#a lot about stories and water analogies

[squiredpengu]

Hello I am back to talk about Freddie and Grace obvious spoiler warning here

I have so many thoughts (as I am creating a Playlist/fanfic and still cannot replay the game) and like it's just so sad when you think about the aftermath of Grace being unable to save Freddie 💔

I've only barely delved into the Orpheus DLC, but the fact remains Grace would've lost so much. Like I haven't done one where she wasn't saved with the DLC yet (my Pan romance save still need to do Freddies) - but imagine the loss after that and again finding yourself unable to know what to so afterwards.

Like Grace shows up pretty much lost again like she is at the beginning of the original game after what she decided to do post game - so not much time has passed (probably a few months to a year at best)

Like I understand why the "choice" is vague in her reference, but ugh girl it hurts to think about. Like where do you go after all the "idol" introduction business is done and you just exist? Like they establish it's kinda just normal now in the world for them to be there.

I love how they mention what happens after the epilogue, even if it's brief. But just would she be able to properly grieve for Freddie? Would she visit Hades, to the throne room? Would she visit the Reliquary? What would she do with Freddie's hat? Her stuff? Her relationship to music has to be bittersweet.

I'm definitely exploring these questions in my fanfic, but man it does hurt to think about 🥲

[fellhellion]

it's incredibly apt to me that the spiderverse team specifically drew upon brutalism as the primary style for the architecture of spider society because it's a style simultaneously linked to this notion of raw honesty (because you expose the material laying at the core of the structure) + social wellfare (as concrete was relatively cheaper to use and thus you got a lot of cheaper housing utilising this style), egalitarian by nature - it all looks the same, function over form etc.

but it ended up also getting associated with the structural flaws present in social wellfare systems by virtue of where it was applied as well as it being a style that's quite intense by nature (some would even argue ugly fjdfjk), and thus you get people implicitly associating it with those structural flaws and thinking of it as oppressive, even though the movement wasn't like. intentionally trying to cultivate that impression or be utilised in such a way.

which is interesting to me because that kind of duality works perfectly with the kind of tonal shift miles goes through when operating in that environment. spider society is at first wonderous and bright and brilliant, evocative of endless possibilties and stylistically almost like a large concrete web. but when miles is failed by that system, the large concrete web becomes constraining and suffocating.

hell, the idealogical roots of brutalism even work to an extent with the idealogical roots of spider society. neither was cultivated with the active intent to cause harm, and they're both associated with the desire to promote a future that is providing for the people utilsing it, but ultimately it's a tool. and any tool can be one that, inadvertently or otherwise, causes harm.

[1920sladydectective]

Best Friend's Mother Ch.6 (Finale) 6.8K MDNI 18+

Here she bloody is, my darlings!

All done, finally, giving me room to write even more Ambessa stuff. Next stop Professor Medarda!

That being said, I've loved writing this story and feel so honoured by the reception it has received. Thank you especially to @shinyshayminflower for the initial prompt, @uselessbard1031 for the endless support and @chocolate-quotes for the stunning cover art which I adoreddddddddddd.

Love you all, let me know what you think!

Warnings: Degradation, Name Calling, Overstimulation kinda? Lots of alcohol idk I'm British and this is set at Christmas okay.

Chapter 6:

You’d failed at the first hurdle, the first second, the truest and largest fuck up possible of a New Year’s resolution. Bubbles fizzed in your blood, common sense popping like a thousand little sparks. 

She tasted good, like whisky and regret and those tiny chocolate puddings on the trays at the party. The party you couldn’t quite remember or reconcile, the party that faded to blurring noise as she consumed you. 

Ambessa’s mind was screaming at her. This was not how she’d intended the evening to go. Rather the opposite. She was going to kiss one of Cassandra’s uptight friends, unwind them a bit and then take her drunken gaggle of children home. 

Instead she’d been ripped to shreds by her daughter and was now eating the very forbidden (but no longer?) fruit she had tried to avoid. 

You pulled away merely to breathe, but it was enough, like a shock of cold water. Tears, hot and angry sprung into your eyes almost immediately. 

“What was that?” You snarled, gulping in air. 

“I-“ Ambessa coughed slightly, “A mistake,” 

You scoffed, shoving her, “You can say that again,” 

“No,” She backtracked, muddled, “I just meant-“ 

“Do me a favour and fuck off, okay?” You wiped your mouth viciously with your sleeve, panic heavy in your heart as you rushed past her without another word. Drunk and distressed, you made your way into a random corner and stayed there. 

You’d tell Mel in the morning, you told yourself with trembling hands, but right now it would be too much. 

Ambessa was having the most tiring evening ever. Nothing was happening in the right order, as if she’d been given the smaller part of every wishbone in existence.Her mouth was a villain, intent on ruining everything. Glancing in the reflection of one of Cassandra’s crystalline statutes, she saw her massacred face, red smudges everywhere. 

“Well,” Cassandra Kiramman’s smug voice rang out, “That was a damn sight better than seeing you kiss my child like last year,” 

Muscled shoulders seized, wide golden eyes meeting cool grey ones, “Lovely party,”

“I think that’s the first time in twenty years you’ve said that,” She snorted, “I needn’t lecture you about how stupid that was, we both remember what happened with Maddie,”

“She isn’t Maddie,”

“Evidently,” A click of teeth, an outstretched hand holding cloth “I’ll see you on the 14th, I can take your money and your secrets then,” 

Ambessa sighed, wiping her face of lipstick and taking a regrouping breath. There was little to do but sober up and figure out a battle plan. Divide her stupidity and hopefully conquer her love. Or some other battle analogy she was too pissed to think of. “Thank you,”

“There’s no need for that,” She smiled, rolling her eyes at her friend, “You’re hosting the women’s luncheon in February,” 

Fuck.

You were sitting in a fancy taxi, a snoozing Mel on your shoulder as Kino rambled about the artwork in Caitlyn’s house. You didn’t care about the fact that the frames were worth as much as the art, or that some of them had taken years to find. You didn’t care about anything at all really, save the brooding woman in front of you. She seemed so cold, so distant, and you found that it did not suit her. You’d never be rid of her, that understanding had set in as you stumbled out of the car and into the front porch. She was like Japanese knotweed, strong and thriving and made to rot the very foundations of life. Here you were, a three time offender of succumbing to her, despite your morals and your strength and your hatred. 

Deft fingers attempted to grab your wrist as Kino and Mel waltzed arm in arm up the staircase, but her hold found nothing but air. A snap, a growl, something animalistic as you trailed quickly after your friends, the third of the good little wolves and nothing more. 

Sleep was easy due to alcohol, though all it really did was lock you in dreams. Tender kisses and bitter words fighting for the spotlight, leaving your mind a flashing drunken strobe. Sweaty, distressed turning and rolling until dawn beckoned and you lay shivering in the fetal position. No amount of fancy heating systems could rid your bones of the chill, heavy limbs freezing you in place. 

It took several hours and a minor pity party to make it into a different pair of less sweaty pyjamas, another hour to make it downstairs and fifteen seconds for your hopes of sorting this out as soon as possible to be crushed. 

A series of texts from Mel. Mel and Kino had left twenty minutes ago, a sibling breakfast tradition you had been omitted from due to your lack of appearance. Fuck. Just her, somewhere, lurking. 

The kitchen was safe, paprika crisps settling your stomach as you brewed some longjing tea. A plan was formed, tell Mel, pack your shit and stay with your cousin until the housework finished later this week. It was solid, grounding and allowed you to get the fuck out of this weird fantasy land. Nothing felt tangible here, all consequences smashing down as soon as the spell of the upper class echelons was shattered by travelling 20 miles north. You holed yourself up in one of the spare sitting rooms, avoiding where she thought you’d be in favour of unfamiliar cream sofas and animal artwork. 

It wasn’t enough. 

Tentative footsteps, her arrival heralded by Mina, like a slow marching procession. There was no escape. One way in, one way out. The oak door clicked shut softly. You did not, would not, give her the satisfaction of looking up. 

Your name on her lips, measured and calm, as the sofa to your right dipped with her body weight. A loud clunk, your gaze meeting a bottle of artisan Olive Oil. 

“Olive branch?” She muttered, “We were out of breadsticks,” 

You looked at it, still not her, nose twitching. Her charm, though flavoured now with hesitancy, was viscous and wrong as it lapped at your skin. “That implies there’s a conversation to be had here, and there isn’t,”

“Look at me,” Soft but impatient. 

Your eyeline did not move. Her arrogance astounded you.

“I was thinking-”

“No, Mrs Medarda,” You snapped, formality and fury, making the cat jump, “There is nothing you can say, I am going to tell Mel and then I’m going to get away from you, as fast as possible,” 

“A tad dramatic,” Cryptic, passive smile, “Mel knows, darling,” 

“What?” This had you meeting her gaze, “You told her?”

“Not yet,” A sniff, “Not exactly,” 

“Well then she doesn’t fucking know, you twat,” 

Ambessa’s lips upturned slightly, “She doesn’t know the specifics, but she knows my motivations,”

“Motivations?” You scoffed, “Your untameable pride and sex drive you mean?”

Ambessa, despite having spent most of the night replaying every interaction you had ever shared under the rosy haze of infatuation, had yet to find a way to piece together her confession. Part of her wanted to wax lyrical, a modern day poet speaking in nothing but nonsense and flowers. But your impatience, borne of hurt and exhaustion, hung heavy above her. She was the one fearing the guillotine’s blade now, she should have learned from history that the revolution always comes in the end. And here it was, the revolt of her own mutinous heart. 

“Well?” Her silence unsettled you, those carved brows scrunched inwards, as you fought a mounting urge to backhand her. 

“Not quite that,” She muttered, “Wouldn’t have bothered with the olive oil if it was just sex, dear,” 

Your eyes rolled, pushing off of the sofa, body fleeing before your blood curdled in your veins. 

She grabbed your arm, pulling you back down with a thud, “Stop I-” gasped air, “I’m trying to be honest here,”

“You’re speaking like a Dickens novel and I’m supposed to take you seriously? Three Ghosts come and slap you in the face? Or some New Year’s resolution, is it?” You yank your hand back, skin fizzing and yearning for the calloused warmth to return. 

“Yes, actually,” 

“What was your Christmas past like then?”

“Troubled,” She quipped, rolling her eyes at you, “It is a resolution, one I indeed to stick to,”

A laugh, grating against your throat, “Didn’t take you for the type, you don’t seem in a rush to change anything about your life,” 

“Stop being childish and listen,” She snapped. 

“You have two minutes,” You spat, “And then I’m leaving,”

“Two minutes isn’t even enough time to boil an egg,” 

“Ambessa,”

Muscles tensed. Fine. Fucking Hell. “I’ve been bad to you,” There, well done Ambessa, a start. Accountability, the sharp blade you must crush within your palm. 

Tart and hard, an unripe cherry between your teeth, shock bloomed. There was nothing particularly reassuring about her words, but you jumped all the same. 

“I abused your kindness and took advantage of you,” How lovely and romantic, the muted whites of the room shifting to morose greys. 

“Old news, cemented about nine kisses ago,”

“I know that,” It was sharper than she’d intended, a sigh rattling out, “I know,”

“If you know, why are we having this conversation?” You grabbed the olive oil, waving it about, “What kind of weak, spindly branch is this?”

“You’re so pedantic, must you have everything spelled out for you?!” She growled, tenderness foreign on her tongue, “The I’m in love with you kind,” 

A spell, like a muffling blanket of snow, enveloped the room. Such a tender, sweet truth, with all the certainty and promise of the apple of Eden. Was she the snake or Eve, you could hardly tell. You sat, in stasis, as she swallowed. 

FIve minutes. Ten. A brutal, endless fifteen. 

“Don’t be cruel,” Acid burned in your mouth, tears smarting your eyes, “Don’t wave that about,”

Snip. Your words cutting Ambessa’s newly found heartstrings, “I wouldn’t,”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“No,” It was firm.

“And that’s what Mel knows?” You asked, eyes narrow. You didn’t believe her, couldn’t, wouldn’t. Really, really shouldn’t. 

“She insisted upon it, screamed at me in the Kiramman’s bathroom,” 

“Wait,” Awe bubbled between your ribs, “Last night?”

A begrudging nod, that soft half smile that made you melt. She loved your lip twitches of surprise, your mouth turning over words you couldn’t vocalise. 

“Why?”

“She sort of stumbled into it, as did I,” A pause as she pulled a red wine bottle and glasses from seemingly nowhere, “Do you mind?”

“Yes, I do,” You snarked, flicking the cork onto the floor, “But by all means, don’t let that stop you,” 

“I won’t,”

You took the glass she offered all the same, settling into the sofa with renewed confidence, petulant hands spilling drops of burgundy onto the cream sofa. “Stumbled, you said?”

Ambessa crossed her legs, Malbec coating her tongue, “She was..frustrated that I had not distanced myself enough from you,”

“I noticed a distinct difference,”

“That’s what I said,”

“Not taking your side,” You swished your hand for her to continue. 

“She said I was selfish and many other things, another character assassination,” Heavy chug, “But she wanted a reason, a cause,”

“She always does,” Anticipation was building now, possible half truths and sweet words lingering just out of reach, “It’s the only reason she forgave me, because of how I felt,”

Ambessa nodded, eyes distant, “Did you know I find it harder to sleep now?”

What? You were hungover and hair of the expensive vintage dog was not quite cutting it.  Speak plainly you maddening cow, your mind cried. Instead, “Pardon?”

“I miss the weight of you on my chest, and the coldness of your toes on my calves,” She muttered, memory easier than big declarations, “It’s what I thought of when Mel asked me to prove it, to prove it was..” 

Monster. Cannibal. Villain. She was gnawing at your bones, words like ambrosia to all the battered, tired shades of you that sat before her. You missed that too, had mourned it like so many other little, luxurious sweetnesses. 

“That’s still a physical desire,” You rationalised, lips stained with wine. 

A grunt, “Do you need more?”

A nod. Several. Only confirmational overkill would do here. 

“I-” Her hand twitched, “find myself trying to force an affinity for apple tea,”

“You hate it,”

“But it tastes of you,” She said, “Sometimes it’s all I can do to stave off the craving,”

“So you miss my mouth? Physical.” 

Ambessa pouted, heavy hand overpouring another glass, “What do you want from me? I’ve already said it,”

You laughed, in spite of it all, “I want to know what you’re feeling, not what you miss or crave or imagine,”

It seemed to rent her asunder, her feelings etched in memories, stuck far away from words. Love was one, but it was vulnerable and rough against her tongue. It had only come out via happenstance, sleep deprivation and growing panic. Affection hung in the background, and devotion sat like oil on her smooth skin. How was she to wield them? A great axe pulling her into herself, straining underdeveloped muscles. 

“It’s a bit like quicksand,” Her tone was unsteady, “It’s eating me whole,”

“What is?”

 “Love,” She snarled, as if it was obvious, eyes ever so slightly glazed. 

“The more you fight, the more you sink?”

She nodded, a heady relief in your understanding, light at the end of her confusing tunnel, “Exactly that,” 

You downed your glass, “Then I’ll throw you a stick, help you out,” a dismissive sniff, “I hate you,”

“No you don’t,” No hesitation, “You fell before I did, Sweet Girl,” 

“And look where that got me,” 

“But we’re in it together now,”

“There is no together, Ambessa,” You were sinking, she would not be proven right, “Your love is as dangerous as your indifference, wolves do not cradle their prey tenderly,”

“You aren’t prey,” It was a cry, angry and indignant, as her hands found yours. 

“Then why am I covered in your bitemarks?” 

She grumbled, “I think we’ve used the full extent of this metaphor, darling,” 

“Metaphors, jibs, cold truths, however you spin it, you are an emotionally immature mess,”

“Mel called me an emotionally impotent bitch,” She said, interlocking her warm hands with your trembling ones, “You were kinder about it,” 

“I’m always kinder about everything,” You replied, tightening your grip.

“It’s one of the things I love about you,” 

“Stop saying that!” 

“What?” She smiled, something giving way inside her, “Love? That I love you?”

“I-Yes,” You were chest deep now, thick wet sand eating you, “I don’t know what to do with that, with you,” 

Ambessa sat, rhythmically stroking your knuckles, as her head leaned closer to yours, “You let me earn you, my darling,”

Thick sludge, stealing your breath away now, “Earn me?” 

“Will you let me try?” Her voice was molasses now, pushing you down into the very bottom of the pit, her brain finally catching up with her body, “Words fuelled by action?” 

“L-like date me? And woo me?” Your eyes were fluttering, heart a schism of fear and fancy. 

She hummed in confirmation, free hand tucking some of your glitter crusted hair behind your ear, gaze soft. 

“Doesn’t seem very characteristic, Ambessa,” 

“Yes, well,” A humorous sigh, “You’ve clearly made me sick, some kind of spell or curse,”

You smacked her arm, a nonsensical laugh slipping out. She was ridiculous and stupid and images of her sending you flowers or taking you mini golfing came into your mind unbidden. 

“Is that a yes, my darling?”

“What does Mel think?”

“I think you should ask her,” Ambessa’s voice wrapped around you, “Regardless of this, I will not monopolise on your relationship with her,”

“I think you’re suffering from head injury,” She was perfect, she was handing you your dreams on a silver platter, so why couldn’t you take it? “I think I need some time,”

She nodded, ignoring the dark growl in her chest, “There’s no timeline,” Actually, the timeline was she wanted to be between your legs right now, but it seemed the clocks were confused. 

With an odd, robotic stroke to her cheek, you stumbled out of the room and back up the stairs. Ignoring your door, you curled into Mel’s room, allowing yourself to be engulfed by frilly bed sheets. She’d find you later and you could have a chat. 

Find you she did, snoring and pale in her bed, with wine stained lips and tear stained cheeks. Hungover limbs crawled around you, kissing your forehead. 

“Babe!” It was a happy shout, as you flinched awake. 

“That was not the only way to do that,” 

“It’s the way I chose,”

The conversation that transpired was as follows. You bared your snotty, shattered soul and called her mother all the cruel, loving things you could think of and she nodded sagely whilst stroking your hair. She then decided to take her mother’s side, and say that you should definitely pursue a relationship if you loved her, as if it was that simple. You were now battering her shoulder with a candy cane shaped cushion. 

