#that would also be swel

[ziskandra]

quick life updates with asha!

played in the national scrabble championships over the easter weekend, came 17th (probably my best showing since i started working full time lol)

FINALLY on annual leave until may 7th… i basically have no plans other than to go to my weekly pilates sessions and work on my dragon age big bang fic and I’m very much looking forward to relaxing and recovering after what has been a very intense year at work lmao

stupid ingrown toenails isn’t fixing itself so i might have to get it looked at by a ~PROFESSIONAL~, boo 😤

[lilap20]

Chapter X: Aemma's daughters

@koobratzy @beebeechaos

The tension is at its peak when my father walks down the aisle. We all look at him with our breath stuck in our throats. King Viserys takes his place on the Iron Throne, and we all bow our heads in reverence. Cregan vaguely runs his hand over my back in a final gesture to relax me as my father speaks.

-If I invited you all here, begins my father in a loud voice but which I know is trembling, it is to put my estate back in place.

My whole body tenses and I risk a glance at my big sister. She remains dignified, her head erect in her red dress, her violet gaze fixed on my father. Leanor looks at me a little troubled before looking at my sister then my father. Why is Viserys doing this?

-Over the years, the King continues, since the birth of my two male children, my ear has been attentive to the rumors and gossip of the court. My father's voice is strong as that of a King should be.

Alicent’s gaze slides over us as she shakes Aegon’s hand in a sign of support. My purple gaze hasn't left her, my face straight being tense and emotionless, which made her blush and she looks away.

-I stand before you, proclaims the King, to confirm that my heir to the throne is Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.

My body immediately relaxes, I can hear my cousin Laena sigh while momentarily stroking my uncle's arm who nods his head a little relieved himself. I look at Cregan who smiles at me, with a look that says “I told you so”. Rhaenyra simply nods while Leanor is more expressive shaking her hand. Finally, my gaze turns to my mother-in-law, Alicent and her children. If Aegon doesn't feel slighted or anything, Alicent is completely tense and upset by this announcement. If her gaze could kill, she would have exterminated us.

-In addition, continues my father, the Crown Princess has shared with me some magnificent news, said my father with joy in his voice. She is waiting for the future heir of Dragonstone.

The crowd in the great hall begins to applaud at the news, and we ourselves applaud while turning our hands towards Rhaenyra who just smiles in thanks. Vaguely my gaze turns to Ser Harwin who is against a wall looking at my sister from afar. Our eyes meet and mine is so intense that he looks away. My sister is pregnant with his child, but I refuse to let the stares coming from him put her and the baby in danger.

“Well, well,” my father said, calming the crowd by raising his hand. I also want to announce that if something bad happens to the Crown Princess before she gives birth to her first born, the heir will be Princess Nymeria Targaryen.

A loud murmur shakes the room as Cregan's hand tightens on my back and my body remains unmoved. I have no desire for the throne, I don't want anything bad to happen to my sister, I want peace, I want her to ascend the throne, and I want to return to the North with my husband.

-Her first born will be heir to the throne after her, my father continues while the script is written, and the second will be the future Lord of Winterfell.

Cregan nods as my father's words are addressed to him. I know he’s not thrilled about it, and so am I. I don't want the child in my belly to be part of this dangerous game for the throne. Instinctively I pass a hand over my stomach as if to reassure us, Alicent follows my movement by raising an eyebrow.

-If Princess Rhaenyra were to leave us in labor, and the child she is carrying still lives, Princess Nymeria will be heir temporarily until the young baby becomes a man or woman of 16 years old. Continue my father the crowd hanging on his mouth. If misfortune were to touch my house, and its voice becomes more melancholy, and my first two born were to leave this Earth without an heir, the throne would fall to my eldest son Aegon II.

The entire court is still murmuring, my father had just placed Aegon, his male heir after my sister and me, after our children, and this before the court and the Maesters, before the scripts. A feeling of pride swells in my chest. I wish my mother was there to see our Father choose my sister and me, going against ethics and the law. Either way, the King is the Law.

-The King is Law, and we follow the Law. Said The Hand and the court repeats it as we do, the Session is adjourned.

As soon as the gossip begins, the nobles do not waste a second leaving the great hall while shooting us looks. Alicent grabbed my sister Heelena's hand before leaving the Throne room without looking at Aegon and Aemond.

