#or juices derived from those

[yoshistory]

i am trying starry soda i keep seeing in texas and : its good, its basically sprite, i hope i am not allergic to this like i am to sprite. insofar no reaction

[arminsumi]

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝

A/N: in a gojo state of mind 😵‍💫

Wc ≈ 800

Pairing: GOJO Satoru x f.reader

Summary: hubby Satoru the type to do you so good the night before that you limp into the kitchen the next morning

Warnings; 🔞 mdni, SMUT, pns (good girl, baby), dirty talk, 🐱 eating, light size kink, daddy kink, unprotected sex, creampies, overstimulation, breeding kink, multiple rounds, sex-crazed Gojo, implied bj

“Fuck baby, cream on me. Yeah, make a mess on this dick – spell your name on it. ‘S so fuckin’ hot – uhhh fuck – good girl’s stretchin’ s’much for daddy’s cock. Feel that? Feel me hittin’ those spots you can’t reach with your fingers?”

A ring of white cream froths up with each plunge of his cock back into your sloppy, sore pussy.

Your pretty husband suddenly slips out with a pop and impatiently lowers his face to level with your hips, burying himself into your pussy, licking a stripe up your thigh to start. He savors the sticky sweet taste that’s leaking out from his pretty wife. He loves it more than he should. When he eats you out, it feels as if he’s the one deriving pleasure from it.

“So fucking hot. You this wet n’ eager for me, baby? You needed this dick bad, huh? Uh-huh. Fucking cum on my tongue, I wannah fweel ih.” His words muffle as he sinks his tongue into your hole, swirling and wiggling it around, rubbing his tip into the roof, curling it up into your sweet spot.

He’s got a long tongue and he knows how to use it right. It feels like he’s French-kissing you down there.

His lips end up pressed flush against your lower lips, but even when his tongue reached as far as it can inside your hole, he’s still not satisfied – he keeps trying to get impossibly deeper.

And Gojo’s not a wasteful boy; he laps and slurps up your juices and gulps them down without letting even a drop spill. He eats it ‘till he’s out of breath, giving you orgasm after orgasm ‘till you go dumb and weak.

“God, you taste so fucking good. Hey baby? Still with me? C’mon, keep those eyes open. ‘Want you to watch me eat this pretty pussy.”

He can keep going and going, his stamina is seemingly infinite. When you squirm away from the overstimulation, he brings you closer to him again, hooking his arms around your thighs to lock you in place. He tugs you down and holds your hips tight, like he’s trying to show off his superior strength.

That pretty upturned nose swipes between your plush lips, nudging and bumping into your clit as he tongue-fucks you eagerly – as if he’s never gotten a taste of something so delicious before.

When he pulls away, his face is a mess; there’s a streak of your juices across his cheek that rubbed off from your inner thigh, and more running down his chin showing off how much you gushed for him. Happy with how fucked-out he’s rendered you with his tongue, he shoves himself back inside you like a feverish animal. Gojo fucks like a damn beast.

“God, baby, ‘gonna cum again. Take it. Take my cum n’ have my baby. Wanna see you holding my child.”

After he creams all inside you, he slips it out and slaps his heavy cock on your clit, smearing some cum over your plush lips. He loves stroking back and forth between them – the feeling alone of your pussy hugging his fat cock makes him get hard again in no time. It’s like he didn’t soften at all. Sometimes a little more cum spurts out and paints your clit, so he chuckles.

There’s such a mess. A sloppy, delicious mix of cum and cream, spit and sweat, precum and pussyjuice.

“We’re not done, baby. ‘Gotta fuck my cum into you ‘till I’ve got nothing left. Daddy’s knocking up that sweet pussy, t’night, m’kay? Good girl, hold those legs back f’me. Let me have you.”

A moment later, you’re back to screaming, creaming, clawing at his meaty biceps for support and comfort as he pounds into you like some sex-crazed fiend. Panting like crazy, skin slapping together, voices shaking – not even your moans sound coherent anymore, let alone your words. The most coherent thing coming out of your mouth is a chant of his favorite nickname; daddy daddy daddy.

He totally breaks you at night.

Then come the morning, he’s calmly eating cereal in the kitchen, thumbing through his socials and chirping a nonchalant “Mornin’, baby, how’d you sleep?” at you when you come limping out the bedroom with wild bed hair.

“Don’t you “Mornin’ baby” me!” you mutter groggily.

He grins devilishly at you. “Sorry, was I too hard on you last night?”

“Mmm…” you hum contemplatively, floating over to him so he can do what he always does the morning after good sex – and that is take you into his lap.

You rest your head on his muscular shoulder and tease into his ear, “Not hard enough, daddy ~ ” just to get him hard through his sweatpants.

It’s his turn to tease. But he does it better; he makes your stomach drop to the floor.

“You need me so bad even this early in the morning, huh? M'kay, get on your knees, 'gonna give you some breakfast.”

Reblogs n' comments help a lot!! 💗😙

Visit my library ?

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

← Smutlet masterlist

18+ Thigh Riding

He looked up at you, his head resting against the back of the couch. A teasing smirk flitted across his face as he watched you chasing your release. Bucky loved studying your features, staring intently. The way your mouth hung open, your brows practically knitted together from the effort you were putting in and your eyelids fluttering with your attempts to keep them open. Bucky loved that about you. You were always all in, including the short panting breaths that escaped from your swollen lips. Yes, he derived just as much pleasure seeing you come undone as you did experiencing it.

“You're so damn beautiful, Doll.”

You reveled in the way his large calloused hands felt on your hips, the way he held you, and subtly guided your movements as you pushed your uncovered core against his bare thigh. You loved how he bit down on his lip, struggling to contain his own arousal, so desperate to be inside of you.

“Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"

Bucky moaned as his erection strained against his boxers. Oh, how he longed to press his palm against it, just to relieve some of the tension. No, today he was going to watch, watch you use his body to get yourself off. Then maybe, if you were feeling generous, you'd return the favor. He smiled. You were the most generous person he knew.

“Having fun there, Doll?”

You noticed how mesmerized he was by your peaked nipples, your blossomed breasts swaying up and down before his very eyes. A soft laugh slipped past your lips, his struggle of restraint amusing you as you watched his nostrils flare and his heavy breathing whistling through pursed lips.

“Mind if I have a taste?”

Ultimately, it's too much for Bucky, your beautiful bosom right there on display just for him. How could he not partake? How easy it was for him to lean forward and capture one of those perky beauties between his eager lips. His tongue rolled around your hard nipple with ease. You let him suck it as his hands caressed her twin. Cupping her, pinching her nipple between his vibranium fingers and kneading your flesh. Oh, how he loved the moans you saved, just for him.

“That's my girl, God, you feel so good in my mouth.”

Once you've given him a taste, he can't stop, yearning for more. You let him leave a trail of blazing kisses across your chest, teeth grazing your skin, open lips sucking bruises up towards your neck, marking you as his. You knew how much it turned him on, seeing his marks on your body, his possessiveness taking over. In turn, his covetousness drove you crazy, dialling up your desire to dangerous levels.

“You're mine, Doll. Got that? All mine.”

At this point, his hands are all over you, fingers and palm spread across your back, dragging over your silky skin. He skimmed over your waist only to find purchase on the curve of your ass where his fingertips dug in desperately, helping you along the path to nirvana. Encouraging you with lust dripping from his voice.

“Go on, Doll. You're doing so good. Just a little more."

By now, you're so lost in a haze that your movements are less than smooth, and you thank your lucky stars that Bucky has the sense to assist. Your juices are covering his thigh as you shamelessly drag your clit over his bulging quad. Over and over. You have his undivided focus now, he can tell how close you are to falling off the edge into the carnal abyss. He helped you out as pitiful moans left your lips and tired hips faltered slightly. He squeezed his quads, the muscle hardening under you, pushing against your sensitive little nub. Bucky whispered sweet words of praise and encouragement as you let go and cum on his thigh.

“That's right, Doll, you got this. How do you always look pretty, sweet girl? Keep going, just like that, darling. Only a little more, let it go. That's it, baby, well done.”

[gladiatorcunt]

- APOLLO REACHES FOR THE SEA | V.

under my skin’s an intrinsic shrine

cw: kinktober prompt (s) - scent & food play, canon typical obsessive behavior, anankin & reader are both 20, reader has a pussy, more suggestive, friends to lovers, drunk-ish sex, unprotected sex, implied angst of the series’s canon events, aotc!era but pre actual aotc events, dead dove do not eat

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

“Ani, watch out! You’re going to spill the plums!” You giggle, ushering him in the quarters you share with your Master Shaak Ti.

It’s late at night, a rare day without missions as you both get closer to knighthood. So Anakin had casually suggested swiping some food from the food stalls in the city and having a sleepover, just like old times. You’d known each other since he had come to the temple 12 years ago, and you can admit that you’ve been missing the hours you used to waste away laughing and dreaming of your futures as Jedi Masters. You had bonded over wanting to help people and become powerful enough to stop tragedy from happening, he’s whispered things to you that he fears Obi-Wan Kenobi would flay him alive for.

He’s the only one that knows anything about your family, what you ran to the Jedi Order from. You’re not allowed to have personal belongings from that time of your life, but you slipped a good luck charm in the folds of Anakin’s tunic on your 14th birthday and pecked his lips before darting off to your sparring session with your Master.

Perhaps it’s a panic response, clinging to these brief silver linings when you can sense his force signature darkening. Anakin does what you wish you could, deep down, how can you judge his heart when it’s other half aches in your chest?

“You think too little of me, Scyva.” Ani grins, balancing the tray in the crook of his arm as he follows you to your room.

Scyva, because that’s what an edgy prepubescent you had insisted on if he was going to call you a name derived from the Old Gods. In truth, it made you terribly shy that he wanted to call you Aivela, that he still does after he gives you the bare minimum of saying the name you wanted first.

“Well,” he had ‘hmph’ed back then, “Then I’ll be Izax, because that’s Scyva’s husband.”

So simple, so assured, like it was the most obvious declaration in the world to make. Playing house with forces beyond your understanding in their clothes.

Your cheeks warm as you recall the memory, you close your door hoping that Masters Shaak Ti and Obi-Wan will be delayed more than you thought.

Anakin had also managed to finesse a couple of cups of Jawa Juice from Dex’s Diner, “Master’s a good friend of his, but he won’t rat us out.”

