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acidic--citrus · 7 months ago

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Hiii! In my previous reblog of this wonderful post, I said I would be providing some more accurate Korean translations of the stuff we've seen to confirm or correct things as an addendum; I hope OP doesn't mind ^^ I'd also like to share some additional thoughts of mine that I've been rotating. I've just been rewatching this goddamned trailer over and over because I'm Just That Obsessed and wanted to share some of my findings/thoughts. HERE WE GO! All under the cut.

Going by the order of topics in the original post, first off are the silhouettes in the title card! People in the notes have speculated correctly; the 5 silhouettes we see are N Corp Don, Sinclair, Faust, and BL Yi Sang and Outis, from left to right. Here's a gif I made to easily show what I mean. (Huge thanks to the public limcom shared assets google drive, I don't know what I'd be without it.)

(Seeing as how later on in the trailer, the Envy Peccatula are confirmed to manifest as N Corp Don and Faust at the very least, I hope this means we'll also have a Blade Lineage/Yield My Flesh to Claim Their Bones node, or BL/YMFTCTB themed wave if the Envy Peccatula fight is going to be all in one node.)

Next, the new RR4 gimmick of specific buffs being seemingly tied to the order in which you choose your sinners pre-battle. The translations for these buffs in the original post are, for the most part, fine, but here I've cleaned up and corrected the translation (I even used the in-game font to match in the hopes that someone out there will appreciate it!!). The source for my translation comes from. ME! I'm (somewhat) fluent in Korean, though my primary language/native tongue is English. I also cross-referenced the in-game translations across both the English and Korean versions of the game (I was very thorough) so as to be accurate.

Additionally, I tried to decipher what the blurry text is for Yi Sang and Hong Lu, which google translate couldn't catch in the original post. They are also included in the image above.

To do so, I used the same font used for the Korean in the game, and typed out what I thought it was from a glance, and then put them right next to each other for comparing. Unfortunately, even going frame-by-frame, Heathcliff's text was far too blurry and went by too fast to decipher.

I'd say it looks about right, doesn't it??

From here on out, I'm supplying new tidbits not in the original post!

The next part in the trailer shows a little of how the backup mechanic works.

First off, yes, it looks like 2 sinners died in the turn prior, as Dante's announcer comment confirms this (my translation might be a little different from how the actual in-game English version of Dante's comment is translated, I just tried to remember to the best of my ability).

Additionally, it seems you can remove, switch out, or outright cancel backup sinners from joining in??? As "해제" here means 'to clear,' or remove. I don't know about this one tbh. "대기" means 'in wait/standby', or backup.

And this is just a small thing, but another thing of note are the little unique status effect icons that each sinner has. Here I've written in large text what the number is in each of their status effects for easy viewing. Numbers 1, 3, and 6 are in red/orange, and belong to the first 6 sinners chosen. Numbers 7 and 8 obviously belong to the new backup sinners who just joined.

I think this is a continuation of the trend in gimmicks featured in the Walpurgisnacht events, where the first sinner you pick has unique buffs and a unique status icon to match. I'm pretty sure that if you hovered over those status icons, you'd see what specific buffs they have.

I wonder if we'll have the freedom to choose which buffs we assign to what number order, similar to how in the 2nd Refraction Railway we could choose the order in which buffs to receive.

To end this post, I'd like to throw my hat into the ring on speculating who wrote the abnormality observation logs teased in the trailer as well!

So while I have the sliiight advantage of being able to more easily pick out everyone's writing style in Korean, as its more obvious/telling in many ways, for example differences in 존댓말 (formal/polite speech) and 반말 (normal/casual speech), I'm still not 100% sure on who's who, as some quirks of their writing overlap with one another. That and, there's very limited data; only one paragraph given for each abnormality. :( i need more .... i need MORE (clawing at my enclosure)

First of all, reminder that sinners receiving/having an EGO of a particular abnormality does NOT mean they'll always be the abnormality's log writer!

Portrait of a Certain Day

That being said, interestingly enough, it seems that this time the abnormality's log writer belongs to someone who does share an EGO with it—Gregor!

We can safely rule out Ishmael as being the writer, because even though the English log is blunt and straightforward like in her other logs, she also uses polite speech (존댓말), and there's absolutely NONE of that here. Rather, the blunt and casual speech (반말) is definitely reminiscent of Gregor's other logs, and while Heathcliff also speaks using casual language, he's also more... violently inclined? So I think we can also rule him out safely too.

Further, the line "Yeah, it's like we're taking advantage of their deaths, isn't it?" could be a reference to how Gregor hates medals, a representation of a person's "great achievements," because of how they're touted as something to strive for when all it is is propaganda for further campaigning. The soldiers in the war were taken advantage of and used for another's purposes.

Similarly, a portrait is a (dishonest) representation of someone, and usually these portraits are glorified or commissioned by someone of high status to make the person portrayed look good (recall canto VI's first intervallo), much like a medal. So when Gregor expresses his distaste for a portrait being paraded around...? 👀 You see what I'm getting at.

Dreaming Electric Sheep

THIS HAS GOT TO BE HONG LU IT HAS TO BE. listen listen okay listen on the topic of hong lu observation logs, listen his last two logs for the Sign of Roses and Canto VI's first intervallo's final boss respectively was. was. listen okay they were absolute gut punches and i. they make me distort everytime i think about them okay i just need to get this out somewhere. anywhere. its so dark in here

Ahem, SO! Judging by how the dream aspect is being emphasized here like the original post mentions, as well as how the writer uses polite speech in the Korean version, I'm leaning more towards this being written by Hong Lu. Red Chamber Dream has a huge motif going on with dreams, or so I hear, and him waxing a little poetic in the line "It was almost like a dream." could tie into that! That line is also why I don't think its Ishmael, who also uses polite speech, as I think she rarely ever waxes poetic; from my observations it seems she tends to be blunt, straightforward, and goes about it objectively.

I'm also ruling out Sinclair, another such polite speech-user, since he stutters (includes many ellipses) often in his logs, and in awkward moments. His also tend to include lots of "um"s, "uh"s, and other such sounds to convey hesitance or lack of confidence/certainty. The ellipses that trail off here are more reminiscent of Hong Lu's tendency to trail off into thought at times, I think!

i bet 13 lunacy that earlier in the log, hong lu talks about how the sheep's fluffiness reminds him of something/a luxury back at home lolol

Envy Peccatula

Hmmm... The casual speech here and the lighthearted "nicknames" given to the lust and gluttony Peccatula ("mass of flesh," "toothy plant-thingy") make me think it's going to be Rodya who writes this log, as she loves to give nicknames to things in her logs!

While she's jovial and silly for most of her logs, when shit gets real or something made a serious impact on her, her tone sometimes gets serious or dumbfounded—and I think this is one of those times.

The impact placed on that last line, "But... these look just like us." makes me think of Rodya's whole deal of wanting to be unique and stand out. The introduction of dopplegangers, and her having to face herself (which she has been AVOIDING..!!!) would absolutely be something to shake her deeply.

This is the one that's throwing me in for a loop, I'm not gonna lie. But at the same time, I can't see myself attributing this to any other sinner otherwise, that is, assuming that the new abnormalities introduced with this Refraction Railway are all written by different people (no repeats).

The King in Binds

Following right after the doozy that was the previous one, This is 1000% Yi Sang. This is just Yi Sang. I know for a FACT that NO ONE ELSE IN THE BUS is talkin like That in Korean. ITS SO PAINFULLY OBVIOUS which logs are his, this needs NO MORE discussion. EVERYONE GO HOME

Jokes aside, the specific things that gave it away to me were "듯했으나," and especially the "하오." at the end of the sentence. I can't quite translate them into a proper English equivalent, but just know that they're very antiquated Korean, and the only other sinner who does that is Don Quixote, and she is NOT the one who wrote this. She simply isn't. Source: Trust Me Bro

Such is all I have to say on who I think will have written these observation logs. If you've made it this far THANK YOU FOR COMING! I hope to write more analysis posts in the future.

Hello Limbus Gamers

Why did I title this post that.

Anyway, yeah, it's that time again. I'm gonna analyze the RR4 trailer. Some of you may be asking why, but. You'll see.

Oh boy you'll see.

Starting off, we get a very brief animation of the nodes of the new Railway. And by brief, I do mean, this shit speeds past you like instantly.

They even make sure to not show the whole thing all at once to make it harder to count. I did count though. There are thirteen of these nodes in this animation. This might be subject to change, but we shall see.

Then we get the title card. We're back to single word Railway names from before RR3, and in the background we get to see some silhouettes. We're gonna learn what they are during the trailer itself, but you can already tell they're the abnos from the Battle Pass E.G.O - Dreaming Electric Sheep, The King in Binds, and Portrait of a Certain Day.

We also see silhouettes of some Sinners, and while it's hard to make out with the text in the way, I'm pretty sure there's N Corp Don, N Corp Faust, and BL Yi Sang in there.

Now THIS is interesting - a new Railway gimmick! Not just one gimmick though, but after throwing the screenshot into Google Translate, it turns out we might be dealing with two!

First, the one that doesn't need translating to figure out - the Backup gimmick. I believe it's shown a bit clearer in the next scene, so I won't be speculating on it too much yet, but from my guess it's a replacement for a similar mechanic in RR3, where you could throw another team of Sinners at an Abnormality after your initial team of 6 died to finish the Abno off from where you left it at.

That's not the most interesting part though, this is.

Our Sinners are also going to be recieving individual buffs in this Railway, potentially based on selection order, considering PM has been pushing more and more for the selection order to matter with the recent addition to the E.G.O Gifts.

If I'm correct and the buffs are based on selection order instead of being completely random, we can see the buffs are as follows:

Selection 1 - Identity Level +2

Selection 2 - SP Gain Efficiency +3

Selection 3 - too blurry for google to translate

Selection 4 - Defense Level +2

Selection 5 - Max Speed +2 (the 5 came from the semi-transparent level 45 number lmao)

Selection 6 - too blurry for google to translate

Selection 7 - Final Power +1

Selection 8 - Damage taken -10%

Selection 9 - this one i'm not too sure on but it might be Aggro +5 (the 45 came from the semi-transparent level 45 number lmao)

Selection 10 - scene cuts away too quickly to read it

In addition to that, some IDs (primarily the Backup selections but also for some reason Faust) get a head start of +10 SP when they join the fight, which is a very nice way to help off-set the issue of having to gain sanity in harder fights to even attempt winning clashes.

