!”

“We do this to Vanillian children,” Pure Vanilla said, a little puzzled about his friend’s extreme reaction. “With a Kingdom high in the sky, babies should learn to overcome a fear of heights immediately after birth.”

“My Kingdom is safely on the ground!” Dark Cacao looked like he might actually get a heart attack. “Pure Vanilla, Dark Choco should under no circumstance be thrown into the air like- like a- I cannot think of a single thing that should be thrown into the air!”

“Baby birds?” Golden Cheese suggested.

Dark Cacao jerked his head to her direction. “What?!”

“Nevermind.” She hovered down to his level, watching as Dark Cacao held his son close to his chest. “He really does look like you, you know. Oh, I just know he’s going to have the exact same grumpy expression!~”

Dark Choco giggled as both Hollyberry and Golden Cheese stared at him with matching grins. Pure Vanilla chose to stand by Dark Cacao’s side, later followed by White Lily as he stared lovingly at the tiny critter.

“May I hold him one more time?” Pure Vanilla murmured. “I won’t do anything bad, I promise.”

Dark Cacao hesitated, but when his eyes met those mismatched ones, he knew it was over for him. He never had been able to say ‘no’ to the kind-hearted healer, after all.

Pure Vanilla held Dark Choco in his arms, murmuring soft words the others couldn’t hear. While the new-born cookie couldn’t understand them, he found them mighty entertaining, and-

“Appa!” Dark Choco babbled. "Papa-!"

A flush crawled up Pure Vanilla’s face, but he wasn’t nearly as red as Dark Cacao was. The king stepped forward, reaching to take his son again. “Okay, that’s enough-”

Dark Choco let out a loud cry, clinging to Pure Vanilla’s white gown with one hand and Dark Cacao’s hanbok with the other. Dark Cacao tried to pry those little fingers off of his clothes, but Dark Choco held on with a vice-like grip.

“Oh, he really is like you!” Hollyberry beamed. “Do you remember when we were children, and your father tried to take that raggedy plushie you loved so much-”

Dark Cacao kicked her shin, hard. It did not take away the fact he was now face-to-face with Pure Vanilla.

“Well, his Royal Highness has spoken,” Pure Vanilla teased, not unkindly. “Brood no longer, my king, for your new partner has arrived!”

Dark Cacao let out a laugh that bordered on hysteria, his face growing redder. He wished the ground would swallow him whole.

“Perhaps Dark Choco remembers Pure Vanilla’s face from all the times you’ve drawn him?” Golden Cheese said.

A look of betrayal was sent her way by Dark Cacao. “The paintings were a secret.”

Pure Vanilla raised an eyebrow and his smile widened. Had he tried to look mischievous, he failed miserably; love and adoration streamed through his very being. “I’d like to see those, Cacao.”

Dark Cacao let out a low, embarrassed groan.

He never should’ve brought them here.

[valacre]

: ̗̀➛ Give Me Some Time

Sentinel Prime x Reader - Transformers One Summary: In a different timeline, D-16 did not kit-kat Sentinel but instead had codes forcibly implanted into his processor where he’d be permanently stuck in a mass-displaced form, and with his t-cog forcibly removed in front of the masses of Iacon, he was then publicly humiliated, dragged around like a slave for all to mock, and then thrown into a pod to be sent out into space. Hopefully, it’d been for him to die all alone, but whether by the grace or curse of Primus, hidden stores of energon had been onboard, and with his new form being so little, Sentinel did not have much need to refuel often. Still, with space madness tearing away at his mind, he slowly began to lose hope… Until he accidentally went into stasis only to later be re-awakened by a very odd sight; you.

Screeching as you toss a branch at him, he growls and glares furiously at you, wishing to transform his servo into a blaster but knowing he couldn’t. Luckily, he was still much stronger than you, being able to protect himself from your feeble attacks by simply holding an arm up, though the whole reason for your dramatic antics had been mostly his fault… Not that he’d really meant to punch you once he came online, but your strange organic face had been right there; it’d surprised him.

