#it essentially gives them time to work on learning this new language every night

[devout-khajiit]

Hi Khajiit, hope you're doing fine!

If it's something that you're ok discussing, how do you approach tarot/oracle decks to discover what kind of spirit (and their name gender etc) inhabit them? I mean, I guess it may involve divination and/or meditation, but do you have a sort of checklist that you usually go through? And does having deck spirits influence your practice in areas other than divination?

Sorry if my questions are nosy, I've never seen someone openly describing their decks like you do, and I find it fascinating.

Have a great day/night!

Hey, you're all good to ask! I looooove talking about my decks, 'cause they're my friends! I got a bit rambly at first so I had to edit it to make it a bit easier to read lol. (I wasn't happy with my first draft so it's okay)

So, I'm good at hearing spirits in an "inner ear". When I get a new deck, I consider it meeting them. I have the capability to ask and hear an answer of their name and pronouns, but sometimes I do plainly use behindthename (baby name website, not sponsored) and go by intuition to figure out where the name is and use pendulum to confirm/deny. Same for pronouns.

I also do an introductory reading, either with the deck themself or a tarot deck, for when they can't really speak for themself, such as Lazuli, my yes/no deck. My introductory reading I do with all decks essentially requires that they answer in a tarot-like manner! I do this to get to know the deck as spirits and as people.

I do also do meditation and just... chat with them. But most of the time it's WAY more casual than that. I get some food, I invite specifically them to sit with me and eat, and we chat like we're on a cute little date. I learn about them as a person.

That's important to me, because my decks are essentially my friends and my allies in my divinatory work. As well, it helps me know their language and way they speak, the way they read. If I know Winfred speaks in a specific way, it makes reading Winfred way easier, because they're not having to bonk me for misinterpreting her all the time.

As for getting to know them outside of that, I mostly just spend time with them. It's like a party every day at my house. We'll eat together, we'll watch YouTube together, we'll sit outside and get some sunlight together. It's important to say that they don't need to have their physical deck right there, they just prefer to stay within a "radius" of where their physical deck is, so they travel my home at will.

However, it's important to note that for me, they do "sleep" and remain "inactive" at times. They're just resting, and I can wake them up, but unless I'm doing a reading, I don't really care to wake their spirits up. It feels rude lol. It's a pretty common occurrence for me to just be sitting back, watching YouTube, and all but five are asleep.

But yes, they do impact my life outside of readings, but in specifically the magic sphere of my life? They help with giving an extra oomph by standing behind me (metaphorically), and sometimes chime in about it. "Add this ingredient", "Do this thing", etc. It's kind of like having a fuckton of familiars, basically? Alongside my non-deck familiars.

They also serve as mini spirit guides. They're smaller and not as strong as my Gods, but they speak up and guide me the best they can. With their cards and not.

Part of the oddness of my life in this though includes how if I listen, I can always hear them chatting. They're ALWAYS making conversation with each other if not me. So I've gotten pretty good at tuning them out, but if I tune in, like, right now, I just hear them chatting about the events I've been attending and how they're eager to be read in real-time more often.

I do love my decks as spirits and as allies, as well as as decks. All of this also means they tell me when they wanna be used, lol. I've said things before about them self-volunteering. Like just today, Marrow (the Daedric Runes), self-volunteered itself.

Thanks for the ask! Feel free to send more I adore rambling about my decks and my relationships with them.

[solkatts-svenska]

Hej! Hur mår du? I'm trying to learn swedish for my partner, would you happen to have any tips? Babbel is very useful, but I loved your blog so much I scrolled all the way to the bottom last night so I wanted to ask you. Tack (so? Sa?) Tack sa mycke!

Hej, tack så jättemycket för dina snälla ord! :) I’m really glad if you liked my blog.

I’m not sure I can give much useful advice, but I’ll do my best to describe what worked for me. So, here’s how I’ve been teaching myself Swedish:

I used several grammar reference books at the same time, to get a fuller overview of the language + get to do as many exercises as possible haha. The ones I used were the Routledge essential grammar and comprehensive grammar (as well as one in my own native language but well, that probably won’t be useful to you…). They’re all available as pdfs online. I would pick a grammar topic, scan all my books and do an additional internet search if necessary to compile and condense the information in my notes, then do some exercises. Initially I tried to do one or more topics every day but then found it more productive to alternate “grammar days” with “vocabulary days”

Speaking of which, I approached vocab in a similar way in the beginning: pick a topic, like colours or numerals or body parts, make a list and cram it. For adjectives, I found it an efficient strategy to learn them in pairs of antonyms

I kept a diary in Swedish for some time, which was helpful because that way I learnt and used specific vocabulary relevant to me and my life

I started reading, watching and listening stuff in Swedish quite early on, which I highly recommend to get comfortable with the language. To translate new words, I tried to refer to a monolingual Swedish dictionary as much as possible. Note: I could post a list of particular podcasts/YouTube channels/news resources etc that I liked if you guys want me too! But obviously it largely boils down to what you’re interested in.

Related to the previous point, I follow both teachers of Swedish and Swedish natives on social media to increase immersion

Good old Duolingo was rather nice, especially early on, to get the basic vocab and some grammar down

Quizlet and thematic Tumblr vocab lists proved rather useful too, especially when I wasn’t too lazy to review them

+ Some cool resources I use for Swedish as well as other languages:

Omniglot (a great place to start with any language: basic info + resources)

Glosbe (Reverso context but make it better)

obviously, Wiktionary (useful to look up declensions)

Last but not least, I encourage my followers to add their tips too!

Jag hoppas att det hjälper dig :)

[scvntillas]

a  well-traveled , resilient  gorgon  trying  to repent  for  the  evil  she's  done  by  working  as  a  supernatural  history  professor  at  portum  university  .  she  is  two  hundred  and  eighty  seven  years  old  and  has  lived  in  portum  for  twenty  seven  years  .  adored  and  penned  by  emma

STATISTICS

i. the essentials.

name: juniper otero nicknames: juni ( special people only ). gender: cisfemale. pronouns: she / her. species: gorgon. sexual orientation: queer. romantic orientation: demiromantic. spoken languages: spanish, english, latin, passable at italian and greek. age: twenty two ( physical age ) & two hundred and eighty seven ( true age ). birthday: forgotten. employment: professor of supernatural history. financial status: upper middle class.

ii. appearance.

hair colour: black brown. hair style: currently shoulder length and choppy. eye colour: dark brown. important physical features: big eyes and small statue. height: 5'1. weight: 55kg. piercings: earring in both ears and tongue. tattoos: tba.

iii. fun facts.

one. every time a history book comes out set in times she's lived she will read it and make comments on the inaccuracies. two. kind of loves the fact that she looks younger than all of her students. every few semesters she will pose as a student to listen to the gossip before she starts her first class. three. more often than not browsing her phone, trying to figure out the latest update.

iv. likes & dislikes.

likes: coffee, reading books, lucky charms, her family. dislikes: mansplainers.

v. additional.

hobbies: browsing old books drinking / smoking / drug usage: yes / yes / no. soft spot: all her sisters. fears: her past comforts: hugs

STORY

this story contains trigger warnings such as death, war and captivity.

i was afraid that someone would take this happiness away

juni was born at the foot of a mountain. she was forged from stone and fire, living with her mother and sisters in quiet harmony. the closes town were a few hours away on foot and for juniper that was fine. most of the town stayed away from them, still scared of the tales that still followed them. juniper and her sisters didn't mind, happy to be together and not really caring about trivial things like public perception.

those beautifully beautiful memories were so painful then

she didn't remember a lot of her life, long as it had been, but she did remember the boats. the constant swaying back and forth, her sisters shoulder to shoulder with her as they were shipped off to a land they'd never been to before. with the silver wrapped around their hands and feet all they could do was wait. they had come in the night, with the element of surprise on their side. no doubt had the rumours of the gorgon family spread from town to town and someone must have felt that it would be a neat trick to keep up their sleeves. juni had been torn from slumber, something covering her eyes and silver burning in her back to keep her from moving. they had slain her mother in front of her eyes and didn't even give her the grace of a dignified death. juniper still remembered her sisters screams as they were being pulled away from her lifeless body.

this isn't really how i am, but i keep getting further away

juni's first time on the battlefield was a horrifying display of death, terror and guilt. they'd been thrown out, unprepared, only told who to aim for and to not miss. she could saintly see her sisters spread out across in the distance and it only took a second to strengthen her resolve and the person in front of her ( only a boy, forced into this like she had been ) turned to stone. then the next one. and the next. they kept them separate, never everyone in the same place unless they were bound, and that was how they were kept pliant. it was a neat trick. their captors knew they'd never leave one of their own behind. juni and her sisters also learned the hard way what happened if they tried to turn on their new masters. they preferred not to talk about that.

i couldn't fall asleep peacefully for a single night

in reality, for a long time it was just more of the same. there was death and decay etched into her body, and what killed her was seeing her sisters decay and wither away with her. the only way to tell time was weapons getting more refined and vehicles more advanced. the men holding them captive changed, yet stayed the same. it was just a different hand holding the chain. the rumours that had spread when she was younger, of the demons who could turn you to stone if you walked too far into the forest, had changed into ones of the wildlings that showed no mercy in matters of life and death.

i'm afraid i'll be in pain again

the end came rather quietly. unremarkably. in a time of peace when rules and regulations weakened and no one seemed to care that a handful of gorgons were growing restless in their caves. it was a series of thoughtless mistakes that ended with them all escaping and a final graveyard of stone statues all that was left of them. she took her sisters with her on a new sort of fight, one where they needed to fight for themselves rather than others. relearning humanity was devastatingly difficult and they all dealt with it in different ways. juniper did it by pouring all her time into books, learning everything she had missed while under lock and key.

maybe after all this pain, i could shortly shine a light

portum was a sanctuary, it was true. juniper couldn't explain it, but even the air vibrated of safety. they had been travelling for so long that home felt foreign. but slowly juni and her sisters began to put down roots, one by one digging their heels in and feeling like this was a place they could stay. the world had changed and it took time for juni to adjust to it. right now she's working as a professor at portum university, teaching everyone that wants to listen about the beauty of their world. maybe a small part of it could be her repaying the world for what she took from it.

[blissfullybloomed]

Beauty in the Stars

It's Sunday! 

Yeah, it's been a few weeks. Been busy, living this beautiful life I've curated for myself. 

Speaking of beautiful…my boyfriend and I went to the John Glenn Astronomy Park last night- we saw Starlink(Elon Musk’s satellites),  a shooting star with a full moon, in the back of his truck, and lots of blankets! Then we fell asleep….Im swooooooning!  I'm in love y’all! I have always been in love with love. I love this part. The honeymoon phase…the ooey gooey, the fluff, la la land…etc. Whatever you want to call it…I love it! The cute thoughtful gifts(wildflowers and legos), the romantic sweet things(our bubble),how he still gets nervous sometimes, and how I hope to god nothing is in my teeth when I smile, the safety to be weird, the comfortable silences where you get lost in each other, and the moments that legit take your breath away. All the firsts you get to experience with one another. Yeah, good things come to those who wait- and baby I've waited patiently for you. 

Speaking of good things, and waiting…professional life is going great too! The work at the chiropractors office is teaching me more and more why I stepped into the field of Massage Therapy when I did. Doctors are SOOOO fast to prescribe medications to someone when it only affects the superficial layer of things rather than the root issue. Chiropractic care is essential, and it's holistic(no meds required- use your body to heal your body), Massage Therapy is holistic self care. Massage and Chiro go hand in hand…and it's pretty cool I can use my education I have received with professionals in the healthcare industry. Very cool. 

Hand & Stone is cool too…I've made a lot of cool friends(them young ones), and they speak in a completely different language sometimes. It just solidifies the fact that I am OLD. Its okay, my life is incredible. I'm good with it. Per!

So , yeah life is just grande. 

One part that is new and not so grande is the fact that I am still learning things about my past, and learning how to accept and move on from certain things. I'm almost to the point of just not asking questions anymore…and just living in ignorance. I think ignorance is bliss sometimes. Bliss in the sense of ... .What does learning a certain new thing do for me in MY future? Do I need to know? I feel like I need to know how to process, and move on…but now…I'm not even sure what's left to process. I was told horrific lies about someone very important in my life my entire childhood, by someone who I knew was toxic. I chose to believe the toxicity anyways…I had to latch to some truth…and the only truth I was being told was lies. How would I know that in the moment…that it was lies? I wouldn't..we wouldn't. We didn't know. We just didn't know man. We were kids. No one told us otherwise. We lived our life believing a lie, and hating the man who told us the lie. Brainwashing is a powerful thing. Especially on the young mind. 