I take my sister in my arms and she immediately relaxes, sighing against my neck. Our eyes meet when our bellies touch and a secret glance makes us laugh softly. I look at my uncle Daemon who with a positive sign from his wife approaches us with a small smile stretching his lips. Arriving in front of us, his pale purple eyes shine with love when he gently tilts his head then takes my hand then Rhaenyra's.

-You, my nieces, will make perfect Queens. He whispers before kissing my hand

My heart is beating so hard in my chest that it could escape. I cover my uncle with a look of love and thanks. He smiles at me before looking at Rhaenyra and his whole world stops. He caresses her hand momentarily while my sister's gaze doesn't leave him. It is hot like dragon fire, chaotic like their behavior. Daemon leans down to kiss her hand and my sister sucks in a breath as if she's finally being allowed to breathe.

Daemon steps back, letting go of our hands before nodding briefly to return to our cousin taking her by the waist. Together they leave the Throne Room.

I watch my uncle leave, my sister does too. Her gaze is wet, moved. What Daemon just did was accept us as heirs and give us his help and support. The only support we need most after our father.

-Let's go. Cregan whispers, taking my hand gently.

I nod, smiling at his warm gaze. I turn to look at my father who is talking with his hand and scripts. His gaze meets mine briefly before smiling and nodding. I do the same leaving the throne room, Cregan keeping my hand in his.

I couldn't sleep that night.

It's pleasantly nice this evening, the cool wind blowing against the thin curtains of the bedroom windows. Despite the wind and pleasant temperature of the night, Cregan sleeps naked in the sheets, his body adjusting to the difference between north and south. The sheet covers his lower back as his legs protrude from the sheet, he breathes softly, although sweating from his back, his black hair tangled and scattered across the cushion.

I move slowly and his arm tightens around my waist in a reflex, and I smile. Cregan is still protective and possessive even when he sleeps, and with the pregnancy it got worse. I gently caress his arm while smiling softly admiring his beauty when he sleeps. His body has a few scars, mostly on his back and shoulders and a long one on his rib. Sometimes I like to pet them and it makes him smile.

But even thinking about these little moments between us doesn't help me get to sleep. My head has not stopped spinning since our Father announced the succession. Gossip and plots are playing on our heads and I can't sleep. Slowly I stand up, Cregan's hand falling on my thighs, he automatically frowns and with agility and much prayer I place a cushion on his arm.

After waiting for him to wake up which he doesn't, I discreetly get out of bed wearing my long nightgown. I quickly put on some riding clothes and grab a cape. When I was ten and two years old, Daemon gave me a book containing all the secret passages of the Cruel King Maegor.

I know that behind my bed is a hidden door, and I really want to get some fresh air and breathe. Without waiting, I put on boots hiding a dagger inside, quickly tie my hair in a half ponytail and go behind my bed. I watch Cregan sleep peacefully, his face relaxed, his breathing calm. I smile then as gently as possible push the wall and jump when a door opens with a noise.

I close my eyes before opening them hoping Cregan is still asleep, and he is. I sigh and walk through the door, a breeze lifting my hair and cooling my face. I don't think and close the door behind me, adjust my cloak and run down the stairs. The wind is strong, there is a musty smell but I can feel the weight on my stomach lifting.

A feeling of freedom spreads through me as I run through the palace catacombs without even properly looking ahead. Suddenly a hand grabs me and I let out a cry which is muffled by a hand.

-Are we out, niece? Daemon's voice asks in my ear

Freed from his grip I turn towards him out of breath, my face probably red.

-Uncle ? What are you doing there ? I ask surprise, detailing him from head to toe

He is not dressed in rich clothing, but only in ordinary clothing and a cape which partially covers his head. He puts his hands in his pockets with an amused look.

-It's more up to me to ask you this question. He responds with a grin before frowning. What are you doing Nymeria?

I swallow with my hand in the bag, I look around with my heart racing, my mouth dehydrated from my race and Daemon silently passes me his water bottle and I drink quickly with a grateful look.

-So ? Daemon asks, raising an eyebrow waiting for me to respond.

-I wanted to clear my mind, I admit, running a hand over my stomach. Hell I didn't even think about the baby in my rush, I could have put him in danger.

Daemon looks at me, then he looks at my hand and approaches me concerned.