Both of those cups are gone and empty within minutes, the pair of you doped up on the sizzling connection between you. This unbreakable bond that formed all those years ago, it’s like all your pains and troubles fade away when you’re near Anakin. He’s told you the same, with an imploring look in his doe eyes, begging you without words to understand what that must mean. Why you two are so clearly meant for each other.

He’s the chosen one, he teased you when you were 15 and had lost round after round to him in training, the force wouldn’t want it’s son to be without a chosen one of his own.

You were 16 and learning how to swim together, you had forgotten how but Anakin held you up in the water like he had been doing it all his life. You pecked his lips again then too, that’s all you ever did, the farthest you went. To do more would be to open up durasteel gates that would flood Coruscant in sparks and wet wires.

You shrug off the outer layers of your tunic, plopping down on your bed and sighing, “I could never think more of you if I tried, Ani.”

Give Anakin Skywalker a pearl and he’ll turn it into a Greater Krayt Dragon.

His seemingly stuck grin widens and he clamors onto the bed to lie right beside you, “Yeah? Typical of my biggest fan.”

Your arms brush together and a sudden jolt of fire burns down your throat.

You roll your eyes, picking up a plum and biting into it, ignoring the bob of Anakin’s adam’s apple and the flash of arousal in the force.

You don’t know why, but you make eye contact as you finish the piece of fruit, making an extra effort to lick some of the purplish-red juice off your bottom lip.

Anakin shuffles closer and reaches out to rub away what you missed with his thumb. Your breath hitches, the air in the room is shifting to something you can’t even say you didn’t anticipate or secretly wish for. Ani’s always so warm, every part of him, and the comfort his coarse finger tip brings to your often bitten lip lights a candle in your soul.

Neither of you say anything as he brings his other closer to your hip, his fingers ghosting along the curve like he’s afraid to touch you, that you’ll disappear if he lets himself buy into the delusion that he can have something so sacred. Anakin Skywalker doesn’t buy, he gets bought, but every teasing moment over the years does some serious damage to a 20 year old guy’s psyche. Maybe you should think of it like sparring, you can’t improve without throwing yourself into the fray.

The kiss he plants on you isn’t anywhere close to one of your previous “friendly” pecks, it’s ravenous. He’s enthusiastic, moving to sink his thumbs into the divots under your jaw so he can tilt your head up. He moans into it too, heady and smug with every caress of your lips and every wet pop signaling you pulling away to breathe or change your position.

“Fuck, you taste so good, Aivela.” Anakin hisses, eagerly yanking the rest of your robes off in between more kisses and briefly separating to toss them unceremoniously on the floor.

You moan, sliding your hands up his bare back and pulling at hair that’s not quite long enough to tug like you want to, “So do you, Ani, force-”

He cuts you off by snaking his tongue in your mouth, cleaning your teeth from the dark mess of the plum juice, which only stains you both even further. His arousal in the force grows and you can feel his dick twitch against your hip, the bond tells you that he loves being messy with you, that it feels right to be this real and uninhibited with each other. To be this raw.

“You ruin me, you know that? I’m trying so hard to be perfect. For you, for Obi-Wan, for the council, for my mom.”

It’s easy at this moment, with this boy, to be damningly honest. “ You’re already perfect to me, Ani, there’s nothing about you I would change.”

You’ll always love the 9 year old boy who became your first friend, and you became his, every version of him after that only fleshes him out and waters the underestimated sapling into a massive tree with nonflammable roots.

Anakin shudders when you say he’s perfect, the feeling of being indulged and complimented by a friend who he’s spent countless nights jerking off to, muffling his whines and groans into his pillow so Obi-Wan doesn’t suspect anything. But knowing his master, he probably already knows and is discussing it with your master right now.

You pick up on his train of thought, “You don’t have to be so paranoid, Ani. You don’t know for sure that anything bad is going to happen.”

He nods and shrugs it off, storing that opportunity to spiral away for later. You exclaim in surprise as he dives in to kiss you again. The kisses are hotter now, heavy and sloppy with intention. Anakin waves a hand around trying to find the tray of plums without breaking away from you, he eventually fumbles onto it and yanks it to push into your hip.

You pull back in confusion, but Anakin smiles and pushes you to fall on your back with his hand splayed out across your chest.

He takes a plum and bites off half of it, leaning down to share it with you as he crushes the other half above your body, honing in on the squelching sound and passing you bits of the plum from his tongue to yours.

“I’ve had dreams of a goddess of love on a lonely planet in the future, a god too, and they look just. like. you.” He draws back and punctuates each word with a swipe of his tongue through the plum juice on your ribs.

You hear more than see the sniff he takes of your skin, deep lung fulls of the fruity hints in your natural musk. He humps into the mattress and his cock twitches, your belly clenches when he flicks droplets of sweat off of you, the pink in his bunny tongue winking up at you in the low light.

You relax against your pillows and run a hand over his hair as he busies himself with drinking the plum juice off your body like body shots. You bask in his pulsing force signature and the tantalizing sight of your best friend Ani humping his gorgeous cock on the chub gathered on your lower stomach.

You feed him more plums, moaning as he slurps at your fingers and sucks them clean, wrapping his lips around them down to the knuckle. A bright yellow thank you rings out in the force. He’s messy on purpose, letting bits fall out of his mouth onto your tummy, just so he can take another hit off your skin and clean the juice up. He licks long flat stripes up your soft stomach, making sure you're watching as he moans and swallows down every drop.

Anakin’s pupils are twin black holes, and he actually smiles when the teasing gets to be too much to handle and you send out your desire for him to move downwards into the force. His teeth are almost sharp in this lightning, your breaths are shallow and he scrapes them over the top of your mound.

“Smells amazing.” He moans and tries to press a kiss to each little hair he finds. “ ‘s gonna be way better than some fuckin’ plums. Love you so much, Scyva, Nahut..”

Goddess of sorrow, you don’t know how you bring him to his knees.

God of apathy, hated by all but the other part of you, there’s something dark unfurling in you too.

Your half heart skips a beat. It’s probably just the Jawa Juice, you reason, even though Anakin jumps out of speeders more often than not and is so damn reckless he can handle a cup of fermented grains. You yourself feel buzzed, pleasantly tipsy in a way that only enhances the sensation of physical touch.

“You trust me?” Ani asks, long fingers poised to slip into your hole, he won’t give in until you learn to use your words.

No more beating around bush, instead more busting the fuck through that thing.

“You’re the only one I trust.”

The force flares around you, endlessly pleased.

He returns to sucking the juice off your skin as he dips two of his fingers inside at once. Sue him for being impatient, but he’s getting everything he’s ever wanted right now. By what the force is telling him, so are you. You gasp at the little sting, but you let your legs go lax against the sheets, spreading yourself wider for him.

Anakin takes a second to gawk in awe at the view, your wet hole clinging to his fingers as he slowly pumps them deeper into you. You’re both so glad he didn’t beg Dex for more Jawa Juice, there’s no way you can run from this memory forever. He picks up his dry humping, whimpering as his precum falls on your favorite blanket.

He tosses his head back to stare into your eyes and grinds against your tummy like his dick is where his fingers are. You’re nodding, making the cutest little hiccups and tensing your thighs, resisting the urge to squeeze them around his arm. Anakin chuckles as he feeds you the other two fingers, imagine how wide your entrance would stretch around his entire fist.

Your pussy flutters around his fingers and he hunches his back to be able to kiss your clit hello, taking a whiff of that too before suckling. You keen and he takes his mouth off of you, massaging your slick into his golden skin.

He moans and drives his tip further into your plush curves, circling his thumb on your clit until you both tumble over the edge. It’s not a mind shattering orgasm for either of you, too little stimulation and too pliant from the booze, but that’s okay. That won’t be the only time you’ll cum tonight, and this time it’ll feel so good the force rebuilds itself around the two of you, Anakin will do his very best to blame going in raw on intoxication.

That’s what you’ll blame for clawing at his ass and hooking your heels into his back to keep all of him inside of you, like the force itself won’t let him pull out to sleep. You’ll figure out what to do in the morning. But for now, Anakin is grabbing your hand and leading you into the fresher.

The plum tray clatters to the floor.

[sokosmic]

Love, Values & Money:

Venus Thru the Houses

Venus, often known as the planet of love, beauty, and money, holds a profound influence in astrology, symbolizing what and how we value life's treasures. It governs our affection, the way we express love, and our aesthetic preferences, shaping our attractions and the pleasure we derive from art, beauty, and social interactions. Beyond the realms of the heart, Venus also dictates our financial wellbeing, highlighting paths to prosperity through what we cherish and find joy in. It reflects our approach to money, from earning to spending, emphasizing the importance of harmony and satisfaction in our material pursuits. Essentially, Venus serves as a guide that illuminates our desires, and defines our sense of beauty. It also steers our financial ventures towards fulfillment and balance. Understanding Venus's placement and aspects in a birth chart can unlock secrets to navigating relationships, financial success, and uncovering what truly brings us joy.

Venus 1st House -

You love working on your self-image. You value your independence. You make money through your creative pursuits. You love sticking up for the underdog. You value confidence. You make money in leadership positions. You love showcasing individual expression. You value authenticity and charm.

Venus 2nd House -

You make money in the food industry. You value your own self-worth. You love material comfort. You make money in real estate or business related fields. You value sensuality, physical touch, and gifts. You love creating an aesthetically pleasing environment. You make money in joint ventures or by building partnerships. You value being rewarded for hard efforts. You love luxury items. You make money with wise investments or through avenues that appreciate value over time.

Venus 3rd House -

You value your mind. You love to talk. You value good communication. You make money in your local community. You value your siblings. You love a nice vehicle. You make money in sales or commerce. You value facts or the opportunity to learn new things. You love to research. You make money as a researcher or writer. You love taking short trips.

Venus 4th House -

You value family. You love your mother. You make money in real estate or by having a family business. You love your childhood memories. You value security or being secure. You love emotional expression. You make money working from home. You value your intuition. You love being a homebody. You make money researching history.

Venus 5th House -

You value creativity and pleasure. You love expressing yourself through artistic or creative endeavors, finding joy in romance and leisure activities. You make money through the arts, entertainment industry, or any field that allows your creative juices to flow. You value joyful experiences and love affairs. You love investing into creative projects. You make money in businesses related to leisure and entertainment.

Venus 6th House -

You value service, health, and daily routines. You love helping others and are passionate about improving well-being for yourself and those around you. You make money in health care, the wellness industry, or services aimed at enhancing others' lives. You love animals or caring for people or animals that require help. You value efficiency and practical solutions. You make money in administrative roles or businesses focused on efficiency or making improvements.