“Hitting me isn’t going to change my answer,”

“It’s not normal to tell your friend to date your mother,” You cried, “The only sane person in this family is Kino,”

“Really?”

A memory of him drizzling a chicken wing with melted chocolate the night before returned, “Christ, okay you’re all nuts!” 

“You still haven’t told me what you want,” Mel murmured, taking the candy cane from your grasp, “Just that she’s evil and you feel weak when she smiles, which honestly urgh,” 

Uncertain, jittering hands tug at a strand of hair, “I don’t think I know,”

Silence, her hand on your shoulder, as you sorted through the bombed out craters in your mind. Each kiss, fight, and confession had made its mark and the rubble was hard to decipher. 

“I think I want to exist a bit, before I commit to anything,” 

“You have been through a lot, babe,” Mel was so gentle, you adored her more than she could ever ever know, “Maybe just be you? Mum’ll wait,”

“Will she?” That was your hope and your fear. 

“She’ll have to if she’s serious, and if she doesn’t then fuck her, you can find another fish, preferably one I’m not related to,” 

“I love you,”

“Damn right,” She kissed your head, “Now can we watch TV or something, my head hurts,”

Three days passed, and she was surprisingly normal. There was no forced affection or ultimatums, just the same smile; considerate and mischievous. You were grateful, the space confirming what you’d said to Mel. You needed to be you, away from the magic and madness of this house, and only then would you really know. 

When you told her as much, firelight flickering in the library on your last evening, she let out a long sigh. The grating, dull pain in her heart intensified, but with it so did her plan.

The last dinner felt stupidly biblical, final and massive, as though you may never return. A veritable feast, overflowing plates and glasses, as even Rictus joined you for the meal. Kino was a jester of epic proportions, breaking more than one glass in his pursuit of a punchline. Ambessa sat, quiet but merry, against the carved mahogany chair of the dining room. Mel, as ever, was the master of pictures. You dreaded the thought of the costs to develop that much film, though you placed bunny ears behind Kino’s head as you grinned into the flash all the same. Rictus, though, was the real diamond in the rough of the evening. Strong and well mannered, with your exact sense of humour. He was quiet and yet seemed to fill every silence that threatened to hurt you. You felt sorry to have overlooked him in a way, leaning a heavy head against his shoulder. 

“I’m going to miss you,”

“Miss my endless free labours?” He joked, a gruff voice above your ear. 

“Miss your sanity,” You said, “Miss your friendship,”

“Well, I’m only ever a phone call away,” He replied, “Us furniture have to stick together,” 

You laughed, bright and true, as he dolloped another mountain of tiramisu onto your plate. 

Slowly, but surely, you all retired to bed, a holiday well spent and a heavy desire to return to normal weighing in the air.

The next morning, as he bundled your endless possessions into Mel’s boot, Rictus called you over. 

“Something the matter?”

“Kid,” A sternness, “You’re going to be alright?”

You snorted, “I told you I’d keep in touch, where’s this come from? Delirious from all of Mel’s handbags and shoes?”

“I love Ambessa Medarda very much,” He said out of nowhere, hand stroking your arm, “Don’t let her wants eclipse yours,”

“What?” What the fuck was he on about? 

“Speak of the devil, and she appears,” He muttered, stepping away without a further word. Bastard. 

Ambessa squeezed Mel with all her might, an acceptance blossoming in a relationship filled with shards of glass and broken promises. “Look after yourself, work hard,”

“Party harder,” Mel muttered, “I know Mum, I’ll see you at Easter,”

She climbed into the preheated Land Rover, just as Rictus wandered back into the Manor with a shout and a wave. Kino had said goodbye over breakfast, nearly breaking a rib, and so it was just her.

The goodbye was stilted, her large hand stroking your hair as she took an audible sniff. It made you giggle wetly, swallowing down the impulse to just collapse into her and let yourself be consumed. You first, her later. That was probably what Rictus had meant, god your brain was slow today.

“Thanks for a lovely Christmas, and everything in between, well most things,” You mumbled, watery smile. 

“You’re more than welcome, Sweet Girl,” 

“I-I’ll be in touch, when I can,” Her hand was warm in yours, keeping you anchored in place. 

“IF you can, Dear,” She corrected, voice caring “I expect you to take this seriously,” 

A scoff, as you nodded and pursed your lips. Everyone was treating you like you were suddenly going to go back on your plan and jump her bones against the front door. It was a valid concern, even you hadn’t decided completely if you would or not.

“See you soon,” She said, a throwaway comment, as you let go and climbed into Mel’s car. 

Several beats. Your heart full and empty, a weird schrodinger’s joke. A fern tree smell from the little car freshener. 

“Well that was agonising to watch,” Mel quipped, shooting her mum a wave and pulling out of the driveway. Manicured nails flicked on a random playlist, 80s rock heavy, as you stared out at the frosty scenery. 

The flowers started a week after you had gotten back to Edinburgh. Always different, always perfectly sized for your light green vase and never overwhelming. It was a constant sign of her presence, without the stifling need to be responded to. There was never a note, beyond her initials, and that made each delivery all the sweeter. Sometimes other things would come with them too, after a long deadline or big presentation, there would be wine or a new book. It was a more considerate type of materialism, reminiscent of sand castle buckets and chiffon dresses, as glimmering parts of your old self emerged from the explosion of Her. 

Winter socials, dancing around the house in pyjamas singing ABBA with Mel as the world began to thaw.

Valentine’s Day arrived, and with it a little bouquet of roses and a takeaway voucher. 

Happy Valentine’s Day, Ambessa x

                               You too, Sweet Girl x

It was your first point of contact, and you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. She was slowly but surely winning you over from afar, earning you as she’d said and this new, fresh, old version of yourself was happy to let her encroach a bit on No Man’s Land. Plus, this burrito was one of the best things you’d eaten in ages.

Ambessa was smiling widely at her phone, heart a jackhammer. She felt foolish, any acknowledgment sending her into a tailspin, but that soft kiss at the end of a text was enough to solidify her already immense resolve. You were hers, and she was yours, however long she had to wait.

You were granted the funding you needed, your academic success propelling you into spring with tired and happy limbs. Eleven weeks of flowers, a few scattered texts and one slightly drunken nude later, Mel was rambling at the dinner table about Easter plans. 

“Dad’s not back till the last week,” You replied around a very hot mouthful of chicken parm, “Presumed I’d spend the rest of the time with you,”

Mel’s eyes glistened, shit eating grin on her glossed lips, “Did you now?”

“Oh come off it,” You snapped, “Ambessa already offered anyway,” 

“She has? How nice of her,” Excitement fizzed in her, battling with a bit of sadness at losing her friend’s full attention, “And how is that? Calla lilies this week, I noticed,” 

“Why’s that matter?”

“They mean beauty,” 

“They have meanings?” Tomato sauce stained your grey joggers, you didn’t care, “What about the others?” 

She snorted, “You thought they were just random?”

“I-I” A gulp, “Well, fuck I don’t know I just thought they were pretty,” 

Her laughter grated at you, google your true friend in the matter, as you scanned through each message Ambessa had supposedly sent. 

Bluebells first - Humility. Ironic start. 

Honeysuckle - Bonds of Love

Yellow Tulips - Sunshine in a smile - your heart seized. 

Peony - Bashful - not a word you’d really associate with her. 

White Hyacinth - Loveliness - Hers or your own? Both, you decided. Both. 

Edelweiss - Devotion - a dizzy wave of warmth over your skin. 

Red Roses - I Love You - apt for Valentine’s day. 

Chamomile - Patience in adversity. How brave she was, how ridiculous.

Forget-Me-Nots - True Love Memories - Her stained grin, garlic bread in hand came to mind. 

Red Camellias - You’re a flame in my heart - This coincided directly with her receiving a picture of you in a lacy red bra and thong, courtesy of cheap pints in your favourite pub, and an uncharged vibrator. 

Calla Lillies - Beauty. 

Your chicken parm was cold now, your mouth hanging open, as your eyes burned slightly. 

“You back with me, babe?” 

“This is so stupid,” You spluttered into cold marinara sauce, “She’s so stupid,”

“Love makes a fool of us all,” Mel said wisely. 

“Is that why you, Viktor and Jayce were curled up last night? I saw you holding hands,” 

“Be quiet!” She whined, “Die,”

“Don’t throw stones, Mel,” You mocked, “You’re looking awful glassy right now,” 

You would stay for Easter then, you both agreed over chocolate mousse, as you sent a thumbs up to Ambessa’s invitation. 

Ambessa, glasses balancing on her nose as she read a novel, scanned the text. Once. Twice. An exuberant third time. Rictus ended up battered with requests for a clear and ornate Easter menu, despite the fact that the holiday was over six weeks away and not at all favoured by the Medarda family. Mina had taken to nibbling her phone but only ever when you texted, and Ambessa was beginning to take it personally.

Your spring deadlines came and went, as April and its gentle rest bite from academia beckoned. The journey was painfully familiar to you now, as was the warm and rough rock sitting in your stomach. You felt you again, which was terrifying as it finally gave some space for her. Something you had come to want so desperately it made your dreams turbulent and your hands shaky. She still had some work to do, but as you flicked through your sparse text exchanges you couldn’t fight the smitten smile. 

You loved Ambessa Medarda, and that was okay now. For both of you. 

Ambessa had been waiting for three hours by the door like an overexcited dog. Several times Rictus had come to ask her questions or show her things, and each time she was transfixed on the long driveway.

“Mel said they wouldn’t be here before 2,” He said, smirk on his lips. 

“She’s never reliable,” 

“She is literally compulsively on time,” 

“Rictus, do I pay you for these kinds of conversations?”

“No, but you probably should, I was going to bring it up during my next performance review,” 

“Ah yes, 31st of April, wasn’t it?”

He laughed, wandering back towards the tower of hand painted easter eggs he was tending to.

2pm on the dot you pulled up by the house, clambering to stretch your legs. As the door opened Mel ran to it, kissing her Mum’s cheek and shooting past her to get to the toilet. Whether intentional or serendipity, Mel had given you the perfect opening to stare like a lovesick fool at her mother. 

“Ambessa,” Her name a cry of joy.

“Sweet Girl,” She ignored the thickness in her throat, eyes glimmering at seeing your face again. 

“T-Thanks for the flowers,” Unsure hands, “And the messages they sent,”

She smiled, stepping forward and squeezing your arm. “Always, as long as you enjoy them,” 

“You’ve been just what I needed,” Affection swelled in your chest, “Present but distant,”

“Like a ghoul?” 

You giggled, “Exactly that,”

“You keep comparing me to spirits and ghosts,”

“I actually compared you to Scrooge, not the ghosts themselves,” 

She rolled her eyes, snorting, “You must always be right, mustn’t you?”

“Ambessa,” You repeated, gentiler now. 

She hummed in question, gaze meeting yours. 

“I think I’m ready to try now,” A sharp inhale, “If you are?”

“Well,” Her crimson lips part into a dazzling smile, “That makes me very ha-”

“Princess!!” Kino, dressed in plaid pyjamas, shouted as he ran to engulf you in a hug, “You’re here!”

“Bastard child,” Ambessa grunted under her breath, watching as you cuddled her son and made faces at her over his shoulder. 

“Later,” You mouthed, before focusing on Kino, “Hello there, Peacock Prince,”

She wandered back inside with a murderous expression, greeted by Mel halfway through a bag of Quavers, “Kino cockblock you?”

“Mel, I fund your lifestyle,” Ambessa snapped, “Do not antagonise me,”

“That’s a yes,” Her crunchy words said, offering her a cheesy grin. 

It took until after dinner that evening for you to get a moment alone together again, your spot in the library occupied as you stared across at her. Kino was out with another lady friend and Mel had common sense, so the air that crackled around you would not be interrupted. It was a good thing too, you’d spent the whole time eating your spaghetti trying to make yourself look alluring. Until Mel had pinched you under the table. 

“So,” You started, chest tight. 

“So,” She repeated, stroking Mina, “You said you were ready?”

“Yes,” Your decision was certain now, having spent some time back in her presence. You wanted it all, as soon as you could get it. Seemed you were as damned as she was. The devil on your own shoulder.

“We can take it slowly, Sweet girl,” She said, leaning forward, “There’s no rush,”

Your blood was thick and hot, mind whirling, “What if I want to rush?”

Ambessa grinned, chucking Mina away and with one sharp tug moving you onto her large thighs, “Then I’d say, where would you like to start?”

She was solid and seductive and all the things you’d avoided in your time finding yourself. She was as sticky and tempting as always, though her love tempered the fire now. Things were never done by half, and you’d fooled yourself when you planned to build a relationship step by step. Ambessa had laid the foundations, floral and firm, so now you wanted to chuck brick and cement together as fast as you could. 

“This maybe?” You half slurred in anticipation, hungry lips meeting hers. 

Ambessa was, for once, incredibly surprised. You were devouring her, with no restraint, as if no time had passed at all. But you were different now, she could sense it. Stronger, more certain of your place, your needs and wishes. It suited you, like an attractive new coat. Her hands were roaming about, searching for the best place to land, each patch of skin more perfect than the last. 

“Are you sure?” She murmured against smudged lips, holding your chin in place to stop your desperate advance, “I don’t want to push you away again,”

You melted, kissing her palm, “You won’t,” it was breathless, “I promise,”

“I’ll only do this if I get to take you out tomorrow, a nice long day together,” Her honeyed voice muttered, though one hand was already making its way under your shirt. 

“So a win-win?” 

Calloused fingers grazed your nipple, kissing your neck as she nodded into it. 

“Not sure I could ask for a better Easter,” You joked breathlessly, body twitching into her touch. 

“That’s why you’re not going to ask for it,” Her voice was dark, a switch flipped, “You’re going to beg,” 

Welcome back Ambessa Medarda, you’ve been sorely missed. I hope you fuck my brains out now. “Please?” You quipped. 

A sharp pinch to your nipple, a low growl, “Do you think I’m joking, girl?”

You ached for her, mind fracturing, as an earnest apology ripped from your throat. Your pleading was real now, her wet kisses maddening. 

Ambessa felt hungry, ravenous in fact, and you had offered yourself like a perfect little dessert. How kind. How naive. It took her a few minutes of pawing at you for all of your clothes to be left on the floor, goosebumps prickling your skin as you rubbed yourself against her thigh. This was perfection, your thoughts slush as she whispered filth in your ear. 

“More,” You whined, the pull on your chest not harsh enough. 

She twisted until it burnt, making you jolt, as her wet tongue soothed the ache, “That enough pain for you? So desperate for it,” 

“I-I”

“Is that why you sent me those filthy pictures?” Her thumb, slick with you, danced in circles across your clit, “Wanting to show yourself off, hmm? A slut in red lace?”

“Ambessa,” You gasped. 

“You wanted to drive me mad,” A suck to a sore nipple, “Wanted to corrupt me, after I tried so hard to stay away,” 

“It was an accident,” You slurred, stomach tensing as you thrust in rhythm with her touching. 

“An accident?” She scoffed, nuzzling against your throat, “That’s what you call spreading yourself for me on camera?” 

You were so close, her words like gasoline as you whimpered a confused apology, your mind desperate to keep feeling good. 

“Is this an accident too, Sweet girl?”

“Wha-” Your eyes rolled, cunt gushing as your first orgasm slammed into you like a sledgehammer. 

She slipped you off her lap, sliding out from under you to the ground, as your bare skin touched the cool red leather chair. She knelt, a devious grin on her lips, between your trembling legs as she watched a soft slickness drip down your thighs.

“You’ve made a mess,” She said, disapproving pout on her face, “Say you’re sorry,”

“S-sorry, Ambessa,” You mumbled, eyes glassy. 

“Good girl,” She stroked your thighs, a tight grip on them, tiny crescent moons from her nails, “It’s okay, I’m here to tidy you up,”

She had always been skilled, playing you like an instrument, but as her hot tongue hit your folds you found yourself blank, empty and unsure if you would ever feel anything other than raw, molten pleasure again. Teasing kitten licks lapped up your juices, her golden eyes controlling your every move, as you went limp against the chair. It smelt of her. Everything in this room did. Your body twitched again. 

Her tongue drew another two orgasms from your needy body, sweaty hair sticking to your forehead as you tugged at her salt and pepper curls. 

At some point you ended up flat on the floor against her fancy Persian rug, legs spread as she sat on your face. She was soaked, your cheeks wet as you ate mindlessly. Her orgasms were like nectar as she came apart above you, stern voice turning airy and dazed.

“Just like t-that,” She panted, fucking herself on your tongue.

Your hummed agreement hit her swollen clit, her tongue lolling out her mouth as an animalistic grunt filled the room. 

You were in a bed now. How had that happened? 

“Still with me, little one?” She teased, stroking your hair as she loomed above with a long, hard strap-on. 

“That looks nice,” You babbled, chest rapidly rising and falling. 

“Would you like it?”

A nod. 

“Ask nicely then, Sweet girl,” 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” You said, sweet as sugar, spreading yourself just as you had in those pictures. 

Ambessa Medara was a strong woman. It was her defining feature in fact. Iron will and firm muscle, she prided herself on being a fortress. Here, however, with a whimpering slut beneath her, her resolve shattered like china against marble. You were stuffed before she’d processed the last plea, a surprised gurgle as she worked to destroy you. 

Again, and again and again. She fucked that sweet spot in you with relentless efficiency, as cool leather rubbed against your clit in time with her thrusts. You’d long since given up on the idea of being quiet, mewling gasps and shouts of her name leaving you hoarse with fluttering eyes.

“Cum for me,” It was a sudden command, voice harsh and high, as she fell apart with a vicious thrust. 

You obeyed, the coil in you snapping again, as her sweat covered skin collided with yours. 

You stayed like that, hearts beating in time, as lust faded to contentment and exhaustion. Her slurred praise soothed your battered body as a cold flannel wiped away the stickiness that lingered everywhere. 

There was little else to be said that night, words of love and happiness pouring from you both under your shared silken sheets. 

She loved you. 

You loved her. 

How perfect. 

Slightly lopsided, with a turtleneck to hide the smattering of bruises across your skin, you made your way to the breakfast table. You’d agreed with Ambessa to tell Kino this morning before your date, the only thing still truly weighing on her out of the way in order for you to have the perfect day together. 

He was currently assembling a tower of waffles and bacon, as Mel systematically pushed it over. Rictus stood making more construction materials at the hob, sharing a grin with Mel. 