Next scene shows us what seems to be the Backup mechanic. It's an admittedly very brief shot that barely shows us anything of how it works, but considering everyone's low sanity and Ishmael's stagger, I'm guessing what happened is two units died and the backup units were put in there in their stead.

An interesting gimmick that honestly feels more lore-accurate than the current system LMAO.

Next up, we get our excerpts from the new Abno Logs. This one, based on the background, is for Portrait of a Certain Day. It's a bit hard to tell who wrote this Log based on the English translation, but it does give an interesting insight onto the Abnormality and by extention its E.G.O, Bygone Days.

Something about taking advantage of deaths through parading mementos of the dead in connection to Yi Sang and Gregor, huh... Gregor is the one who gave Aya's mask to Yuri as a memento, and then proceeded to keep that mask as a memento of Yuri. On the other hand, while Yi Sang personally didn't keep mementos of the League around, both Dongbaek and Dongrang had a strong emotional attachment to the last remaining picture of the League all together. There's something there I think.

Then we get to see the excerpt from Dreaming Electric Sheep's Abno Log. Again, not very clear who's writing this from the English translation. And this is a very interesting excerpt too! This is the clearest connection we get between the Abno and the 'Dreaming' part of its name! I feel like I'd need to see the whole Log to get a better idea of what is being conveyed here, but it is good to see we're getting to see some new angles on the Abno.

BIG SHEEP! It's notable that it's attacking Faust.

And there's Portrait, in all its low bitrate glory! Note that it's attacking Yi Sang.

What follows is two more shots, one of each of the Abnos, and then...

It might hard to see in that glorious 240p low bitrate, but yes. That is, in fact, N Corp Don and N Corp Faust, covered in a purple glow, attacking the Sinners.

And then, the bombshell.

Guys.

These are Envy Peccatula.

Envy Peccatula are doppelgangers.

DO YOU REALIZE HOW HUGE THIS IS FOR SIN ANALYSIS??? Envy is one of those sins we got barely anything on due to its lack of Peccatula, and yet here we are, RR4 gave us a fucking blessing.

Anyway, back to talking about the actual fights themselves, I believe we're going to be dealing with faction-themed Envy Peccatula stages. The one we see in the trailer is N Corp, complete with a relevant background, and in the in the title card we can see Blade Lineage Yi Sang, implying we could get a BL-themed node as well. Notably, these are both factions that have enough IDs to form a full team.

The only other full team ID factions we have are W Corp and Liu Association, so these are also contenders for Envy Peccatula nodes. Seven Association is also possible, as they are only missing one ID from being a full six ID team. We could also potentially get a fraud Pequod Trio that's made up of the Pequod IDs, which would be really funny, but I'm not sure how likely that is.

Back to the trailer itself.

We finally get the Abno Log excerpt for The King in Binds, and it's very evocative in my opinion. The poetic language makes me think that Yi Sang is the one writing this Log.

This seems like an excerpt that's being used to describe a game mechanic - The King in Binds might have a mechanic where he tears himself free from his throne if certain conditions are met. Very interesting considering what we know about the abno.

What follows is some extremely quick and hard to see snippits of The King in Binds attacking Yi Sang. Yes, this is the best frame I could get from it.

Aaaand that's about it!

All in all, extremely excited about the potential Envy lore and fighting against out own units, and I guess the abnos are there too.

#limbus company #project moon #limbus company analysis #citrus ponders #man like okay i know the update is coming out in a few days but I CANT CONTAIN MY EXCITEMENT. I MUST SHARE THIS KNOWLEDGE.#EVERYONE SHARE THE BURDEN OF KNOWLEDGE WITH ME #Speaking of which.#the update comes out in A FEW DAYS. FUCK.#ill try my best to get a 61 (hongsang) turn clear for RR3...#off to do that now o7 wish me luck hongsangers #speaking of hongsang & RR.#i remember i wanted to do a 1616 turn & 16 cycle clear on RR2 #AND WAS MAKING GOOD PROGRESS ON IT!!!#but i miscalculated when the update would drop during a time when i was stressed by essay deadlines and i .#and i.#dont wanna talk about it <///////3

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peachylynnie · 3 months ago

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sick

word count: 1.8k

synopsis: in which sylus sneaks into your apartment and finds you sick. yet, you're not resting. why?

contains: sylus x mc!reader (they're not dating but sylus is pining and reader is confused), reader is implied to be in college, slightly obsessive sylus, mentions of violence and sickness, suggestive themes, cussing, and fluff.

a/n: i got sick yesterday. what better way to rest than to write about sylus? do NOT copy or steal my work. sylus WOULD NOT endorse plagiarism :)

you don't want to admit it. you really don't. but you're sick. there's no denying that with how short of breath you are, how nauseous you feel, and the goddamn soreness in the back of your throat that didn't go away with the first sip of water.

"shit…" you mumble as you sluggishly move to empty the dishwasher as your roommate asked. it's bad enough that you were sick, but you were also stressed out of your mind. midterms have been kicking your ass this semester. big assignments have been piling up on your already heavy shoulders. in essence, this was a burnout month, and all that lack of sleep and unparalleled stress had finally caught up to you. in the form of a cold, that is.

"of all the times," you grumble as you struggle to stack the dishes in the cabinet. "why now…" indeed, this was a terrible time to get sick. how were you to complete all your tasks while feeling absolutely miserable? you glance at the microwave clock in desperation. 10:00 PM, it read. although you meant to sigh a breath of relief, you let out a painful cough. maybe you could finish an assignment or two by midnight. that way, you can focus on studying tomorrow, you thought to yourself.

you sniff as you return to the dishwasher to unload the rest of the dishes. as much as you were happy for your roommate leaving for the weekend to finally see her family, you couldn't help but feel resentful. why were you here struggling to do the dishes while she got to have fun? shaking your head at your bitter thoughts, you bend down, trying to grab the utensils from the dishwasher. keyword: trying.

the sudden pair of strong arms that wrapped around you prevented you from doing so. normally, you would've swiftly elbowed the person behind you and turned around to land a hard blow that would have them seeing stars. instead, you exhale shakily. you recognize the mysterious backhugger's scent. the scent of sweet wine and sharp citrus. sylus.

how the hell did he get in? you don’t remember giving him a spare key when you told him your address. you look behind you, angling your head to meet his garnet eyes. "i did not give you my address just so you can sneak in like this," you say, trying your best not to sound like you're dying.

unfortunately, the nasal tone of your voice does not go unnoticed by sylus. instead of offering his usual quips, sylus furrows his brows and unclasps his right arm from your waist. you try not to flinch at the chill of his slender fingers touching your forehead. he frowns. "you're sick."

you immediately avert your gaze. "i'm not sick," you mutter as you try to bend down once more to grab the stupid utensils from the dishwasher. sylus doesn't let go. this time, he spins you around with his left arm, making sure that he can see you properly.

"you're burning up, sweetie." sylus says as flips the hand on your forehead for good measure. "you're sick and you know it."

you roll your eyes, squirming to get out of his grip. you did not want sylus to see you like this. a sick, miserable mess incapable of doing something as simple as emptying the dishwasher. you had an image to uphold after all. being vulnerable with someone like him could mean getting hurt again. last time you were vulnerable with someone… well, let's say you learned your lesson.

weakly, you push at sylus' arm around your waist with your small hands. you try not to think about how minuscule they looked next to sylus' deliciously veiny forearms. great, you're sick, and your mind decides to lust after sylus' arms. you shiver at your thoughts and attempt to push sylus' grip away once more. normally, escaping sylus' hold would be a reasonable task for you. after all, your sparring sessions with him prepared you to get out of sticky situations. but you were sick and exhausted out of your mind. all you could manage was a feeble squirm.

sylus' gaze moves from his hand on your forehead to your eyes. your half-lidded baggy eyes. his frown deepens. you looked extremely fatigued. your face was noticeably pale, and your intake of breath was short. not to mention, sylus could see the slight wince of pain whenever you tried to swallow your saliva. sylus sighs as he removes his hand on your forehead and replaces it with his own. you were neglecting yourself again.

under normal circumstances, you would've shied away from sylus' physical advancements. his hand on the small of your back? an immediate flinch and glare, signaling him to stop. a tap on the crown of your head? a swift jerk of your neck and avoidance of eye contact. instead—again, you blame it on your exhaustion—you tiredly close your eyes, relishing in sylus' cool forehead against your heated one. no resistance to be shown.

you don't see it, but sylus' sharp eyes soften at the sight of you accepting his touch. even with the eye bags and ghastly skin, you looked ethereal. like an angel sent from heaven to save him from his own solitary hell. as much as he wants to savor this moment of you finally giving into his touch, sylus knows what he must do. you're unwell and unrested. you need to be in bed immediately.

"you should be in bed, sweetie." sylus murmurs as he pulls away from your forehead. you try not to sulk at the loss of the soothing chill of his skin. though, not without feeling conflicted because why you would even sulk about him? for god's sake, he was a criminal. he's taken countless lives. not to mention, he choked you upon meeting you, called you a disappointment, and tried to alter you after three straight days of relentless attempts at a forced resonation… just thinking about him drives you nuts and being driven nuts is the last thing you want right now.

