#i AM going to actually have to grow some balls and learn to say no someday

[catboypheromones]

lmao tried to quit my job but im a huge fucking pushover so my boss spent 40 minutes begging me to stay and it stressed me out so bad I wanted to cry so I said I'd fucking stayyyyy LMFAO WHY AM I LIKE THIIIIIISSSSSS

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

I think someone put the brain of a mouse or maybe a squirrel inside my head at some point because all winter I was like “I crave nuts and seeds” and now that it’s getting warmer and brighter out my brain keeps going “it’s fruit time”

Like, modern transportation has made it possible to move many fruits all over the world (in theory) all the time! But the primal early plesiadapiform part of my brain is like “you must eat what is available this season”

[delicatepointeofview]

Incomparable

fandom: Bridgerton

pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

summary: you don’t fit in quite well with the rest of the ton, but you still manage to catch the eye of the Viscount

note: this is for the girlies with resting bitch face, warning this is a fem!reader as much as i prefer a gender neutral reader, the heteronormative regency society just doesn’t allow it

this was already once posted before on my since deleted blog by my same current name but has been slightly edited :)

It was only one of the first balls of many and you were already regretting your unfortunate position as a newly presented flower of the season. You never thought you had what it took to be this year’s diamond, nor its ruby, nor its pearl, or any jewel for the matter. In your eyes you didn’t have the effortless glimmer that Daphne Bridgerton had last season nor the graceful steps of this season's ingénue, Edwina Sharma.

Of course, you had prepared all your life for this moment like every upper class girl. Knowing all that you should to be presented into society. You sat through the pianoforte lessons and even tried your hand at singing (which was a terrible mistake). You learned to embroider from your mother, much to the dismay of your aching fingers which always manage to burn and go numb far too quickly for her liking. You read all the textbooks even though you much preferred novels, never understanding the point of your tutors' comments about men wanting to marry educated girls. Quickly learning as you grew older and more outspoken that gentlemen like to know a woman is well read, but hardly ever that they use that knowledge in conversation.

But somehow, even after the painstakingly long hours at the modiste getting fitted for new dresses and the even longer time you spent getting into them, none of it was enough. Not the lessons, not the newly dropped hem, not the hours of sitting for your hair to be expertly styled and bejeweled by the finest gems your family had to offer. Still every other lady and her mama have had to comment on how you are so far from even the realm of possibly being considered a diamond. You heard their whispers through the silk and lace of their folding fans as clear as the night.

‘They barely graced the Queen with a smile,”

‘They’ll definitely grow to be a spinster with that face,’

Oh, but this wasn’t only from the women, of course not, they just have the decency to try and say this behind your back. You are well aware of how men love to grace you with their opinion, despite you caring very little for it. They always have the audacity to say these things straight to your somber face as if it would do you any good.

‘You know, you would be slightly prettier if you smiled,’

‘If you would smile, you would seem much more amiable,’

and most recently,

“I am sure more gentlemen would ask for a dance if you didn’t look so miserable, my Lady,”

You had been approached by a well-respected gentlemen named Mr. Hastings when you had escaped your mother’s disapproving clutches to find solace at the refreshments table. Drinking lemonade desperately wishing it were wine. He asked you to dance. Much to your misfortune you couldn’t fain a full dance card as the one clutched in your gloved hand was mockingly empty. This left you enduring a dreadfully boring conversation about his horse, how much it had cost him, how much it is actually worth, and just how incredible this horse was. You quite frankly wished to be anywhere else. As would anyone else you’re sure, but while they may have hid that behind a polite smile you showed your boredom evidently in your downturned lips.

But what would be the point in hiding it? You were tired of the facade that enwrapped these balls and society. Everyone was smiling, but was anyone truly happy? Even then who is happy and just goes around smiling like some loon. You were having a terrible time parading around the room with your mother’s stern grip on your arm showcasing you like a piece of meat, or a show pony— or to be terribly on the nose, Mr. Hastings prized horse.

Then once you had finally escaped her and found peace hoping to blend in to the wallpaper, you have been made to endure small talk and dance with a man you had little interest in. All while he made you listen to his horrendously dull conversation and he had the nerve to ask— no, to want you to not look miserable. This man who looked like molding swiss cheese and only spoke of his horse.

“I beg you pardon, sir?”

“That you look as if you are attending a funeral, my lady,” he says as he spins you following the choreography of the dance, “It is only polite that you smile as we dance.”

His own obviously fake smile is painted across his face, all thin lips and no teeth as he eyes you expectantly waiting for you to obediently heed his suggestion—or more likely it was a sort of social command. Polite society would have deemed you to be all smiles and perfect wit, to ease yourself out of this treacherous conversation you were wormed into with a poised grace or give in to his orders with a sickly sweet smile because it would be rude not to, no?

But no, indeed. You were not going to give in. No matter how many whispered or backhanded compliments you received only on your first night into society. You had seen how your female cousins and older friends had broken their backs to bend to the whims of society. Left behind forgotten ideals to suit their new suitors to get the ring and the wedding that would never even scratch at their fanciful girlish dreams of prince charmings and knights in shining armor. You would not let society break you.

“Well, I would smile if I was having a nice time. Maybe if you said something funny I would laugh or if the conversation was pleasant,” you had stopped dancing now, tired of this day and all the niceties and manners you were to follow.

You stood before him with your jaw clenched and your brows furrowed absolutely seething, “But you are far from pleasant. All you do, sir, is speak of your race horse and how much it is worth to you. If you care so much about your horse, I wonder why you ever wish to marry when all your attention seems to be going to your insipid horse!”

“Why you rude, intolerable girl—”

You didn’t care any more about the staring eyes of the ton or the gasps from appalled mamas. You would have welcomed all of Mr. Hastings angry words to at least hear something real for the first time all day. But instead he is cut short as the figure of a man approaches your side.

“I beg your pardon Mr. Hastings. How dare you raise your voice to a lady, have you no honor or decorum?”

Viscount Anthony Bridgerton stood before the two of you. Chin tilted upwards and shoulders set back in an unspoken challenge with the less titled man in front of you.

His question goes unanswered, but he continues nodding to you, “I believe the Lady makes a very agreeable point, sir. You speak entirely of your horse and nothing else, this would bore any with a brain in the ton.”

You almost would have laughed if you weren’t so shocked. What exactly was the Viscount doing? You hardly ever spoke other than short introductions and nods exchanged while you were in the company of his sister and your friend, Eloise.

But there was not a moment to think on this further as the scene that was forming around you was all too captivating. Mr. Hastings, who it should be mentioned once more felt so prideful of his horse, can be seen visibly shrinking shoulder hunching forward slumping as if he were a little boy who lost a game. He clears his throat, “Well then, I shall take my conversation elsewhere.”

Before he could turn to leave the eldest Bridgerton son stops him, “Sir, you have forgotten to apologize to the Lady,”

Mr. Hasting freezes in his place turning to eye the man and you bite your lip fighting the laugh that threatens to erupt at the odious man whose eyes widen and mouth becomes agape like a fish out of water.

“My apologies,” the words seem to clog at his throat and so he says nothing else. Nodding, “Lord Bridgerton...” and your name before meekly making his way through the crowd, his head down avoiding the gazes of the onlookers.

At this point most of the ton had gone back to their conversations around you, though there were still some lingering eyes as the dance floor had been oddly shaped as you and the Viscount remained standing in part of the appointed area. Anthony notices this and leads you further into the crowd.

Once he finds an agreeable spot he stops turning towards you, “I actually do wish to counter your statement, my lady,” he begins. You expect for a moment to be met with some stern lecture from a man who seems to think he’s entitled to an opinion of you as if he were your father (who you also do not think should have an opinion, but alas it is only 1814). Anthony surprises you however as instead he grins and says, “I actually believe Mr. Hastings would marry his horse if the Queen would allow it.”

And you couldn’t help but laugh, despite all your pride and pettiness to not grace this event or anyone in it with any pleasurable countenance. You laughed loudly tilting your head back, jeweled neck on display even letting out a small snort against your will. When you finally compose yourself, giggles dying down at the thought of Mr. Hastings in a horrid muddy green suit with a horse in a wedding dress, you can’t fight the smile that falls on your lips. Although unnatural to you, the light hearted joke and your vivid imagination make it easy. It lasts for a few seconds before you become very conscious of it as you let your lips fall back to their usual place.

Though if anyone was truly looking for it— which Anthony was— they would see the slight quirk in your lips as you told the Viscount, “It looks like you’ve gained the honor of making me laugh, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“I relish the title, my lady,” he says and you can tell he does from the smile that meets his ears, all teeth and pushed back cheeks. You acknowledge that this might be the realest encounter you have had since your debut. Anthony Bridgerton smiling from ear to ear was a sight to see.

He continues, “But I do have to disagree with the comments I have been hearing tonight. Smile or no smile you present the ladies looking to wed this season with quite the competition.”

“Me? Hardly, did you not hear my Lord, my countenance would never get me a marriage proposal,” you say fiddling with the hem of your gloves at your wrist.

“I would disagree, I think any reasonable man in attendance would be foolish to not see how incomparable you are, my lady.”

Incomparable.

You fight it like you had once your laugh, but you feel the heat spread to your cheeks and the nerves that begin to twist in your stomach. You didn’t need it, but the compliment was well appreciated after a night such as this one.

Giving you no time to compose the fluttering in your chest, Anthony adds, “Any lady who manages to be bold enough to tell Mr. Hasting how insufferable his horse talk is, ranks high in my book.”

“Well you might be the only one, sir,” you try to be as brave as you feel and dare to smile at him, but his gaze causes you to look away bashfully. That is when you notice your mother approaching and wishing not to make a fool in front of the Viscount you excuse yourself, “I do believe my mother has just been informed of the scene I have caused, so if you’ll excuse me.”

But before you can turn to go he calls out your name placing his warm bare hand on your own gloved fingers making you turn back to him.

“Would you save me a dance?”

And despite yourself, Anthony Bridgerton manages again to make you smile, “Of course”.

[sassyandsodone]

Mother

(A bit of a character study of Raphael. A lot of mommy issues, and a look at his relationship with his father's consort, Baalphegor.)

Baalphegor was not the mother of Mephistopheles’s cambion brats. But she had known many of them. Some had seen her as a threat, some had seen her as a potential ally, she was not a mother to any of them. But she liked this little pup.

Raphael was bold for such a puny thing. Once he had survived to an age where he could talk, everyone in Cania quickly learned, he could not stop. Every situation he foolishly backed into, he tried to talk his way out of. And while child-like charm was hardly useful against hellbeasts, he did have a gift for convincing any that would crush him like an ant that his father actually cared about him. That was usually enough.

In spite of his age, or lack thereof, he did excell at magic, unsurprising really considering who the child’s sire was. Even at an age before he could read, Raphael could teleport, not exactly perfectly but he could do it. Teleporting seemed to be his preferred method of transportation as he got better at it. He was always appearing and disappearing without warning, something everyone in the palace had gotten used to.

So, as Baalphegor relaxed in her chambers, a book in her hand as she lounged on her settee, she barely even looked up when young Raphael appeared on her floor in a flash of cinders. She could hear him panting, breathless, he must have been running before he teleported himself to her.

“My, my, little prince,” she said, “what sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Raphael picked himself up off the floor and brushed his hands across his clothes. He was still so young, she wouldn't even consider him an adolescent yet, merely a child. His horns were small and a second set was just beginning to grow in. He stretched out his little wings that had gotten ruffled with his fall.

“Gelugons are mean,” the child said, there was a huffing pretentiousness in his voice.

“No arguments.” Baalphegor turned the page of her book. “How exactly did you manage to upset one, pup?”

He huffed. “I'm not a pup.”

Baalphegor put down her book and looked at Raphael. It could not be said that most fiends cared for “cute” things but there was something very endearing to her about this child wrinkling his nose in disgust just like his father did.

“And yet, your fur is all ruffled like one. Sit. Let me fix your hair.”

Raphael’s nostrils flared as he gave another huff, but, like a good boy he came and sat on the settee. Baalphegor ran her fingers through his hair, catching her long nails on a number of tangles.

“So, what did you do to that gelugon?”

“I did nothing wrong,” he declared but Baalphegor highly doubted his assessment. “I am a son of Mephistopheles. It had no authority to bar me from going anywhere!”

She could still remember a time when Raphael couldn't pronounce his father's name. And she had been the one to coach him into doing it correctly, lest he insult his father to his face and incur his wrath.

“Oh dear,” she chuckled. “Did someone go snooping where he did not belong?”

Raphael stiffened, his tail flicked back and forth. Still too young to lie with complete confidence. His hand moved to his left pocket. He had something in there, didn't he?

“I'm a prince. There is nowhere I don't belong.”

He knew he had done something he wasn't allowed to. And he most certainly had taken something that wasn't his. Baalphegor smiled, one hand glided through his hair while the other summoned whatever he had in his pocket directly to her. A small crystal ball appeared in her empty hand.

Raphael quickly turned around feeling the item gone from his pocket.

She examined the sphere. It was dark as Abyss with reflections of scenes playing in it. A scrying tool. Her little prince seemed to be interested in spying on something.

“Oh dear,” Baalphegor said, “what would your father say if he knew his son was stealing from him?”

“I'm not stealing!” He twitched as he said it, though, not even believing this defense himself. “It's mine by birthright.”

“Mmhm, I'm sure your father will listen to that.”

Raphael reached for it, only for Baalphegor to make it disappear.

“Give it back!” Raphael huffed and his little wings flapped at her.

She smiled, a giggle escaping her lips. “Now, now, pup, that isn't how a devil would do things, is it? There is an exchange to be made. Or does your mother's blood dominate you?”

She knew that would stir him. The first insult that was always thrown at him was his half-human ancestry.

The little prince’s brow furrowed and he wrinkled his nose. “I am a son of Mephistopheles! I have nothing in common with sorry mortals!”

“Now, now, pup, we both know that isn’t true. And besides, for all its disadvantages, your mother gave you a great gift upon her death.”

He raised an eyebrow, quizzically, but said nothing.

“Her blood.” Baalphegor began to pet his hair again. “With your half-mortal blood, you were gifted a strong connection to the material plane. You can go where other devils cannot.”

He relaxed at her touch, his tail curling gently against her leg.

“The material plane is a trove of things we, devils, desire. And you, pup, can go and take it for yourself. You can slip between the planes.”

“I can?”

“Of course. If you're any good at magic, that is.”

His tail flicked. “Of course I am!”

Baalphegor gripped his shoulders. “Then why don't you prove it? I will give you back the crystal ball when you bring me a treasure from the Prime.”

Raphael was quiet for a moment, clearly thinking. “...what do you want from there?”

“Oh, pup,” she sighed, “never give your client a chance at getting more than they asked for. If you had taken my deal before, you could have brought me anything. Now, I get to name my price.”

“That's not fair.”

“Devils do not play fair.” She tapped a finger against his nose. “Well, since you need to learn a lesson…” she trailed off, considering what would teach her little prince best. “...bring me an item that belonged to your mother.”

His tail stiffened and a look of confusion blossomed on his face. “My…mother?”

“Do your ears not hear, pup? Yes. Your mother. She was from the material plane, some trinket of hers must remain there.”

“But…” he paused, breaking eye contact as he tried to word what he wanted to say. “But I don't know who she is.”

“Oh? Well, my apologies, pup. I had a thought a child of the Cold Lord would be smart enough and skilled enough to discover that information on his own. My mistake.”

She watched to see the anger build up in him. Little Raphael may have only been a child but his pride was vast as his ambition. She could see a rage building in his eyes, a fire to fuel him.

“I'll do it!” he snapped. “Lady Baalphegor, I swear to bring you the greatest trinket of my mother's I can find!”

She smiled. Her little prince would grow up to be great, she would make sure of it. Baalphegor snapped her fingers and summoned a parchment. The infernal ink glowed red, the terms of their little agreement laid out plain for the child to read.

“Just sign here, Raphael.”

—

The years had not changed her little prince. Not in the slightest. From childhood into his teenage years, his skills had progressed. He was exceptional at magic, and had developed a flair for song contracts (much to the annoyance of any who contracted with him.) His silver tongue had gotten out of more trouble than it had gotten him into. His fire never calmed, his ambition never dimmed.

Raphael was no longer constrained by Cania, he had become powerful enough that he needn't remain if he did not want to. The material plane was his playground. Raphael had even given himself a human form, to make it easier for him to do whatever he wished there. He galavanted across kingdoms. He performed music and poems in taverns across Faerun, though he had tried to hide it, he could not hide from Baalphegor’s scrying.

And all the while he had yet to deliver on his vow to her.

It wasn't as if she never saw him working on it. Many times she had caught wind of him being in places in Mephistar he shouldn't be looking for information on his mother. But, considering how smart the little prince was, it was surprising how long this was taking him. Now, it could not be said he had a particular need for the crystal ball she had taken from him anymore, he was more powerful than it was. But a devil must hold true to its word. So, she had faith Raphael would deliver.

Baalphegor was adjusting her appearance, gazing into her reflection in the mirror, when a second figure appeared. She did not hesitate or startle. Baalphegor knew who would intrude on her personal time uninvited. It was Raphael who had teleported behind her.