-Issi ao going hen mērī isse maegor's corridors while ao sagon expecting cregan's riñnykeā? (Are you going out alone in Maegor's corridors while you're expecting Cregan's child?) He asks and I notice his annoyance because he spoke in High Valyrian

-Nyke couldn't ēdrugon Daemon, I admit almost complaining, se nyke ēdan daor desire naejot jikagon naejot se rōva library. (I couldn't sleep Daemon, and I had no desire to go to the big library).

Daemon sighs, picking up his canteen. He mutters before walking in front of me, peaceful, his large size never getting stressed.

-Uncle Daemon? I ask looking at him not knowing what to do

-Follow me, I didn't plan for you to be here during my little trip, but come anyway. He says without looking at me and I run to be on his level

-We are in town. I whisper looking around me

The cool wind that I refocused in the Palace has disappeared, the atmosphere is heavy, the streets stink, and the noise is deafening. The townspeople scream in chaos, some too drunk to walk on the dirty ground.

-Hide your face well, Daemon whispers, pulling on my cloak.

I didn't dare ask him what he was doing, or why he wanted to go down to town. He agreed to take me there so I turn a blind eye to his activities.

The city is as I have always been told. Noisy, lively, dirty, and above all vicious. I turn my head and blush heavily seeing a woman against a wall, a man slapping her ass while pulling on her hair. Daemon just chuckles before taking my hand and leading us somewhere else.

-Where are we going ? I ask looking at him, keeping my hand in his

-I was going to a tavern, said Daemon looking around him, but considering your condition, he said, glancing at my stomach, it is better that I take you to the theater.

-Does Laena know you are here? I ask curious my violet eyes watching him then i jump when I step on someone

-Does Cregan know you're here? He asks giving me a look and I blush cutting our eye contact.

I don't answer, nor Daemon, we walk through the streets, heading deeper into the city. Soon the deafening and heavy noise subsides as we enter a street where men and women jump or stare when we meet their eyes. And I understand, we are in Silk Street.

Daemon says nothing pulling me into a house where men and women are sitting or standing with drinks in their hands. Daemon sighs as he pulls me closer to the chair. We sit down and he takes off his cape. When I am about to do the same he stops me giving me his water bottle.

-If we ever see you here, you will be compromised. He warns, looking ahead as he is served wine

I drink water with red cheeks when I realize where I am. Naked and painted humans dance before us, a sensual and erotic dance that captivates the eye. No one looks towards Daemon, he crosses his legs drinking his cup, his gaze fixed on the spectacle.

-It’s not theater. I whisper giving him an amused look

Daemon returns my gaze with a grin before finishing his cut.

-But that will do the trick I suppose? He asks, raising an eyebrow.

I smile taking his bottle and drinking water. Yes that will do the trick.

When I return to my room, my clothes smell of the city, and I hurry to undress and put on my nightgown. I untie my hair and gently remove the cushion to place myself under Cregan's arm.

This evening with Daemon was unexpected, but I would like to go through it again. My mind is more relaxed, although I am embarrassed that I haven't said anything to Cregan. I look at my husband who pulls me towards him, his nose going to my neck, eyes still closed. I run a hand over his arm and his hand caresses my stomach. When I close my eyes, his whisper gives me goosebumps, the hairs climbing up my back.

-Don't go out in the night in secret anymore.

Cregan and I were at the Dragon's Pit when guards arrived, my father getting out of the carriage.

Cregan, who was making sure my riding boots were secure and watching Nightmares out of the corner of his eye, stands up, bowing his head when my father approaches.

-Father. I greet a little surprised as I move forward to kiss both of his cheeks and he holds my hands back.

-It's been a long time since I've been here, he mutters his head in his memories while looking around him, since the death of the Great Terror.

I caress his knuckles, weak and sick.

-Well, did you miss the smell of the dragon? I ask with a small smile

He wrinkles his nose and I laugh at the expression lighting up his face.

-Not at all, I fear it, he sneers. I heard that you are flying to the North immediately. Said my father while looking at my dragon growling behind

-Yes, I answer a little guilty, the North is managed by Sara Snow, but Cregan must take back the reins. I respond, looking at my father's puny hands.

-I understand it, my daughter, he murmurs himself looking at our linked hands, my heart was torn when your absence was felt, the Gods left me Rhaenyra but for how long. He whispers in a sad voice

I don't know what to say and my father unties our hands to take something that a guard hands him before returning to his place.

-Who is it ? I ask for a curious look

-A decree for your future children, said my father, you know that they will not have the opportunity to be called Prince or Princess. I nod as I take the scroll. With this decree they will be able to receive the title of Prince and Princess, and you will be able to keep your title too.

