#monsoon shed

[shedmaker]

Silpauline Tarpaulins

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[gazeofseer]

Soul Connection💙

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

'Love is too much glorified to ones dream

And quite petrified to savor it in life.........

Before you give up I want you to give in..

To your soul and find the other end of the

String that aches, arches, and embeds

you every night wondering

If there is no one for me what is this

love mourning for then..?'

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Pick A Image

And let your heart guide you allow that feeling to stir out and take you in the message calling upon you ;

Image.1

Best Friends, Platonic, Caring, Values, Spouse, Wrong Place with the Right Person

Message : The soul of yours is on a journey, of self discovery be it understanding what you truly want and need as an soul through life of human, to knowing it later after many lessons down the line that makes you see all the wrong things first and then things awaits on you to be corrected,

The connection you have is a Platonic one in this lifetime above mentioned are the forms you might have already met them or they are quite close but there is a wall of strangeness in between or a veil of unknown who is yet to arrive they are important part of your journey this makes you sad to not love like others, settle like others, but you are not one of them right? You are here for different things..they would be one of your greatest chapters that makes you worth the go towards the next.

Even if there is a separation it will be quite endearing and worth it. Because they would still wish the best from afar for you.

'Maybe love was about a moment of relief for the one who was on a quest of the living'

- S ✍🏽☘️

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Image.2

Karmic Bond, Purpose, Intent, Contract, Redemption, Salvation

Message : The dreams can weigh at times to, even if things seems enraging you hold it well behind a smile that a moment of ignorance and you would disappear amidst of the crowd to find your corner, comfort, of space where you shed all your emotions into a flow of thoughts that keeps you under greys before it rains.

There is a ache in your abdominal or chest, or a heavy guilt of feeling sorry towards something I am not able to see what exactly as I see you even feel hard to speak up like two Gulps down you take and sigh of eye rolls you go after doing any kinds of talk, your soul has a karmic bond it can be anyone in your family, but I see more in your social and friends group maybe even a colleague or romantic person, there is so much gloom, blues, and black here, a contract of hurt has begun that needs to be redeemed by the one who did to set the other person free with that state of feeling.

It will be really quite peaceful, refreshing yet painful as this heaviness will set both of your souls to move ahead in your life journey without holding anything back that can drown you at any time.

Timeline is near to 2-3 years it seems to be near the end by this year or next year's july.. monsoon is prominent and winter too.

The beauty of life is, there can be an end to whatever happens within it, but beautiful things hurt too badly like love

- S ♥️

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Image.3

Twin flame, Reflection, Transcend, Frequency, Attune, Trance, Mirror

Message : The idea or myth has a say that karma mirrors when it comes to twin flame but the reality has always been different and distinctive, You imbibe each other's nature timely..if you drink coffee now they might be having tea..

But the very same evening there will be a swap and you would wonder why did chose this when I am a specific this person; is how mirroring situations occurs in between you and your twin flame, I see you don't like to be too stereotypically girl but you have your own way to carry femininity same goes for masculinity,

To find a balance between the frequency of your energy will bring the space of mirrors into existence your twin flame is also seeking you the dreams you had about someone's safe touch but you have never been touched a dagger slashing something into two, all this is a sign of confirmation.

You will meet them when everything is balanced and attuned like a manifestation this entirely depends on how is your energy, divine timing, purpose, frequency, and attuning of your souls.

We exist under the same sky sharing the same breath, the day we will meet what exchanges is the trance of our being till date gets seen, heard and felt a dream come true.

- S🌊

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Image.4

Soulmates, Inner Knowing, Fidelity, Longing

Message : Everything speaks to you about love, hope and light no matter how much dark and cold things around may get there is warmth within, it is the longing towards your soulmate every songs remind you of the visions that you could possibly have with them not the delusions but the kisses on cheeks leaves a smile on your face by now for real as if you felt it happen for real but it is yet to.

I see you are quite pure at heart to see shades and imposters which makes you get influenced at a flinch but god's grace you deal with things very well that even through a mishap you come out like a boon.

It is a part and parcel of the growth towards enlightenment but just be cautious in case things can snap at you anytime even if you are ready for a war no need to invite one to prove everytime that you can do it. trust me this is from your soul mate you keep hurting yourself and they feel really helpless right now to not be able to help you through, so just let go of conflicts if it is around ignore..dodge deal it with grace or address it collectively instead of going and reacting rashly on your own.

To look feel and experience one's soul all you need is love inside your heart's core to connect beyond all the veils of falls and lows, that elevates you heightens you through grounding your roots of existence deeply in each other's heart through foot imprints.

- S🩷

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Paid Readings are Open Check my Pinned Post !!

[604to647]

Safest with You (Ch. 20 - The Way to Get Over Someone, Part 1)

8.6K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Five months pass as you and Din try to forget one another.

Warnings: 18+ Content to be safe (MDNI please). Angst! (like a lot) Yearning, pining, mourning. People are hard on themselves in this one, folks. Nicknames (Din still thinks of you as Pretty Bird even though you're no longer his Pretty Bird; you're still Lil' Lady to Paz). And there is mild violence (of the Rory variety).

A/N: Thank you to everyone for being so patient with me! It's been a month since Ch. 19 and I guess this word count reflects that 😅😂 It could have been a little shorter but this ask convinced me to include the final scene instead of leaving it for the next chapter 🫣🤷🏻‍♀️ For that final scene, please imagine the suit/look from the Variety Hollywood issue shoot. The vibes of this and the next chapter is this scene in Twilight New Moon (cue 🎶it's a possibilityyyyyy🎶):

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

The week following that night at Din’s, you’re a shell of a person.  You cry for entire days but not much else - going on auto pilot taking care of Al but not yourself.  You don’t go to brunch that weekend, saying you feel disgusting, which honestly isn’t too far from the truth.  You’ve never been cheated on so you hardly know what it is you feel, only that an unyielding and tempestuous monsoon of emotions swirls inside you at all hours of the day.  You oscillate wildly between barely restrained hysteria, self-effacing shame, and sadness in an endless cycle.

To only your dog, you sometimes burst out half crying, half laughing at the absurdity of what you stumbled upon at Din’s apartment – how was it even possible?  Din, who you had loved with your whole heart, had pledged himself to you as you had him.  He had been your match in every way, and it was a tenant of his devotion that he only ever wanted to take care of you, make your life better.  How could the same man, without any warning, betray you in such an unfeeling and vulgar manner?  It simply could not be possible - it had to have been some type of cruel joke, you sob to Al. 

Then in an instant, you’ll turn your ire unto yourself: How could you have allowed this to happen?  Because it certainly did.  You stupidly let yourself be so blinded by love and desire that you didn’t see Din for what he was.  He wasn’t some honourable and noble protector; he was just some asshole who did and said what he needed to get his dick wet – and like an idiot you had fallen for it.  You were supposed to smarter than that, but it turns out you were just susceptible to a handsome face and a fat cock as anyone else.  The Din you had fallen for had been a total fabrication, and the dumbest part is that you had let him lie to you: you had blindly accepted that there were things in his life that he could never be fully honest with you about - that there were things that he just had to keep secret from you for your “own protection.”  You had accepted dishonesty as part of your so-called relationship right off the bat, it was no wonder that none of it had been real.  Stupid, stupid. 

Though you know now that it had all been lie, you still have moments, usually in the dead of night when sleepiness strips you of your ability to reason and overthink, where you simply just mourn.  Mourn the loss of what you had thought, no - felt in the very depth of your heart was a true, deep love.  It didn’t matter that it had all been an invention of your mind – the love you felt had been genuine for you, and you had cherished and held it dear.  The tears you shed during these periods of grieving are for the loss of your own false happiness and for the man that you had believed it.  It didn’t matter that they were never real to begin with, you had lost them all the same.

Your fog extends into the work week and you do something you haven’t done in ages: you take it off citing illness – you sleep, cry and try not to think of the crushing backlog you’ll face when you eventually return to work.  Near the end of the week, you make a phone call that you’ve been dreading but know is necessary.  Lala comes over the same day on her lunch hour – she thought you were just sick, having taken your excuse for missing the last brunch at face value, but when you burst into tears upon seeing her, she immediately knows that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Taking you straight to her clinic, she slots you in with a fellow nurse right away so you can get what you’ve been dreading over with.  During the self-blame episodes of your emotion spiral, the weight of Din’s cheating and its possible consequences aside from the shattering of your heart have started to press down on you.  You definitely don’t need one more anxiety to occupy your thoughts, and this particular problem you could do something about.  You need to do something and accordingly you find yourself sitting in the clean but impersonal examination room answering the very kind nurse’s survey questions to determine what tests you need.

“Is there any particular reason you need a screening or is this routine?”

“My boyfriend cheated on me,” you say this flat, factually.

“Oh.  I’m sorry.   How long was your relationship?” her response is similarly dispassionate.

“Nearly a year.”

“During that time, how many sexual partners did you have?”

“Just the one.”

“Had you been tested prior to engaging in sexual activities with your partner?”

“Yes, all clean.”

“Was you partner tested?”

“He said he was clean.”  You can only answer what Din told you, with no confidence in whether or not it was the truth.

“Do you know how many other partners your partner had while you were together?”

“… no.”  Tears start to line your lower lash line.

“How long was he engaging in sexual activities with other partners?”

“… I really don’t know.”  Oh no, oh no, you’re going to cry.  Because you really don’t know any of it.  It's awful enough imaging that Din had been messing around with Vanessa the whole time that you and him had been together – if he was capable of that, who’s to say there weren’t others?

“Ok.  To identify the tests you need, I just need to ask about your sexual activities with your partner over the last year.  Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“Did you kiss on the mouth?”

“Yes.”

“Did you engage in vaginal fingering?”

“Yes.”

“Anal fingering? Receiving, giving?”

“Yes. No.”

“Did you engage in oral sex? Receiving, giving?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Did you engage in penetrative vaginal sex?”

“Yes.”

“With protection? Or without?”

“Without.”  This is the only question you answer with shame.  Yes, everything had been consensual, but this – the decision to not use condoms was one made based on a mutual trust; a trust you gave openly and willingly to someone who hadn’t deserved it.  You had been careless in this respect – caught up in your feelings and your mistaken instinct that had told you Din was worth trusting.

“Did you engage in penetrative anal se-“

And so on, and so forth.  To the best of your ability, you answer clinically and without feeling, trying not to let the white hot flames of shame and anger simmering in your stomach boil up and over.  You had trusted Din, with your heart yes, but also your body.  One of the things you had loved about Din was how he always seemed to prioritized both your emotional and physical comfort and safety during your sexual activities, but for possibly the entirety of your relationship, he had actually been putting you in danger – taking a risk for you that you hadn’t consent to.  You don’t know how many other partners he was with when he was with you or if he had been safe with them – his cavalier approach to your health makes you sick. 

This feels good. It feels good to be angry instead of sad.

You wait patiently for the nurse to return with the swabs and containers and other equipment you need to self administer the tests.  Silently and alone, you follow the instructions while hot tears cascade over your cheeks.  It had felt good to be angry at Din for a moment, but it took more energy than you had to sustain it; the anger burned out quickly, leaving behind only sadness and embarrassment for having allowed yourself to be put in this position at all.

After leaving the samples where directed, you redress and meet Lala back in the waiting room and she takes you home.  You tell her that it’s okay if she tells the rest of the girls what happened, but you don’t know if you can deal with talking about it just yet and she nods understandingly.  You know your friends will be supportive (and possibly violent), but the strength required to feel your feelings and simultaneously express and explain them out loud doesn’t sound like something you have right now.  Not for the first time, you’re grateful that your friends are unflinchingly kind and understanding of you.

By the time the next Sunday brunch rolls around, your internal reservoir levels for self pity and destructive thoughts have lowered considerably.  You’re mainly just sad for what you thought was and what will never be, wallowing in the loss of what you had imagined would be a happy future with Din.

The girls are not quite that far along in their emotional journeys, but you’re better equipped now to answer their questions and receive their outbursts and reactions.  They all have choice words for Din ranging from lying cheating bastard to dickless waste of DNA.  Threats of violence to his personal (and commercial) property, as well as his physical being are put forth, predictably by Rory and less predictably from Katie.  Bea and Jen focus on drilling into you that you’re in no way at fault and that you hadn’t been wrong or stupid to trust and love Din the way you did.  Lala, being the only one to have seen you when you were in your darkest place, just holds your hand firmly, giving it a reassuring squeeze every so often.  You cry into your eggs and your friends shower you with comfort and support until you feel a little more like a human who is loved again.

One month ATN (After That Night)

Oof - you’re hungry.  It’s been a long morning of straight through meetings with no breaks until only now.  Well past lunch, it’s later than you would usually come, but you hope that your favourite sandwich shop still has some good options left – you’re starving. 

Walking in, the shop isn’t busy (which honestly makes sense as it’s nearing 2:00 pm) and the take away fridge is fairly bare, but with some satisfaction, you see your favourite sandwich sitting all by its lonesome on the top shelf.  Hand already out as you approach the refrigerated display, you reach up on your toes, just to have a big hand dart in ahead of your smaller one and snatch the sandwich out of your reach.

Falling back on the flats of your feat, you’re comically upset – this sandwich was your reward for your overly hectic morning and your disappointment is being further fueled by rising levels of hangry.  Maybe this nice man will offer you back the sandwich if you ask kindly; ready to give this sandwich stealer the sweetest most saccharine smile you can muster, you turn to face him and…

“Paz?”

“Lil’ Lady?”