Venus 7th House -

You value relationships and partnerships deeply. You love when interactions are harmonious and fair. You make money in legal fields, counseling, or through partnerships that require a balanced approach. You love social gatherings and networking. You value collaboration and partnerships. You make money via marriage or from a partner. You value compromise and diplomacy.

Venus 8th House -

You love exploring the depths of relationships. You value transformation, intimacy, and shared resources. You make money in finance, investments, or managing other people's resources. You love researching occult topics and taboo subjects. You value psychoanalysis or digging into fields dealing with crisis or trauma. You make money with an esoteric or occult business.

Venus 9th House -

You value adventure, philosophy, and higher learning. You love traveling and exploring different cultures. You make money through education, publishing, or international business or travel. You value freedom of belief and wisdom. You love engaging in philosophical debates and spiritual quests. You make money from religious or spiritual leadership, or as a cultural ambassador.

Venus 10th House -

You love achieving goals and gaining recognition. You value aspects of career, reputation, and your public image. You make money in high-ranking positions, the arts, or public relations. You love to plan and structure for success. You value ambition and responsibility. You make money in entrepreneurship or industries that value tradition and prestige.

Venus 11th House -

You value friendships, community, and your goals for the future. You love social reform and working within groups. You make money through technology, innovation, or community-driven projects. You value individuality and collective progress. You love unique expression and the freedom to be authentic. You make money in networking and social movements, such as non-profit organizations or social enterprises.

Venus 12th House -

You love spending time alone. You value your spiritual connection to Source. You value your privacy. You make money working remotely or in isolated environments. You love visiting far away lands. You make money from embracing your spiritual path. You love fantasy genres. You value compassion. You make money working in hospitals or prisons.

[normal-thoughts-official]

In the remote recesses of the world, north even to the great Maghreb, live a people with a weird and offputting cousine.

The French, as they're called, partake in the consumption of unique, and oftentimes alarming, ingredients, such as snails, frogs, fish eggs, and, on occasion, juice made of rotten grapes.

The most surprising part of this appalling cultural norm is that it is not, as no doubt thought our readers, the result of famine or lack of resources. Although mainly known for their violent culture, in which it is widely accepted to burn other people's cars, (and, before modern civilization made its way to the region, even take off helpless people's heads with a giant cleaver called the guillotine), the French also have access to rich resources often not exploited by the modern world. One such place is the Landes forest, home to the adorable rabbit, which recently has become a choice of pet for those leaning towards the exotic.

No, the French don't eat such slimy, questionable items out of necessity; it is by choice. As appalling as it may sound, they actually consider the foods derived from such ingredients to be high cuisine, and dishes containing them can be particularly expensive in the small region's economy.

With the blessing of my editor, and the guarantee that a medical team specializing in gastroenterology would be at the ready in case of an emergency, I agreed to travel to the faraway region to sample some of the so-called "delicacies". They were prepared by real, native Frenchs, although inspected by a health expert to make sure the hygienization was adequate. I've always been an adventurous eater, but even I must admit that the prospect filled me with aprehension. Would I be able to stomach the foreign dishes without getting sick, or worse, offending our arson-happy hosts?

My anxieties were initially heightened by the conversation with the French who hosted me; as is typical in their culture, he was offputting and rude, often commenting on the mistakes I made on the weird, twisting tongue I was doing my best to emulate. Still, in the spirit of cultural acceptance and not getting my head cut off, I accepted his socially inapt behavior with grace.

I must admit that the rotten grapes were what I was most curious about. The juice derived from them, known as wine, is considered a delicacy, and there are hundreds of different types of it. In French culture, there are even people whose entire job is to appoint the correct choice of wine to go with any given food; such men and women are caled sommeliers and held in high regard by French society.

I quickly learned that the making of wine is something of an art to the native Frenchs. As my self-important host dizzied me with endless descriptions of different wine varieties, I realized I may have gotten too deep into the turbulent waters of the unique region's palate. Out of the exhausting and oftentimes confusing technical detail, however, I was able to extract an important piece of information: the extent of the rot is important in the making of wine.

That's right, dear reader: they actually prefer it when the grapes are more rotten! Spanning not only decades, but sometimes whole centuries, the French's grapes are left to rot in humid wooden barrels - a tradition that's been kept alive since the Middle Ages -, becoming thoroughly ruined so that their juice may be extracted for the making of wine. And the longer they have been left decomposing with their local fungus, the more valuable the juice is.

I was simply too curious to wait. And even more delighted to find out about yet another culinary tradition I didn't know about: the social gatherings known as wine and cheese, in which wine is paired with a variety of solid, yellow, rubber-like wheels derived from fat extracted from cows' milk - the cheese.

Such unique, foul-smelling dishes are a frequent part of the everyman French's life, being consumed by rich and poor alike in a variety of different recipes from all sorts of French subregions. Among them, I found yet another that would delight my intellect and terrify my stomach: gorgonzola. To the reader not quite as deep in diving into the intricacies of French culture, I shall explain: gorgonzola is but a piece of the aforementioned cheese, left to mold.

I could not believe my ears. These people drank rotten grapes and paired them with rotten cow fat, and they enjoyed it. What to us would be a nightmare scenario in a case of extreme poverty, and a surefire way to earn a trip to the hospital, to them was a quite enjoyable meal.

I later learned that gorgonzola is actually from a neighboring nation close to the French - the Italians. Although officially considered a different tribe, Italians share much in common with the French, including the love for wine and cheese, a quite long border, and a language derived from the same roots - the long-dead Latin, ancient language in which their holy book, the "Bible", was once written.

I am happy to report that my experimentation did not lead to hospital trips, and the most I got was an unusually long carsickness. But I have taken with me much more than the curious experience: traveling to France has helped me expand my horizons, meet new people, and connect with cultures other than my own. Although violent and offputting, the French can be quite amorous, and I was even gifted a piece of cheese from a little girl. It is not an experience I would like to repeat anytime soon, but it's made for an interesting story that helped me grow as a writer, investigative journalist, and, most of all, eater.

I can only hope my stomach has taken some good lessons out of the experience, too.

Cremilda Castanho is a writer, cat-lover, and known foodie, with a knack for finding unexplored depths of cuisine across the world. Her book, What Weirdos Eat, was a Folha de São Paulo best seller, and paved the way for culinary exploration in journalism, earning her a Pulitzer prize.

[babyjakes]

devils roll the dice.

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event | kinkmas 2023

prompts | sex tape + medfet

pairing | hitman!robert pronge x innocent!reader

warnings | extremely dark, the darkest thing i've ever written (we've entered dead dove do not eat territory; please heed ALL warnings.) canon-level mature themes: kidnapping, torture films, murder. implications that reader will be killed. robert is cold and ruthless. innocent!virgin!reader. filming of illicit sex tape. reader is blindfolded and gagged. restraints. medfet elements: robert's little setup is giving vintage white tile exam room, exam table, stirrups, those gd black gloves, speculum use. clit focus (puff puff content incoming.) vibrator. multiple forced orgasms. squirting. overstimulation. mocking and degradation. robert puts a cig out on reader's leg. written in 3rd person idk.

word count | 1,485

an | i'm kind of sitting here like wtf, ,, what is this and how did it come out of me lol. a little nervous to post, but i trust you guys to make responsible decisions about the media you consume!!! i'll probably never write something this fucked up again but for whatever reason it was just flowing out of me tonight folks, please again i'm begging you go read the warnings, like a second time through wouldn't hurt lol, and i hope you enjoy!!

Bringing its bitter end to his lips, Robert used one hand to draw in a deep breath of his dwindling cigarette, the other lazily holding a black magic wand in its designated place. He was nearly an hour into the day's filming session, and his subject was reaching a level of exhaustion and misery that made her more annoying to play with than anything else. But knowing he needed to milk at least a little more footage out of her before putting her back under and calling it a day, the man kept at the task. He tried to remind himself that he should be enjoying himself; considering the kinds of commissions he generally had to choose from, this particular case was a treat. A pretty little virgin, as soft and pure as the early spring rain, with the most stunning body the criminal had ever had the privilege of defiling. He could spend another thirty minutes at his station, watching as all the life and dignity were drained out of his poor little victim like blood dripping to the cold tile floor.

Through the musty cloth rammed between her battered lips, the poor girl's cries were escalating as her tormentor swirled the curve of the wand's slick bulb over her burning clit. Robert knew what her worsening wails meant; with a callous grin, he pulled his cig from his mouth just in time to press its smoking end to the girl's inner thigh as she came. With the howl she let out, he was thankful for the buffer the gag provided. "Noisy little bitch," he laughed as her juices sprayed out against his gloved hands. "That's it, slut. Fucking take it."

Glancing at the camcorder sitting off to his side, Robert considered his options. As much satisfaction as he derived from seeing how many orgasms could be wrung out of the poor thing before her body knocked her out as an act of mercy, his sadistic tendencies were getting bored of the monotony. Tossing the used cigarette to the floor, the man slowed the wand to a stop. He rolled away slightly on his stool, tossing the condom that was wrapped over the toy's head into the large black trash bag sitting in the center of the large room's floor. This far into his career, Robert had his methods down to a science. There was a way to keep everything clean, everything untraceable.

It was the whole purpose of his "worksite"; it provided a secure, controlled environment for the entire job to take place in, from start to flatline finish. The "set" was by far his favorite portion of the space, and understandably so, as it's where his sick imagination got to run wild for hours, days on end. And his clients were just as enthusiastic about the vivid stage he had put together for their subjects to shine on. It was somewhat inspired by a vintage gynecology office. He had the classic off-white exam table, equipped with a daunting pair of metal stirrups that were always positioned just a little wider than what would be comfortable. A sturdy set of restraints were of course a must, and to make sure the camera picked up on every agonizing detail, he had installed an adjustable surgical light overhead that could be aimed and drawn in to illuminate any area or action he chose. He hadn't struggled to gather all the tools and instruments he could ever want, either. A few of his buyers were licensed professionals themselves, opening the door to acquiring inventory from the big-name brands in bulk.

The other corners of the room had their designated uses as well: one with a filthy mattress for the unconscious victims to waste away on as heavy drugs pumped through their systems, another with large plastic sheets covering the floor, walls, and ceiling where the poor souls were hosed down (inside and out) before a bullet to the temple inevitably ended their long days of suffering. But most of their waking hours were spent on that dreaded padded table, the very spot where Robert's most recent capture was using the few moments he spent away from his station desperately trying to regain control of her breathing.