“Well, pup, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

He bristled at the nickname but let it go. She had called him “pup” his entire life, he no longer fought it like he had when he was young.

“Lady Baalphegor,” he said. Raphael carried himself professionally even though she knew it was a front. “I have come to fulfill our contract.”

A smile parted her lips and she stood to meet her little prince face to face. He was no longer so little, no longer did he sit by her side and allow her to play with his hair. He thought himself a man, a mature devil with immense power. She didn't have the heart to tell him he was still hardly more than an ant compared to those who ran in the same circles as him.

“So you have. Well, what have you brought me?”

Raphael did not smile back at her, his lips pursed tight like the grumpy little boy he was. He held out his closed fist and into her waiting hand, he dropped a single golden hairpin.

One look at it and Baalphegor could tell he had succeeded. The thing practically oozed magic, every perfect twinkle in the light was a miniature dancing lights spell attached to it. The pin itself was in the shape of a magic sigil, and it was warm to the touch, almost like it was alive.

Baalphegor secured the pin within her own hair. “Congratulations, Raphael.”

His expression was still dark. “...she was Netherese.”

So he had uncovered it. Baalphegor gave a small chuckle. “Sit down, pup. Tell me what you learned.”

She took a seat on her settee and, despite the bad mood he was clearly in, Raphael joined her.

“She was human. From Netheril.”

Baalphegor waited, letting him speak at his own pace. His gaze was worlds away, his eyes dreamy. She could tell he wanted to speak, wanted to regale her with the tale. But he was holding back.

“I saw the cities in the skies.The arcanists. The enclaves…” There was a reverence in his voice. He almost sounded proud. Proud of his mother's home. Proud of his mortal side.

That tone itself was more than enough to prove he was still a child. Still naïve.

“Would you have liked to live there?” Baalphegor asked. She kept her inflection gentle and welcoming, like she was luring a mortal into a trap. Perhaps she was. Perhaps that's all Raphael really was at his core. In which case, he would be better off purged.

The little prince gave her a sideways glance, eyes narrow. He seemed to have noticed the trap. But he, curiously, did not speak up right away. And Raphael always spoke whether he had something worth saying or not. It was clear, he was genuinely contemplating.

“...No,” he said after a worrying silence. His tail may no longer have flicked involuntarily but it was just as obvious that he was lying.

Still, Baalphegor waited for him to explain why, to affirm that Cania was superior in every way to those sky rocks, that Baator was the only realm that mattered. But he didn't. He didn't prove he understood the lesson, just told her what she wanted to hear. Baalphegor sighed. If her pup was to stand a chance he needed this lesson drilled into his skull.

“Do you think you could have had a life there?” Her voice was restrained, she wasn't yelling, she wasn't crying, but displeasure rang through her words.

“...what?”

“I asked you a question, Raphael. Do you think you could have had a life there?”

“...I—” he began but he did not meet her eyes. A liar.

“Look at me, pup.”

Raphael took a breath and looked into her eyes. He looked so human. His orange eyes were sparkling with the foolish human notion of hope.

“...There was a wealth of things to learn there.” His voice was weak, small, just like him. “I was there for only a day and I saw things I never knew possible.”

Baalphegor smiled, her tone staying calm even as she contemplated punishments for him. “There is much more to learn here, little prince. All the souls in that empire aren't worth one book from our Archduke's library.” She chuckled. “Yet I know you and your ilk.”

Raphael quirked an eyebrow at that line.

“You're a creative, a dreamer, a sensitive sort. You've been living in fairy tales since you were old enough to read them.” She turned her gaze from him. “Perhaps you're right.”

“Lady Baalphegor?”

She put up a beautiful false smile. “I mean it. If you think you belong there, who am I to argue it? I'm not your mother. How could I be? I am a pure devil; you don't resemble me in the slightest.”

He bristled.

Baalphegor pressed ahead. “Your sensitive nature could have flourished in the prime. You'd never be studied in magic, no. Why would you need to be? You'd be nothing. But you could play your music, just like you do now when no one's watching you.”

She looked back at him and watched as he swallowed a lump in his throat.

“You could sing your tales of greatness that would be worthless outside of your empire, your city, your filthy taproom. But you'd have admirers of course. There are always types who fetishize monsters.

“And be assured, Raphael, you would be a monster. Your devil wings, such a lovely feature your father gave you, they would be nothing but a lead weight around your ankle. I suppose you could always say a prayer in the dead of night to those gods mortals seem to love worshipping that some hero would come and slice them, rend them from your back. Then you'd look like a common tiefling. And no one would be able to tell the difference.”

“No.” Raphael’s voice was stern, commanding, devilish. “You will not speak to a son of Mephistopheles in that way.”

She smiled. “A son of Mephistopheles and who, exactly?”

Raphael did not flinch, did not falter and she knew her lesson had reached him. “A son of Mephistopheles and a mortal broodmare whose only contribution to any realm was dying to birth someone far greater than she could ever be.”

Baalphegor pushed a stray hair behind his ear and leaned in to gently kiss his forehead. “That's right, pup. Never forget. You are superior to them in every way. Bearing you was the only good thing your mother ever did. Would you like to know what our lord did with her soul?”

His eyes did not sparkle. There was no place for hope in them. But they burned. They burned with his ambition, an insatiable fire.

“It doesn't matter.”

“Correct.” Baalphegor stood up and gestured to the hairpin she wore. “Pretty as she might have been, this is just as pretty. And it is worth more. I think you could sell it for 10 soul coins. Ten times what its owner was worth.”

Raphael stood. “Thank you, Lady Baalphegor. But I'd only give you 3 for it.”

“A hard bargainer.” She smiled. Her little prince would be great. She just knew it. “Alright.” She removed the hairpin, her lesson finally taught. “Shall we call it a deal?”

Raphael snapped his fingers and summoned an infernal scroll. “Just sign here.”

[blushcoloreddreams]

Perfume IS an essencial: Here’s 4 reasons why

Good Afternoon Dear Reader! Happy Saturday directly from Argentina

Before we dive into today's topic, I wanted to talk briefly about why these "practical" and lighter and style blog posts are JUST as important as the heart-felt blogs on heavier topics and more practical ones like organization, cooking and cleaning tips

This blog is a place where I am trying to gather useful information to help us grow as feminine women, whether that is in our hearts, our homes, our lives, or even in our own skin. I believe in a well-rounded growth perspective: I am trying to improve many areas of my life, even if they are just practical and simple.

So today I wanted to talk about one of these more "practical and simple" topics: perfume.

At first glance this topic can seem kind of boring, like "yeah, no one likes smelling bad, so wear perfume, DUH." But I think perfume is so much more than that!

I believe that a spritz of perfume can actually improve your day, your confidence, and your overall aura as a feminine woman.

***DISCLAIMER: I know that smells can trigger allergic reactions in people, and there are actually fragrance-free zones such as certain churches or work environments. Do not break those rules just to follow my advice LOL!

The women jn my life were always had a passion from perfumery and I remember using it even as a child, but I only started being interested in it during my teenage years and in the past my interest and collection only grew. But I remember that during times of intense sadness in my life, I understand that something simple as even filling in your eyebrows can be a completely exhausting task! So much personal care falls off your daily routine when you can't handle what life is throwing at you and I think that adding perfume to your routine can be an easy way to elevate your grooming.

In order to really stick to this habit, I decided to focus on WHY I should wear perfume. So here we go! This may convince you too.

1. Perfume Adds LUXURY To Life

I know what some of you may be thinking: "I'm just at home, and deodorant is good enough for me!" or "I'm just in an office chair, why do I need to smell amazing?" and finally, "I'm just going to work out later so it doesn't matter!"

You know what I say to all those reasons?

You are an amazing woman and you deserve to have a little extra luxury in your day, even if you are behind a vacuum, a computer, or a treadmill.

Most of us aren't going to be lounging on a velvet chaise with champagne and a cashmere blanket wrapped around us tonight anyways! We're not living that lux life, so why not add extra luxury into our days?

When you're vacuuming the house or reading through spreadsheets, it can be easy to feel like cinderella BEFORE she went to the ball. A fragrance reminds you that you are an elegant, feminine WOMAN, and that you are WORTHY of a little luxury.

So pick up a fragrance you love, (doesn't have to be costly,) and indulge! You are WORTHY of that extra 10 seconds on yourself.

2. Perfume Can Make You HAPPIER!

So today I was spritzing on some body spray when I realized that I had a soft smile on my face. Seriously: I was just smiling to myself! Sol de Janeiro cheirosa 71 (my newest obsession! ) evokes a reaction of pleasure: it makes me smile.

Do you remember learning about the senses in school? They can evoke emotion, thoughts, feelings, and action. Touch can make you take action when you feel pain. Taste evokes pleasure when you encounter delicious food. Likewise, smell can evoke pleasant emotion or distaste.

If there was a little life hack that could have you smiling 2 more times a day than you already do, wouldn't you do it? Fragrance is SUCH simple way to accomplish this!

And a bonus? When you smell good, other people notice! I LOVE when my husband tells me I smell good, or when a friend goes in for a hug and comments that she loves the smell I'm wearing. Smelling good feels GOOD!

3. Perfume Helps You Get in Touch With FEMININITY

When I was a kid, Id watch every morning my mom and grandma get ready and wear their favorite perfumes ( that I have the smell in my memory to this day). I made a promise to myself that when I became a woman at the age of I would begin doing 3 things EVERY DAY: wearing lipstick, carrying a stylish purse, and wearing perfume.

I think I knew, even as a child, that perfume was for women. Full grown, feminine, gracious, beautiful women. Adding fragrance to your routine is a way of stepping into that feminine womanhood and embracing yourself.

Perfume can also be especially helpful for women who are kind of uncomfortable with their femininity. You can begin exploring the possibilities with just a small change. Add a bit of mystery, femininity, sweetness, or glamour to ANY outfit. Elevate your look and tip toe into femininity with a fragrance. Pair a ponytail and sneakers with some vanilla body spray: you might be surprised at how it makes you smile!

4. Perfume Helps You EXPRESS Yourself

I truly believe that the sense of smell is neglected in our modern culture. We are MUCH more focused on the visuals of our beauty routine: hair, fashion, makeup, etc. And why? Well, you can't smell a picture on Instagram! Why invest in something so small when no one can really experience it? Who cares about smell?

Well, maybe we SHOULD care! When you meet someone, you are taking them in through a lot of the senses: a firm handshake, the visuals of their face, the way their voice sounds, and yes, THEIR SMELL!

When you go out into the world, think about the entire picture of you as a person: your smell, your style, your "vibe." What is your overall aura? Perfume can help you add a dimension of creative expression to your overall vibe and style. Express yourself!

***Bonus tip: Hydration is essential for perfume performance and it starts from the inside by drinking enough water and continues with applying lotion before your perfume. (Even better if you can do it post shower when your skin is still a bit damp). Some people also apply a small bit of vaseline or petroleum jelly to your wrists and neck (the pulse regions) before you spray. It helps your scent last longer!

And closing, perfume can add luxury to our day, help us feel happy, help us get in touch with femininity, and allow us to express ourselves! What's not to love?

xoxo

Júlia

[moonshynecybin]

who do you think would deal better with being isekai'd into omegaverse, marc or vale? alternatively which is more compelling

most beautiful ask. in the world. so funny. ummmm i think. vale is maybe more compelling because his issues with it would be. perhaps unsolvable and endlessly complex. guy who is a lil weird about gender, not terribly into the concept of marriage, and is pretty fundamentally adverse to being. shall we say emotionally legible/vulnerable. exposed. and omegaverse as a genre is all about exposure. its all. giving into the base instincts of your body and those same instincts giving you away to the object of your affections. its going into heat and the person youre in love with is the only one available to help you through it. its scenting someone and that being a crystal ball of their emotions and bodily state ESPECIALLY ie how much they want you specifically. its needing someone so bad you are literally insensate. its getting bonded 5ever and ever irrevocably, OFTEN in the heat of an instinctual moment without the relationship negotiation that happens irl. a genre centered around a betrayal of the body/heart to the mind, in many ways

now imagine you didnt actually grow UP in an omegaverse so you have no toolbox to DEAL with all that. sensory input off the SHITS. and. like suddenly and without WARNING now vale can feel in his CHEST exactly how distressed marc marquez is about every one of their interactions. and how much he wants his ass. like truly every part of his hind brain is like jesus christtttttt i should be inside him right tf now im a terrible alpha. and then the higher part of his brain is like what the fuck. what the fuck. i am not responsible for marc, what the fuck. and oh hey theres a bump on my penis i need to ask people about this right the hell now. thats vale. so i see this as a somewhat fraught comedy of sex errors where his ADHD ass is treading horny water trying to learn alpha manners and also. much more complexly. not fall into all of the traditional alpha expectations/roles. that little trap of gender. because at heart vale is a little trickster who loves to buck expectations!!! and maybe his journey here is realizing that he can just be himself comma sex freak. and that leaning into those "alpha" traits doesnt mean he is conforming lmao he can still have his own unique version of his family. learning the norms of a society and what makes sense to him and what still doesnt. sorting through the weeds of it. and that being vulnerable rules sometimes. and that marc loves him. because that last one is kind of hard to ignore now... again because of that emotional and physical vulnerability that comes with the genre... honestly him knowing all of that about marc without having to actually TALK about it may solve some of their problems tbh. like why work through all that verbally when you can sniff them and then fuck them. kind of the omegaverse fantasy in quite a few ways

marc. jeez louise. i think would HATE it more. at first. control freak 9000. maybe has to miss races for heats. suppressants arent legal. experiencing weird omega sexism if we want to go that route OR. my favorite. has been lying to the press about his status since he presented. tiniest 15 yr old youve ever seen: im an alpha ! :3 uh sure bud. sure. i bet. SO actually maybe he falls into a world where hes just been white-knuckling it for the last billion years during race weekends and most of the paddock kind of KNOW (scent blockers only go so far...) but are lowkey afraid to call him on it dlkjdfljldsfd... similar to vale in this scenario, he sort of has to learn how to omega— and when his heat hits during summer break and his ass start leaking in the middle of the spanish equivalent of walmart, he finds a psycho little ziploc bag of sweaty vale shirts under his bed and he genuinely is like girl what the hellllllllllll.... wiggin out. and his next heat he turns up to race with truly NO practice managing it all, so its way more obvious than normal and the farce is growing thinner and vale literally pulls him aside to be like hey are you GOOD ? but in that valentino not that i care about your ass kind of unspeakably divorced way and marc is like woag. bc a pheromone truck just ran him over. eyes glassy face flushed sweaty as hell mouth a little open.... and he opens his mouth to make an excuse and nothing comes... and then obviously they fuck like its the end of the WORLD

and like i DO think marc pulls out of it more cleanly than vale overall, bc something in HIS lizard brain would be deeply soothed by like. excelling at being an omega. getting an A + in being a bottom. doing that for vale, specifically in the context of pushing his body to the absolute LIMIT to do it.... hes locked in. its go time. and then theres the insane possibility of vale putting his mouth on his neck and them getting basically soulbonded forever where they have to have crazy sex every few months ? hes like ummmm okay. i could get used to this for a while lmao

[jamiesfootball]

Season two of the Ted Lasso rewatch and I am having some string feelings. Some strong feelers. Some shrimp about Ted and Jamie and how Ted really, really struggles between being Coach Shaped and being Dad Shaped when it comes to Jamie, and how Jamie is horrible at discerning either.

(Buckle up this is gonna be a long one)

Because what we start off with in season one is very much a man who is used to being Coach Shaped. He wants the boys to be inspired and to learn about life and to become the best versions of themselves that they can be. All of which could be very Dad Shaped, but in execution they’re not.

He steps back to let people grow, and sometimes that involves letting bullies be bullies so that the true leaders of the group can step up. Sometimes it’s letting Nate roast the other players- quite cuttingly at that - to get the team motivated. He’s directing the orchestra sure, but he’s not in the pit telling people how better to get along. He’s warm and welcoming, and he tries to foster good rapport and encourage people to talk to him and open up. He, dare I say it, actually has boundaries with people. He asked Rebecca in the first episode how she was holding up with the divorce, and when she seemed upset he noted it, offered a little commiseration, and moved right along without making a fuss.

And then he calls Jamie Tartt into his office to give him a compliment sandwich (“you’re a great athlete now pass the fucking ball and then you’ll be a super great athlete okay thanks”) and I think that’s where Ted’s boundary with Jamie first starts to erode. Because Jamie unintentionally ruins his whole fucking script. Jamie’s disaffected act crumbles at the first compliment. He’s sincerely taken aback by Ted’s praise, a little nervous and a little pleading. He breaks the rules of compliment sandwiching by demurring “well I work really hard”, which forces Ted to agree which is in a way TWO compliments, and when Ted tries to push through with his critique, Jamie ends up critiquing himself first about something completely different (“my left cross”), and then Ted has to wrestle them back to the actual critique, and the whole thing is just. Definitely not the ordeal Ted thought it would be.

So from early on we have these two working at cross purposes - because Ted thinks he’s being Coach Shaped, but the Shape he is doesn’t fit any Coach Jamie has ever had.