This could be awkward.  You had loved Paz too.  Part of the great sense of loss you felt when you and Din broke up was from also suddenly losing the friendships you had made through him.  The Mandos, Poe and Lisa, Cass and even Boba had made up what had become a little family to you; the sense of belonging and love you had felt when they welcomed you into their fold and treated you as one of their own was one that you had treasured – their trust in you was not something you took lightly and you had kept their secrets with pride.  You had loved them all as well. 

Of course, like a knife to the heart, you’ve since come to the hurtful realization that those friendships were not as true or deep as you had thought either.  In all likelihood, Din’s friends were probably well aware of his cheating, or at the very least that his feelings for you didn’t run as deep as yours did him.  Though it saddened you, you couldn’t exactly be mad – their loyalty was to Din, not you.  At one time you may have felt some bitterness at this, but right now, seeing Paz for the first time after so long… you feel only happiness at seeing an old friend.

There’s a beat of silence and then it seems you both reach for a hug - it’s quick but warm.

“How have you been?” you ask, simultaneously; chuckling with you, Paz gestures for you to go first.

“Oh,” you don’t really know how to answer; Paz will surely know what transpired between you and Din.  Devastated?  Crushed?  Facing a crisis of self-confidence?  You opt for a watered-down version of the truth, “I’m as good as expected.  Busy at work.”

“Same.  With work, that is,” Paz smiles warmly at you; he’s missed you too.

“You down here for work today?” Suddenly recalling that Din had been downtown for Mando work the first time you met, you try not to let the pain of the memory show on your face.

“Yup.  Work.” Paz won’t tell you that he’s on a security detail, even though its not yours (you're under the careful watch of Koska and Iggy today).

You’re not going to ask about Din.  You’re not going to ask about Din, “How is… everyone?”

Paz assumes you must mean Din but he doesn’t know how to answer your question.  A shell of a man?  A man possessed when it came to the investigation into the threat made against you?  Depressed as all hell?  Paz can only parrot back your earlier response, “Uh, as well as can be expected.  Things have been tense, there’s a lot of stuff going on.”

You obviously don’t ask for details – it’s not your place anymore, and in truth, you feel like it never really was but you try to smile anyways, “Well, you can have the sandwich then.”

Paz looks down at the sandwich he’s still holding in his hand and laughs, “Are you sure?”

Nodding happily, it feels good to joke around with Paz again, “Definitely.  I’m here everyday.  I can have it anytime.”

“Ok, only if you let me buy you your sandwich, Lil' Lady.”

Beaming, you acquiesce, “Deal.”

Grabbing another sandwich from the fridge, you join Paz in line; the two of you standing together in comfortable silence.  You don’t know how it happens but a question that’s been silently buzzing in your mind slips out without permission, “Paz – can I ask you?  Are Din and Vanessa still together?”

You regret it the second the words leave your mouth, tears springing to your eyes.  Looking up at Paz, wide-eyed and embarrassed, you cover your mouth with your hands as if trying to magically stuff the words back in, “Omigod!! Paz!  I’m sorry!  That was... oh gosh... just really, really inappropriate of me.  Please don’t answer.  I never should have asked that.  Seriously.  Don’t answer please.  Besides, I don’t think either answer would make me very happy.”

Paz gives you a warm side hug and a sad look before he says reassuringly, “It’s okay, Lil’ Lady.  Don’t worry about it.”  He insists on buying you a cookie when you get up to the counter and you accept gratefully – you need all the comfort you can get right now.

The two of you say your quiet, but friendly goodbyes on the sidewalk outside of the sandwich shop; each genuinely hoping you’ll see the other again, but knowing that you likely won’t.

---

Paz is hovering.  Din can feel it, but he doesn’t look up from his seat on the ringside bench where he’s checking through an equipment list on his clipboard.

Paz continues to shuffle around until Din sighs and gives in to what his friend so obviously wants; looking up and tilting his head as his way of saying 'What?'

“Saw the Lil' Lady today.”

Immediately, Din’s heart leaps into his throat and his now empty chest constricts painfully; forcing himself to look back down at his paperwork, Din only grunts to acknowledge that he heard Paz.  Clearly Paz has something to say and in all the time they’ve been friends, Din has never been able to get Paz to keep his thoughts to himself, so he just waits.

“Ran into her at a sandwich shop near her office.  She looks good.”

Silence.

“She gave me her sandwich.”

Din closes his eyes, “Was it the egg salad?”

“Yeah.  How did you know?” Paz can’t hide the surprise in his voice.

“It’s her favourite,” Din says simply. 

For some reason, this takes all of the wind out of Paz’s sails and he lays a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “She asked how everyone was, but it’s clear she was thinking of you.  Why don’t you call her, brother?”

Even if the whole point of what he had done to you wasn’t so you would stay as far away from him as possible, Din can’t imagine a world where you would want to talk to him, “She hates me.  I fucked up, and I hurt her.  She doesn’t think about me.”

Paz doesn’t want to bring up your question about Vanessa, but he can’t help but think it must mean something that you asked at all, “Maybe she’ll forgive you.”

Din is done with this conversation; he gets up and starts to head towards his office, “I don’t deserve her forgiveness.  I don’t deserve her.”

Two Months ATN

Din never allows himself to see you.  You’re a creature of habit and for the most part, your life after him has reverted to normal; it would be so easy for him to catch a glimpse of you whenever he needed to see for himself that you’re alright.  If he was lucky, he might even catch one of your many soft and sweet expressions that he misses so much and be able to pretend for a moment that it was for him.

But he doesn’t allow it.  Part of it is a means of self punishment – Din chastises himself endlessly for hurting you; he doesn’t deserve to look upon your face, he doesn’t deserve any comfort.  But ultimately, it really comes down to his own lack of self control. 

Din makes the mistake of checking in with your daytime security detail in person only once, a couple of weeks after your breakup.  Din is chatting with Mayfeld through the latter’s rolled down car window, when, as if he senses your very presence, he looks up to see you exiting your office building looking positively elated at being able to leave work at a decent hour (for you) – your quick and graceful steps towards the subway easily hold Din’s gaze through no effort of your own and his body starts to move towards you of his own accord.  He may have very well walked right into oncoming traffic trying to get to you if Miggs didn’t have a firm grip on the back of his shirt.

No, he has absolutely no self control when it came to you.  Every part of Din yearns for every part of you.  Your smile, your laugh, the sweetness of your very being and the steadfast comfort of your company.  He wishes for nothing more than to make you happy again, to be there for you to lighten your load, to make you laugh so hard you snort, the way he used to pride himself on being able to do; what he wouldn’t give to hear you coo sweetly to Al, to swim in the melodic lilt of your voice when you recall a funny story from work or your friends, or to drink in your heady moans and cries while he gave you every pleasure you deserved. 

Din knows that if he allowed himself to be in your presence for even a moment, he would throw himself at your feet and beg for forgiveness.  Plead and grovel until you took him back and then everything, the very reason for all this misery, would be for naught.  He would do anything to see you, hear you, have you again, except risk your safety.  So, he leaves the protocol for your security to others, and he never lets himself go where he knows you might be – he exercises what control he has, so that he never loses control where it counts the most.

But his dreams he cannot control.  And Din dreams of you constantly.

He comes to both look forward to and dread these dreams.  In his dreams you don’t hate him, and they almost always start off with you looking at him like you used to, with love and admiration.  Sometimes the two of you are in a memory, maybe a special date or occasion, or even better, doing something beautifully mundane like walking Al – something the two of you did a million times without thought, just a routine part of the life you had started to build together.  But more often than not, the two of you are in bed.  Sometimes his, sometimes yours, but always just looking, talking, touching.  Din could live in these quiet moments of devotion forever. 

But the dreams never end well.  He discovered that once you left the bed in the dream, you would disappear.  Getting up to find you, Din would find the apartment empty and quiet and no matter where he goes in the dream afterwards, you would be nowhere to be found.  After this happened a few times, he would try to keep you in bed or at the very least, not let you out of Dream Din’s sight, but it never works.  No matter what he does, by the end of the dream you’re not his anymore. 

A horrifying recurrence as of late is that he follows Dream You into your kitchen to find Vanessa sitting at the island while you, crying, start to cook breakfast at the stove for him and her.  He recognizes the look you give him whenever he reaches this part of the dream, it’s the same one you gave him on that last night on his apartment landing – the look of devastation, betrayal, shock.  Your unspoken How could you?  You were supposed to love me above all else, haunts him even after he wakes with a start.  Every time Din has this dream, he relives what he did to you and he feels sick.

Even when it’s not this particular iteration, Din wakes from every nightmare of losing you again sweating and regretting everything.  In these moments, alone in a bed that’s remained cold and uninviting since you last graced it with your soft body, Din tears into himself.  What the fuck was his problem anyways?  He had made his proverbial bed and now he has to lie in it.  What would have been the fucking point of putting you through all this if he was just going to be a weak ass piece of shit and run back to you because it killed him to be apart from you?  Put you through hell and then put you in danger?  No, he can't run from it anymore: this is the price he has to pay for being who he is, for having done the things he had – he doesn't deserve good things.  He doesn't deserve you. 

What he does deserve is this cruelest of ironies: that the only way he's still allowed to love you is to take care of you by keeping you as far away from him as possible.

Four Months ATN

Oy!  Din Djarin!!

Startled by the loud and sharp toned voice that carries over the noise of traffic, Din stops in his tracks; turning towards the sound of the bark, he recognizes your friend Rory barreling towards him.  For a moment, he’s terrified that she might get hit by a car crossing the street to get at him, but the cars somehow seem to understand the determination of her gait and the ferocity in her facial expression and all roll to a stop at her outstretched hand.  You always said that Rory was a force.

Din waits dumbly in the middle of the sidewalk, ready to take the inevitably beating, verbal or otherwise – certain he could not escape her wrath even if he wanted to.  Perhaps he would be tempted to try if he didn’t wholeheartedly believe that he deserves whatever is about to come his way.

As soon as Rory steps up onto the curb, two balled up fists of rage ram right into Din’s chest, the force of which, if he had not been braced for it, might have sent this former boxing champ flying backwards.

You!!! 

An accusatory finger is now poking him incessantly, over and over, pushing right into his sternum.

Din holds his two hands up, as if to surrender, but doesn’t do anything to stop her oncoming assault.  It’s starting to hurt a little, but he knows he deserves it and more.

Liar!

Cheater!

Pathetic!

Asshole.

Garbage human.

Piece of shit.

How you could do that to her?!

She did nothing but love you. 

She’s the sweetest, kindest, most loving person you will ever fucking be with, and this is how you treat her?

You ungrateful worm.

You’ll never find anyone better than her.

You never fucking deserved her, you twat.

Din takes every angry word spat at him with a resigned expression and downcast eyes.  Every word is true and he knows it.  He welcomes this even.  No one has been angry with him, except save himself.  Not Paz, or any of the Mandos, not even Boba.  No one has yelled at him or hurled insults at him, or called him out for the despicable person he is to have hurt you the way he did.  His sweet, pretty bird.  No, not his anymore.  He swallows every single one of Rory’s admonishments willingly and his head might even slightly nod in agreement.

Don’t you have anything to say for yourself, you fucking coward?

Arms dropping to his side in defeat, Din hangs his head and asks the only thing he wants to know, even though he's sure he isn’t allowed, “How is she?”

How is she?! What the fuck do you mean ‘how is she’? How the fuck do you think she is??

“What I mean is… I’m not still hurting her, am I?”

Silence.

“She’s okay now, right?  She hates me, but I don’t matter anymore?  She doesn’t think of me enough to still hurt her?”

Rory stops and evaluates the man standing in front of her.  He looks… broken.  She’s been throwing all her weight into every push, poke, smack she’s laid on Din and he’s taken it all.  Absorbed it along with every harsh word out of her mouth; he hasn’t fought back or even flinched - almost as if he wants her to hit him.  To scream at him.  And now, with the only words he’s spoken, he’s asking to confirm, with what almost sounds like hope, that you’ve forgotten him.  Din’s choice of words strike Rory as odd.  He wants to make sure he’s not “still hurting” you?? 

Suddenly, her mouth drops open as she retracts her hands, “… you didn’t do it.”

Din looks shocked and almost terrified.  He opens and closes his mouth several times but nothing comes out.  No denial or refute of what Rory now realizes has been completely obvious.

“You didn’t cheat on her.  You never cheated on her,” Rory’s tone is softer now, but determined and confident.  She’s leaving no room for argument, not letting Din worm his way out of the truth.

With a sigh, Din has no choice but to confess, “How could I?  Why would I ever want anyone but her?  The most perfect creature to ever exist.”  If he had seemed defeated before, Din is now positively deflating right before Rory’s eyes.

“You love her.”  Again, not a question.

“Always.  Forever.”

“Why w-”

“Rory, please.  You must never tell her.  She has to go on hating me and wanting nothing to do with me,” fear is catching up with Din now.  If Rory tells you the truth, this plan to keep you safe will unravel.

Rory’s eyes widen in disbelief, “You have to be joking.  Do you know what you put her through?  And it’s not even true??”

Quietly, Din asks, “How much has she told you and your friends about what I do?”

“That you own a gym?” Rory crosses her arms and gives Din an incredulous look.

“What else I do.  What my old job was.  Who I worked for.  Who I’m connected with,” he has to be able to make her understand.

Rory lets these words hang in the air for a moment.  No – you were always pretty tight lipped about what Din might be involved in outside of athletics.  It did seem that in the months leading up to your breakup, you would often stress over Din’s work and wellbeing, and though your friends never asked you to expand on it, it wouldn’t make sense for the responsibilities a gym owner to give you that kind of anxiety.

“You got a knife wound once.  Lala told us,” Rory recalls.

Din nods, “And that was nothing.  That’s the least of what the people who might come after me would be capable of.  She’s in danger just by being with me.”

“You wouldn’t protect her?”