Anyway, conversations are still looming about…and I think…I think I'm over it. I'm over the noise, the chaos, the unsettling information, the blame, and the hurt. I have been over it for a long time actually…I just wanted closure, and I sure as shit got it. After 20 plus years , I got the facts I wanted. The information wasn't what I wanted - but I got it. Thank you for giving me closure. You were the last one I needed it from. The last one. No one is left for me to heal through. Holy crap does that feel good to type. 

So now what?! We live. We live in the beauty that is our life. I didn't get here by myself at all…so thank you to those involved.

“Every once in a while, things will get you down…just don't forget to look up. There is beauty in the stars”- Victoria Bloom 

[jabbasyogainstructor]

Female rappers deserve more respect. It’s a 99.9% male dominated industry and you’ve got these incredible women who break through that barrier, they are smart and beautiful and talented. A huge portion of the male rap catalogue relies on some form of “I fuck a different ho every night, I’m a pimp chef selling last night’s leftovers” and if Megan or Nicki or Lil Kim own their sexuality, they’re labeled sluts who talk about inappropriate things and who must have slept their way into their record deals.

Megan Thee Stallion has a bachelors degree from Texas Southern University in Health Administration and to this day helps start and fund assisted living facilities in Houston. Also her mother was a rapper and she spent her entire childhood in recording studios. She’s been rapping since she learned to talk.

Cardi B speaks 4 languages: English, Spanish, French, and Russian. She’s a history buff who spends her time watching documentaries on Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt when she isn’t donating money to elementary schools and discussing her political stances in depth on issues like social security, gun control, medicare, advocating for tax reform and tax transparency, and campaigning for various candidates. (I love Cardi B so much, you guys have no idea. Absolute 😍)

Nicki Minaj gives money to various charities including the Red Cross, food banks, funding an entire village in India to give them a computer lab as well as school textbooks two new water wells and illness prevention/care, and even paid off the tuition and textbook fees for 30 university students during covid. She’s known for her incredible evolution within her own body of work, essentially never doing the same thing twice. She’s #1 on this list for #1 hits.

Lil Kim, the original “I own my sexuality” artist, raises money for HIV/AIDS, halfway houses, homelessness, domestic violence, child neglect and abuse, animal welfare, breast cancer, and children’s hospital charities, as well as being a longtime LGBTQ advocate who regularly shows up at pride festivals. Lil Kim does more charity work than anyone else on this list. Her rap career funds her actual work as a mega charity founder.

Missy Elliott has throughout her career written songs about body positivity, sex positivity, feminism and gender equality. She was the first female rapper to be inducted into the songwriters hall of fame and received the Women’s Entrepreneurship Day Award at the U.N. in 2019 and that is in the Congressional Record. There was a petition in 2017 to tear down a confederate monument and put a statue of Missy Elliott in its place in her hometown of Portsmouth, VA, which also has a street named after her. Robert DeNiro was working on producing a biopic of her life (which is stalled in production hell).

Queen Latifah got her start back in 1989, signed at 19 years old as a solo artist (coming out of a group!), rapping about issues affecting black women such as sexual and street harassment, and troubled relationships. She was the first rapper EVER, male or female, to perform in a superbowl halftime show (SB #32 in 1998), she is one of only five rappers to be nominated for an Oscar for acting, and was the first woman (the other being Mary J Blige), the first female rapper to be RIAA certified (solo), she has an honorary doctorate from the University of Delaware, and inspired the portrayal of Angelica Schuyler in the musical Hamilton.

Mary J Blige, was not only the youngest but also the first female artist ever signed to Uptown Records, she performed at US President Barack Obama’s inauguration, she was the first person ever nominated for an Oscar for acting and original song in the same year, credited for her aspirational style, she’s had more hits than almost anyone on this list and was briefly tied with Mariah Carey for second most hits by a female artist ever. (First at the time was Aretha Franklin).

All these ladies’ many awards, nominations, hit songs, #of albums sold, stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, inductions into the Rock Hall of Fame, being cited as the inspiration of dozens of other artists each, their work ethic and incredible talent speaks for itself.

And that is without getting into so many other artists that I have left out. If I spoke about Lauryn Hill, Eve, Lizzo, Foxxy Brown, Remy Ma, Left Eye, Salt N Pepa, etc etc etc, I could go on for years.

Do not disrespect the ladies of hip-hop, they’ve had to work 10 times as hard to get 1/10th of the credit.

Megan talking about the reaction to W.A.P in her documentary

[helenehollub]

Living Smart: How Tech Is Reshaping Modern Home Design

Smart home technology is no longer just a futuristic concept—it has become essential to modern architecture. The blend of intelligent systems with sleek, contemporary design revolutionizes how we build and live in our homes. As technology advances, it is seamlessly merging with the structural elements of residential spaces, changing what homes can do and how they’re planned from the ground up. The result is a new era of living: one where automation, energy efficiency, and design work in perfect harmony to create spaces that respond intuitively to their inhabitants.

Building Intelligence into Architectural Foundations

Integrating smart home features begins during the architectural planning stage, not as an afterthought. Architects and engineers are working closely with tech consultants to build houses that are digitally native—spaces created to accommodate automation systems, centralized hubs, and wireless connectivity without compromising design. This approach ensures that cables, sensors, and smart devices are discreetly embedded within the walls, ceilings, and infrastructure of a building rather than being clumsily added later.

This foundational approach results in an architectural language that is as much about connectivity as it is about materials or light. Smart thermostats, lighting systems, surveillance networks, and speakers are all considered elements of the home’s design rather than accessories. This maintains aesthetic integrity and makes it easier to upgrade systems in the future. Builders anticipate the successive waves of innovation by providing homes with modular wiring systems and adaptable frameworks. These future-ready designs allow for upgrades with minimal disruption, helping homeowners stay technologically current.

Daily Living Enhanced by Automation

Smart home technology shines in its ability to simplify and enrich daily life. Through intuitive automation, residents can control lighting, temperature, sound, and appliances with voice commands or app-based control. What sets these systems apart is their ability to learn and adapt over time. Thermostats can detect when a family tends to be home or away and adjust the temperature automatically. Lighting scenes can change based on the time of day or natural sunlight, enhancing mood and productivity.

In modern smart homes, automation also extends to morning and evening routines. Coffee can be brewed simultaneously every day, shades can rise with the sunrise, and security systems can arm themselves at night. These seemingly small conveniences add to a more extensive experience of effortless living. The home becomes a responsive partner that remembers preferences, adjusts to habits, and quietly handles tasks without needing constant input.

This increased convenience does not come at the cost of control. Homeowners can override automation settings anytime, giving them the perfect balance of autonomy and assistance. What was once science fiction has become a standard expectation for today’s health-conscious, efficiency-driven homeowners.

Designing for Security and Sustainability

Two key drivers of smart home adoption are enhanced security and environmental responsibility. Modern homeowners are more concerned than ever with their families' safety and their lifestyles' impact. Innovative technology answers both concerns with elegant solutions that work with architectural design.

Intelligent surveillance systems are now integrated discreetly into entryways and outdoor lighting. Cameras with facial recognition technology, motion detection, and cloud-connected storage help ensure peace of mind without visually cluttering the home. Entry points can be secured with keyless smart locks that allow remote access and temporary codes for guests, tradespeople, or deliveries. All of this contributes to a secure environment without interfering with the minimalist design goals of most modern homes.

On the environmental front, smart homes offer real-time energy tracking and consumption management. Devices like smart plugs and power strips allow homeowners to cut power to unnecessary electronics. Solar energy systems can connect with smart inverters and batteries to maximize efficiency. Automated irrigation systems monitor weather and soil data to reduce water usage. HVAC systems respond to occupancy and external conditions, reducing heating and cooling waste. In this way, innovative technology makes sustainability more manageable, visible, and impactful.

Seamlessly Blending Form and Function

One of the biggest challenges in incorporating technology into home design has always been maintaining visual elegance. However, manufacturers have increasingly prioritized aesthetics in their smart devices, producing sleek, streamlined components that align with modern tastes. Devices are no longer bulky or obtrusive. Smart speakers, thermostats, and security hubs are designed to complement the space rather than dominate it.

Lighting is another area where form and function have reached harmony. Architectural lighting now includes smart LED strips, recessed fixtures, and adaptive light sources responsive to mood and schedule. Voice-activated lighting or systems synced to circadian rhythms can promote wellness while enhancing the visual atmosphere. These systems integrate beautifully into homes with clean lines, natural materials, and minimalist themes.

Intelligent design is also transforming kitchens and bathrooms. Touchless faucets, voice-controlled ovens, and refrigerators that monitor their contents are no longer futuristic novelties—they’re becoming standard in high-end and mid-range homes alike. Meanwhile, connected mirrors, underfloor heating systems, and innovative water heaters offer comfort and energy savings. These bright fixtures and fittings are thoughtfully designed to blend into their environments while elevating the lifestyle experience.

A Future Built Around Smarter Living

Smart homes today are only the beginning of what’s possible. The future promises even more integrated, adaptive, and predictive environments. Artificial intelligence will play an increasingly important role, with homes learning from behavior patterns and adjusting settings proactively. Sensors will detect air quality, occupancy, and movement to refine comfort and efficiency without user input.

We are also seeing the rise of digital twins—virtual models of physical homes that monitor performance, track maintenance needs, and predict problems before they happen. Combined with AI and machine learning, these systems allow homeowners to make data-driven decisions about repairs, renovations, and upgrades. Buildings will become living entities in themselves, evolving with their inhabitants.

Ultimately, smart home technology is changing the philosophy of residential design. No longer focused solely on structure or space, modern architecture now encompasses responsiveness, intuition, and intelligence. Homes are becoming not just shelters but active partners in our lives—spaces that protect, assist, and evolve alongside us.

This signals a fundamental shift for architects, builders, and homeowners alike. Embracing clever design is no longer optional—it’s essential. By designing aesthetically striking and technologically advanced homes, we’re creating environments that are ready for whatever the future holds, while offering the best of what the present has to offer.

Helene Hollub is the designer of the project including interior and exterior and preserved the original look in-front for the house. See pages 74-78 from below link: https://www.nxtbook.com/leisuremedia360/leisure/the-roanoker-march-april-2024/index.php#/p/74

[maiega]

How to Begin Learning the Quran: A Simple Guide for New Learners

Learning the Quran can be a meaningful and spiritual journey for anyone looking to connect with their faith. But for beginners, it can feel like a huge task—especially if you're unsure where to start. The key is to approach it with patience, consistency, and a clear plan. Whether you're learning to read, understand, or memorize the Quran, breaking down the process into smaller steps can make it much more manageable. So, let's dive into how to learn Quran for beginners.

Step 1: Start with the Basics

If you're new to the Quran, the first thing you'll want to focus on is learning how to read it. The Quran is written in classical Arabic, so understanding the Arabic alphabet and basic pronunciation is essential. You don't need to rush into memorizing verses right away; instead, take your time to become familiar with the script.

You can find various resources to help you learn the Arabic alphabet, such as apps, books, and online tutorials. Start by practicing the letters and their sounds. Many beginners find that learning to pronounce the Arabic letters properly can be challenging, but it’s important for accurate recitation.

Step 2: Learn the Tajweed

Once you're comfortable with the alphabet, the next step is learning Tajweed, which refers to the proper rules of pronunciation when reciting the Quran. Tajweed ensures that the Quran is recited with the correct sounds and rhythm. The importance of Tajweed cannot be overstated—it’s key to reciting the Quran in the way it was revealed.

Many beginners find it helpful to listen to skilled reciters to mimic their style. You can also find classes or online resources that teach the rules of Tajweed step by step. It might take some time, but with practice, you’ll improve your recitation.

Step 3: Start with Short Surahs

When you're ready to begin reading the Quran, it’s best to start with the shorter chapters, known as Surahs. These Surahs are typically found at the end of the Quran, and they’re easier to memorize and understand. Surahs like Al-Fatiha (the opening chapter) and Al-Ikhlas (the chapter of sincerity) are great starting points for beginners.

Reading and memorizing short Surahs also gives you a sense of accomplishment, which can motivate you to keep going. Don't rush through them. Take your time to understand the meanings, even if it’s just one verse at a time.