"i'm fine, sylus." it was your turn to pull away, trying to put as much distance between you two as his firm grip around your waist would allow. "besides, nothing a little old tea can't fix."

with that, you turn to face the dishwasher and reach for the utensils for the umpteenth time of the night. sylus sighs and pinches his nose bridge with his free hand. as much as he admired your stubbornness, he could not help but resent it at times like these. times when you were in desperate need of a break. before you can grab the utensils, you feel yourself get lifted off the ground effortlessly.

sylus' arm on your waist had moved to your shoulder, and his other arm was hooked under your thighs. he had you in bridal style in less than a second. your eyes widen, realizing the sudden change in positions. "what are you doing?!" you cough painfully. "put me down!"

you do your best to escape sylus' new grip on you by kicking your legs and squirming uncontrollably, but it was hopeless. you were weakened due to your sickness, and sylus was determined to make sure you looked only at him instead of the goddamn dishwasher. one more look at it, and he swears he's gonna break it with his evol.

quickly and confidently, sylus exits the kitchen with you in his arms and arrives at what he guesses is your shared bedroom with your roommate. he tries not to get distracted by the fact that this is his first time in your room. god, the entire space smelled so much like you, he wanted to become one with it and watch you forever and ever. dismissing his intrusive thoughts, sylus gently places you down on your bed and starts to cover you in your blanket.

"wait, sylus," you start, trying to get up. "i have to empty the dishwasher. i have homework, too." sylus tuts as he shakes his head, his messy silver locks following suit. although he doesn't respond, sylus continues to spread out your blanket. you furrow your eyebrows at his strange behavior. "sylus…" you whine. you actually whined. something you never thought you would do, especially in front of sylus. you could feel his intense gaze prick at you like little needles. you avoid his gaze, hoping to hide your flustered state.

adorable. that's what you are. incredibly adorable to the point sylus wants to grab your chin and force you to look at him as he coaxes more and more of your pretty whines out of you.

trying to fight his indecent thoughts, sylus locks eyes with you, a firm yet pleading look on his face. "you need to rest, sweetie," he leans in to adjust your pillow. "you won't get anything done in this state." you try to protest again, but sylus beats you to it. "rest. i'll take care of everything."

well, fuck. how can you say no when sylus, in all of his gorgeous glory, is centimeters from your face, telling you that he will take care of everything and asking you to do the one thing you've been longing to do for a very long time? besides, you felt sleepy ever since sylus took you in his arms. just this once. just this once, you'll allow yourself to be vulnerable with him. so that you can rest, of course. totally not because sylus had a way of comforting you so sweetly and breaking your defensive walls so charmingly.

your labored breathing slows as you cautiously nod. "fine," you yawn. "the utensils go in the very left drawer of the island while the pots and pans go in the stove oven, and…" you can feel sleep beckoning for you as you continue to list instructions. sylus can't help the grin that appears on his face as he watches your cute blinks grow in intervals.

"noted, sweetie." he caresses a stray hair strand out of your face. "i'll make sure everything is back where they belong." like you to him. though, he doesn't say that part out loud. maybe another day. when you are no longer wary of him and are willing to acknowledge his very obvious affection for you. deep in his fantasy, sylus almost misses your cute snores. he chuckles, taking this chance to admire you now that you've fallen asleep.

you truly were an angel. the way your eyebrows furrowed here and there in your sleep. the way your plump lips parted at times. the way your button nose twitched sporadically. oh, sylus loved it all. he could watch you sleep forever. but he had a better task at hand: to take care of you. he assured you that he would take care of everything. and sylus is a man of his words. carefully to not wake you, sylus cups your face with his right hand. closing his eyes, he places a delicate kiss on your forehead.

"rest well, sweetie. i'll see you soon."

#i wrote this while sick #be proud of me #sylus x reader #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace fic #sylus x y/n #sylus x you

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ad-caelestia · 1 month ago

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spell jars 101 ✧

updated version

how to craft a spell jar:

cleanse your jar

gather your ingredients

charge and program them, and then add them to the jar

close and seal with wax, ribbon, string, etc. to finalize and cast the spell

decorate your jar however you'd like, or not at all - up to you

what you can use as a jar:

tiny glass jars with cork lids

mason jars

pickle/pasta sauce jars

old medication bottles

food storage containers

bead storage tubes

what you can add to a spell jar:

dried herbs

dried citrus peels

dried flowers

magical powders

small crystals

gem chips

essential oils (a drop or two will go a long way)

infused oils (carrier oils such as olive or grapeseed oil that have been infused with herbs)

a few drops of charged water (storm water, war water, sea water, holy water, rain water, moon water, sun water, etc.)

paper (with sigils/symbols/glyphs drawn on it, an incantation, a name, a phrase, etc.)

coins

beads

glitter or confetti

seashells/shark teeth/sand, etc.

leaves/acorns/sticks/bark/moss

animal fur, nail clippings, teeth, or whiskers that have fallen out naturally (if i catch you trying to pull out your pet's whiskers or fur, i will fight you)

nails, glass, pins, needles, thorns, and other sharp objects (great for cursing, binding, banishing, or protection)

vinegar, lemon juice, pickle juice (mostly for “souring” a situation)

honey, sugar, syrup (to “sweeten” a situation or for attraction)

pretty much anything that fits and corresponds to your intent

what you should avoid putting in a spell jar:

unless your intent correlates with the contents of the jar spoiling or going bad - don't use anything biological in nature (think bodily fluids), don't use fresh produce or herbs, and be mindful of water content inside the jar. you don't want a moldy, biohazardous mess on your hands (unless you do, then that's cool, too).

what spell jars are good for:

containing your spell, theoretically making it easier to manipulate and control

manifesting goals/intentions continuously or over time

passive manifestation that doesn’t require much ongoing participation from the caster but is subject to regular maintenance

what to do with your spell jar once it’s been crafted:

keep it on your altar

keep it in an area that's appropriate for goal manifestation (for glamours, keep it in the bathroom; for sleep or dreams, keep it in the bedroom; for safe travels, keep it in your vehicle; for cursing, keep it concealed in a black box; etc.)

wear it as jewelry

put it in your pocket, purse, or backpack

bury it in your backyard or within a potted plant outside (for spells you don’t plan to undo or want to last indefinitely) - if burying is not an option, hide it somewhere on your property

leave it at a crossroads

recharging spell jars:

shake it up

light a candle on top of or next to it

submerge it in a bath of herbs or crystals that are associated with energy

submerge or surround with sea salt (a natural conductor of energy)

anoint with oil/blessed or charged water

pair with a tarot card or rune stone that matches your intent

suffumigate with incense smoke

energy work and visualization

disposing of and reversing spell jars - when you feel like the spell has done its job or you need to undo its effects:

remove the contents from the jar and either destroy them, bury them, or throw them away

for items you wish to save, cleanse them thoroughly before using them again

take the jar and cleanse it in whatever manner you choose and either save it to be reused; or dispose of it safely

#spell jars #witchcraft #witchblr #witch #magic #spells #beginner witch #baby witch #witches of tumblr #witch community #ad-caelestia

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cselandscapearchitect · 1 year ago

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Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ) - Growing Citrus in California, Arizona, and Texas:

What are the best citrus varieties to grow in California, Arizona, and Texas? In California, Arizona, and Texas, several citrus varieties thrive due to their warm climates. Here are some popular choices for each state: California: Navel Oranges: Known for their sweet, juicy flavor, they are a California classic. Valencia Oranges: These are excellent for juicing and typically available in late…

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#citrus care tips #Citrus Cultivation #Citrus Varieties #Container Gardening #drought-resistant gardening #efficient watering methods #fruit ripening #indoor citrus growing #Pest Management #Pruning techniques #soil salinity #water conservation #water stress

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writingwithfolklore · 1 year ago

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Describing Foods - A Masterlist

As a broke university student, I love reading about food. It’s almost like eating a real meal myself <3.

I get a little angry when characters are eating a meal and I barely get to experience it with them. In that, I mean I don’t just want to know what it is, but what it’s like to eat that food—how it tastes, smells, sounds, and feels. Is a perfect croissant still a perfect croissant without the crack of the exterior, the airiness of the pastry inside, the smell of yeast?

Probably not. When writing about a dish, the smell, texture, technique, taste, and how it looks are all important to painting the experience, so here’s some words to use when describing a meal:

Taste:

Acidic: Sharp tasting. Often used to describe tart or sour foods as well.

Aftertaste: A different taste that remains in the mouth after eating something

Bitter: Tart, sharp, and sometimes harsh flavour.

Bittersweet: Less harsh than bitterness. Tartness + sweetness.

Bland: Has no significant flavor or texture

Briny: Just means salty. Often describes pickled foods.

Citrusy: Bright flavour like… well citrus fruits—oranges, lemons, limes, etc.

Cooling: Mimics that cooling feel—like mint.

Earthy: Reminiscent of soil. Can be used to describe wines, root vegetables, and mushrooms.

Fiery: Another word for spicy.

Fresh: Light and crisp—describes produce or herbs.

Fruity: Sweet and reminiscent of fruit.

Full-bodied: Rich and ‘feels heavy’ in your mouth. Can describe wines or soups.

Herbal: Bright, fresh, sometimes earthy from the presence of herbs

Honeyed: Sweet or candied taste like honey.

Nutty: Taste similar to the flavors of nuts. Often used to describe certain cheeses.

Rich: Full, heavy flavour. Often dishes that contain cream taste rich.

Robust: Rich + Earthy. Used for lots of wines or aged liquor.

Savory: Describes meaty, earthy dishes and soups.

Sharp: Harsh, bitter, or tart taste. Used to describe acidic foods.

Smoky: Reminiscent of the smell of smoke.

Sour: Biting, tangy, tart flavor.

Spicy: Burning taste.

Sweet: Sugary.

Tangy: Tart, biting taste—feels tingly

Tart: Sharp, bitter, or sour flavour. Used to describe acidic foods.

Woody: Earthy, sometimes nutty taste. Describes some coffees or cheeses.

Yeasty: Earthy taste reminiscent of yeast. Describes beer and bread.

Zesty: Fresh, vivid, or invigorating flavour.

Sound/Texture:

Sound has a lot to do with texture, so I've combined them for this section!

Airy: Light, pillowy texture (think inside of croissant)

Brittle: Hard but easy to break

Bubbly: Usually during heating, when bubbles rise to the surface—low sound.