“Of course, I would.  With my life.  But why should she be in danger at all?  She didn’t choose this life.”

“She chose you.”

“She shouldn’t have.”        

“You don’t get to decide that for her?!!”

Din knows that.  He shouldn’t have chosen for you.  But he made the decision that he thought would keep you safe and now you both have to live with his mistake, “I know, Rory… I know, but it’s done now.”

“Undo it, asshole.”

Like he hasn’t thought about it a million times.  Like he doesn’t wake up and his first thought when he opens his eyes in the morning isn’t to find you and crawl on his hands and knees and admit that he had fucked up in how he handled everything and beg your forgiveness.  Sometimes Din’s halfway out the door before one of two things stop him.  The first is the very real possibility that you would tell him to go to hell – you had loved him better than anyone ever had, better than he deserved, and he had callously thrown away the greatest gift ever bestowed upon him.  The second, is the very real fear from the threat made against you; Din hasn’t eliminated it and what if, just what if, what he’s doing is actually working and removing you as a worthy target?  Yes, he shouldn’t have gone about things this way, but… what if it was keeping you safe for now?

“Someone threatened her, Rory.”

This stops Rory as she’s about to open her mouth to say something else.  Closing her mouth, she studies Din and her shoulders drop, “Who?”

“I don’t know.  I haven’t been able to find out who’s behind it but I will.  Until then, I have to try and make her less of a target.  Please.  Rory.  Please.  Make sure she stays away from me.  You can’t tell her any of this.”

“But… she doesn’t know?”

“No. I don’t want her to be scared.  And she is being protected - all the time, I promise.  But the safest thing for her is to stay the hell away from me.  If whoever wants to hurt me doesn’t think they can do it through her, then she’ll be safe.  Please, Rory.”

Din is begging her now.  His eyes imploring Rory to understand and decide as he once did, that your well being has to come above all, including loyalty and love.  He sees it in her eyes as she relents, much the same way his must have once upon a time, and she nods, “Okay. I won’t tell her.  And you promise she’s safe right now?”

“I promise.  I… wouldn’t be able to live like this if I couldn’t at least do that for her.”  Is it worth it?  Yes, your life, your safety is worth anything and everything to him.

“You think you can get them?  The people behind the threat?”

Din nods, “I’m sure of it.  I’ll make sure of it.  I’ll take care of it.  That’s a promise I won’t break.”

“Okay.  You should tell her afterwards though.”

“Maybe.”

“She deserves the truth, Din,” Rory gives him one last exasperated look.

“She deserves the world, Rory.”

The two of them give one another a silent nod of mutual understanding before parting ways.  They might not see eye to eye on everything, but Din trusts that your friend will put your wellbeing and safety first; she loves you just as much as he does.  Rory leaves Din behind feeling conflicted in a way she hadn’t thought possible when she confronted him earlier – the last thing she expected was to sympathize with him, but it’s become clear to her: the only person who’s been hurting more from your breakup than you, is Din.

Five Months ATN

“I want to go out with Mark.”

Four heads look up from their brunch with lighting speed to stare at you, shocked by your sudden announcement.

Feeling a bit awkward at this reception, you go on, “… I mean if he’s even still available.  And if he’s not, is there someone else at your firm that might be, Jen?”

Jen looks at you curious and hesitantly excited, “I can check, but I don’t think he’s in a relationship?  He broke up with someone a couple of months ago.  You really want me to set you up?”

You don’t catch the looks that Rory and Lala exchange before Rory cautiously asks, “Do you even like Mark?”

“Hey!” Jen looks scandalized.

You’re slightly bewildered watching your two friends seemingly stare daggers at each other, “I don’t even know Mark? I just…” 

You sigh. 

“… I just have to do something.  Try something new.  Babes, it’s been months and… I’m still not over him.”  Your friends know that the “him” in question is not Mark.

It’s been five months and you’re still in a state of melancholy and heartbreak that you can’t quite articulate.  The days where you’d cycle through extreme emotion, be it intense sadness, justifiable anger, or self-pitying shame, have long since passed.  You burned those emotional candles to their proverbial wicks and for the time that they were lit within you, they served their purpose.  You’ve processed those emotions and laid them to rest.

What remains is a type of grief, a longing from your soul that you struggle to contain on a day-to-day basis.

The best way you can think of describing it is Hiraeth – the Welsh word that conveys the feeling of “a longing for a time, place, or person that feels like home but may no longer exist or that never existed at all��; when you miss Din, it feels like a type of homesickness.  And though far from being lonely in your life, your heart nevertheless maintains an empty chamber that you are dearly afraid may be forever reserved for Din.  Your Din.  The one you had loved and thought loved you.

You miss it all - everything that had never been real: the closeness, the intimacy, the safety of Din’s embrace.  You miss the way he looked at you and made you feel like the only person in the world who mattered; you missed his adoring touch and the way that he would be soft and gentle with you when you knew he harnessed such strength and power within those same hands.  He had made you feel cherished and special, appreciated and exalted.  Yes, it had all been a lie, but you heart had believed in it and the memory of what you’ve irretrievably lost haunts you every day still.

You’ve never been one to believe the adage that to get over someone, you had to get “under” someone else and you’re certainly not looking to replace what you thought you had or even date for the sake of dating.  You’re just simply out of ideas.  You need… a distraction.  A real-life person to think about, instead of one that only ever existed in your head.

“Don’t push yourself if you’re not ready, babe,” Lala says, gently.

“I don’t want to ‘get back out there.’ I just need…”

“A rebound?” Rory’s assessment is unfortunately, spot on.

You look sheepish, “That sounds terrible.  But something like a distraction.”

Jen is hardly bothered, “It’s okay.  I won’t tell Mark but I don’t think he would mind even if he knew.  Men are weird as hell.”

Everyone laughs and you go back to your breakfast, half listening as Jen chirps some of Mark’s merits and tells you that she’s going to try and set something up for the upcoming Friday.  You don’t notice the worried and pinched looks that Lala and Rory continue to give one another for the remainder of brunch.

It’s absolutely pouring today.  The phrase ‘raining cats and dogs’ must have been inspired by a similar rainfall, you’re sure.  You hold your umbrella as close to your head as you can while deftly trying to keep your shoes dry by doing little and big hops to avoid puddles.  It’s a relief when you finally make it to the overhang in front of your office building and can shake out your umbrella before stepping inside.  Wiping your feet on the already soaked through mats that building maintenance has put down, you wonder if the weather will clear up before your date with Mark tomorrow.

You’re slipping your still dripping wet umbrella into a plastic sleeve when you hear a commotion by the security check desk.  Gabriel, the head of security is arguing with someone who by the looks of it is soaking wet and trying to get through the security turnstiles.  As you approach with your own access card already in hand, the voices get louder:

“Dude.  Come ON!”

“Miss, like I said, you have to have security access in order to move past this point.”

“I’m not going to go anywhere in the building, I promise!  I just need to get to the subway.”

“I heard you already, miss.  You’ll have to use one of the other two subway entrances.  This one is for people who have access to this building only.”

“It’s pouring!! Can’t you see?  The other two entrances are both over a block away and I’m already soaked!  I just want to get home!”

“I won’t ask again, miss.  Please leave.  There are people who need to get through.”

You’re shocked.  You’ve never heard Gabriel get frustrated or raise his voice before.  But that’s not why you’re shocked.  It’s the girl’s voice.  You know it. 

It’s Vanessa.

In some other universe you might hail this as karma, but in truth, you only have sympathy for the girl you see before you.  It really is miserable out and you’re sure that Vanessa isn’t some corporate espionage spy – she really is just asking for a little help to get out of the rain and home before she gets sick.  Without overthinking it, you come up behind her and give Gabriel a reassuring smile, “It’s okay, Gabriel, I can take her to the subway.”

Vanessa turns and looks at you with a wide-eyed, almost scared expression on her face.  You can’t help but feel bad for her.  Obviously because she’s soaking wet and shivering, but you think she must not have been met with much kindness in her young life.

“Ma’am, that’s not really protocol…”

Your reassuring smile is now extended to Vanessa as well.  You want her to know you’re here to help her, truly, “Gabriel, it’s fine.  I know her.  And, even if I didn’t, I could never let you send a woman out into that downpour when we could so easily help her get to where she needs to go, okay?”

Gabriel nods as you swipe your access card against the reader and you gesture for Vanessa to go through before you follow.

The two of you walk silently towards the subway for a few moments.

“You don’t have to…”

You wave off Vanessa’s concern, “I think Gabriel’s watching, so I’ll just walk you all the way to the subway entrance so he doesn’t give you anymore trouble, okay?”

She nods and the two of you continue on.

“You don’t have to be so nice to me.”

Your answer is genuine, “I really don’t know any other way to be towards you.”  It’s true.  Yes, Din had cheated on you with her, but you hadn’t been dating Vanessa, you had been dating Din.  He had wronged you, not her (even if she had probably been a bit smug about it).

Vanessa nods again, the expression on her face seems to relax into some kind of revelation that you don’t quite understand.  When you get to the subway entrance, the two of you pause awkwardly before she finally speaks, “Thank you.”

Again, you try to smile as kindly as you can, “It’s okay.  I meant what I said to Gabriel – I didn’t like that he was trying to send you back out in the rain.  Here.” You hold out your umbrella, still in its plastic sleeve.

Vanessa doesn’t take it, even as you continue to extend it in her direction, “I don’t know how far you have to go once you reach your stop – the rain may not have let up by then.  Really, take it.  It’s my firm’s – I have a bunch more upstairs.”

This time she does open her hands and when she grasps the umbrella’s handle to take it from you, she blurts out, “I never slept with him!”

Silence hangs between the two of you at her statement.  You don’t know what she means at all, so you just say, “I’m sorry?”

Vanessa is looking down at the umbrella in her hands, words just spilling out, “That night.  The night you ‘caught’ me and Din – you didn’t walk in on anything.  I don’t know how, but he said he knew you were coming over and he asked me if I could make it look like he and I had been sleeping together when you showed up.  We didn’t do anything.  I played on my phone on the couch until we heard you knock.  I- don’t know why I did it… actually… no, that’s a lie.  I do.”  She finally looks up at you.

“Din was so in love with you.  Like seriously, so stupid in love with you.  He hadn’t been with anyone for a while before he met you, and those of us who… had gone out with him once or twice just got used to it, I guess.  Like we wanted him but he didn’t want anyone and that was fine.  Then he met you and all of a sudden, he was the doting boyfriend, head over heals in love, showing you off to all his friends, taking you to meet Boba.  And then it was so clear: it wasn’t that he wasn’t the boyfriend type, it was you.  He only wanted you.  I guess… I was jealous.” Vanessa shrugs, ashamed, “So when the chance came up to hurt you... I jumped at it.  I’m sorry.”

To say you’re shocked would be an understatement.  There is so much to process.  You’re not sure what Vanessa is asking from you, but you do appreciate her honesty, “I mean, I guess I get why you did it.  But why did Din?”

Vanessa shrugs again, “I really don’t know, I didn’t ask.  It didn’t matter to me, I guess.  I’m sorry.  But after you left, I… propositioned him?  Thought I would shoot my shot since we were both basically half undressed.  He turned me down and practically kicked me out.  All he cared about was making sure you got home safe.  You’re all he cared about.  Always.  It was only ever you.”

“I- ” you’re speechless.  Actually speechless, “Thank you for telling me, Vanessa.  I- still don’t understand any of it, but I always appreciate honesty.  Truly.”

And with that, Vanessa gives you a little wave of the umbrella you gave her as a final thanks before she disappears down the stairs into the subway station, leaving you dumbfounded and shellshocked.

It had been a lie.

Din hadn’t cheated on you.  Not with Vanessa.  Not that night, or according to her, any other night.  You had been his one and only.  The way you had always thought.  The way he had always made you feel.

Every spiraling assumption and devastating conclusion you’ve drawn about your relationship over the past five months is now being called into question: that he never loved you, that he wasn’t the man you believed him to be, that the devotion in your relationship had been one sided.  Had it all been real?  Was your Din real?

But he had lied. 

He had made up an elaborate lie to get away from you.  To hurt you.  This revelation gives rise to feelings that you thought you had long worked through and put to bed: betrayal, hurt, disbelief, anger.  On top of this fast rising tide of emotions that you’re afraid might drown you rides a question you've never felt like you wanted the answer to when it was simply that Din was a cheater: Why?

The date is going okay, you think.  Actually, it’s going exactly how you knew it would – you’re not into it.  Mark is honestly nice enough, funny enough, charming enough – you can see why Jen was always trying to get you to go out with him.  But he’s not Din.

You haven’t told anyone about your run in with Vanessa because you still don’t know what to make of it all; you have pieces of a puzzle that you didn’t even know existed, new questions, even fewer answers, and a whole new host of confused feelings.  Unsure of your own heart, you hadn’t known what to say to Jen to cancel this date that she lovingly setup for you at your request, so here you are.

Even if your overthinking brain wasn’t in overdrive analyzing and reanalyzing everything you learned yesterday, your heart, which is still working out your feelings towards Din, has unequivocally softened.  The Din of your memories, the one for whom your heart still beats deep down had been real, and he had never betrayed you in the manner you believed for the past few months.  The love you had felt with him had been true and the affection and devotion that had been cornerstones of your relationship have started making their way back into your chest.

You feel sort of bad about Mark.  Yes, you had been very clear with Jen and yourself that this date didn’t mark any great interest of yours to start dating again, but you know you could be putting in more of an effort on this date.  You try.  You really do.

After the pre-dinner drinks are finished and the waiter’s taken your dinner order, you excuse yourself to use the restroom, hoping for a few minutes alone to gather your thoughts.  Heading towards the bathrooms, you walk down a hall that opens to the restaurant’s private party rooms on one side.  All the doors are opened and you peek in to see that most of the rooms are empty, one of them being cleared from a large party that must have just left; when you get to the last doorway, you’re stopped dead in your tracks when you see who's inside.