“what’s he like?”

“Great”

“…….”

“Well great at football”

“Yeah, I’ve know guys like that.”

And in return, Ted has known ‘guys like that’, competent athletes who are a necessary part of the game, but have such egos (“I’m not sure you realize how mentally healthy that is”) that Ted thinks he has to go to his players girlfriend for insight on how to motivate Jamie in the way that Ted needs for team cohesion.

So this is Ted trying to be Coach Shaped and give this kid a wake up call and this kid is so receptive that Ted barely had to lift a finger. But it doesn’t stick.

Ok. So next he attempts to give Jamie a book that he thinks will wake him up to the reality he’s living. He gave them to everyone. He’s still being Coach Shaped. He makes Roy and Jamie sit at the same table and tries to orchestrate a truce. He kinda gets there, but the next episode they’re still at each other’s throats. Jamie listened to Ted about the one in a million / one in eleven thing, but then Jamie ignored it. So he benched him. He’s Coach Shaped; it wasn’t personal.

Except Ted is not has not been anything Coach Shaped that Jamie could recognize, and football really is his life too. So it was very fucking personal. And here’s the first wrinkle in the narrative both of them have been telling themselves, because what does Jamie do? He fakes an injury and benches himself.

If Ted doesn’t think he should play, or doesn’t think that the way he’s playing is correct, then fine- he’ll make them both miserable. He just won’t fucking play. It’s kid logic at its finest. It’s cutting your nose to spite your face. ‘Well you said I wasn’t doing it right, so I won’t do it at all.’

It’s the same shit Jamie pulls on his dad when he leaves Man City to go be a reality tv star.

And it’s the first crack in the veneer between them, because the way Ted loses his shit at Jamie for it is not very Coach Shaped, but it is very very Dad Shaped. And unfortunately it was the sort of Dad Shaped that Jamie did recognize.

It’s the first loss of control Ted has in general, and it’s circling this player that Ted can’t seem to get a grip on.

And then there’s Jamie going to Keeley, and he’s got Manchester on his mind. It’s the first time we’ve heard him talk about the council estate he grew up in, and Keeley is telling him to stop battling people who want to help him. So he goes to the bonfire. And he talks about the fucking footprint his dad left in his wake. And he talks wistfully about his mom being proud. And this isn’t just about opening up to the team, it’s also about Jamie Tartt not battling Ted. Taking a risk that even if Ted isn’t very Coach Shaped, even if he appears closer to Dad Shaped than Jamie would like, whatever Ted is - Jamie is probably safe to be a little honest.

It’s not very Star Athlete With An Ego of him; but it’s very very Son Shaped.

“I was just starting to get through to him.”

Ted’s anger with Rebecca could be Coach Shaped. It could be. But it sure hurt him enough that it’s the first time he’s actually angry with Rebecca. Meanwhile Jamie was so hurt he had to tell everyone who would listen about it. Had to iterate that it was good riddance on being rid of Ted Lasso, because at least Pep was a proper Coach Shaped Coach. Someone who’d drill Jamie on the technicals. Someone who probably never once cared enough to pull him aside and tell him if he did a good job. Someone who probably assumed that’s what Jamie’s dad was for, showing up after matches.

“Good luck out there, Jamie!”

“Fucking mind games.”

Whatever Jamie already thought of Ted as a coach must’ve been rolling in the pit Jamie tried to bury it in, because Coach Shaped men don’t cheer you on when you’re playing for the other team. Pep wouldn’t do it if he still played for Richmond.

And maybe Coach Lasso does it for everyone he coaches. Probably. But it’s a very Dad Shaped thing. And fuck, Jamie’s actual fucking dad doesn’t cheer for him at all when Jamie isn’t playing for Manchester, so how’s Jamie supposed to know what it means?

Then there’s Ted, who just can’t help himself. Who can’t help but see potential in Jamie. And when he sees Jamie after the match, it’s a quick war on whether he should speak to him because in that instance Coach mode and Dad mode are in alignment.

Except reality hits as hard as a boot against the wall, because Jamie has a dad. And it’s not Ted. It’s not someone who’s come to tell him well done, or that he’s proud of the baby steps Jamie has taken, even though he’s been left to walk them alone. It is the opposite of what a father should be, but it’s taken up the mantle. Father Shaped. A thing of fury. A role fulfilled, not looking for new applicants.

Coach wins in that moment. Ted turns and walks away, and Jamie can finally see now in Ted Lasso the Coach Shape he’s familiar with.

Except even that can’t stick around and be familiar can it? Because while no one was looking, the Dad Shape in Ted scribbled him a little message. Left a note in his absence to let him know he was proud. Sent Beard with an army man, someone to lookout for Jamie and keep him safe. I’d say at this point a Ted Lasso couldn’t’ve drawn a line between Coach Shaped and Dad Shaped - this was a matter of pure human empathy, and decency, and an apology in its own way. I’m sorry for the roles we’ve been given. I’m sorry, but please know I care.

He walked away from Jamie and his dad. He didn’t have any obligation to Jamie. There was no more match to be won. Any involvement of Jamie Tartt in Ted’s life coulda woulda should’ve ended there.

“There’s something out there worse than being sad, and that’s being sad and alone. And ain’t nobody in this room alone.”

The look on Jamie’s face in that scene says it all. Because he is alone, but Ted clearly (desperately) doesn’t want him to be.

But being alone is better than being stuck in a room with James Tartt Sr.

Jamie doesn’t go to Ted first after Lust Conquers All. Why would he (think he had the right to)?

The first thing Jamie does do (after Keeley tells him it’s ok to go to Ted) when he meets Ted again is show him the Ted (Danson) Soldier. Ted may have made the gesture, and Jamie may have understood the meaning of it, but he does Not understand Ted. Not this Coach-but-Not-a-Coach. Still Jamie thinks he has the distinction down - what soft underbelly he thinks he needs to bare for this type of Coach to believe him when asks for a chance to come home.

“You were getting good minutes up at City.”

Ted redirects Jamie here in a very Coach Shaped way. He guides Jamie into admitting the real reason why he quit. He hears Jamie out, makes observations about how Jamie coming back would work from a team perspective, and makes only occasional eye contact. This is Ted clinging to a role that he’s used to, the one that comforts him in its ability to help other people.

(If there is something Dad Shaped in that scene, it’s an awful, haunting one. Not the one that Jamie grew up with, but the one that Ted grew up with. The one who took his son to play darts every Sunday for six years, who probably sat next to him and drank beer the way Ted does)

But Ted never set out to be anyone’s dad. He’s their Coach, and he has a responsibility to everyone on his team. It’s nothing personal; he’s just being a Coach.

They clink glasses. Cheers, and best of luck to your future endeavors.

There is something very tired about the way Jamie puts down his beer without taking a sip. He looks lost. He does not look surprised. (How could you have expectations for something you’ve never known? And how come that doesn’t make him feel any better about it?)

We don’t see Jamie after that.

We see Ted at training, worrying about Dr Sharon watching the team he’s made. He worries that she’s getting closer (metaphor). When Sam storms off the field, Ted is startled but relieved to follow. He doesn’t want self examination. He wants to be Coach. He wants to embrace the parts of coaching he’s always loved- helping other people improve and be better.

Sam tells him that he doesn’t want Jamie back on the team, and there’s a split second of relief from Ted because he made the right call.

Then Sam talks about his father, and how his father is grateful for Ted because with Ted around, he knows his son is safe. Because this has nothing to do with being Coach Shaped. Coach Shaped he may be in Sam’s life, but here’s Sam, who is very Son Shaped himself, and his father agreeing that Coach Lasso serves a greater purpose in Sam’s life than just being a supportive motivator. In their mind, in the absence of a father, Ted Lasso will do just fine. He will keep Sam safer than any little green army man.

That’s the final inexorable blurring of the lines for Ted, where the coach finally drops the ball to pay attention to the scraped knees that have been left behind.

Ted calls the Diamond Dogs meeting. Coach Beard and Coach Nate are very Coach Shaped indeed. What about the teamwork, Ted? “He’s the poop in the punch bowl.” Leslie is for bringing him back, but it’s for football reasons. It makes managerial sense.

But none of it means anything to Ted because at that moment he can not find it in himself to be Coach Shaped.

“I thought it was settled, but Sam went and unsettled it.”

“He reminded me that not everyone is lucky enough to have a good dad.”

“In sports aren’t we always on about second chances? Shouldn’t that apply to people too?”

This is not Coach Shaped. In some ways it’s not even Dad Shaped. But it is caring, and empathy, and wanting an excuse, any excuse, to try again. It is Love Shaped.

Ted Lasso is a coach to his team and a dad to a great little boy down in Kansas, and for Jamie Tartt he can try to fit on a third extra thing. Whatever that thing is called. Neither of them know what that thing is called. They’re too familiar with Coaches and too unfamiliar with Dads to know the difference.

[maimingaffairs]

hello!! hope ur having a great day! i read ur recent piece and was completely bewitched by your writing 🫶🏽

i saw ur reqs were open and wanted to request the following!

darkling x reader, where the reader misinterprets his relationship with alina, and pulls away from him (maybe they were friends / acquaintances before?) but they don’t know that the darkling secretly has his eyes set them only. so one night at a ball, when the reader is flirting / dancing with a grisha, they’re confused as to why the darkling snatches up to his quarters? and a confession entails 🫶🏽 could it be some smut if u wish?

thank u !! <3

my lovely anon, I apologise for the quality of this imagine </3 I stayed up far too late to finish it.

as always I am begging for more requests. pls send them in

warnings: smut, a little bit of angst. please only read if 18+

word count: 6.5k

Yours

(Aleksander morozova x AFAB!reader)

-

The first day you realized that something had changed was a mere day after the Sun Summoner arrived at the Little Palace. You sat at a table with Aleksander and David early in the morning and you stirred honey into your cup of steaming tea and your eyes traveled back and forth between David’s distracted eyes and Aleksander’s very focused ones. The intensity upon which Aleksander stared off with was not uncommon, in fact, you’d learned that it was actually quite normal for him. The two of you had become friends when he had found you, a skilled Heartrender, working on the frontlines with his army and had eventually relocated you to the Little Palace. He gave an excuse saying that you were more useful here than out close to the war, but you eventually came to suspect that he worried about you just enough to put you somewhere safer. Ever since being moved to Os Alta, the two of you had only become closer, spending almost every moment with one another. You considered him to be your closest friend and you were grateful to be considered his in return.

  You decided to break the comfortable silence by clearing your throat and flashing an excited smile at Aleksander, “Are you still taking me riding today?” you asked expectantly, excited to finally see your best friend after weeks of him being away.

He tore his dark eyes away from the wall he had been so fixed on and he reached across the table and patted your hand affectionately and his face softened apologetically, “I am terribly sorry, darling. I have to take care of a few things with Miss Starkov. Can I take you tomorrow instead? Just after breakfast, I promise.” 

Your eyes raked his face and you blinked a couple of times. You let out an understanding hum and then nodded, “Yeah, that's fine. I know you're busy. Just don’t ditch me again, or you’ll be sorry.” you threatened with a wink and pointed at him with the spoon you were just stirring your tea with.

“Ditch you? I could never.” 

But he did. He did ditch you. Quite literally, too. You had hurried through breakfast excitedly and hardly wasted any time going out to the stables, to find that he wasn’t there yet. You waited for nearly half an hour, first messing with your horse’s mane and then moving into the stall adjacent to greet Aleksander’s horse. When it reached an hour and he still hadn’t come, you let out a low huff and you dragged your hand through your hair moodily. He had never stood you up before. Ever. If there was one person who was always true to their word, it was Aleksander. You decided to cut your losses and walked out of the stables, a slight worry growing in your stomach. Perhaps something had happened, that was the only explanation as to why he would have simply not come. Your face twisted worriedly and you hurried inside to check on him. You made your way to his chambers as fast as you could and you swung the door open to reveal an empty room. You stood in the doorway confusedly and you reached up with one hand to rub your face with your palm and you let out a long sigh. Where on earth could he be? You wondered, taking a step back out of his room. You felt your back collide with someone and you spun around to see Zoya’s bitter face, though, right now it looked particularly like she’d bitten into an especially sour rhubarb, all scrunched up and angry.

“Oh, my apologies, Zoya. I didn’t see you.” You said, keeping your tone as light as you could, not wanting to set the feisty girl off.

She simply nodded once at you and you grabbed onto her arm gently. Despite her fiery personality and overall unpleasantness, you never had any qualms with the talented Squaller, so you gave her a sympathetic look and gently brushed your thumb across her arm where you held it, “What’s wrong? You look upset.” 

The contempt in the girl’s eyes didn't lessen upon your question, in fact, it just got worse, “I’m so sick of seeing that stupid girl getting paraded around on Kirigan’s arm. All morning she’s been stuck to his side while he’s been introducing her to just about everyone under the sun,” Zoya let out a sound that resembled a scoff and a grunt mixed together and you let go of her arm, “and furthermore, it doesn’t help that he looks at her like she’s going to personally hang each and every star in his sky.”

You looked at her curiously, your jaw dropping, “He… He’s been doing that this morning?” you asked, clearly shocked. The Squaller nodded once and then she pointed down the hall towards the banquet room and you blinked a few times, your chest filling with something between fury and disappointment, and without another word, you trudged down the hall and stood in the doorway to indeed find Aleksander with his hand on Alina’s back as he was introducing her to a few of his friends. You stood there unmoving for a while before his eyes shifted and fell upon you, and you watched the polite smile melt off of his lips and turn into instant regret when he saw you. You could tell he was readying himself to walk to you, but you only scoffed and spun on your heel, leaving his sights immediately.

-

The week following, you had successfully avoided Aleksander, though you were almost sure that he hadn’t been looking for you all too urgently. It was nearly midnight and you sat in the library with Genya, a habit the two of you had formed together when you couldn’t sleep. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a long time before she cleared her throat.

“The General was looking for you today.” she remarked casually as possible, not bothering to look up from her book.

You didn’t dare look up from your own, wanting to avoid the emotion that would betray your face if you looked up into her kind eyes, “Well, he knows where to find me, so I doubt it was all too pressing.” you replied. 

The only sound in the room for a few moments afterwards was the turning of pages and the crackling of the fireplace. You felt your nose begin to sting a bit and you almost laughed in spite of yourself. There was no way you were tearing up over this.

“Why don’t you just talk to him if you are upset about the Sun Summoner situation?” she asked, her voice flat, and you could tell she was half distracted by her book.

“Alina Starkov is not upsetting me.” you sputtered, your cheeks flushing.

Genya flicked her eyes up at you and then back at her book and she shrugged, “You seemed pretty bothered by her and him the other night at dinner. I’ve not seen you ever sit with Zoya before and she, too, is having her own conflicts with Alina.” Genya pointed out and you simply shook your head and buried your nose back into your book, but Genya wasn’t done yet, “I invited him to join us in the library tonight.” she added and then looked back into her own book.

You closed your own book so hard that the smack echoed in the warm room and you stood up from the chair, “Well, tell him I went to bed early.” you muttered

“Or you can bid me goodnight before you leave.” 

You froze in your place and looked over at the door to see Aleksander standing there in the dim light. He wasn’t wearing his kefta and his hair looked a bit out of place and he had a soft smile on his lips. Everything about the man looked so inviting and sweet in that moment, and you had to swallow the feeling that bubbled up from your stomach into your chest and up through your throat that screamed at you to run into his arms. You impressed even yourself when you stayed rooted to the ground and you shrugged once, setting your book down on the table next to the armchair you sat in.

“Would you even care to hear it if it wasn’t in Alina’s voice?” you snapped, your hands sliding into the pockets of your fluffy bed robe. You stared at him defiantly and he cocked an eyebrow upwards at your words.

“Don’t be childish.” he chided and then took a few steps into the room, closing the double doors behind him gently. Genya took this as a good opportunity to get up from her chair and scuttle out of the library like a retreating animal, leaving you alone with Aleksander.

His words infuriated you and you shook your head and looked down.

“I have every right to be a little childish right now. You stood me up. You’ve never done that to me before.” you said indignantly and looked up at him again. You wore a stone expression on your face, but as you met his eyes, your own eyes burned with hot tears. You tried to keep them from falling over your bottom lashes, but your chin wobbled and you instantly lowered your face into your hands and hid it from him. You didn’t have to look up to know that he was approaching you, and when he reached you, he gently grabbed your arms and pulled your hands away from your face. You were sure the look on your face was pathetic, because you watched his ever-serious eyes soften greatly, and he reached up to wipe your cheeks with his thumbs.

“Oh, y/n. Don’t cry, please. I'll make it up to you. I swear it. I know I’ve been distant as of late and I am terribly sorry. I didn’t know it hurt you like this.” he said with a sincerity you seldom heard from him. You felt weak and desperate at the same time and you leaned forward and planted your face against his chest. This certainly was not the first time that Aleksander has seen you cry, and it wouldn’t be the last, but you couldn’t help but feel ashamed this time. His arms found their way around you and he gently pet your hair as if you were a kitten in distress.