Buttery: Smooth, creamy texture (think certain pasta sauces)

Chewy: Food that needs to be chewed thoroughly. Can be light and bouncy (chewy bread) or heavy (steak) and sticky (candy)

Creamy: A smooth and rich texture, comes from dairy.

Crispy: Light texture with slight crunch.

Crumbly: Food with loose structure that falls apart into crumbs.

Crunchy: Firm, crisp texture with a sharp, loud noise.

Crusty (behave): Food with a hard outer layer and soft interior (many loaves and breads)

Delicate: Light and fine, feels like it can come apart easily.

Doughy: Soft and heavy, usually pale colouring.

Fizzy: Usually liquids—a hissing sound, feels like ‘static’

Flaky: Light, characterized by layers that come apart during eating.

Fluffy: light and airy.

Frothy/Foamy: Airy bubbles, usually in a drink like a latte.

Gamey: Usually refers to meats when they’re very “meaty”

Gooey: Viscous, sometimes sticky texture from moisture in a dense/solid food.

Hearty: Firm, robust texture.

Juicy: Tender and succulent texture from liquid in a solid food (steak)

Molten: Hot, gooey

Oily: Slick, heavy, lingers on the tongue.

Silky: Fine, smooth texture that feels sleek.

Smooth: Texture free of grit, lumps, or edges.

Snap: A quick, sharp, crackling sound when broken.

Squelch: A soft sucking sound when pressure is applied. Somewhat gross.

Sticky: Gluiness in the mouth.

Succulent: Tender and juicy

Tender: Soft and easy to break down

Velvety: Smooth and rich

Smell:

Acrid: Strong, bitter, unpleasant

Comforting: pleasant, probably calls back to a nice memory

Damp: Wet smelling—probably a bit earthy

Delicate: subtle, faint, not overpowering

Earthy: reminiscent of soil

Fetid: Caused by decay—unpleasant

Fishy: reminiscent of fish

Floral/flowery: Reminiscent of flowers

Fragrant: Sweet or pleasing

Fresh: Cool, crisp, refreshing—produce, probably not cooked

Funky: Something’s gone off

Heady: Strong smell, pungent, rich

Musty: Not fresh

Perfumed: Pleasant, reminiscent of something (can be perfumed with citrus, say)

Piquant: stinging, pungent—tickles the nose

Powerful: strong

Rancid: Definitely gone off, decomposing

Ripe: Strong, usually unpleasant smell

Savory: spicy, salty, no elements of sweetness

Sour: has gone off

Spicy: Sharp, tingles the nose

Tangy: Strong and bitter but in a good way

Tart: Sharp

Woody: earthy smell, reminiscent of wood

Sight:

Usually texture gives us a really good picture of what a food looks like, so here’s some non-texture sight additions:

Blistered: Bumpy exterior.

Caramelized: Usually golden brown

Cloudy: Splotched. Almost see through if not for a slight white or grey mist.

Colourful: Bright and vibrant

Glassy: Resembling glass

Glossy: Smooth, shiny

Marbled: Two colours intertwined

Opaque: Not transparent. Can’t see through.

Ripe: Colourful (can be to a fault). Nearing the end of its edible state.

Scaly: Covered in scales, fish.

Shiny: Appears wet or glossy

Sparkling: Glimmers under the light

Stuffed: An ingredient placed inside a larger part with no additional space.

Translucent: Allows light through

Vibrant: Striking, bright

Food Prep:

How the food is prepared gives it these other attributes. If your character is familiar with cooking (or is the cook themselves!) they may describe food this way.

Baked: Cooked in an oven. Results in browned or crispy outer layer.

Blackened: When food is dipped in butter and coated with spices then cooked in a hot pan—spices darken, making it appear ‘blackened’

Blanched: Food scalded in boiling water and moved to cold water so it stops cooking. Texture comes out soft.

Braised: Food that is briefly fried in fat and then stewed in a pot. Results in seared, crispy exterior with a tender interior.

Breaded: Coated with breadcrumbs/batter then baked or fried so it turns crispy

Broiled: Food cooked with intense radiant heat in an oven or on the grill. Results in a darkened appearance and crispy texture.

Caramelized: Food slow-cooked until it’s browned, nutty, and has a bit of sweetness.

Charred: Grilled, roasted, or broiled and gains a blackened exterior and smoky flavor.

Fermented: Food that’s sat with bacteria, yeast, or another microorganism and has produced acids, alcohols, or gases. Results in a biting, pungent flavor. (Kimchi is fermented)

Fried: Food cooked by submerging in hot oil. Creates crispy, crunchy texture and golden colour.

Glazed: Food with a coating brushed onto its surface. Appears glossy with a thin, flavorful, and crisp outer layer.

Infused: Food steeped in liquid with another ingredient so it carries the essence of that ingredient. Used with herbs usually.

Marinated: Usually meat soaked in liquid containing flavourful herbs, spices, vinegar, or oil.

Poached: Food cooked in near boiling water. Results in tender, moist texture.

Roasted: Food cooked with dry heat in an oven or over the fire. Results in browned exterior and crisp coating.

Sautéed: Food cooked quickly in small amount of fat.

Seared: Food cooked in small amount of fat until caramelized. Finished by roasting or grilling. Results in crisp exterior and tender interior.

Smoked: Food exposed to smoke from smoldering wood for a long time. Results in that distinctive smoky flavor.

Whipped: Food beaten to incorporate air. Light and fluffy.

What did I miss?

#writing #creative writing #writers #screenwriting #writing community #writing inspiration #filmmaking #books #film #writing advice #writing about food #food descriptions #descriptive writing #masterlist #Describing foods - a masterlist

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forestoflys · 5 months ago

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How to Dehydrate Herbs

This is my first post on my newly-minted digital grimoire, so I thought I'd start out with info I already know. Here's a short little guide on how to dehydrate herbs and other materials at home in your oven (if you have one). I usually dehydrate fresh materials instead of hanging them as firstly: I have a cat who will find a way to reach anything I hang up to dry, and secondly: there are some materials I don't feel comfortable leaving out in open air as they will likely rot. Also, it just saves on drying time.

Steps:

1. Grab whatever you want to dehydrate whether it be fruits, peels, herbs, veg, or (my favourite) eggshells.

Important Note: DO NOT EVER put plants which are known to be toxic or whose origins are unclear in your oven. It's never worth it.

2. Place your items on a sheet pan with parchment paper underneath (there may be lingering oils on the pan, but if you are okay with that feel free to skip the parchment).

3. If your oven is fancy and you have a dehydration setting, great! Use the recommended temperature. If not, set your oven between 160-190*. I usually set it lower, but if you're short on time it will work higher.

4. This is the most crucial step: keep your oven door slightly ajar in order to let moisture escape. However, very importantly DO NOT EVER LEAVE YOUR OPEN OVEN UNATTENDED (or your closed one, for that matter), especially if you have an older oven. Basic fire safety applies here.

5. The process usually takes around 2 hours if you are dehydrating thinner plants, but may take up to 3-4 if you are dehydrating something thicker like citrus peels or fruit slices. Either way, be prepared to wait a bit. You will know they are done when you can easily crush them if plants or they are breakably-solid if peels. With eggshells they will be brittle anyways, but it's nice to dehydrate them to more easily grind into a powder and also to kill any lingering bacteria.

6. Store herbs as you usually would in a container away from sunlight. Enjoy!

Sources:

Printer's Ornament (Chiswick Press, 192)

#grimoire #witchblr #beginner witch #witchcraft #witch tips #digital grimoire #herbs #green witch #kitchen witch #witches of tumblr #spellwork #magick #spirituality #spell jars #witch community

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rubysunnday · 3 months ago

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send it soaring

summary: a hot air balloon was something quite majestic... but so was benedict bridgerton

a/n: look at me writing fics! if you want to know what scene inspired this whole fic look no further.

"Isn't it marvellous!" Belinda crowed, tugging on her older sisters hand excitedly.

Y/N Byrne couldn't help but smile at her sister. "It is, Betty," she said, twirling her around in a circle.

Y/N had been a bit bewildered when her sister had insisted on attending the Hawkins Balloon fayre. Belinda was never normally interested in such things - she much preferred spending time in the toy shop within Fortnum & Mason's. But the hot air balloon had captured everyone's imagination.

The Vauxhall Gardens were littered with brightly coloured tents. Some had small flags fluttering from the main tent pole whilst others had hand-made bunting strung along the front. Each one contained different things - sweet treats, hot drinks or sheltered seating from the wind.

A dark blue and white striped tent with light blue bunting across the front housed the exhibitions that Mr Hawkins had brought with him to demonstrate how his hot air balloon would work. Hand drawn blueprints were pinned to a board and there were several model balloons sat on plinths around the tent.

Y/N looked around in awe as Belinda continued to tug on her hand, urging her forward and toward the balloon sat in the centre of the field. As her eyes wandered around the grounds, she caught a glimpse of someone she had hoped would be in attendance.

Benedict Bridgerton stood by a stall selling jars of sweets, dressed in a dark blue jacket and light blue floral waistcoat. Y/N's gaze did not leave him, even as Belinda almost guided her directly into a metal pole. Seemingly sensing he was being watched, Benedict turned, his eyes searching the crowd.

For a second, Y/N and Benedict locked eyes. The world seemed to slow, and everything went silent.

"Oh, look, macarons!" Belinda cried, abruptly tugging on Y/N's hand and snapping her out of her daze.

Y/N stumbled forward and inside the pink and white striped tent that housed cakes and deserts of different shapes and sizes. A sign outside named the tent as Ms. Plaskitt’s Sweet Treats.Belinda immediately moved toward a plate of delicate pink macarons and plopped one into her mouth with a happy moan.

She picked another one off the tray. “These are delicious,” Belinda said, her mouth full of macaron.

“If mother was here, she would be crucifying you,” Y/N told her sister. She reached out and took a chocolate macaron from a nearby tray.

“Luckily, mama is not here,” Belinda replied, beaming with delight as she took yet another macaron. Belinda glanced over her shoulder and then turned sharply on her heel. “Oh, Gregory! Come here, they have strawberry macaron’s!”