He returned to his position swiftly after switching out his soiled pair of black gloves for fresh ones, not wanting to waste any of his or his client's time. The sight of the girl's abused sex was enough to make the man drool; it had been quite some time since he had seen such a marvelous-looking cunt, so glorious in its messy destruction. Knowing he should share the beautiful sight, he took the time to adjust the camera, zooming in from a full-body shot to focus solely on the spot between the victim's legs. With the humiliating inspection he was preparing to perform, he wanted to be sure his buyer got to see each drop of come the poor girl let out, every twitch and spasm he would pull from her helpless body.

"Now let's see here," the man breathed as he brought his gloved fingers up to gently spread out the ruined-looking pussy before him. Noticing the way his subject winced as her puffy folds were pried open, he couldn't help but laugh in dark delight. He drew his attention to her throbbing clit, noting how much it had grown in size from all those unwanted orgasms he had forced out of her. Its hood was completely retracted, leaving the poor bud exposed to the open air. In a moment of perverted curiosity, Robert pinched the hardened nub harshly between his fingers, earning the prettiest sob he had heard from the girl all day. He chuckled once more, rolling and pulling at the knot of flesh for a few more seconds of additional torture before finally moving his hands away.

"What do you think? Should we try for one more?" he mused mockingly as he grabbed a plastic speculum from one of the drawers built in beneath the table, unwrapping it and tossing its trash to the side before pausing to grin deviously over his victim. Glancing up at her head, he realized it was still covered with a black hood he had put on her at the beginning of the shoot. The buyer had requested for her to be blindfolded like this for a decent portion of the film, offering the explanation that she was "afraid of the dark," and that he wanted to see her in as much pain and fear as humanly possible. The hood had served its purpose for the day, but now, Robert wanted the poor girl to see each and every way he was going to be violating her body in real time. In one swift motion, he reached up and pulled the pocket of fabric away, exposing her stunning tear-stained face. "Hi sweetheart," he greeted viciously. Just as he was hoping, her cries worsened as she saw the dreaded tool in his hands. He had a certain liking for holding up the devices he was preparing to use to see his victim's reactions; after all, he got off on fear and dread just as much as his clients did.

"Time to open up this pretty little cunt and see what kind of damage we did," the man enthused as he forced the tip of the instrument into the girl's drenched opening. By now, she had been well stretched out and ruined by her captor's horrific methods. Grappling with his usual lack of restraint and self-control, Robert had barely made the drive back with the girl tied up in his trunk without pulling over and popping that perfect little cherry on his own time, without a single camera properly rolling.

Turning the speculum as it was fully inserted, the man took great pleasure in squeezing the handle to force the tool open, each tiny click that sounded only stretching the poor thing's aching walls out to a further, more painful degree. "There," he sighed in satisfaction as the last notch was reached. Pulling his hands away, he gave himself and the camera a few seconds to enjoy the view of the girl's milky insides, so worn and sore from the days of torture she'd endured.

"Alright. One more," he finally hummed, using his gloved fingers to collect some of the plentiful slick dripping from the speculum before dragging them up to find that adorable little button he loved bullying so much. Her fading sobs were revived in an instant, her throat growing hoarse from all the screaming she'd done. But as much as she cried, Robert was determined to get one final orgasm from her before putting her back under for the day. After spending so much time making that pretty pussy as puffy and sensitive as possible, he deserved to see it coming all stretched out painfully over his instrument of choice.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

a few more food-related words

for your cooking- or other food-related scenes

Béarnaise - a sauce of egg yolks and butter flavored with shallots, wine, vinegar, and seasonings. Béarnaise is based on Béarn, a region and former province of southwestern France, where it was originally prepared.

Fondue (or Fondu) - a dish that people prepare for themselves at the table by putting small pieces of food (such as bread, meat, or fruit) in a hot liquid (such as melted and flavored cheese or melted chocolate). Originally, fondue named a dish that is similar to the egg-based soufflé and that is usually made with cheese and bread crumbs; however, it is most familiar as the name for a preparation of melted cheese usually flavored with white wine and kirsch (a type of brandy), or a dish that consists of small pieces of food that is cooked in or dipped into a hot liquid. The name is a French derivative of the verb fondre, meaning "to melt or cast."

Hollandaise - a rich sauce made basically of butter, egg yolks, and lemon juice or vinegar. In French, sauce hollandaise means "Dutch sauce." Its name is from Hollande, the French designation for Holland.

Macédoine - a confused mixture; a mixture of fruits or vegetables served as a salad or cocktail or in a jellied dessert or used in a sauce or as a garnish. Macédoine is the French name for Macedonia, a region on the Balkan Peninsula that is now part of Greece, the Republic of North Macedonia, and Bulgaria. Historically, this area has been home to a richly varied population encompassing many ethnic groups. Etymologists believe that the cultural heterogeneity of the region may have inspired people to use its name as a generic term for any kind of wildly jumbled mixture, including that of the foods used in some sauces.

Marinade - a savory usually acidic sauce in which meat, fish, or a vegetable is soaked to enrich its flavor or to tenderize it. The main ingredient of marinade is French mariner, meaning "to pickle" or "to marinate." The verb marinate refers to steeping foods in a marinade or to coating or covering food with tasty herbs, spices, etc., before cooking.

Mignonette - a type of herb; a sauce made typically with vinegar, pepper, and herbs and served especially with oysters. Its name stems from French words meaning "dainty" and "darling." Those adjectives perfectly describe the small, delicate flowers of the plant, and dainty is fitting for the dollops of the piquant sauce placed on oysters. However, in French cooking, mignonette is used for a mix of ground peppercorn, dainty berries of the black pepper plant, and this is the likely source for the sauce's name.

Mousseline - a sauce (such as hollandaise) to which whipped cream or beaten egg whites have been added. Mousseline is the name for a soft, light sauce as well as a fine, sheer fabric that resembles muslin. It is also a synonym of mousse in its sense referring to a light, spongy food. In French, mousse can mean "froth" or "moss."

Puree (or Purée) - a paste or thick liquid suspension usually made from cooked food ground finely. Puree was processed from Middle French purer, meaning "to cleanse" or "to strain vegetables," which itself was made from Latin purare, meaning "to purify." Besides a pasty food, puree is a thick soup of smooth texture.

Rouille - a peppery garlic sauce. In French, rouille means, literally, "rust." The reddish-brown Mediterranean sauce is usually served with fish soups and stews.

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

More: Word Lists

[ezrisdax]

what is a tomb if not a body; carrying those long dead.

cenotaph (noun): a tomb or a monument erected in honor of a person or group of persons whose remains are elsewhere. derived from the Greek kenos taphos, meaning "empty tomb." A cenotaph is a monument, sometimes in the form of a tomb, to a person or group of persons buried elsewhere. or. Ezri.

also here on ao3

Live, Jadzia Dax. Live a long, fresh, and wonderful life.

The words rattled in Ezri’s head as she jolted awake. Her breathing was harsh in the otherwise quiet room and Ezri pulled her legs up to rest her head on her knees, just trying to still her rapidly beating heart.

She’d dreamt about Jadzia’s life again. Last night had been Audrid. Before that had been Tobin.

Ezri sighed, pressing her face harder against her knees and rocking slightly. It was a habit she’d picked up as a child and –

She stopped, mentally calculating it in her head. Had she picked it up or was it an after effect from another host?

No, Ezri told herself, I used to do this when mother was mad at me. I’d crawl into Norvo’s bed and sit like this until he came home and we’d talk about it.

Relieved that she was doing something which was wholly her own quirk she relaxed a little and pushed the dream from her mind. Thinking about the dreams she had as her past lives never did her any good, she always felt off during the day then. More off than she already did or would have, she imagined, if she hadn’t been joined.

“Get a hold of yourself Ezri.” She said out loud, pulling up to stretch and groaning when at that moment the alarm she had set for the day went off to remind her it was time to get ready for her shift. “Yeah yeah,” She told the computer. “I’m already awake.”

What she really needed now was a Papalla juice – raktajino – Jestral tea –

“Can’t you just decide on one?” Ezri groused to the flashes of old hosts favourites in her head. “This is already confusing enough.”

She dragged herself up to get ready, tugging on her uniform nervously. Today she had a meeting with Garak, another with Nog, and one with one of the Bajorans who’d been here while the Cardassian’s had occupied the station again a few years back. Despite that Benjamin assured her she was doing fine she still couldn’t help but feel like something was missing.

“Your confidence.” She told herself, looking in the mirror.

Joran had had confidence, he’d been so sure of his self and –

“I am not looking up to a murderer.” She said angrily, frowning at her reflection. Since she’d called him to get help more and more he’d been leaking into her daily thoughts while the others surfaced at night.

“I’m Ezri.” She said but even she could hear the hesitation. “I’m Ezri.” She asserted again because she knew it helped to hear it out loud. Her shoulders fell and she sighed, “I’m Dax.”

And it was time to face the day.

~~

Though the station was comprised of four different duty shifts mornings at Quark’s were always full.

“Hey Ezri,” Leeta greeted her with a grin, nodding her head over to the corner where Worf was sitting, “He’s been nursing that prune juice for a while.” Leeta lowered her voice in a conspiratory whisper.

Which meant that Worf had been awake a lot longer than necessary. She shot Leeta an appreciative smile and made her way over to Worf, taking the seat across from him.

“Busy night?” She asked, looking for an opening. Experience as Jadzia had taught her the best way to get Worf to talk was to cut right to the chase though she had enjoyed teasing it out of Worf at times.

Worf huffed, “A crew of Bolians arrived last night. They were unscheduled.”

“Is it anything bad?” Ezri glanced around, trying to discern if anything was amiss.

“They were...loud.”

She tried not to snicker at Worf’s grumpiness but it wasn’t easy. Luckily Leeta arrived to pull her attention away.

“So what’ll you have, Ezri?”

Gagh, Meshta gagh which was Curzon’s favourite –

Andevian eggs, a taste Lela claimed was acquired –

Something new, something unknown, Torias never ate the same thing twice –

“Just the usual breakfast of the day shift.” Ezri hedged her bets on her stomach; figuring pancakes would go down the easiest.

“Oh that’s Rom’s favourite now, you know he tried it after he got promoted, he actually gets Quark to still add some beetles in it.” Leeta laughed to herself at the memory. “Raktajino with it?”