“What the fuck are you?!” you scream, picking up rocks and tossing them at him too, stepping back to avoid him attacking you in return. Your left cheekbone had swelled and was turning a ghastly shade of blue and purple, and your left eye was partly closed due to it all, though that didn’t stop you from glaring daggers at him.

Honestly, he was surprised by your lack of fear. He’d expected you to flee once he stood up, not throw whatever lay around like some kind of wild animal. However, a wild animal is exactly what you were, so, really, he shouldn’t be surprised at all.

“Will you stop attacking me? Can’t you see that your pathetic attempts to harm me do nothing?” said he, huffing and looking over his frame, frowning at the new scratches you’d given him. Millennia stuck in space, travelling at a gruellingly slow pace to Primus knew where; the first half of it spent going mad with loneliness, the other half spent in blessed stasis, yet he somehow only takes notice of his appearance just now. He’s always been meticulous, proud of his frame and its shine, but time dulled his colours and scratches he didn’t recognise adorned him here and there. Self-inflicted? He couldn’t be quite sure, but your fit had surely given him new ones.

“Are you some kind of sentient robot?” you ask, holding a large stick and pointing it at him threateningly. Was that supposed to look like some kind of sword? The sight of it almost made Sentinel laugh; almost. “Well?!”

“Stop your shouting,” said he, brushing leaves off himself as he watched you, not quite able to look away. You were uncannily similar to Cybertronians, your face, your body, all organic, of course, and yet still so similar in many ways. How was he able to understand you, though? Another fun fact about the ancient code neither he nor D-16 for that matter, had fully understood? Well, no matter, he didn’t care, it just felt good to talk to someone again, whether they were a disgusting organic or not. At least your optics were pretty to look at.

… Primus, he really had gone mad.

Taking a few more steps back, you glance over your shoulder and towards the stream, probably eyeing up the logs that lay as a bridge over the running water. Were you planning on running? Somehow, as ridiculous as it made him feel, it almost made Sentinel panic. He didn’t want to be alone again.

“Wait,” said he, holding out his arms in a non-threatening manner. “I think we got off on the wrong pede here.”

“You punched me!”

“Ah, yes, I apologise for that. I didn’t intend to hurt you, you merely surprised me, is all.”

“Do you hit everyone who surprises you?” you ask, still glaring.

Sentinel cleared his intake. “I have been lost in space for millennia, half of it spent in stasis. I don’t think you would react kindly to an alien face being so close to your own after so suddenly waking up, would you?” asked he, speaking softly to you in hopes that your anger would falter. You were a primitive race, surely, it couldn’t be too difficult to manipulate you.

You blinked. “Millennia?” you said, disbelieving. “How—what?”

He took a single step towards you, keeping a friendly smile on his face plate, knowing he still towered over you, shrunken wings tucked behind him. “Why don’t we try this again; I am Sentinel.” He held a servo to his chassis, digits twitching once he felt the empty t-cog compartment, thoughts immediately wandering off to the image of D-16 tearing it out of him. He must have made an expression you didn’t like, because as he took another step, still lost in thought, a twig broke beneath his pede and you jumped; fear quickly overtaking your face.

You turned and fled.

“No, wait!” Panic shook through Sentinel’s spark and he acted without thought, the fear of being left alone again too raw, the madness of space still fresh within his processor, the need of someone, anyone, just being there with him too strong to ignore.

You cast a glance over your shoulder, screaming bloody murder once you noticed him following closely behind, your feet suddenly carrying you faster than Sentinel thought possible. How were you so fast? Though taller than you he had a difficult time keeping up, the nature around him alien, roots of trees stronger than first believed and tripping him, forcing him down with a heavy thud upon the ground.

“Please!” he called, disoriented from low energon levels, pathetically desperate not to be left alone. “Please, don’t leave me! Please!” Rising again, he rushed after you, picking up speed and gaining on you. He can hear you scream, barely able to truly see what he’s doing, vision blurring, but he’s caught you.

Oh, you’re so soft.

You’re trashing and screaming and short of breath, but you’re in his arms and it feels so good to touch someone again, and you’re so soft, not at all like a Cybertronian, all rounded and smooth. And he’s falling onto his aft, leaning against a tall tree as he holds you, thoughts wandering as his optics offline.