Belinda frantically waved her hand at Gregory Bridgerton, urging the boy over to the tent. Gregory glanced over his shoulder and, seeing his mother and other siblings occupied, darted across the field and into the tent.

“Gregory, your mother will worry,” Y/N stepped back as he all but shoved past her to reach the trays of macarons, “where you’ve gone.”

“She won’t,” came Gregory’s muffled reply.

“No, she won’t – but only because I told her where you had gone.”

Y/N turned. Benedict stood in the doorway of the tent, arms crossed, eyebrows raised at his brother. From this distance, Y/N could see that the flowers on his waistcoat were tulips and lily of the valley, all dark blue against light, almost silver, blue material. He stepped closer, coming to stand beside her. A gust of wind blew through the tent, and she caught a whiff of his cologne – lavender and citrus.

A scent that suited him perfectly, Y/N decided.

Gregory pouted. “I only wanted a macaron.”

“You also only wanted to ‘glimpse’ the balloon,” Benedict retorted, “but look what happened there.”

Gregory glanced down at his sling. Belinda’s eyes widened as she noticed it for the first time. “Gregory, what did you do?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbled, picking up a macaron and swiftly leaving the tent.

“But I do!” Belinda crowed, chasing after him.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. “I fear Belinda has developed a small crush on Gregory.”

“If it helps,” Benedict replied, shoulders moving up and down as he chuckled, “he has one too.”

They looked at one another for a moment. Benedict’s light-grey eyes stared into hers. Y/N felt as if she was being lured in. Something was tugging her forward and toward him and, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, the sensation kept getting stronger every time they met.

She’d first seen him four years ago at a ball. He’d offered to grab her a glass of lemonade from the table, and they had spent the rest of the night in each other’s company, hiding along the wall.

By now, Y/N had been out for almost five years and spinsterhood was fast approaching in the eyes of the ton. After the first year, her mother’s attention had waned and Y/N soon found herself glued to the walls, waiting and hoping.

Whilst the season had become more enjoyable with less people watching her every move, Y/N felt as if she had been cast aside. She had danced with everyone and anyone, but none had made offers of proposal – which she didn’t mind. Well, maybe she did a little.

It was hard, watching everyone she’d debuted with making matches and getting married. Some had even had children by now, the eldest ones turning five that winter. But there had been some comfort, knowing Benedict had yet to also meet his match.

Yet, it was different for him. He could sleep with anyone, kiss anyone and no one batted an eye. He had done it all and Y/N couldn’t help but be envious. Love wasn’t everything and neither was marriage. Everyone did things in different ways and at different ages. But to be almost three – and – twenty and to still be awaiting a first kiss…

Well, Y/N was beginning to feel lonely.

“You look deep in thought,” Benedict said softly.

Y/N inhaled sharply and blinked; her eyes dry. “Sorry,” she replied. “It has been a… well, I was going to say long day, but it is currently only one in the afternoon.”

Benedict chuckled and Y/N’s stomach swooped. He smiled the crooked smile she loved so much and, suddenly, she realised that there was only one person she wanted to settle with.

Perhaps Benedict Bridgerton was the entire reason she had gone so long with no proposals. Perhaps, fate had destined them to be together.

Fate is a fool, Y/N thought to herself. Why would Benedict choose me? No one else wants me, why would a Bridgerton?

“Miss Byrne, are you well?” Benedict asked.

Y/N’s eyes shot up. “Sorry,” she said again. “I am… not really with it today.”

“Do you need someone to escort you home?”

Yes.

“No,” Y/N replied, forcing herself to smile, even if it didn’t reach her eyes. “I should really go find my sister.”

Concern didn’t leave Benedict’s eyes, but he nodded nonetheless, stepping to the side to let Y/N past. Y/N’s hand brushed his as she did. She clenched it into her fist, willing her insides to stop tangling themselves in knots.

Belinda hadn’t gone far. She was dancing around the maypole with Gregory and Hyacinth. Deciding that her sister would be fine by herself, Y/N left the small fayre, walking past the tents and up onto the main path through Vauxhall Gardens. A wooden bench sat alongside the path, overlooking the green. Y/N sat down, pulling her dark green silk shawl tighter around her shoulders as the wind picked up once again.

She hated herself for loving Benedict. Y/N knew it could never extend to anything more than friendship. He was a Bridgerton, he could have anyone he wanted in a heartbeat and that certainly wasn’t going to be her. Even if romance did blossom between them, Y/N wasn’t entirely sure she was willing to risk the friendship she had with Benedict, for it.

His family treated her as one of their own. Every ball, every event, they would seek her out and they would talk to her and keep her company. Her own mother had stopped doing that long ago, afraid that she would be caught in Y/N’s wallflower turned spinsterhood.

Was Y/N truly willing to risk all that for love?

Not that there is any love between us, Y/N thought.

Desperate to get out of her head, Y/N glanced up at the fayre. The wind had gotten stronger and was knocking the balloon about, forcing it side to side. Even from where she sat, a fair distance away, Y/N could see how much it was saying in the wind. It’s basket kept moving, bouncing around the wooden dais it had been carefully placed on. It tugged on the ropes keeping it tethered to the ground and the workers had to keep dodging the basket as it moved.

A sudden sense of doom began to grow inside her stomach. She couldn’t quite explain why but, historically, things never tended to go well within Vauxhall Gardens.

Y/N stood up and quickly began making her way across the grass and down to the fayre. If something was going to go wrong, she didn’t want Belinda to be on her own and potential end up in trouble.

As she rejoined the fayre, no one else seemed to have noticed the stronger winds and the dangerously swaying balloon. Two workers were holding down two of the main ropes, keeping them taut in an attempt to control the balloon.

“Belinda!” Y/N called, hurrying over to her younger sisters side.

Belinda turned abruptly, hand grasping a miniature hot air balloon. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Y/N said, trying to school her face into calm composure. “I turned and you had gone from the maypole.”

“Oh,” Belinda glanced behind her, eyes narrowing as she looked at Gregory talking with another girl. “It got boring,” she replied, turning back to her sister.

Y/N felt her heart ache at the disappointment in Belinda’s eyes. “If you are okay – ”

“Which I am –”

“ – then I am going to go for a wander,” Y/N finished.

Belinda batted her off, turning back to the miniature hot air balloons. Y/N stepped away but didn’t stray far from her sister. The balloon was still swaying, despite the workers best efforts. One had managed to tie a rope down, hammering the metal peg into the ground by the corner of a tent. The tension on it was evident as the balloon pulled against it.

Y/N wasn’t happy. The balloon wasn’t secure by any means and whilst the balloon and basket itself weren’t dangerous, the ropes were. If one with enough tension snapped or came loose, it could hurt anyone standing near it. It happened often enough on merchant ships.

Her gaze left the balloon. She scanned the tents, eventually finding Benedict. His back was to her, but she knew it was him. Next to him stood a blonde-haired woman, perfectly dressed and immaculate. Benedict leant back and laughed. The woman turned slightly, and Y/N caught sight of her face. She was beautiful.

Of course, she thought. She’s perfect.

She was sulking now, Y/N knew that. But it stung. Knowing Benedict was just out of her reach and would forever remain that way. They were just friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

God, I wish we were.

“Watch out!”

One of the workers was waving his hands frantically. People gasped in shock, darting back as one by one the ropes snapped away from the pegs. Those with high tension on them whipped back and forth, barely avoiding a group of gentlemen standing nearby.

Y/N glanced around for Belinda. She was stood safely away from the chaos along with Gregory and Hyacinth. Y/N breathed out, grateful that her sister was away from danger.

However, Y/N wasn’t.

She had been so focused on Belinda and making sure she was safe that she didn’t even notice the rope tethered behind her snap. Someone yelled at a warning, but Y/N didn’t register it in time. The rope slithered away at a rapid pace and whipped toward her.

One moment Y/N was staring at the flying rope and the next her back was hitting the green grass. She heard the rope whip past, hitting the fabric of the tent above her head.

“You can open your eyes,” a familiar voice said. “I’ve got you.”

Y/N breathed out shakily and slowly opened her eyes. Lying on top of her, one hand by her head, the other on her shoulder was Benedict. He was breathing hard, as if he had just run a fair distance in a short amount of time.

Which, she supposed, he had, since the last time she’d seen him, he had been in the centre of a tent, woman on his arm. But now, here he was, lying on top of her, his hand still resting against her arm, his other trapped underneath her.

“It’s over,” Benedict said softly, his hand unconsciously stroking her hair back from her face. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

Y/N looked up at him. Up close, she could see his eyes had hints of green in them and there were small crinkles at the corners of his eyes. She had never been this close to him before. She wanted to freeze the moment. She wanted to relish it.

But people were staring at them.

“So, you have,” Y/N whispered, her fingers brushing lightly against his cheek.

Her words seemed to break Benedict out of his revery. He pushed himself up with one hand, his other moving to her elbow so that he could help her up. Even once they were both standing, Benedict’s hand remained on her elbow. His thumb gently caressed her upper arm, the sensation raising goosebumps along Y/N’s skin.

Y/N looked into his eyes and the world did seem to stop. His eyebrows were furrowed ever so slightly with concern and in his eyes was the tiniest amount of fear. She had never seen him so worried before.

“I’m fine,” she said softly, reaching up and squeezing his arm once. “I promise.”

What she really wanted to do was reach up higher and rest her hand on the back of his neck, gently stroking the edge of his hair with her thumb. She wanted to hug him tightly and breathe in his cologne until it was all she could smell.

But people were still staring at them.

Reluctantly, Y/N let go of his arm. She stepped back, creating a small amount of space between them. Benedict kept his hand on her elbow until he couldn’t reach any more. He let his arm fall back to his side, flexing his hand.

The spell seemed to have broken. People began to swarm them, asking Y/N if she was okay and congratulating Benedict and his brother, Colin, on saving the day. Soon, Y/N was gradually pushed out of the circle until she found herself on the outside, blocked by the women of the ton.

Y/N sighed softly A hand grasped hers and she looked to her right. Belinda stood by her side, glaring at the women. For a thirteen – year – old she looked very annoyed.