It's Din.

He’s leaning back in a chair that’s been placed further back and away from the dining table that must centre the room; part of the meeting but not an active participant – a perimeter guard.  His handsome profile is as striking as you remember; his strong aquiline nose and cut jawline that’s currently flexing as he swallows hold your attention by their very existence - how is he here just when all your thoughts happen to be of him?  Din’s chocolate brown eyes are fixed on someone or something in the room, but he must feel your gaze because he turns and sees you – keeping his expression neutral, as if he doesn’t want anyone else in the room to notice you, you still see his eyes soften as they lock with yours and your heartbeat picks up a little.

Hi, you mouth shyly.

Hi, Din's lips curve up slightly at your sweet expression as he mouths back, you look nice.

You do too, because he does.  He’s in a black suit with a crisp white shirt and jet-black tie; the monochromatic look works for him.  Din’s slicked back hair is different – you’re so much more used to seeing his curls loose and tousled, but the change isn’t unwelcomed.  He looks professional.  Devastating.

Work?  Your head tilts a little so you can see a little further in the room and Din knows you see Paz sitting in front of him wearing a nearly identical outfit.  He nods, You?

Date.

Din nods slightly, eyes unreadable, Be safe.

I will. Not sure how much more you can communicate this way or even what you want to say, you give Din a little wave before continuing down the hall to the restroom.

---

Din cannot sit still.

Date? You were on a date?

But that’s not even the most jarring thing about seeing you unexpectedly tonight at the same restaurant where Boba’s holding a family meeting.  What’s really turning Din’s world upside down is that you didn’t look upset to see him.  Your expression was soft, kind and inviting.  As if you didn’t hate him. 

You’re over him.  That has to be it.  You were over him, wholly and completely; much too sweet to hold onto any malice towards him, you had treated him politely, like an old acquaintance.  He wants to be glad – happy that you’re no longer hurting and that his transgressions against you didn’t leave a permanent mark on your beautiful soul.  But his heart feels like it’s made of lead; dropping from his chest into his stomach when he thinks of you being on a date.  Din gets up and takes a walk towards the main dining room of the restaurant, looking to satisfy his morbid curiosity.

He sees you right away.  Your back is to him, but he knows its you.  You sit across from a perfectly respectable looking man dressed in a sharp suit – the both of you clearly having come straight from work.  The man probably has some smart corporate job like you, like a lawyer or someone who underwrites space rockets or something cool.  The man is making you laugh; Din can tell by the way your shoulders shake.  He imagines your smile and the way that your eyes crinkle when you think something is super funny but you don’t want to let loose one of those melodic laughs of yours where you throw back your head and the resulting song carries over the crowd.  Din watches as you swirl your wine glass the way he always thought was super adorable, with two of your fingers pressed against the base of the glass stem, before you lift those same fingers to make a gesture with your hand that indicates you’re adding to your date’s story with some witty comment of your own.  Your date’s face lights up and his look of admiration and joy from the pleasure of your company is one that Din knows well. 

He decides can’t watch anymore and slinks back down the hallway; heart ripped to pieces, leaving you to your pleasant evening.

Thanks so much for being patient with me - these chapters are emotionally hard to write and even harder to edit 😅 Since I'm once again yeeting this into universe on a random day instead of my usual posting date, adding a few tags for those who have expressed an interest in the story (omigod if you don't want to be tagged, please tell me!):

@tuquoquebrute @furiousmushroom @cheekychaos28 @72scsuze @nerdieforpedro

@toobsessedsstuff @whirlwindrider29 @inept-the-magnificent @mellymbee @that1nerd-20

@hipabbster23 @bitccchmood @bigbutchenergee @rainbowcat164 @the-strawberrythief

@johnssherlock221 @misstokyo7love @vivian-pascal @florxdexcerezo @fanficlover1414

@rarachelchel @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @jeewrites @sunnytuliptime @kulekehe

@bebsjo

[random-imagines-blog]

Imagine accidentally summoning a storm during an intimate moment with Arthur Curry.

There were a lot of times when your powers came in handy. Were there enemies approaching on a ship? Create a monsoon, drive them right away. Going for a trip to the shoreline for supplies or even just for a date with Arthur? Make it beautiful, make it sunny, make it the ideal weather for whatever it was that you wanted to do - you had control. Or at least you did most of the time...

Right now, everything was perfect. You were on a secluded island with your boyfriend - no, that sounded so juvenile. As if any part of Arthur could be described as ... boy. It was a hundred percent man.

You were enjoying the solitude. No one looking over you, whether from the underwater world or the human one. That was rare, with Arthur being who he was. Someone who had saved the world. Both worlds, in fact. You sat on the sandy shores, watching the tide roll in, mirroring the twilight stars above. Not a cloud in the sky, thanks to you. Only the lightest touch of a fog coming in, adding to the atmosphere.

Things grew more intimate with this privacy. Kissing turned into a make out session, as if you were teenagers. Touches were caresses, and then needy gripping, pulling closer, feeling one another up, exploring the body of the one that you loved despite already knowing it off by heart. Clothing was shed, clothes laying over the sand, getting weighed down by it so it wouldn’t get stolen by one of the seabirds flying above.

And to put it lightly, Arthur was a man who was master of all things wet.

He went between your legs and made sure that you were, using his warm mouth, causing overwhelming sensations. Causing you to reach out to grab hold of something, keep yourself grounded, but there was nothing to hold except for his luscious head of hair, pulling on it, making him moan and use his tongue faster, circling and circling...

And was cut off by rain pelting against the top of his head, thunder rolling in like the sound of a hundred horsemen charging, lightning brighter than the paparazzi’s cameras at one of Bruce’s parties. He raised his head, looking amused, just as you were starting to feel your afterglow turn into humiliation.

“Too much?” He asked, tone raspy, clearly enjoying himself.

“God, just enough,” You laughed, grabbing him between your thighs and turning you both over so that you could do the same to him.

Requested by: Anonymous

[deadboyfriendd]

I Hope This Letter Finds You Well.

Summary: It is already so hot that it burns. The sheriff had faced many things. He had killed men with his bare hands, he had been covered in so much blood that he couldn't decipher theirs from his own. He had known starvation, heatstroke, and tragedy. Though, he had never known this.

A culmination of letters shared between family and new friends turns into a stand-off at the tarmac of Tucson, Arizona.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Sheriff/Wyatt Earp!Steve Harrington x Reader, wild west/Tombstone AU!, Sherrif!Steve (he has a mustache), guns and gun violence, death of minor original characters, death of a spouse, period-appropriate death, drug use, angst, fluff, save a horse, ride a cowboy, feminine rage embodied (I couldn't give her a gun this time because, if I did, everyone would be dead), eventual discussion of The Civil War and the politics that came from it.

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 4.5k

Author's Note: This is it. Bisbee is here and it feels like I'm breathing life back into my cowboys through my sheriff. This is so, so special to me and @dr-aculaaa, and I cannot wait to tell you all their stories.

Find the series masterlist here!

“When the lambs is lost in the mountain, he said. They is cry. Sometime come the mother. Sometime the wolf.” Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian

Nellie, 

I believe that the face of death is a woman, and that she is beautiful. 

I believe that she may have loved my betrothed, at least as long as there was breath in his lungs and a thrum in his chest. I believe that William looked into her dark eyes and followed her into that unknown place, and I know, there, he might finally find something to still his mind. 

I believe that she kissed him good and hard, Nellie, in a way that I could not have done– that she danced her spindly dance clear across the desert, through the plains of the midlands, and splashed in the bayou of Louisiana until she found him. 

I believe that death is a friend to our family, that her sinewy arms loom over our men in an embrace that we can not provide, and I believe that she is warm. Much warmer than you or I have been created to be. I believe she walks alongside us, whispers into the ear of our husbands, and laughs as they dance their troublesome dances. 

I believe she is kind, much kinder than us, for why else would our men leave the safety of us for her? I cannot fathom it, Nellie. 

I no longer believe that death is cold and harsh, for I know that no man could be as cruel as she. 

We were always cut from the same cloth, in life, and now in death. 

Signed, your cousin. 

+

He could have said that he never wanted any trouble, and he could have said he didn’t go around picking fights, yet both seemed to find him with speed and vigor. He sought them out, begged for the metallic heat to seep from behind his teeth and drip down his lips like ambrosia. The boy could not read nor write, yet also harbored a taste for mindless violence– his gangly teenage frame a harbinger of death. 

The monsoon was fast approaching, dark clouds filling the sky in an apocalyptic haze, though the Lord knew this land needed it. The rain came down in heavy sheets, droplets weighing deep against the flesh and warm in strides. The powder dust beneath it stirred and settled in waves, and he prayed for no wind, for the wall of dust that would overtake them in the future just might suffocate him. He cried out in thirst, having mistaken this anguish for freedom. All he could do was turn his mouth towards the sky and hope it would wash away the rawness in his throat.

This heaviness did not go away with time nor age. The boy-now-man sifted through the powder silt of the remnants of his life the same way he sifted through these crises as a child, though with more sure steps and a heavier hand for subtlety. He no longer craved ambrose violence gilded in the candied sheen of shed blood, though it did not stop searching for him. 

He was out with lanterns, in search of himself. 

There used to be nothing here but a broad expanse of mirage, the heat rising from the sand and warping the distance into a false lake like a sick joke. He remembered the settlement. The miners came first, then the saloons, and dance halls. The cattle drovers and thieves would follow suit to reap their fortunes, but the plume of the mines came first. 

Still there is hope, an old miner had said to him, for I know of two Bibles in town. 

Though men of God and men of war both have strange affinities, it would seem. 

War, much like God, was here long before man. It crouched its ugly pose and waited for his arrival. The ultimate trade awaits the ultimate practitioner. 

Today, the oak planks, rotted from years in the sun, groan in the same anguish beneath his boots and he ignores it as much as the God he prayed to ignored his own cries. The bright orange of globe mallow presses its way between the planks, soft resilience even in this heat. When he reaches down to touch it, it crumbles between hardened finger pads. 

This township felt like a tunnel, a vignette blurring the Gaussian edges of its structures that settled like graves. His boots sunk a lowly sulk through the banks of the roads where wagon wheels had pushed them from their packing. He still felt the nothingness here, vast openness in which he awaited a tomahawk crowning, sinking into the same sand on his knees, candy-coated in that gilded red gloss. 

Through the nothingness there was a stirring, his eyes fixated on the microburst brewing along the mountain's edge in the distance. 

Thunder fades to wheels along tracks.

You’d watched the land turn from green to brown and back again. You’d watch the sun wick the water from the soil and feel it warm your skin. There’s a certain disdain that fills your chest like liquid when you picture Nellie on this trail. There was no train west to take. There was no railway. 

Did Nellie still look like her mother? Had her mouth begun to crease with a perpetual smile? Was her hair still long and did she still let it fall in ringlets down her back? Surely, she had not sounded the same in her letters, though, this sullen stranger had still signed the letters with the same swooping motions. 

As the trees became sparse and turned into gangly, reaching boojums, you realized just how far from home you had been. You had never left the great state of Louisiana but, had run those riverbeds and marshes ragged with bare feet, had run heels hard against the hollow tomb of that old paddle boat. Could you be as wild as the West? Would it love you in the same way the marshes had? Wrap you in its mossy embrace and let you sink beneath stagnant water in wait?

But for what? 

The sharecropping had been a logical by-product of everything your father had fought for in the war, rock salt and nails and hand over first for years under the lead of General Benjamin F. Butler, though no one could foresee the way the plantation had hemorrhaged money after he took on nearly ten hired men, or the way the land had would have dwindled to nothing had you not taken that ghastly, ugly burden against your back, one heavy enough to spur you west. One heavy enough that even the sting of the sunburn did nothing to quell the ache that you still felt in your chest against it. 

You watched the life drain from this land, music and the lush green of the coming summer turning to sweltering, daguerreotype daydreams. You pressed your palm against the glass and sighed. 

It was already warm enough to burn. 

When you pressed your face against the glass, you could feel the rumble of the hardened earth beneath the sodden tracks. The dried parchment of letters scraped against themselves where they pooled in the makeshift reservoir of your dresses ruched into your lap– just high enough so that your ankles could feel any movement within the waning stagnation of air in the train car. 

You tore the one on top open with your thumb– the last one to remain unopened. Its straight edge was too sharp and angled perfectly as you pulled at it, the edge of your thumb already pooling cherry beads of blood where it rippled. 

“Shit.” you cursed.

Gilded eyes peered towards you, slicing through the silence of this welling heat like ice. Had it been dark, they would have glowed. Ladies in Parisian hats tailing the woeful gazes of their well-tailored merchant husbands turning towards the spectacle that was you. Young. Unmarried. Unaccompanied and profane in your lack of grace aboard the train to the lawless lands. Maybe, by God’s hand, you had been cut from the same cloth as this lawless place– the rumble of the tracks a song to the listlessness that stirred in your chest like silt in distant waters. 

You dismissed the judgment, the venom of it all sliding off of you like that same water against a duck’s back, turning your attention back towards the product of your own disdain: Nellie’s letter, signed, sealed, and delivered to your last known location. 

Cousin, 

Your father has sent word about your arrival in Tucson, and I will meet you at the train depot in due time. I do hope that, in time, the heat of this land may dry your tears in the same way it has mine. 

I fear that you may not recognize me upon your arrival to Tucson, my face has grown harder and my body less soft. You will become this way, too. I am tough. I am afraid this place has weathered me like old leather. 