Pancakes suddenly didn’t sound quite as appetizing but Ezri forced a smile and nodded.

If Jadzia had heard that would she have tried to add Gagh pancakes?

She was tempted to ask Worf but their relationship was still rocky and asking about her past life and his ex-wife like that felt like asking for another fight.

“You do not look well.” Worf noted as Leeta walked away. “You should visit Doctor Bashir.”

“I might.” Ezri said, mostly so Worf didn’t go all mother hen on her. He’d deny it but he really did look out for his friends. At least he counted her as one now.

Leeta came by with her drink and set it in front of Ezri who took a sip and bit down her sigh.

It wasn’t a raktajino day after all.

~~

Worf may not have known it but Ezri had avoided the infirmary for as much as she could.

The Shrine may have been where Jadzia got mortally wounded.

The infirmary was where she actually died.

Maybe this was why the symbiont commission frowned on hosts interacting with places they’d lived before in past lives. They hadn’t really given Ezri much help or ideas, just told her she’d have to sort through the memories herself. Try to find common ground with her past hosts.

Unfortunately she was feeling space sick again and needed some help.

“This is the second time this week.” Julian said, hovering over her with a hypospray.

“I thought I was getting better.” Ezri’s smile was weak and her stomach roiled. The pancakes were an awful idea.

“Well, I can give you a higher dose to help you over the next few days. You might want to look into meditation techniques to help deal with this.”

“Like standing on my head?” Ezri deadpanned, thinking of Emony’s hobby.

“Maybe not quite that,” Julian replied, bemused. “I’ll look up some holodeck programs to help with that. I recommend you check them out.” He had switched back to his doctor mode. “If you need someone to go with you to them let me know.” He offered.

“I’ll be fine.” Ezri assured him though it felt like a lie. “Has the Chief fixed the holosuite glitches yet?” She asked to change the subject. “You know Torias would have loved holodecks.” She mused, letting her thoughts run around again, “It sure would have helped him to be able to run simulations on shuttles instead of just reprogramming it and hoping it would work I mean, sure would have made him less likely to crash a shuttle.” She laughed a little at the idea, “Of course then he would have lived longer and I might not be Dax.”

She fell silent at the idea, her skin itching like it had when she’d first gotten the symbiont and felt an uncomfortable sensation of not belonging.

“We’re all glad you’re here.” Julian said after the silence went on too long, making it awkward and unbearable.

Ezri muttered something about needing to get to her first appointment and dashed out of the room, trying to leave the thoughts there along with it.

~~

Garak was as verbose and complicated as ever, winding his words with obfuscation to purposely mislay her.

It gave her a headache on top of feeling space sick but she listened as best as she could to what wasn’t being said.

They really needed another session on the holosuite so after he left her office with one cutting remark on the drabness of a Starfleet uniform Ezri went to hunt down Miles to see the progress on the holosuite repairs.

“It’s not ready.” Miles said gruffly without preamble when he saw her.

“Anything I can do to help?” Ezri asked, locking her hands behind her back.

I picked it up from Jadzia, she reminded herself unnecessarily, who picked it up from Lela.

Miles glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, no doubt trying to find a way to let her down without being needlessly mean spirited about it. He’d been surprisingly caring since the situation where he’d been stuck at her childhood home with her.

“It’s okay.” Ezri waved off whatever remark was coming, “I’m sure Nog can help you out after our session today.”

Miles grunted his agreement and turned back to the panel he had open.

Ezri floundered a bit, her natural inclination to ramble these days when things got too quiet weighed on her.

“You all right?” Miles broke the quiet and squinted up at her from where he was crouched.

“Just space sick.” Ezri said, latching onto that excuse though she was feeling better since visiting Julian.

“Problem with your quarters dampners?” Miles frowned at the thought and Ezri could see him already adding it to his mental list of things wrong with the station.

“Nope.” She replied quickly, seeing the relief on his face. “I don’t know what’s causing it. Could be all in my head.” Even as she said it she rested a hand on her stomach, right at the pouch where the symbiont was.

“Sounds like you need an appointment with our resident counselor.” Miles quirked his lips in amusement, glancing back at her.

“Oh I think I talk to myself enough.” Ezri tried to return the smile but she could tell it didn’t reach her eyes. “I should go, I need to meet Nog now. I’ll send him to you when I’m done.” She promised and fled before Miles could comment on any of her strange statements.

Or maybe they weren’t strange anymore. Maybe they were just who she was now.

That headache was coming back.

~~

Kira stopped at her office just as Nog was leaving, giving him a quick nod in greeting before stopping before Ezri’s desk. “Lunch?”

It wasn’t unusual for them to meet for lunch but typically Kira didn’t come to find her and Ezri eyed her suspiciously. “Have you been talking to Julian and Miles?”

“They might have said something.” Kira admitted sheepishly but kept meeting her eyes. “Still offering.”

Ezri smiled weakly in return. “Sounds great!” She said with an enthusiasm she didn’t really feel.

Forced socialization, Tobin’s least favourite thing, somewhere in the back of her head she could hear his sulk.

“Think the replicator can make nolaberries?” Ezri asked as she and Kira began the walk down to the promenade.

Kira shot her a confused look, “Nolaberries? I’m not even sure I’ve heard of them.”

“Tobin was allergic, I just had a craving.” Ezri shrugged, internally feeling a little vindictive. And then immediately guilty.

Other Joined Trill didn’t fight with their past lives so much, other Joined Trill handled this better, Ezri had just been there at the wrong place wrong time wrong person.

Kira raised an eyebrow at her in silence, questioning but allowing Ezri to decide what to say and Ezri felt more gracious to her than ever.

“You know me and my cravings.” It came out without her thinking, immediately trying to undo what she had just said. Always trying to undo what she’d done; stepping back in her past but never able to fully shake it off.

Now it lived under her skin, permanently etched in her brain, behind her eyes when she closed them and-

Kira’s hand dropped to her shoulder, squeezing it lightly and grounding Ezri back in the moment.

“How about I pick the meal today?” Kira asked and while there was nothing in her tone that brokered concern Ezri could see it in her eyes.

“Yes.” Ezri agreed quickly. “Please. Just-”

“Not gagh,” Kira cut her off with a laugh, her hand falling from Ezri’s shoulder and the concern that had haunted her a moment ago gone. “Believe me if I ever picked that you can just assume possession.”

Ezri snorted in her own amusement. “I think it’s safe to assume the same of me.”

Possessed by Jadzia or Curzon maybe.

She rubbed at her head, the pounding back with a vengeance she didn’t care for. When she caught Kira frowning from the corner of her eye she quickly dropped her hand and flashed a smile.

“You know it’s occurred to me I can’t ever remember you cooking.” Ezri said, struggling to move their conversation along.

“That’s because you don’t want me to.” Kira grumbled.

“Don’t let Benjamin hear that, he’ll give you lessons.”

“Oh he’s tried.” Kira replied and then was off on the disastrous time she’d had.

She let the words wash over her, lost in a story that wasn’t hers.

~~

Odo was frowning when Ezri walked past his office on the way to hers; though that was his default face so it was hard to tell which frown that meant.

“All good?” Ezri asked, slipping into Odo’s office.

Odo jumped slightly, a sign he must have been deeply in thought. “Ezri.” He greeted, his voice as gravely as ever. “Something I can do for you?”

“For me? No, no, I’m good. Well. Minus the space sickness, I just can’t shake it.” Ezri joked. “But I was asking about you.”

“Is this a doctor’s visit then?” Odo asked drily.

“A friend visit.” Ezri corrected and took the seat across from him. “Unless you want to book a counselling session instead…”

Odo let a hrrmph, “I’ll pass.” He paused. “But thank you.”

“Any time.” Ezri promised. “You know you sometimes remind me of Torias which is silly because you embodied Curzon that one time but like, he was proud, wouldn’t admit he needed help ever which uh.”

“Got him killed?” Odo looked unimpressed.

Ezri winced. “I don’t think you’re that bad.”

“I should hope not.” He must have decided to take pity on her because he continued. “It’s just about one of the ships docked here. I’m worried one of the passengers might be a changeling.” His frown deepened as he admitted it.

“Oh.” Ezri said, surprised he’d even tell her. She looked him over with a more critical eye, taking in the hunched shoulders and tightness around his mouth. For all Odo said he couldn’t get the shape of a human right he sure had mastered the emotions of it.

“Worried you’ll have to lock up someone of your own kind?” Ezri asked as kindly as she could.

“No.” Odo shot down. “If they’re here to cause trouble they deserve it.”

“And if they’re not?”

Odo was quiet. There was always a chance the station was just a waypoint for the changeling before they left for somewhere worse like Klingon or Federation space.

“What’s it like?” Odo asked, jolting her from her thoughts.

“What?”

“Never being alone?” Odo’s attempt at a smile fell weak.

“Honestly?” Ezri leaned back, her own smile faltering. “Crowded.”

And somehow damningly alone all at once.

“I think I’d like to know that experience again. The Great Link…it felt like that, knowing everyone at all times…” Odo’s voice trailed off in a longing.

“So long as you remember you’re still you in there. It’s easy to get lost, trust me.”

“I know.” Odo agreed, a haunted look in his own eyes. Then he straightened up. “I should get back to my investigation.”

She knew a dismissal when she heard it and stood up. “Let me know if you need help.”

“Of course.” Odo inclined his head.

She turned to leave.

“And Ezri?”

She looked back.

“I’m here as well. If you need to…talk.” The last word made him wince a little and Ezri tried not to laugh at how similar he looked like to Garak at that.

“Thanks Odo,” She said, infinitely grateful.

She walked away, her head quiet for the first time that day.

~~

The silence didn’t last long.

It wasn’t Jake’s fault of course, he’d burst into her office just as she was finishing her shift for the day and thrown himself dramatically onto the chair across from her.

“I’m having a writers block.” He declared, groaning and rubbing at his face.

“Sounds serious.” Ezri said, as deadpan as she could and trying not to laugh at Jake.

He scowled. “It is!”

“All right.” She held her hands up in surrender and set down the padd she was holding. “Let’s talk about it then. What are you stuck on?”

Jake leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. Ezri couldn’t help but be struck by the similarities to Benjamin at his age in that moment.

Brash, sure of himself, still needing guidance-

No he was a friend, an equal on the same ground, the greatest person ever met in eight lifetimes-

Nine. She thought. I’m the ninth lifetime.

Swallowing back the memories that threatened to pull her under she focused on Jake as he began to talk.