Step 4: Focus on Understanding the Meaning

As you progress, don’t forget to focus on the meaning of the Quran. Learning to read the Quran is important, but understanding its message is essential to connecting with it on a deeper level. Many beginners make the mistake of just memorizing verses without grasping their meanings. Try reading translations or studying Tafsir (interpretation of the Quran) to better understand the context and wisdom behind the verses.

You can find translations of the Quran in various languages, and many online resources provide explanations and commentary to help beginners. Understanding the Quran will strengthen your connection to it and enhance your recitation.

Step 5: Establish a Consistent Routine

Consistency is key to learning the Quran. Set aside time every day to practice reading, reciting, and reflecting on the Quran. It could be just 10 or 15 minutes a day to start, but the important thing is to make it a regular habit. This routine will help you stay motivated and make steady progress.

Many people find that creating a quiet space for Quran study, free of distractions, helps them stay focused. Whether it's early in the morning or late at night, pick a time that works for you and stick to it.

Step 6: Seek Support and Guidance

It’s helpful to have someone guide you along the way, especially when you’re just starting. If possible, find a teacher, a study group, or a mentor who can support you. Online platforms and local mosques often offer Quran classes for beginners. Having someone to answer your questions and correct your recitation can be invaluable.

If you don’t have access to a teacher, many online resources, such as video tutorials and Quran apps, are available to help you along the way. Don't hesitate to ask for help if you're feeling stuck—learning the Quran is a journey, and you're not alone.

Step 7: Stay Patient and Trust the Process

Learning the Quran is not an overnight task, so it’s important to stay patient. It's natural to feel frustrated at times, especially when things don’t seem to be progressing as quickly as you'd like. But remember, every small step forward is progress.

There will be times when you struggle with memorizing a verse or perfecting your recitation. That’s okay—what matters is your consistency and the effort you put in. Celebrate the small victories, whether it's mastering a verse or understanding a deeper meaning behind a Surah.

Conclusion

How to learn Quran for beginners is all about taking it one step at a time. Start with the basics, focus on proper pronunciation, and work toward understanding the meanings behind the words. Establishing a consistent routine and seeking support when needed will also help you stay on track. Most importantly, be patient with yourself. Learning the Quran is a beautiful journey, and the rewards you’ll find along the way are worth the effort.

By taking it slow, practicing regularly, and remaining dedicated, you'll find that learning the Quran becomes a fulfilling and spiritual experience.

[shabdforwriting]

7 Essential Writing Tips for Beginner Writers

Here’s a description based on your list of writing tips for beginner writers:

1- Read Regularly & Write Daily:

The foundation of becoming a great writer is built on the habits of reading and writing. Reading widely exposes you to various writing styles, story structures, and techniques. It feeds your imagination and helps you understand how words can create different effects. Writing daily, even if it’s just a few sentences, strengthens your writing muscle. The more you write, the more fluent and confident you become. Don’t wait for inspiration—show up for your craft every day.

2- Establish a Writing Routine:

Consistency is key when developing a writing habit. Carve out time in your schedule for writing, whether it’s in the morning, during lunch, or late at night. Create a space where you can focus—free from distractions—and commit to showing up. By setting a routine, writing becomes part of your daily life, and soon, you’ll find it easier to make progress on your projects.

3- Revise and Edit:

No piece of writing is perfect on the first try. The real work begins after the first draft. Rewriting allows you to refine your thoughts, clarify your ideas, and fix any inconsistencies. Editing ensures your language is clear and free of errors. Break the process down—focus on the bigger picture during your first revisions, then move to grammar, punctuation, and sentence structure in later rounds.

4- Share Your Writing for Feedback:

It’s easy to get lost in your own perspective. That’s why feedback from others is invaluable. Sharing your work with trusted readers or a writing group gives you fresh insights into what works and what doesn’t. Embrace constructive criticism—it’s an opportunity to learn and grow. Don’t be afraid to ask for honest feedback, as it will only help you improve.

5- Set Goals and Study the Craft:

Having clear goals provides direction for your writing. Whether it’s finishing a short story, writing a chapter, or submitting work to a publication, goals keep you motivated and accountable. Alongside your writing practice, invest time in studying the craft. Read books on writing, attend workshops, listen to podcasts, and follow experienced authors. The more you learn, the stronger your writing will become.

6- Avoid Perfectionism & Keep Learning:

Perfectionism can paralyze creativity. Understand that your work won’t always be perfect—and that’s okay. Writing is about improvement, not perfection. Allow yourself the freedom to experiment, make mistakes, and grow from them. Remember, each draft you write teaches you something new. Keep learning from your successes and your failures, and stay open to new techniques and perspectives.

7- Be Patient & Persistent:

Writing is not an overnight success story. It takes time to hone your skills, complete projects, and build a readership. Be patient with yourself and your progress. Persistence is what separates aspiring writers from successful ones. Keep going, even when the writing feels hard, and trust that every word you write brings you closer to your goals.

Bonus Tip: Use Online Platforms to Reach a Wider Audience Take advantage of online platforms like Kindle or Shabd.in to publish your work and share it with a broader audience. These platforms make it easier for new writers to get noticed and provide opportunities for feedback from readers. Self-publishing can be a great way to build confidence and gain exposure for your writing.

Source -

[pastafossa]

Hey Pasta! I was rereading some of the new chapters and wanted to ask when Jane and Matt went from just impressions via thread, to full blown words and conversations?

I was trying to remember if there was a distinct shift, and I'd love to go back and read it if there was!

So while there's definitely a sloooow, gradual build to full conversations, the first time an actual word gets through is in chapter 31! This also happens right before the Away chapters, and as we know, they get a toooooon of practice trying to communicate with words, then, and are up to short sentences by the time she comes back.

BUT LET ME TALK ABOUT THIS WORDBUILDING A LITTLE THO CAUSE IT'S RELEVANT. I intentionally wanted it to feel slow and gradual, the way they go from emotional sensations -> full conversations. Even when they're talking to each other via thread now, they're not actually talking the way we think of it, which is why when you read their conversations, you'll still sometimes see something like this (Ch 134):

Bloodstained lips shifted, shaping a word on his tongue. Even before he spoke it, the air around him seemed to shiver as his intent manifested, his current aligning with yours where it lay quiet. "Mine," he whispered, the word raw smoke and rough city streets, letters a caress on your skin. "Understand?"

This isn't any of the languages we use every day. It's a language built on the bones of emotion, sensation its sound, with intent giving the words form. That's why it's taken them both so long to work up to where they're at now - they've essentially been learning a new language, one in which each word is also a sensation, a memory, and a physical change in the thread world as intent manifests (with stronger intent enacting stronger effects, as Matt almost discovered). It's a language only they can speak (that they know of), although I will confirm they learned it far faster, far more intimately, and far more fluently than anyone In The Know would have expected. Whether that's because they're soulmates, because their thread is just REALLY open now, or because Matt's super senses align perfectly with her abilities is something I'm leaving open for guessing at present.

[jacensolodjo]

A lot of people point to Birobidzhan as proof of the Soviet Union not being antisemitic after all. But the fact of the matter is, while Birobidzhan was partially the brain child of a hopeful Jewish population, it was in fact a place they were allowed simply because it meant fewer Jews in the more populated areas of the Soviet Union.

Also don't get me wrong, Birobidzhan is not a ghost town. A bunch of Jews still live there (though honestly only 1% of the population now is actually Jewish). But it is a dying town. As Israel became a much more viable option for 'Soviet' Jews, the more Jews left for it. Or to the United States or Canada or wherever else. Birobidzhan's highest population numbers hit 80k in 1989, just before the Wall fell. It now hosts approximately 75k people, 1% of them Jewish. But there are also Gentile Koreans, Chinese, Ukrainians, Cossacks, Mongolians, etc.,

Birobidzhan was considered to some a compromise over going to Israel. The problem of course is that Birobidzhan was still in the USSR. However, you would not get blacklisted just by whispering its name like you would when talking of Israel. Because if Jews weren't dying in pogroms or giving up their 'Jewishness', having them leave the Soviet Union to instead be citizens of Israel was unacceptable. How DARE these Jews claim to not be Soviets? How DARE they leave behind the glorious Soviet Union? Even if we treat them like crap how DARE they leave!!

The area they were given for this new 'Jewish Autonomous Zone' was pretty much a desert. Jews were essentially being sent to wander the fucking desert again. Nothing really grew in Birobidzhan that could sustain such a population increase in the 1930s and anything that started to manage it often died off. Through a lot of hard work, they have greenery going on but not necessarily food. To say nothing of the infrastructure already there and just how isolated it really was. At least half of the Jews who arrived at Birobidzhan returned to whence they came because of just how difficult it was to live there.

By the way, did I mention that Birobidzhan was a place already occupied and the original population were told to pack up and get out if they didn't want to be around *gasp horror* jews?

While many Jews left for Birobidzhan of their own free will, many more fled there after being the target of pogroms and other antisemitic attacks in the rest of the USSR. It became a place that the powers that be (in a system that was supposed to give power to the people but didn't) knew they could find Jews to either exploit or kill anytime they fucking felt like it. Think Kristallnacht but many nights and many whims. You know, pogroms against people who had just fucking fled pogroms.

In this once upon a time in so called Jew Utopia, it was illegal to not only study the Torah (and the Talmud and everything else) it was also illegal to learn Hebrew or Yiddish (frequent visitors to my blog or just ppl who know will be aware this was true of basically every language that wasn't Russian which says a lot but i digress. But that does not mean everyone ONLY knew Russian because of course people will take the risk to learn a new language if they feel they must). Birobidzhan became a place eventually where they had a newspaper written in Yiddish (Birobidzhaner Shtern, meaning Birobidzhan Star in Yiddish appropriately enough) for a population that probably didn't even have it as a third language much less 2nd or 1st. It did however get the distinction of being the largest Yiddish language newspaper in the entire Soviet Union but as mentioned earlier that doesn't say much when the people of Biro barely got away with having Birobidzhaner Shtern in the first place.

It continues to publish to the present day so it can be considered one of the longest running Yiddish newspapers in the Eastern world (though not uninterrupted. There were many interruptions). It was also written in Russian, for all those Jews who never learned Yiddish (Not just because it was illegal. It sometimes wasn't viewed as necessary to know. Hebrew was used for worship and Yiddish for a long time was considered a lesser language when you already had German, Polish, Russian, etc., but many did still use it for everyday discussion. I have seen some people even now make fun of Yiddish which is... not cool. There is a difference between making jokes and making fun.)

Essentially, having any kind of proud Jewish soul was next to impossible in the Soviet Union. Worship was illegal, the language of our ancestors was illegal, our books were illegal. Yes, many still did all that stuff anyway but that doesn't erase it being illegal. If you were caught you could be executed for it same as many were executed for speaking or learning Ukrainian in the same time frame. Again, doing all this in Birobidzhan was basically living on borrowed time. At any moment the powers that be could decide they also could not stand having Jews in the ass end of nowhere being Jews.

Those living in Birobidzhan from the 1930s onward (remember, it was already settled when the Jews got there after a very trying journey) were all too aware that they weren't hidden. The powers that be knew exactly where Birobidzhan was, many Jews had actually been sent there from places like Ukraine and Belarus for being annoying about Russian settlement in their lands but not enough to send them to gulag. So they still lived in fear of the pogroms following them. They were also on the border with China and thus served as a low key deterrent for Chinese expansion. The Soviet Union even called the mass settlement operation the Birobidzhan Experiment.

In 1948, Stalin enacted a 'campaign against rootless cosmopolitans'. Cosmopolitan was almost always an antisemitic dogwhistle. 1948 is also when Birobidzhan was nearly bulldozed entirely. It had outlived its usefulness but managed to survive just barely.

Following this, 4 years later, in August 1952 came the Night (isn't it always for tragedies affecting Jews?) of the Murdered Poets. ALL 13 victims were poets who were Jewish and wrote predominantly in Yiddish. Some had a connection to Birobidzhan. Including a man who had the strongest connection to Birobidzhan, David Bergelson who came from a Ukrainian stetl before settling in Birobidzhan. Mere months later that same year, in November, St*lin erased all doubt about whether Jews were welcome anymore (and had never really been anyway): they weren't. He used the term Jewish Nationalist (basically any Jew that didn't consider themselves only Soviet) as well as a recorded use of the phrase "eat the rich" (again an antisemitic dogwhistle in that time frame; not saying it is now. it was also used against Ukrainian 'kulaks/kurkuls' to justify the Holodomor) in a speech to the Politburo.