I have asked the sheriff to accompany me to the train depot in Tucson, and he has happily obliged. I didn’t think you would mind much, either. 

The sheriff is a nice man, as I am sure you have come to find, however, this land has hardened him in the same way it has hardened Edward and I. In the same way, it took Wilhelm as payment for some grander, more horrendous scheme.  I do not ask you to excuse his shortcomings– or mine– but I do ask that you try to understand us. 

Though it is better now than it has ever been, this place is still not like Louisiana. This land is lawless. This land is tough. This land does not make promises or send prayers. It exists as it is, rough and unbinding– blistering for all it is worth. 

We are the law, here. 

If we lose our morality, we lose everything. 

I will see you soon. I love you. 

Nellie. 

It was an unspoken truth that there was something broken much deeper within them that they had shared some form of solidarity within. Somehow, in some way, Nellie and Steve had shared something they never wanted you to see, but, even now, something was different about her in more recent letters that you couldn’t quite differentiate. 

Perhaps it was the way she told you she loved you. She hadn’t written those three words since writing of Wilhelm’s death. Maybe she said it then in search of the love she had lost, had looked for shreds of it to mend herself back together. Maybe Edward had done that for her, and maybe now she had some left to give. You hoped that much for her.

Edward was an entity unknown to you– a phantom in his own respects. He reaped his own form of morosity in the way he loved Nellie. He did so in a way that was devouring, in a way that encompassed her in every respect. You had been well past the persuasion of beautiful faces, for a face much like his was the face that launched a thousand ships. Another puppet wielded by The Devil, he was. That holy shape becomes a devil, best. 

It was an unholy thing, to resurrect the dead. And, you supposed, Edward had done just that. Nellie’s letters came to an abrupt halt after the announcement of the Death of Wilhelm. Your family, the only remaining kinship to her lineage, had not received a letter from her in over a year. 

You’d thought of all of the ways she could have died, but the most plausible cause was a broken heart. Even now, as rolling hills turned to planes and back again, as you watched the horrors that this land reaped, you could not see any of them taking your cousin. No, she was a force to be reckoned with. Not even this land could break her will. No, if she were to die here, now, it would have been by her hand. 

And then, by some unforsaken force beyond even your father’s control, Nellie breathed once more. Her letters were flowery, her writing curling into crashing waves of stories told. You watched as this solemn stranger breathed life back into Nellie, something as cruel and unusual as beauty in this place unseen and unheard of for years, beauty unseen to Nellie since Wilhem was killed. 

You knew of only unholy things that fed upon the dead– that breathed an ugly, hot breath back into their lungs and pulled them from the sodden earth in which they lay. Edward was not entirely truthful, that much you could tell. 

You supposed you and Edward had shared that sentiment, in some way. 

+

The Whispering Sands was still not the ritzy bar. That was still located in the lobby of The Grand Hotel, just footsteps from where The Sheriff stood now, planks still singing their groaning songs of protest beneath his legs, still stiff with sleep or nerves or years of failed prayer. 

His footfall fell heavy against the hollow floors, the weight of him reverberating against the early hum of the bar. The dealer was still as straight as a Christmastime wreath, though, now, he knew that this one could at least shoot in the right direction. You no longer needed to carry when you walked through, your spare now confined to below the counter out of sheer caution and the guiding hands of ghosts alone. The doors didn’t hang crooked anymore, the dealer making fast work of fixing all of the things Nellie had pushed to the back burner in relentless disembowelment of her own self-preservation that she so readily gave to him in the form of softened twine and spoken promises tightened around ring fingers. 

The Sheriff would not be so easy. His self-preservation ran deeper than that. 

Nellie knew it, knew that his roots were wrapped around something vital within him, something deeper than hers– something from a time before her, before this town, and before the West was wild.  

The echo of him reverberated off of the walls of the bar, bounced off of the piano, and rattled the windows. It demanded her attention long before the brass bell of the front door rang and the heavy oak clattered against the frame. 

8:50. Like clockwork. 

In the times before, just after Wilhelm, he would stop in and buy a cigar, though, to this day, she had never seen him smoke. She never inquired it, and he never inquired her. 

There was a solidarity in their grief, and it never quite, even now that she felt happy more times than not. She had a sneaking suspicion he was there for something other than a cigar every morning, but she pulled one from the humidor and took his money anyway. There had been a time where she insisted it was on the house. It wasn’t worth the fight, now. 

He looked different today. Still sullen is his strange, tortured way, but there was almost something beautiful about it, about the way he ruminated in this state of torture. Even in the way his stagnation had turned into just that with time, something seemed to still sit there in wait, leaden in the pit of his chest. 

He looked like the face of a handbill like this, enveloped in all black. Square-toed boots with black trousers that made him look ganglier than he was, made him loom over Nellie more than he already did. His black frock coat dusted his calves at a three-quarter length, and a black bolo tie covered as much of the stark white high-collar as possible. On the hat rack by the door sat his usual wide-brimmed Stetson, and, from just behind the plain silver of his belt buckle, the Colt Burtline Special shone in the light. 

He looked fit for a funeral.

He walked like he beckoned the apocalypse in clouds of rolling thunder behind him. When his heels pressed into the softened sand, the earth quaked beneath it. The weight of him made the stagecoach groan on its hinges– leaden and heavy with the weight of something bigger than settled silt within his chest, kicked up like the sand behind horse hooves and stagecoach wheels. 

Parchment sat like lead in his lap, curdling there and souring something that had sat too long. Cracking fingers curled around your words like poison, sweetened with sasparilla whiskey, golden ambergris letters seeping into him and warming his throat like bile and molten gold. He opened the first one with a nimbleness unlike one he had ever known, and read it once more:

25 April, 1894

To the Sheriff that this letter finds, 

I am afraid your letter has found me in a state of disrepair. I have never been one for niceties and I am afraid I do not have it in me to start now. 

My betrothed had never known peace in life, and I am afraid that he may not ever know it in death, wherever that plane Hell may be. 

Maybe it is I that has died, and maybe it is I that walks across this Hell. Maybe it is my own doing that brought me to this. Maybe I am the creature of my own undoing. I am not a nice girl, Steve. Not the nice girl you think I might be. 

We were raised like leather, stretched and scraped to be tough in the way that our mothers were, unbending and unbreaking as they had been. They were not forgiving, nor were they kind. Nellie was once that way, too. Though, I fear that your desert sun has softened her. That it changed something deeper within her in a way that she may be someone I no longer recognize. 

I plan to arrive in Tucson by train on the first of October. Maybe this sun will soften me in the same way it has softened my cousin. Maybe I don’t want it to. 

Though I hope for my tomorrow to be kind, I have an inkling that it never will be, for this life had never had a kindness to offer. 

I’ll be the one in white. 

I will see you then, Sheriff. 

He pictures the way you will step off the train, white linens spilling over the threshold of it by some sickened grace of the hand of an unkind God. He both relished in it and could not bear the thought. He thought of linens hiked over knees and rucked up under the fabric of itself, a  depiction of the implosion of his world. 

He had already lived this, soft hair against soft legs and white linens shed in a dustbowl around shared space and soft, breathlessness passed between lips. He had felt this kind of softness before– had known this tender touch of a woman outside of the mother he never had. 

It was the first time he had ever been touched gently. 

Even Nellie’s hand seemed gruff as it gripped his shoulders in a grounding movement, his eyes slowing with the movement of reading and dissipating into blankness an indicator that he had gone somewhere that even she would never be allowed to see. It was a look she had known all too well.

“I’m afraid she might not like me much.” He whispered, low enough for Eddie to not be able to hear– or, at least, low enough so he could pretend not to. She knew what he meant by this, another feeling chased after her own reanimated heart. 

Nevertheless, she avoided the philosophical nature of it all, answering him with the only thought she had: “I’m afraid she might not like anyone much, Steve.” She starts, and the questioning gaze he gives her urges her to continue. 

“It wasn’t easy for her, either, Steve.” She starts with another sigh, now more like the weight was being pressed out of her lungs from the weight that she felt, “Most of the time, it was out right hard.” 

“We’ve all had it hard, Nellie. Nothing about this life has been particularly easy.” Steve says back. He didn’t mean it to be as harsh as it was. She knew that, though it didn’t stop that initial sting of his dismissiveness.  

“William wasn’t a nice man, no matter how much she loved him.” She tells him, louder this time and too fast. Eddie couldn’t help the the way his eyes are drawn to her from where they are fixed to the periscope of landscape before them, “Forgive her if she isn’t welcoming.” 

+ 

To the Lady that may find this letter, I hope it finds her well

Tucson still radiates heat at this time of year, the mirage at the end of town makes the expanse of land between here and the mountains feel both endless and right in front of you at the same time. It warps like the heat is melting space and time itself. Nevertheless, the first blooms of orange mallow have begun to open in a patch where the stagecoach stopped. 

He doesn’t know what comes over him, but he was inclined to plock them from the ground and brush the dirt from their roots. 

It seems the desert knew you would board the train in New Orleans and set west for us, and wanted to welcome you with its kindest hello. The desert is not kind, but she would make an exception for someone like you, I would suppose. 

The wheels screech along the wrought iron of the track as they slow to a halt– and he swears, just for a single, fleeting moment, his heart stops with them. There is a stream of people that step down. Ladies with large hats and square-shouldered men in frock coats not unlike his. He wonders if you will know your face before Nellie does– wonders if he knows who you are just from the curls of your letters. 

And then, you were there. 

You were unremarkable in every way possible, though, at a closer glance, you had chosen to forego a bustle and corset. Instead, the pliant lines of your body undefined against a white buttoned shirt and a long dark skirt. A plain, flat-brimmed stetson sat against the crown of your head, just enough to obscure your face from his view. 

Your cousin is very kind. I like to think that you are kind like her, though, I also hope that you are tough in the same way that she is.

He steps forward, his hands sticky with sweat or the sap of the stems of the orange mallow crushed beneath a pressing grip, he isn’t sure. As he steps on to the tarmac, he remembers his manners– remembers that he isn’t an animal and you are not inherently dangerous, and pulls off his hat, pressing it to his chest as he holds an arm out stiffly towards you without any further introduction. 

You see the star against his chest, pressed silver pinned there like a placard on the spectacle of the man before you, and know that this is him– that this is the entity whom has spilled his heart to you over parchment and ink and blood, “Well, now, those are awfully pretty, sheriff.” You say to him, looking down at the crushed orange matter in his hands. They have already begun to wilt. 

“I have an affinity for pretty things.” 

He flirts shamelessly with you, and something deep within you stirrs. It is not the schoolgirl crush you harbored with William. It isn’t even akin to love, but something worse and something ugly. His letters and flowery words and then his backtracking and condolences meddle into one ugly mass of insult. No, this thing that rose in you was not love, nor was it even a cousin. It was hate. Blinding, furious hate.

“And I have an affinity for men who can make up their minds.” You nod towards him, reaching towards the tarmac for the cracking handle of your green steamer trunk, especially now that the gangly, lean man you presume is Edward reaches for it. 

There is a moment in time where everyone freezes. Both Nellie and her husband, as well as the sheriff before you. They are walking a thin line, one akin to the silver thread between life and death. The tension is palpable, and Nellie shatters the thing you cling to for resolve like glass:

“Now you’re being outright childish–”

She sucks in a breath when you snap, the wild dogs that live within your chest writhing and pulling against chains as you release whatever hurt and pain you held in your heart towards her. Everything you had wanted to say, everything you wanted to scream back at her once she had resurrected. You weilded them now as weapons against her. 

“You sure are one to talk about childish, Nellie. You ran in the other direction when things got hard, and then you up and died on us.” 

“I’m not dead. I was never dead.”

“Well, I have a hard time believing that.”

The Sheriff and the tall man take a step back behind Nellie, shrink away from your thunderous roar as if you might actually bite. The leather of your handle and the steamer dropping from your hand with had resonant patriarchal basso against the tarmac. Time has frozen in place, but people continue to swirl around you in a flurry of haste and posthaste annoyance. Silver tears well against the pink line of her eyes, and you are acutely aware that yours are a mirror image.

Steve had faced many things. He had killed men with his bare hands, he had been covered in so much blood that he couldn’t decipher theirs from his own. He had known starvation, heartstroke, and tragedy. Though, he had never known this– his wife was only ever tender. 

He can see the rage drip from your mouth like hot, molten tar, can see the tears well in your eyes like casted silver against the mold of your face– the way a single one cools and leaves a residual streak against the ashen skin of your cheek. You want to love Nellie, in the same way she wanted to love Edward, and in the way he loved his wife. He can see it, that burning want so bad that it becomes hatred. That kind of love whose flame burns blue. 

He knows Nellie loves you, too, but also knows how dangerous it is to speak it aloud– lest that vile maiden Death may hear it. 

Your eyes stare holes into him, burn against his abdomen from where you fix them. He had heard of women becoming alight with lust born from rage before, but had not though of you to be insane enough to eye him in a familiar way right here on the tarmac. That blue flame affixed to him and warming him from the inside, as well. 

“That’s an awfully ugly belt buckle, sheriff.” You speak, finally, breaking the silence and restoring some semblance of order to this congregation. 

This place is not forgiving, nor is it kind. I hope that your heart is not faint, and I hope that this place is kinder to you than it has been to us. 

With warmest regards, 

Steven Harrington

[justabrick]

Hey! I absolutely love your posts about MGR! I'm a huge fan of Mistral, and your analysis and portrayal of her are truly fantastic. I have a few thoughts and questions I'd love to discuss with you!