“Let’s go home,” Belinda said, tugging Y/N’s hand gently. “Come on.”

Y/N turned and let her younger sister pull her away from the crowd and from Benedict. She didn’t look back. Though, if she had, she might have seen Benedict trying to fight through the crowds to reach her.

That next morning, Y/N sat in the living room, quietly working on her cross stich as her mother discussed the plans for her annual ball. Belinda was upstairs with her governess and her father had disappeared off to White’s at the first chance.

“What do you think of a masquerade theme?” Vivian, Y/N’s mother, said, raising her voice so that Y/N could hear her from the other end of the room.

Y/N poked her needle up through the fabric. “Is that not copying Dowager Lady Bridgerton’s annual ball?”

Vivian pursed her lips. “There can be more than one masquerade ball, Y/N.”

Y/N sighed quietly. Her mother was impossible at times. “What about a Venetian themed ball?” She asked, pulling her needle up.

“Perhaps. I shall ask Lady Cowper when I next see her.” Her mother stood up, setting aside her notebook. “Mrs Hadley, do you have a moment? I wish to discuss our annual ball with you.”

Y/N watched her mother leave the room, listening as her footsteps grew quieter. The moment she could hear them no longer, Y/N slouched back against the sofa and groaned.

“That was not the reaction I had hoped for.”

Y/N jumped, almost throwing her cross stitch at the intruder. She stood up abruptly and stared at the doorway, her eyes wide. Benedict Bridgerton was standing in her living room doorway, dressed in a dark blue jacket, golden yellow waistcoat and red cravat.

Benedict gave her an apologetic smile. “My apologies, your butler said to come straight up.”

Y/N cleared her throat. “Uh, yes he’s, uh, he’s not the best at his job…”

Benedict glanced around the room. “Are you alone?”

“My mother was here,” Y/N replied quietly. “She left.”

Y/N tried not to cringe. He could see that she had left, there was no need for her to state it aloud.

“Would you like me to come back later?” Benedict asked, pointing his thumb behind him.

“No!” Y/N exclaimed, just a bit too loudly and a bit too quickly. “No,” she said again, calmer this time. “What can I do for you, Mr Bridgerton?”

Benedict stepped into the room. “I wanted to check on you. You left very quickly yesterday.”

“Well,” Y/N said, “there wasn’t much reason for me to stay.” Y/N put her hands behind her back, mainly so Benedict couldn’t see her wringing her hands and twisting her fingers.

“I wanted to apologise, too.”

Y/N frowned. “Whatever for?”

“Tackling you to the ground.”

“Benedict, you saved me from a flying rope,” Y/N told him, oblivious to the fact she had just called him by his first name for the first time. “You do not need to apologise for reacting as quickly as you did.” She paused, noticing how a smile as gradually growing on his face. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“You called me Benedict,” he told her.

Y/N froze. “I don’t think I did,” she replied.

Benedict took a step forward. “I think you did. In fact, I know you did… Y/N.”

Hearing him say her name sent a shiver through her body. She had heard him say her surname dozens of times but nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to hearing Benedict say her first name.

It was rare that anyone’s first name was used in polite company. Unless you were a younger sibling or were being presented for the first time, it was surnames only.

“Did I say something wrong?” Benedict asked, moving even closer. There were only a few inches of space between them now. If Y/N reached out, she was certain that she could brush her hand against his sleeve.

“You know you did,” Y/N whispered, her voice hoarse. “Benedict, we cannot… this is not appropriate.”

Benedict crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side. “Is it not?”

“No, it is not.”

Y/N breathed in deeply as Benedict stretched his arm out, the back of his hand brushing against hers. Some many emotions were running through her. Why was he acting like this with her. Why was he even here?

They were just friends.

“We cannot,” Y/N said again. “We are unchaperoned, if anyone walks in on us in this position, the scandal it would cause…”

“Perhaps I am willing to risk a scandal,” Benedict replied, lowering his voice.

Y/n couldn’t take it anymore. She stepped away from Benedict, moving away from the sofa and toward the window. Her breathing was heavy, and her hands were shaking slightly.

This was absurd. Completely and utterly absurd.

Hurt appeared in Benedict’s eyes. As quickly as it appeared, it vanished. He cleared his throat, taking a step back. “I apologise, Miss Byrne, I do not know what came across me.”

“Why?” Y/N asked, her words so quiet they almost didn’t come out.

Benedict frowned. “Why what?”

“Why are you doing this?” Y/N asked, waving a hand at him. “Why did you save me yesterday when we both know I was nowhere near being hit by that rope. Why did you even come here today?”

“Do you really not know?”

“If I did, Mr Bridgerton, I would not be asking,” Y/N told him.

For a moment, Benedict just looked at her. They were only separated by a sofa, but it felt as if a gaping chasm had opened between them. Something had shifted and, even before Benedict began to speak, Y/N had a feeling that there would be no going back.

“I came here today,” Benedict began, “because I was concerned for your wellbeing. I saved you yesterday because I could not stand to see you in harm’s way, even if you were safe.”

Benedict took a deep breath in, raising his chin slightly. He walked forward, crossing the chasm between them. Y/N took a step back as he came to a stop in front of her, the toes of his shoes almost touching hers.

“I am doing this,” Benedict said, taking her ungloved hand in his, “because I love you, Y/N Byrne. I have done for some time now; I just lacked the confidence to enact upon it until recently. Even then, it was not until yesterday that I realised just how much I love you.”

Y/N felt as if her breath had been stolen from her. Someone had just reached in and pulled all the air out of her lungs. She stared at Benedict. His mouth was moving but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. Then, his brow furrowed, and his eyes filled with concern. Y/N felt a hand on her elbow and the warm touch of Benedict’s skin on hers snapped her back to reality.

“Y/N, breathe,” Benedict said softly, squeezing her arm. “Hey, look at me.”

“I am,” Y/N said, slightly breathlessly. She took a few deep breaths in, trying to fill her lungs with air again.

A smile appeared on Benedict’s face. “Was my confession honestly that breathtaking?”

“Evidently,” Y/N replied. She let out a slightly breathy laugh. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Benedict told her, his hand still on her arm. “This has done wonders for my confidence.”

Y/N let out a sudden burst of laughter. “I think you might have broken me,” she said afterwards, a bewildered look on his face.

“Is it really that surprising?”

“Well, yes.” Y/N looked at him. “I made my debut almost five years ago. I’m nearly three – and – twenty and not once has a man ever shown the slightest bit of interest in me. You, Mr Bridgerton, are one of the most eligible men in London… why would I ever think you would be interested in me? I’m not really anything.”

“Don’t say that” Benedict scolded her gently. His hand moved down her arm, brushing against her skin, until he reached her hand. Gently, he threaded his fingers through hers. “You are the most interesting woman in the ton. There is more to you than all the debutantes put together, Y/N.”

“So, I’m not like other women?” Y/N asked, raising her eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Benedict groaned. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “Have I just ruined the moment?”

“A little.”

He opened his eyes, squinting at her. “Do I get a do over?”

Y/N nodded. “If you insist.”

She was teasing him, of course. Nothing that he said in that moment could dissuade her from him. He had caught her hook, line and sinker and Y/N knew there was no going back. She was his, body and soul.

Benedict took her other hand. “You, Y/N Byrne, have captured my heart. I can walk into any room and sense your presence before I even see you. I would gladly take on any pain, any burden for you. To know how close you had been to being injured yesterday -”

“I was nowhere near the rope –”

“Will you let me finish?” Benedict asked.

Y/N pressed her lips together, trying to hide her smile. She nodded her head, letting Benedict resume.

“The mere idea of not having you in my life anymore is an unthinkable thought. No matter how hard I have tried to find someone, anyone, to settle down with, no one felt right.”

Y/N looked at him, staring directly into his eyes. “And I do?”

He nodded. “More than I can ever put into words. It is as if you complete my soul.”

Slowly, Y/N smiled. She reached up and put a hand to the back of Benedict’s neck, rubbing the pad of her thumb along the skin behind his ear. Benedict leant into her hand, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Perhaps we’re the final pieces of each other’s jigsaw’s,” Y/N said softly. “Everything has finally fallen into place.”

“Not quite yet,” Benedict replied.

He leant forward and pressed his lips to Y/N’s. She was taken aback for just a second. Then, her eyes closed, and she pressed her lips to Benedict’s. His breath tickled her cheeks, and she could feel his hands against her waist.

Warmth was beginning to spread out from her heart and down her legs. Lavender and citrus were all she could smell as Benedict pressed himself against her, his lips soft and gentle against hers. There was desire burning up between them but no urgency. They both knew that they had all the time in the world.

#bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagines #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #imagine #benedict bridgerton imagine

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imorynn · 3 months ago

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.𖥔 ݁ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 | l . calderu

.𖥔 ݁ pairings : lilia calderu 𝓍 fem!human!reader

.𖥔 ݁ word count : 4k+

.𖥔 ݁ genre / contains : angst, though fluff, mild suggestive nsfw content / smut, descriptive writing, heartache ? :,> this is somewhat scrambled due to lilia’s unilinear visions and experiences, apologies if it makes no sense — there really is no sense when it comes to love

.𖥔 ݁ tags : @multixfan @etherynn @dymttz @spicelevelofthebible @honeypiperpizza123 @rydermovies @emilynissangtr @astrophiliaxx @derry-n @beachhausu @ludoesartandstuff @weemswife @witchymadness @aggieharkness @yourgirlxp @mrsines @klien2000 @yourbasicqueerie @asimpforwomen @shinramyunnoodles @babythere @kenzie-floops @confuseuniverse @lady-darkswan3 @mgruiz @liliastriangle @thegoddamnfeels !!

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ inspo :

author’s note : I’m having mixed emotions on this — but we rise ! I hope I didn’t disappoint, lol, and I hope you enjoy ! <333

── THE ELDER WITCH exhaled, the words — a benediction she learned centuries ago from the person she adored with the entirety of her fractured existence — whispered to herself in hopes for some sort of grounding, of sense. “Time is an illusion that helps things make sense. Life is just a collection of moments.”