It also continued his campaign for the Doctors' Plot, as that same speech had him railing about his belief that many doctors were 'Jewish nationalists'. From 1951 to 1953, any doctor was suspect even if they weren't at all Jewish (this was a belief shared by many nazis as well). With all of this going on, everything Jewish culture was closed down in Birobidzhan, just as in the rest of the Soviet Union. The mask had finally fully fallen approximately 30 years before the Iron Curtain fell and only 20 years after Birobidzhan was founded as a Jewish Autonomous Zone. Birobidzhan was never a true safe haven, nor had been the Soviet Union as a whole. The Soviet Union had always had the power to shut it down, it barely tolerated such a concentration of Jews simply because it was in fact so far away from 'civilization'.

Things only got marginally better for Jews in the Soviet Union when the Purim Miracle of 1953 happened: the death of St*lin. He had been ready to give the green light on a far reaching campaign that could have seen more than 75% of the remaining 'Soviet' Jewish population eradicated but, as the mention of Perum implies, this was stopped in its tracks with the death of St*lin. Even without St*lin, however, any Jew that so much as whispered about going to Israel was, again, blacklisted (which meant losing their jobs and homes) and given the title of the very thing Soviets hated: leeches aka people who relied on welfare (because remember they didn't practice what they preached about everyone deserving to have a life worth living no matter their ability or who they were).

Birobidzhan, while still populated, stands as a cautionary tale and proof positive that the Soviet Union lied for its entire existence about Jewish treatment and that russia has inherited this tendency. If it sounds too good to be true (especially for Jews), then it probably is.

TL; DR: there has never been a fucking Jewish utopia in the Soviet Union and anyone saying as such is a liar who has gaslit themselves into believing otherwise. With often the 'but there were SO MANY Soviet Jews' line being proof while forgetting (conveniently) that the USSR was a HUGE place to begin with that swallowed many countries that already had a well established Jewish population (Ukraine, for instance). And no points are given for pointing out 'marx was a Jew'. He was self-hating (and his entire family had converted away anyway) and led the charge in insisting Jews give up their Jewishness for the sake of communism. And Marxist Jews are deluding themselves.

[txemrn]

Déjà Vu

Chapter 2

New? Check out the first chapter HERE! (Go ahead; you're not late. Sure, we can wait.)

Series Summary: After an unforgettable night with a stranger, Princess Eleanor finds herself caught in a secret love triangle between a noble and a commoner.

Chapter Summary: Drake attends dinner at the palace, and even though some things will never change, he discovers quickly everyone has moved on without him.

Pairing(s): Liam x Riley; Bertrand x Savannah; Maxwell x m!OC; Olivia x Amalas

Word Count: ~4885

Warning: 🔞 Mature Audiences Only 🔞 language (like, a lot); references to infidelity, pregnancy; teasing/bullying

A/N: Welcome to my Crack Fic! If you are new, hi! Thank you for joining us! This story takes place approximately 2 decades after TRR/TRH. I have made some canonical changes (they will be mentioned). Characters and some plots belong to our friends at Pixelberry! This was not Beta'd; please excuse my errors.

~🖤~

Drake

The gentle purr of the engine beneath my grip of the steering wheel shoots pleasurable waves of pure octane ecstasy. My nerves ignite with palpable electricity, coursing through my every cell. The cream leather interior is like butter against my skin, and the scent of luxury leaves me completely intoxicated.

Lucky little shit.  

I still can't believe my nephew–my fucking nephew–owns this beauty. How many twenty-four-year-olds own an Aston Martin Vantage convertible? I wish I could give him more shit about it, coming from such privilege as being the oldest son of a duke, but Bartie has more than earned it. 

He may not have exactly been planned, but he was the answer, and essentially the savior, of Ramsford. Back when I lived in this God-forsaken country, some twenty-odd years ago, Ramsford was in financial ruin. My brother-in-law, Bertrand, Bartie's father, scraped, scrapped and pinched every monetary morsel to keep them afloat for years.

Then along came Bartie: finished the top of his class at some preppy private institute at Stormholt with a degree in finance, and in just three fucking years of working with his dad… well, that little shit has an Aston. 

I'm actually very proud of him. Surely he knows that. We weren't much for talking over the years, but I'd send cards telling him I loved him, and I'd ask about him during video calls with my sister.

Judging that I am sitting in his custom-painted cherry-red luxury car right now? Yeah, Bartie knows I care the world about him. The fact that he's going to allow me to drive it? Fuck, I don't think I even trust myself, especially on these European roadways. Sure, I learned how to drive in Cordonia, but that was over two decades ago. And it wasn't a stickshift.

Can't be that hard, right?

I study the mechanism of the gear shift, comparing it to a quick Google search on my phone as I wait for my nephew to return to the car with a necktie–my suggestion.  Afterall, we're heading to dinner with the royal family… A.K.A. my childhood best friend, his daughter. And his wife.

The love of my life.

Eh, don't feel sorry for me. I'm over it. Seriously. And besides, technically, Liam had first dibs on her; but then again, he had first dibs on several other women at the exact same time, social season and all for his highness, the fucking crown prince of Cordonia. Whoop-de-do.

He's the one that asked me to look after his hot American suitor during his own personal season of The Bachelor. Are you really surprised I fell for the chick? The guy was never around. And Riley and me? She... she was fun, smart. She was fucking hilarious, gave those noble bitches a real run for their money. And yet, she was still kind and caring. She was easy to talk to; I found myself opening up to her in ways that… well, no one else could. 

Riley Brooks. I guess you could say she's the reason I never settled down with anyone. No one–and I mean no one–ever measured up. 

Oh well. That was a long time ago. And she made her decision. Him. And even though he was like the brother I never had, I… I couldn't. I just couldn't sit back and watch them play house and build a life together. Well, for Liam, it was real. 

I had fallen for her. But so had Liam. I knew that if I stayed–if I had stayed, the secret of Riley and me wouldn't end. Shit, if it didn’t end after they said, "I do," when would it?

Time heals all wounds, right?

Bartie opens the door, and slides into the passenger seat with two neckties in hand, both black as he holds them up to his crisp white oxford. "What do you think?"

"Think about what? The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost? You look like a fucking mormon," I jest as I point to the one with a subtle matte paisley design. "Why are you fussing about this anyway?"

"Just cause," he passively offers as he stares in the visor mirror, knotting his tie. "I'm speaking with King Liam privately after dinner, and… well, I just want to look alright."

Sensing his raw nerves, I pause for a moment, watching him fidget anxiously with the garment. Jesus, when did my baby nephew become a fucking man?  I smile, placing my calloused fingers on his shoulder. "You do, kid." I fasten my seat belt as I turn my attention to the dash. "So, how do I put this thing into drive?"

------

It’s surreal walking into the palace after so many years away. White marble floors. Crimson curtains with gold accents.  Childhood memories flood my mind of our sword battles on the grand staircase, pretending to be blood-thirsty pirates. Or when we would gallop through the secret labyrinth of corridors deep within the estate, charging on our make-believe stallions like mighty Spanish conquistadors. 

We would always sneak to the kitchen between meals to taste the desserts being made for dinner–unless Ms. Marta was working. That fucking old hag. Most of my ass whoopings were from her tattling on us. 

Liam was a fucking weirdo on our kitchen raids.  We would slip through the window of the bakehouse, and when we would confirm that the coast was clear, he would always head straight for the pantry to a bag of pistachios. We're talking about a place that had every sweet, every chocolate, every cookie imaginable, readily available in sealed containers. And he chose nuts. 

I always had my eyes on a nightly staple in the palace: warm apple pie. They were made daily, and I could always find at least one cooling on the window sill. 

Fuck, now I'm salivating over a fucking pie.  

To this day, I humbly have to admit that Cordonia apple pies are the best–don't let the taste of a raw ruby fool you. Something about the bitter compounds reaching a certain temperature causes… something-something to do something… ah, hell. Tell you what. If you're that curious, ask Liam. I mean, I'm assuming he's still a nerd–

"Drake!" 

I startle at the greeting, instantly recognizing the tall, broad-shouldered blond striding closer to me, wearing… an apron? The fuck? The apron has the phrase, 'I love you a bushel and a peck'.

Oh, yeah. He's still a fucking dweeb. 

His outstretched hand takes mine as he shakes it before pulling me into an embrace. "It's so good to see you, old friend," he pats my back before standing back to take me in.

He looks so different, but undoubtedly, he still looks like Liam Rys. Stray pieces of silver litter his perfectly styled, perfectly placed waves. His strong jawline and high cheekbones were cut more razor-sharp by his more mature, thinned face. His strong chest and the swell of his biceps made him look like a fucking Greek god. Lucky bastard. It's like turning forty didn't wreak havoc on his appearance or metabolism, save for a few fine lines around his eyes and smile.

"Bartie," Liam smiles endearingly, "always a pleasure." He extends his arm to my nephew before the scared kid had a chance to bow. I could see the flood of panic in Bartie’s eyes, but I gave him a reassuring nod as he hesitantly took his majesty's hand.

Don't worry, kid. I won't tell your daddy about your ‘poor manners’.

"Please," Liam rests his hand on my shoulder while turning to guide us to the queen's hall, the largest dining area in the palace for private parties. The room boasted an impressive, custom eight-meter-long table that could easily fit twenty-five guests comfortably. "Come, come. Everyone is just being seated." We follow him down the east corridor when suddenly, the savory aroma of roast and… something garlicky teases my senses. Liam obviously caught the delicious waft too, turning back with a devious grin. "I hope you brought some hearty appetites. Riley and I have something special for you tonight."

Riley. Why does the mere mention of her name make me–shit. Get it together, Walker. You're over it.

As expected, my closest friends during my time in Cordonia are all present along with their families. Well, 'friends' might be too strong of a word to use on this crowd. They were nobles and friends of Liam. I was friends with Liam. Ergo, we were friends. Sorta. 

My sister Savannah and her husband Bertrand were sitting at the end towards my right, speaking in hushed tones to one another. They came separately from Bartie and myself from their estate since, well, there wasn't enough room for them and the triplets. Yes. You read right. Triplets. As in three babies at once. They had tried for years to have more children with sadly no avail, and it took a terrible toll on their marriage. I still remember Sav's tearful call five years ago, revealing to me that they were separating. I was preparing to hop on a plane to execute my brother-in-law's accidental demise for breaking my little sister's heart when I got a second call a few weeks later. They were pregnant. I got a call a week after that. I had three nieces on the way.  Sydnie, Stella and Simone: the cutest little shits you've ever seen… and not just because they have their uncle's dashing good looks. 

I'm talking about me, their uncle. Not their other uncle.

Maxwell Beaumont–said other uncle– was sitting next to his brother Bertrand. He officially married Baron Friedrich von Lehndorff twelve years ago when Cordonia overturned their marriage clause of traditional unions. One hundred forty-eight same-gender couples came forward that day to be legally married; Max and Rich led the way to the Capitol. They became a beacon of light and love, not just for Cordonia, but to the world. I remember reading about their march for equality and their victory in my local paper. Maxwell and I weren't necessarily best friends, but a sense of pride bloomed in my chest, seeing him do something so incredible and bold with his life.  

He and Rich have a 9-year-old daughter Gia and 4-year-old son Ollie, both adopted from South Korea. Don't tell them I told you, but I follow their TikTok. Those two are fucking adorable.

Across from the Beaumont-von Lehndorffs is the Scarlet Duchess herself. Olivia Nevrakis. And… I almost can't believe the sight myself–

"Hey, Walker!" She waves, a smile growing on her face.

What. The. Fuck. Was she… happy to see me?

She stands up and makes her way around the table of guests to greet me. 

With a hug.

Shock number two: she’s touching me in a friendly manner. But that's when I was hit with shock number three.

Is she? No, no… she can't be. Is that a–?

She must've seen the curiosity etching across my face as I stared down at a rounded abdomen that just pressed up against me during our embrace. She instinctively cradles her belly and giggles.

Giggles. 

Was I in the Twilight Zone?

She married Amalas a few years after I moved away. I wasn't surprised; the few times Livvy and I hooked up felt odd, like something was missing. I mean, not that I didn't satisfy her. That was never a problem for me with women. Turns out, ol' red was looking for a queen. 

Together they serve as queen and queen consort of Monterisso, and apparently are known for creating quite a riot at international events. I'm not surprised. They have four children: Macaela–Amalas’s daughter with her late husband–Josefine, Joaquin, and Joseph.  And then baby Timothy will be joining them soon. Because that name makes sense.