“Let me take you riding tomorrow afternoon, sweetheart. I promise I’ll show up this time. Why don’t you meet me in the courtyard around noon? Yeah? And we can spend the afternoon together before my meetings.” he offered, his tone velvety and soothing, making you feel much more at ease, bit by bit. 

You nodded once and stayed against him for a few more minutes before you pulled back and looked up into his eyes. He looked down at you in return with a certain serenity you’d not seen in his eyes before and for the first time in the last three years of knowing Aleksander, you wanted him to kiss you right there and then. The thought surprised you deeply and this must have been evident on your face because his own face twisted in curiosity and he cocked his head to the side.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked gently and you didn’t respond. Not outwardly, at least. You wanted to know where the sudden urge to kiss your best friend came from, and why. You knew for absolute certain that, for one, Aleksander did not see you as anything other than his closest friend, and that was evident in many ways but mainly because you knew he had been actively sleeping with Zoya as recently as a month ago. For another, you knew that if this was a path you let your mind go down, you would eventually have to say something to him, and by doing so, you would jeopardize your entire friendship. But then that also begged the question: did he value your friendship? The past week had you questioning this much more than you were willing to admit to yourself for comfortability reasons, because despite your best efforts to hide from him, if he wanted to find you, he simply would have. And of course, there was the matter of Alina too. His Sun Summoner. His Equal. The current recipient of his attention and the topic of his every thought. You were ashamed to admit even just to yourself that you were jealous of the sun girl for taking away your closest friend, but the truth of the matter is: you were. You were angry and you were hurt, and the multitude of realizations and emotions that had come to you in the last five minutes filled you with dread. The kind of dread that filled you slowly, as slow and quiet as one of Aleksander’s shadows. Your stomach twisted painfully as your mind raced and you began to feel rather anxious. You’d almost forgotten that you were in Aleksander’s arms until he shook you a little bit and looked down at you with concern.

“Y/n. You look ill.” he commented and you wiggled yourself free of his arms and you shook your head.

You let out a puff of air and you rubbed your eyes. She was important to him, he seemed content, and you were just the best friend that wanted him to kiss you. The panic of it all consumed you and you gently pushed him away from you and you shook your head, “No. I don’t wanna go riding with you tomorrow,” you breathed. You wanted to get away from him, you wanted to stop feeling so overwhelmed. You had to push him away before he picked Alina over you or before you could say something stupid and ruin it all anyway, “I want you to leave me alone, Aleksander. Go back to your Sun Summoner or whatever. Just leave me be.” you said pathetically and you shielded him from seeing your face with your hand and you brushed past him and darted towards the door and slipped out of the library, holding a sob in until you reached your room.

-

Aleksander hadn’t sought you out in almost three weeks now. Of course you’d seen him in passing in the halls and such, but you hadn’t stopped to say hello. Rumors were now swirling around the Little Palace about him and Alina being a little bit more than just… friendly. In fact, the day that he asked to take you riding, he’d instead gone with her, and one of the servants for Alina told someone who told someone else who told Zoya, who inevitably told you, that he’d even tried to get her to start wearing black. His color. Of course this tore your insides up, but by the third week of ignoring Aleksander, the rumors stopped surprising you, and the sadnesses and pains were reduced to a dull ache that only bothered you when you dwelled on it. Which you tried to make as infrequent as possible.

You were awoken today by a loud knock on your door and when you finally mustered up the will to rise and answer the knock, you were pushed back into your room while Genya pushed her way in. She laid a thin, white box down on a small table you had in the middle of your room and she sighed, pointing at it.

“This was just finished this morning. I had them change it. I didn’t think you’d like the initial… design.” she explained and you eyed the box curiously.

You finally walked up to the table and opened up the box and pulled out an intricate, long red dress with silver embroidery over the sides of it and you looked up at Genya, confused, “What do I need a dress for?” you asked, but then remembered as soon as the words left your mouth. The Queen’s birthday party was that evening, and you had promised Aleksander you’d go with him. You stuffed the dress back in the box and closed the lid, shaking your head.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be insolent. Come with me if you’re going to be that petty. But this dress took forever and you’re gonna look so nice in it. You’ll have fun, you always do.”

Yeah because I always go with Aleksander, you thought and then looked up at Genya for a long time, contemplating. She stared you down in return and you were determined not to buckle under the intensity of the redhead’s stare, but you did nonetheless and you sighed dramatically.

“I'll go. But I’m not staying all night and you cannot do another set up. I mean it. I don’t want to be around him.” You stated and she agreed, pointing to the box.

“Then get yourself ready please. You’ve slept late enough as it is.”

- 

The walk to the grand ballroom was made with your arm linked with Genya’s, and many bystanders that were standing outside of the party rather than within, all cleared out of your way when the two of you walked past. You supposed it was either due to the fact that you two were so clearly Grisha or perhaps it was the dreary look you wore on your face. Either way, you didn’t mind it. Once inside of the ballroom, Genya finally released your arm and she caught a server and grabbed two glasses of wine and passed one to you.

“You do look nice, you know.” she said kindly and you glanced down at your dress. It was true, she had done a lovely job at fixing you up so that you were presentable for the party- she’d even put some intricate little braids in your hair.

“Thank you, Genya.” you said softly and she gave you an affirming nod before she squeezed your arm gently. You took a sip of your wine and went to say something else to your friend, but instead your attention was pulled elsewhere. Up close to the King and Queen, Aleksander stood with a pleasant smile on his face. He was dressed in all black, looking much more regal than usual. As you would have expected, Alina stood next to him in a simple yellow gown, and he had his hand resting against the middle of her back. You turned away, but not before Aleksander could catch a glimpse of you. You pushed down the ache that you so often found yourself suppressing and you turned your attention to Genya now, who was talking to a Inferni boy now, and when you inserted yourself into their conversation, she eagerly introduced you to the boy who simply went by Eli. 

Eli was kind and he was friendly, and even when Genya walked away to greet David, you had no problem staying back and chatting with the boy. After what seemed like hours of talking to him, he offered you his hand and gave you a bashful smile, which you returned.

“Can I dance with you? Or rather, will you dance with me?” he asked clumsily and you let out a giggle and graciously accepted the offer, not aware of The General’s bottomless eyes boring into your back and staring daggers at your dance partner. His jaw tightened and he had begun to phase in and out of the conversation he held with Alina, The King, and the prince Vasily. 

The Darkling’s hand shook around the glass he held and he didn’t dare tear his eyes off of the dancing pair, worried that if he did, they’d disappear together. 

You danced with Eli with elation and you let out a content sigh, “You’re pretty good at dancing, you know.” you pointed out, and the boy blushed brightly.

“I learned when I was fairly young. Just something my parents insisted on.” he said humbly and you simply let out a little laugh and continued to dance with him.

Aleksander watched you laugh from his spot across the room and felt a certain patience inside of him snap. He set his glass of wine down on a table near them and he excused himself gruffly as he walked through the crowd of partygoers to reach you and your dance partner.

When he finally did, you didn’t notice until Eli had frozen in place and stared off over your shoulder. You looked up at the boy concernedly, but he simply bowed his head slightly and you turned your head back over your shoulder to see Aleksander standing there, his face cold and furious.

“May I steal your dance partner from you for a moment or two?” he asked icily and Eli nodded, clearly nervous to be in the presence of the Black General. The boy dropped your hands and stepped away from you before Aleksander grabbed your wrist and yanked you towards the door. You tried to stand your ground and not allow him to drag you, but that lasted for all of two seconds when he completely overpowered you, tugging you out of the ballroom and out into the courtyard.

Once you were outside, you tried to pull away from his iron grasp again, but he simply yanked you up closer to him and glared down at you with an anger that burned like fire in his eyes, and he spat one word in a tone that chilled you to the bone: “Don’t.” 

You looked up at him, clearly frightened now, and he continued to drag you the rest of the way across the courtyard and to the Little Palace. Once you two had arrived inside, he grasped the back of your neck and steered you to his chambers. Though silent, you could practically hear the rage in his breath, and you could certainly feel it radiating off of his skin. Why he was so mad, you couldn’t figure out, but you assumed you were just about to find out why.

He gave you a little shove into his bedroom and he slammed the door behind you two and locked it, finally letting go of your neck.

You spun around to face him, but the second you did, he grabbed your wrists and pushed you back against the wall.

“Who do you think you are?” he asked furiously, his grip tightening around your wrists enough to make you yelp. 

“Excuse me?” you squeaked, taken aback by the sudden physicality and anger he was displaying, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t scare you.

His lip twitched upwards in disgust and he shook his head rigorously, “Oh, don’t play dumb.” he warned and you looked up at his face that was consumed with rage and you shrunk back a bit. You wanted to fight back, but he’d never ever been this way with you, let alone raised his voice to you.

You opened your mouth to speak but he held up a hand and effectively silenced you, “You ignore me for almost a month now and then go and blatantly parade yourself around with another man in front of me, in a dress completely different than the one I had made for you. If you’re trying to enrage me, y/n, let me begin with how well it happens to be working.” he seethed and leaned closer to your face.

You gaped up at Aleksander and opened your mouth to speak again, but words seemed to have escaped you. The wrathful fury on his face twisted his soft features into something you didn’t recognize, and you suddenly knew why his enemies were so fearful of him. You’d only seen him angry once, and it was during a battle. This ferocity that he displayed reminded you vividly of that, and suddenly you couldn’t take it anymore. Your bottom lip wobbled a few times before a sob escaped your lips, and by then, the softening of Aleksander’s features was pointless. You buried your face in your hands and you shied away from him as much as you could. He very slowly moved his face away from yours and he felt his stomach drop as you sunk down to the floor, instantly pulling your knees up to your chest as you cried into them. 

Aleksander often prided himself on his patience and even temper, his ability to control himself at all times. He felt white hot shame brand his insides and he dropped to his knees in front of you and he took your hands in his own, to which you promptly pulled away. 

“y/n…” he began and you shook your head a few times.

“No! No, Aleksander! You don’t get to make this better now!” you cried and he watched you with an ache in his chest that wouldn’t let up. 

“My love, let me make this right, I should not have ye-”

“I said no!” you exclaimed, hurt and sadness swirling around in your chest, “nothing you can ever say will make this right! You have been unfair to me ever since Alina came here! You have not been a good friend, and I wanted to just forgive you so badly, but you never even bothered to apologize properly, and it doesn’t help that you go and display her on your arm every day. She’s your little saint, your miracle, whatever else, I get it, but I can’t just stand here and watch anymore while I have to sit on the sidelines and just be in love with you silently as she gets all of your time and attention!” you blurted and then you placed your hand over your mouth and looked up at him with wide eyes.

The room was silent. There was no trace of malice on his face, it was as if it had never even been there in the first place. Your eyes watered even more in embarrassment and you moved to stand up, but Aleksander delicately caught your arm and pulled you close to him.

“I didn’t mean any of that, I just-”

But he cut you off by tugging you down by your arm and shut you up entirely with a kiss that would have brought you to your knees if you were standing. He could taste the salt from your tears on the corners of your lips and you could taste the strong red wine he’d been drinking at the party on his, and you blushed darkly when he parted his lips and bit down on your bottom lip, tugging it backwards some before he released it and broke the kiss. His forehead met yours and you closed your eyes tightly, your brain trying to comprehend what had just happened.

He let out a short breath that tickled your face and he stared into your eyes, and at this close proximity, his looked like two pits of pure blackness, “My dearest friend, I will never be able to apologize enough for the way I have behaved tonight with you, for the way I have failed to see your pain, for all of it. But you must listen to me and know my words ring true when I say that there is nothing going on between Alina and I. Do you want to take a guess as to why, Little Angel?” he asked and you closed your eyes and shook your head once. He was quiet for a long time before he let go of your arms and took you into his entirely, cradling you against his chest, “Because, my love, I have only wanted you. I am so terribly and adamantly in love with you and you alone.” he insisted, and you would be more inclined not to believe him if it weren’t for the tone of desperation that was clear in his voice.

You pulled your head back to look up at him and you blinked back more tears, which he must have noticed, because he brushed away the wetness from your under eyes with his thumbs. You studied his face for any trace of falsity, but found none, and you didn’t know what else to say, so you said nothing at all and instead, moved in to let your lips touch his for the second time that night. The kiss was tentative and experimental at first, but he quickly changed that as he swept a hand up into your hair and pressed your lips closer to his, and you let him take the lead. Of course you’d been kissed before, it wasn’t as if you didn’t know what you were doing, but nothing had ever felt like this before. It was as if each kiss was an expression of emotion all of its own. You felt his happiness, his desperation, and his affections for you all in that one kiss, and it had you crumbling under his touch. He pulled back only when air became necessary and he stared into your eyes for a long time before his lips crashed into yours once again. This time, the kiss was much hungrier, much more intense than the last two, and Aleksander grabbed onto your jaw, holding you in place. You let out a soft whine into his mouth and he broke away instantly, his bewildered eyes searching yours.

“Let me show you that I am yours.” he whispered and you looked up at him almost hazily. You gave him a little nod and he leaned back in to place a wet string of kisses against your exposed neck, biting down every now and then to leave a little mark against your skin. You reached up and tangled your fingers within his neatly done hair and you gave it a little tug, earning you a groan from him. He pulled back briefly only to grab at the neckline of your dress and he nodded towards you.

“Are you okay with this? All of it?” he asked and you needed only give him a nod before he was yanking the gauzy dress up over your head and you lifted your arms to help him rid you of the clothing. You gasped softly at the cool air of his room when it touched your bare chest and Aleksander stood up, pulling you with him as if you were weightless, and he brought you to his bed and laid you back against it. By now, the anticipation of what was to come was beginning to set in and you bit down on your bottom lip as you stared up at him. He unfastened his kefta and shrugged it off before he leaned back over you and attached his lips to your neck again, his hands both finding their way down to your thighs. 

No words needed to be exchanged, he simply looked at you with one eyebrow cocked up questioningly and you nodded once before he nudged your legs open and he brought one hand up to trace one finger over your clothed clit. Your mouth opened slightly and you wiggled your hips down toward his touch just a bit. He laid one hand on your hip to keep you from moving and he glanced up at your face and shook his head, “Calm down. I’m going to take care of you, Angel. Have patience.” he said, his voice as smooth as the black silk sheets that adorned his bed. He dragged his finger up and down your covered folds and he let out a little sigh before he carefully ridded you of your underwear.  He tossed the garment aside and he outstretched his fingers to collect a bit of your growing wetness on the tips of his fingers and you looked down at him with a frown. 

“Aleksander, please.” you pleaded, needing him to do anything at this point.

He seemed to finally understand your need for his touch and he carefully slid one of his fingers inside of you, brushing the pad of his finger against your walls. You let out a little whimper and he began to slowly pump his finger in and out of you. You closed your eyes and willed yourself to be patient while he seemingly toyed with you, and just when you were about to beg for something more, he dipped his head downwards and covered your clit with his lips, taking the sensitive bundle into his mouth and he sucked at it gently. You tossed your head backwards and gasped his name, and he took this as an opportunity to add another finger inside of you and he curled them upwards, his fingertips pressing a spot that had you gasping for air. Noticing this, he repeated the motion a few times before he moved his fingers in and out of you faster now. He flicked your clit with his tongue a few times and you reached down with one hand to grasp at his hair. He moved his mouth away from you and reached up with his hand that held your hips down to lazily rub at your clit with his thumb.

“You sound so pretty for me, you know.” he cooed and you looked down at him, your lip trembling a bit.

“Aleksander, please.” you whispered and he raised his eyebrows.

“Please, what?” he asked, a devilish glint flashing across his eyes.

You struggled to find words as his fingers continue to hit that one spot and you moaned, your head falling to the side a bit, “Please, I need you to fuck me.” you whimpered and he looked up at your face and he let out a little hum.

“You need me to fuck you?” he asked playfully and you nodded a few times, closing your thighs around his hand. He thought about it for an agonizing moment before he nodded and pulled his fingers out of you. He brought them to his lips and licked them a few times before he brought them to your lips instead and nodded once.

“Open your mouth.” he commanded, and you did so without argument, allowing him to slide his fingers into your mouth. You sucked on his long, slender fingers and looked up into his eyes and he turned his head and cursed quietly under his breath before he pulled his fingers from your mouth. He sat up on his knees and ridded himself of his clothes and stood to get his pants off, which had become tighter in the moments that had passed. He let out a sigh of relief when he freed his cock from his pants and he crawled back over you and settled himself between your thighs. 

“Look me in the eyes.” he commanded and you obeyed immediately, “I am yours. Wholly. Say it.” he ordered and you blushed softly.

“You’re mine.” you whispered, and he gave you a nod.

“And you’re mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours.” you whispered, and a proud little smile made your lips curl upwards.

“Good. Such a good little Angel.” he murmured and reached down to position his cock at your entrance. He slid into you very slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size. You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a moan, shuddering just slightly when he had finally fit his entire length inside of you. He waited just like that for a moment until you whined and rolled your hips against his, and he took this as a signal to move. He drew his hips back and moved them forward into you once again and you reached up to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Oh, saints, Aleksander.” you moaned and he reached up to grab your chin.