I look at my father with a completely shocked face. He smiled as he saw it caressing my cheek.

-But father…

-Accept, said Viserys in a melancholy and authoritative voice, this is my gesture to show my love for you. You and Rhaenyra are all I have left. You are my only children.

I want to ask him how he feels about Alicent's children, how does he treat them if we are his only children?

My questions die on my lips as I jump to my father's neck, hugging him to me. I haven't held him in my arms since my mother died, I want to cry against him but I manage to detach myself from him, my eyes shining with emotion.

-Thank you my King. I say bowing quickly then I take his hand and position it on my stomach and he feels the round fabric

My father smiled at me before blushing in surprise and looking at me with his deep, emotional eyes.

-Thank you my daughter.

[kimkaelyn]

The one in which you and Touya were childhood best friends turned sweethearts, and your reaction to Dabi.

warnings - heavy angst, grief, and manga spoilers

Touya Todoroki had been your everything. He was your first friend, your first crush, and your first kiss.  You were his number one supporter, always cheering him on, even after his family gave up on him becoming a pro hero. You were there when Shouto was born, and you were there to comfort Touya after he tried to kill him. You would apply burn cream and ice after every burn and bring bento boxes full of food to Sekoto Peak after he had been training for hours. You were there for every up and down, waiting to help him get back onto his feet and keep training harder and harder.

And at the end of it all, you were the last one to see him alive.

You refused his invitation to the top of the mountain that day- “Finals are coming up Touya and I need to study. You should be studying too”. He had tried to get you to come anyway, but you put your foot down. You two got into a heated argument over it, ending with you both stomping away in different directions.

You had seen the raging wildfire from your window and were instantly overcome with grief. You tried to go to the forest, calling out for your best friend, but you were stopped by Endeavor- his father- of all people. Once you informed him that his oldest son was inside the burning inferno, you were left alone.

A part of your soul died with Touya Todoroki that day, but life goes on. You adopted the Todoroki’s habit of not acknowledging trauma and carried on with your life like nothing had happened- at least on the surface.

It was difficult, you had your bad days, but you also had your good ones. On the especially hard days, you tried to remember the happy memories you had of him and reminded yourself that he wouldn’t want you to waste the day by being sad. ‘Touya would want me to move on and be happy’, you would remind yourself.

After ten years, you were better. You had managed to overcome your grief and move on with your life, but all your hard work had come crumbling down when you saw Dabi’s broadcast.

“My name is Touya Todoroki, the oldest son of the number one pro hero.”

Your entire world had halted on its axis as soon as the words left his mouth. You just stared at the broadcast, your frantic heartbeats the only sound you could hear aside from the confession that kept replaying like a mantra inside your head.

For the next couple of months, you didn’t outwardly acknowledge that your best friend- your first love- was a villain. That the friendly and hard-working adolescent that you knew was a serial killer.

You were amongst the evacuees when you saw the broadcast of the fight from a TV inside an abandoned store window. You dropped your backpack that contained everything that you could quickly grab from your apartment to the payment in shock as your brain tried to process what you were witnessing.

Touya- Dabi- and Endeavor battling it out in the middle of the city, and then Touya being engulfed in an inferno.

“Mom!” A familiar female voice called out from somewhere behind you. You turned in time to watch Rei Todoroki race towards the growing fireball, with Fuyumi and Natsuo following close on her heels. You did not hesitate to follow suit.

“Touya!” You heard the Todoroki’s yelling as they reached the impending explosion. You watched in awe as they activated their Frost Quirks, trying to cool their oldest son and brother down.

“Touya!” You yelled as you reached the wall of heat. Your clothes started to singe as you got closer.

“Y/N!” Fuyumi called out to you when she saw you. “What are you doing?! Get away!”

“No! Not before we stop Touya!”

“Y/N are you insane?” Natsuo swore.

“Y/N, get away!” Rei said to you as you continued to approach. “Your body cannot handle the heat!”

“And yours can?” You retorted. “Touya!”

“Touya! Big bro snap out of it!”

“Touya, stop!”

“Touya!” You screamed out before strong arms pulled you through the swelting wall of flames. You yelped as the flames licked at your skin. You managed to see the familiar face of Dabi through the smoke. You called out to him, “Touya! Stop, you are hurting me.”