“It’s the plot. It needs more…” Jake grasped at the air with his hands. “Something.”

“Descriptive.” Ezri couldn’t help but tease. “I’ve always thought things need more something.”

Jake shot her an annoyed look. “I knew I should have gone to Nog.”

“He’d just get you drunk.”

“Exactly.” Jake’s head lolled back and he sighed like the world weighed on him and no one truly understood it; a young man but he hadn’t completely shaken off the teenage years.

In a way she was glad to see it given he’d been around for the occupation and certainly had his share of trauma over the past year.

It struck her then that despite having watched Jake grow up as Curzon and Jadzia that as Ezri she was only a year older than him.

“Hey,” Ezri said to get his attention, swallowing down her own wallowing. “Tell me about the world and characters. Maybe I was never a writer in a past life but I had my fair share of adventures.”

Jake launched into his latest idea, a novel involving a mystery on old earth; long before current investigative techniques.

Ezri tapped a finger on her desk, considering the plot. “I know when Joran was on the run he was caught because of his own ego. He believed he couldn’t be and believed he was so in the right it was his own destiny to outsmart everyone.”

She made a face, remembering her own taunting’s from Joran when she’d called him forth. “The thing about murders is no matter how smart they are or seem they’re still prone to the same mistakes everyone makes.”

Jake was tapping on his padd excitedly. “I knew you were the person to come to, thanks Ezri.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled.

Ezri repressed the shudder that threatened to run through her at living more in Joran’s memories.

“Any time. Now, let’s talk about motivations…”

~~

The station rocked around her, she couldn’t feel it because of the dampeners but she knew it in her head. All the ships attached to dock swayed with it, back and forth in space, going nowhere but constantly moving.

Leonard McCoy had once told Emony a story about a ship. The name escaped Ezri’s memory but she recalled that it was all philosophical. If the ship was changed out with all new wood was it even the old ship at all? Or if that old wood was used to build a ship was it then the original ship?

McCoy had called it all hogswash.

Ezri was beginning to feel like gaining a symbiont was a little bit like that. If the symbiont was removed somehow and she was Ezri Tigan again would some part of her always be in the Dax symbiont, living on for as long as it did, beyond just the memories?

Would she ever forget what had been given to her and be herself again?

“You’re looking a little green.” Quark commented as he wiped a glass across the bar from her. “Didn’t think Trills got that colour, thought that was more Vulcans.”

There was some undertone of concern Ezri could hear in his voice that made her smile.

“Just ship sick.”

“Don’t you mean space sick?”

Ezri shrugged and stared back down at her drink. Romulan ale.

Torias liked it. Ezri didn’t.

“Not to your taste?” Quark clicked his tongue and leaned over the bar. “I’m sure I’ve got something that you’ll like. It might cost a few latinum but I’ll give you a discount, just don’t tell the others.”

Ezri bit her lip so she didn’t laugh. “Somehow I think I’d still end up losing in that deal.”

Quark drew back, a hand to his chest, “Ezri I would never-”

“You still owe Jadzia ten slips of latinum from Tongo.”

“Forget that I owe my dear dear friends. Let me get you something else. On the house. Any requests?” Quark asked, merciful enough to ignore her slip in saying Jadzia’s name instead of herself.

Ezri sighed down at the glass in front of her and pushed it towards Quark.

“Surprise me.”

It wouldn’t matter anyway.

Everything had been tried before by someone else; a lingering taste of sweetness for something she never even knew.

~~

“I hear you’ve been moping around.” Benjamin’s voice rang clear above her and Ezri yelped at the sudden intrusion.

She nearly kicked him the face as she fell from where she’d been balanced against the wall, once again trying Emory’s way of fixing feeling how out of whack she was.

“Didn’t I teach you to knock?” Ezri grumbled at him, scowling at him from the floor.

“Actually you taught me how to break in.” Benjamin grinned at her. “Both Curzon and Jadzia did at least.”

She remembered that, a younger Benjamin following Curzon around and Curzon doing his best to corrupt him. Teaching to gamble and break in and-

“I did didn’t I?” Ezri agreed ruefully. “Or, well, not me me but-”

“Dax.” Benjamin cut off the ramble. “I know what you meant.” He crouched down and then with a groan sat on the floor next to her.

Ezri grinned at him, “Careful there, old man.”

Benjamin shot her a look, grumbling something under his breath.

“I’m just saying,” Ezri couldn’t help but continue. “Keep up like that and you’ll lose future chances to play baseball.”

“I’ll live vicariously through Jake then.” Benjamin said, like the thought didn’t bother him but Ezri could see the frown hidden in his brow.

“And everyone else on this station you’ve gotten in to it.”

Benjamin hummed, happier than a moment before.

“Curzon never played with me.” He said suddenly and Ezri eyed him, wondering where he was going with it. “He appreciated my love of it but never showed any interest. Jadzia did, she’d come to holosuite games with me and Jake and Kasidy.”

She remembered those, quizzing Kasidy on rules and then purposefully getting them wrong to bother Benjamin and Jake.

“And you I taught.” Benjamin nodded at her.

“It was fun.” Ezri laughed at the memory. It was easy then, lost in the moment. Easier to let the hosts run free in her head.

A little bit of Emory to catch a ball. A little bit of Torias to be competitive. A little bit of Lela to manage where everyone was on bases.

“I’ll have to arrange another game.”

“Just don’t make us stage a mutiny this time.” Ezri groaned. “You were worse than Neema. Those fights we got into were brutal, it felt like I was raising a teenager for decades.”

“Audrid’s daughter?”

Ezri startled, it had slipped out. She shut her eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Trouble with the old hosts?” Benjamin asked.

White light prickled behind her eyelids.

“Always.” Ezri sighed.

“You’ll get there, old man.” Benjamin told her with such surety she almost believed it.

“Right.” She nodded, trying to relieve Benjamin of any stress that he may have had over it. Any lingering guilt that lay with him in Jadzia’s death. “I’ve got this.”

She really didn’t.

~~

It wasn’t that the symbiont was ever supposed to be like that but there were days Ezri felt she was building her own tomb.

Writing everything that was her into something else and letting herself be erased by what was already there and when it was all over all that would be left of her would haunt someone else.

All the others hosts asked for this.

It was a privilege.

One so sought at that Verad-

He didn’t count, she reminded herself, he didn’t count.

Except he wasn’t that different from her.

He got the symbiont through unfair means even if they were by his own hands.

That was the difference, she shut her eyes in the already darkness of her room closing everything out. I never asked for this.

When she first arrived on Trill with the symbiont inside her it didn’t take Audrid’s memories to know how disappointed the Symbiont Committee was; how angry they were.

She wasn’t picked, she wasn’t chosen, it wasn’t her legacy to have.

She’d stumbled around those first few days, completely lost in the past and unseeing anything in front of her. She’d cried out for children that weren’t hers, begged for a sister she never had, sought solace in a mother not her own.

And then what emerged was supposed to be Ezri.

They’d declared her ready and shipped her out like they couldn’t bear to look at her, glad to have Starfleet to assign her somewhere far away.

Instead she’d returned to exactly where she was before.

Just three centimeters to the right.

She tossed to the other side of her bed, kicking the blankets down and sighed heavily. She tried to center her mind; sorting out what it was she was feeling.

Responsibility, Lela knew it all too well, it weighed on her; everything needed to be perfect-

No, anxiety, Tobin had it in spares, it drove him to his own madness, always needing a distraction like-

Adrenaline, Emony was always waiting for the next big thing, shifting on her toes, prepared and-

Pride, Audrid carried it around her like a second skin never seeing how it hurt others but-

It was curiosity, like Torias and a desire to know and go further, try the unthinkable, he just had to be-

Angry; angry at what the committee had done to Joran; to herself, they all deserved what they got and it was the unfairness of it all it that-

Flickered, never the same thing drawing Curzon’s attention twice; nothing worth keeping everything worth knowing anyway and-

It burned. Like a sorrow for a life cut too short or the joy found in laughing with a friend; different but somehow lighting up Jadzia all the same-

“Stop.” Ezri begged quietly even though she knew no one could hear her anyway.

Not out in the halls of the station. Not in the vastness of her mind.

Can’t you just ignore it, a voice that sounded like her mother scoffed; trying to bury all the things Ezri felt.

She shouldn’t have to. That was Norvo. Always having her back.

She has to do something. Janel. Her only sibling left now. Practical and unmoved.

Do I? Ezri asked the voice. Didn’t I do something on the Destiny and end up here?

Not that they hadn’t pushed it on her.

The Symbiont couldn’t die. It was too important.

Ezri was not.

Her hand pressed against the pouch where it lay and though it was probably her imagination she thought the symbiont pressed back.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. “There was only me there.”

For once nothing answered her back and for the first time she wished it would; the thought curling around her as sleep finally claimed her.

~~

Live, Jadzia Dax. Live a long, fresh, and wonderful life.

[southernmermaidsgrotto]

🕯️Baños Espirituales 🕯️

Los Baños Espirituales or Spiritual Baths can be used for a wide variety of things. Generally, we're talking about baths when It's some kind of infusion or decoction made for washing a person specifically, but the same making process can be used to make other washes (for floors, doors and windows, etc.) The term "bath" also includes things like head washes, foot washes, and more.

⚠️This information below is to be used only by my black and indigenous peoples as this was written by an Afro-Indigenous Latina for our people. If you're not one of us don't appropriate, and let this be a source of education only⚠️

Altough we call them baths, normally it's not a thing that you would lay down to soak in. These are 90% of the time something you'd throw over your body and just let it run, more like a shower. To keep the water running is to keep things moving, not stagnant. With some exceptions, of course, like sweet baths or flower baths, where you want to soak in, to literally "soak in" the sweetness and blessings.

Among their many uses, we can categorize them as baños de sal o baños salados, baños amargos o de hierbas amargas and baños dulces.

Baño Salado or Salty bath: A bath where the main ingredient is salt, normally, coarse salt grains. These are done to cleanse and purify deeply and thoroughly a person. After a salt bath you must always do a sweet bath or you'll be weakened to malignant spirits and energies.

Baño Amargo or Bitter Bath: A bath where the main ingredients are bitter herbs, such as. These are done to protect and drive away evil spirits. They're what you'll reach for 99% of the time to cleanse, instead of a sweet bath, as it doesn't weaken the person, but fortifies them, and you don't always have to do a sweet bath afterwards.