“Don’t leave,” he says, voice unimaginably gentle, so unlike him. “Don’t leave me, please.” He’s squeezing you, not too hard, not wanting to harm you; to frighten you. He just needs this, this contact, your touch no matter how alien it is. And you’ve stopped trashing, still breathing rapidly, your organic spark beating wildly within your chest.

“Sentinel… That was your name?” you ask after a while, breath calming though you’re still tense.

He purrs, unconsciously, comforted by someone saying his name. Comforted by someone speaking to him, hears you say your own name, oddly sounding, yet fitting you quite well. And you try to push his arms away, wishing to be released, but he refuses; not yet.

“Wait,” he says, sighing and leaning his face plate into your hair, trying to compose himself yet his processor is still panicked, still afraid of the loneliness. “Just… give me a moment.” He doesn’t expect the mercy, the pain of D-16 tearing his t-cog out of his chassis somehow still fresh, but you quiet down and relax your body, calming in his arms, growing less afraid of him.

Music: Holst – The Planets, Op. 32: III. Mercury, the Winged Messenger & Musical Wanderings – Ethereal

[scribbledghost]

Hi ghost! I’ve been loving your vessel/poly vessel world and I have a question… since the vessels have a long life span, are they immortal?

And if so… how would they approach the idea of reader’s mortality? I assume reader is human? What if they don’t want to change and be a follower of sleep? Would also grant them the same long life as the vessels despite?

Hi!! I'm so glad you're enjoying the inhuman vessels. They're super fun to write! As for your question...

They are functionally immortal, yes. Think less "witness the heat death of the universe" type immortal and more "centuries or millenia-long lifespans" type immortal, you know? As for exactly how long they live, no one really knows. Vessel has been alive for centuries, and he has felt no real effects of aging beyond the 30-something years he was as a human, so the assumption is they will simply live until Sleep is done with them.

In this au, the reader is, in fact, human. As such, their mortality can be a bit of a... touchy subject, depending on which vessel you talk to. Vessel himself doesn't like to dwell on it - in fact, he'll often shut the conversation down if it comes to that. Others, like II, are a bit more pragmatic. They know you're mortal, and they know they're not. As such, they know they'll lose you one day. Best to focus on the now.

If you don't want to undergo that transformation and become a follower of Sleep, that's okay. None of them will hold it against you or hold a grudge. They won't expel you from the manor or anything. Some (like Vessel) may be upset at the denial, but only because he knows what the alternative means. He knows by not becoming a vessel like they are, you will die one day. Much sooner than he will. So it takes some time for him to overcome that and focus on spending as many good days with you as he can.

I don't think Sleep would grant you a lifespan like that of the vessels without you converting, unfortunately. The ancient deity has no use for immortals that don't worship it. However, I can see it extending your lifespan slightly, simply because you make its vessels happy. So while you may not live for a millenia, I can see Sleep influencing your biology so you can still be puttering around the manor when you're 150.

[eorzeanflowers]

Just having Cissnei brainworms... Since all the people with Echo have Ancients... Here's Cissnei's Ancient, Melinoe!

A ward of Emet-Selch's and a brilliant mage in her own right. She gets along rather well with her father's friend Zagreus, idolizing his role in the convocation as Azem.

[wildstar25]

Honeymoon pt.5 - Shaaloani

Aetherically, there are some striking differences; but in form alone the similarities to The Qitana Ravel are uncanny. That such ruins could exist both on the first and the source.... This has given me much to think about. Come, you two, let us freshen up and make camp before nightfall. Our adventures may continue tomorrow.