“It’s Dabi now, sweetheart.” He said in a low voice as he wrapped his arms around you. You could practically feel the hatred dripping from his tongue. “What? Y/N, did you think I would stop my rampage about I saw you again, like some lovesick puppy?” He chuckled as he brought himself impossibly closer to you. You didn’t know if the scent of burning flesh was coming from you or him. “The Touya that you knew died ten years ago on Sekoto Peak. Again, it’s Dabi now, and Dabi doesn’t know you.” He whispered into your ear before lighting his entire body on fire.

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[salvawhores-world]

This Love (Taylor’s Version) - Colin Bridgerton x Oc

Colin Bridgerton x Miss Turner

Warnings - Colin and Food, cringe tooth rotting fluff,

A/N - In the wake of S3 The second story from the Taylor x bridgerton series is here, this had to be fluff. Because Colin is way too Colin-y for Angst. Also Mothers version of This love makes me wanna fall in love. Eww what have I become.

In the realm of profound and all-encompassing love, a mesmerizing connection unfolded between Miss Turner and Mr. Bridgerton. Their hearts danced in sync, utterly smitten by one another's presence.

Colin, a man of discerning eyes, couldn't help but be drawn to the quiet allure that emanated from her amidst a sea of voices. From the very beginning, their souls recognized a kindred spirit, weaving a love story that left an indelible mark on the Bridgerton clan.

Miss Turner, the cherished best friend of Francesca Bridgerton, shared a bond so strong that it seemed they were destined to be inseparable. Growing up as neighbors, their lives intertwined in a beautiful tapestry.

Their childhood lessons, overseen by the same governess, only deepened their connection. It was during these shared moments that Colin first noticed the enchanting Miss Turner, finding solace in her gentle presence and cherishing the rare moments when their eyes met.

Their love grew, captivating the entire Bridgerton family, as Colin's devotion to Miss Turner knew no bounds.

He revered her with a tenderness that words could not adequately express. Even when Colin embarked on his worldly travels, their love remained steadfast.

Letters became their lifeline, carrying the weight of their emotions across vast distances. Miss Turner would eagerly immerse herself in every word he wrote, savoring the essence of their bond. In return, Colin cherished each letter she penned, his lips softly gracing the paper as if kissing her soul.

The day of Colin's return was an eagerly anticipated moment for Miss Turner. She would rush into his arms, her heart bursting with joy as she finally found solace in his presence once more.

The world melted away, leaving only the two of them intertwined in an embrace that defied time itself.

However, as Miss Turner entered her second season in society, the weight of expectations loomed heavy.

Lady Turner, who held Colin dear like a son, couldn't help but prioritize her daughter's future happiness.

It pained Miss Turner to consider asking Colin for a proposal, fearing the sting of rejection. If he truly loved her, she believed, he would take the initiative to make their love known to the world.

Time slipped through their fingers, and Miss Turner found herself at a crossroads. The ache in her heart pushed her to make a decision that would forever alter their course.

With a heavy heart, she made the agonizing choice to end their undefined courtship. If Colin possessed the freedom to choose, she deserved the same agency in shaping her own destiny.

Yet, destiny had other plans in store for them, intertwining their lives inextricably.

Clear blue water

High tide came and brought you in

And I could go on and on, on and on, and I will

Skies grew darker

Currents swept you out again

And you were just gone and gone, gone and gone.

As Miss Turner delicately reached for another cup of tea, her graceful hand unknowingly collided with Colin's, who seemed to appear out of thin air, his own hand reaching for the last delectable piece of butter cookie.

A surge of electric energy pulsed through their touch, causing her to instinctively withdraw her hand, a gentle blush coloring her cheeks.

"Oh, umm..." she stammered, her voice barely audible amidst the flutter of her racing heart.

Colin's cerulean eyes locked onto hers, his gaze filled with an enchanting intensity. "No, please, it's all yours," he said, his voice laced with a mesmerizing charm. "You can have it."

A mixture of surprise and admiration danced within Miss Turner's eyes as she studied Colin's features, her heart swelling with affection.

His selfless act of relinquishing the cookie ignited a spark of admiration within her."No, please, I was just..." Her voice trailed off, a soft smile gracing her lips. "...I'm already quite full from all the cakes."

Colin's lips curved into a tender smile, his eyes never leaving hers. "No, I insist," he murmured, placing the coveted cookie gently on her saucer, their fingers momentarily brushing.

Time seemed to stand still as they shared a lingering gaze, their hearts entwined in a silent understanding.