Ambessa, seeing you enter, coughed loudly to silence the squabbling. 

You wandered over nervously, resting beside her. 

“I’d just like to make everyone aware of something,” She started slowly. 

“Someone dead?” Kino muttered, staring at you. 

“No,” She held her hand up to silence him, “Nobody’s died,”

“Someone pregnant?” Mel asked. The shit stirrer. 

“No I-” Ambessa glared at her, taking a deep breath her hand gravitated towards your shoulder,“I wanted to let you know that we've decided to pursue a romantic relationship,”

“Oh,” Kino’s body tensed, “And when did you make this choice?”

“Last night,” You replied hesitantly, “Why?”

“Fuck,” He groaned to himself, a gruff laugh heard from the hob. 

“I do believe we said one thousand even,” Rictus mocked, flipping a waffle onto the boy’s plate. 

“You couldn’t have waited another twelve hours,” He grumbled, fishing for his wallet in his coat. 

“What is happening right now?” Ambessa said, voice stern. 

“I bet yesterday,” Rictus said as if it were obvious, “Wolf pup here bet today, thought you’d need a little time to warm up, silly boy,”

“You’ve been betting on our relationship?!” You cried, eyes wide as saucers. 

“I wanted to feel included somehow,” Kino whined, “Everyone was taking me out for breakfast to shut me up,” 

Your gaze turned to Mel, who held her hands up, “I knew nothing about this babe, I swear,” 

Liar. Her grin gave her away. 

Ambessa took the wad of cash from Kino’s hands before Rictus could, taking two hundred pounds from the pile, giving you a hundred and keeping the rest for herself, “Our commission,” Her voice was tiny daggers, “For entertaining you all so thoroughly,” 

Both men grumbled, though the sparkle in their eyes told them it was never really about the money, the satisfaction coming from destroying the other's pride. 

A pause, as she turned directly to her son, “You’re taking this very well, Kino, despite your usual nonsense, I am sorry for keeping you in the dark,” 

“About as dark and subtle as a bat signal, Mum,” He laughed, “I knew you’d tell me when it worked for you.

“Yes, well, thank you anyway,” Her voice was laced with sarcasm, as she kicked down his tower this time. 

The loud, nonsensical rumble of infighting filled the kitchen as her hand found yours, a tight squeeze making you smile. 

No more secrets. No more sadness. 

You were finally officially a Medarda.

[writingwithcolor]

Depicting Real World Religions Alongside Constructed Religions

Maya asked:

Hi WWC! Thank you so much for this blog, it's an infinitely wonderful resource! Do you have any suggestions for how I can balance representation of real religions with fantasy religions, or should I avoid including these together? Does the fact that certain things bleed over from our world into the fantasy world help legitimize the appearance of real world religions? I feel like I can come up with respectful ways to integrate representation in ways that make sense for the worldbuilding. For instance, no Muslim characters would practice magic, and both Jewish and Muslim characters would conceive of magic in ways that fit their religion (rather than trying to adapt real religions to fit my worldbuilding). I also have some ideas for how these religions came about that fit between handwave and analogous history (though I realize the Qur'an is unchangeable, so I'm guessing Islam would have come about in the same way as IRL). BTW—I'm referring to humans, not other species coded as Muslim or Jewish. I may explore the concept of jinns more (particularly as how Muslims perceive fantastical beings), but I definitely need to do a lot more research before I go down that road! Finally, I saw a post somewhere (*but* it might have been someone else's commentary) suggesting to integrate certain aspects of Judaism (e.g., skullcaps in sacred places/while praying, counting days from sundown instead of sunset) into fantasy religions (monotheistic ones, of course) to normalize these customs, but as a non-Jewish person I feel this could easily  veer into appropriation-territory.  *One of the posts that I'm referring to in case you need a better reference of *my* reference: defining coding and islam-coded-fantasy

[This long ask was redacted to pull out the core questions asked]

"Both Jewish and Muslim characters would conceive of magic in ways that fit their religion (rather than trying to adapt real religions to fit my worldbuilding)."

Just a note that while having religion be part of magic is a legitimate way to write fantasy, I want to remind people that religious characters can also perform secular magic. Sometimes I feel like people forget about that particular worldbuilding option. (I feel this one personally because in my own books I chose to make magic secular so that my nonmagical heroine wouldn’t seem less close to God somehow than her wizard adoptive dad, who is an objectively shadier person.) I’m not saying either way is more or less correct or appropriate, just that they’re both options and I think sometimes people forget about the one I chose. But anyway moving on—

Your decision to make the water spirits not actual deities is a respectful decision given the various IRL monotheistic religions in your story, so, thank you for that choice. I can see why it gets messy though, since some people in-universe treat those powers as divine. I guess as long as your fantasy Jews aren’t being depicted as backwards and wrong and ignoring in-universe reality in favor of in-universe incorrect beliefs, then you’re fine…

"I saw a post somewhere (but it might have been someone else's commentary) suggesting to integrate certain aspects of Judaism (e.g., skullcaps in sacred places/while praying, counting days from sundown instead of sunset) into fantasy religions (monotheistic ones, of course) to normalize these customs, but as a non-Jewish person I feel this could easily veer into appropriation-territory."

That was probably us, as Meir and I both feel that way. What would make it appropriative is if these very Jewish IRL markers were used to represent something other than Judaism. It's not appropriative to show Jewish or Jewish-coded characters wearing yarmulkes or marking one day a week for a special evening with two candles or anything else we do if it's connected to Jewishness! To disconnect the markers of us from us is where appropriation starts to seep in.

–Shira

To bounce off what Shira said above, the source of the magic can be religious or secular--or put another way, it can be explicitly granted be a deity or through engagement with a specific religious practice, or it can be something that can be accessed with or without engaging with a certain set of beliefs or practices. It sounds like you’re proposing the second one: the magic is there for anyone to use, but the people in this specific religion engage with it through a framework of specific ideas and practices.

If you can transform into a “spirit” by engaging with this religion, and I can transform into a “spirit” through an analogous practice through the framework of Kabbalah, for example, and an atheist can transform through a course of secular technical study, then what makes yours a religion is the belief on your part that engaging in the process in your specific way, or choosing to engage in that process over other lifestyle choices, is in some way a spiritual good, not the mechanics of the transformation. If, on the other hand, humans can only access this transformative magic through the grace of the deities that religion worships, while practitioners of other religions lack the relationship with the only gods empowered to make that magic, that’s when I’d say you had crossed into doing more harm than good by seeking to include real-world religions.

Including a link below to a post you might have already seen that included the “religion in fantasy worldbuilding alignment chart.” It sounds like you’re in the center square, which is a fine place to be. The center top and bottom squares are where I typically have warned to leave real-world religions out of it.

More reading:

Jewish characters in a universe with author-created fictional pantheons

–Meir

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── THE GLASS PRINCESS // SEVEN

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: You get your first taste of freedom from the constricting walls of the Earth Palace.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.2k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: hello everyone and welcome to part two of the glass princess!! in the next few chapters we will be learning more about princess y/n and how she met zuko/the fall of ba sing se :) thank you all for reading!! and yes i did make up an entire spirit for the #plot 😭🙏🏻 i promise she will have significance to the story later on though!!

Although it was uncharitable, you could not help yourself from thinking that the only reason Long Feng was allowing your brother to keep that ridiculous creature around was because of its apparent resemblance to Quynh. In a way, it could be considered to have been made in her image, and Kuei knew that as well as you did, which was why he was currently leaping about joyfully, shaking you by the shoulders as if he were a child instead of a man.

“I’ve found him!” Kuei shrieked at you for the thousandth time. “I’ve found Quynh’s son! She hasn’t abandoned us after all, Y/N! She sent her son to me!”

“That ghastly, muddy creature is no child of Quynh’s,” you said, wrinkling your nose at the tufts of fur all over the fine carpet. “And Quynh never abandoned us in the first place. I do not know why you think that that is the case.”

“No one has seen her in nearly a century, and it’s been even longer since anyone found Quynh’s Door. If ever she was real, she left the palace long ago,” Kuei said. “Maybe she was never a spirit in the first place — just one of Bosco’s ancestors.”

“That is blasphemy!” you rebuked him. “Quynh is no Agni — she is a concrete spirit, not an abstract deity. If anything, she is far more similar to Tui and La, from the Northern Water Tribe.”

“Who?” Kuei said.

“The ocean and moon spirits,” you said with a heavy sigh, once again finding yourself unimpressed by Kuei and his ignorance. “They live in the Northern Water Tribe and allow Waterbenders to bend.”

“Quynh doesn’t allow anyone to bend. She’s a different legend entirely. You should know that,” he said. You gritted your teeth.

“I wish you would pick up a book for once! It was an analogy, you fool,” you said.

“It matters not,” Kuei said after a second. “I don’t know why you’re so set on this fairytale, but the sooner you give up on it, the sooner you can find the wonder in the real world.”

“By the real world, do you mean my chambers?” you said. “Or yours? Because that is the extent of the world I know.”

“I mean the bear sitting before you at this very moment!” he said, ignoring your pointed response and gesturing towards his new pet with a flourish. “You are more taken with a made up story than an actual natural phenomenon. That’s a problem, dear sister.”

Bosco the bear grumbled at you in agreement, blinking his large, wet eyes at you. And perhaps you might’ve been impressed by his sturdy build and elegant snout, but all you could see when you gazed upon him was a cheap copy, a faded replica that could never hope to capture even half of the original’s glory.

“Well, dear brother, it can’t be helped. Your pet will never be Quynh,” you said.

“Always bringing down the mood, aren’t you?” he said, rolling his eyes at you. “I wasn’t saying he was Quynh, I was saying he resembled her greatly. Anyways, you know stories always inflate their characters; for all we know, Quynh really did once look like this.”

You wanted to argue with him, but of course it would not be productive. Like the element he ruled, your brother was set in his ways — the only qualities he had in equal measure to stubbornness were cowardice and naïveté, both of which he was perhaps better known for. It was true, though, that when he gained a sense of conviction for something, he’d stand by it with a fervor that he rarely displayed otherwise. It was one of the few attributes you could genuinely admire him for, even if it was inconvenient at times.

“As you say,” you said. “I see no purpose in further discussions on the matter. You do not believe in Quynh, and I do. Neither of us can change the other’s mind, so we ought to just move on.”

“Compliment Bosco first,” Kuei said. “On my authority as the Earth King, I demand it.”

“You demand a lot of things on that tenuous authority,” you muttered. Then, you smiled at the piteous looking bear. “You truly deserve to be my brother’s companion. I am certain you are possessed with the same commanding spirit that he is so fortunate to claim.”

Kuei beamed at you. “Thank you. You can return to your room.”

You snickered at him. “It is appreciated.”

Only when you were halfway down the hallway did he shout in protest, realizing your thinly veiled insult. You sped up your pace, running towards your room before he could come and question you or make another demand — you did not put it past him to insist that you compliment his bear properly.

It was one of those ways you had to get back at him. You were ever searching for more, trying your best to needle the brother who was, whether directly or indirectly, the cause of your imprisonment.

Your chambers. His chambers. The hallway in between. These were the confines of your world, according to Kuei and Long Feng, who was his most trusted advisor. It would be dangerous, after all, for a girl with no bending and royal blood flowing through her veins to be wandering the streets without protection, even in a city as safe as Ba Sing Se. So although you had begged to at least see the kingdom which was your own, you had been promptly refused every time, the locks changed periodically and the guards rotated hourly to ensure they stayed alert to your movements.

Escape was impossible, but even in such a life, you could find solace: in your dressing room, a door would sometimes appear, a door which led to the heart of the palace — not the throne room, but the true heart upon which the entire structure was constructed. Quynh’s Den, the entrance to which was constantly shifting between the spirit world and the mortal one, was the only place you had for yourself, though of course you shared it with its other inhabitant: the great mother bear spirit Quynh.

It was there today. Ensuring that the entrance to your own chambers was sufficiently blocked, you did not even hesitate to pull the door open, ducking into the stone passageway behind it eagerly. The only light came from the glowing crystals overhead, but you knew the way so well that you could’ve tread it even with your eyes closed, so the dimness did not trouble you any.

It did not make sense for such a long, winding hall made entirely of stone to be behind your dressing room, but that was because the hallway was not truly there. The door was only a gateway to the realm in which Quynh’s Den resided, but that realm was somewhere else, in some intangible other dimension that did not quite obey the same rules as yours.

Time, too, felt strange in this place. You did not know for how long you walked; you never did. You could only keep going until the narrow passage opened into a large cavern, the walls of which were studded with the same glowing green crystals that the entire hall had been encrusted with. The majority of the space was taken up by a massive black form curled up on a bed of ghostly white moss, her head resting on paws that were several times your own size. You knew from past experience that if you were to stand right beside her when she was in such a position, you would barely even be able to peek over her nose.

“Quynh,” you said. Twin jewels blinked open — her enormous eyes were the same luminous shade as the crystals surrounding her, and they, too, shone with a mysterious, intrinsic power.

“Y/N,” she said, the cavern rumbling with the depth of her voice. “I was wondering when you would come again.”

“I come whenever you allow me to,” you said, moving so that you could sit in front of her. She huffed, tilting her head so that you could clamber onto her paw and lean against the plush fur of her cheek, which would be several times warmer than the cold stone floor.

“It’s not under my control,” she said. “You know my limitations.”

“Yes, of course I do,” you said. “That’s how it’s always been. I was just reminding you, so that you are not angry.”

“I do not blame you,” she said. “For not visiting. I know that you cannot unless the circumstances align. Rather, it is that I am bereaved when you are gone. It has been many years since I could say this with certainty, but the truth is that I miss your company.”

“And I, yours,” you said. “Though you should not feel too complimented by that. It is you or Kuei, and I am, as ever, irritated by him at the moment.”

“You should not quarrel with him,” Quynh chided you. “He is the only family you have. It does you no good to fight with him so frequently. You will be sad if something happens and those are the only memories you have of him.”

“I wish that you were not inclined to defend him!” you said.

“Whether you like it or not, he is of the same line as you. I love him as well, for that fact. I am bound to,” she said. You pouted.

“You ought to love me more. He doesn’t even think you are real,” you said. “I’m the only one who’s believed in you in decades.”

“A mother cannot declare favorites,” Quynh said diplomatically. “And so, neither can I. You ought to know this by now.”

“He’s found a bear,” you muttered obstinately. “It’s a disgusting creature. Rolls in mud whenever given the opportunity and barely knows to shut its jowls when it’s eating.”

“A bear?” Quynh said, one of her ears flicking with interest. “I did not know of any which existed.”

“I suppose there is this one,” you said. “He is a true bear; I have ascertained as much. He does resemble you, though it is in the way that quartz resembles diamond.”

Bear was not quite enough to encapsulate what Quynh was. Certainly, her form was as such, but she was in a sense phantasmic, and so ascribing a physical species to her was disingenuous. That was why you found it so grating that Kuei was frolicking about and proclaiming that he had found her equal — she had no equal. Quynh stood alone.

“It is unfair,” she said, “for you to hold that against him. If you were possessed with an uneducated eye, you, too, would mistake the quartz for the diamond. He cannot be blamed.”

“I would know,” you said. “Even if I were blind, I would know. The diamond possesses something which the quartz never can.”

“And what might that be?” Quynh said.

“I don’t know,” you said. “But there is some such quality.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Or perhaps you are upset about something entirely different and are taking out your frustration on an animal that cannot help its ancestry and a brother who is known to be a fool.”

“On that much, we can agree,” you said with a self-satisfied smile. “Kuei is a fool.”

“Y/N,” Quynh warned you. You hung your head in defeat.

“I asked Long Feng if I could leave again,” you said. “I thought he was in a generous mood, considering he raised no complaint about Bosco being moved to the royal chambers, but he refused! I told him I would not stray from my guards’ side, that I only wished to go for a matter of minutes, but still he said no.”

“Did he give his reasons?” Quynh said.

“The same as ever,” you said. “Until Kuei marries and has children, I am next in line for the throne. As the heir, I must be kept with the utmost of caution, and the only place I can be safe for certain is the palace.”

“He’s not entirely wrong,” she said. “The world is dangerous. More than you might think.”

“I don’t think anything,” you said, though you immediately felt poorly for snapping at her. “I cannot even form an opinion on the city I might one day rule. What sort of a princess does not even know her subjects? To say nothing of my brother the king, who himself has not left the palace walls in years and is entirely comfortable with that! I cannot understand it. I cannot understand why he has no desire to know his people, the very people who love him so dearly as to accept him as their ruler.”

“Not everyone is like you,” Quynh said, nudging you as gently as she could. “And your brother’s past shaped who he is now. You cannot blame him for desiring safety when he was there when it all happened.”

She spoke of your father. You had never met the man, for he had died days before you had been born, so you felt no grief at the reminder, but you knew it was not the same for Kuei. After all, your father’s death was the only reason your brother had taken the throne in the first place; a throne which, at his young age, he had been ill-suited for.

Due to Kuei’s fondness for animals, which he had had since he was very young, your father had taken him to the zoo for his birthday. There, a wayward assassin of the Earthbending variety had sent spikes of stone into your father’s heart, killing him before the guards could even react. It was all they could do to save Kuei and run — the assassin, as far as you knew, still walked free today, for they had been too concerned with your brother’s protection to chase after the killer.

The zoo was shut down. The child Kuei was crowned king, though your mother was deemed his regent. Days later, she fell gravely ill. Giving birth to you was the last thing she did — she never left the childbearing bed, using the final remains of her strength to push you out and hold you tightly against her chest until she stopped breathing entirely.

One child there for your father’s last moments. The other, for your mother’s. Quynh was not exaggerating in saying that Kuei was the only family you had left, but your lives had been so dissimilar as to be entire opposites. He had his ministers and advisors to replace the gap your father had left in his life. You had Quynh to serve as your mother, in whatever way she could.

“The guards will be vigilant,” you said. “And anyways, even if I am Kuei’s heir, I doubt that anyone would have cause to assassinate me. I am not important enough to the kingdom. If I were killed, Kuei would simply marry earlier, and have more children, so it would be a net loss for any assailants.”

“You know that I am not opposed to it,” Quynh said. “It is your brother and his advisors who forbid you; I am only reminding you to respect their wishes, for they, in some manner, have your best interests at heart.”