<<prev//next>>

[starry-bi-sky]

Out of Context Danny Phantom Memes for a fic i haven't posted (yet)

[ehlnofay]

a few pages of efri's word-book :) it was originally a fabric-scrap gift from urag in which he carefully wrote and illustrated the kinds of words that seem normal for a kid to start learning to read with. efri dutifully copied all of these out and then immediately went off the deep end with as many syllables as she could find. it quickly became one part learning-to-write exercise to two parts weird diary - you can trace a lot of what she's thinking about in there, and she starts including more little thoughts and notes as she gets more comfortable with writing

[bogos-bint3d]

Fr though I have to say one difficult thing about writing undertale fancontent is that due to undertale taking place in the future (Chara canonically fell at some point in the 2010s and it can be assumed undertale takes place a long amount of time after that), you have to try and come up with new technology and stuff for this future world in a way that doesn't just sound really fucking outlandish. Like, what would future society be like? Who would be doing what in the future? Does my undertale fanfiction sound weird if characters regularly use flying hoverboards for no explained reason?

[sometimesanequine]

interesting time to have a get too stressed and have your body try to kill you thing going on today, ocean life and ocean ecosystem documentaries save me

[oh-no-its-bird]

I have an idea for a sort of silly light novel writing project I'll probably never actually write but is fun to just think about

But like. Cultivator set up, wuxia world w a slight blending of different cultivation genres, a guy wakes up in a forest with amnesia. (Wow classic I know)

So the first few chapters he's hearing about all these big famous people who have gone missing over the years, right? And he (along with probably the reader) is like, "Heh. That could be me,,," (smugly)

But the names keep piling on, and he comes to a realization: important and unimportant cultivators alike go missing and lose their memories or whatever else at an alarming rate. He is not special. (Coughs up blood)

He probably runs into other amnesiacs more than once, and I'd have a running theme of like, he keeps bumping into main character coded characters just left and right. There's so much happening in this world, so many stories being told, he's really not special. But also he is bc hes our main character

But just like silly mostly self contained stories told from this guy just wandering around this absoloute cluster fuck of a world, often running head first into really interesting stories that are clearly like in the middle of a 5 arc novel their own

It'd probably gain a real central narrative along the way like all things inevitably do (the mystery of how he lost his memories and the fall out of what happens when he learns the truth) but for now I have fun just thinking ab his dumb adventures

As for the character himself, hes is like, obnoxiously laid back. SUPER chill, takes everything with a sigh and a smile, very lazy, takes a lot of shortcuts and goes "Ah but that's fine, right?" As everything explodes around him. If he's alive, then all is well in the world 👍

He'd cause so many problems just because and also probably have absolutely shit luck that gets him into even more problems (my favorite genre of character)

I also have like. A slowly but surley growing list of characters he'd run into like uhh [checks notes] evil lesbian mirror demon and the very angry woman she trapped in a mirror and stole the face and life of (the demon hate sex goes crazy).

And also ofc, "person trapped in a cycle of reincarnation with a curse that no matter how hard they try to be good, they will inevitably cause some great destruction or evil or plague of some kind." And just them very very desperately trying to be good even though they know it's futile

Yay!! Fun stuff

[icewindandboringhorror]

There's always a slight yearning in the back of my mind wishing I had been born in the right place, time, family situation, income level, etc. to have just lived in one single house for my entire life. Imagine being born in a place that still suits you, even through all of your personal evolutions and etc. The idea of deep familiarity with an area because you've lived and explored it for 40+ years, being encased in a web of memories and connections. Being able to clean out your old childhood bedroom and find personal artifacts, to dig in the yard and remember. I know those lives can still be plenty imperfect, but there's just something so seemingly solid and stable and Grounding about it that I sometimes wish I could have.. (At least from my outside perspective as someone who's moved around a bit geographically and even within the same area, never lives in the same house/ apartment /etc. for more than a few years usually.) Like... having a place that is printed upon, fully your own, rather than chronically a visitor, every thought of a space always tempered with the notion that one day soon you'll have to pack it all up again, etc. There's something peaceful about the permanence.

[spotsupstuff]

here's a neat vid, go watch it if you haven't yet

there's Some things that i don't completely agree with personally, like attributing the Third sin to Materialism rather than Connection (i'd argue that the Ancients had no big issue with being materialistic, considering their golden attires and such- and that going with Connection overall better addresses both the core of Materialism and relationships overall) and then attributing the word Dynasty specifically to asian cultures but that's more history/word definition beef more than anything djgklsjlcgjkd

oh how i'd love to have a debate with this guy about Ancients...