However, the enchanting moment was abruptly shattered by a shrill whistle, piercing through the air, causing both of them to startle.

Benedict's voice echoed through the opulent Bridgerton drawing room, drawing the attention of every occupant within.

"BEHOLD!" Benedict's voice boomed, his mischievous tone cutting through the room. "Colin, the renowned lover of food , selflessly sharing his precious food. A truly rare spectacle! I simply must capture this moment for posterity!"

The room erupted in a symphony of laughter, each member of the Bridgerton family joining in the playful banter. Miss Turner's cheeks deepened in hue, a delightful mixture of embarrassment and affection flooding her being.

Amidst the joviality, Anthony couldn't resist adding his own jest to the fray. His laughter reverberated through the room as he quipped, "Is this the moment we've all been waiting for, dear brother? Has Colin, the inveterate bachelor, finally succumbed to the intoxicating power of love?"

The teasing atmosphere reached its peak, enveloping the room in a joyous symphony of laughter and affectionate ribbing.

Miss Turner found herself caught between blushing and smiling, her heart swelling with a newfound warmth.

Colin, undeterred by the banter, simply smiled, his eyes gleaming with mirth and adoration. He reveled in this lighthearted teasing, for it affirmed the depth of his growing affection for Miss Turner.

In this moment, amidst the laughter and gentle banter, a sense of undeniable romance filled the air, as if destiny itself were whispering sweet promises.

Colin had stormed into her life like a high tide crashing upon the shore, sweeping away any doubts or reservations, leaving only an indelible mark upon her soul.

And now, as their gazes locked amidst the playful teasing, a profound realization washed over them—a shared acknowledgment that love had taken hold of their hearts and woven their fates together

The mention of tasting new kinds of cookies in the sun-kissed lands of southern Italy unleashed a flood of emotions within her.

As Miss Turner's delicate fingers traced the words of Colin's letter, a wistful smile graced her lips. The inked words danced before her, transporting her to a distant memory, etched in the depths of her heart.

His vibrant presence had illuminated her world, breathing life into every corner of her existence.

Yet, the memory that tugged at her heartstrings was the day he departed—the day the heavens seemed to mourn his absence.

Dark clouds veiled the sky, mirroring the anguish that swelled within her. The London rains fell relentlessly, as if the heavens themselves wept in recognition of their impending separation.

In the shelter of their final embrace, their bodies pressed together, finding solace in the warmth of each other's arms.

Colin's voice, a tender whisper against her ear, painted promises of devotion and endearments that seeped into the very fabric of her being. It was a moment where time stood still, their souls intertwined in an unbreakable bond.

As he prepared to board the ship that would carry him away, their fingers intertwined, hesitant to release their grasp.

In those precious moments, he whispered words of comfort, his voice a soothing melody that resonated deep within her. With each syllable, he painted a picture of a future filled with love and longing.

And then, with a gentle kiss upon her forehead, he surrendered to the pull of the ocean's currents, bidding her farewell. As the ship sailed further into the distance, the once vibrant colors of their world faded, leaving behind a sea of gray.

She stood there, her heart heavy with the weight of their separation, watching as the silhouette of her love diminished, swallowed by the vast expanse of the ocean.

In silent screams

In wildest dreams

I never dreamed of this

The poet in her soul sought solace in crafting verses that would immortalize their love, the echoes of their whispered assurances etching themselves upon her memory.

The memory of that day, cloaked in darkness and sorrow, remained eternally etched within her, a testament to the depths of their affection.

Oh, how she yearned for the return of his touch, the sound of his laughter, and the warmth of his presence.

But until that day, she clung to the memories they had woven together, their love forever enshrined in her heart.

In the tapestry of her life, Miss Turner had never dared to envision the arrival of someone like Colin. His presence, like a brilliant sunburst, had shattered the confines of her expectations, flooding her world with an overwhelming wave of joy that transcended all reason.

Every corner of her being overflowed with the sheer magnitude of emotions he awakened within her, leaving her with no sanctuary to contain the boundless bliss that danced in her heart.

This love is good

This love is bad

This love is alive back from the dead, oh, oh, oh

These hands had to let it go free, and

This love came back to me, oh, oh, oh

In the tapestry of her memories, Miss Turner cherished the moments of pure bliss they had shared, frolicking through the verdant garden of their country house in Kent.