“But I am dying of it,” you said. “Every day I languish in the palace, I can feel my spirit being crushed by the ever-encroaching walls. My only respite is visiting you, Quynh, but even that is not enough. I am still captive.”

Quynh sighed. It was a great sound, whistling and low, teeming with disappointment and worry and affection, all in equal measure. You rubbed your hand against her fur, waiting for her response, though you doubted it would be any different than every other time you had asked.

“You want me to open a door to the kingdom,” she said.

“Yes,” you said. “If I go alone, in the garb of a commoner, then I should escape notice entirely.”

“Alright,” she said. You opened your mouth to argue before closing it.

“Alright?” you repeated. “You’re saying yes? What about the usual rebuttals? It’s too much of a risk, Y/N, you won’t even be able to find Quynh’s Door.”

“It’s true,” she said. “You won’t have that guarantee, but of course, I can manually open doors back to the palace. The danger in this is that you will have to wait until I can open a door to allow your return, even if you want it earlier. As you well know, time is different here. I could open a door for you mere seconds after you’ve left, but that still might mean you must spend hours in the city.”

“I do not mind,” you said. “I will make good use of that time. But what has changed your mind? Why have you never offered before?”

“Something has come to the city,” she said. “I can feel it. There is a presence, or perhaps multiple presences, that can change the course of Ba Sing Se’s destiny — and, more importantly, of your family’s destiny. I am not sure, but I feel as if it is imperative that you leave, or else I will be depriving you of that destiny. And that unto itself is a fate, but not the one which you are meant to find.”

“Who are they?” you said. “These presences. How will I know that I’ve met them?”

“You won’t,” she said. “There is no way for any of us to know. Even they, themselves, may not yet be aware of it. It is just like that. You needn’t endeavor to find them; if you are meant to, you will.”

“I see,” you said, and then you leapt off of her paw, beaming up at her. “Then the only thing I will

“I hope you do,” Quynh said. “Furthermore, I hope you do not regret your decision.”

“I won’t,” you said firmly. “Thank you, Quynh.”

“It is my duty,” she said. “I am obligated to. To be sure, it is difficult, for there is always some difficulty when a mother must let her child go, but it is necessary. It is a story older than even I.”

“And this story is just as old,” you said. “That even when you let me go, I will return to you. Of my own volition, I shall return.”

“So you shall,” she said. “Go, then, Y/N. And return with as much haste as you leave, so that I may not miss you for too long.”

A new hallway formed in the walls of the cave, and without a backward glance, you walked towards it. Striding down the passage, you kept your eyes forward, knowing that if you turned around, you would see the stone closing behind you. You could not go back; it was not the nature of Quynh’s power. There was only one way to go, now that the decision had been made: forward.

All of the passages made by Quynh were the same length — barring the one behind the famed Quynh’s Door, naturally — so it was a trick of your mind that made the trek to Ba Sing Se seem longer than when you returned to your room from her den. Still, eventually, you came to another door, and your entire body shuddered in anticipation as you placed your hand on the knob, because this was the moment that you waited your entire life for.

Unable to delay for a second more, you swung the door open, taking your first step into the city of Ba Sing Se, your silk-slippered foot toeing delicately onto the cobblestones. Shutting the door behind you, you glanced over your shoulder to ascertain that it had disappeared. As you had expected, the wall was smooth and bare, giving no indication that there had ever been an exit in the first place.

There were people everywhere. You had never witnessed such a large crowd before; people milled about by the fading light of the setting sun, jostling one another as they rushed to and fro. At the fringes of the throng, two men with long torches went about lighting the street lamps, though they took their own time doing so, talking and laughing with whichever passersby that they recognized.

Another person might find the chaos to be ugly, hideous in its disorder, but you found a kind of mystical appeal to the hustle of the street. These were people who were living their lives as they were meant to, with no awareness of the simple freedoms and small joys they possessed. They gave no care to the idea that their daily lives were so remarkable to you, that their going-ons were the most wonderful thing you had ever seen.

You were too afraid to step into the sea of people, so you stayed along the sides of the road, admiring them, watching them, wanting more than anything to be one of them. But of course you were not. You would never be.

The door had spit you out near a small tea shop. It was not run down, exactly, but it was lived in, homey, the wood polished and the chairs worn. You opened the door to the establishment, but found it to be devoid of any patrons. There was only an old man behind the counter, sorting the change with toughened hands, though he looked up when he heard the bell chime announce your entrance.

“Hello, miss,” he said. “I’m afraid we are about to close for the night.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem,” you said. “I wasn’t wanting tea, anyways. I was just admiring your shop.”

“Why, thank you,” he said, grinning at you. “Though it’s not my shop, so I can’t claim to have any hand in the decor.”

“It smells so lovely,” you said. “It reminds me of a very beautiful thing, though I can’t name which.”

“Flowers?” he guessed. “Maybe a garden full of jasmine blossoms, their petals facing the moon, with a few drops of rain scattered about on their surfaces?”

“Actually, yes,” you said, amazed at his accuracy. “How did you know? That was exactly correct.”

“It’s the new blend of jasmine tea we’re brewing for tomorrow. My nephew picks the flowers himself, so that we can be sure of the condition of the jasmine before we make the tea. It’s the best way to allow the flavors to come through!” the man said.

“Wow,” you said. “I never knew there was so much thought put behind tea. I just drink it.”

“Most people don’t care enough,” the man said with a nod. “That’s what sets our tea apart. It’s only when you pay attention to the most minute details that you can ensure your final product is as close to perfection as can be found in a teacup. It’s a grave sin to think that tea begins and ends with the boiling of water; in truth, it starts when you plant seeds in the soil.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” you said. “Though I hadn’t it until now. Thank you for telling me. I shall pay more attention the next time I have tea; perhaps then I, too, will be able to understand its origins from a mere sip.”

“It takes practice,” the man said. “But no harm ever befell the man who paid attention. Or woman, in this case.”

“Of course,” you said. “But I should leave you to close. I apologize for bothering you in the first place.”

“Don’t apologize,” the man said, waving you off. “It’s always a delight to have a conversation with a willing partner.”

“The delight was mine,” you said.

“Do come again!” the man said. “Perhaps earlier in the day, though. I can serve you tea — or, better, I can make my nephew do it. I think he’s about your age, and he is wanting for friends. But don’t tell him I said that! He’s not aware of it quite yet.”

Your eyes widened at the thought. You had never met someone your own age, nor had you ever had a friend — Quynh and Kuei were your family, for better or for worse, and the servants never dared speak to you beyond the barest of formalities. So, in a way, you were alsowanting for a friend, but you could not tell the man this. Instead, you smiled slightly at him, bowing your head in gratitude.

“I should like that,” you said. “If ever I am nearby again, I will surely come.”

As the night stretched on, the streets began to empty — or was it that you were wandering further and further away from the main crossroads? Regardless, there was certainly a shift in the air, and it was only when you entered a deserted neighborhood that you realized there had been footsteps following you for quite some time now.

Turning around, you saw no one. The streets were devoid of life. The footsteps had stopped, but you could not help the nagging feeling that something was wrong.

Where was the door? It had been long enough — you should’ve been able to find it by now. You should’ve been able to go home by now. But there was no door. You were alone, and you suddenly understood why you had been forbidden from leaving the palace.

“Who goes there?” you said. “I — I am armed, so show yourself, but proceed with caution!”

“Armed?” a voice said. “Don’t fool yourself, your royal highness. Everyone knows you aren’t armed.”

“Your royal — how do you know who I am?” you called out. “Coward! You dare to hide in the shadows and hurl such insults at me?”

Your response was an enormous boulder shooting towards you. You squealed and dropped to the ground, covering your head with your hands as the boulder smashed into the wall behind you, bits of rubble raining down. There was a stinging pain on your knee, and you frowned as you realized that you had scraped it when you had initially dodged.

“What are you doing?” you said. “You will kill me! Stop it! You craven hound, I command you to stop what you are doing and face me like a man! If you cease your actions and explain yourself at once, I shan’t have you put to death. I will even pardon you of your every crime!”

Again, no response, and your heart dropped as you realized that might be his goal. What other reason would the man, who apparently knew your identity, have for attacking you? It was unfathomable, but you were reminded that it had not been so long since your father had been assassinated. Whatever sentiments had driven that attack…what if you had been wrong? What if you were, for whatever reason, the target for the next assassination?

It reminded you of a story, one you had read on the tenth anniversary of your father’s death. You thought it might comfort you, or more specifically your brother, to read the tale of another king who had been assassinated but whose reign had continued on regardless; in truth, though, only one quote had stuck with you, and this quote was neither comforting nor kind.

Sometimes, these things just happen, it had said. Kings are murdered. There isn’t always an explanation. Sometimes, the only reason is the action itself. Sometimes, people just kill for the spectacle of killing.

Maybe that was the case. Maybe you were just going to be killed for the spectacle. The show. The king’s beloved sister, murdered in his own city, the safest city in the entire world.

Right when the second boulder was about to hit you, there was a metallic sound, and then something sliced through the boulder, cutting it in half before it could reach you. When you looked up, there was a man in black standing in front of you, twin blades held in each hand, his posture confident but wary.

“Who are you?” you said. The man did not respond, scanning the area. He must’ve determined it to be safe, as abruptly, he relaxed his stance, sheathing the swords and then shifting to face you.

You could not stop yourself from yelping. Instead of a face, there was a blue mask regarding you, frozen in a grotesque grin, though when you got over your initial surprise, you realized you recognized the guise.

“The Blue Spirit?” you said. He nodded. “I’ve read the play, but I didn’t realize that you were — that you were a real being!”

The Blue Spirit was motionless in the wake of your words. Or, no, that was not correct. It was not that he was motionless, but that every part of his body was constantly shifting and changing, on high alert, so that the sum total was a man that was both ever at rest yet ever moving.

You pulled yourself to your feet, careful not to hurt yourself on the scattered stones surrounding you both, and just then, right behind you, a door appeared. You laughed ruefully at the ironic timing.

“What were you doing here, anyways?” you said. He mimed opening his hand; you did so, your palm facing the sky, though you had no idea what he planned to do with it. But he had saved you, so you thought that there was no harm in trusting him for a moment longer.

He did not do anything as dramatic as grabbing it or carving his name into it. He just dropped something into it, something soft and light and white.

Jasmine flowers. The delicate cups of the blooms were opened, seeking out the moon, and twinkling in the starlight against the silky fibers of the petals were a few drops of water — holdovers, you assumed, from the day’s rainfall.

You closed your fingers over the flowers, careful not to crush them in your fist. You did not know what they meant — an offering? A price? Something else entirely? Regardless, you knew that they were important, and you vowed to reread the story of the Blue Spirit once you returned home, so that you could understand their significance.

“Thank you,” you said. “For the flowers, and also for rescuing me. If we should ever meet again, then I will thank you in a better way, but for now, I have to go. The longer I linger here, the more danger the two of us are put in.”

Opening the door, you took a step in, but before you closed it, you looked over your shoulder, back at where the Blue Spirit had stood. That strange person…you owed him your life. The least you could do was look back at him, afford him a final glance before you sealed yourself away entirely.

When you turned, though, he was already gone. The only proof that he had ever been there in the first place was the flowers in your hand, the pluming dust in the air, and the heart which steadily beat in your chest — that beat which meant you were still alive, at least for now.

You did not stand there and mourn his absence. Allowing the door to swing shut and the passageway to close behind you, you began to walk home.

taglist (comment/send an ask/dm to be added): @rinisfruity14 @c4ttheart

[talesofadragon]

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬

Synopsis: Receiving wind that Hydra has successfully managed to awaken another wave of winter soldiers, Captain America appoints his two best avengers, Bucky Barnes and Y/N Y/L/N, for the job. But aside from Bucky’s trepidation at reliving his worst memories, there’s something else rooting him in his place–the fear of inflicting harm on the woman he loves the most. Between her encouraging words and his violent past, what will happen when Y/N is forced to encounter her boyfriend’s alter ego?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader

Warnings: Angst | Fluff

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬  Masterlist | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐄. Ironically, considering his service as a soldier during World War II in the 107th Infantry Regiment. One might assume his story followed the typical trajectory of a veteran—a man who had served and preserved, giving his all until he had nothing left to lose nor gain. 

Bucky faced wars in waves, losing his sense of direction as he battled the currents. Maybe the placidity he yearned for was because of the instabilities and perplexities he'd witnessed, though the peace he needed went far beyond that. From the moment he was reborn into this world, all he ever wanted was to find solace within the hurricane that had upended his life. 

Bucky sought peace, yes. Peace within the chaos of his fractured realities.

The sky lit up, a white veil enveloping the night's somber hues. Its brilliance lingered for a fleeting moment before the darkness regained its dominion. Sometimes, Bucky wondered if the storms were a remedy or a curse. When the sky, such as tonight, wailed and bled, and when the clouds tore themselves up to bits and pieces, was the chaos some twisted form of peace? Or was it his fractured mind pitifully attempting to shroud the truths with another veiled deception?

Rain dropped down in fervor, droplets finding themselves on Bucky’s skin. A part of him told him to move away and give the sky some space to grieve. Another rebutted that he should stay to remind the heavens that they’re not alone.

He raised his head, feeling the water droplets on his face, allowing them to delicately trace his features. The storm was ravenous, tumultuous, mutinous—everything a winter turbulence should be, everything the winter soldier in him was.

And yet, the damned poets he’d read about weren’t too far off in their exuberant analogies, comparing a winter storm to a peaceful spring. As polarizing as it was, there was a certain peace to its violence—a peace that Bucky could experience extrospectively but never conversely.

“James,” he heard behind him. This voice, perhaps, was the nearest semblance of personal tranquility he could reach. It permeated his skin, nestled in every nucleus, exuding an air of calmness and hope. He cherished it when she called him by his name. It was her personal term of endearment. To the world, he was several things: Sergeant Barnes, Bucky, and The Winter Soldier. But to Y/N, his precious Y/N, he was James. And he loved her even more for the simple yet profound reminder.

“I’m scared,” he admitted in a shy whisper, playing with his fingers. Truths came easy with her, despite how he grappled with them in his solitary battles. “Going there… going there will trigger a lot of bad memories. It might even trigger him, too.”

Y/N stepped closer, placing her palm on his left arm. His metal arm. She didn’t miss the way Bucky shut his eyes, which is why her thumb traced invisible shapes on the prosthetic. “You don’t have to go there, baby. You don’t have to do anything if your heart’s not in it.”

“But you’ll be there. I can’t…. I won’t for the life of me let you wander around in that monstrous prison world without me. Especially with all those people there.” Bucky’s lower lip trembled as he spoke. His blue eyes harbored a thousand emotions. Peace, fortitude, courage… they all fought waves of anguish and despair. But love, concern, and fear all remained afloat. 

“James,” Y/N whispered delicately, framing his cheeks with her gentle hands. Bucky nuzzled in her open palms, his lips brushing against her skin. His eyes captured her in an everlasting glance, filled with so much devotion. “I don’t want you to relive your worst nightmare because of me. Yes, you are our primary knowledge hub when it comes to Hydra, but you’re also a part of our family. We would never want to harm you. I would never want to harm you or cause you despair.”

“You could never,” Bucky answered, his hands falling from the railing and finding their place on her hips. He suddenly became aware that she was wearing no more than his Henley and a pair of pajama bottoms in the middle of this storm. So, he pulled her closer and buried her face in his chest.

“I can go with Steve, maybe even Nat. You don’t have to do this. You–”

“It’s not the memories I fear most, angel.”

“Then what is it?” Y/N asked, raising her head to meet his eyes without stepping out of his embrace. “Is it those soldiers they have created?”

Bucky stared at the falling rain, realizing that the two of them had drifted away from the sliding door’s overhang, which shielded Y/N. He tried to step back, but she must’ve falsely interpreted it as his attempt at fleeing because she tightened her hold on him. 

He brushed a strand of her damp hair behind her ear, his thumbs tracing her pink cheek. “What if he comes back?”

“Say his name aloud,” Y/N encouraged. “It’s okay, baby.”

He gulped, closing his eyes for a moment. “The Winter Soldier.” Heaven knew he didn’t want to, and maybe that’s why this whole storm had assaulted New York this evening.

Y/N, on the other hand, didn’t seem to think the same. Calmly, she lifted herself on her toes to kiss his beard, nestling her head in the junction between his neck and shoulder. “The Winter Soldier is what you make him out to be.”

“He’s a murderer,” Bucky spat, his hold on Y/N tightening as if the simple mention of the Soldat would breathe him back to life. 

Y/N shook her head. “He’s you.”

“He’s not me, Y/N!” Bucky pried himself away, giving her an indignant look. “He’s a homicidal menace that will not hesitate to rip you apart without a second thought!”

Y/N tried to step closer, but Bucky flinched. He involuntarily retreated back, his cerulean eyes rimmed with despair and hurt. Y/N shook her head, locking her eyes with his. “The Winter Soldier is James Buchanan Barnes. A man that has never stopped fighting, not even for a second. He may be bruised, erratic, and damaged. But he’s not a monster. Not in my story.”

“Y/N,” Bucky all but growled, keeping as much distance between himself and the girl. “You have no idea how twisted these words sound. You won’t even have a chance to take them back or change your mind when he all but attacks you and rips your heart out of your chest like some goddamn fucking prize without even taking his eyes off yours!”

“My heart is his for the taking.” Bucky’s mind spiraled out of control. “As much as it is yours. He and you are one. What I feel for you, I feel for him.”

“Don’t, Y/N.” 

Ignoring his comment, Y/N took his hands in hers before he had the chance to run away. “If you cannot see your true worth through your own eyes, James, then see it through my own. Every part of you is worthy. You and The Winter Soldier are heroes in your unique ways, each fighting different battles to find a missing piece of yourself. So, if you’re so afraid that being there will trigger the worst parts of you, then I will whisper to you both all the truth you need to hear until you find your way back to me. Back home.”

“You’re my home,” Bucky whispered, caressing her cheek. He dipped his head, his nose caressing Y/N’s. A second passed, and he allowed himself to bask in her warmth, losing himself in the ardency of her love. His lips delicately traced her berry-flavored ones, claiming them against his own. “I love you,” he almost cried, fearing he might lose her. His mouth wrapped around her lower lip, sucking it fervently and inhaling in all the devotion he held toward his girl. “You're my sanctuary, my peace. And I don’t want my own violent dispositions to threaten the home that I’ve built with you.”