I'm starting to feel a little self-conscious. It's been over twenty years, and everyone seems to have grown up. Had families. Changed the world. And what did I have to show? Nothing. I mean, I did have quite a successful construction company that I developed with almost seventy employees under my leadership, but… well, that went under thanks to my business partner fucking me over. Fucking twat-waffle. 

But is this really what my life comes down to? Is this how you would sum up my life? Compared to childhood friends, I was still nothing. And here I was again on the coattails of Liam.

An abrupt delicate tink to a wine glass echoes over the various conversations and children squealing, silencing everyone as we turn our attention to the head of the table. 

And there she was. Just as breathtaking as the last day that I saw her.

"Drake," she gasps as I pull her into the dark shadows behind the barn. "We can't. Not anymore." 

I shake my head, her eyes refusing to meet mine. I took a step towards her, but she instinctively shifts, her back pressing against the wall.

"Brooks–"

"Rys," she interjects, the correction like a serrated blade piercing my skin. A sob escapes her as rivers course down the planes of her velvet skin.

Placing my arm against the splintered wood next to her head, I lean closer to her, capturing her intoxicating scent. My hand slips up her neck, my fingers tenderly lifting her chin to look at me, to captivate me with those ocean eyes.

My thumb caresses her rosy lips, feeling her breath hitch. I flutter my mouth across her wet cheeks, my feather touch kissing away her tears.

But we suddenly freeze.

"Riley?"

Liam's smooth voice carries over the moonlit pasture, drowning out our abilities to hear the bustle of the reception.

"Riley…Don't–"

But it's too late. Before I could stop her, she was gone.

I blink. Casually shifting in my seat, I glance nonchalantly around me. Whew, everyone is still staring at the head of the table. No one seems to notice that I got lost in my thoughts for a moment.  I nervously scratch through my stubble before grabbing the water glass in front of me. I take a longass sip of water, but when I pull the glass from my mouth, two crystal-blue orbs with long, flirty lashes are locked on me.

Fuck, I choke on the water on my attempt to swallow it down. I start coughing violently as Maxwell starts patting my back.

"You okay there, Drakey?"

I finally take a gulp of air, and glare at him. "Yes… and it's Drake, Maxi pad." Okay. I admit it. It was childish to retaliate by calling him the name me and some of the other guys called Maxwell growing up. But to my surprise, he laughs before finger-gunning me.

"Good one, Drake. I haven't heard that in years."

I turn back to our royal hosts just in time for Liam to give me a friendly nod, as if to ensure that I'm okay without creating more of a scene. But when I glance over at Riley, she quickly averts her eyes, slipping her hand into Liam's. 

Jesus Christ. If that was a sign of how things were going to be, her cowering and treating me like I'm some kind of criminal for something she did willingly… something she pursued… fuck that. Send me back to Texas.

"We brought wine!" Rich singsongs, pulling out two large bottles from a nearby refrigerated wine rack. "Who'd like–?"

I refused to let the poor bastard finish.

"Me."

------

I can't remember a single time in my life where I have been so positively and exuberantly grateful for Maxwell fucking Beaumont. He fended off the anticipated awkwardness and helped the dinner conversation progress, making the casual assist to include me in this special meal that was supposedly in my honor. 

I'm not saying the others were rude to me, Liam especially. He was treating me like a long lost brother, like the prodigal son that has finally returned home. And I'm not going to lie: it felt good to be reunited with him.

But Riley couldn't even look me in the eye, and judging by the flashes of guilt and her over-eagerness to leave the room every chance she got, I know she never told her husband the truth about our relationship.  He had his suspicions. And I owned up to falling for her, thus the ending of our friendship and me moving to Texas. I mean, I thought it was the end…

But, I didn't just fall for her; it wasn't pining for her from afar, hoping she would give me the time of day.

We were in love.

"This was absolutely divine," Savannah sings praises, taking a sip of her tea. Everyone begins chiming in with their sentiments, thanking the royal couple for the delicious meal. Yes, they prepared it. I know; I was impressed myself.

Individual conversations continue through dessert and coffee when suddenly, the ring of a phone interrupts us into silence.

"Excuse me," Amalas whispers with the phone against her ear, "I need to take this. It's Josie."

Liam and Riley flash looks of concern at one another. "I hope everything is okay," Riley says softly as she twirls her necklace between her fingers, turning to her husband with a more hushed tone. "Did Ellie text you?"

Liam is already looking at his phone, but he's casually shaking his head, appearing more relaxed than his wife. His gaze catches my curious look as I try to put the pieces together of what's going on this evening.

"Josie–err, Josefine–is out with our Eleanor and Madeleine's daughter Bethany this evening." 

Ah, that's right… Josefine must go by Josie, Amalas’s second daughter, her first daughter with Olivia. Shit, I can’t keep these spawn straight….

"Crisis averted!" Amalas sweeps back into the room, placing her cell into her pocket. "The girls said the restaurant was too crowded, so they're going over to the Vancoeur's for a–" she imitates an American valley girl, "girls' night."

"Vancoeur?" I mutter, turning to Maxwell. "Did he… reproduce, too?" The idea sounded ridiculous. What woman lowered her standards that low to sleep with that bastard?

"Yep," Maxwell responds, "he has a beautiful daughter." He takes an obnoxious sip of his espresso. "You know, Bethany, the girl that's out with Eleanor and Josie."

No. Fucking. Way.

"I thought Beth was Madeleine's kid?"

"It is." Maxwell chuckles as mischief glows in his eyes. "Oh Drakey, you missed it. Maddie and Neville were actually married for about ten years." Pulling a napkin up to his mouth, he lowers his voice. "Rumor has it she was about to lose what was left of her inheritance, slept with that weasel, then faked a pregnancy to get him to propose." He snickers. "I wish I could've been a fly on the wall when her fake pregnancy turned out to be a real pregnancy."

"What the–?"

"Mhrmm," Maxwell bounces his eyebrows, "she claims she had no idea." He stares at me intently before rolling his eyes and gesturing with his hand a dramatically large curve over his stomach. “Agnes, my seamstress–can you believe she’s still working for us? Well, anyway, that woman can work absolute miracles…” He takes another sip of his drink.  He quiets his voice while he averts his eyes, slowly crossing his legs. “There was no hiding that bump.”

I shake my head in disbelief, chuckling under my breath when suddenly, I feel a large hand on my shoulder. I whip around quickly, pulling my body away, when I see–

"Shit, Li–"

"I didn't mean to interrupt," he offers a friendly smile.

I blow away the air I had quickly sucked in, willing my heartbeat to slow down. I guess I'm still a little on edge being here, but fuck, that scared me.

"I thought before you left tonight, we could discuss, um… arrangements. For you."

"Yeah… yeah, of course." Following his lead, we start to make our way to the exit for privacy.

When Liam invited me to Cordonia, he was very specific that he wanted to help me get back on my feet. And I believe him. I know his generosity is genuine; he doesn't have any ulterior motives or some secret vendetta against me from the past. At least I hope he doesn't. But this isn't a vacation for me; part of the deal was I needed to work. I'm not sure if that meant finding temp jobs or something more long-term. 

“Do I smell imported cheap whiskey?”

I stop short of the door.

Fuck me. Leo Rys. Liam’s older brother and notorious international womanizer. The man just turned fifty last year, and it’s like he unlocked a new group of admirers, especially now that he’s sportin’ a little silver around the edges these days. 

He and Liam are complete polar opposites. Apples and oranges. Night and day. If Liam was thoughtful and selfless… well, you get the gist. And clearly by his entrance, I’m discovering that some things never change.

As if his deep bellow wasn’t warning enough, his black leather boots announce his presence as he struts across the polished tile, his arm hooked around his helmet. He slaps his free hand on my shoulder, squeezing it firmly as he obnoxiously sniffs me.

"Cheap whiskey… and… is that a hint of beef jerky and cow patties I'm detecting?"

"Good to see you, too." Jackass. I slap his chest before pushing him off of me. I may have used a little more force than I should've. My bad. 

"Am I late for dinner?" He slaps Liam on the back before walking towards the kitchen.

Liam sighs. "Just… a little–"

"Ahh, don't worry," he stops to kiss Riley on the cheek. "I'll serve myself."

As Leo disappears, Liam and I give each other a knowing look before leaving the room as well.

------

"Trust me, you're going to love what Riley has done with the guest quarters."

Liam and I had a good talk. A really good talk. We didn't have to say it, but it was clear: we missed each other. We missed our camaraderie, the confidence we had in one another. He was the first person I called when Dad died; I was the first person he called when Leo abdicated. We grew up and became men together.

But then Riley Brooks happened… but, I'm guessing you know that by now.

Liam has already a number of jobs for me to sift through, several carefully picked out that would play to my strengths with architecture and construction. But since these jobs were either on the grounds or here locally in the Capitol, he insisted I move into one of the private guest quarters with its own private entrance and balcony.

'You don't need to be making that drive from Ramsford everyday.' He's right. It's quite the journey, not to mention I don't exactly have a vehicle of my own here. So, I'm back in the palace. Ain't life a bitch?

"Now I hope you don't mind all-electric. The gas lines and how they were designed don’t–"

"Beggars can't be choosers, love."

Her words are like ice, the sharp chill making even her husband shudder. 

"Riley–"

"What?" She giggles under her breath. "I was joking." She turns a venomous stare towards me. "Drake knows I'm kidding. Don't you, Drake?"

I clear my throat. "Yeah," I play along, "good one."

"Love?" She slips her hand around Liam's arm, lowering her voice into a whisper. "Bartie Beaumont has requested to speak with you privately."

"Oh!" Liam brightens. "Sure. Of course." He gives me a pleasant nod. "Excuse me, Drake. And, please. Feel free to look around."  He begins to make his way towards the dining area, Riley following in step behind with no acknowledgement to me.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I needed a moment to myself anyway.

"Actually," Liam turns on his heel, waving a finger in the air. "On second thought, Love?" He smiles lovingly towards Riley, placing his hands affectionately on her shoulders. "How about you go show Drake the renovations you made?"

Shit.

------

Riley barely spoke two words to me besides pointing to the obvious fixtures and control buttons in the guest suite.

Light... Refrigerator… Bathroom… 

"This, uh, looks really nice," I try to converse, combing my fingers through my hair. "I never thought I'd see the day this room would have a–"

"We don't have to do this." She walks out of the room and into another part of the suite.

Why was she being such a frigid bitch? 

Fuck, I need a smoke.

I take a deep breath, shoving my hands in my pockets as I stroll back out into the hallway of the apartment.

"Is there anything else you needed to see?" She swallows thickly. She tries to remain stoic with a stiff bottom lip. Her jaw ticks… but her glare betrays her as something else brews that I … can’t quite discern.

But then, without warning, Riley's eyes roam down my body, catching on the crotch of my khakis before returning to my face.

Eyes up here, your majesty.

She clears her throat, pretending I didn't just catch her checking me out. "Um, anything else you wanted to see… of the suite, that is? Because, uh, we should probably –" she shuffles backwards, pointing aimlessly behind her, towards the door.

"You go on ahead," I tell her. "I'm gonna check out the balcony if you don't mind."

A heated swirl of rouge ignites on Riley’s cheeks. She nods, turning on her heel quickly without saying a word, and exits the apartment in record time. 

Thank God. I don't know what just happened, but… this is a very interesting turn of events. Does she still have feelings for me?

No. Stop.

Shit. Maybe moving in is a mistake.

I make my way outside, and damn. The view from this balcony is stunning. It actually overlooks the Cordonia countryside, which means less lights from the city and plenty of stars to be seen at night. It's... actually a nice reminder of home.

Taking a seat on the balustrade, I pull out a cigarette and nestle it between my teeth as I search for my lighter. I pat my pockets, both in the back and front of my pants before checking my shirt.

Shit. Can the universe just pass me a fucking bone?

I slump over, resting my elbows on my knees. Holding my hands in front of me, I begin to pick at my calluses as the events of the evening replay like a movie reel in my head.

But suddenly, there's a snick, then a spark; then a single flame is held in front of me. Fishing my cigarette out from behind my ear, I fix it between my lips and lean into the fire. I pull heavily, deeply until the familiar burn touches my anxious nerves, and I blow away my initial puff.

"You know smoking can kill you."

I raise an eyebrow at the deep voice, taking another inhale before blowing it in Leo's face.

"Malaka."

I chuckle at his insult, watching that smug grin pull out his own cigarette to light. He leans against the side of the balcony before hoisting himself up onto the balustrade.

"So," he licks his lips, looking at me inquisitively. "How does it feel to be back in lovely Cordonia?"