Baño Dulce or Sweet Bath: A bath where the main ingredient is sweet herbs, flowers, and things like milk, sugar or honey. Within this category you'll find specifically baños de florecimiento or "flowering baths" done with mostly flower petals and with the specific purpose to bless and fortify a person.

These are just the kinds of baths that are widespread in curanderismo and brujería traditions across all latin america, our shared, common cultural knowledge. There's many other types that are more specific in use, such as baños blancos, which aren't mentioned here for a reason. Those kinds are Religion-specific and have to be learnt from a proper authority within the tradition, such as a mãe de santo, pãe, babalawo, santera, etc. The making of these religion-specific baths involves specific preparations beforehand that have to be followed to honor the Gods and Spirits involved and called to bless you through that bath (cleanse you, protect you, heal you, etc), there's specific songs and prayers to use, often in african or african-derived languages or in indigenous languages, the deep knowledge and initiations necessary to do offerings done before and after to any entities, deities, or spirits involved, etc. Don't be reckless nor disrespectful. That'll completely beat the purpose of the bath you intend to make. Before you run off to try to do something you found online, always consult and respect the guidance of spiritual authorities and learn your ways from respected Elders.

To make your own baño:

If you're using soft parts (leaves, flowers, stems) you'll be making an infusion of these for your wash or bath. Bring water almost to a full boil. Place your herbs on the container you'll be using (traditionally you use a palangana, plastic or porcelain or metal, anything, but any big bowl or basin at hand will do), then pour the water on the herbs and start shredding them, to release their juices. Give them a good massage and mix the water. All the while, say your prayers and give thanks to the water, the herbal allies you're using, the Ancestors, the Creator, and all the Spirits who walk with you and watch over you.

If you're using hard parts (roots, barks, shells, fruits, etc) you'll be making a decoction, "cook" the ingredients in your water and leave it for at least another 5 minutes before taking it out of the stove. Same thing, when it's at a decent temperature for you to put your hands in the water, but still not cold, shred them, massage to release the juices, mix the water, all while praying aswell.

It's recommended to use fresh ingredients, but if all you have is dry herbs, or other dry ingredients (shells, peels, etc) you should also add a little prayer asking the water, the Ancestors, God, whomever you pray to, to revitalize and awaken these spirits to aid in their task.

In ATRs, afrobrujería and afrocuranderismo traditions, as in any african derived practices, is a common recommendation to let the water run from the nape of your neck down, and never touch your hair or head. This is because the Spirit(s) that are located in your Head cannot be washed or in contact with just about any herb or Spirit, and it requires a special care and knowledge to prepare head washes that fit each person's Spirit(s). The only way to learn that is to ask an Elder, a Priest or Priestess of a religion from the same Ancestral Line your Ancestors hail from (and thus, their Spirits). For example, if your Ancestors where taken from Yorubaland: santería, regla de ocha, ifá, candomblé, macumba, umbanda, and a long etc, depending on what region they were settled into on this side of the Ocean. The Priest or Priestess will perform divination for you and ask the Gods (like the Orixá) who rules your head and what kind of taboos you have (including what you can and cannot use in baths).

The simplest Baño Salado includes only coarse seasalt. A simple Baño Amargo would take rosemary or pine, rue and yarrow, no salt, but you can add things like lemon peels or lemon slices. A simple Baño Dulce is milk with sugar or honey and roses, and for a Baño de Florecimiento specifically, flowers of three colors (red, white and yellow, for example) with sugar and a splash of florida water or some alcoholic drink (like vodka or rum), to which you can also add orange blossoms, orange blossom water or simply orange peels/slices.

🕯️May this aid you and yours in your spiritual journey. With love, Nao🕯️

[konjaku]

定家葛[Teikakazura] Trachelospermum asiaticum var. asiaticum

定家[Teika] : 藤原 定家[Fujiwara-no Sadaie]

葛[Kazura] : Creeping plant

It appears that this Teikakazura is crawling up the rock face while extending its vine, as if a long red centipede aiming at its prey.

It belongs to the family Apocynaceae, and the white juice produced when the leaves and vines are injured is poisonous. There is something misterious about this plant.

It is so because of the origin of its name. This name derives from the Noh play Teika that he could not forget the princess he loved even after their death, and he was reborn as this plant and entangled in her grave.

The leaves are evergreen and have a tasteful appearance as some of them turn red in winter. And when young and crawling near the ground, the leaves are about three or four centimeters long. But as it begins to crawl up another tree, the leaves become twice as large and the vine grows thicker and thicker as it grows, eventually covers the tree.

On a forest hillside that I sometimes visit, there is a Sakura tree that, even in the middle of winter when it is bare, is covered with the leaves of Teikakazura and has a deep green color. Something else in the shape of a Sakura tree gives off a strange atmosphere.

I have one in my garden. I sometimes cut the growing vines to keep it at about the size of a bonsai. It is nice when kept this way.

The five-petaled, pale cream-colored flowers bloom in early summer and have a sweet fragrance somewhat similar to those of jasmine.

[yuurei20]

Rook Info Compilation part 12: Rook and Vil (pt1)

Beauty is the reason why Rook chooses to drink the juice that Vil poisons in Book 5, explaining, "I wanted to believe in you. You, who strives harder and reaches for greater heights than any other. I didn't want you to besmirch yourself by doing anything foolish. And if the apple juice WAS cursed, I wanted to taste it. I wanted to taste the fruit of a poison derived from an obsession with beauty bordering on madness."

When Epel intercepts Rook’s departure from NRC in Book 6, Rook claims that his role as vice housewarden comes second to his position of le Chasseur d’Amour, and that he must provide Vil with skincare products to protect his beauty for an upcoming magazine cover photoshoot.

Later, Rook admits that this was a lie and he is actually worried for Vil’s welfare.

During the second Tsumsted Rook’s tsum exhibits a similar obsession with Vil. When Vil is too busy with the Film Club to humor it, the tsum takes up a hidden position in the school’s forest to watch Vil from afar without disrupting him.

Rook’s appreciation for beauty was his motivation to transfer from Savanaclaw to Pomfiore: when asked why he changed dorms despite finding his time in Savanclaw both fun and rewarding he responds, “I did so because I wished to gain a deeper understanding of beauty.”

Vil was also part of his inspiration, as he wanted to “watch Vil hone is own beauty up close. After all, two swordsmiths hammering a blade can give it an even keener edge. I volunteered to swing the second hammer upon Vil’s blade of beauty.”

Vil says that he tried to dissuade Rook from transferring, but “Rook cares not for the opinions of others once he decides something.”

Rook volunteers to donate his share of winnings from the VDC to Ramshackle Dorm (even before Vil's overblot) “to provide proper compensation to those contributing to Vil’s cause.”

But Rook also says he will not be following Vil into the entertainment industry after NRC as he is considering interning at an archeological research institute, in line with his interest in exploring historic ruins.

Rook says he is not patient, but visiting the island of Woe in Book 6 opened his eyes to how little of the world he’s seen, and he is now haunted by thoughts of how much beauty remains dormant and undiscovered in the world.

[roamingleaf]

When I tell you I'm not on birth control, and I don't want to get pregnant… Lie to me. Reassure me, comfort me, promise m that you'll pull out. And then just… don't. Knock me up, deliberately. "Oops, I forgot."

Despite only knowing me for a couple of days you were more than willing to accept my shaft deeply inside your awaiting, tight shrine. You would have sternly driven home the point countless times throughout our text chain about how birth control wasn't for you, how I'd have to pull out, and yadda, yadda, yadda. Of course like any diligent hunter, I happily added to that bright pyre of delusional through weaving a conniving web of how "I prefer to paint your pretty face", " You're so right, I don't want you to get pregnant either!", and of course "Your body deserves to be painted like the hauntingly elegant canvas it is."

Such reassurance was more than enough for you to blindly follow my guidance. With your heart in a whirl, and this growing, desire to fulfill my every whim you'd more than welcome me inside that opulent palace you claim as a body. Only once it was too late would you have realized the mistake. As you were safely secured beneath the full weight of my body, and one of my hands had both of yours pinned firmly to the mattress could you feel the warm throbbing of my manhood increasing rapidly which could only mean one thing.

With what lucid sense you could derive in that entangling embrace of passion you would try to remind me of how I should pull out, yet, instead of those words making their way to the surface they were crudely interrupted by my lips 'mistakingly' thinking this was you asking for a kiss. In a sudden, hot flash, my lips would lock with your candied lips as you felt my seed starting to flood the very depths of your glistening grove. As my grunts against your lips from the sensation of our mixing juices spilling out couldn't be contained, your muffled, faint, protest would be drowned out by my own faint whispering of "Oops, I forgot."

-🪶

[quandaryqueen]

Wait

Young Justice Edward Nygma X Hero Reader

You were the one in chains, but he wasn't the one in charge.

Suggestive Content. Choking, pinning.

If there's one thing about nature that will continue to persist no matter the species, is that you shall not lay a finger on a single strand of hair of babies without anticipating the wrath of their mother. The universal trait among mothers and mother figures alike, the unbridled scorn and unfound strength that will unearth in the process of this blinding rage, should not be underestimated.

Edward learned that the hard way.

For one, in his defense, he has no personal vendetta against these children, he was merely following orders— immobilize children, hold them hostage, force information out of them through any means necessary— as you do. It was not his area of expertise, but his employers were the same people who assigned him to fight against them, one of the aforementioned being a Kryptonian clone, a Marsian, Magical, the fucking Robin— but he digress— and so it was not a shock for him to be assigned to this task, to watch over them, that is, he wasn't the one doing the information obtaining aspect. The only way he fits in this mission was the fact that he watches over them through cameras and induce electric shock if needed, so it was just him sitting in front of a monitor and control panels.

Everything was under his control...

Until you escaped your own containment, overpowered your assigned guards, endured electric shocks from your collar, managed to tear the aforementioned collar off your neck, navigate your way through an unfamiliar territory all the while defeating obstacles through the form of guards and find yourself in Edward's den. You defeated the guards on your way here, would Edward even stand a chance, oh that's out of the question, of course you can. Physically, you still have some juice in your but intellectually? Your brain was fried from all the electric shock.