Mistral is a femme fatale, but she seems unaware of how she uses her appearance. You can see this from the way multiple male characters react to her. She is both a sadist and a masochist—you can tell she enjoys the pain from her neural link, and of course, there’s her iconic line: “Would you like to slice off some more” (I love this line). All of this leads me to believe that Mistral is someone who completely disregards herself. She treats her body as a tool, she takes pleasure in pain, and even though she knows Armstrong sees her as just a stranger, she still chooses to die for his ideals—or maybe, she seeks death itself. This is the core of how I understand her character, and why I love her so much.

About her huge… well, I think they’re real. And of course, the skin is cybernetic—you can actually tell from the cross-section view of this part using the free camera mod.

Sorry for my English! I wrote this with the help of a translator, so I apologize if anything is unclear. Please feel free to ask. 😊

I'm honestly not sure whether what Mistral disregards is herself or her humanity. Think of it, she seems quite selfish in her behavior with her cruel treatment of tripods for nothing but amusement and the way she kills Khamsin just because she felt like it. And even the provocative appearance is really for nobody but herself. I bet you she starts her mornings by admiring her own reflection, I know I would

And as for her humanity, she definitely disregards that. Unlike Monsoon or Sundowner it seems that she didn't suffer any injuries that would require cybernetic replacements, so she threw away a perfectly healthy human body to... Hm. Now it's just pure speculation on my part, but I think there may be two reasons.

First, that experimental custom cyborg body has to cost a fortune, so agreeing to being augmented that way makes her indentured to Desperado/World Marshal. Mistral seemed discontent with not having any place to belong, and by doing this she pretty much nailed herself to the company and the cause Armstrong gave her. Can't be drifting much further with a debt like that.

Second, I know "L'Etranger" is the book one should be looking through to understand what's implied about Mistral and her worldview, but she also makes me think of "No longer human" by Osamu Dazai. Now, Mistral is no Yozo Oba, she isn't afraid of humans, but she seems to be fundamentally unable to connect with people similarly to him, leading to a very lonely existence. Yozo views humans as monsters, meanwhile Mistral refers to her kills as "prey". If her perspective of human interaction is anything like what's depicted in that book, then it would make sense why she'd so readily shed her humanity and make the jump to full body cyborg. CODECs in MGR indicate that cyborgs are discriminated against, often socially isolated and in general the public finds them to be uncanny and creepy. Normally all these are massive drawbacks, but to Mistral it's something that she desires. Once she looks like an artificial inhuman abomination, she is forever freed from needing to try and fit into normal society. You take one look at her 2 meter tall arachnophobia inducing ass and you know not to expect anything normal from her, and that's exactly what Mistral would want.

And I really do think that in-universe people would view her as rather horrifying. Alluring, but horrifying, one does not exclude the other. We as the audience are spared from the creepy effect by the art style. Her... Unconventional body plan alone plants her firmly in the uncanny valley territory, and I believe her face may be artificial as well. The concept shows that her neck is black and the fact that she can still talk after being reduced to frozen sashimi implies a lot of cybernetic enhancements in the head too.

If Raiden complained about not fitting into society while wearing his as close to human as possible civilian chassis we see at the end of MGS4, then just imagine the public's reaction to Mistral. Or any of the Winds of Destruction to be honest. Those three are a freakshow with how grotesque their bodies are.

And about Mistral's relationship with "the cause" and Armstrong himself. I think it's not purely self-sacrificial as her parting words may make it seem. Her end goal is to die for a cause, not reach the goals of that cause imo. At it's core, it's a selfish desire that has little to do with Armstrong's dream. Why would a French-Algerian mercenary whose existence has been defined by not believing in anything give a shit about making America great again? She doesn't. If she actually gave a fuck, she'd grit her teeth and endure Khamsin's spectacular personality because he's a useful asset, but instead she killed him, a whole bunch of contractors and ruined god knows how many expensive UGs by letting Bladewolf try to escape. Directly jeopardized the mission, in short.

I think she does love Armstrong though, but not in a conventional sense. He gave her a reason to fight, a place to belong, ideals to die for - something she desired very strongly. Mistral may or may not have purposefully idolized him so that when she finally dies for him, it'll give her the fulfillment she dreamed of. So, loves him in a God Emperor kind of way, rather than as a genuine love interest.

And if it seems that it's weird that she'd fight so passionately for something that she doesn't believe in, you gotta remember that she's an absurdist, like in the book her spear is named after. Absurdism dictates that it's impossible for a human to make sense of the world, but it doesn't mean they can't choose a purpose for themselves just because they want to.

Yeah, Armstrong's cause is not something she truly believes in, but it's absurd to believe in anything, really. But she wants a purpose, so she chooses to go along with it for the hell of it. After all, it gives Mistral all the fights she could ever want, a relatable company of other unhinged cyborgs and an opportunity to gleefully be the worst version of herself while she races full speed towards a bombastic demise. What's not to love?

And I'll finish off this ramble with some

( • )( • )

Because yes. Tbh, both the version where they're fake and where they're natural work to display her vanity and desire to loudly show off her identity. Like "yeah, I'm not even trying to fit in at this point, look at me. Bras are for weaklings."

Fully artificial is both expensive and unnecessary, keeping them natural is... Just as unnecessary and probably more difficult to pull off than simply cutting off her head and plopping it into a cybernetic body like with Raiden. Yes I think the tiddies are an important character trait and not just fanservice. I also overanalyze this game as a hobby, so take my shit with a grain of salt.

And don't worry, your English is perfectly adequate! This is a fun ask

[stradakiev]

Anyone else watch the dw deleted scenes from 15s season (series one on Disney) for Doctor who day? I loved them but I’m so bummed all of those moments weren’t included in the episodes. They provided much needed character work and plot explanation.

If you haven’t watched it the link is at the bottom of the post.

Starting with scene 09-12A from the giggle that moment with Donna demanding unit to protect her who family explains how Rose gets connected with unit. And we just love any Donna moment like that honestly <3 you used my family so you can protect them yessssss 👏🏻

The giggle scene 27- literally just funny. It doesn’t need to be included but I CACKLED at them opening and closing those doors with no background music.

Space babies scene 16- I don’t know how much I would need this scene included. Space babies is the episode I’ve re-watched the least because it’s plot and character work we left wanting. (So it probably should’ve been left in) I like seeing Ruby tell the story (while later watching over done) to the babies because the exposition makes sense for the context and it’s a really sweet way to build her character. Then when the doctor starts heading off the way she questions him is really funny to me. It shows more of her character in the tone she talks to the doctor, and then chooses to follow him. It’s a very small moment that makes their friendship more believable because she’s telling the sweet story and he’s being wacky and it’s amazing.

Space babies scene 40-42- does this scene start with them being lost in the ship??? The left left again thing bc if so that’s hilarious and once again develops ruby and 15s friendship and respective characters more (I love hot dumbasses that are technically smart). It also builds more of the setting and the story. It’s their version of 12 and Clara climbing through the dalek as we learn so much from the story by their environment. Also I just love Ruby stepping in the boogies and being grossed out. “Why does it keep shedding its skin” plants an important question for the audience without feeling like we jumped to the answer. I also just love 15 smiling while saying “into the belly of the beast”

Space babies scene 63- we may have gotten another scene similar to this one but this face is figuring something out

And this one has realized it

The devils chord scene 9a- “SOMEONE HAS STOLEN MUSIC” I love how exasperated he is in this moment (it shows us what he cares about) then ruby trying to comfort him but being so awkward it’s too perfect and again shows their friendship in such a small moment

The devils chord scene 23- I think this scene connects how the maestro finds the doctor and Ruby and connect their stories early on from them playing the piano. I don’t think the whole scene would need to be included because it goes on for a while, but I do love jinx monsoon serving cunt. 

The devils chord scene 72- WHY WAS THIS CUT OUT!! This connects the musical scene so that it actually seems a part of the story and not just a random extra

The devils chord scene 74- this is usually RTDs bread and butter but I’ve missed it this season. He is usually so good at showing what is happening to the rest of the world in these moments and lending larger context to the story and this scene does that in such a silly way. It also make the musical scene less weird just like scene 72.

73 yards scene 3-4- it shows how long she waited but my favorite part is when she kicks the tardis because it shows he actually affected by her situation and frustrated. It also reminded me of Clara fighting with the tardis.

73 yards scene 53-54 THIS SCENEEEEEE AHHHH it would have given ruby so much more depthhhh. We would’ve seen here actually affected by her circumstances. She is HEARTBROKEN that the woman was still there she thought she had solved it but she hadn’t. This is crushing and instead in the episode it seems like she is not affected by her plan not working and still being stuck in this timeline. 

The legend of ruby Sunday scene 41-45- not necessary to include we get a very similar scene in the episode, but I loved watching it again in a different way. 

Empire of death scene 35- I loveeee the doctor kissing the tardis 🥰 the memory tardis disappear makes the situation more dire which would’ve added to the story. Also the part where he says “we will fight sutekh” and ruby responds “with my mothers name” it shows her having as much doubt about the plan as the audience has and shows ruby giving the doctor pushback. Also the doctor saying that sutekh has eyes everywhere hints to the fact that he knows about Melanie.

The empire of death scene 59-63- who in their right mind cut this???? Like you didn’t think it would be important to know how they got the whistle and how it worked? While it was still a cheap plot tool that “technically” goes against rules of the show it’s a plot tool that’s been used before (11 and Clara and their button in into the tardis) it still would’ve made it make sense. And they had a good cheap explanation for it that they’re fighting a god so the get to do one thing like that (i.e. when they fight gods the rules of reality are flexible some things like bigeneration or getting to hand yourself a whistle happen). It’s also a fun moment with the doctor winking at himself and saying they need to moisturize and playing music of the jukebox (connecting them back to the devils chord)

[ramayantika]

Proshitabhartruka Nayika .・。.・゜✭・

My bracelets are gone.

Tears, those sweet friends, departed forever.

Courage left instantly

and my heart

went fastest of all.

They set off in concert

when my beloved decided

to leave.

You should go too, life—

why lag behind that troop

of dear comrades?

~Erotic Love Poems from India

»»————> ●○●○●○●○ <————««

I tugged at his sleeve for one last time, in hopes that my tearful eyes would bid him to stay by my side. His face too lost its pallor. His warm hand caressed mine as his eyes gazed deep into mine, telling them that staying was impossible.

And then when he memorized the curls falling on the sides of my cheeks, my kohl-smudged eyes, the pearl nose-ring and a sad smile on my lips, his eyes travelled downward to the little one growing inside me.

"Will you come back before this child enters the world?"

"Can't make promises, my love."

"Make one right now, so that the gods let you come home to welcome a mother and a baby."

"May the gods wish the same, priye"

Days are desolate, and the nights empty. No warm sheets to the right side of the bed, and no hand to touch the sensations of this playful child in my womb. My friends bring sweets and savoury delights, and my mother narrates the tales of little Krishna for the baby. But who shall kiss my forehead and look at me with shining eyes and whisper me in my ears how divinely beautiful I look in the shade of motherhood?

But then for a moment, I think about my husband's side. Which father would like to stay away from his growing child. Would he not desire to feel his baby's kicks and laugh in delight? Would he not be sad and shed a lonely tear down his cheek at night alone in his chamber thinking about all that he misses about this newfound fatherhood?

How can a husband stay calm when overseas knowing his wife sits alone gazing at the moon, in hopes of him coming home soon? He would want to serve me the weirdest mixture of sweet delights and sour pickels just so I can be pleased.

I sigh in despair and put my head on my mother's lap.

He doesn't even have friends to come over his house daily.

Oh lord, when does his sojourn end?

खाली है तेरे बिना दोनो अखियाँ, तुम गए कहाँ?

Sometimes the nights are warm, and I forget about motherhood. There are desires that I long to give in and fulfill. I want him to touch my skin, and leave light kisses all over me, adoring him like his most cherished thing.

A few monsoons ago, I was making my way to my home when he caught my hand and whisked me to the riverbank. As the rain fell down the mighty clouds, his lips caught my lips, drenched from those moist showers. And then when the clouds raged with thunder, I shivered in fright, but his arms caught me in a tight embrace, as we laughed and admired our warm but wet cheeks, and all was well.

That evening I went home with a wet and discarded veil, and a skirt tied loosely around my hips. I was won and desired in the rain.

But it's autumn now. Dry and empty. The dark clouds have gone on a sojourn too and so has my beloved. No kisses in the rain fall over my being doused in fiery desires.

"मारे के मैं तो सिमट गयी, चुनरी मेरी मुझसे लिपट गयी

ऐसे में तूने जो ली अंगड़ाई, परबत से काली घटा टकराई

पानी ने कैसी ये आग लगाईं"

I caress my stomach, making the baby inside me to go to sleep, and look outside the window. The slight chilly breeze from dawn rushes inside my warm chamber. My fingers feel slightly cold and I almost turn my body to tickle my husband's neck with these cool fingers.

What do I find?

An empty bed and an empty pillow.

**

My friend can play the veena well. I remember once we attended a festival, and he loved the musical performance so much that he held my wrist and twirled me around amidst the large crowd.

Her music is lovely, but she plays a melancholic tune.

If he were here, he would be penning poetry for me by now.

***

Everybody has gone home. My girlfriends too. Just like the moon shining in all her glory remains alone, I in this well-lit courtyard stand alone in these silks and jewels.

The moon's splendour falls short now. How long until I gaze at his moon-like face?

The breeze whispers something in my ear. And that's it.

An empty courtyard...

***

"Sakhi, a man from that faraway town has got a letter for you about your husband's arrival. My brother is arriving a week later from that place."

»»——⍟——««

Taglist: @eugenephosgene @tamatar-bac @swayamev @navaratna @the-rarest-love @arachneofthoughts @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @pulihora @krishna-priyatama @vedajananixx

I literally wrote it one day with watching some dance videos related to this and countless articles and paintings.