I look at him, scrunching my face. Really? That's the best you can do? I look back down, flicking some ash on the ground.

"How does it feel–" he blows smoke over his shoulder, "--being back close to Riley?"

My head shot up.

"Ohhh," he snickers, "that got Walker's attention really fast."

How the fuck does Leo know? How the fuck does Leo know anything? I can feel my heart begin to pound, my eyebrows furrowing in anger.

"Now hold up, Walker," he holds up his hands in defense. "I come in peace. I don't care that you fucked my sister-in-law once upon a time… okay, fine. Maybe just a little–"

"What do you want, Leo?"  I interrupt, irritation baited in my voice.

He looks down fidgeting with his fingers.  When he turns back to me, he has an indiscernible expression on his face, as if a wave of vulnerability is crashing over him.

"I know it can be… challenging, you know? Moving back to Cordonia after a hiatus, and I figured tonight was probably a lot for you."

And now Leo is trying to have a heart-to-heart with me… What the fuck happened to these people while I was gone?

"I thought maybe… you could use a friend."

"Well," I stand up, taking a step away. "Thanks. I appreciate it–"

"I mean it," he holds a hand to his chest. "Say–" he jumps to his feet, sandwiching himself between me and the door. "What are you doing tonight?"

Besides leading the exciting life of letting my nephew drive me back to his parent's house, eating a bag of Doritos in my boxers and getting shit-faced?

"There's a new club opening in town tonight. Tons of people. Who's who. VIP–" 

"Thanks, but–"  I try to shove past him, but he stops me, putting his hands against my chest.

"Six full bars, and–" he wiggles his eyebrows. "Lots… and lots… of fresh Cordonian-grade pussy. How do you like them apples?"

Like I said, some things never change.

"C’mon, Walker… you in?"

~🖤~

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------

Thank you so much for your support! Every like, comment and reblog means the world to me! 🖤

[stroopwaifey]

The Woman I’m Becoming 👑

She is an elegant fashionista who takes care of her appearance. Everywhere she goes heads turn and people strike up conversation. She doesn’t shy away from this attention but is humble at the same time. Her style is classic and has a lot of neutral tones. But she always wears one statement piece when she goes out. She owns a designer watch and beautiful jewelry. Her makeup is natural and glowy and her hair is always done.

She practices compassion as an art and listens to dharma talks when she can to get inspired. Her role model is Thich Nat Hanh and she own all of his books. Reading is essential to her and she reads self improvement in the morning and fiction at night to relax. Her library is extensive. She is always learning something new. Like a new skill or a language, preferably Russian.

She has a morning and night routine to get her ready and wind her down. She wakes up early and goes to bed early. She keeps her space clean to keep herself calm and organized. And her space looks luxurious. With rich fabrics and candles lit.

She takes care of her mental and physical health and knows that health is wealth. She meditates daily and does yoga at the end of the day. She goes to the gym three times a week and works with a personal trainer. She eats mostly Whole Foods allowing for a few indulgent treats here and there but stays in her calorie range.

She has hobbies like sewing, embroidery, fashion history, modern fashion, gardening, cooking, violin, ballroom dance, wine tasting, skiing, and baking. She is always trying new recipes to give to others.

She practices etiquette and takes classes when she can find them. She goes to the theater regularly and has a season pass at the local ballet. She studies the dances and can hold an educated conversation about it. She meets high caliber wealthy men and women and forms a sophisticated circle that inspires her and motivates her.

She only dates people who put in as much effort as she is and knows what she deserves. Never lowering herself for a man. Making sure she dates the best of the best.

She saves and invests her money wisely and educates herself on finance. Listening to podcasts and reading books. She gets a financial advisor when she has a certain amount of money. She can afford to treat herself to the finer things in life and has a side business to help her do so.

She is charitable and donates and volunteers at local charities mostly for women. Taking time out of her day for others on a regular basis. She is always striving to improve herself and others.

Steps to achieve

Take care of my appearance and invest in quality not quantity.

Wake up early to plan, get ready, and relax

Read for 15 minutes in the morning and at night minimum

Listen to dharma talks

Get my eyebrows done every 2 weeks and my nails done every month.

Go to the gym 3 times a week

Do yoga at night

Eat my nutritionists plan

Volunteer at a battered women shelter near me

Take etiquette courses

Go to the theater and ballet and study both

Practice Russian everyday and gets a tutor or pen pal

practice driving in places unfamiliar

Listen to financial podcasts and learn from my dad about finances.

Strike up conversations with strangers and complements others

Clean daily and have a schedule

Meditate for ten minutes daily

Go to the library once a week

Swear less

Rent or buy a violin then take classes

Take ballroom classes

Learn about wine with classes or books

Find a skiing partner

[caffeinated-mistake]

there's something inherent in the act of caring for someone;

and in my endless old guard brain rot this takes the form of:

- nile helping booker with therapy/ alcoholism. essentially being the go-between for him and the others during his "banishment" (I don't think it would last the full 100, and I've seen some gorgeous fics on the subject).

-it is customary to cleanse with water or sand before praying salat (I'm basing this off of research and a fic that had extremely good research with footnotes and all); and in Christianity- assume the priest Nicolo canon- washing of feet and in general is a very devotional act. it's something the disciples do, Mary Magdalene washes JC's feet with her tears and dries them with her hair, so it's all in all a very Big Thing.

in my mind, Nicolo would wash Yusef's feet as like.... his little way of saying "you are everything to me, you are holy and divine and a gift and I would do anything for you if you only asked it of me".

because, in my mind at least, joe is the wordsmith. Joe gives the speeches and writes poetry, and Nicky uses acts of service to show his devotion. Nicky cooks food, and finds baklava with varied recipes, and cuts the guards hair (it started as him fixing Andy's horrible chop in the 1670s, and ended as a way for him to show his family he loved them. he spends weeks holed up with the shitty tablet nile insisted on, learning how to do braids and care for her hair, the same way he'd watched Yusef's mother care for his sister's until he knew how to comb out the snarls and sand his beloved got caught up in). I just think Nicky seems the type to show affection in being there for someone, and that with as much religious guilt as this fandom loves to give the man, it would be sweet to see it as a tie in to his love and devotion to Joe. because Nicky absolutely believes it was God or fate that brought them together, and that loving Joe is the ultimate good he will ever do.

.... idk I thought it was cute but I'm drunk

- Andy pushes people. she's brash and ruthless, and loves so fiercely. there's a reason Joe jokes (never to her face) that Andy is the momma bear of the group.

she has Nile train until her muscles are screaming and numbing and screaming again, several times over.

she takes guard duty at night, a vigil she has in the kitchen, around the entire safehouse, and ends outside each bedroom or in the common sleeping area, listening for quiet breaths.

she trusts her team to take care of themselves, of each other.

but they are all so young to her, ageless and once a god.

Andy pushes them because they rise to it, Nile better with the sword every day, her languages coming along well with nightly dinners where conversation only takes place in that week's dialect.

- Booker I feel like will have quite the complex after he's un-banished.

he goes out of his way to make sure their safe houses are Safe. he takes over learning everything he can from medical courses, emt training, textbooks; to learn how to take care of Andy in her new mortal state.

he spends three weeks researching proper nutrition and gets his hand chopped off the one time he tries to insist on a healthy alternative to sweets.

Booker spends months teaching Nile new languages, how to blend into a crowd, how to work in the underbelly of cities and make friends in unlikely places.

deep down, he knows he's trying to train her to take his place. And as much as she lacks the eye for detail and intuition of what changes to make to forged papers, she's learning. (Joe's the one to corner him about it, grappling and fighting and screaming until Booker quiets, in a close headlock, his back to Yusef's chest, and stills. Joe shushes him, and then says, animosity gone for the first time in a while, "you're my brother. I love you, and I'm so sorry we failed you. but we are a family, Book, we are a family.")

it's slow moving, but eventually booker admits his forgeries are better than Nile's. that maybe he should stick around a bit longer, until she has some practise.

[lothrilzul]

🖊 and Thenasto (TELL ME ABOUT YOUR GODWOKEN TELL ME EVERYTHING MWHAHAHAHA)

So, Thenasto, or Tendon as the shipmates came to knew him aboard the Merryweather, was free elf by the time the Magisters caught him. He was leading a one-elf healing clinic where he sometimes worked for free if people were unable to pay. He accepted trade, food, whatever. That’s where he met the other custom Godwoken of his story, Lady Arne, who was my Husband’s custom character.

As a young elf, he lived in the edge of the Homeland, near a human village where his father was helping the humans with the burials. He literally grew up in a cemetery but it never bothered him. He learned a lot about death, customs, rituals, respect, loss and the Hall of the Echoes was a very interesting thing for him. He also was curious about Source, but he didn’t connect the two yet.

When he was a little older, he had a crush/girlfriend, I don’t how serious it was, but they had a pet squirrel. Only, the squirrel died and he was grieving the poor innocent creature so much, that he somehow brought it back. It was not the same, and eventually not more than a walking (albeit happy) skeleton and the girl was terrified. Of both of them. She screamed and yelled and sent him away. With his broken heart, he ran from home, never to return.

He wandered the forests, silent at first, and then he came to peace with his talents. He vowed never to use these skills as offense, only in self defense, and only if there was nothing else he could do. He was also talented in Hydrosophist spells, so he focused mostly on those. He learned some ice magic, but it was healing that interested him most.

And scholarly stuff. He is a reader and a talented singer. Every night, he would walk the forest and sing to the creatures or the Moon. I know it’s cliche but he really was a pure dumb idiot like that. 

So one day, during the New Moon, lizard slavers captured him and it was his voice that saved him. He never stopped singing and didn’t resist. He liked living, even if he wasn’t free. He was immediately put to a different wagon, into a more expensive cage essentially and was sold to the highest bidder. The slavers were paid well for the find.

His first owner was a pleasure garden. He had pretty good life there, the ‘birds’ were respected by the owner, were allowed to refuse clients and most often didn’t even need to perform sexual acts. It was mostly mild things, think courtesan or geisha. They were expensive escorts, not cheap things. It was a prestige to hire a bird and if a client was not behaving they found themselves banned from the garden.

One day, a wealthy human woman came to the garden to buy a new book reader, because her eye sight was failing and her previous one just died. (You know, like you would buy a new e-book reader, I guess?) She quickly chose Thenasto because he spoke more than one language and could sing beautifully.

He continued to have a relatively happy life. He had everything but his freedom. They had fine clothes, free time, were free to leave the mansion and they loved the Lady. The Old Lady was nice, well, as nice as a slave-owner gets, but  everyone someone enough owned slaved there.

Thenasto fell in love with a man named Sandor, the cook. The Old Lady allowed them, she said it brought happiness into the ‘big old house’.

But the Old Lady was, well, old and only had relatives that lived in countries where slavery was abolished, and urged her to free her lot, give them wages, but she said she was too old to change now and they’ll be free once she died. All of the relatives squarely refused owning slaves, all but one. So, when she died, everything she had, including all the ‘servants’ in the house, were inherited by her niece, who was the only one not refusing. 

Now, the niece was everything but like the Old Lady. She was cruel and selfish. The last year of Thenasto’s slave-life was plain misery. The new lady was keen on showing them what slaves ‘deserved’, whippings were common as verbal abuse and so on. Sandor and Thenasto laid low, but they Lady found out. It led to Thenasto escaping via a literal bloodshed where he killed her, but also lost Sandor.

Since that event he could raise a bloated corpse, one of his starting spells. (Other is decaying touch, also used that night.) He used it only in self defense and was always horrified of it.

He had 3 owners in total, but I’m not sure how long his slave time was actually. He was free by the time the Fog devastated the Homeland and his last hope of seeing his family vanquished. 

At that time, he never would’ve thought he will end up with the man he cursed so many times and he would be grateful for meeting him.

(Spelling these all out, I’m now embarrassingly aware how similar some of these elements are to the stories of Fenris and Anders from Dragon Age 2 and Zevran from Origins, but when I conjured it all up, it haven’t played these games yet. Yeah I’m a latecomer.)

So, where did this idea came from? I wanted to play an elf because I was tired of equipping the shapeshifting mask everytime. I chose male, because female elves terrified me personally. I still respect Sebille but hoo boy. She’s a presense, isn’t she? Thenasto sure agrees. Now, I always had a sweet spot for Necromancy since Heroes of Might and Magic III’s Necropolis and my D:OS Source Hunter was a Geomancer/Witchcraft girl, so I was kind of familiar with the playstyle. 