“Keep your eyes on mine. Don't look away.” he breathed and you nodded, your eyes staying glued to his as he began to rock his hips against yours steadily. He never sped up too much, but instead kept the same medium pace, allowing you to feel every single inch of him, and he leaned down to kiss your lips a few times, “So good, darling. You feel so good.” he praised and you reached down to grab one of his hands. You grabbed onto it and dragged it down between your thighs and you pressed it down against your clit. He took your not so subtle hint and he pressed his thumb back down against your clit firmly and began to rub it in circles in time with his thrusts, which gradually became harder.

He hit a spot within you that rendered you entirely breathless and he took advantage of this, making sure to hit that spot every time. He had you seeing stars in the edges of your vision and you felt tension building rapidly in your stomach. Aleksander could feel you tighten around him and he moved his thumb against your clit a bit faster now, determined to get you to your climax, which he could tell you were steadily approaching. He drove his cock into you with a bit more speed now and you arched your back off of the mattress and whimpered his name, causing a proud smile to form on his lips. His name, of which was kept a secret to nearly all of the world, was now falling from your lips in ecstasy, and it filled him with a sense of pride, and he fucked you harder, still moving his thumb against your clit. He could tell you were close by the way you squeezed his cock and he gave you a soft nod, his eyes meeting yours, “Eyes on mine, darling. Tell me who you belong to.” he prompted, making sure to hit that spot deep inside of you each time he drove his hips forward.

“Y-yours. I’m yours, Aleksander.” you stammered and kept your eyes on his. All it took was one perfect thrust more, and you were cumming around him, your fingernails digging into his shoulders. He intently watched the way your face went dazed as you came and your release triggered his own, and he came nearly right after you, still fucking you through both of your orgasms. He finally slowed when the two of you came down from your highs and he moved his thumb away from your clit and went to sit up, but you tugged him back down.

“No. Stay like this for a little longer. For me.” you requested in just a whisper, and Aleksander nodded once, keeping himself inside of you, his head settling against your chest. The two of you laid there in the soft candlelit afterglow and he placed a few lazy kisses to your chest.

“I love you, you know. I am deeply ashamed of my outburst earlier.” he said softly.

You simply hummed and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, “I love you too. You’re mine.” you said sweetly, a wave of exhaustion overtaking you. Your eyes fluttered shut and the last thing you remember hearing before you drifted off was the soft voice of your lover, whispering back what you now already knew.

“I’m yours.”

[melbatron5000]

Missing scenes?

Please, go insane with me. Again.

I'm still digging through the chiastic structure looking for Clues, and BOY HOWDY am I finding them.

Number one, I'm pretty certain I found TWO middle points.

There's one spot where the current show as it is meets up and extends out from. And another spot that isn't, but which I think is the True Middle. And I'll tell you what, I came at it a little bass-ackwards, and somehow accidentally wound up with the True Middle before I came across what I've been calling the Fool's Middle.

Okay. Great. Yay me. When I first found the Fool's Middle, I thought it must be the True Middle, and I'd been messing up this whole while. Except, I've been finding some very clear matches in some odd spots to the "right" of the middle, if we lay the story out in a left-to-right order. That shouldn't be. Chiastic structure is a mirror. Matches should be on opposite sides of the middle. But my assumed middle is working out MUCH better than the middle that actually falls in the center.

What the what.

Unless we're missing scenes.

Which brings me to find number two.

Several people have suggested that the scenes might be out of order, given the vehemence that Crowley shouts this at the demons before they attack the ball. I thought so too, and I figured the chiastic structure breakdown would show me what order they belong in.

Well, almost.

As I busily sorted through looking for mirror parallels, I started to notice that there's one chunk that has no real matches on the other side of the middle. Not the Fool's Middle, and not the True Middle. No real echoes, either.

The Resurrectionists minisode.

The present-day scenes that are interspersed with the Resurrectionists flashbacks have parallels. Just not any moments from the actual flashbacks themselves.

I figured I must just be blind, and decided to comb through that particular bit more thoroughly.

Here's the first thing I found:

Note 138: "We do a miracle so no one knows it's him, now no one knows it's him. Nice one, us." Hand-written note: "It's definitely Gabriel."

Note 134: Crowley brings Aziraphale to see the Gabriel statue in the 1700s. (1827, I know. They're notes, bear with me.) Hand-written note: "It's definitely Gabriel." "We do a miracle so no one knows it's him."

Okay, awesome, so there ARE mirror parallels in the Resurrectionists minisode. When Aziraphale says "it's definitely Gabriel" mirrors when no one knows it's Gabriel. Cool. No missing scenes. Yeah?

Oh, no. Not so freaking fast. Here's the next thing I found:

Note 160: Wee Morag is shot. (By the grave gun.) Hand-written note: "You are out of order!"

Note 161: "YOU ARE OUT OF ORDER!" Hand-written note: this is pretty much where the mirror of the Resurrectionists minisode should go.

Yeah. You'd think Wee Morag getting shot would have a solid mirror, right? But it doesn't. Unless you count Crowley yelling about demons -- or something -- being out of order. Hmmmm . . .

Okay, let's keep digging.

Note 171: Crowley vanishes down a hole. Handwritten note: Something's wrong -- like a hangover.

Note 170: Something's wrong, go to my friend. Hand-written note: Crowley vanishes down the hole to Hell.

Hot damn. Here we go.

Believe me when I felt a little bit like Aziraphale reading that his cocoa doth grow cold. A tad like Crowley was yelling right at me. At least, for a moment.

I can't find any other mirrors for Resurrectionists. I've looked. I'm not seeing anything.

Crowley can tell something isn't right. Something else is meant to be happening now, not a demon attack. And to him, it feels like a hangover -- that laudanum hangover, that ended in him getting sucked to Hell.

In the book, we learn that Crowley has a fine time trying to describe helicopters to Leonardo Da Vinci. In the Resurrectionists minisode, he tells Mr. Dalrymple he might want to wash his hands.

I don't think Crowley can see the future. In season 1, when Aziraphale asks him how the end of the world is going to go, he says rather irritably that he's never done it before, it's not like they let you go round again until you get it right. I don't think Crowley knows precisely what's wrong or what's meant to be happening when he feels that hangover mirror -- but his talent is time, and through that sense, he can tell whatever's happening isn't right.

Thus why he demands of the demons -- what are you doing here? What are any of you doing here? And then tells them, you are OUT OF ORDER!

The demon attack has plenty of parallels, it is supposed to happen -- but it's not meant to happen just yet. It's too soon. We need the Resurrectionist parallels first. Once we have those, the Fool's Middle falls away, and the True Middle takes its rightful place.

Now, my big question: WHAT HAPPENED TO THE MISSING SCENES?

I'm NOT a fan of "The Magic Trick You Didn't See" theory. I don't think the Metatron has Dicky Bird to do with re-writing the Book of Life, which, by the way, we have no evidence of one way or the other even functioning as described. We have three different characters tell us two different things about it, and we never see it in action. Also, the only things that are missing and that has Crowley out-of-sorts are the Resurrectionist parallels. We're missing a couple of scenes that should match those. Just a few things. But important things, I should think.

Who took them? What events now suddenly didn't happen? And why were they taken?

Listen to me, I'm so wrapped up in this I'm writing like this is just fact. These are my thoughts. The chiastic structure has yielded some awesome stuff, stuff I think is really true. Is this true? Do I have this right? I don't know, and I've certainly been wrong about stuff before. But I do think I'm on to something here.

Also, now that I think of it for a moment, those are maybe not the right questions. DID someone take the missing scenes? Or did time jump forward past them? If time did just skip ahead -- hello, book shop clock -- why did it do that? And why can Crowley tell it did it this time, but isn't concerned about the other times? We all know about the book shop clock jumping ahead during the kiss scene, but the damn thing jumps ahead almost every time it's in a shot. Always ahead, though, never back. There are a lot of references to time, so I think it's important somehow.

[strawburry01]

Strawberry Wine

Summary: Continuation of Northern Attitudes fic, but can be read on its own (extra backstory in We're Going to Be Friends and Enjoy the Silence). Once I figure out how to link shit I will lmao. Hotch has to leave to go home, but neither of them is making it easy.

AN: Sorry I disappeared. I graduated lol! I don't think anyone really noticed but I'll be back for a while now that it's summer :) Sorry if this makes you cry I think I got into some weird cathartic state writing this.

Word Count: 3k

Sure enough, the case was linked to a newly forming underground cult. Luckily you and the BAU team were able to infiltrate a meeting before the next human sacrifice took place, but it wasn’t without weeks of planning every move down to the second. Spencer and you worked well together when it came to preparing every Plan A, B, C, D, all the way to Plan X, and figuring out the best ways to get everyone in and out safely. Spare a few bruises and potential religious affiliated trauma- the team got off pretty uninjured which you did pat yourself on the back on knowing that this poor group didn’t need any more problems to deal with. Not too shabby for a small town bureau like yourself. 

But that’s where the trouble emerged. If the case was closed and the right people arrested, the job was done. The job was done here. They were going to have to go back to Quantico for the next mission, the next case, the next task. 

And you were going to be here. Waiting for the next drunk teen to run a red light. 

All you could think about was the ever-growing elephant in the room of Aaron leaving again. He’d just stumbled back into your life after all these years apart, and god- it felt good to have him back in it. After shifts you would always commiserate over the recent years in your respective forces at the local coffee shop (to the point where the baristas learned his order), and you both just instinctively knew each other on a level the BAU just wouldn’t know. You knew how his eyebrows furrowed when he was thinking, and you knew the line his mouth formed when he heard bad news, you knew how his thumb fit into his balled up fist at his side if he absolutely despised whoever he was talking to, which was usually the moment you’d step in to try and diffuse whatever the situation may be. But also he knew yours. He knew what you needed based on your headache throughout the day, as it unfortunately hadn’t changed much. If it was before 10 am you needed more sleep and he’d make you nap in his car for 20 minutes, if it was between 10 and 2 he knew it was coffee and he’d always magically appear with your order, if it was after 2 pm he’d make you actually eat lunch, and if it was after 8 pm he knew to be dragging you out of the bar. Which unfortunately was the case the last night the team was in town. To celebrate the successful case, as well as saying goodbye, as the two teams had gotten fairly close, everyone went out to the local dive bar in town.

“Where are you?” you furtively texted Aaron on your phone. A shiver running down your spine as you brought a cigarette to your lips trying to focus on the warmth. Aaron hadn’t shown up yet. Sure the party had officially started only half an hour ago, but it was still unlike him to be late. The door of the bar swung out, the janky country music from inside spilling out into the night. 

“What’re you doing out here?” Spencer asked as he stepped outside in line with you. You tap your cigarette, and ash falls into a puddle.

“Just having a smoke,” you say, but the ping from your phone exposes you. Spencer raised an eyebrow and you tried to keep the urge to answer your phone immediately. You mumble a few curse words under your breath as you pulled out your phone.

“Sorry, got a call from Quantico.”, Aaron texted back. You chewed the inside of your cheek. Not the right answer.

“But now you’re on the way…RIGHT?”, you quickly sent back before shoving the phone back in your pocket. You look up to make eye contact with Spencer who can’t help but break into a smirk.

“Hotch not coming?”, he quipped.

“Kid-”, you said, flicking your cigarette out into the ashtray, and placing a hand on Spencer’s bony shoulder, “ you’ve got to keep some of those thoughts inside okay?”, with a reassuring squeeze. He laughed.

“Why do people keep telling me that?”. 

“Because you’re the smartest guy in the FBI who can’t keep his mouth shut,” you replied, just as your phone pinged again. 

“Parking”, he texted back, and you couldn’t help but quickly smile before remembering Spencer was analyzing your every move. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Aaron strode out from the rows of cars. You couldn’t help it, but him in a black t-shirt and slacks nearly had you melting on the spot. He’d been wearing stuffy suits this whole time, and seeing him back in more… peopley clothes, drove you up a wall. 

“Evening you two,” he said with a nod.

“Evening Hotch, how was your call with Garcia?”, Spencer asked as he pushed open the door for his boss. You caught Aaron’s eyes after he not so subtly looked you up and down. Perhaps you were purposeful in choosing your crop top and jeans for the night.

“Mmm, fine,” he answered curtly, his thoughts long having left that conversation. You smile up at Aaron and you briefly catch his mouth waver upwards before turning back to Spencer and stepping into the bar. 

Inside the bar, the two teams had chased anyone else out with their rambunctiousness. 

“You got some catching up to do Aaron,” you said, elbowing his side as the two of you went to the bar. 

“Seems like you do too,” he retorted back, with an eyebrow raised.

“Can I say I was just waiting for you?” you said, which garnered a sharp laugh out of him before he ordered a beer for himself. 

“2 vodka shots for us, and whatever cider you have,” you said once the bartender turned to you.

“You’re trying to kill me,” Aaron said as the bartender set out two shot glasses in front of both of you.

“Do you even hear yourself? Come on Aaron the world is going to be okay if you let loose a little tonight,” you said as you scooted closer to him at the bar, your elbows touching now. Instead of pulling away Aaron stayed in place as he watched the vodka get poured.

“If you insist,” he sighed as he picked up the shotglass in time with you.

“Cheers, to a successful case,” you said. 

“Cheers Y/N”. The two of you downed the alcohol and you couldn’t help but cringe at the way it tore up your throat as it went down. “What happened-you were so confident?” Aaron chuckled as he stacked the glasses.

“I don’t think I’ve done that since college truth be told,” you said as you quickly tried to wash down the aftertaste with the cider.

“Holy shit Hotch did you just take a shot??” Derek shouted from behind you two, a little tipsy already based on his volume, “I didn’t even think you’d come!”. Aaron shrugged as he slowly sipped his beer trying to hold back another laugh.

“Guys you’re making me feel like I’m not fun,” he said, which all the BAU team side-eyed each other at. 

“Damn they just burned you,” you laughed, watching his team all try to justify their reactions. Aaron scoffed with a smile finally drawing across his face.

“Guess I need to go out more,” he said, only loud enough for you to hear.

“I could’ve told you that,” you said as you leaned closer to him, which he once again did not move away from.

The minutes turned into an hour which turned into hours. After a failed game of pool against JJ you were more than a few celebratory shots and ciders in, but you were still aware of your surroundings. You were right on the level of having far too much confidence for your own good…

Most of the local and BAU team had left by now, leaving a few stragglers at a booth with you and Aaron at a table in the corner, to not make the teams feel too stressed about saying the wrong thing. You washed your hands in the sink of the bathroom catching the time on your watch. 1:16 am. God dammit time really wasn’t stopping for you. You ran a hand through your hair to try and mentally psych yourself up. You were realistically never going to see Aaron again after tonight. The team leaves at 10:00 am tomorrow, well today now technically, and there’d never be a reason he’s out here again.

Shit

You marched back out of the bathroom and ordered one last shot for good measure, which Aaron watched you take from the table with a look of being impressed, and slightly worried, but he was starting to feel the alcohol himself. You sauntered back over to the table with you and Aaron, and stood in front of him in his chair with your arms crossed. 

“What is it?” he asked, looking up at you, “what’s got you upset?”. 

“You leave tomorrow,” you said, not being able to stop it from coming out of your mouth. His eyebrows furrowed and his mouth thinned.

“I know,”. 

“I don’t want you to leave Aaron,” you blurted out before sighing. You looked over at the booth where everyone was still deeply wrapped up in their own conversation. The table was far enough in the corner amongst all the regulars trickling back in they’d never notice. You took a step between Aaron’s legs and his hands as if second nature moved to hold your thighs, keeping you in place. You slid a hand of your own to his cheek as you pursed your mouth into a frustrated corner. “It’s just- what the fuck are the odds even, I just-” you tried to rationalize out loud as your thumb brushed his cheek. He wasn’t that young boy anymore you met in university, but you couldn’t help but always see him just like that. A snapshot of a simpler time for both of you. Aaron moved a hand from steadying your thigh to being placed over your hand.

“I know,”. 

“You don’t think it means anything?”.

Aaron tighten his hand over yours, linking his fingers through yours and bringing it to his lips, gently kissing your hand.

“I don’t know,”. 

“My house is 2 blocks away,” you said. Your voice sounded grave, despite the alcohol still in your system. The reality of your situation slowly falling upon both of you. Aaron silently stood up and left his hand interlocked with yours, silently giving you the okay to take you both back there. JJ only had to kick Derek under the table once to keep him from shouting out at the both of you as you stepped by.

In the parking lot you gestured to Aaron’s car and opened your mouth, but before you could speak-

“I packed all my stuff. I’ll just get it in the morning,” he said. You silently nodded as your grip on his hand tightened. He tightened his own hold in return. 

The walk to yours was silent. What was there to say? What could’ve made this any better? It was a comfortable silence despite it all.

“Are you excited to see Jack?” you finally said breaking the silence, not being able to handle it anymore. You had been pretty surprised when Aaron told you he had a son back home, making you feel all the more selfish for wanting him to stay here.

“Of course. He usually has a lot of fun with his aunt though,” Aaron said with a small smile, thinking of his son.

“Maybe I’ll meet him someday,” you mused. 

“I’m sure he’d love you,” Aaron nodded into the night, brushing his thumb over the corner of your hand. You couldn’t help but softly smile at this.