“James,” Y/N mumbled breathlessly, tears on the edge of her lashes. She pressed one more fervent kiss against his lips, resting her hand on his heart to remind him once more that he could feel. That he was human. “I love you in all your nuances and dispositions. No matter who you are or who you think you ought to be, you'll always be my home."

Bucky smiled endearingly, taking Y/N’s hand in his. He kissed her knuckles, one by one, before planting his lips on her wrist. With a final glance at her eyes, Bucky led her inside their shared bedroom, relishing in the feeling of her between his arms. 

He closed his eyes with the images of her in his mind, forgetting all about Hydra and The Winter Soldier. It was tomorrow’s nightmare, but Y/N was tonight’s dream, and that’s all that mattered.

BUCKY IS BACK!!

I have so many ideas for this man, and we're starting with this short little series. If you're a fan of hurt/comfort and The Winter Soldier coming out to play, welcome to this maze of truths!!

All-Works Taglist: @xxrougefangxx

Bucky Barnes Taglist: @ye0nvibezzn

: ̗̀➛ Read Chapter 2 - CHAOS - here!!

[kalifornia1025]

The Lion's Mane Pt. 3 (SPOILERS)

Final part notes are here, let’s get to it!

Maude joined Sherlock for rock pooling! 

Sherlock: “She’s rock pooling with me”, aw she certainly is buddy!

Same Mariana, I too would be pointing out all the sea creatures I see 

Maude: “Living in solitude with one another. Dumped in here by the big sea that left them behind”, John: “Uh…it can be difficult to share a flat with somebody” THE WATER-BASED ANALOGIES STRIKE ONCE AGAIN!!

It’s interesting how complex of a situation Maude has put herself in! Her family has secrets that she knows she needs to keep hidden, but she really just wants to figure out how her fiancé died 

The tooth! Sherlock found Harry’s missing tooth (completely normal thing to whip out in a pub Sherlock, SUPER normal)

Balsanna, or ‘death in the soul’ is a really cool phrase to describe the weight an indirect death can have on someone’s mind and soul; you may not have meant for them to die, but you still feel guilty for indirectly killing them

Sherlock: *referring to the listeners* “You are not a priority”, John: *to listeners* “Isn’t he lovely?”, yeah John like a rose with thorns; prickly but lovely

Sherlock’s still on about that submersible, and John is still full on nope-ing on that plan

Aw poor John, why doesn’t anyone wanna hold his hand??

Wow, the Bellamy’s big company secret is revealed! Using growth enhancement chemicals and claiming they’re organic is some shady shit indeed

Bringing in Balsanna is a perfect way to describe this whole situation: the Bellamy family company didn’t directly kill anyone, but their actions still resulted in those deaths

Neat callback to how John is still dealing with that Urea Nitrate fertilizer in his leg!

Sherlock got his submersible!! Poor Mariana is stressing so hard about that fee being paid. Hilarious that Sherlock was so disappointed about not being able to pilot it

The big moment I’ve been waiting for…the reveal…of the LION’S MANE JELLYFISH! Honestly, I think the they did the reveal justice. I felt like I was in the submersible seeing the beautiful scene as well! 

…wow, poor Fitzy. Good on you John for bringing him back home

Aww, now John and Mariana are having their own little moment on the train! And once again John makes fun of Mariana being a Harry Potter nerd (as he should)

Honestly this was a great case! We had the whole gang working together, they got to travel to a small island in Scotland, and there were so many layers to the case that I was intrigued by! I think the podcast itself is getting a lot better about immersive story telling. I’m not gonna say it’s the BEST case (as I imagine there are many more to come) but it was interesting all the way through. I can't wait so hear what they’ll do next…

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; astarion

requested by ; mod / self indulgent

fandom(s) ; baldur’s gate 3

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; astarion ancunin

outline ; “dating headcanons for astarion”

note ; i have never played this game and am going completely off of the clips and guide videos i’ve been watching pretty much nonstop for the past week so apologies if my characterisation is at all shaky in this piece

warning(s) ; brief references to canon torture, self worth struggles, and other related angst — but otherwise mostly fluff!

when it comes to being in a relationship with you — a real relationship, that is, and not the act he was putting on to try and manipulate you at the start of your journey as a group — astarion is, for lack of a better analogy, very much so a fish out of water

and, thankfully, that’s not something he’s ashamed or scared to admit to you, so the early days of your relationship are filled with a lot of trial and error as you navigate your new dynamic and he adjusts to being permitted to make his own decisions and set his own boundaries

some things definitely come easier than others for him — namely verbal shows of affection like using pet names for you or being playful or flirty whenever you’re together; things that are more instinct than anything else, but no less genuine in their use

as one might expect, astarion does also use quite the variety of pet names for you — to the extent that your friends have a running joke about him not actually knowing what your real name is (which he always refutes with about as much sass as one might expect) — with his main terms of endearment being ones that he settled into using early on like ‘darling’, ‘beautiful’ (or ‘handsome’ if that is your preferred term), ‘my dear’, and, when he’s being a bit of a tease, ‘my little treat’

actual physical intimacy, however, is a much different story given his rather unfortunate history with his body and how he was forced to use it by his tormentor

of course he knows that you’re different, that you’re not like cazador or his ilk, but that doesn’t make those old habits any easier to break, nor two hundred years of trauma easier to shake from his mind — love and patience can only go so far, after all, and those memories and their effects on him won’t just vanish overnight

so, naturally, that means that adjusting to physical touch unrelated to sex is a very slow process for him — though he’s thankful to have you there with him throughout

there are a few things that he learns he really quite enjoys and makes that abundantly clear to you when you’re together: kisses, gentle touches to the hand, and hugs, mainly

oh and his kisses are truly marvellous once you help him accept intimacy unconnected to sex — they’re soft and sweet but no less passionate for it, starting off with a brief peck before he turns his head and gently (oh so gently) grasps your chin or cheek or neck and pulls you closer to him, almost as if you’re melting into each other as the kiss either deepens or makes way for a string of chaste pecks before you eventually pull apart for whatever reason

he also always makes sure to sooth any places he’s bitten with some apologetic kisses once he’s had his fill (as well as plenty of compliments on your person and about your blood)

his other favourite places to kiss you are either on your hands or wrists (the gentleman that he is): the insides of your wrists, the tips of your fingers, each of your knuckles in sequence, the backs of your hands, your palms when you cup his face in your hands — truly the list is endless and he delights in finding new ways to fluster you and make you smile

shit talking and gossipping amongst yourselves is extremely common and astarion has mastered the art of saying just the right thing about someone he doesn’t like just loud enough for you to hear at the perfect time to make you laugh (or try your best to cover said laugh if you’re currently talking to the subject of said shit talking)

when it comes to sleeping arrangements, astarion just loves being held (but not too tightly so he still has the freedom to get up and walk away for whatever reason if he needs to), but the specifics of the position don’t really matter to him — he’s just as happy to have you laying on his chest, or him on yours if you’re larger than him, as he is to cuddle you on his side (though he does secretly prefer to either be the little spoon or to have his face level with your chest when you’re both on your sides as it makes him feel safer, though it will take him a long time to ever even consider admitting to that)

he is naturally very protective of you and has been known to pull a dagger on anyone he deems as a threat to you — which is very beneficial in combat scenarios or situations where you are actually at risk, but a bit inconvenient when you’re trying not to draw any attention to yourselves and the issue is just some drunk that can’t keep quiet (still not good and something that should be called out, but perhaps not worth having to leave the town you just got to early as to avoid getting charged with yet another crime)

he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself whenever you’re unwell for whatever reason (especially if it’s something a healer can’t contend with) because it’s been centuries since he’s experienced any sort of illness so he can’t even really empathise with you about your situation — he tries his best, of course, but it’s easy to tell that he’s really out of his depth

no matter how long the two of you have been together, astarion still melts whenever you ask his permission to do the smallest of things (like asking if you can kiss him or hold his hand, for example) — but he melts even more when you accept when he declines for whatever reason becaus the novelty of being respected and loved without expectation or conditions never really wears off for him and he appreciates it all just as much as he did the first time

[pimosworld]

Unrequited

Pairing- Santiago Garcia x f!reader x Frankie Morales

Series summary- Francisco was always afraid of settling down. He left Santiago to pick up the pieces after Colombia and now someone else is taking his place. Now he must cope with repairing the past without disrupting his future.

CW-18+,MDNI, NSFW, Angst, hurt/comfort, confessions, misunderstanding, fluff, smut, soft dom Frankie, mmf, oral f receiving, unprotected piv, protected piv, aftercare. Lots of food references.

WC-7.9k

A/N- This is the finale for these three but there will be an epilogue and various one shots when I’m done. I’m so glad you guys loved this story. I’m glad I got to explore a different side of Frankie and Santi through the reader.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter III Yearning

  Noun:Yearning 

  A feeling of intense longing for something;affection, intimacy, partnership, love

  “Frankie.” Your soft voice cuts through his sleep addled brain to register you standing in the doorway. 

  He doesn’t remember falling asleep, his adrenaline was on high after telling the guys about the money and maybe? patching things up with Santiago. He’s not sure now it’s all a little fuzzy. He must have crashed as soon as they made it back home. 

  You’re standing there expectantly dressed in a white silk shorts and top. He glances over at the old analog clock and it reads just after two in the morning. 

  “Frankie…can I come in?” Your hand grips the doorway as you stay in limbo between his bedroom and the hall. He should say no, he nods his head yes anyway and tells you ‘yes’ for good measure in case you can’t see him in the dimly lit room. 

  These days he’s unsure of his grip on reality but he’s almost positive he’s not dreaming. Even though you practically float across the room, your smile is evident even in the soft moonlight. He’s not a shy man by any means. He knew how to talk to women and how to get them in his bed but you…you’re different. Your confidence knocks him off his feet and he’s already laying down. 

  He sits up against the headboard to make room for you and he’s dumbfounded again when you place your leg on the bed beside him and swing the other over caging him in. His hands twitch at his side reflexively wanting to touch you. 

  “What are you-“ You effectively silence him as you place your fingers to his lips. He can’t help but note how soft they are. How soft you are everywhere, as his fingers dance a little higher on your thighs. Testing the dangerous waters he’s wading in. 

  “Santiago told me everything.” Your voice is as clear as his vision. No blurred lines or hazy corners like you’d have in a dream. No wondering how he got here as you stare down at him. He can feel the heat between your legs, only separated by the thin layer of your shorts and the sheet covering his waist. 

  If he were a stronger man he’d clarify what exactly Santiago told you…but right now his only concern is the growing bulge poking through his boxers as you adjust on top of him, looking a lot less innocent than he remembered. Another thing he doesn’t remember, his hands now on your waist under the white silk top, you’re warm and supple skin in stark contrast to his rough hands. 

  When the material turns indistinguishable as your hands rake through his curls, pulling his face into your neck so he can breathe you in. You smell sweet like all the things you bake and the thought of your food somehow has him impossibly harder. He wants to taste you and worship you in ways he thinks Santiago can’t or doesn’t. 

  He’s stopped caring that this is indiscernible as he pulls your hips down onto him, you gasp as the head of his cock provides that friction you desperately want even between layers of clothes. Your weight falls onto him as you brace your hands on his chest and laugh, it’s sugar coated just like you. The laugh dies in your throat as his fingers dip beneath your shorts, you’re soaking wet making a mess of the sheets and him. Your mouth on his almost experimental as he deepens the kiss, it feels tangible when you whimper his name into the dark. He can tell you’re close as you clench down on his fingers and your breathing picks up. He’s not far behind you as he imagines how he’ll even fit with how tight you are. 

  “I hope I'm not interrupting something.” Santi’s voice is like a record scratch. 

  Frankie feels like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on him as he scrambles to cling to the remnants of a dream. It’s no longer dark and he faintly registers he’s no longer in his bedroom. The light is peeking through the shutters in the living room. The sweet smell of you still lingers in the air from his dream. 

  He sits up on the couch cursing his back and neck from the awkward position he slept in. Small creaks in the hardwood floor alert him that someone is approaching and he reaches for the blanket to cover the evidence of the all too realistic dream. 

  “You boys must have had quite the night.” You stand before him with a small blue apron covered in flour, looking well rested and practically glowing. “I just say that because Santi never sleeps in and you didn’t make it to the bedroom.” You rock back and forth nervously on the balls of your feet waiting for his response, hoping you didn’t offend him somehow. 

  Frankie hadn’t expected you to be the first one he saw that morning. Especially in his current predicament, he doesn’t mean to stare but he can’t get the image of you on his lap out of his mind. 

  He blinks twice before he registers that he hasn’t said anything. “Ya sorry about that…I didn’t realize-“

  “Don’t apologize Frankie, this is your house.” You laugh nervously. “You’re more than welcome to fall asleep wherever you’d like.” 

  Wherever he’d like. 

  Your hands worry at the hem of your apron, the meaning of what you’ve said is probably completely lost on you. The real you is so different from the way you were in his dream. It’s so much better and that likely had something to do with the fact that he needs to be in control. 

  “Thank you for the blanket.” He laughs as he looks down at the fuzzy pink comforter adorning his lap. “I’m assuming of course.” 

  “You were shivering when I came in here. Santiago keeps this place like an ice box I swear.” You absentmindedly gesture around the house but of course Frankie already noticed how cold it is. The way your nipples stay incessantly hard and of course he notices first thing in the morning as they poke through one of Santi’s shirts you’re wearing under the apron. Likely not wearing a bra. His mind flashes to his dream again just when he was starting to think he could remove the blanket. 

  You smile at him again and he has to remember to breathe. This is the longest conversation he’s had with you alone and yet it doesn’t feel as awkward as he thought it would. 

  “Anyways…I made some cinnamon rolls for breakfast.” You gesture your hands towards the kitchen and Frankie groans for more than one reason. “I’ll put some coffee on too, whenever you’re ready. Don’t take too long though they’re still warm.” You smile and head down the hall and he lets out a breath. 

  “You were going to be the death of him and his waistline.” 

  ****

  You don’t know exactly what’s different about them but something has shifted. They don’t even notice you watching them as you lean against the counter in the kitchen while they both talk and laugh with half full mouths of cinnamon roll. 

  Frankie eats like he’s never had one in his entire life and well…you know how much Santi loves your cooking so it’s not surprising that he’s eaten enough to the point of a stomach ache. Part of you should feel a little jealous, getting a glimpse into their old life or what could’ve been their life playing out right in front of you. 

  Santi reaches over, wiping something from the corner of Frankie’s mouth. “You are always such a messy eater.” Frankie’s flushes as the red creeps up his neck. He looks over at you but you make no attempt to seem uncomfortable with it. 

  Santi stands from the stool rounding the corner to you with a mischievous look in his eye. The kind of look he would usually never give you in front of company. He pulls you into him as he buries his face in your neck inhaling your scent. His lips trail kisses up your neck leaving goosebumps in their wake. His lips meet yours and you can taste the sweet sticky frosting coating them as you let a moan slip out. You try to push him away from you but not convincingly enough as he deepens the kiss. A pit forms on your stomach at the display he’s putting on. You can’t see Frankie’s face but you feel him burning a hole through Santi’s back. 

  “Santiago, what are you doing?” No malice in your voice as you lean your head back seeing his pupils wide with pleasure. 

  “I didn’t get to kiss you goodnight or good morning.” He grits through his teeth as he goes to dive back in for another kiss. 

  You peck his lips twice. “Goodnight and good morning.” Pushing him to put some space between you and the ache between your thighs. It doesn’t help when he tuts and moves out of the way, adjusting himself in his gray sweatpants that do nothing to hide his excitement. 

  You start to apologize for Santi’s behavior but your words are caught in your throat at the look Frankie’s giving you. He brushes his thumb along his bottom lip, his eyes are glazed over as he focuses on something intently. It’s like he has x ray vision and you’re feeling so exposed at the attention of both of them. Santiago’s body heat is still looming close to you. 

  “I’m gonna go shower.” You blurt out as you nearly trip over Santi’s feet leaving the kitchen. It takes you a moment to catch your breath when you close the bedroom door leaning against it. You have no idea what the fuck that was but you need to wrap your head around it before you even begin to approach those feelings. 

  ****

  “Shit was that too much?” Santi’s wide eyes staring back at Frankie. 

  “Ya think? She practically ran out of here Pope.” Frankie stands and gathers the dishes as he shoots Santiago a look. “She’s not some girl in a bar half way across the world.” Frankie absentmindedly begins washing the dishes as he watches the cogs on his brain turning over. 

  “I guess I got too excited.” He half says to himself as he scrubs his jaw with his hand. Frankie hasn’t seen him this excited about something in awhile. He thinks more so at the prospect of something between the three of you he’s not ready to put a name to than the windfall of money he’s very recently received. 

  “Listen hermano, one step at a time.” Frankie dries his hands on the towel turning towards Santi. “You might want to tell her about the money first, since I’m assuming you haven’t had time to do that.” 

  Santi says nothing just looking down the hallway towards your bedroom. He doesn’t know why he’s so hesitant to tell you. Maybe because when you found him he was barely holding on to his sanity all because of the money they never got. The money that he now has is the reason he almost lost it all. 

  ****

  “Honey, please say something.” Santi’s crouched between your legs as you sit dumbfounded on the edge of the bed. You’re staring into those deep brown eyes that you love so much but you can’t find the words to explain how you feel. 

  All these insecurities you didn’t realize you were holding onto are flooding to the surface. 

  What was Frankie’s motive? Did he even have one or was this just his way of apologizing? 

  Would Santi feel like he doesn’t need you anymore now that he has this money and he’s closed that chapter of his life? How would this change the dynamic of your relationship? 

  You never fathomed having this much money in your entire life. You were perfectly content with the money you made as a chef and caterer, working hard to provide an honest living for you and Santi. It somehow feels wrong knowing where the money came from and how many people out there died because of it. 

  You don’t have all the details but you know that Lorea was a bad man and the boys all sacrificed a lot for their country and lost more than money on this mission. Either side of the coin you flip has its pros and cons. 