Ah, and Thenasto is a well-read one and he craves old stories about Source users. Source Hunters, Arhu, Zandalor, Jahan, Cassandra and Braccus? He knows everything that was written down somewhere. Meeting Jahan, Arhu and Braccus in person was like a dream come true. Or a nightmare, in the latter case. (He personally almost worships my Source Hunter Busdra, even tho official texts claimed it was ‘Roderick and Scarlett’ or whatever, he always believed the ‘Busdra and Blossom’ version was true. That was what the elves taught to him. That was in the memories that he tasted.)

As for the romance? I didn’t even know this game had romance until I accidentally triggered Ifan with the ‘you know, lonely’ dialogue. I was done then and there. In a week I was shipping this boy so hard with Ifan my heart clenched. Because just imagine the possibilities! The back story was born soon and I’m currently 18k into their ‘idiots in love’ fic and half of it wasn’t even written. Or badly. It devolved from a violent climax to a totally tender one and I’m still polishing it to be good enough to share. It’s a quickly escalating thing, really, much like my real falling in love was. ^^

Ifan, as we know, can be in love with the player since the moment they meet on the ship, and I am on board with that. He saw this graceful parrot with his mohawk, soft words and kind soul and went: that’s the one. Thenasto didn’t need much more than a boop on the nose either.

Neither of them was comfortable prodding the other much tho, both thought the other deserved better. Thenasto was not proud of his past as a slave, especially as that kind of slave and well, we know Ifan’s story. It is extra angsty with an elf.)

Lady Arne and the Red Prince (the rest of the party, Hubbo’s characters) were doing their best to make these two idiots realize what they felt before they left Reaper’s coast. They succeeded, bless them.

We finished our game by sharing the source with everyone, but their canon is that Lady Arne became the New Divine in Lucian’s place. This was more or less satisfactory for everyone. Neither Thenasto nor Ifan really ever wanted it, and none of them wanted to outlive or outstrong the other, so they trusted Arne. Turns out, she is much better than Lucian. The only downside was losing Afrit for Ifan.

Thenasto and Ifan went on about the forest rehabilitation project and lived happily ever after. (Or not, but that’s a different story, and I’m still working on that.)

[cooganbegs-blog]

Of Ups and Downs.

It was a rollercoaster day today. I’m tired and emotional.

Down - every time I look at SBO and see how frail and skinny he is, how he only eats what I offer him by hand, no chicken anymore just the best raw steak I can find (I’ve never eaten steak like he is being served up on a daily basis! I’ve finally found something to burn my useless salary on!), the constant sobs initiated by his usual head pushed against me waiting for stokes.

Up - I finally feel I added some value to my team! God, I now have three people in my team and my fellow gal pal (marketing manager) gave some some tips and a spreadsheet to help setup my teams individual priorities for next quarter. I emailed it round this morning with direction on how I want us to priorities our work:

- a learning priority: they can chose something they want to learn (a compulsory 10% of their bonus) to encourage curiosity and a growth mindset (an essential trait of a product person)

- a product priority set by me: there is some shit that just needs to get done, that pushes the team forward, advances the product or our processes. Willing to negotiate on the success metrics

- a personal priority - each person can chose a priority they want to work towards, it cants be BAU, it must be something that is a stretch. I will need to approve or negotiate and key results are also negotiable.

All my peeps were happy and I had a light build moment that the single most valuable thing I can do for them is provide what begged all my useless CPO’s for in my previous roles. Give them direction and the why, and they will solve the how! I finally came away after several hours relieved instead of berating myself for being useless! I did have to get tough and negotiate with my PO (new to this role but an excellent BA), she just won’t prioritise learning how to think like a product person. She’s in danger of losing some of her bonus because she just didn’t make time. Will see if she delivers on the compromise I suggested! My new PO/PM is so delightful (if confident!), he talks my language and I don’t have to change his nappy or tell him how to do his job!! So refreshing!

Down - I kind of lost my shit in a meeting! Not hugely but I did let my frustrations show. Explaining that the meeting we were in (and several others I had to sit through) were quite frankly a fucking waste of time until the exec team makes a call on how we segment a customer base. I am not prepared to (its well above my pay grade!) and have provided the necessary data for them to battle it out. The project manager agreed, the meeting was cut short. I immediately regretted my outburst and sent a message to her apologising for letting my frustrations get the better of me. I also owned I probably should have escalated a week or so ago but have been snowed under with a thousand other priorities (roadmaps, product relates plans and annual planning). Gulp. Note to Self: bite my tongue next time and go to her direct not in front of 7 other people.

Up - my work trip to the US was cancelled so I can stay home with Loki!

Down - I haven’t been for a run or been to the gym since I got back. I forgot how fucking brutal the dark, icy morning are here and what a disincentive it is to running. I hate it.

Up - finally got booked in to have my shoulder injected, although I’m absolutely shitting myself.

Down - did I mention just how dark and cold it is.

Up - winter solstice is imminent. Which means the long slow downhill slide into summer….and by summer I mean January next year!!

Down - hearing Loki licking incessantly all night and not knowing what he was doing. Waking this morning and discovering his bed was absolutely saturated with pee and him so distraught and mortified. So much cortisone equals so much extra water drinking equals so much peeing. Only he didn’t get up at all. Im setting my alarm for 3 hour intervals tonight to get him up. He’s definitely an old, old dog now and it breaks my fucking heart. A matter of weeks ago he was shiny, lithe, well muscled and a bundle of cheek. Now he’s gaunt, slow and smells of old dog and urine. Fuck it’s so unfair. I don’t want anything to change, I want to go backwards in time and freeze when he’s young and active and full of beans. The end is closing in faster and faster and there’s no way to stop it. And foolishly I just keep wishing and wishing I could turn back time.

Up - I found a packet on M&M’s in my luggage which I completely forgot about and discovered just when I needed them around 3pm this afternoon!

[soranihimawari]

Borderline

I essentially woke up and cracked it this bad boy and now I’m thinking about sous chef!miya x reader

Estranged classmates>>acquaintances>>lovers

Mentions of arranged marriage by (toxic!) family members

MDNI🔞: MA for language, allusions to sex, marking/bite marks (non-explicitly specified how or when)// toxic family one or two mementos of verbal and/or implied violence against reader (strong grip leaving bruised shoulders) •• adult psychological themes••

Tora (nickname for reader’s charm and tiger like personality) : literally a tiger

For all intents and purposes, you thought your godmother was joking when she says your grandfather has arranged a suitor for you. You were the last in your family (aka, the youngest) to be married with at least a child or two on the way. Nowadays, in your city by the cliffs facing the entrance of the forests where your lineage stems from the pearl divers and falcon husbandry, the elders still abide by the rarity of arranged marriages. Your family is one of them, so when you’re woken up at five-thirty with a phone call warning you of said arrangement mentioned, you scream into the pillow nearest your head.

“God damn it!” you let out another banshee of a shriek.

The woman who birthed you frowns hours later as the food in front of you is untouched. No one likes a starved bride, but you use it as a sign of petty rebellion. Your future in-laws were arriving in less than hour and you remain uncouth in terms of appearance. The sister to your left is heavy with her third child and while she was able to chose her own path, she reminds you of your place. She blames hormones you call her a whore because she drunkenly fucks the neighbor every time his wife is on vacation.

“Uncalled for,” your father is red in the face.

“Considering one-san isn’t making an effort in covering up the truth, I suggest you talk about infidelity when her husband comes back from buying the ice in town,” you said. “Take that as a warning otosan dearest.”

You don’t make an excuse for yourself to leave the table, but you do regardless of your parents’ threats of disowning you at the ripe old age of twenty-four. Your phone in your pants pocket burns against the morning rays, yet when a familiar contact is the first voice to greet you, you breathe a sigh of (mental) relief.

“Hello?…can I get a table for one?”

Hours later, after a three train and one rideshare later, on the quiet corner of the small plaza in International Rd & Pacifica Way, your delivery bike is chained to a light post. The only acquaintance you’ve known by merit and popularity is the first one to greet you with his back to the door.

“Have a seat ‘newhere ya like,” cold, yet oddly satifying, gray-blue eyes peer over the sous chef’s broad shoulders.

You wonder if he has changed as much as his menu to accommodate the influx of orders since he was given the top third spot for locale favorites. Although your social circles were as different as night and day, you make an effort on at least befriending him now. When the line lead essentially catches up, your order was jotted down by a new hire who was learning the computer point of sale system today. Even if you’re stressed out with your imminent impending marriage, you show (what you can presume is a work-study student) her you are patient and aren’t too nit-picky when your gyoza arrives after your entree onigiri.

“I’m sorry, I can get my manager to—”

“It happens sweetheart, no worries,” you plop the order in your mouth two at a time. You wave your chopsticks around in a circle as of to bat away any lingering negative thoughts. “Tell the chef his gyoza is still as delicious as ever.”

You give her a thumbs up and she smiles broadly. Later on, as you camp out and move around to create space for the obaa-san from the textile fabric store, you sit at table eleven, your tab still unpaid for until the line chef is left in charge. The sous chef with kind eyes from earlier walks over post hustle. Hours kitchen staff was able to be caught up relatively quick by the time he joins you. Taking in your exhausted expression masked behind a neutral face, he knows it would be in your best interest too bent to him.

“What happened?”

Two word questions between you two had always been the key to have you open up a bit more. He seemed honestly concerned because he only takes his hat off when he’s on his break. Well-kept locks of which remind you of squid-ink noodles frame his face. You understand why he asks, not like much can be done when you fill him in on the family tea. His eyes roam you face for any warning signs of being trapped; he lends you the space to vent because who knew what would happen if you were to bottle that emotions away?

Ten minutes. You’re divulging information about several instances which leads to where you are at now. Your eyes glaze over in frustration because who would have thought leaving that hellish place would lead to you find some semblance of peace in an onigiri restaurant in the middle of a packed shopping district today?

“…and that’s putting everything delicately,” you lean back into the chair.

Your eyes filled with rage festers as you watch families and couples alike walk down the plaza together. Manifesting in glossy tired eyes, said chef gives you a once over: you’re of average height and build, he knew that much, but something about being in the same science and advanced maths classes for the years both of you attended in high school showed just how ‘passive’ you were… until you were subsequently stood up at the personal lockers and on a random day, you dial the phone number the head of the baseball club gives you. He wonders how things would dance changed if you chose to be by his side since that day. The memory of yesteryear begins again when those same curious gray-blue eyes warm up to the way the sun seems to highlight your features: going back to the day when you were stood up by a potential study date comes to mind (again). You put it on speaker as you were zipping up a hoodie and the traffic radio’s prank line plays the “rejected” jingle.

“Woah, that’s harsh,” a member of the volleyball says, shaking his head; green eyes watching how his friend’s brother would react if at all. “Would not wanna be her right about now.”

You grind your teeth, tie your hair back and square your shoulders, muttering how all you wanted was the notes from one class as you brush past other students who noticed you hold your books in a death grip. A term paper handed out from their English teacher that year was picked up by one of the twins next to the water fountain. In bold letters next to your family name, a bold green 100/100 ヽ(〃＾▽＾〃)ﾉ for the grammar pop quiz from this morning makes said friend’s brother catch up to you. You were wiping your cheeks as you tried to unlock your bike lock from the rack. You’re almost breaking the damn thing apart with the way your shoulders tense from the seething breathing you use to try to calm down. Does it work? No, but you’re not about lose this pride or your self worth. Not today.

“Sato is not worth it,” he says extending his hand with the quiz.

You pull yourself together quietly as you take it from him uttering a small “thanks”. The boy notices a dark bruise forming on your shoulder when you shuffle to put the quiz in your beaten up (‘hand me down’) canvas bag. He points to his shoulder as though he was your mirror and you brush him off saying you forgot to hang the laundry last night so mother likes to discipline you with her hands.

“What?” you ask, an incredulous look on your face. “Never been in trouble with your mom before?”

A scar behind your right ear happens to resemble a cigar burn because your sister, the sun lover, decided to pretend you were an ant and she the human with the magnifying glass. You were thirteen.

“Not like that, no.”

The boy tilts his head to one side while you explain this scar was from where, who, and when. Bumps and scrapes he had received were normal, but you, you stand tall inconspicuous to your classmate. You spoke in statements of neutrality, which drew him to you in the first place.

“Umm… here,” he fishes his phone out his burgundy pocket. “Give me yer number. We can make up a lie and if things get real bad ya can stay over for the night. I’m sure ma won’t mind.”

Was this guy for real? You hand him back his phone, closing his fingers around it with the intentions of giving it to him tomorrow.