This could be every night. Simple, quiet, nice. He admitted himself he was less stressed out here. He could bring Jack out here. There were some nice schools in the district. You and Aaron would be on the same team, both getting off before nightfall and being able to go home to make dinner at a decent time before putting Jack to bed. 

You paused in front of your house, waking yourself up from the fantasy.

“Do you think I’m stupid? Are you just doing this out of pity?” you asked as you turned to look at Aaron, your insecurities starting to spill out as you realized how ridiculous a fantasy you’d crafted in your head. Before you knew what was happening Aaron had grabbed your face and pressed his lips onto yours. He was aggressive, but in a good way. You couldn’t help but lean forward into him as you wrapped your arms around him. You broke away for air as your laid your head on his chest, hearing his heart thumping as he gently traced an arm around your back, with the other hand resting on the back of your head.

“No,” he finally said, which caused you to laugh as you stood up, moving off of him, as you fiddled with your keys to get inside. You finally swung open the door and kicked some spare shoes into a haphazard pile as you stepped inside. 

“Welcome welcome,” you mumbled as you flicked on a few lights, “it’s not much, but it’s home,”. Aaron stood in the entrance as he took in the certainly cozy home. “Do you want tea, water, or anything?” you asked, trying to remember in your waning alcohol haze what home owners offered people. Aaron smiled and shook his head as he kicked off his own shoes. You sighed the breath you didn’t know you were holding out of your nose as you tried to figure out the next move. 

“You’re overthinking Y/N,” Aaron said, recognizing the contortions your face went through when this was happening. He stepped forward and held your face in his hands again, tilting your head up so he could look at you. 

“Perhaps,” you said before yawning, “fuck I’m sorry. I’m not usually up this late,”. 

“I’m not either- believe it or not,” Aaron said with a soft smile, “do you want to just go to bed?”. You nodded, and Aaron dropped his hands, letting you lead the way to your room. Luckily you’d just cleaned it so all the clothes were at least in a drawer. Entering the bedroom you turned, once again having a moment of how surreal it was to be in a bedroom, your bedroom, with Aaron. 

“I don’t- did you want to- like - um-” you stammered as you resorted to gesturing to the bed awkwardly, “fuck?” you gave up and spouted out.

“Do you want to?” Aaron asked as he stepped closer to you. Like a magnet you drew close to him and wrapped your arms around him.

“I don’t think I do…I just want to be with you tonight,” you said quietly, which might as well have echoed throughout the silent house. Aaron ran a hand down your hair and gently pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I feel the exact same” he hummed.

“Alright alright,” you huffed as you stood back, “but get comfortable at least. I’m going to change you can uh, look if you want I guess,” you said, which got a laugh out of Aaron as he did watch you rummage through your drawers for a shirt to sleep in. He took off his own shirt and pants and left them folded on the nightstand as he slid into your bed. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t blushing. You threw your clothes off as you put on an oversized band shirt, feeling Aaron’s eyes watching you from bed the whole time. 

“I didn’t know you had tattoos,” he said as you moved to the side of the bed. He was referencing the large star constellations you had on each shoulder. 

“Yeah, I got them a few years ago…” you said as you slowly moved in next to him, instantly feeling and appreciating his heat. You hit the light beside you, engulfing the room in total darkness. You felt Aaron’s arm weave under you, and after a little adjusting you were both on your sides facing each other.

“So this is it,” you murmured. It wasn’t some sort of rhetorical question anymore. You knew this was it.

“I have loved every moment getting to be out here with you Y/N, and I’m truly so grateful I got you in my life again, even if it was only a few weeks,” Aaron said slowly tightening his grip on your waist, bringing you closer. You placed a hand on his chest and aimlessly traced along it.

“I have too Aaron,” you sighed, “maybe in another life this wasn’t just some stupid Shakespearan drama,”. He chuckled and you felt his chest move as he did so.

“I really wish I was in that other life,” he softly admitted.

“I do too,” you said. There were a few seconds of silence before you spoke up again, “If you wake me up when you leave- I’ll never let you escape this room I’m afraid,”. He gently kissed your forehead,

“I know,”. 

There were a few more moments of silence as you two readjusted, this time with him holding you close behind you as you were spooned up against him. You shut your eyes and were slowly drifting into sleep before Aaron said the last things he would say to you.

“I love you,”. You shifted and precariously kissed his cheek.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, before falling into sleep. 

It was another cold morning in your room. You rubbed your eyes as a headache began in your head. You spotted a glass of water with 2 Advil on your nightstand, and that was all Aaron left. You sighed, as you swallowed the pills and water, before retreating back under the covers.

[thegreencooler]

Amends

I don't usually dip my toe in the drama pool. At least not too deeply. But what's going on in fandom this week, the revelations, were extreme. The people who have come forward... they were in a cult. I am not being overdramatic about this. Gamifying harassment, forcing disconnections like Scientology, needing everyone to observe the same talking points or risk ostracism, leadership using it for money, criminal behavior towards those The Guru has deemed the Out-Group including members who don't conform heavily enough... That's a cult. The internet has made cult behavior REALLY easy. Likes and engagement make you suddenly aware of which direction your circle is leaning. If you agree, YOU TOO GET POINTS. You too will experience that sense of belonging, and that's what it's all about. So if your circle is being outright mean... if you don't want to be cast off as "not one of them"... maybe you say the mean thing too, even if it's a lie, even if you're not really sure why you're saying it. That approval feels SUPER GOOD and is addictive. And your circle amps each other up, gets meaner and meaner. The only people who stay in the in-group are those who don't speak up about the bad behavior and are willing to keep going along with it. Those aren't friendships. It's a pack of hungry carnivores. It's the same behaviors police gangs use on cops who speak up. I do have some sympathy, especially for the younger people who were still forming their identities. They were victims of indoctrination and criminal harassment. That said, they have to own their own behavior. I hope they learn and grow. They're going to have to have some self-reflection on what they've done, the lies told, the hate, the virulent -isms that were expressed, and literal crimes that were performed in the name of fitting in and winning some points with the clique. They're also going to have to reassess who their out-group is, why they even NEED an out-group over fandom things, and if there are still people in their schema who they have an impulse to hate for no reason.... because of a ship or actor preference. They're going to have to question all the lies they were told and if they are still holding onto hate based on that. That's hard if they aren't even sure what the lies were. It's going to be a process for them. We should give people the space and grace to get better. To deprogram themselves. But this does not mean there needs to be automatic forgiveness. Nobody needs to like anyone. But nobody needs to hate anyone either. Maybe the middle ground is we can grow some indifference or the ability to say, "I'm letting it go, this person is in progress, I can't control their journey, the ball is in their court."

If you were behaving badly, you've earned the suspicion of the people you hurt. A few of you are expressing amends, which is wonderful. But part of the thing with making amends is that you don't get to control the outcome. You make a genuine apology for EXACTLY what you've done, you own your part in it, and you don't make excuses... and from there, people may accept what you've said and they may not. They may forgive you immediately, they may take time, they may never forgive you. You have to learn to be good with that. It can be uncomfortable, to feel disliked, ESPECIALLY if the reason you got into the cult was because of that sense of belonging. Your impulse may be to keep giving explanations of how the group influenced you, to distance yourself. You may tell yourself, "I'm not that person, this isn't really me, it was the group." You want to be seen as CHANGED - virginal and new because you made the hard choice to finally leave the cult. ...It isn't that easy. You want the space and grace and you should get that. But guess what? You need to give that to others, too. You need to understand that people have real reasons to distrust you if you were exhibiting cruelty. And part of doing the work to make amends is the actual work. If you're serious about it, it means a lot of difficult self-reflection. You need to take an unflinching look at WHY you could ignore or participate in racism and lord knows plenty of other -isms, why outright defamation and death threats to actors and other fans were okay, why doxing people and trying to get them fired was seen as fair game, why trying to make someone feel hated and terrible about themselves was your impulse, why you were giggling and congratulating yourself for leaning into your worst impulses...until the group turned on you. Because that's the truth of the situation. You now have that self-knowledge of what you're willing to participate in. The question now is what are you going to do with that? I hope it includes therapy and I don't mean that glibly. I think it's possible there are some internet addictions going on where people crave the rush of getting Likes and engagement... and ragefarming is the best way to get engagement. If that's true... it will be EXTREMELY easy to move from the space of performing FOR the cult to performing AGAINST them, so that you can maintain your hit of Likes. And that is just sitting in the same behaviors. But if you're serious about getting better, if you're serious about being honest with yourself, you're going to need to fight against those inclinations. Please ask yourselves if you truly feel your apologies and want to change...or if maybe some part of you is just posting your attempt at amends because you want to fit in with those leaving or because you're craving that approval. Leaving is great! But are you getting the same psychological hit from your posts now? Are you trying to collect a new group that will lovebomb you because you're seeking self-esteem and miss the people who used to give it to you? I'm not saying this in judgment, I'm saying it because many people go from one cult or MLM to another, seeking that same sense of belonging. That's not my wish for you.

To the people on the other side of this... I'm not saying not to speak up if you see people slipping or people whose apologies are revealed as false words. I'm not trying to tone police people getting angry. There have been real reasons to be angry. HOWEVER... please be aware that if we want people to actually learn and grow we need to give them room to do that. There's nothing wrong with a really direct "This is really shitty and unkind behavior." Going scorched earth every time isn't the way. Is it our responsibility to motivate them to change, is it on us? Absolutely not. But are our actions going to unintentionally make them more likely to try and find a gang again because they're feeling defensive? If we also truly want to make things better, we have to ask ourselves what our goal is. Do we just want to give a tongue-lashing because we're angry? We might. And that can be justified sometimes in life. But cornered people don't often make great decisions. If what we want out of this is for people to be less terrible - there are ways to call people in and out, firmly and not sugarcoated, while still not going on the attack.

To the people who finally spoke up, you should be proud of yourselves for that. You took the first step. I hope you keep walking forward.

If you actually read to here... holy crap, I apologize. Many, many words, but I wanted to put them all down somewhere instead of continuing to overthink it at 3:30am. I do want to say... this is just my perspective. If it came off as trying to tell you how to do or feel, or like I think I'm perfect? Nah, kids. I'm a fallible screw-up, too, who is often "cringe," as the children say. We can all work on ourselves. At least that's the hope. If we're open to it.

Anyway. Love y'all, TGC

[erose-this-name]

Punishment.

Cult of the Lamb Ficlet because I lost control of my life again

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=⁂=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Lamb and their right hand cat, Narinder, walk about the cult grounds discussing plans for new buildings.

Kallamar and Saleos walk by, the former passively rambling outloud about schemes he will never actually go through with to the latter who just nods along, with the same reverence and eagerness a dog might have toward its owner. Kallamar seems to look at Saleos the same way one might be looked at by their housecat. As little good as they're surely up to, neither god of death pays them any mind, as they have proved to be more harmless together than apart.

Lamb chats to Narinder while sketching vague blueprints, “I saw you at your siblings’ house earlier, Nari’.”

Narinder grunts, “... And?”

“Don’t tell me The One Who Waited has forgiven them already?” Lamb teases.

“Of course not! None of my siblings have my forgiveness, nor will they ever. But, that spider is hardly the same person who betrayed me, not anymore. No point punishing the innocent. No point in letting what little remains of their talents go to waste.”

Narinder chooses his words carefully, the Lamb has probably already gleaned from his thoughts that he went to see Shamura, but maybe he could hide his intent behind ambiguity. This is just another facet of the countless indignities and adjustments he has had to go through after losing his Crown.

“Pragmatic!” Lamb smiles, complimenting the cat. Then, why do you think of guilt, Narinder?

Leshy bursts from the ground before Lamb, startling the young god of death. The worm bares his teeth, gesturing with his seeing eye cane, “Horrendous cruel beast! Why does Heket have to tend to both the farms and the gardens!? And is the head chef? EXPLAIN YOURSELF, IMMEDIATELY!”

Narinder rolls his third eye and picks up the blueprint Lamb had been working on, checking the shrine dimensions and blood plumbing for mistakes or minor improvements. It’s a skill that is easy to learn, but takes eons of practice to master.

Lamb looks at the worm with a wide friendly smile, unsure of his angle. His chaotic thoughts do not help. “Because, Leshy… She’s an ex-fertility goddess of harvest. I know it’s a lot of work, and she said she was the god of famine, but she seems to retain some power or knowledge of the opposite, so I think she can handle-”

Leshy throws his arms up, “SO DO I! I AM THE GOD OF NATURE! LOOK AT ME! I’M LITERALLY PART PLANT! Heket’s domain is merely domestic crops. Allow me to tend to the flowers and the trees, and I will grow them better than she ever could. Those camellias will have no choice but to obey me, FOR I AM THEIR GOD.”

Lamb tilts their head inquisitively, reopening the wound hidden under their bell collar, “Huh, so that’s why you look like that. I always thought you were the god of chaos?”

“Chaos is nature! Plants are not meant to be grown in ugly rows, so called ‘weeds’ are not meant to be pulled up, my hedges not meant to be trimmed into cubes. Nature is chaotic, it’s people who inflict their order upon it.” Leshy balls his fist.

“But, weren’t you also technically the god of order?” Lamb raises a brow, discreetly checking to make sure they’re wearing the blood red fleece, today. Or at least the robes they stole from Narinder.

Leshy produces a flower from somewhere, likely thin air, and uses it as a prop, “I am! Order is nature! Have you ever considered a flower? The intricacies and mathematical perfection of their petals, that I painted? The perfectly rehearsed dance of an ecosystem in balance? Nature is ordered, it’s people who inflict their chaos upon it.”

“Uh…” Lamb smiles, incredulously.

“What? That made perfect sense, right Narinder? The vile lamb must also be stupid.” Leshy says, rolling his non-existent eyes and throwing an arm around Narinder’s shoulder.

Narinder shrugs him off, not seeming to give a shit.

Lamb says, “Thank you for your concern, Leshy, but I think our current camellia output is sufficient. We really can’t spare another lumberjack, especially one as talented as you.~”

The green worm glowers at the Lamb, bearing his teeth. He turns and storms off.

Narinder watches his brother walk off. He turns to the Lamb, “Why did you put Heket in charge of sustenance? She is not above poisoning, or worse, you are aware of that.”

Lamb giggles, dropping the façade and rubbing their neck, “Because working with food torments her, now she can’t eat anything. Not if it’s still solid. She’s still much too proud to do a bad job, though. And I’m not worried about her poisons, anymore.”

Narinder says, “Oh. She always was a glutton, I suppose.”

“You think I’m being cruel, Nari’?” Lamb says coquettishly, licking their own blood and ichor from their clawed fingers.

Narinder’s three eyes narrow at the Lamb, “Cease your reading of my mind. And, yes, of course I do. However, I did not say it was a bad thing. She deserves it. I imagine that is also why you have Leshy cutting trees down, instead of growing them? Scary, how much of my vindictiveness has rubbed off on you, once so innocent... and, come to think, this is also probably why I was made your ‘disciple’, wasn't it?”

The Lamb gives him a sharp smile, “Ehehehe! Now, I’m starting to wonder if you can read my mind. A fitting punishment, yea? Always by my side. So close to the object of your desire, yet forever powerless to take it…”

Narinder’s face turns red and he gets a nosebleed. “I HATE YOU, Lamb! You are horrible and evil and vile, I’m leaving now.”

The three-eyed cat runs back into his hut.

Lamb mumbles to themself, obliviously, “Huh? He’s still thinking I’m cruel. He must really want the Red Crown back, I better keep teasing him with it!”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=⁂=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

As Leshy retreats to a secluded part of the cult grounds with a bottle of ‘very good’ wine he stole, to brood over the Lamb’s refusal, he groans to realize that he’s unfortunate enough for Kallamar to have already been there doing the same thing.

Kallamar smiles and waves, beckoning Leshy to sit beside him. After a few moments of Leshy not reacting, he speaks up, “Hello, Brother! Sit down, sit down! Still living with that mortal cat?”

Leshy sighs as he does so, “Yes. Still living in Heket’s basement?”

“Just because she built a floor above mine doesn’t make it the basement. It’s a ‘cellar’…” Kallamar clarifies.

“Rrrright.” Leshy brings his bottle to his lips.

“You know, it’s funny how you only act like a normal person when you’re drunk. You’re so much more genuine, this way. I much prefer it.”

Leshy spits out his wine, “W-what’s that supposed to mean?! I’M ALWAYS NORMAL!!! … So, anyways, how’s Shamura doing? If you ever need help taking care of-”

Kallamar cuts him off, “Oh, could you? That'd be great. Saleos hardly ever has time to help. Shamura's condition is… well they haven’t been getting any less lucid. They can take care of most things themself, these days. That’s actually what I was about to mention. Narinder came by the house today. Was asking to visit them.”

Leshy’s hand tightens around the bottle’s neck, “What? You didn’t let him, did you?”

“Of course not. Heket would’ve had my head if I did.”

“Huh… Why?”

“No idea, I can never read the guy. Maybe he feels bad? He used to be very close to Shamura, can’t imagine he wanted any of this to happen.” 