Colin, ever by her side, a steadfast companion in their playful escapades, from their carefree dashes along Pall Mall to their clandestine expeditions into the kitchen, where they concocted delectable treats in the hush of early morn.

Racing against one another, their laughter echoing through the air, and engaging in lively crossword battles that ignited their intellects.

But it was those languid afternoons that held a special place in her heart.She would grace the piano keys with delicate fingertips, as Colin serenaded her with his melodious voice, his gaze fixed upon her, the depths of his eyes brimming with adoration.

In that moment, the world around them melted away, leaving only the two of them intertwined in a dance of affection and shared dreams. Hyacinth and Anthony twirled around the room, their laughter filling the air, while Benedict spun Kate with effortless grace.

Eloise and Simon, ever the lively pair, playfully stomped on each other's feet as they reveled in the joy of the music.

Gregory, a true gentleman, extended his hand to Daphne, guiding her with tender care, while Violet swayed elegantly with her cherished daughter, Francesca, as John observed his beloved from afar, his eyes filled with an unspoken devotion.

As the final notes of the piece reverberated through the hall, Colin leaned in closer, his voice a gentle caress. "You were magnificent," he whispered, his words laced with awe and affection.

A soft chuckle escaped Miss Turner's lips as she delicately adorned her hands with gloves, her eyes dancing with mirth.

"Please, you possess a voice that could captivate hearts for a lifetime," she playfully countered, taking a few steps towards him. "Is that so?" he replied, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

With a seductive pull of her waist, he drew her nearer, their bodies melding together. "Indeed, Mr. Bridgerton," she teased, a twinkle in her eye, gently tapping his nose before darting away, laughter echoing through the grandeur of Aubrey Hall.

Colin pursued her with unrestrained enthusiasm, a symphony of giggles filling the air as they chased one another through the magnificent halls.

Love unfurled like ivy, wrapping them in its tender embrace, as the walls of their shared laughter absorbed every ounce of joy. In that ephemeral dance, time seemed to suspend, and the world existed solely within the contours of their affection.

In the shadows of their idyllic moments, there lingered a tormenting truth that gnawed at Miss Turner's fragile heart.

She could no longer bear the weight of their intermittent separations, the anguish of feeling abandoned, left to weather the storms of solitude for countless months each year.

And yet, as she mustered the courage to voice her inner turmoil to Colin, she saw the flicker of uncertainty cloud his eyes.

He, too, grappled with his own demons, yearning to be a man worthy of marrying the love of his life. No longer content with merely being the viscount's overlooked younger brother or just another name in the lineage of Bridgerton children, he longed for purpose and significance.

In the depths of his soul, he yearned to offer Miss Turner a life beyond the confines of a mere Bridgerton title.

The thought of being a loving and devoted husband, one who could provide security and prosperity, consumed him. But as he questioned his own worth, a chilling realization took hold: perhaps it was best to let her go, to release her from the binds of their love.

What if she found a duke, an earl, a viscount, or even a prince? In the arms of someone deemed more suitable, she would find a life far grander than being known as Mrs. Bridgerton, the daughter-in-law of the third son, a wife left in the dark about her husband's endeavors.

The ache of their unfulfilled desires resonated through the hollow chambers of their souls, echoing with a haunting melody of longing and unspoken words.

Tossing, turning

Struggled through the night with someone new

And I could go on and on, on and on

Lantern, burning

Flickered in the night, only you

But you were still gone, gone, gone

The heartache etched upon their souls was palpable, the ache of shattered dreams and unspoken longings. They stood at a crossroads, their hearts torn between the love they shared and the weight of their own insecurities.

The prospect of parting ways loomed like a specter, haunting their every thought. And yet, in the depths of their despair, they clung to a flicker of hope, a glimmer of faith that perhaps, someday, their paths would align once more.

Lying on the exquisite quilt that adorned the verdant expanse, Colin shared his thoughts with Miss Turner, his head cradled tenderly in her lap.

The warm sun bathed them in its golden glow, casting a halo of tranquility around their intimate moment. With a playful gleam in his eyes, he mused about Benedict's unwavering fascination with an elusive masked beauty from the masquerade ball.

"How does one become so captivated by someone hidden behind a mask?" he pondered aloud, savoring a succulent strawberry she lovingly offered.

"Well, my dear, artists have their peculiar ways. They find inspiration and thrill in the most unconventional of sources. Who knows, Benedict might just stumble upon a stroke of luck," she responded, her fingers gently weaving through his chestnut locks.