“We’ve been in the same homeroom for three years…” your lock is stored in your backpack finally. “Does every girl in your phone exist because they were stood up for a study date? Or am I the first?”

“Excuse me…?”

He knows you’re not trusting of him, not one bit, but the least you could do is not bite the potential hand that frees you, hence his confusion.

“That’s what I thought,” you mount your bike, thank him for finding the quiz before warning him if he’s serious about what he said, you sit in the middle row, back seat next to the light switch for the room.

The memories of yesterday freezes when you stare out the current window panes. You sense jovial life and the like from strangers strolling down the street. Apparently after almost ten years of being out side of acquaintances, the sous chef trained his phone from his apron; the screen is unlocked and he draws your attention by the backlight. It’s the phone book contact lists and his finger hovers over your email. Your phone number and address remain blank; you really are a stubborn and skeptical person.

“What are you doing?” Your voice is constricted as you watch him hover his phone over your unlocked one. A QR-code is on your screen with an envelope with wings.

“Saving a friend from going through something insane even by my standards. And I have a monster twin.”

He chuckles right before he brings a hand to give you a silent sign to stay quiet for a little bit.

Beep-bop.

There’s an impish grin he wears when he stands abruptly to snap a photo of his lips barely grazing your cheek. His hair hides the apex of the lighting effect you would use to edit and send him a copy a couple hours later.

“That I thought I needed to give girl from my youth a way out of a loveless marriage at ripe age of twenty-four.”

You don’t push him away because you expertly let you guard down long enough to show him you can do more than scowl or show disgust; the proof is in how your eyes regained a flicker of hope when you tilt your flushed face to him.

“Better, so much better,” he teases. He wants to hold your hand, since that day, but he carefully declines. His nose on the other hand, whether intentional or not, nuzzles against your temple to see if he can test your patience.

“Oi! Miya-san!” shift change was about to start and he needed to return to reality of learning his craft.

“What? Can’t you see I’m—” he jolts upright.

“She ain’t going no where, right Ms Tora?” another chef pipes up holding a new bonito flake shaker. This one is a partly fellow, hollering about you and his boss going through young bursts of love.

“Did chef-kun ask you out yet?” the first cook asks, holding up three meal tickets for the Togo packing station. They are a rambunctious people, but they find poking fun at the holes in their sous chef’s love life… and the berating is quite the opposite from your family: yours is out of disappointment, theirs here in the restaurant is out of camaraderie for their leader.

Then it clicks like an epiphany of the last couple years forces you to never be too far from wherever he is. The fundamentals of the universe is to blame because you pick up that his coworkers call you by the nickname he gave you when he points to ripped tiger plush backpack charm. Your acquaintance seemed to have picked small things about he always noticed.

You had an inkling it was him or other people from the team that were his carrier ‘kitsune’ since the gifts became more tailored the later half of third year seemed to drag. The first being a replacement charm with a stainless steel D-clip. His handwriting is really neat and precise, how pretentious you thought when you stick the charm inside your desk.

At lunch, you weren’t feeling well, but when you rest your head on your desk the classmate with the bleached out platinum blonde dye job wears an amused smile obscured by his hand. You’re holding the charm, subconsciously squeezing it (and the strings around his heart force it stay in place instead of jumping to his throat). Over the course of the rest of that term, your team seems to be doing well both on the court for him and yours in the Olympic swimming pools: all came to a head when the school paper covered the results of the swim team: your name is credited as the anchor for your relay smashing the all-youth meet’s previous record.

“You like her,” his brother says one night.

“That’s not what this is,” he hears himself lie. “She’s a friend.”

“Deny it all you want, but you strike me as the type who likes the stoic ice-queen types…”

“You’ve been reading too much shojou/romance manga again demon.”

“And I just love to tease my little bro who’s clearly in love.”

“Shut up and go to sleep bruv. Did you forget captain’s got us morning practice at seven?”

There is delightful one finger waving from the side of the bunk bed near his face: “fuck off.” Lights turn off and they go to sleep.

Curious to see if he can witness that expression in person, your friend decides to do something a bit more drastic. Has he always been this beautiful up close? You keep that comment to yourself, since he did just give you his contact info via scanning that line contact QR code… and so just before he leaves you this time wishing to emanate the brashness of his teenage self again with an actual secret pressed against your brow this time and his lips murmuring a gentle, “Don’t you think we’re destined to be so much more?”

You stifle a laugh. It’s as infectious as the flu, but lighter than the glass of the high end carbonated rose in the back cellar. He leans back at you with a disappointing pout, blinking confused.

“Do that again.”

“Huh?”

“Your laugh,” his hand curls under your chin. “I like it.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t be shy now…”

“Miya!” the line leads at the time for shift change called him again. “Quit flirting with your girlfriend and get back to the line!”

Oh! Just how many people does he talk to?

“We’re not—”

“Samu, you should go back,” you don’t correct the presumption. “They seem serious, pretty boy.”

Are you trying to kill him? Or are you trying to motivate him? Whatever it is, it’s working. If this is how you flirt back with his taunts and baffoonery, Miya Osamu, sous chef in training, truly has his work cut out for him. He blinks at you. You stick your tongue out and it takes everything in his will power to not duck you in the freezer. Has he thought about it? Absolutely. Not like he’s going to tell you right this second…

“Sorry boys,” you peer over his shoulder to sell the pouting does work to your advantage and they all do get back to work one by one. You bat your eyelashes at the line and your partner across from you arches his eyebrows because how the hell is he to focus now? The playful guilt in your speech made his heart race, and he was about to wish you stay, but his fellow cooks were watching over his shoulder.

“I’m comin’ hold yer horses!”

You tap your lips in a thinking pose and you roll you shoulders back, saying you ought to be on your way too. Before he officially goes back to work, he says to wait for him by the register. You owe him dessert he decrees and you don’t hide your amusement until an idea pops into your head.

You rest your cheek on the fist with your elbow bent at the table with your phone in the freehand you have waving back at him as he enters the kitchen swing door.

“Looks like I’ll be staying over tonight!” your voice shouts and the cooks share a knowing look. You cup your mouth on one side, winking at Osamu who freezes up from his shoulders down. “Again!”

Yep. Miya Osamu’s instincts were right: you’re gonna kill him as the line yells their thanks to you for embarrassment well warranted, apt would can play this game, right? Right.

“Sous chef, you sly dog,” the senior chefs snicker while the younger ones nod in approval. He shakes his head, clearly embarrassed as the blush he tired to control peeks out of his collar, saying to pay you no mind while he grabs a clipboard of 86’d items and walks into the cooler.

There is a file of locked privately edited photos from your time as a model for the photography classes in university. You send your top three images to his contact info noted by the onigiri next to his name to get one last rise out of him and when he glances at the preview of the text attached, his shoulders stiffen when the phone recognizes his thumbprint. He narrows his eyes at you who whistles along with the ambient music. You really are a devil, huh? he thought.

Their sous chef clears his throat of his heart, being sure it moves back to his chest before he starts the night crew meeting after his little floating dance he performs for the fresh produce in said cooler. For a chef, soon to work his way into buying the restaurant in his name, Miya Osamu has fancy footwork. It’s clearly evident when he pauses for a moment to lookout the view finder facing the western point of the restaurant, the table where you sat still, he witnesses you bite your lower lip, when your phone vibrates in your hands. He is a good lip reader, thanks to Sunarin’s need to record everything and clown his brother on their group chat…yet you seemed distraught. That meant whomever was blowing up your phone was family.

You don’t even hear the kitchen cooler open nor see out of the corner of your eye your self-declared ‘boyfriend’ toss his phone on the counter by the register before it takes him three steps to cross the floor. He calls your family name, and you flinch as an automatic response; he wants to help, he still does.

“Hey chief?”

Osamu ties his apron a bit more snug around his waist. He was about to begin chopping the garnishes for the salmon roe special for the weekend on the expo-line.

“What now Katsu-kun?”

“Your girl,” the line cook who called his attention this time points at the table he just left. You look like you were struggling to get a word in and the more the person on the other line was beating you up with nonsense, the sous chef takes charge.

So he does the only thing he can think of on the spot: your mother is yelling at you about calling your sister a “slut around the block everyone knows” and Osamu, being a bit more calm, pries your phone away from your ears. He clears his throat as he rudely yet efficiently says the following:

“If mah wifey says ‘er sister’s a two timin’ slut, then I believe ‘er,” he winks at you.

You’re about to scream but your voice is stuck. He holds the phone away from his ear for a few seconds as you hear your own mother yell insults at him.

“Oi, quit complainin’ and for the last time woman: stop. trying. to. marry. ‘er. off.when.she.has.me.”

He blocks her number the moment he hangs up on your insanely toxic ma the second you stand up from the chair. You are at full height even if he’s taller than you, and your hands pull him down to your level by the his white and burgundy trimmed chef coat lapels. You stand on your toes and sear a kiss on top of his lips. You’re about to stand flat in your feet again, but he pulls you back into a welcomed hug.

“That was so hot,” his breath fans your ears. He kisses you promptly again. “We’ll discuss this when we get home, ok princess?”

“Get to work Miya,” your smirk, fingertips tracing over his lips.

He chews his cheeks pursing his lips together forcing a cute, “don’t wanna,” out. He laughs when you turn him around and as politely as you can you tell him you’re watching him from the sidelines like he requested during the game which secured his high school’s invitation to the inter high.

Later, on the third floor of a rented duplex owned by a kinder couple, you find yourself in the arms of a love that you had no control over. Falling in love was supposed to be this arduous journey, yet for the story of him and you, it was a gradual progression. The radio plays Unchained Melody on the counter by the kitchenette as you wear the chefs coat from earlier and the boy who wears his sweatpants after a hard days night, is enchanted with the temptress who makes desserts seem like a walk in the park.

“Hi baby,” you hear his voice tease your earlobes with a warning bite. Only to have him stand behind you, resting your chin on your shoulder, wrapping you in a warm hug.

“Mm?” you tilt your head to one side. “You awake already? Thought I tired you out?”

“Never,” he chuckles. “Tiramisu?”

You boop his nose with the chocolate in the spatula. He looks like a cat about to sneeze before you wipe it off for him.

He smiles against your skin now,admiring the way his lips stained the flesh he sees as you shrug your shoulders, the chef coat slips off your shoulder slightly. The love bites are now shallow, yet the bruises elsewhere are well earned. You learn how rough hands are made strong to hold you safely hours ago; and he learns your venom is a product of the life you left behind. Essentially, when the kisses linger more, he tells you that you left the rhetorical question unanswered back at the restaurant.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think so,” you answer.

“Right answer,” it’s almost eerie how hoss voice does that. His hands which were once on your hips and natural waist turn you around but to be small off your back. You’re wearing his old clothes, the ones he first met you in, the faded fox on the upper left pocket matches the track pants hanging loosely by the will of good faith.

“Eager to go at it again?” You tease. You squeal this time when he scoops you up in one go complaining that he thought you’d never ask pacifying your worry with a nod. Your hands steady yourself in his hold and he pushes you by the small of your back with one exceedingly warm hand and the other balances you underneath your plush thighs.

“You good cherabim?” He asks. His breaths are shallow, yet his voice showcases his lucid mindsets.

“O’course,” you lock eyes with him. You peck at his nose with your lips. He nuzzles against your neck, an audible confession of being screwed by the enigma (affectionate)that was and forever will be you. “I have you… even if I was too naive to think otherwise.”

“You chose me,” he hums. “I would pick me too—haha.”

You toss your head back and laughed reminding him where you are supposed to be headed unless he wants the floor to taste like sex.

“Fuckin’ hot,” he snickers slapping your thigh. You grin through gritted teeth.

“Did you just hit me brat?” Your voice is sultry and it seems you might have to correct his attitude.

“I stand by what I said Madame,” he walks out of the kitchenette on his level; down the corridor on the right, his door is ajar. “Care to hear you break me again?”

“Absolutely,” you snarl, nipping at the corner of his ear when you press against his shoulders. He groans and it’s delightful sample of where this will lead.

In light of your answer, Miya Osamu realizes this is the love you clearly deserved at the moment is laced with embers of wonton power struggle and strife at first glance, yet he will yield his hold because behind closed rooms, you lead with a steady hand.

“For you the world,” he whispers the saying across your exposed collarbone. His lips follow suit and everywhere you are scared to show him, for ever bump or scrape against your skin, he soothes it beneath his hands; the sheets are tangled in the throes of a love most well earned to those who live in the borderline between life and love.