I wanted to leave this at her loneliness because that's what this nayika does mostly

But you all know me. And I msyelf like to be hopeful. The husband has to come back now when? We never know.

That's hopeful. Maybe he kept his promise and they have a cute child and dance around

Or......

[their-dearest]

On the fourth day.

It was a melancholic, save for the pitter patter of the rain against Ruu’s straw hat.

“...” And for once, Paimon was as meek as a weakened mouse. Her small hands balled into a trembling fist, as tears welled up her eyes.

“So please go on ahead! I'll just be resting here for a while.”

The boy spoke with an earnest, yet tired smile. And he knows he’s at fault. He reached out to comfort her, but his hand stopped midway. As much as he wished to venture forth, the boy knew that his tale ends here.

Ruu stared at the pair for a long time, sculpting their forms into his memory. The mighty Traveller with their golden hair and the little floating spirits. He won’t admit it out loud, but…

‘...I am happy to meet you both.’

“We'll meet again someday for sure!” It took all of his strength to keep himself awake.

And on their fourth encounter, the golden Traveller and their floating spirit named Paimon left Tsurumi Island. The tired figure would watch Paimon steal glances everytime they grew farther from the sacred grounds. His eyes would never leave them until their golden and ivory hues melted with the uncharted seas, far beyond his sight. Beyond the little island he called home.

‘After two thousand years,’ Ruu's eyes, as he gazed at the weeping evening sky, ‘I’m finally free.’

For 2,000 years, he carried a heavy responsibility on his small shoulders. But thanks to the outsiders, the weight on his heart was lifted, just like the fog that governs over Tsurumi, but his eyes grew heavier. He is no stranger to death, of course. But being at its mercy felt… calming this time. Maybe it’s because he can finally rest on his own terms. At his own desire.

To say he’s exhausted is a travesty, humorous even. The mirthless joke earned a chuckle from him.

‘So… tiring.’

The world swirled under his feet, melting into an array of color and textures. Every step he took sinks to the muddy ground beneath him, swallowing the heel of his sandal in its greedy surface.

“That was my good shoe.” He protested, but his words barely reached a whisper. With a sigh, he dragged his muddy footing to the Sacred Grounds, an ancient perch said to be the nestling ground of their late goddess.

Bundles of thin, indigo leaves greeted his murky view, waving at his entrance. The Nestling Grounds, although withering, stood high and mighty against the iridescent weeds and glowing grass beneath its rotting roots. He’s only been here a few times, all of which involve intricate rituals and ceremonies.

And yet no matter how many times he's seen this place, he always found himself rendered speechless. Each breath he took reverberated on the hollow trunk of the ancient tree. His eyes, heavy from sorrow, were filled with unshed tears.

All the suffering, agony, and bloodshed he endured, finally got over him.

Tear after tear, the boy clung tightly against his soaked coat and sought any fleeting warmth it had to offer, but to no avail.

The young boy’s body rests against the dying tree as he steeled himself for what’s to come. He yearned for peace, but he mourned for his people, for the opportunities, for himself. It almost felt like a dream. A sorrowful dream after a thousand-year nightmare.

Slowly, the rain shower had picked up in pace, as it morphed into a heavy downpour and mingled with his newly-shed tears. Kama would’ve enjoyed this moment, but alas, he joined the Ferryman’s boat long ago, just like the others.

Oh, How he missed the cold breeze of the monsoons,how he missed the rain streaming on his cheek, how he missed the sound of the roaring thunder from the distance—

‘Wait… thunder?’ His mind was flooded with a million thoughts at once.

‘That can’t be. Kapatcir is dead. I saw the Serai Islands with my own eyes!’

But a silver lining of hope shimmers in his mind.:

‘She won’t come all this way for me, would she?’

Those thoughts snapped him out of his tiresome trance, pulling him away from its prying grasp. Just as he's about to speak, another voice boomed within him.

“Cease your worries,” A familiar and unforgettable voice echoes within his mind, “Ruu.”

A small, yet shaky gasp left his lips. His dreary eyes gaze across the stone walls of the mountain, only to be met by the thundering rain in front of him. “Kapatcir?”

An agonising drawn-out static fills the air, and ounces of adrenaline rushed through his bloodless veins.

“Take a deep breath.” Her tone was not sharp and cold, a lovely contrast to the icy daggers that dripped down his skin. It was odd, he never heard this tone for a long time. And the last time he did came from none other than… his dearest mother.

And breathe he did. His lungs, deflated for almost two millenniums, relished the way the air swirled in him. If he were to tell his younger self about gaining the favour of the Thunderbird herself, poor little Ruu would look at him like a madman.

“How are you alive, Kanna Kapatcir? I thought you were—”

“—Dead?” She knew as much as he did, but saying those words still sting her heartless form. Death is a face common to even gods, and yet she finds herself at a lost.

To lose herself in grief, in sorrow, and soon, in madness. How far had she fallen? The Harbinger of Thunder and Storms reduced into a rabid best… she owe the Shogun her silent gratitude.

“My story has come to its end. Tragically, yes, but I am no longer with the living.”

There was no wind, no pain against his flesh, but those words made him stiff as a corpse, fitting for a dying boy like him.

‘She’s dead. Kanna Kapatcir, the Thunderbird is dead.’

“But,” a single question floated in his flooded mind, “How can you talk to me?”

A beat, before another.

“When that strange Traveler used my pinion, I felt something pulled me from the Depths. That said Traveler made a bridge for our souls.”

Kapatcir, the Mother of Thunder, muses. But her words took a tone sounding almost human… motherly, even.

With a deep sigh, the goddess continued once more, “Your story is far from over, Fledgling.”

Every word, every syllable she spoke was a soothing balm to his wounded soul. A long, exasperated yawn left his quivering lips, the familiar weight on his eyelids returned.

“What… what do you mean? I died a long time ago.”

But the goddess only responded with a hum. A hum shifting into a gentle lullaby, a familiar lullaby. Her voice, combined with her chirps, lured him in the tiresome trance.

“Rest your worries here, Ruu.”

‘"Ruu." She remembered my name!.

And with that, a boy named Ruu fell into a deep slumber, the sound of thunder echoed in his last moments.

Within the womb of Tsurumi lies a small, yet peculiar egg. Enveloped in a nest of Electro, the young fledgling slumbers once more, awaiting for a piece of its mother to be reborn.

It is quiet, save for the gentle humming of the thunder that once enveloped the foggy shores.

[shinymoonbird]

Anaya Nayanar, also known as Anaya and Anayar, is a Nayanar saint, venerated in the Hindu Shaivite sect. Anaya is considered to be the 14th of the 63 Nayanars. His playing of the Panchakshara (five-syllable mantra 🌟na, ma, śi, vā, ya🌟) on his flute so pleased the god, Shiva, that he took Anaya away to the eternal world.

🌟

The life of Anayar is described in the Thirutthondar Puranam (Periya Puranam) by Sekkizhar, which documents the Histories of the 63 Nayanmar. Anaya is described as a cowherd (ஆயர் or Aayar). Anayar was born and lived his life in Tirumangalam (Thirumangalam), currently in the Indian state of Tamil Nadu. Tirumangalam is a place of pilgrimage, famous for its Samavedeshvarar Temple, dedicated to Supreme Lord Shiva. Aanaayar used to tend cows. He used to take the cows for grazing in the pastures outside of the town. He used to protect the cattle from disease and beasts of prey. Anayar used to smear Sacred Ash on His body. In the meadows, He used to play the Panchakshara (Five-Letter) Mantra of Supreme Lord Shiva on his flute. Music was his way of worshipping Lord Shiva. A verse from Periya Puranam tells about how he crafted a flute from bamboo, as prescribed in the science of music (Gandharva Shastra).

🌟

One day at the onset of the monsoon, Anayar started playing the Holy Five Letter Word on His flute under the Konrai tree, which is sacred to Lord Shiva, in a garden of blossoming konrai trees. The Periya Puranam devotes several verses to describe the natural beauty of the location.

✨Aanaaya Naayanaar spread sweet melody all aound, playing on his flute with supreme skill, according to the prescribed technique. The basic note of the music - Panchaakshara - streamed sweetly like celestial nectar mixed with honey into the ears of the listeners. Entranced by this the herd of cows forgot to chew the cud, after cropping the tender shoots of grass; the little calves with mouths on the udders of the cows let the foaming milk drip down on the ground; the might-horned bulls and the wild animals like the deer came near, with the hairs of the body standing on end. The dancing peacocks stood still; the flocks of birds with their hearts filled with melody, kept quiet as in a swoon; the herdsmen left tasks incomplete. The 'Naagas', inhabitants of the underworld came out of their caverns; the celestial ladies gathered in the heavens and stood quite charmed; the other denizens of the outer space - the Gandharvas, Charanaas and the Kinnaras - too crowded the sky in their chariots. The heavenly damsels feeding their pet parrots on nectar under the shade of the Kalpaka tree, hurried to drink in the sweet music. Both the weak and the strong were caught in the same spell - the serpent with the venomous fangs leaned gently on the peacock; the unmoving lion and the huge tusker kept company; the deer with the grass in its mouth stood by the side of the tiger. ✨All nature too came under this spell - the wind ceased to blow and the blossoming branches of the trees stirred not; the streams and brooks meshing down the mountain stopped dead in their tracks; the clouds lay quiet and shed no drops of rain; the lightning did not flash and there was not a ripple in the wide seas. ✨Thus all things - movable and immovable - lay ensnared in the mesh of the nectarine music that flowed from the sweet-red lips of Aanaaya Naayanaar touching his flute. ✨Ah, the sweet music welling up from the gushing love of the player for the feet of his Lord, which filled earth and heaven then filled the ears of the indwelling Lord dancing in the Golden Hall, hard to reach for all those lacking in real Love.

✨Next, the Lord, with His consort, the very soul of compassion - He from whom all sound and music arise - the three-eyed Supreme being - appeared in the heavens, seated on His Bull-Mount. ✨His crowding hosts kept utterly quiet, so as not to disturb the music of the Panchakshara which the dancing Lord relished so much! ✨The Lord then declared: "Come unto Me, in the same pose as you now are, to enable the righteous devotees to savour your music ever" ✨This Naayanaar willingly complied! ✨The celestials rained flowers on earth; the sages chanted the Vedic hymns, while the flute continued with melody. ✨The Lord and His devotee then entered the Golden Hall at Chidambaram.

🌟

Note: Rasikas may recall in this context the techniques of music portrayed in Silappadhikaram and the effect of Sri Krishna playing on His flute graphically described by Sage Suka, Periyaazhvaar and Arunagirinathar.

A rasika is a term for an aesthete of Indian classical music. The term is derived from the Sanskrit word 'rasa', meaning full of passion, elegant, and with discrimination. Connoisseur - An expert able to appreciate a field; especially in the fine arts.

🌟

[sailorsenshishitposter]

Samuraiden Valentine's Day

Femboy Raiden was requested so I decided to turn it into a Valentie's Day special. Warning: highly cursed smut. Expect to never listen to Snake Eater again

Raiden posed seductively on his bed. He had invited Sam over for the evening and was getting ready to give said Brazilian a strip tease. "Bonito, how can we do this if you're mostly metal?" The cyborg then placed a clawed finger over the mans lips. "Just let me do this or I swear that I'm going to fucking gag you!" Sam then felt something begin to rise and it wasn't a metal gear ray.

Anyway back to Jack. Raiden had decided to pick a special outfit for tonight. He had doktor cutosmize his body so that his chest now resembled a lacey red bra and his crotch plate was now a matching set of panties. He had dyed his hair a light pink and put on some white cat ears. Also included were his usual pumps but in hot red. The cyborg then started posing Bayonetta style, giving high kicks to the air as he rested. "Would you fuck me? I'd fuck me. I'd fuck me HARD!"

"Jack, we can do your little movie questionnaires tomorrow. Right now I'm gonna show you the difference between a tool and a sword." Raiden then pushed Sam on to the bed and waved his finger. "Not until I've finished my dance." He then started grinding on top of Samuel. "Oh good. Why that's very good! Yes I like that!" the Brazilian moaned. They began to share a passionate kiss only for Raiden to bite too hard, nearly ripping off the mans lip in the process. This was the price one would pay for frenching a jaw made of steel but he was hardly complaining.

"Sorry..." the cyborg said. "I'm not quite used to this body yet." Sam laughed. "Nevermind it blondie. Better yet, I encourage it!" Raiden paused. "What are you saying!?" Sam then smacked the cyborgs ass like a drum. "More. Hurt me MORE!" Just like that and he was turned on. By that I mean the switch to let Jack out had been hit. "I think it's time I give you a demonstration..."

Jack then pulled out l' étranger and used it's whip form on the man beneath him. He hit each cheek in rythmn to hollaback girl. "Had enough yet puta?" Sam groaned. "That's Spanish, not Portuguese. You better show me a good time Jack!" Crap. It seemed like he did something wrong. "On to plan B then." Jack thought. "I think I'll show you what I learned after finishing off Vamp. Let's just say I'm very skilled in the art of being a snake eater."

Jack then shredded Sam's pants with his razor sharp claws until he found what he was looking for. He then said "It's Metal Gear Rising time!" and began to pump Sam's errect cock. Before he could let Sam become a snake beater, he unhinged his jaw and removed the metal plating. He then swallowed his penis whole like he had some strange vore fetish. Soon Sam climaxed and cried "THERE WILL BE CUM, SHED!"

Jack then swallowed because he knew this would be his only source of electrolytes for the night. He then crawled on the bed next to his lover and said "boowomp". Sam was just getting started though. "Let's dance!"  He tore off the lingerie and felt Jacks pecks. He tried to see if his nipples were hard and felt around. He then heard a click and released that his boyfriend was coming apart at the seams.