And for her, those moments within the Path, this awaiting led to you.

The threads of time swirled around her, a tapestry of every moment she had ever lived. Each gap — the whispers of lives she had touched and lost — folded in on itself.

And then, she came across the picture-framed ones she kept tucked in the furthest walls of her mind, that held more significance than anything she perhaps had ever come across with — she saw, felt you.

It unraveled with a scent: citrus, wildflowers, a dash of jasmine, and salt air, so vivid it captured her breath. Her vision blurred, and when it receded, she was no longer on the Road but seated on the bed of soft grass atop an acquainted sunlit hill, her hand, ringed and aligned with centuries of age of the current timeline she existed in, clasped within yours. Your skin was as soft as she recalled, though there was the subtleness of lines of age and slight callouses, and your eyes — matured, crow’s feet kissing the corners — were ignited with that same love that always grounded her.

Your warm-hued eyes marveled at the celestial lights above, as they had such countless times before, while she marveled at how the gleams illuminated your face. It was impossible to take in the beauty of her world when her attention was wholly claimed by the simple presence of someone who outshone it effortlessly.

“You’re here,” she whispered in wonder, jaw trembling.

You smiled, the corners of your mouth lifting gently. “I’ve always been here, Lilia. Just like you’ve always been with me.”

The world realigned. She perceived the warmth of the Sicilian sun on her face, the texture of the grass beneath her fingertips. Yet she also feels the icy bite of the trial chamber, the sting of her flashing visions as it reaches its breaking point.

“I miss you, darling,” she breathed out. Tears spilled freely now, golden light mingling with the wetness on her cheeks. “Every moment, every gap — it’s always been you.”

Your hands cradled her cheeks, thumb swatting away her tears before lovingly soothing the furrows between her brows. There was that expression she adored so much etching your features; the subtle purse of your lower lip, the tiny frown of your brows mimicking hers, your fingers sliding into her hair and thumbs ever so gently applying pressure against her temples. You always tended to do that to alleviate the spasms of pain within her head. “And you’ve always been back then,” you softly said. “Every time you look, you find me. And when you let go, you’ll find me again.”

The picture unfurled like silk, soft and weightless, winding through her thoughts with the slow, relentless certainty of ivy claiming a wall. It filled the voids left by centuries of solitude, stitching together fabrics of what had been lost. Lilia’s mind fractured and healed all at once, each shard of memory glimmering with vivid clarity until they bled into one seamless vision — no, memory.

It began with the kiss of the earth against her back, the cool grass cradling her like a lover’s embrace. The blades stroked her bare skin, whispering in voices only the night could carry. Above her, the heavens stretched vast and infinite, their dark expanse jeweled with stars that shimmered like ancient sentinels, humming faintly with a secret music only she could hear. The moon hung heavy and low, a silver chalice spilling its light over the hills, bathing the world in a spectral, ethereal glow that blurred reality into something dreamlike.

And then there was you, the axis around which this memory revolved. You had led her here, your fingers laced with hers, pushing your joined palms into the soil, your grip firm though never enough to hurt, always overwhelmingly sufficient in tenderness, as though you feared she might drift away. She remembered the sound of your laughter being muffled into her neck —low and abundant, threaded with the warmth of your kiss that made her chest constrict. It had danced on the breeze, mingling with the rustle of plains and the soft cadence of her heartbeat.

“You’re incorrigible,” she had teased, her voice carrying that familiar edge of dry wit, smile half-hidden by the shadows.

“And you,” you had countered, your belief steady as the earth beneath her, “are breathtaking.”

Her breath had hitched at the weight of your words, at the way your mouth skimmed hers, the brown globes of her eyes fluttering to meet yours. They glowed in the moonlight, vibrant and deep, the kind of eyes that subsided edges and pierced defenses in the same glance.

“I know,” A smirk pulled at her lips but you had seen through her deflection, as you always did.

The memory shifted, folding deeper into itself, until it was your touch that filled her senses. The pads of your digits brushed over her wrist, a touch as light as the wings of a moth, trailing up her arm in a wondrous, deliberate exploration. She released a breathless laugh as your fingers grazed a sensitive spot along her ribs, her body twisting away before surrendering to the warmth of your hands.

“Must you always explore everything as if it’s some ancient relic?” she murmured, her features mirthful and highlighted with affection when her own touch pressed into the slight muscle upon your shoulders.

“With you,” You exhaled reverently, “always.”

Time itself seemed to bend, the minutes stretching and seeping like liquid silver as if the universe had conspired to give you an eternity at this moment. When you leaned closer, her lips rose to meet yours in a kiss that was neither hurried nor restrained, but something in between — a perfect, soft, seeking, and utterly consuming motion. It was grounding and dizzying all at once, a tether to the present even as it pulled you both deeper into something far beyond time. Her mouth deepened its mold against yours, fingers tangled in the fabric near your neckline, pulling you toward her with an urgency she could barely disguise, afraid to let even an inch of space exist between you.

The stars above seemed to blur as her vision hazed, her senses overwhelmed by the way your hands moved over her body. You touched, savored every bit of her as though you were etching every curve, every angle, into memory. The fabric of her dress was discarded, long forgotten somewhere upon the dewy grass, her skin exposed, kissed by the moon’s gaze. Each touch, each kiss, each stare sent ripples through her, a heat that seared and soothed in equal measure, the kind of touch that made the rest of the world fall away.

“You’re staring again,” she said softly, her tone teasing but laced with tenderness. A smirk tugged at her lips, her expression as knowing as it was inviting.

“Perhaps I am,” you admitted while cataloging every line of her face, committing it to eternity. “Is that so wrong?”

She pretended to think, her thumb brushing along your cheekbone, her touch lingering. “I suppose I’ll allow it,” her statement feigned seriousness when the subtle purse of your lower lip met her fingers. “But only because you’re so endearing about it.”

Her teasing faltered as her gaze held your own ; astoundingly dazed, love lodged deep and swirling within your pupils. Your fingers brushed a strand of hair from her face. The moment lingered, suspended in the infinite quiet of the night, until she tugged you back down and her lips found yours. This kiss was different — softer, slower, a communion more than an act.

The world around you converted into a tapestry of sensations: the cool press of the grass, the hum of crickets in the distance, the faint rustle of leaves above, and the heat of her skin against yours. Her hands wandered as yours did, tracing the structure of your jaw, the dip of your spine, her touch feather-light, deliberate. She murmured your name, the sound of it breaking from her lips like a reverent prayer.

When the memory descended from its high, the two of you laid entwined beneath the stars, her head resting on your chest, her fingers creating an idle dance over your collarbone. The moonlight illuminated her face, softening the sharpness of her features, casting her in an otherworldly glow.

“I think the stars envy you,” you muffled into her hair, voice rough with dread yet threaded with exhilarating sincerity.

“Flatterer,” The word was gentle, almost unguarded. Her taunting slipped away when she lifted her head to look at you, the dark stands of her hair spilling around her like a dark halo. For once, her expression was unmasked. And then you smiled — lopsided, hopelessly enamored and devoted to your voice, your truth.

“Say it again,” A glimpse of teeth came in that pretty grin of hers, her palm resting over your heart as she pushed herself up towards you.

“The stars envy you,” you exhaled into her mouth, brushing your thumb over her temple. “Because even they can’t shine as brightly.”

She did not tease, nor did she deflect. Instead, she leaned further in, her lips brushing yours in a kiss so delicate it felt like starlight. The vastness of the night melted away within the canvas of the picture, leaving only the two of you— eternal, infinite, unbroken, constant.

Another one of many images — moving, fleeting — was not vivid. It was muted, as though viewed through a fogged window. Sicily, her childhood, the golden glow of a summer afternoon flittering through olive trees. She was younger then in this memory, her dark curls tied back, and you were there — human, ephemeral, your vibrant-hued irises holding her attention as if nothing else in the world mattered. You would laugh, leaning in to tap her on the forehead with a playful finger, uttering something along the lines of how she would forget this moment one day.

But she did not. It stayed, buried somewhere between the gaps.

“Do you remember?” the familiarity of a maturing voice — your voice — murmured now, faint and impossibly close. She felt it more than she heard it, the weight of your words pressing into her chest.

“I always remembered,” Her speech trembled in deep agony. “Even when I didn’t want to.”

The second-motioned picture came in fragments, like the shards awaiting to become the entirety of a mirror. A candlelit room, the fragrance of melted wax and rosewater mingled with your pure essence. Your touch brushed against hers as she fumbled with her first deck of tarot cards. She had been anxious —terrified, really — and you had smiled so softly, your thumb soothing the back of her hand. The warmth of it seared and lingered, long after you were gone.

“You’ll figure it out, Lili,” you’d murmur then, your tone tender but edged with something deeper. She wanted to believe you then. But time had not waited for you. You, with your transient human life, had slipped away, leaving her to walk centuries without you. Without this. “You always do.”

And she had. But the cost of figuring it out was an eternity of gaps, of not being able to live, breathe, bask in the presence with you. A life experienced in fragments, one piece lost, constantly missing.

The evening air was a symphony of fragrances — the tart zest of citrus blossoms mingling with the languid sweetness of jasmine, threading itself through the thick, velvet dusk of Sicily. In moments like these, the world seemed to hold its breath, silencing its usual hum as shadows unfurled like ink across the cobblestone lanes. The burnished glow of the setting sun kissed the strands of chestnut hair framing her face, its light clinging to each wave as though reluctant to let go. Lilia sat close, her hands gripping the folds of her deep amber gown with quiet desperation as if the fabric alone could anchor her against the bruising weight of a world that so rarely understood the depths of her soul.

You were well aware of the truth however, even when others only saw the quiet girl hovering at the fringes of every gathering — the one whose sharp tongue could cut like a blade when pressed, her gaze shadowed by an ancient, unspoken grief. She was more than they realized, more than even she might admit. There was a strange and wondrous duality to her, something both delicate and unyielding, as though she were spun from the gossamer of dreams yet tempered by the unrelenting weight of reality. A witch, a seer — an enigma bound to the relentless march of time, yet adrift within its labyrinthine folds, forever chasing something lost amidst its shifting currents.