  Santi and Frankie seemed so happy this morning. Like a weight had been lifted off their shoulders. The weight of years in the service, the weight of Tom's death, the weight of not knowing how you were going to provide for a family and start a life together. You ached for that feeling, not just to see them happy but to see them happy together in this home. But where does that leave you? 

  The thunder claps in the quiet bedroom and Santi’s hands flinch against your thighs. You didn’t remember seeing a storm on the forecast for today but as you start to think about it maybe it’s been a few days since you’d checked the weather. It was one of those silent things you did to put him at ease. Storms always brought out his restlessness. A reminder of things that took a lot of time and tears to pry from him. You always tried to make things a little easier for him on these days, his favorite meal, a comfort film, lazy naps and sweet kisses. 

  The pitter patter starts slowly on your bedroom window as you glance outside to see the impending clouds. His fingers grip your chin lightly bringing your gaze back to him. “Sweetheart I’m not worried about the storm, I just need you to talk to me.” His voice cracks a little at the end and you can see the worry etched across his forehead. Though you don’t know exactly where it’s coming from. 

  “Santiago that's ... .a lot of money.” Your whispering barely audible over the sound of the wind and your beating heart. “And since when did storms not bother you?” 

  He rubs his hands soothingly along your legs as he thinks of his next words. You know his knees must be killing him on the floor but he makes no move to stand. “That money is not gonna do anything but make our lives better. I won’t be naive and say that things aren’t going to change but I want you by my side for all of it.” As if he knows…of course he knows the million things running through your head. He clears his throat and reaches into his back pocket before you can conjure up another thought. 

  A small red velvet box in his right hand that he brings to his chest momentarily and once again you’re speechless. “Baby, I wanted to get you a nice ring and for the longest time I wondered what kind of ring I could buy you if I had all this money. I obsessed over it and it’s what’s kept me from giving this to you for months.” Your eyes start to well with tears as he keeps it clutched to his chest. “I’m relieved that I have it now because I want you to know that I’ve wanted this life with you since the moment I met you and no amount of money is going to change that.” 

  He flips open the small box revealing a small gold band with a center cut opalescent stone. It’s perfect in every way and you couldn’t imagine how he would’ve done better than this. The diamond in the middle resembles your birthstone and you can’t help but marvel at his attention to detail. “This isn’t exactly how I wanted to do this but I don’t think I could wait any longer. So please will you do me the honor of marrying-“ 

  He lets out a loud oomph sound as you crash into him, both of you tumbling onto the floor. He starts laughing as you mutter apologies into his neck still not letting him up. “I take that as a yes?” His tone laced with a bit of uncertainty. 

  “Oh my gosh the ring.” You exclaim as you roll off him. 

  “Relax sweetheart I’ve got it right here.” His hands are slightly shaky as he presents it to you again, still safe in the box. You hold your hand out as he tsks under his breath. His eyebrows raised in question. “I think you’re still forgetting something.”

  Too excited and caught up in the moment to realize you hadn’t said those magic words. “Yes, yes of course yes.” You laugh and wipe the happy tears with your other hand as he places the ring on your finger. 

  He leans in and kisses you as you cup his face. The cold band pressed into his cheek has him smiling against your mouth. The rain hammering the window is now an afterthought as you pull him up to you onto the bed. His warm body pressing you into the mattress as you kiss like teenagers for the first time. 

  You roll your hips into him as he grinds down on you, his mouth swallows your soft whimper as you become acutely aware that you’re not alone in your home. You place a gentle hand on his chest as you gasp for air, pushing him away. His face protests but you need to slow this down. 

  “What about Frankie?” It’s not lost on you that the man in the other room is still madly in love with Santi and it’s safe to assume the same about him. 

  He sighs deep and hangs his head, his body like a blanket over you. “That’s a little more complicated.” 

  Complicated

  He kisses your neck as you melt further into the mattress, but you couldn’t let the king of distraction off that easily. “Santiago.” You grit out your voice a bit strained. “Can you uncomplicate it?” 

  He rolls you over keeping you close in his arms so you're now on top. “Sí señora Garcia.” Your stomach does a flip at the name but you don’t budge just leveling him with a look. “I can explain later…after dinner. I promise.” 

  The rain has stopped now as you feel the sun hitting your face through the window bathing you both in a glow. Perhaps a temporary shower that wasn’t a storm at all. 

  “I have some things I need to take care of today. Will and I are going to meet with Molly. Her and the girls have been through enough and they deserve this closure too.” Santi didn’t brag often, if ever so you know his given call sign was something hard to stomach for him. He still finds ways to show you how much of a Saint he truly could be. “Why don’t you hang out with Frankie today. Go shopping for dinner with him, I’m sure he would love a lesson in making your world famous pizza.” 

  “It sounds like you’re not so subtly telling me you want pizza tonight Garcia.” He squeezes your side as a silent yes. 

  “I think I fell in love with you that night you made it for me. Plus you know what they say about the way to a man’s heart.” There’s a hint of playfulness in his tone. A small part of you wants to ignore the odd choice of words and the other part is getting nervous wondering if he could mean something by it. 

  Your mind has to be playing tricks on you because Santiago Garcia was not one to dance around a topic. He often approached things head on and with much annoyance to you he was relentless. 

  But this…this is different. It’s like he’s afraid to dip his toes into the water. Like he’s trying to gauge your reaction without telling you outright what he wants. 

  One thing you do know for certain is that the idea of being with Frankie alone today has you feeling like you’re going to burst. 

  ****

  Santiago had hurriedly said bye to you while you were still in the shower. The wink he gave you as he pinched your ass told you that he was definitely up to no good. It still sets your mood in the right direction seeing him so happy, despite you being so nervous to hang out with Frankie. 

  Complicated 

  The word he said echoing through your mind in the shower as you try to block it out and relax under the steam and hot water. 

  When you’ve extracted yourself from the shower and spent a little more time than you’d care to admit finding something to wear you find yourself leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. Watching quietly as Frankie meticulously cleans up your mess from the morning that he certainly didn’t need to do. 

  “You know you didn’t have to do that Francisco.” He doesn’t jump at the sound of your voice, he could feel you watching him. He could smell your lotion that filled the space when you entered the room. 

  He turns to face you leaning against the counter with his arms crossed and a smirk etched in his features. “You can call me Frankie, my mama called me Francisco when I was in trouble.” 

  “I’ll have to remember that Frankie.” 

  He blushes at that as he dips his head. “So…Mrs. Garcia, what’s on the itinerary for the day?” You balk at that and he just smiles all wide obviously having been filled in by Santi. He seems genuinely excited. 

  You take a few steps into the kitchen to lean on the counter facing him, his eyes flit briefly to the slight dip in your sundress. “I’m not a Mrs, yet, don’t get ahead of yourself Frankie. I was thinking we could head to the farmers market to pick up some things for dinner.” 

  He’s waiting for you to finish your laundry list of things but you just stand there staring at each other. “Anything else? You’re a rich woman now.” 

  You laugh and roll your eyes. “I don’t know, I guess I don’t really spoil myself that much.” You bite your lip thinking of anything you’ve wanted recently and he knows you’re unaware of the little things you do that drive him absolutely crazy. “Oh!” 

  “Yes, tell me.” He matches your excitement as he leans into the counter face to face with you. 

  “There’s a bookstore I’ve been wanting to check out.” You tap your fingers nervously and he wants to make fun of you a little but the way you’re smiling at him he can’t bring himself to burst your bubble. 

  He swipes the keys from the bowl on the counter as he holds his other hand out to you. “Farmers market and bookstore, hermosa.” You hesitantly take his hand as he practically pulls you out the door, your heart skips a beat as he laces his large fingers with yours. “Remind me that Santi and I need to give you a lesson in spoiling yourself.” 

  ****

  “These aren’t as good as yours.” Frankie says with a mouthful of cookie as you stroll down the walkway at the market. He looks down at you grinning, his cap shielding the sun from those gorgeous eyes. The small bit of rain gave way to the most beautiful day and you’ve completely lost yourselves in showing him around the different vendors. “I’m serious, you could sell those cookies. I would buy them every day.” 

  “Well lucky for you, I can make them for you. Everyday.” You say with a hint of flirtation. 

  “Is that so?”

  You just nod as you brush along his arm, goosebumps raising on your skin. You can feel him looking at you, not even watching his step. He’s so sure of himself even in a place he’s never been. You noticed him when you arrived, scoping out the area and taking note of all the people. You’re glad you got used to it with Santiago over the years. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen it up close. The need to protect and have all your surroundings covered. 

  You gasp as you notice a booth that hasn’t been here in a few weeks with handmade jewelry. You look up at him to ask if he wants to check it out and without a word he just nods his head and places his hand along your back guiding you toward it. His hand feels hot on the thin dress you wore and the gesture so small yet intimate that you can’t help but tense a little. 

  It doesn’t seem to phase him…nothing really seems to phase him. 

  You stand there for a moment just eyeing the jewelry for a while. Running your hands along the chains with small pendants at the end of each one. One catches your eye and you take it off the hook folding it over to check the price. It’s still odd for you as hard as you work to spend money on yourself. You didn’t grow up in the best situation and so you always default to being practical. 

  He nudges you and it startles you a little. “You should get it.” He watches you mull it over. At first he doesn’t understand, it can’t really be about the money. He remembers being the one in your position. Santi always pushing him to enjoy the little things and he never understood until recently. 

  He takes it from you gently as you watch him dangle it on his finger. “Excuse me ma'am. I’d like to buy this necklace.” 

  “Oh dear, that’s one of my favorites. I’ve been wondering when someone was going to take it off my hands.” The sweet gray haired woman takes it from him. Her wrists adorned with bangles that she made no doubt. She places it on a small piece of tissue paper to wrap but he stops her. 

  “She’d like to wear it now, if that’s alright.” You and the woman both regard him at the same moment. Perhaps the same dumb lovestruck look on your face when he says it all low and sweet. 

  “Well of course she can, you don’t have to ask me.” She cuts the tag off for you and hands it to him as he swiftly passes her two bills, far too much for the necklace but he insists on her keeping the change. 

  “Turn.” A swift command that you find yourself obeying, your body betraying your need to question why you easily fall into this role with him. Why it doesn’t feel wrong or out of place. Your breathing picks up as he slides the cool metal around your neck clasping it together. “Let me see.” 

  You try to school your face into a neutral expression when you turn around. But you never were very good at poker. 

  “It’s beautiful.” Frankie’s looking directly into your eyes and it feels like he wants to say something more. 

  The woman reaches over squeezing Frankie’s hand breaking the moment. “It was very nice of you to buy that for your wife.” 

  You start to protest but he just wraps his arm around you pulling you into his side. “What kind of husband would I be if I deprived her of anything?” He looks down at your shocked expression and just winks as the woman clasps her hands over her heart. 

  He pulls you away from the booth, his large palm rubbing circles along your shoulder. He leans in close whispering in your ear. “Remind me to tell Santi you’re actually Mrs. Morales.” 

  ****

  Your hand traces the pendant on your neck as you watch the familiar houses go by. Frankie’s hand rests on the back of your seat as he hums some obscure tune. 

  In the back of the car nestled among the fresh produce for dinner is a stack of books that you can’t wait to dive into. It didn’t take long for you to stop arguing at the store when he insisted on buying you anyone you wanted. You decided to personally limit it to four even though you both knew there were far more. 

  He couldn’t stop laughing at the way you would smell the pages of the books as you opened each one in the store. Something so peaceful and nostalgic about lignin and vanilla scent. 

  He turns the corner and his hand glides easily on top of the smooth leather of the steering wheel. His muscles flex with just the slightest movement and you don’t look away fast enough when he turns to you. 

  He smirks at you and raises his eyebrows before returning them back to the road. 

  Fuck he’s trying to kill you

  You realize at that moment you haven’t checked your phone all day as you retrieve it from your bag. 

  One text from Will’s wife wishing you congratulations. 

  One text from Benny saying how happy he was for you, and another swiftly followed up with how he will be maid of honor. 

  No notification from Santi. 

  Your brow furrows as you pull into your driveway. 

  “Everything okay hermosa?” Frankie puts the car in park as he settles back in the seat. The hand that was on your headrest coming dangerously close to your thigh. 

  “Ya, everything’s fine…I just haven’t heard from Santiago.” 

  “He’ll be home in about an hour. I can help you get dinner started in the meantime.” He doesn’t give you a chance to answer. He slides out of the driver's seat and heads to your side opening the door for you. You reach for the bags but he tsks under his breath and you just sigh as you slide out and head for the front door. If there was anything at all he was determined to do today it was help you learn how to be taken care of. 

  ****

  “So what makes this pizza so special?” 

  You’re both standing around the island, the oven set to preheat and all the toppings chopped and ready. 

  “Oh, I don’t know…Santi really likes the dough. I don’t really do much to it.” You shrug as you spread the flour on the granite counter. 

  “I think you’re being modest…once again.” Frankie’s constant compliments still make you a little flustered as he runs his fingers through his hair. 

  You take the large ball of dough, placing it in front of you. He watches with rapt attention as you pull the sides gently apart with your hands. Forming an imperfect circle. It sticks to you as you peel your hand away gesturing for the bag of flour. 

  “How much?” 

  “Just sprinkle a little here.” He moves closer to you as he spreads it out in front you. You bite your lip in concentration as you work out the edges. 

  He chuckles as he meets your eyes. 

  “Something funny Morales?” You purr at him. 

  “Do you toss it?” All taunts in his tone but you choose to ignore it. 

  “No…I prefer to take my time and use my hands instead of a rolling pin. Tossing it has always been too hard for me.” You don’t look up at him then instead choosing to focus on the task at hand. 

  He closes the short distance between you, coming up behind you as he places his hands on the counter caging you in. You take a deep shuddering breath. You can smell his cologne and as he crowds your senses. 

  “Show me.” The deep rumble of his voice reverberates through you as his hot breath fans across your neck. 

  You wrap your hands around his wrists, placing them on the dough. Your hands are on top of his as you slowly resume your movements from before. 

  “You want to gently push the dough toward the outer corners, while trying to keep a relatively uniform shape.” He hums in your ear as he lets you guide him and you squirm a little in his hold. “Don’t press too hard, you don’t want to make any holes, just ease it from the middle. If your hand gets too sticky just add a little more flour.” 

  “We wouldn’t want that now would we?” He knows what he’s doing but you don’t want to stop him. You’re not moving your hands anymore as they rest on top of his. His large palms work the dough with perfect precision as you feel him press into you. 

  He hears you whimper as he presses his painfully hard bulge into your back. You could pull away, tell him to stop but you lean back into his hold. 

  “I have a confession.” Frankie whispers in your ear. “I’ve done this before.” He kisses your neck and you shiver. 

  “Make dough?” 

  He chuckles against you as you turn your head to him, your nose just barely brushing his. His lips meet yours. Softer and sweeter than you’d expect for how much the tension has been building between you all day. It takes you a moment to regain consciousness as he deepens the kiss and you stop briefly cursing under your breath. 

  “Frankie…I’m sorry.” He pulls away from you just enough for you to extract yourself from him. Hands covered in flour as you scramble to the sink. 

  “Did I-“ 

  “Oh my god Frankie… I shouldn't have done that.” You're scrubbing your hands under the sink as tears well up in your eyes. 

  “You didn’t do anything…I did.” He takes a small step towards you, hands held out in front of him. You look like a frightened animal when you turn around. “Shit, I didn’t mean for it to happen like this, I just-.” 

  “No Frankie it’s okay, I’ll tell Santi it was my fault.” You dry your hands and leave him in the kitchen before you have a chance to embarrass yourself any further. 

  ****

  You’re feverishly packing a bag when you hear hushed voices coming from the living room. You can’t believe you let yourself get so caught up in a moment of weakness with Frankie. Your fiancés ex, in their home. 

  It hurts just saying it in your head when you think about it. The look on Santi’s face playing out in your mind when you tell him. 

  Panic rising in your throat as you hear heavy footsteps coming down the hall. 

  A small knock on the door before Santi enters your bedroom, taking in your frantic state on the floor in front of your dresser. You can see Frankie looming in the hallway, looking a lot less worried than you. 

  “Sweetheart.” Santi joins you on the floor but you don’t meet his eyes. 

  “I’m sorry, I have no excuse for what I did.” You move to stand but he takes your hands in his, forcing you to look at him. 

  “Sweetheart relax…just breathe.” He kisses your palm and his voice holds no malice. “I owe you an apology.” 

  You sniffle and look up at him, confusion etched across your face. You glance at Frankie who’s a little further in your bedroom, leaning against the wall all cool and calm. 

  Santi takes your chin in his fingers directing your attention back to him. “I told Frankie to show you a good time today. Did he do that?” 

  You nod your head. 

  “I thought things might be easier this way but I was running a little late so I’m sorry.” He pulls you toward him kissing your forehead and you melt into his touch. 

  “Santiago, I don’t understand.” Your voice barely above a whisper. 

  “Sweetheart, I think you do.” He tilts his head and just smiles, sickeningly sweet. “I see the way he looks at you, and I see the way you look at him.” 

  He helps you to your feet and guides you on shaky legs to the edge of the bed. He slides his hands along your thighs, mimicking his movements from this morning. Frankie toes off his boots behind him and unbuckles his belt. Santi grabs your chin again as your chest rises and falls. “You trust me cariño?” 

  “Yes.” 

  “Do you want this?” The resolve in his voice breaks a little as he watches you glance up to Frankie. 

  “Yes.”

  It’s all the answer he needs before he starts to slowly undress you. He can’t wipe the smile from his face as he kisses your arms and hands, pulling your shirt up over your head. Frankie stood behind him, only in his boxers as he swipes his thumb across his bottom lip. 

  “We’re gonna take real good care of you baby.” Frankie’s voice breaks through the silence as he waits patiently in the doorway. Your eyes go wide as you finally get a look at him. The swell of his cock in his boxers is evident. 

  “Don’t worry sweetheart, we’ll work you up to it.” Santi chuckles against your thighs as he peels your jeans down your legs. He didn’t need to turn around to know what’s got you so speechless. 

  Santi leaves you for a moment as Frankie stalks toward you. You want to shrink under his intense gaze but the way his hand trails lightly under the smooth skin of your breast as he kisses you again. It sets you on fire. The bed dips behind you but your eyes stay on Frankie as he drops to his knees in front of you. Spreading you wide for him as he pushes your thighs apart. 