“Maybe… But why now? We’ve been living here for close to a decade-”

“Decades, actually. This year it's 28, for me. You've been here a lot longer.” The squid corrects.

Leshy sighs, “... ‘Decadessssss’. You know what I mean. Maybe that horrid little Lamb put him up to it. Seems to enjoy torturing us like that.”

Kallamar shrugs, “Shamura’s been asking about Narinder ever since.”

Leshy raises his tone, “Shamura doesn’t know any better. They don’t even understand what happened to them, half the time. Even when they still had the Purple Crown, they kept giving him ‘gifts’. As if nothing had changed.”

Kallamar swirls the red liquid around in his bottle, “I don’t know. You really don’t think it isn’t time to extend the olive branch? He’s in the same boat as us, now. To be honest, I don’t even blame Narinder. He did what any of us would have done in that situation.”

“That’s… surprising to hear from you, Kallamar.”

“I just wish I didn’t have to get caught up in the crossfire. And, isolating Narinder has only been driving him closer to the Lamb, somehow. They are our real enemy.”

Leshy rolls his nonexistent eyes, “Ah, there it is… I mean, I don’t disagree. I empathize with him. And I miss having him as a brother, before all of this. But, I don’t know if I could ever forgive him, not after all he’s taken from me. My existence is hell, because of him.”

“Isn’t that more because of the Lamb, Brother?”

“What? No. Don’t get me wrong, I despise the Lamb. But, it was Narinder who gouged out my eyes, who sicced that vile beast on me.”

“... so?” Kallamar raises a brow.

“W-what do you mean ‘so’? Look at me! What he did to me.” Leshy gestures to his bandaged face.

“He did the same to all of us, you don’t see me asking for pity.” Kallamar takes a drink.

Leshy laughs in Kallamar’s face.

“PFFHAhAHAHahah! NO! No-no, no, no. No. We are not the same. I will admit, Shamura received a far worse fate than I, though my own suffering outweighs that of everyone besides. Then, after mine, was Heket’s. Then Narinder’s. And only then, last of all, is you. He Who Waited merely tore off part of the outside fins of your ears, you are not even deaf, not completely… And, I don’t despise you for losing nothing, Brother, I detest you because you got off so easy because you were a coward then, and you won’t even admit it because you are a coward now.”

Kallamar shakes his head, “Lost ‘nothing’? I lost my crown, my cult!”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, but yes. You did, though I’m sure you cried and bitched the whole time instead of fighting like a man.  But, it’s not like you were depending on yours just to hear. Or to speak. Or see.” The worm growls.

“You weren’t exactly blind until becoming a mortal. Didn’t you say you could see with the Green Crown’s eye?”

“That… that wasn’t the same! Didn’t you ever try looking through yours!? The Crowns see only truth, that isn’t the same as seeing. Beauty. Is. Not. True. Natural beauty was once all I cared about bringing into the world, it was what gave my existence meaning, what brought me happiness… For centuries, I haven’t been able to remember what flowers look like. I know their fragrance, their feel, their shape, but their color? I am told camellias are red, red like blood. What is ‘red’, Kallamar? The Green Crown did not give me the emotion of red, not the association of blood and passion, not the striking vibrancy, it merely informed me of the wavelength of photons bouncing off chemical bonds in their pigments and the chemistry and evolution of those biomolecules, and I don’t even have that anymore. ‘Dappled sunlight trickling down from the canopy of Darkwood onto a glittering stream between mossy rocks’, these are only words to me. I can no longer imagine it, as I can’t think in images anymore, only in words and concepts… Every time that I feel cool breeze through my leaflets carrying the perfume of camellias, all I can think of is that I will spend eternity never again knowing their beauty. W-whenever my cat gives me one, I…” Leshy’s lip quivers, he shakes his head.

His head drops into his hands, the worm mumbles, “What’s even the point of living anymore? I want… I deserve death. But this vile, horrid, cruel beast won’t even let me die. They know how I feel, their Crown must show them, they know how torturous this existence is for me! And still they stand there, mocking me, with that horrible sadistic smile. Acting like nothing is wrong.”

Kallamar stares at Leshy, his stitched brow furrowing. “How dare you, Brother? How dare you think that you have the right to hate me, when I already hate myself? H-how dare you think so little of yourself as to deserve pity from someone as worthless as me, when you’re still you? Do you have any idea how much I envy you right now, Leshy? Long before all this, even when you were but a wyrmling barely in control of your Crown, I still envied you. Because, you’re right. I am a coward, and a fucking idiot, not even the Blue Crown could fix that about me, because I’m also so fucking stubborn. I never deserved godhood. But it came so naturally to you, you’re so damn confident, and brave, and fucking cool looking! Everyone loved you for it! Your followers were inspired by you, drawn to you! My cult never even respected me, only feared me… Except for Saleos, he’s somehow worse… I should’ve been proud of you, as your elder bloodbrother, but as worthless and horrid as I am, I felt only jealousy… and loathed myself for it… If you think your greatness was taken from you, I never had any to begin with. If you’d even care.”

Leshy stands up, mouth downturned, the moss on his cheeks caked with wet ichor. 

He punches Kallamar in the face.

The squid clutches the burst stitches across his face, “OW! What the hell, Leshy?”

Leshy sneers, “Ooh, you think you deserve pity for knowing you’re pathetic? Don’t you try to out-do my pain! Don’t you think you’re the only one that hates himself. If even you couldn’t tolerate your bullshit, why didn’t you just fucking man up and die!?”

Kallamar reaches for his bottle. Leshy hits him again. The squid falls back, over the log, and flat onto the ground. 

The worm screams, “You think what the Green Crown did to me ‘looks cool?’, I’m a tree! You can pass as a normal squid. I have to tell people I’m an abomination, because I am. I’m a monster that devoured souls and families, and enjoyed it. And you think that was a good thing? You think they loved me for it? I didn’t even know what love was! Did you really think that I would feel better if I knew you only hate yourself because you weren’t consumed by your Crown, like me? Because you were still a person underneath it?! Do you understand how lucky someone like you is to have Saleos? How little you deserve his forgiveness, his love? After everything he sacrificed to you, willingly? And every day, you spit in his face!”

Kallamar curls up into a ball as Leshy kicks him repeatedly, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, p-please…”

Leshy stops, tears dampening his bandages. “Now… Saleos is going to tend to your wounds, you’ll talk his ears off about this, and he’ll still be on your side… and I’ll go home, and my cat will tell me all about how much he loves that benevolent Lamb for saving him from Darkwood. Fr-... from the s-sacrificial altar... For vanquishing that evil god of chaos…”

Kallamar looks between bloody, shaking fingers, “H-he… still doesn’t know?”

Leshy sits down, wiping ichor from his hands, sniffling. “No. Of course not… I’m a worthless coward.”

The Lamb watches them from the temple window, with a horrible sadistic smile.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=⁂=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

[waitmyturtles]

I have super little time to write the kind of extensive meta that I want to to CELEBRATE this FABULOUS episode 8 of Be My Favorite, so here’s more of a stream of consciousness edit of the notes I took during the episode, and prayers up that they all make sense as a whole.

This episode to me was about the start of Kawi EMBRACING THE PRESENT. To live with ACCOUNTABILITY AND RESPONSIBILITY. I really loved the recap at the end of 1/1, before Kawi holds the crystal ball. Kawi’s reflecting and getting a BETTER, MORE OBJECTIVE overview of the impact of changing the future, and how much his power can ACTUALLY change things.

He gave the diary to Pisaeng so that Pisaeng could understand if things were changing in Pisaeng’s life without context. In other words: he is beginning to take responsibility for someone else’s feelings.

Kawi is beginning to recognize that his INTENTIONAL decisions in the PRESENT MOMENT will be the determinant to a future that’s... happier? Or at least -- a future that will, hopefully, include some, if not all, of the people he loves. 

AND: he’s learning that if you live your present life WITH that intention -- then THAT is the main control that a human has to determining one’s happiness.

He learns that he cannot change the future in an ABSOLUTE -- his father will still die. It’s an important lesson. He cannot predict every single turn a human can take and guarantee a great outcome. 

I absolutely love the reflection on not running away. Pisaeng tells his mother he doesn’t want to leave Thailand. Pisaeng’s mom wants him to live overseas to live an “easier” life. But we then get the comparative reflection of Kawi and Max at the wonderful LGBTQ+ event, where we hear that running away just -- doesn’t work.

Max is the guy -- the guy for Kawi and Pisaeng that’s rooted in a very present world. The guy that can really see through both of them, understand their internal shifts and discomforts, and diagnose what Kawi and Pisaeng each have been struggling with. And, so beautifully -- Max gives Kawi his flowers for just being a good friend. In the present.

Dudes, I never, ever shy away from a story that focuses on accountability and responsibility. It’s tough human shit, tough behavioral shit. When characters learn how to hold themselves accountable, and we see that process -- Kawi, Khai, Frame, Phupha at the end of Our Skyy 2, Nozue, even Fuse (holy shit), etc. -- the guys who will GO THROUGH a very TOUGH and HUMAN process of holding themselves PAINFULLY RESPONSIBLE to change on behalf of someone else -- it is just GOOD ART when it is DONE WELL.

I am sure I will unwind more as I get through my day, but wanted to note these awesome, predictive easter eggs. This show is telling its story in so many ways -- through the philosophical references we saw earlier in the series, and today, through shirts! (Yo, @grapejuicegay, we’re always looking for BBS connections, right? SHIRTS!)

MATCHING COUPLES SHIRTS! THEY’RE A COUPLE, NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS IN THE PRESENT OR ALL THE FUTURES.

KAWI WEARING A DUDES SHIRT! HE’S GONNA LIKE GUYS!

LOL. I WANNA WEAR A SHIRT THAT SAYS “DUDES.” Let me get my message across AS LOUDLY AS POSSIBLY -- I LIKE DUDES, I’M GONNA LIKE DUDES. 

FUCK THIS SHOW IS SO GOOD! More soon. Our boy Kawi is growing up. Krist and Gawin are EATING. THIS SHOW IS SO GOOD!

(ccing @dribs-and-drabbles​ @lurkingshan @chickenstrangers -- I got to watch this earlier than expected, yay!)

[talkfantasytome]

It's Instinct - Chapter 1

The Archerons arrive at their townhouse in Yin, settling in for a season of society.

Warnings: Emotional Abuse | Word Count: 3,251 | Read on AO3

It's Instinct Masterlist

a/n: Hello @dustjacketmusings!! Idk which you'll see first, but yes, it is I, your secret santa! I was soooo excited to get you and to have the chance to build something special for you! I hope you like it. I took into consideration your enjoyment of magical/supernatural AUs, am sprinkling in some rivalry, and definitely there will be some angst (I hope it comes across well). However, my schedule did not allow for me to write a short book in one month - how rude - so this will be some time in the making, but hopefully you'll enjoy taking this journey with me!

And thank you @acotargiftexchange for putting this all together and organizing this lovely exchange!

"Will you stop shaking your leg? Honestly, one would think you have to relieve yourself."

Her mother started on a new rant directed at Nesta. Droning on about proper, ladylike behavior again. A lady doesn't reveal her needs. A lady doesn't display extreme emotions. A lady doesn't fidget. A lady doesn't shake the carriage.

Nesta knew all these things. She was typically very good at them. But it took every ounce of will in her to remain even this calm as they neared Yin.

The scent of the dew unfathomably mixed with the first snow of winter grew with each mile they traveled. And the rattling of the wheels seemed to sing to the beat of "closer, closer, closer". Nesta's heart picked up the rhythm, beating along and growing in strength.

She hadn't seen Yin since her graduation day. That night her mother whisked them all back home and then on to a three-year tour of the most eligible bachelors the continent had to offer. Disguised as an opportunity to hone her power further, to learn from the best Reason masters in the world. Unsurprisingly, her mother didn't care to hear much about those lessons. Her thoughts and conversation revolved entirely around what Nesta would wear to the next ball, who she should speak to, what she should ask about, who to accept dances with, and regular emphasis on keeping her thoughts to herself.

For families who cared so much about intelligence and power, they seemed far more interested in finding a vapid and thoughtless jewel to adorn their sons' arms.

Not that the sons had much to offer. Nesta found their conversation bland and mediocre. They had nothing to say that was challenging in the least, save for their misogynistic undertones and expectations.

It shouldn't have come as such a shock that Nesta didn't manage to secure a 'suitable' marriage. The ones that were determined enough to make an actual offer never lasted longer than a week into the planning, much to Nesta's pleasure. And even more so to her mother's chagrin.

Nesta couldn't regret it, though, no matter how unpleasant her mother could be. As excited as she was to travel the continent, to learn from the masters and take in new knowledge they didn't teach in Prythian, she was ready to go back. Back to the city that had stolen her heart in her three years at the Academy.

She hadn't expected to be back so soon after they returned from the continent. But apparently her mother was in a rush, worried that news of her unfavorable disposition would reach Prythian before she could get Nesta married. And Yin was the only place in Prythian where they might find an appropriate match by her mother's standards. The only place that held families rich and powerful enough for that, though none so much as those on the continent - as her mother kept reminding her.

"It's really no wonder you couldn't find a husband. Your lack of self-control will be the destruction of this family."

Her mother had managed to pivot back to Nesta's horrible showing on the continent by the time they finally reached their town house. Her favorite subject.

"Eileen," their father sighed.

"Don't start with me, Owen!" she snapped before he had a chance to say anything else.

He let out a breath and gave in, opening the door to their carriage and leading the family into the house. Nesta was surprised he even bothered trying. Absent is too kind a word to describe his presence in Nesta's upbringing. He never cared for his eldest. Nesta sometimes wondered if she were really his.

The three sisters followed their parents in age order, not one of them feeling a sense of relief for being in the town house. It was never a home for any of them.

From the street, the house gave off a sense of welcome and life that would be drowned out the second Nesta stepped into the foyer. No one knew the lie that was the façade of this house. How the perfectly kept up flowers, bushes, and crawling ivy and morning glory was all just a front for the despair that laid within.

Inside was more of the same. Pristinely decorated, it was designed entirely for show. A place for the family to rest the few times a year they were in Yin. To help keep up appearances, ensure everyone knew they maintained a certain degree of wealth. Everyone who was anyone had a house in Yin. And while many wealthy families did permanently resid here, the Archerons main estate was in the port city of Adriata. It was far easier for their father, as a tradesman and merchant, to do his business from there. And when he had business in Yin, he often didn't bring the family, knowing he'd be able to keep his trip shorter that way.

Nesta hated this house. It was worse than the manor by the sea - at least that one was large enough she could hide, avoid her mother when it wasn't time for her various lessons. The grounds were sprawling. It was so easy to find a tree on the edge of them to settle under and read. It was well decorated, always perfectly clean and ready to entertain visitors, but it was still lived in. Books and notes and clothes were strewn about her room. Flowers from Elain's garden adorned almost every table. Feyre's paintings were hung in the private rooms of the manor. Their father's favorite treasures could be found accenting various rooms, a great conversation starter for those curious.

This house had none of that. It was filled with the latest trends in home décor. The right rugs and settees, tables made from the finest of mahogany or whatever wood was currently in season. Paintings only from the most famous of artists, flowers from some boutique shop, and there was not one ounce of character in any of the bedrooms. Any family could live here and no one would know.

She never truly felt at home in the manor, but here she was a prisoner. Made all the worse by her adoration of Yin. It was easier to be trapped far away from the city than to be just one wall away but unable to enjoy it.

Nesta reached her ordinary room, draped in fabrics of pale blue and silver, and plopped down on her bed. The journey from Adriata was long. She was certain she could've slept for two days, but before she could adjust her body to be properly on the bed, she heard a knock on the door.

"Nesta?" Elain's soft voice called from the other side of it.

"Hmmm?"

Taking that as an invitation, Elain opened the door and walked in, followed quickly by Feyre. They shut the door behind them and walked over to Nesta. "We were going to walk to the market and wondered if you'd like to come with," Elain offered.

"Get some fresh air," Feyre added. "Away from mo-oof." She was cut off by Elain's less-than-gentle nudge to the stomach.

Nesta let out a sigh and sat up. The stresses of travel were weighing heavily on her, but getting out of the house and into the city did sound wonderful. "Yeah," Nesta agreed. "Let me just change first. I'll meet you in the foyer in 15 minutes."

Her sisters nodded and left the room, likely to change out of their travel clothes as well.

The trunk with her dresses had already been brought up to the room, the carriage carrying their things likely arriving before they had. She walked over to it and quickly dug through her clothes, picking out a simple, purple grey dress. It had some minor detail on the torso, but was plain enough it wouldn't draw too much attention.

She pulled off her shirt and skirt and threw the dress over her, using the external straps to tighten the waist enough to show off her figure. The floor-length skirt shimmered slightly in the light breaking through her windows, giving off a slight glow to the fabric. She walked over to the mirror and took out her hair, the updo disheveled from the journey. She brushed through the long, golden brown locks and then re-did it, sticking it right back up into her favorite braided coronet style.

Nesta grabbed her deep purple, valor cloak and fastened it as she made her way out her room and down the stairs. The fur trim around the hood was already beginning to warm her up, and the delicate silver flowers at the bottom popped with each step she took. Elain and Feyre were already waiting for her in fresh dresses, pulling on their gloves and chatting quietly.