“Talk to me, my love.” Your hand reached for hers, the barest graze of your fingertips against her skin. She flinched — an instinctive reaction, not born of fear but of deeply ingrained habit. Lilia rarely allowed herself to be touched; it tethered her too firmly to the here and now, making the voids in her existence impossible to ignore. Yet tonight, she did not withdraw. Her hand softened beneath yours, tentative at first, before settling into a quiet stillness. And when she allowed herself to meet your gaze, you could not avoid the way all oxygen retreated from your lungs. Those eyes of hers were a deep, liquid brown, luminous yet guarded. There was a fragility in them, something akin to a startled fawn — wide and unshielded — yet rich and consuming, a molten warmth that seemed to pull you into its fathomless depths.

“Do you really believe…” she began quietly, voice barely more than a whisper, as though the night might steal her words away if she spoke too openly, “… that time is nothing but an illusion? Just to make sense of things? That everything we see —” her free hand swept outward, sketching the contours of the horizon where the sun had all but disappeared “ —isn’t moving forward or backward, but simply existing all at once? The past, the present, the future… layered together, thin as paper, like the pages of an endless book waiting to be read in any order?”

Your head hitched slightly to the side, stare remaining on her as you attempted to carefully intertwine the threads of her utterance. It was ordinary for her to do this — to speak in fragments and what seemed conundrums to others, as though her thoughts were too vast, too intricate to be bound by the simplicity of ordinary speech. Yet you had comprehended to follow her, to acknowledge and navigate the labyrinth of her mind with tranquility and without hesitation. “I do believe…” you inhaled, voice slow and measured, discerning each word before releasing it, “I believe it is true, and it may mean that every moment we have shared still lingers, suspended somewhere in the folds of time. That no matter what comes next, you and I will always be here, or there — together, untouched by what lies ahead.”

Her lips went ajar, and for a fleeting moment, she stared at you as though you had unraveled some great, unspoken truth. Then, a laugh escaped her — not loud, but soft and bubbling in the air, the kind of sound that contained a dab of wonder laced with skepticism. “You make it sound so effortless,” Her wrist shifted slightly, her palm turning to press flush against yours. Slowly, her fingers wove between yours, the connection deliberate, clutching. “But it’s not,” she said, her voice tinged with an angered sorrow. “Time isn’t kind. It doesn’t care for love or loyalty, for promises whispered in the dark. It only takes — relentlessly, endlessly — until all it leaves behind is emptiness. Nothing to hold onto anymore.”

There was a rupture within the melody of her voice, a trembling note you had never heard before, and it sharply churned through your chest, tightening around the delicate rhythm of your heart.

“Lilia,” Her name tumbled from your lips like a prayer, as if it alone could bind her here with you. You leaned closer, the space between you shrinking, hoping the proximity could shield her from the pressure of her own despair. “Time cannot take this,” you whispered, making an effort to keep those words steady despite the storm swirling inside of you. “Not us. Not what we’ve created. Not what we are.”

She turned to you fully then, her gaze scrutinizing yours with an intensity that felt like it could peel back time itself, every curve, every shadow of your features etching to her memory, her heart. The last rays of sunlight wisped into her dark locks, igniting them in hues of amber and gold, a fleeting halo that crowned her in the fragile light of the dying day. At that moment, with the world balanced on the edge of twilight, you thought she had never looked more achingly, devastatingly beautiful.

“What if I lose you?” she inquired brokenly. The question barely broke the stillness, but it hit like a tempest splitting open the sky. “ What if I’m stranded here, holding the ghost of you, while you… drift away? I’ve seen it happen before. Loved and been left behind, bound to memories that never let go — I’ve lived it, y/n. ”

Your hand rose with a leisured tenderness, fingers curling for her face to nestle there. Her skin was warm — a living contrast to the cold fear roiling beneath your ribs. Her breathing hitched, an unspoken plea — when your thumb brushed over the curve of her cheekbone. “Then you’ll find me again,” your usage of tone a quiet anchor even as your touch surrendered to their quiver. “In the shadows of yesterday, in the light of tomorrow — wherever your steps take you, wherever the road may lead you, wherever your soul resides, I’ll remain here. I’m going to be here for as long as life allows me to be there with you.”

Her eyelids fluttered shut, lashes trembling like leaves caught in the faintest breeze. For a heartbeat, you believed she might shatter, that tears would slip through the cracks in her silence. But when brown orbs met yours once again, there was something more — something delicate, like the first blush of dawn breaking against an endless night. A fragile hope lingered there, hesitant yet alive, the weight of eternity had lessened, if only the slightest. In that flicker of belief, you saw the unvoiced truth: perhaps she would not have to carry forever alone after all.

She leaned into you, the motion so unguarded it stole the air from your lungs. Her forehead lightly kissed yours, and at that moment, the world seemed to narrow, folding into the fragile space you shared. The pieces of curls upon the crown of her head brushed your skin, soft and untamed, carrying the faint scent of rain or something equally fleeting. You could feel the unsteady cadence of her breath, each exhale a confession — you were not certain if it was for her, or you. “You’re not afraid of me,” she said, her voice fraying at the edges, trembling under the weight of her doubt and wonder.

“Why would I be?”

Her mouth hoisted into a wry smile. “Because I’ve seen things—terrible things — deaths, catastrophes. I’ve been hunted, chased out of places. I’ve predicted tragedy more times than I can count. People look at me and see a curse.”

“Ah, but when I look at you,” you ascertained with a lopsided though earnest smile while the pads of your fingers danced over her cheek, “ all I see is Lilia. My Lilia. The girl who taught me how to see the world differently. Who made me discover that time isn’t a straight line, but a song — messy, beautiful, endless.”

A wisp of a giggle ruffled through the air, and you felt her ease into your touch. She sensed you wavering, however, and she was met with your pondering expression. With the way you looked at her, the way you coiled her insides. “You will remain my constant, Lilia. And I’ll always be yours.”

Lilia’s eyes slowly lulled open, and they moistened with something heavy and tender. “Even when you’re not here? Even when… you’re gone? When I’m gone?”

You nodded, bringing her hand to your mouth and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Even then,” you promised. “Time’s an illusion, right? It’s always happening—happened, happening, will happen. And we’ll always find each other again.”

You knew she was seeing something given the distance in her gaze — possibly a version of this moment, maybe another lifetime. She spoke with fervent certainty. “I’ll hold onto you, even when I’m lost.”

You grinned, leaning closer until the tip of your nose nuzzled down the prominent bridge of hers. “You won’t be lost. Not as long as you have me to come back to.”

For a stretched-out while, neither of you uttered a word. There was goodness within silence when you were with the person you felt most comfortable with. The reality revolving around you seemed to cease, leaving only the hum of the ocean, the rustling of grass and leaves and the rhythm of her breathing, of your breathing ; twined, unyielding, steady.

She traced the lines of your palm with her thumb, memorizing the richness of your skin, the delicate strength beneath it. She felt you watching her, her gaze steadying, her time gaps temporarily stilled. Her fingers tightened around yours, her grip firm but trembling, her nails slicing your skin with the faintest pressure, a touch that felt like a plea.

“Promise me something,” She stated this lowly, unevenly, yet urgent enough to command the world to halt.

“Anything,” you softly responded, the word carrying more than a vow—it was surrender.

“Remember this,” she said, the weight of her heart pressing into every syllable. “Even when you’re somewhere I can’t follow, even when I’m lost in my own far-off place. Keep this moment alive. Hold it for the both of us.”

You answered her not with a voice but by closing the distance, your lips meeting hers in a way that was not rushed or faltered. It lingered, it soared, it ached, soft yet infinite, like a vow etched into the unseen threads binding you both to this point in time. You poured yourself into it — into her— as if promises could be spoken in silence, as though the blazing sun and soon moon paused to witness.

When the kiss ended, you stayed close, her forehead brushing yours for an instant before she tucked herself into you. Her head came to rest beneath your chin, her body burrowing into the hollow of your frame, trying to root herself there, to this currency, to your soul. “We’ll always be back then right?” she drowsily murmured, yet Lilia had this power of making things feel certain for you, steady.

“Always,” you planted a kiss to her temple, your arms tightening around her as the sunset seemed to nearly draw to a close and the night to a beginning, the stars above shimmering softly in quiet agreement.

The final piece of the picture — the memory, the moment — came like a rush of wind, nourishing her lungs and lifting the weight from her shoulders. It was you, standing at the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea. The sky was painted with hues of orange and pink, the air tinged with salt and the faint sweetness of lemon groves. You turned to her, your expression warm and unguarded, and for a moment, she forgot what it meant to live in pieces.

As the Salem Seven screeched when the balance of gravity reversed, their darkness descended into the piercings that indicated none other than Death.

Her coven was safe, their bonds unbroken, but Lilia was already somewhere else. Warm and all -encompassing. She let go of everything except the picture she clutched onto, the memory of you.

And there you were.

Waiting for her, your arms open, your smile soft, your eyes as brilliant as they had been centuries ago. She, in all her youth, stepped forward, the heart encapsulated within her chest swelling as if it had remembered how to feel whole, before hoisting her skirts and diving into your arms. There was only you, and the softness of your touch, and the faint scent of citrus and jasmine that had always reminded her of home.

“You found me, darling,” her words went muffled into the fabric of your shoulder, tightening her hold on you.

“You found me, Lilia,” her name being spoken by your lips, assisted with the sensation of them against her flushed cheek, her nose, her forehead, felt like the closing of a circle . “I told you. We will always be back then. Time does not matter.”

It did not, she realized that now. Time was the illusion. Love was the constant.

⸻ ᥫ᭡ 𓂃

#agatha all along #lilia calderu #agatha all along x reader #marvel #rio vidal #agatha harkness #patti lupone x reader #patti lupone #lilia calderu x fem!reader #lilia calderu x reader #lilia x reader #marvel studios #jac schaeffer #𝐢𝐫𝐲𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 ── 🎐ᝰ.#Spotify

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