Sam noticed a small section of wires poking out. He began to gently press his finger into the crease and heard Jack begin to moan. He took this as a sign to continue and started penetrating deeper with his finger. Jack then rolled his head around and let out a loud "MEEEEOOOOOOWWWW". The screen quickly shifts to their next door neighbour Adam. Loud Russian cursing could be heard and it was then that he decided that tonight was when he was going to call animal control.

Sam felt a jolt pass through his finger and pulled his hand back. It probably wasn't the smartest idea to use his metal hand. He then made a mental note to ask Monsoon about how electricity works. Now it was time for him to reach third base. He spread the cyborgs thighs and took out some lube, only to find that Raiden had no sort of entrance. He was like Ken but instead of being moulded plastic it was steel.

"Where is it!?" Sam searched frantically but the only brown eyes he could find were his own two that were looking downward. "What's taking so long Sam?" The Brazilian wasn't sure how to phrase this. "Erm Jack, where is-, how do you-, I can't fin-". The cyborg tried to calm him down. "What's wrong. This is never a problem with Rose." Sam just started at him. "Who?"

"My wife but she isn't relevant to this story. What she does is give me a strap-on and then that's how we do it." Sam was shocked. "But- but... that gorgeous ass. Why would such a pretty boy have one if he wasn't going go use it?" Now it was Raiden's turn to laugh. "Sam, this is a metal gear game. Everyone has enough cake for a bakery."

"That's it! Shut it off!" Sam turned off his VR headset. He thought he could at least be with blondie like this but virtual reality was cruel. He then turned on Titanic and let his hair down. He was wearing a women's business dress. "Why can't I be the Rose to your Jack?!" He then began to sob while Bladewolf prayed that if a god did exist then he would take away his hearing abilities.

[agapemastiffs]

Tibetan Mastiff Puppies: Living on the Roof of the World

So, you're considering bringing a Tibetan Mastiff puppy into your life? Hold onto your metaphorical yaks, because you're not just welcoming a dog, you're adopting a future legend, a majestic floof with an ancient lineage, and a potential shed avalanche (because let's be honest, cleaning up fur is practically an Olympic sport with these guys).

The Most Adorable Yeti You'll Ever Meet

The first thing that grabs everyone about Tibetan Mastiff puppies or English Mastiff Puppies is their undeniable, almost mythical cuteness. These giant lion-dog hybrids look like living teddy bears with a hint of mountain lion thrown in for good measure. They waddle, they fluff their oversized paws, and their big, brown eyes could melt the heart of even the most hardened cynic. Just be prepared for those adorable little paws to accidentally knock over furniture in their puppy enthusiasm (think of a wrecking ball made of fluff).

But Don't Let the Cuteness Fool You...

These aren't your average lapdogs. Tibetan Mastiffs are bred for guarding livestock in the harsh Himalayan mountains, and those instincts translate into a fiercely independent spirit. Early socialization and training are crucial to ensure this adorable fluff ball grows into a well-mannered (and furniture-respecting) adult.

Guardians with Ancient Blood

These pups are bred to guard, and their territorial instincts kick in early. They'll bark with the gusto of a Tibetan foghorn at anything that moves outside the window, whether it's a rogue tumbleweed or a neighbor's overly friendly cat. While their impressive bark is enough to deter most, proper training is essential to channel their protectiveness into something positive and not overbearing.

The Great Shedding Migration

Now, we come to a truth universally acknowledged (by Tibetan Mastiff owners, at least): these pups shed. A lot. We're talking enough fur to create a small sheepdog every few weeks. If you have an aversion to fur tumbleweeds or find yourself constantly lint-rolling your clothes, this might not be the breed for you maybe consider Cane Corso Puppies Think of it as a built-in winter coat... for your furniture (and maybe yourself).

The Drool Deluge (Maybe)

Compared to some other giant breeds, Tibetan Mastiff drool is a more manageable situation. Sure, there will be slobbery toys and the occasional beard acquired through enthusiastic greetings, but it's nowhere near the Niagara Falls situation you might encounter with a Mastiff cousin. However, be prepared to invest in a good supply of drool rags, because dog park puddles are inevitable.

The High-Maintenance Floof

Taking care of a Tibetan Mastiff puppy requires dedication. These active pups need plenty of exercise – walks, playtime, and activities that challenge their minds. A bored puppy is a recipe for destructive chewing and excessive barking. Think of them as royalty with boundless energy, and you'll be on the right track.

Growing Pains (Literally and Figuratively)

Get ready for some serious growing pains. These majestic pups don't reach their full size until they're around 2-3 years old. This means puppy-proofing your house version 3.0 (because apparently, the first two times weren't enough). Coffee tables become prime targets for leaning, doorknobs become chew toys (invest in those reinforced ones!), and counter-surfing becomes an Olympic sport they're determined to master (with a success rate that would impress any athlete). Remember, an ounce of prevention (like reinforcing those counters) is worth a pound of drool-covered furniture (but keep those drool rags handy, just in case).

The Loyal Guardian (with a Side of Independence)

By now, your Tibetan Mastiff's protective instincts are in full swing. They'll be your personal security system with a built-in bark that could rival a monsoon downpour. While their impressive vocalizations are enough to deter most, continued socialization is key. Dog parks, walks in different neighborhoods, and introducing them to new people will ensure their guard dog tendencies don't morph into over-protectiveness. However, remember that independent streak? Don't be surprised if they decide to guard the house in their own unique way, which might involve ignoring your frantic calls to come inside when a squirrel appears.

The Master of Subtlety (Except When Food is Involved)

Don't be fooled by their imposing stature and impressive bark, Tibetan Mastiffs are surprisingly adept at nonverbal communication. The raised eyebrow that translates to "Treat time, human?" The dramatic sigh that clearly means "This walk isn't long enough, get your leash on!" The gentle head nudge that says, with unwavering certainty, "Move over, more couch space required." Learning their unique body language is crucial to a harmonious relationship with your Tibetan Mastiff overlord (I mean, companion).

The Mighty (Yet Majestic) Workout Buddy

Remember those energetic puppy days? Well, adult Tibetan Mastiffs still have plenty of energy to burn, but now they come in a much larger package. Invest in a good dog harness (their necks are too thick for regular collars) and get ready for some serious exercise bonding. These athletic pups will happily join you for hikes, jogs, or even a good game of fetch (just be prepared for the occasional accidental furniture toppling during enthusiastic retrieves). However, unlike some high-energy breeds, Tibetan Mastiffs also enjoy a good lounging session. Expect them to alternate between bursts of activity and majestic naps that would make any sloth envious.

The Big Lug with a Big Heart

Despite their sometimes-clumsy exterior and impressive bark, Tibetan Mastiffs are incredibly loving and affectionate dogs. They crave attention and will happily smother you in giant-sized cuddles. They're happiest when they're with their humans, so be prepared for a constant shadow (and potential furniture indentation) wherever you go in the house. Just remember, with their thick double coat, they can become personal space heaters, especially in the summer.

A Life Less Ordinary

Living with a Tibetan Mastiff is certainly not ordinary. They'll turn heads wherever they go, you'll constantly answer questions about their breed (prepare to educate the masses about these ancient guardians!), and be prepared for the occasional "OMG, is that a bear?!" (Let's just spread awareness about these magnificent mountain dogs). But through the occasional drool puddle, the enthusiastic greetings that leave you slightly windblown, and the never-ending battle against the tumbleweeds of fur, you'll gain a loyal, loving companion who will enrich your life in ways you never imagined. So, if you're looking for a unique and unforgettable canine companion with a touch of ancient mystery, consider opening your heart and home to a Tibetan Mastiff. Just remember, with great cuteness comes great… responsibility, a never-ending supply of lint rollers, and a furminator that will get a serious workout.

In Conclusion: Adorable Floofs Worth the Work?

Tibetan Mastiff puppies are a unique breed, perfect for those who can handle their independent spirit, their… well, fur production abilities, and their need for mental and physical stimulation. If you're looking for a loyal, majestic companion who will happily join you for adventures (and become your personal space heater in the winter), then a Tibetan Mastiff puppy might be your perfect match. Just remember, with great cuteness comes great responsibility (and a never-ending supply of lint rollers). So, if you're ready to embrace the world of adorable yeti-puppies with ancient blood, then welcome a Tibetan Mastiff puppy into your life or Neapolitan Mastiff Puppies – just make sure you have the energy (and the vacuum cleaner) to keep up!

A Watchful Protector: For The Progression Of The Ages

Mastiffs, gentle giants with ancient roots, come in various breeds. Loyal guardians with calm temperaments, they require ample space, training, and experienced owners due to their size and strength. Though some breeds have wrinkles, all Mastiffs offer a lifetime of devotion.

Tibetan Mastiff Puppies For Sale

[mekkyz-dubz]

❗ TW // Abuse ❗

🌧️ A Monsoon Whirlwind 🌧️

⛅️😴🛏️☁️

I woke up in a dreamy bed To find myself another shed I noticed the clouds going dreary rain To brew another storm they wanted

I was excited about the rain To make me feel showered in the mist A blissful Derecho blowing through the storm They would have never bored me the most

⛈️😧🍃⛈️

A sudden thunderstorm crackling my ears I was flinched hard that I almost gave myself a heart attack A blissful wisps become angrier and angrier That I would've been scared of the cyclones at least

A tornado was created in a very bad mood They demanded themselves to demolish its path to cope A swirling cotton thickens and intensifies So much that I had to seek shelter like a scaredy cat

A monsoon whirlwind stares at me They are going to charge at me like a bull I became more terrified and frozen I had to run away like a running sheep

I ran and ran and ran into the shelter The monsoon cyclone keeps chasing me so much I accidentally tripped fall onto the ground It was too late as the monsoon funnel sucked me in like a vacuum

⛈️🌪️⚡⛈️

I woke up in an angry shed To find myself a self-care I noticed the circulating wisps inside a funnel I was mesmerized by the inside of a beautiful monsoon photogenically But I have to ask them

Why are you angry at us? I said My mom kept pressuring me to become a demolitionist, they said She wanted me to destroy the town so we could be destructive but I don't want to She angered and kicked me out that I became evicted and rethinking my life choices

The more stories I hear from a tornado, the more relatable thoughts I gave like an emotionalist I asked Monsoon why they wanted to destroy the town in the first place They said that it's for coping mechanism and that is all I became more aware that their coping mechanism was going bleak

⚡😔🌪️⚡

I told them that it was considered unhealthy If they continued they would've became a sadder rope I gave them alternatives to make us happy So far they wanted me to fly for fun and opted for touching down the debris instead

I asked them first if I wanted to be friends They said, sure to keep me company I told them to call them Monsoon They liked the name I called them that they became a wedge-sized funnel to make them happy

The tornado is getting happy to become the wedge While I was excitedly flying like a witch in a broom They started touching down the debris and a building on a flat path Until they finally dissipate in a good light

☀️🍃🌻☁️

I woke up in a dreamy grass To find myself a thankful world I noticed the skies going blooming day Until I saw a letter to read to make me grateful

It was all a thankful message from a tornado, thanks to me.

"Thank you for helping me dealing with my past childhood, friend. -Monsoon"

🌻 Thank you... 🌻

[swellbloom-kids]

Some Notes on the Bakunawa

It holds the universe in its coils of void. Time rides on its back, flowing outwards in a spiral. The Bakunawa wishes to devour the moon and plunge the world into eternal night. It makes itself felt in the physical world through anything that spirals - tornadoes, whirlpools, snakes biting their own tails.

—Swellbloom Kids Appendix C: The Sais Marias

The Bakunawa is an eldritch embodiment of chaos in my Philippine mythology tabletop Swellbloom Kids.

I chose spirals as the central imagery for the Bakunawa. Spirals evoke a sense of infinity - whereas a circle is closed and complete, a spiral goes on and on and on. It is round like a circle, but a definite path from the center is visible, and its outward motion implies expansion. It cannot be contained. I'm also reminded of a coiled snake every time I see a spiral. Therefore, what better symbol for an infinite being than an infinite shape? Spirals feel divine to me.

Snakes are also extremely interesting to me. They are regarded as sacred in various belief systems across different cultures, not to mention have a strong duality. Their poison kills, but they gain new life as they shed their skin. Contributing to this were also the images of the Ouroboros, Apophis, and Jörmungandr.

The Bakunawa is not necessarily evil. It is chaos incarnate, but in the sense of entropy - how things naturally fall into disarray. The eventuality of the universe. In Swellbloom Kids, when the world inevitably ends at the hands of either the Heat Haze Boy (El Niño) or the Monsoon Girl (La Niña), the Bakunawa will be there to swallow the leftovers.

Check out Swellbloom Kids here:

[pengamedown]

as a prisoner I'd earned my stripes freely,

taking flight on and fight to all cells preconceived;

I couldn't seem to escape myself to nth degree.

such a high, behind the glass next to the door type

funhouse mirrors never got me on my good side

really had to ask myself what's what, why & why?

it took time way too long for myself buzzing bye

to start seeking air to live in for me, perfect sized.

I had to shed some shit to get free.

and sometimes that shed's blood.

somewhere I'd read flood waters waver & run

behave between eyes like strangers do, unpredictable

flows thru plenty space til dried up without a trace.

unmentionable: what washes away is irreplaceable,

the crash of violence levied against dry silence

only makes victims & fools in waves of monsoons:

we.

whether whatever or together, we -

a highly volatile, mobile & emotional sea of unwise,

rolling with the high tides of maroon'd lives.

with no redemption story ark or invested audibles

won't be soon before long; we'll still pool it together

and learn the lap notes to our survival swan song.

but sometimes those notes must be off-key...

and this little number's won it for me -

"keep swimming 'til the wings dry on the fly."