"Are you ready?" Feyre asked as Elain handed Nesta her own gloves.

"Absolutely," Nesta replied.

Sharp footsteps that had all three girls straightening sounded behind them. "And where are you three going?" their mother's pointed voice asked.

"We were just going to take a walk to the market, mama," Elain explained in a sweet voice she used to get her way. It almost always worked.

"We just arrived. Surely you three have to get settled in your rooms."

"Yes, but we've been traveling for so long. We thought getting some fresh air and sunshine would be good for us."

Their mother looked at each of her daughters, moving an assessing gaze from one to the next. "Fine. Be home in time for dinner."

"Yes, mama," the three said in unison. They turned and hastened through the door before she could change her mind.

Once out of the house they each took a breath of relief. Nesta was bristling with excitement as she took in the city around them. The clouds were as white and fluffy as ever, drifting across the azure sky. It was midday, and yet something about them looked as if dawn were still lingering, a rose gold glow lining them.

With their house residing in the Rì chū - as the locals called their neighborhood - it was only a short walk to the Lí míng Market, the unofficial center of the city. The true center was still a mile away, filled with golden buildings where business and politics took place. But the market, that was the social center. Shops lined the street and stalls filled it, displaying goods from all over the world. Political hopefuls would gather in the center, preaching their opinions and fighting for change. Old friends would meet in the various cafes to catch up over cups of tea. New lovers would wander the aisles, browsing aimlessly as they sought to know each other better.

There was always something to see or do at the market, always something to entertain. But what Nesta loved best was the variety. People from all over Prythian lived in Yin, and you could see them all at the market. Their different dress styles and how they wear their hair, the various accents and intonations they speak in. It was all here, in this bustling market.

They were browsing a small jewelry stall when Elain let out a loud sigh. "You know, as lovely as this city is, I do wish we could've spent a bit more time in Adriata before coming here."

"Speak for yourself," Feyre said, her eyes tracking a pack of boys around her age that were passing them. "Did all the guys look like that when you were at the Academy, Nesta?"

"Like rowdy, eighteen-year-olds? Yes." Nesta didn't even bother looking at the group, more interested in a rose pendant painted to look like flames.

She could hear the roll in Feyre's eyes as she responded, "Cute, Nesta. I meant cute."

"I wasn't paying that much attention," she explained, placing the pendant down. It was beautiful, but her mother would never let her wear it out. Even looking at it she could feel eyes on her, as if her mother was watching all the way from their house. "Some were cute, some weren't, I'm sure. But if you're truly interested, you could always enroll in the Academy."

Feyre let out a loud snort that drew more than a few eyes, but Nesta tried to ignore it, moving them along to the next stall. "As if I'd be allowed to," Feyre lamented. "Mother didn't allow Elain to enroll."

"Really? As I recall it, Elain opted not to enroll," Nesta countered.

"What?!" Feyre pivoted, eyes on Elain, who suddenly found a new stall she wished to see halfway across the market and rushed off. "She never told me that." Her voice softened slightly as she slid up to Nesta's side.

Nesta turned to give Feyre a small smile. "I think she was worried you'd think she was staying for you. You just assumed she didn't have the option, it was easier to keep it that way."

"Was she? Staying for me."

"Not entirely. She didn't want to leave you alone, but she also wanted to stay for father. And, in the end, she's not as interested in our magic. She was more interested in staying home, getting to spend time on her hobbies and the garden. But it was her choice. Believe me. I tried to convince her to go."

Feyre let out a contemplative sound, her eyes moving to the clocks made from wine bottles that were displayed on the stall in front of them. "I still doubt I'd be allowed to enroll, assuming I could get in."

"You'd get in. You're an Archeron."

"Doesn't change the mother of it all. She'd never let me go. She'd never spend that kind of money on me."

"Feyre," Nesta sighed, knowing exactly where this was going.

"Nesta," Feyre parried. "Don't pretend. Our whole lives, everything has been about you. She doesn't care about us. Only you."

Nesta simply shook her head. "That's not true."

It wasn't about Nesta.

It never was. Not one thing in her life. Not the dance lessons, the private tutors, the fancy dresses. Not even her birth. As her mother always said, she was bred. No, she wasn't born or conceived or made with love, but bred. Like a prize show pony.

It was one of the reasons Nesta enjoyed her time at the Academy so much. The freedom. She could stay up all night, engrossed in a book if she wanted to. She could spend hours in the various museums, devouring chocolate from her favorite shop, or strolling through the Lí míng Market.

It hadn't been perfect freedom. Her mother's eye was far-reaching, she still kept Nesta 'in line', but the boundaries were far larger than Nesta had ever experienced. She just needed to stay away from Instinct - the other school of magic. Emotional, raucous, intense - they were dangerous. Nesta had heard the stories of Reason practitioners who'd gotten mixed up in Instinct. It never ended well.

Feyre could lecture her all she wanted on how Nesta was given everything. How their mother's life revolved around Nesta, but it never truly did. Their mother's life revolved around their mother, and Nesta was a mere tool in the process.

Her tone turned sharper. "Well, that's how it looks to me." And with that comment, Feyre stalked away.

One day Feyre might understand, but Nesta sure hoped that would never happen. That her mother would never shift her focus to Elain or Feyre. She prayed to the gods every day that they would never know what their mother's 'caring' felt like.

Leaving her sisters to their own interests, Nesta continued her path down the aisle of stalls, stopping whenever something caught her eye. She never lingered for long, unable to shake that feeling that she was being watched. The hairs on the back of her neck remained upright, a tingling sensation spreading through her body.

Nesta was sure she was growing paranoid. There were hundreds of people at the market. Plenty probably looked at her for a moment, but surely no one was watching her. And her mother hated the market, she certainly wouldn't have come out to it just to watch Nesta shop.

When she reached the end of the aisle, Nesta looked around for the tenth time, her eyes scanning every divot and alleyway when her gaze fell upon a pair of bright, hazel eyes that were clearly following her. Even being caught, they remained on her, a spark igniting in them, mesmerizing Nesta and holding her stare. She lost her breath for a moment. It took a minute before she gathered the strength of will to break away from his gaze and look upon the face those eyes held.

His face was nearly as intense as his stare. A strong jaw and high cheekbones, with a scar through the left eyebrow, half-hidden by some of the dark hair that fell in his face. His lips were spread into a knowing smirk. It ignited something deep within her that she couldn't quite name.

He was leaning against a lamp post, his ridiculously muscular arms crossed over his just as insane torso. Even in that stance he was daunting. She could only imagine what he'd be like at full height.

Meeting his gaze again, she finally realized what it was she was feeling.

Fury.

The audacity of this man, to watch her go through the market. To give her such a smug grin, as if he knew she would come up to him now that she's seen him. She had the mind to do just that and tell him off. Before she could, she heard her name being called.

"Nesta! You must come see these!" Elain exclaimed, walking up to her and grabbing her hand, beginning to pull her toward some stall. Nesta looked to her sister reflexively, and when she looked back the man was gone. As if he'd disappeared on the wind. "Nesta?" Elain asked, noticing her sister not moving.

"Sorry," Nesta breathed, turning to Elain. "I was lost in thought. What are we looing at?"

Elain grinned widely and led her to a stall selling cloak clasps. Feyre was already there, holding up a beautiful clasp of stars. Nesta wasn't entirely sure how the designer was able to make a full clasp of defined stars, but there it was in her sister's hands, one of the most beautiful cloak clasps she'd ever seen.

"That's lovely, Feyre," Nesta said, the best peace offering she could provide. Feyre gave her a big smile and nod, her form of an acceptance.

"And look at these!" Feyre held up two others, a floral bouquet clasp and one of silver flames.

"Oh, wow!" Nesta could hardly get the words out as she took the clasp of fire and examined it. She'd never seen its equal.

Feyre could never full explain it, but whenever she was painting a representation of her sisters, she always painted these three symbols. Flowers for Elain, stars for herself, and flames for Nesta. Nesta's favorites were always the ones where she turned the flames silver, 'like your eyes,' she would say. Not that Nesta's eyes were actually silver, but apparently they could look that way in some lightings.

"It's just too perfect, isn't it?" Elain asked, already reaching into her coin purse and handing money to the keeper of the stall for all three of them.

"It's more than that. It's fate," Feyre agreed.

Nesta smiled softly as she wrapped her hand around her new clasp. "It's certainly something," she murmured.

a/n: I hope no one minds some sisterly moments. It wasn't truly purposeful, but there's something about giving the sisters a better bond that felt right for this fic.

I stuck with East Asia as inspiration for aspects of this city - particularly the names for now, but I'm going to be trying to work in more around fashion and other things throughout the fic - because this is meant to take place in the area that would be the Dawn Court in canon Prythian.

Pronunciations - I am linking to "word hippo" for the words I used. They have a little speaker icon you can click on to hear the pronunciation, as technically the English spelling is the phonetic spelling. I did speak with a native Mandarin-speaking friend to make sure I got the right words, but she could not help me with phonetic spellings, so this is the best way to do this, I believe.

Lí míng | Rì chū

Tag list: @live-the-fangirl-life @generalnesta @secretlovelybeauty @julemmaes @boredserpent @autumnbabylon @moodymelanist @sv0430 @nesquik-arccheron @gwynrielsupremacy @katekatpattywack @moonstoneriver77 @swankii-art-teacher @lemonade-coolattas @emily-gsh @my-fan-side @champanheandluxxury @imsointobooks @sayosdreams @simpingfornestaarcheron @imsointobooks @perseusannabeth @shinya-hiiragi @a-court-of-milkandhoney @pintas3107 @embersofwildfire @superspiritfestival @thewayshedreamed @lunabean @xstarlightsupremex @mis-lil-red @wannawriteyouabook @dealfea @bridgertononmymind @daydreamer-anst @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @hiimheresworld @c-e-d-dreamer @kale-theteaqueen

[the-marshals-wife]

Alright, I am in love with Wrecker having kids of his own. 🥺 he'd be such a sweet dad and I can't wait to see the rest of the batch as fathers! I was wondering though, would you ever do this for the 501st or any other clones? Cause I'd be here for it for sure 🥺💕💖 Especially if you did Hardcase becoming a dad, that goof ball would be adorable ahhh! Anyways, I can't wait to read the rest of the batch!! 😭💖💕💞💖💕💞

A/N: Oh my goodness yes, time for some Hardcase representation! I think there'd be a lot of similarities between Wrecker's and Hardcase's parenting styles. Thank you for your continued support of my writing and blog! 💙

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Having A Child With Hardcase Would Include

Description: Hardcase x Fem!Reader. As with my other clone headcanons/preferences, it's a Y/N insert story with the number of children I envision reader and Hardcase having.

Rating: General audiences (with a spicy reference if you squint), AU fluffiness where Umbara turns out different and this sweetheart gets the life he deserves 😌| Gif credit: user rexsjaigeyes

There is never a dull moment with Hardcase

If you thought parenthood was going to slow him down in any way, no you didn't

Becoming a father only amplified his playful, witty personality, something you didn't think was scientifically possible

When you told him you were pregnant, he all but bounced off the walls

Hardcase was "so kriffin' excited" to become a dad

He said exactly that to every person that crossed his path for weeks on end, especially his brothers

"How did I get so lucky? I can't believe it."

("Me either. Y/N actually thinks the galaxy can survive a smaller, louder version of you" - Fives, probably)

You were admittedly a bit nervous about becoming a parent, but as always, Hardcase had no fear

He tackled the learning curve head on, and it brought you so much joy and confidence to see his paternal instincts kick in as you both prepared for the arrival of your little one

Suddenly, he was aware of every hazard he'd never paid attention to himself, and in just a few hours, he completely baby-proofed every inch of your apartment

He even kept track of the days in your pregnancy, counting down to your expected due date

He loves (to attempt) cooking for you

Is he great at it? No. Did he burn everything at first and almost set your kitchen on fire three times? Definitely. Did he get better with practice and learn to make your favorite foods just the way you like them? Absolutely

Lots of cuddles watching holos together

Whenever he had to leave for the day, he would always kiss you first and then your growing belly

"Can't leave without telling our baby goodbye."

You adore how much he says that - our baby - and how much he's already devoted to being a dad

On your difficult pregnancy days, he would always be by your side to talk to you and tell you jokes until you were smiling again

Love At First Sight

From the moment your daughter was born, he was wrapped around her little finger

"She's so beautiful. Look what we made. No growth chamber or anything."

You jokingly reminded him that that was technically your role

"Oh...right. Of course. Great job! Not a single crack in the jar. Better than Kamino!"

In the weeks after your daughter was born, it was a battle to get Hardcase to put her down, literally

"Where I go, she goes."

Many naptimes were spent on her daddy's chest because he simply didn't want to let her out of his sight

(Sorry to report that diapers are you division, though. You just can't put your poor darlings through that again...)

Seeing him dote on your little girl so much only made you fall in love with him more; you were proud to call him the father of your children

Oh yes, children. You weren't done adding to the ranks of your little battalion, and neither was your cyare

A year and a half later, you gave birth to not one, but two sons

More than a few tears were shed as Hardcase held the twins in his arms

You better believe he was telling everyone about it too, calling many of his brothers to share the news before you even left the hospital

("We're doomed" - Fives again, probably)

How do you do, fellow kids?

Hardcase is a child himself at heart, which means he is your children's first and favorite best friend

Whatever they're interested in, you can bet he's into it too

He watches more children's holos with them than you do, and you're the one who stays home

Seriously, he knows all the words to the theme songs, the lore for each show, and the powers and skills of every character - it's a big thing that he and the kids bond over

Boredom is not a word in your house

Whatever your children ask for, Hardcase ensures they get (within reason)

He's likely getting something for himself too, especially if it's sweets

They want to build model starships? He's first in line at the market in the morning to get the kits

Your daughter wants to play dolls? You better believe her daddy is on that floor doing the right voices and following the story lines (and maybe causing the occasional pretend explosion or starship crash because he lives for the Drama™)

They all want to turn the livingroom into a battlefield to fight imaginary droids? Guess who their commander is

"Why not promote myself? I earned it!"- Hardcase when you teasingly pointed out his new rank

You enjoy getting in on the fun too and being the Zillo Beast attacking the barracks or the queen taken hostage that the dashing commander and his squad have to rescue from a den of bounty hunters

I cannot stress this enough: ANTICS

Pillow fights and roughhousing? HE probably started it

He's taking the fall for it too, because he'd rather face a firing squad than see any of his little troopers in trouble

In the everyday domestic disputes, discipline obviously begins and ends with you

You had to convince him that timeouts were not equivalent to capital punishment

Even then, you have to stop him from letting the kids out early

Bed times? What are those?

Speaking of bed, you had to invest in a bigger one because your beloved couldn't bear sending any of the kids away when they wanted to sleep with mom and dad

Seriously, he cannot say no to his babies

No night is complete with out tickle fights, either

Despite often having a foot in your ribs (which doesn't always belong to a child), you actually love sleeping with your family near and wouldn't have it any other way

Exception: the kids get sent to their own beds immediately when mommy wants a tickle fight with daddy. Commander's orders.

It's not only fun and games

With a little coaching from you, Hardcase was able to find balance between work and play, especially as the kids entered adolescence

It's not his strong suit, but he genuinely tries to help them with their academy studies (eventually they learn to go to you first; dad is for times of desperation only)

He is, however, at the ready any time they need a good joke or exciting story to brighten their day and banish their stress

Family holo night is mandatory

There's usually bickering over what to watch - i.e. your partner and offspring are disputing which loud, brightly-colored animated holo to put on - but diplomacy resumes as soon you bring the snacks out

Sometimes you just can't help but laugh and watch the chaos

All of your children certainly inherited their father's bold enthusiasm for life and passionate courage

When your daughter began to experience bullying at academy for standing up for a friend, Hardcase wasted no time expressing how proud he was of her for doing what's right

He was equally supportive of the boys when they later showed interest in weapons training and possible careers in the military

Just as when they were younger, he is always there for them to make them smile and feel secure and loved

There's no limit to what Hardcase will do for his family, and you wouldn't trade one day of your beautiful, whirlwind life with him for anything in the galaxy

[wweasleyhp]

Remus and Sirius Speaking French

Remus Lupin's mother was French and Sirius was made to learn French by his parents. So, they used that to their advantage.

They would annoy James and Peter really bad.

"James a juste besoin de se faire pousser des couilles et d'inviter Lily à sortir avec lui," Sirius would say.

(James just needs to grow some balls and ask Lily out.)

"Convenue."

(Agreed.)

"Stop talking sh*t about me in French!" James would shout.

Or when Remus and Sirius finally began to go out together and nobody knew yet so they would be adoring to each other.

"Je veux t'embrasser maintenant," Sirius would say.

(I wanna make out with you right now.)

"Tu dois attendre que James parte," Remus would reply.

(You have to wait till James leaves.)

Except when he said that, James did actually leave.

A/N: Sorry that I didn't post yesterday, I was quite sick, I still am really lol. I hope you enjoyed this oneshot though.