  “Fuck Pope, she’s so wet already.” His thumb rubs along the front of your panties, marveling at the way it grows impossibly wetter. 

  “Just wait until you taste her.” Santi’s voice comes in behind you as he pulls you back against him. You can feel his naked body pressed against your back as his cock twitches underneath you. 

  Frankie shoots him a look of annoyance as he raises up to the bed. He settles on his stomach as he kisses down your thigh, hovering his mouth just above where you want him the most. His fingers hook in the waistband of your panties as he slowly drags them down, not waiting a moment longer as he dips his tongue into your entrance. 

  You gasp at first as he starts to lick and suck at your clit, you don’t know how he’s already got you so worked up as he growls into your pussy. “Fuck baby, you taste so good.” One hand grips the sheet as the other fists his hair pulling him impossibly closer. 

  Santi curses behind you as you grind into him, his cock painfully hard at the sight of Frankie’s head nestled between your thighs while you come apart on his tongue. 

  Frankie dips two fingers into your pussy as you clench down hard, fighting off your climax. You rock your hips back but his large palm pulls you into them gliding in and out. The sound you let out is purely pornographic and both men groan in unison. 

  “You’re gonna come like this hermosa, and then you're gonna come on Santi’s cock.” His thumb rubs your clit as he spills filth out of his mouth, kissing and biting at your inner thigh. “And then I’m gonna fuck you into the mattress until you’re crying out my name.” 

  Santi’s hand reaches around massaging your breasts between his hands, gripping the flesh for dear life as he tries to hold off. You're coming hard at Frankie’s words and the soft whimpers and half Spanish spewing out of Santi’s mouth. “Frankie.” You cry out as you clench down on his fingers. 

  “God damn baby.” You can hear the wet squelch as he doesn’t let up. His voice wrecked as he sits up pulling his fingers from you. 

  You don’t have a moment to mourn the loss of him, you’re being maneuvered so quickly. The work of two men positioning you in Santi’s lap, hovering just above his aching cock. 

  It’s a rush, finding yourself in this position. Frankie behind you straddling Santi’s legs as he whispers promises into your ear. The sweet juxtaposition to what he’s doing to you right now. Santi looks up at you both, everything he could ever want right in front of him. Finally. 

  “You ready to ride your fiancé?” Frankie settles his hands on your hips as you place yours on Santi’s chest. You’ve done this many times before but this feels so different. The anticipation as he grips the base of his cock, lining it up with your entrance. Sweat beads down his face as he watches Frankie lower you down, inch by inch. 

  He sucks in a sharp breath as you bottom out and Frankie grips your hips keeping you there. You can feel Santi’s cock twitch, begging you to move but he’s not in control tonight. Frankie hooks his chin over your shoulder as he grins down at Santi, slowly rolling your hips in his large palms. It’s an agonizing pace and Santi’s whole body shakes beneath you. 

  Frankie kisses your cheek softly as he starts to grind you harder into Santi, he lifts you slightly bouncing you up and down as you feel the drag of his cock through your walls. “Fuck Frankie…I’m-“ Santi’s so on edge he can’t even finish his sentence. 

  “Not yet.” He grits out behind you as you whine, throwing your head back onto his shoulder. 

  He reaches around pinching your clit between his fingers and you can feel the moment you both come. Santi with a shout as you clench down hard on him, Frankie rocking you through your climax as Santi’s hip practically lifts you off the bed. You can feel him pulsing inside you filling you with his cum as he shakes with aftershocks. It’s so fucking hot, watching him fall apart beneath you as you both come down from your high. 

  Frankie wraps his arms around you as he kisses your neck, licking the sweat from your cheek as he dips his tongue into your mouth. 

  Santi can’t believe what he’s watching, what he’s feeling. 

  “Come here sweetheart.” Santi says as Frankie releases you. You collapse into his chest as Frankie rubs his hands along your spine. Squeezing your ass before he rolls off the bed. 

  “You okay?” You nod against his face as he rolls you both over so he’s on top. It’s obscene the way his cum drips from between your thighs as he kisses you desperately. So proud for taking that step with him, trusting him to take care of you. “We can stop now if you want to.” 

  “No Santi, I want it.” You practically whine as he pulls away from you to be by your side. 

  Frankie laughs as he rolls a condom onto his thick length. “She’s needy, I like her like this.” He towers over you, rubbing his hands along your thighs as he parts them gently. Your eyes are trained on his chest, a small gold band sits neatly at the end of a chain. They drift further roaming down to his soft stomach. He’s beautiful like this. 

  Santi grabs his cock lining it up and the man jerks at that touch. The way he knows how to handle him. You see him break momentarily and it makes you giggle. He raises an eyebrow at you as you pull him down by his neck, crashing your lips into his as he sinks deep into you. You swallow his moans as your mouth parts at the thick intrusion. 

  “Jesus fucking Christ, she’s so tight.” He chokes out as you guide his face away from you. A look of confusion on his face until you glance over to Santi waiting patiently for what he’s wanted for days. 

  He’s hesitant at first but you roll your hips up encouraging him and he leans over kissing Santi softly on the lips. His tongue dips into his mouth, tasting him for the first time in years and tears spring from the corner of his eyes as he starts to set a brutal pace. You’re gripping his shoulders as he pounds into you, grunting into Santi’s mouth as he tries not to come before you. 

  He knows if he felt you here bare mixed with Santi’s cum he’d already be a goner. 

  You arch your back as he digs his fingers into your thighs. You’re grasping at him and Santi to ground you as he hits something deep inside. You don’t even recognize the noises coming out of you as the bed slams the wall over and over. 

  He turns his attention back to you as you chant his name. “Fuck Frankie I’m so close.” 

  Santi reaches his hand between your sweat soaked bodies and rubs hard on your clit. “Come for him baby.” The silent scream leaves your mouth as your climax rocks through you for the third time tonight. Frankie follows you over as he locks eyes with Santi, his fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, mixed with your come and his. 

  Frankie collapses on top of you, putting all his weight on you as Santi rubs his hands down his back. 

  It takes you a moment to catch your breath and briefly Frankie starts to feel that dread creeping up again. It’s too quiet for him and he starts to move off you. 

  Your legs wrap around him as you whine and Santi just laughs beside you. 

  “Sorry Fish, she’s not gonna let you go.” Santi kisses his shoulder softly as he feels him let out a sigh of relief. 

  “Good, I’m not letting you go. Either of you.” 

  It’s peacefully quiet again, the three of you just laying there, basking in the afterglow. Santi’s light snores coming from beside you. 

  “Frankie?” You coo at him as he hums into your neck. “Kiss me.” His lips find yours as you breathe in his scent. 

  “You never have to ask hermosa.” You let a contented sigh. 

  “Frankie?” You ask again. 

  “Sì bebita.” He kisses your neck and down your chest as the cool metal of his necklace falls between you. 

  “I’m starving.”

   He glances over to Santi, smiling in his sleep. “Let’s go make some pizza.” 

Prev/Epilogue

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

[bagelsenjoyer14]

   One thing I still find incredibly interesting is the whole holy water debacle and, more specifically, Azi’s “I’m not giving you a suicide pill”

    One thing that still gets me is this line said by Aziraphale; I can’t stop wondering what caused him to jump to such a conclusion. I mean this is going to be a weird analogy, but if your friend said they were going to buy a knife for protection, you wouldn't immediately conclude that they would stab themselves with it. And Aziraphale is ADAMENT about it! His facial expression here always gets me, he looks so worried and devastated. This scene causes a big argument between them, and 100 years later, when Aziraphale finally gives in to giving him the holy water (because he knows it’s the safest option) he gives Crowley reasons to live when he hands him a Tartan thermos (in hopes if he does something stupid, he’ll be remembered of Aziraphale and stop)

    But I wonder WHY he came to such a conclusion? And I wonder if in episode three of season two maybe we’ll see why (as we know Neil has mentioned two suicide attempts in it, and it’s another mini-episode about them in the biblical time) and this is going to be about the story of Job, which is already a pretty angsty story. 

  This is also a half-baked thought but I find it interesting that in the picture of a scene in episode three, there’s a shadow over Crowley that is similar to Aziraphale protecting Crowley from the rain in Eden, I almost wonder if it alludes to Azi once again protecting Crowley from something (but perhaps emotionally this time?)

      And, just to bring this up, we really don’t know why Crowley wanted holy water! He tells Azi it’s for protection, but that could just be what Crowley is telling him. I find it odd that it seems Crowley really wants it, then he kind of mellows out before wanting it badly again. 

   But if he wants it for protection, I think that’s equally devastating, because I mean what happened to him in the 1800′s (and later in the 60′s) to cause him to desperately want protection from his own kind? 

   As he said “his lot doesn’t send rude notes”

[riansdiary]

My Favorite Loa/Manifesting Analogies

(my own analogies and analogies from other loa bloggers)

Hi everybody! 🤗

Or should I say...

Dearest Gentle Readers 💎

I'm back with a new post for you! This is the result of me trying to make myself understand the law of assumption better. I was internalizing and thinking deeply about manifesting and I just came up with the best analogies to explain things better to myself! The best way to understand it better is to take a break from Tumblr and internalize it in your own time! This is why bloggers say that you don't need to read anything more or over consume. You might actually explain it to yourself in a better way suited to you as you take a break from Tumblr!

I've been making analogies to help me in manifesting and I wanted to put them in one place including my new one as well! I also have a new epiphany and I thought I could put it here as well! It's similar to an analogy anyway!

Before that, I have something slightly more esoteric and I wonder if you want me to make a post for it so I'm just gonna let you decide and put a poll on here.

Basically, I learned from @nonbinarydeity to talk to my subconscious mind. Your subconscious mind is also your higher self. It has more answers to your questions about the law of assumption than anyone else in the community.

Here is the post where I learned about this! I think you should read it first to get an idea about this. Every time I asked my subconscious something, I wrote it on my notes app so I can read it anytime and remember the answers I got. Now, I wanna ask if you guys wanna see the answers from my own subconscious mind. It's mostly about manifesting. It sounds like me but at the same time it knows more than me and it has been helping me find out why I was ever having trouble with manifesting.

So here's the poll:

Why don't we start?

#1 The planting analogy (by @remcycl333)

This one is not from me but it's my favorite analogy so far and credits to @remcycl333 for this amazing analogy! I read it from her post and I wanted to share this because I know it will help a lot of people. I'm also putting what I thought of this! Here's the original post where I saw this analogy. Here is the plant analogy from her post:

My thoughts:

Persisting is like you finally letting your plant grow and not digging it up or checking it or thinking that it's not growing. You let the old story die by not giving it any attention. I'm letting my plant grow and watering it. But technically you know it's gonna end up growing right? A plant always grows.

#2 The newspaper analogy (mine)

Here is my original post for that but I have more information to share about that! I feel like it's important to share this additional information about this analogy!

When you are manifesting, you are like a newspaper writer except that you don't just write one column, you write everything. Let's say that you don't like what you're seeing and you wanna change something. What does the writer have to do? Write, of course. That is equivalent to you doing your technique whether that be affirming, deciding, commanding your subconscious mind or visualizing and more. Now, when you want something, it immediately manifests in imagination aka the 4d internal world. Manifestation is instantaneous in the 4d. So yes, when you affirm even for the first time it's already real and manifested in the 4d or imagination then it will be reflected by the 3d as long as you persist.

Let's talk about you wavering and finding your manifestation in the 3d. That is basically the writer looking at yesterday's newspaper angrily bcs they want to see the latest but he forgot something didn't he? He's the writer. All he needs to do is write and naturally it will be printed and now they can see the latest news.

This is also another good way to see it. The writer looking for the latest news and getting frustrated when they see the older editions is like you when you waver or dwell in the old story. The writer is focusing on the older editions instead of writing but he has a job right? The writer having to do his job is like the 3d doing its job which is just copying, following and reflecting your 4d which is your mind, your thoughts, your assumptions and imagination.

See, the 3d has no choice but to do its job like the writer. The writer then forgetting that he has to write the news had no idea but to just copy and print more of yesterday's news because that's what he's focusing on. If you keep looking at the old story then what happens? You get more of the old story. You're printing more and more of what you don't want. I hope you're getting this easier now with this analogy. Focusing on the old story, wavering and checking the 3d will get you more of the 3d.

What do we need to do to get what we want then, Rian? Well, you need to write and leave the old edition behind. Again, this sentence also works for what you want. The 3d has no choice but to reflect you. If the writer writes a new edition and persists on it then they will get the latest news! If you think, know and assume you have it and persist. It will naturally materialize but do not focus on that matter because you do have it if you say you do no matter what the 3d shows right now because it follows whatever is in the 4d.

I will give you the biggest manifesting tip I have! This is how I've been getting what I'm manifesting! Just think, assume, know or do whatever technique works for you but after that, go and do what makes you happy. That will distract you from checking the 3d or focusing on circumstances. Also if you technically have it in the 4d which you do, why not be happy now? Please do the things that make you feel good and make your heart happy. I recommend rewatching your favorite childhood movies because I know it's nostalgic and will make you happy. It doesn't mean to force yourself to be happy but it's to do things that will make you feel good. That means distracting you from the 3d and old story. It is a way of persisting and loving yourself because you deserve it. It is a form of self-care.

This is literally what I did when I manifested those crackers. What did I do? I said "I have the crackers. It's in the pantry" then later on my dad and brother came home with a pack of the exact crackers I wanted without me telling them what I wanted. What did I do after I reminded myself it's in my reality now and it's done? I relaxed into the knowing that it is done. I laid down and relaxed. I watched my favorite childhood movie which is Sleeping Beauty and so I distracted myself from checking or dwelling in the old story. It also made me feel better and not worry or get anxious about my manifestations. That's all I did, I considered it done and relaxed. I left the 3d alone and let the plant grow aka my manifestation.

#3 The online shopping analogy (i thought of this too but I know other bloggers have talked about it as well)

Here's my official post for it and I'm just gonna let it speak for itself because everything is in that post.

#4 Buying a new shirt analogy (mine)

I'm sure everyone has replaced and discarded one of their old clothes or shirts right? Okay so then you bought a new shirt and what exactly happened after? Yes, you wore your new shirt and stopped wearing the old ripped one. You might have turned it into a rug or recycled it another way. This is similar to being in the state of wish fulfilled or being the version of you who has that desire.

Let's say your old shirt is really old and disgusting so you decided to buy a new one. Similar to us not wanting what we're seeing and wanting something new for us. The old damaged shirt is the old story and the newly bought shirt is the new story. Meaning the old shirt symbolizing what you see in the 3d and the new shirt symbolizing you assuming you have what you want. When you buy a new shirt, you wouldn't go and wear the old one right? In manifesting, it's like that. I was thinking about my desired face. We need to eliminate and forget about the old story so what do we do? We wear the new shirt aka accept my desire that I already have a new face, my desired face. You wouldn't go back to wearing the old shirt when you bought a new one right? So you toss it out or make it into a rug. Completely forgetting and not paying attention to it anymore.

Yesterday, I was in the bathroom thinking of creating a new analogy to help me not dwell on the old story. I started thinking of an analogy for undesired things. For those things and the old story, you just need to stop talking or thinking about it and let it die off. Whatever you focus on grows so do not pay attention to anything you don't want because if you do, it'll stick and stay in your reality but if you don't feed it any attention, it'll die off and go away on its own. Think that it's a hater, think that it's someone saying crazy stuff to you when you know the truth that your desires are facts. If you don't give it any attention, it will die on its own and go away.

I read a great post from an amazing blogger and I will link their awesome post here. When you do your techniques, do not consider them a technique and think that it's a reality already! You create your reality and you are the writer. Just affirm as if it's true and you're telling a story. Stop thinking of it as a technique but think that it's already a reality. Don't think of it as a technique but think that whatever you're affirming, assuming or visualizing is already true and that it is a reality now and that it already happened despite what you see. You just never back down from a decision you made. I said I have my desires and that's it. It's in my reality now. Whenever I affirmed, I didn't think of it as a technique but that it's already the truth. Oh yeah, I love that Dad has a six figure salary at home job and it's stuff that he's an expert on so it's literally child's play and super easy for him to do.

The undesired and old story? What do you mean? They're literally nothing and nonexistent. If you focus on your desires being true now and leave the old story and never touch it again, think of it as nothing then you won't have anything to use to think against the new story. If you focus on doing what makes you happy, you're taking your attention away from the old story and letting it die. It's like you decided to finally let your plant grow and not dig it up or check it or thinking that it's not growing. You let the old story die by not giving it any attention. So when I affirmed about me having all my desires now and being a master at manifesting and manifesting being easy to me, I stopped thinking of it as a technique. It's just the truth for me now. I started talking as if it's really the truth now and it's facts. I'm letting my plant grow and watering it. But technically you know it's gonna end up growing right? A plant always grows.

I'm gonna keep adding any other analogy I make or my new favorite ones that can help everyone understand the law in an easier way.

I will leave with the proof for my success story in this post. I manifested getting paid to exist and I finally was able to convert half of my cryptocurrency to actual online cash! I only converted half of it to save the rest for later. This is thanks to my Dad who is so really good in technology and he discovered this app with my uncle and they recommended that me and other family members install it. We went through a strict verification process which includes verifying your identity and making sure that it is you that's in your ID. It failed once but I manifested that it will be processed successfully! Now most of us in my family are earning money from that app just by tapping a button every day. Once you tap it, it will start giving you points as it runs in the background. I'm really happy about this manifestation!

That's all and happy manifesting! I'm just gonna assume that this will help everyone! Thank you for reading!