But he's gotta hand it to you, you gave him quite the fight but he soon gained the upper hand when he managed to outsmart you. And all he needed to do was to step away before you can swing at him. Oh this was fueling his ego real good— H/N? Under his heel? All flushed and breathing heavily? Under his mercy? Ohohoho this should be photographed, printed, framed and placed on his bedside table, clearly this was a crucial moment—

Before the sight of you panting on the ground further supply his ego, you pounced up, the man squealing in surprise when you had the shackles thrown and twisted around his neck. He falls on his back, the air knocked off his chest, while you situated yourself on his hips. You were at the position where you had the ability to simultaneously further the gap between your wrists, resulting for the chains to tighten around his next whilst you pin his arms on either sides of his head. He could feel your chest rapidly rising and falling, the heat of your breath hitting his face— how you're the first person got this fucking close to him.

He struggles in an attempt to free himself, but instead found a certain friction which jolted him of his senses. This results for his to continue 'struggling' from beneath you.

"Where are they?" Oh you weren't fucking around, you were ready to strangle a bitch if they don't spill. Further emphasizing your point, you tighten the chains around his neck, a choked noise originating from his throat.

"Basement..." He managed to choke out. "With special access..."

You knew he was considered important enough to be granted those special access cards. With your hands occupied, you used your knees to feel through his pants' pocket. Experimentally, you stretch your fingers out just enough to reach his breast pocket to save time, causing Edward to stiffen and supress a moan, by throwing his head back.

"Do you not have that card?" You glared at him, after not finding anything of importance from his person, did you only notice the pleasure he derives from this.

Oh this pathetic loser.

Out of curiosity, you rolled your hips ever so slightly and under your gaze, you saw how visibly his breath hitch from his chest.

"... No." He answers, voice coarse with the shackle still around his neck. This is why he was placed in guarding duty, clearly they don't see him as crucial enough to be granted a special access ID Card, much to his chagrin... But it felt nice for you to assume he looked significant enough. "C-confidential..."

Testing the waters once more, you ground harder, causing him to forget about blocking his voice out. Oh what a sad little thing. You watch as red completely flushes his complexion and he looks at you, as if confirming whether he moaned internally or that you didn't hear it at all. Tilting your head, you begin lean back, causing Edward to close his eyes and bite down on his lip, disregarding his little slip up. With that, he began to feel an obstruction from within his pants, in desperate need to be freed from the constraints.

"You're pathetic, you know that?" You hissed above him, feeling his hardening cock poke your thigh.

Edward can only acknowledge you with a whine, sounding as though it was a protest but with his current state, he was just proving your point. Brows furrowed, breathing through gritted teeth, face completely tinged red. But it could because of the chain wrapped around his neck, his flimsy joke of an excuse attempts to justify. But he knows that you know it wasn't from that.

He wasn't even fighting it anymore.

"You're not really useful to me," you spoke above him, the chain around his neck tightening from the pull of your cuffed wrists.

"Wait—!" Edward chokes. "I-I can be!" He watches you raise a doubtful brow. Fair enough. He wouldn't trust him either. "They're at the basement. Special access cards."

"I already know that—"

"032604." He blurted out. "Code..."

He didn't have those damn cards due to his rank, but his eyes had been keen on the codes they punched on those doors. There was nothing Edward didn't know, no one was going to keep information from him.

The pressure around his neck grew lax and finally, you were unraveling the chain from his neck. That was greatly appreciated, oxygen was crucial for the head. Unfortunately, little head swayed the big head that he couldn't help but to feel disappointed when you peeled yourself off him. So there he was, in a prone position, watching through bleary eyes as you bear an expression of consideration. The prominent hard-on he can finally hide with his hands to preserve the remnant of his dignity.

He would glare at you, but then he raised you were raising a makeshift weapon above your head, ready to strike.

"WAIT—!" Edward once again exclaims, holding his arms before his face in defense.

It did nothing to dissuade your intent of knocking him out. It was your personal protocol to tie up loose ends before he can notify his higher-ups you've managed to escape. You don't know whether he thought of it or not, but it was better safe than sorry.

[bestworstcase]

Does Ozma even have a semblance???

I mean, we know he has old magic and uses aura, but I don't think it's ever stated that he has one. I wonder if he doesn't because of how he thinks that mankind is lesser as it is now, or that his soul is too...murky??? on account of all the souls he's been forced to assimilate, or both.

(Would Salem have a semblance???)

Also, thanks for answering my asks, I like your takes, and I really appreciate it.

the framing in the world of remnant episode, with ozpin being the image of “just a man,” to me suggests that he does not have his own semblance. i tend to think this is less a matter of incapability (he obviously can and does wield aura and the idea that his and oscar’s aura are combined implies that ozma does have his own separate from his hosts) and more an issue of knowledge: semblances are individual, powers that either arise from or define your character. jaune’s effort to unlock his in v5 apparently involves meditation. oscar’s disappointment with not having discovered his semblance goes hand in hand with his existential dread and fear of using ozma’s magic. 

to manifest a semblance, i think you need to experience a moment of, like—clarity and unity of purpose. a moment where you know who you are and every part of you sort of coheres around a single locus. this is true of even semblances like qrow’s, which i imagine sparked from a moment where he felt like a curse and a burden all the way down to his soul. 

i don’t think ozma has ever experienced that, not since his first life. (and i don’t think semblances became possible until after humanity’s resurrection.) between what light’s curse does to him—changing him into someone else against his will—and his self-identification as an amalgam of countless people and the profound cognitive dissonance he’s buried himself under, he’s too lost and trapped to manifest a semblance. i do think his hosts might develop semblances through the merge that are functionally his for the rest of that life but those abilities fade as he reincarnates and the cycle begins again. 

as for salem,

if she still has aura after the pool of grimm and being grimm doesn’t just prevent her from using aura across the board (grimm flesh can’t be protected by aura, but grimm can siphon aura and use dust so i think it’s within the realm of possibility that she’s not been locked out from her own soul’s magic)… well. she’s older than dirt and if nothing else she’s been driven by unwavering conviction that the brothers are monstrous tyrants who must be overthrown for millions of years. assuming she is physically capable of manifesting a semblance, i would be sort of surprised if she didn’t have one?

there’s also just. the fact that salem’s magic does weird stuff no one else can do. like, magic is pretty basic? the maidens have raw elemental powers, the branwens can turn into birds, and ozma’s magic seems mainly like a juiced up version of defensive aura. and then there’s salem like… elemental powers yeah, but also flying around as a cloud of particles, and summoning grimm with grimm sigils, and spawning grimm out of the pools, and astral projecting through a dead seer, and the hound, and cinder’s arm, and she cracks open the continental plate under solitas overnight without apparent effort which might be elemental powers but holy shit. does the grimm stuff come solely from being grimm, or… might there be a semblance in the mix here?

and. like. if she does have a semblance, odds are she’s had it for thousands of years. look at how powerful masters like glynda can become within a mortal lifespan. look at ren’s semblance, and what the schnee semblance became through years of accumulated generational knowledge and experimentation. look at how landing in the ever after supercharged neo’s semblance. it’s not implausible that all of salem’s power might be derived from a semblance + raw powers of the two divine pools; semblances contain infinite potential and she has unlimited time. 

(generally speaking if you add semblance + magic i think the magic will augment the semblance rather than the other way around; certainly what makes cinder so absurdly powerful as a maiden is she’s just using the magic to overclock her semblance, which is also what she did with dust prior to getting the maiden.)

[srbachchan]

DAY 5547

Jalsa, Mumbai                Apr 24,  2023                 Mon 11:56 PM

In time .. sort of .. 

An entire day of psychological thoughts and the training of the mind to feel and understand that which comes in the natural climate of the system ..

Of life .. of presence .. of existence .. and more than that does not need to be expressed .. too close for the comfort of others  ..

yes we think for the comfort of others .. we do .. it may not be observed but we do, unconsciously and consciously .. more the latter .. 🤣

and when in the turmoil of mind body and soul, turn to the one that brought you into this World - Babuji , Dr Harivansh Rai Bachchan ..

so tranced through those that have corresponded with him and now in possession of all his letters, which they convert into book and release it in the market to exploit the sale value of it ..

often asking me to express my opinion on it .. or write a ‘bumper’ .. is that what it is called ... which they shall display at the back of the book cover to lend it credibility .. 

and I do receive the copy of it with the, dedicated, dripping with juices of sentiment in them, written as an acknowledgement for the benefit of their gratitude towards the progeny ..

I read it all and through it .. and am in admiration .. but the protocol is unacceptable .. you destroy the worth of the one that rightfully legally and copyrightedly owns it in inheritance .. 

words and expressions of condolence is expressed therein .. the absence of the greatness and his brilliance admired .. but benefitted to another ..

never mind what hath been done cannot be undone .. BUT what can be done is still in the hands and shall one day hopefully derive the worth that it deserves ..

for the writing is supreme ..

a letter in response to one of the many ..

Mainly saying ..

( and can someone translate the opening sher of the page .. it is rather subtle )

“I write but that does not mean that I write prose as well .. I do write prose, on and off .. my poetry is the poetry of them that struggle in life .. because I am a struggler in life .. my readers know me like this .. and they that do not know me like this, do not know me .. when ever did I say that I have come to give the last truth of life .. if I can even give but one truth of life, I shall feel blessed  ..”

the sher 

“इश्के बुता करूँ कि मैं यादे ख़ुदा  करूँ ; इस छोटी सी उमर में मैं क्या क्या ख़ुदा करूँ “ ~

 should I pray for the beauty of love , or should I  remember the Almighty , khuda  .. in this short life of mine , what all should I put to the Almighty 

a really terrible translate of the sher original .. if any dedicated and learned Ef can , please do so ..

Awake because the right translation worries me and to find it I have tried every communication vehicle and failed .. so .. at this hour of the night I sent a message to dear friend Rumi Jaffery , who directed  Chehre .. and surprisingly he responded to say he was awake and called .. we spoke and finally got the translation from him ..

बुत यानी मूर्ति  ; की मैं मूर्ति  से इश्क़ करूँ , या ख़ुदा को याद करूँ  । एक उम्र मिली है इतनी छोटी सी , उसमें क्या क्या करूँ  ।  या तो मूर्ति  से प्यार करूँ , या ख़ुदा को  याद कर लूँ  । एक जीवन में दोनों करना तो मुश्किल है 

do I love an idol or statue, or do I remember Khuda  ... i have been given this one small life, what should I do ... i can either love the image or statue or idol, or remember Khuda .. in one life to do both is difficult 

and the eyes keep turning the pages of the letters and marvelling at the genius and acumen of Babuji .. and i live with them .. and now shall bring myself to slumber .. 

GN .. 😴

Amitabh Bachchan