Yours Truly,

Lady Rian Whistledown 💋

[weirdmageddon]

aspects and platonic realism in homestuck

i was thinking about this video again and man. i dont think people consider the aspects enough in terms of the fact that they are fundamental building blocks of the homestuck reality in the way that periodic elements and physics are to us. or even closer to what classical elements were to ancient greeks (hero of fire / hero of water / hero of aether). we see aspects not directly. we see objects directly but these objects are created from the influence of aspects.

some tangible things are closer to the “essence” of what falls into an aspect’s domain to define it. like a gust of wind or a breeze is a physical analogy for the aspect of breath. in homestuck’s reality, how breath manifests itself in a metanarrative sense is representing a functional plot-driven story. john’s liking for fast-paced action movies and worldbuilding with very little emphasis on relationships and characters. the beginning of homestuck in itself embodies much of the breath aspect in a narrative sense. the trolls are influenced by the blood aspect since their plot is moved by relationships, dramas, interpersonal dynamics rather than a primarily detached functional-driven plot like acts 1-4. from a metanarrative take, along with blood, breath represents how the author intends to tell or convey the story, if they choose elements that emphasize the detached (breath) or elements emphasizing connection (blood). the perpendicular axis to breath-blood is space-time, which metanarratively represents the setting and the events in the story. but these metanarrative manifestations of the aspects are just another imperfect angle to view their platonic essence in. each aspect dichotomy is like a different lens of thinking about reality through.

media tends to have some aspect dichotomy focus it thematically revolves around above all else. of course every media contains elements of all aspects. for example every narrative must have setting and events, which is why space and time are absolutely necessary.

the legend of zelda: breath of the wild and tears of the kingdom pull a lot of themes from the breath/blood dichotomy overall, and secondarily space and time. botw has story, gameplay, and themes drawing heavily from breath and space. totk in contrast has story, gameplay, and themes drawing heavily from blood and time.

gravity falls focuses heavily through the light/void dichotomy lens. with plot points all focusing heavily around knowledge and secrets, relevance and irrelevance. shining a light in a dark space, symbolism, clarity, and meaninglessness, confusion, obscuring truth (bill, society of the blind eye). even though all aspect dichotomies show up in all media recursively at metaphysical levels, breath and blood aren’t as dominant overall in gravity falls as it is for the latter i mentioned

“in the furthest ring, platonic forms are real. they are the base classes that paradox space builds reality out of. whereas modern physics breaks down reality into the physically irreducible, homestuck breaks down reality into what rose calls the “notionally irreducible”. and just as fundamental particles are to the periodic table of elements, aspects are to this system’s irreducible forms. the 12 aspects are the building blocks of thought, and where we, in our universe, might make a distinction between thought and reality, paradox space doesn’t seem very concerned. as we’ll see, homestuck wants us to convince us that our thoughts create the world around us, and the aspect system is just another way to work towards that goal.

in a traditional rpg, classes are about specialization and tools at your disposal. in zelda games, titles/classes such as “hero of time” or “hero of wind” is less as a specialization but more of a prophecy. it has no bearing on any quality of the game’s mechanics but instead is being used as a tool for the narrative. and it works; there’s a reason that cryptic prophecies are so widely used in storytelling. they foreshadow the rest of the story without giving it away and they give the reader/viewer/player a framework from which they can continuously place the story and its unfolding into perspective. in a zelda game, it’s even more effective because it is framing the player’s own actions making them feel like they’re a part of something bigger than themselves. in addition, it can be interpreted by the player as a challenge to them personally so that, in overcoming the challenge presented to them, they feel a sense of personal satisfaction at living up to the role. it’s one of many, many qualities that make zelda games feel epic and timeless.

homestuck, being a traditional narrative which involves a multiplayer game is able to take the best qualities of both the class system in an rpg and the titles of a zelda game and use those to create the class and aspect system.

characters playing the game are seemingly assigned a title just like in zelda. in fact, they sound identical to zelda. one might find themselves refered to as the “hero of doom” or a “hero of void”. like a zelda game, these describe the tools that the players will use to live up to their prophecized roles, except the tools in this sense are aspects.”

(Aspects and Platonic Realism in Homestuck)

that is, the tools in this sense are the fundamental building blocks of reality.

when a player is assigned an aspect, one even as abstract as “rage”, they are being assigned to be a servant of a fundamental property, force, or matter of reality. maid of rage (serving the platonic fundamental property of rage) would in our world be like, equivalent to a servant of electromagnetism. except with homestuck these are platonic forces

[daubigny-stan]

If you used to be a fan of HP, please read Witch Hat Atelier

I am so serious. I think everyone who's read WHA will tell you this, it is a more refined and perfected flavor of HP's lore and worldbuilding. Moreover, the mangaka of WHA isn't a complete bigot unlike someone else who wrote a witch based story. It's so good even, that I think it's an insult that I'm comparing the two, however HP is the most familiar reference I have and in this post I'll be comparing and breaking the down.

HP feels like a 'chosen one' story whose world was haphazardly built around it, meanwhile WHA's story feels like one that is naturally developed from its well executed worldbuilding

Ok, this is not an elegant title, so allow me to explain. The HP method of worldbuilding which puts the ideas first and makes the world bend to the ideas is apparent in two concepts: how Harry is the chosen one and the separation of wizards and non-wizarding folk.

How is Harry positioned by the writer to be the chosen one? Because of the prophecy! And that's marked with him surviving the death curse which is an impossible thing to do lore-wise, so here's the complicated bad magic which explains why Harry did the impossible thing! See, it's like they thought of a cool design for a boat, but the boat wasn't able to float on water, so they just kept adding patches to the plot holes. And this isn't necessarily a bad thing in my opinion, the horcruxes were an interesting bit to the lore and does bring up the idea "oh killing someone splits the soul in half" which is a fine metaphor, I guess. But it feels like the world revolves around Harry and Voldemort rather than Harry and Voldemort living in it.

Meanwhile, Witch Hat Atelier? Airtight. Coco doesn't feel like a chosen one for the sake of being the protagonist. The ongoing battle after against the current magic policy of secrecy and limitation and the goals of exposing magic and unleashing its potential has existed long before Coco was around. Coco feels like just one of the Brimhats' many attempts to expose the witches' secrets to the Unlearned. At the moment we don't know if Coco was deliberately chosen because she has some special property or not, but even if she doesn't it just feels more special. Coco's protaganism is not defined by being special or powerful, she is birthed from the current circumstances and worldbuilding.

And Shirahama sensei's explanation for the separation of witches and the Unlearned don't feel arbitrary and contribute to the plot. Witches aren't special, they are just this group of people that were deemed worthy of learning magic. And magic is still shown to non-magic folk, it is not void from their world. This feels like the mangaka actually took from how real-world politics, it doesn't matter who is at the top actually, there is just an inherent injustice from the fact that some people can wield magic and some cannot. And this message is echoed with almost every story arc thus far. Coustas as a character is an incredibly example of how magic is also analogous for privilege or power. He is underprivileged for both being Unlearned and coming from the slums.

On the other hand, HP's idea of magical folk feeds back into how there are ideas for people first and then the world revolves around it poorly. This is not a novel complaint about HP but if magical babies are born randomly and can even be born to non wizard folk... how have they been concealed all this time? Like, I get it, magic and achieve amazing things including concealment and memory erasure but there is not concrete argument to keep concealing. The story and characters accept that rule without questioning it which really paints them as shallow. And also since magic is something you are born with, the idea that some people are born special and some are not? Really rubs you the wrong way.

HP's concept of morality is just... bleugh

A lot of the points I make here and in the previous point I think I'm echoing from Shaun's video on Harry Potter which you should go watch. The point I'm taking here is how arbitrarily good and evil is decided in the HP world, if you are the snake house or the snake KKK, you are evil. I didn't know you could strawman people in prose but there you go. Meanwhile, in WHA there is not necessarily an evil. People have different goals and those goals contradict with each other. That is the definition of conflict in this manga. It is also possible that characters have the same values but different goals so it makes for so many interesting foils.

Voldemort and the Death Eaters, I feel like their status as a bad guy with bad values is poorly rooted in the world. The wizards already have this pure world void of non-wizards and non-human wizards and they keep their magic to themselves, they're already plenty fascist against non-wizard folk. The Death Eaters don't really have a reason for existing. They feel evil for the sake of having a bad guy with fascist aesthetics, not because they are the consequence of the rules of the world or because they have goals that make sense. They don't really need to rid the world of non-magic folk, they already have a world to themselves. They don't need to rule the entire earth for its resources, they're already not sharing magic. They don't need nuclear weapons or oil or whatever. And it's not like the good guys are going against magic separatism either. They're just protecting the status quo and maybe asking "could we be a bit nicer to magic kids born out of non-magic families pwease?"

Meanwhile, the Brimhats, the antagonists of the WHA world, they make so much sense both the readers and the main characters are in this constant state of questioning who is right or wrong. Heck Coco, the main character, is the embodiment of the story's moral conflict. We are first introduced to Brimhats who are more hungry for power or unlimited magic that they will harm children so we accept with little hesitation that they will be the bad guys, but then we are introduced to Ininia. Ininia is also a little girl, much like the main gang, with the same values. Magic brings people happiness and can heal. Forbidden magic can do that much better so why not use it? And so far, even the protagonists don't have the answer! We are only shown the consequences of using forbidden magic. But throughout the story we are also shown the flaws of the current system.

There's so much more I could say, like about how WHA's characters are so well written, to the ACTUAL representation of gay people, disabled people, and class in the manga; but those are the two main points of why the story of WHA is so much better. Shirahama sensei does not treat her readers like dumb idiots. She trusts us to be intelligent and shows us scenarios that will leave us thinking for hours. GO READ WITCH HAT ATELIER

[windvexer]

"And it's not like the spell is locked behind a glass wall in some faraway astral space (or at least, it shouldn't be... it can be. This is too much for one post, let's stay on topic)" oh please, please elaborate! 🙏

its all well and good for me to use a metaphor that magic is ever-present and really close at hand, nigh tangible, even,

but there's obviously more than that to successful manifestation.

like it's an actual large deal in practical sorcery of how the hell you get the spell to do something, or much more relevantly do what you want it to do.

so a while ago I used to talk on manifestation using a metaphor that there is a conceptual sphere of glass that separates physical reality from magical reality.

as the metaphor (analogy?) would have it, you can set intent and focus willpower and manipulate astral energies all you want, but those things are stuck in magical reality, blocked from manifesting in the physical world by the glass.

so the spell, obviously it's a good boy and it wants to be helpful, it's going around and around the glass looking for a crack or a foothold to find its way into physical reality.

but this spell is made out of a finite blob of energy. sooner or later, the battery is going to run dry. and all that time it's spending trying to get into our world is burning energy.

by the time it gets here, it could have burned a lot of energy and it doesn't have a lot left to produce strong results. or maybe it doesn't find its way at all.

if this is all true, then the solution is to make cracks in the glass yourself.

overall it's a pretty rough analogy and I'm not even terribly sure if I'd consider it to be more than a parable at this point.

to mash this idea together with the underwater shark thing, the concept would sort of be like...

okay, so let's say metaphorically half of a person is above water and the rest is underwater.

and we're where there are sharks, which means the WHOLE OCEAN is under there.

maybe the ocean is an elegant metaphor for the supreme depths of magical reality. certain layers of magical reality are very close to the surface and truly are interacting with the floating humans, right?

but we can go deeper, and deeper, and deeper.

it wouldn't be true to say that a fish from a mile down is touching the floating humans. it's actually really far away and has a long way to travel before it could touch them at all.

so hypothetically, while all humans are (hypothetically) always partially within magical reality, that doesn't mean that everything within magical reality is close to them or can easily access them.

and this would also be true of spells, when the sorcerer has inadequately developed the spell too far down (or too far up), or failed to properly draw the spell to the surface.

of course, all of these ideas assume it's true that when spells are created they exist somewhere far away, or in any location at all.

just to clarify I think all of these ideas are most useful when treated as thought exercises and not in any sense literal. I think its perhaps true of witchcraft, or at least the kinds of witchcraft I'm familiar with, that one of the witch's primary sorcerous (and mystical) jobs is to "bridge the gap" and learn how to bring things back and forth between our world and the spirit world.

but even that being said, I think there's an element of mysticism in sorcerous witchcraft. I think maybe the best way to talk about it is in stories, or extended spatial analogies, because that's just about the truest way some of it can ever be written down.

sometimes I feel like if anyone can really write it down, like step-for-step for real, then it's got to be one tiny part of it. because it's a big machine out there, you know. it's so decadently complex that it might be more alive than we are.

so it's good to know how one or two cells work, step-for-step. but in the bigger picture, maybe the best way to impart knowledge is in stories and poetry.

and with some step-for-step details of the biology of a few kinds of cells, and with some nice poetry, maybe a person can crest a cliff and see something that will put its own stories inside of their mind forever.

which is to say that I don't know how magic works but i've seen some nice landscapes out there ✌

[omg-snakes]

How accurate is popping as a method of telling a snake's gender? I hear a lot of stories about a hatchling getting checked that way only for the owner to later figure out their corn snake was instead a male/female. Have you ever had that happen to you?

I have, in both directions, but only one time with a snake I personally sexed. Overall I think popping is a fairly reliable, fast, and safe method of sexing. The only other option for babies is DNA testing but that option costs $20+ per snake so I won't do that unless somebody asks and is willing to pay for it.

The trouble with popping is that it tells us only one thing: that a snake does or does not have a hemipene-shaped structure. While we kinda assumed that female snakes have hemiclitori, it was only recently confirmed that the teensy cone-shaped structures everted while popping a female are actually analogous to a clitoris.

It follows that snake genitalia, like mammal genitalia, may be very small in certain males or very large in certain females, and individuals may have characteristics of both. The Steinhart Aquarium recently lost their anaconda to old age and on necropsy discovered that they were intersex! This is probably a lot less uncommon in reptiles than we realize.

Another issue with popping as a means of sexing a snake is that it is easy to do... But also easy to do wrong. Too light a touch and a snake won't "pop" hemipenes. Too rough and you can bruise or permanently injure a snake. I've seen broken tails and kinked spines caused by overzealous sex-checks. I tend to err on the side of gentleness. I check at least twice, a few weeks apart, before listing for sale, and if I don't see penes either time I assume the snake is a girl. One instance of hemipenes labels the snake as a boy and I stop checking.

I've had a couple of boy snakes turn out to be girls, but they're snakes that I bought from other breeders and didn't immediately check for myself so I can't say how they were sexed.

One buyer of a snake I produced reached out after a year to let me know that their little girl was actually a little boy. It's possible that the hemipenes were too small to identify as a baby, or maybe the snake was really clenching hard when I checked, or maybe they really were a girl all along with enlarged hemiclitori as they got older. I'll never know! I offered the buyer a chance to return the snake and they didn't respond so I assume they were happy regardless.

These things happen rarely, but they do happen and sometimes it's a hassle. Any breeder worth their salt has contingencies for their contingencies, though, and a mis-sexed snake is an inconvenience at worst. In every case where it's happened to me, it's been serendipity!

One must be able to roll with the tides if one intends to wade into the unpredictable waters of snake breeding.

[rrcraft-and-lore]

The Celtic Goddess Danu - the Mother Goddess, the goddess of and manifest divine waters. The waters that fell from heaven to create the sacred river, Danuvis or the Danube.

The Tuatha De Danaan are translated as "The Children of Danu."

There are similarities here between this Ganga and the forming of the Ganges. But more notably, Danu from Hindiusm - the primordial mother goddess of ancient/first old waters - liquid. There is also a river named Danu in Nepal.

She is the mother of the Danavas, a larger category of the Asuras - celestial/supernatural beings of god like powers, but calling them gods exactly is incorrect. Asuras and Devas are larger in some ways than that - celestial/cosmic beings of princely domains/abilities is slightly more accurate, but for all intents an purposes. There are more similarities between Celtic and Vedic/Hindu culture/myths.

Why?

Well, recent research has shown Celtic genetics shows paternal and maternal ancestry from ancient India (R-M269 deriving via R1b, and H & U haplogroups) - is it really that weird then we see echoes of the ancient Indian epics echoed throughout other parts of the world, especially with the history of Eurasian/South Asian trade, migration, and more?

There is a story well known in the South Asian stories, but let's talk about the similar Celtic one. A tale of how a hero has to build a causeway across the waters to reach his foe, and how his wife must outsmart her captor/villain.

Some Indians are already nodding their heads. We begin with the Celtic hero: Fionn mac Cumhaill, a hero who is born just after his father dies. 

Does this sound somewhat familiar?

Well, here we have Rama, born to Dasaratha, who is cursed to die soon as his son leaves him. His father dies as soon as Rama is exiled from Ayodhya. 

Finn goes on to study with poets, warriors, and hunters in the forest of Sliabdh Bladma.

Rama goes to the forest hermitage where he learns similar arts under Vasitha. 

Finn later in his youth goes on to destroy the fire breathing demon Áillen of the Tuatha (Children of Danu analogous of Aditi here btw) who destroys the capital of Tara every year on Samhain (a celebration very similar to the Indian Pitru Paksha btw) 

Rama as a teen kills the Asuras attacking the hermitage - the enemies of the Devas (children of Aditi), interestingly enough just like I've talked about in the Norse (how you have two bodies of celestial/god beings - Aesir and Vanir), the Greeks have it, there is also a flipping that happens in a lot of these ancient cultures.

Aesir and Asura come from the proto indo European asr - but in one group one is good, the other bad. However in the Iranian - Zoroastrian, there is a reverse. The Ahura (Asura) are GOOD and the Devas are bad (down to including Indra from South Asian mythology), and in the Celtic we see something similar - a flipping of roles.

Rama, Sita, and her protector Lakshmana were all in exile together in the forest. The demon king Ravana sends a golden deer to tempt/seduce and lure away Sita from Rama but it is really the demon Maricha in disguise. Sita is tricked and ends up sending her protector to Rama, leaving herself vulnerable, and thus abducted by Ravana who wishes to marry her and this leads to a war in where Rama eventually gets her back also, kidnapping of a women sparking a war? OH HI, HELEN OF TROY. HI.

Fionn meets his wife Sabadh while hunting, and guess what? She is turned into a deer by a druid she refuses to marry. She returns to her true form once in Fionn's home and they marry...only she's turned into a deer again by the druid Fear Doirich when Fionn was off at war, and Fionn must spend years searching for her. Wow. Coinky dinky dinky. 

Now to the original part of my talk here, the causeway in Ireland was built by Fionn to travel to battle a giant. Rama Setu, his causeway, was built by Rama's army so he could enter Lanka to do battle there - (Sri Lanka).

The Celts also have four major cycles of time just like the Vedic Indians did. The tricky thing here is that linguistically, PIE (proto Indo European) has been shown to be behind a lot of story/cultural influences as it spread through Europe/Asia, but...the thing that's hard to account for here is how geo-located Ramayama is in/to India, so why do specific echoes of it show up in Celtic mythology so much so?

Yay comparative mythology and echoed storytelling/beats tropes across the world.