"But you know, my love, the only person who truly captivates me is you," he declared, playfully pouting his lips.

A musical laugh escaped her, filling the air with a symphony of joy. "Ah, the eternal charmer," she teased, unable to resist stealing a soft peck on his lips. In that sweet moment, their connection intensified, as their hearts danced to the rhythm of their shared love.

"I miss you so much when I'm away, you know," Colin confessed, intertwining their hands and placing them gently over his heart.

A radiant smile graced her face, her eyes sparkling with affection. "Oh, Colin, my heart aches for you in every moment of our separation," she replied, her voice filled with tenderness.

In the depths of her being, she carried the weight of longing, a lantern burning brightly within her until the day he returned to her side.

Restless and plagued by the memories, Miss Turner tossed and turned in her bed, her mind consumed by the impending visit of The Marquess Whitewood.

The mere thought of his arrival filled her with unease and a gnawing sense of dread. Every fiber of her being longed for Colin's comforting presence, his reassuring words that would soothe her troubled heart. The absence of his touch amplified the ache within her, intensifying her longing for his embrace.

As the night stretched on, Miss Turner found herself trapped between the past and an uncertain future.

Her heart ached for Colin, her soul yearned for his presence, and the anxiety over The Marquess’ impending visit threatened to shatter the fragile equilibrium she had managed to maintain.

With a heavy sigh, she succumbed to sleep, hoping that the morning would bring some clarity, some respite from the storm that raged within her.

The dawn of a new day arrived swiftly, just before the anticipated arrival of Marquess Whitewood. In an unexpected entrance, Colin walked into the room unannounced, casting a warm greeting towards Lady Turner.

“Good morning, Lady Turner," he offered, his voice filled with a mix of tenderness and restraint. Her mother, sensing the need for privacy, excused herself with a smile, leaving them alone.

As Colin stood there, the love of her life, memories flooded Miss Turner's mind, from their cherished moments in their teenage years to the present.

She couldn't help but hold her breath, hoping for an affectionate nickname to escape his lips. However, Colin caught himself just in time, halting the endearing address that had always brought a sparkle to her eyes.

“I came to check on you," he continued, his words laced with a subtle disappointment. "I hope your meeting with the Marquess goes well."

Her heart sank at his distant tone, the absence of the familiar endearment leaving an ache deep within her.

The bouquet of Chrysanthemums he held, her favorite flowers, seemed to mock the pain that surged within her. She longed for his embrace, his comforting words that would alleviate her fears.

But instead, she found herself standing on the precipice of disappointment, the unspoken yearning lingering in the air.

Your kiss, my cheek

I watched you leave

Your smile, my ghost

I fell to my knees

When you're young, you just run

But you come back to what you need

"Colin, you licking your plate clean won't change a thing happening next door," Anthony remarked, the Bridgerton siblings gathered in the drawing room, their voices filling the air. Colin, consumed in his furious eating, devoured every crumb on his plate.

"He's always eating like this, maybe we should coin a new term instead of 'stress eating'," Hyacinth whispered mischievously to Benedict, eliciting a chuckle from her brother.

“Well, Hyacinth, you best get on with it instead of flitting about in my head all day," Colin retorted with a touch of bitterness far from their daily fun banter.

"Hey, do not speak to her like that," Anthony interjected, his protective nature shining through as Hyacinth sought solace in his embrace, finding comfort in the presence of her eldest brother.

Colin cast an apologetic glance towards Hyacinth, regretful for his sharp words. She was safely nestled under Anthony's arm on the couch, her fingers playing with her ribbons while Kate adjusted her skirt.

"I have nothing to say to you, Colin. Honestly, she will have everything as the Marchioness married to the Marquess. Her contentment will be secured, but she will never be able to love again. Not because she didn't marry the love of her life, but because when she truly loved someone, they didn't fight for her," Violet spoke quietly from the corner, her gaze fixed upon Edmund's painting that adorned the fireplace mantle.

"Don't abandon her, Colin. Fight for the love you shared," Violet continued, her words laced with concern and determination

"And from what I know of her, she'd perch on a cliff with you in some godforsaken land rather than gaze upon her grand estate as a Marchioness with her Marquess," Benedict chimed in, subtly sliding a flask towards Colin from under the table, his hushed plea of "Go" barely audible.

Overwhelmed by the realization that Colin couldn't fight for their love, Miss Turner could bear it no longer.

With a surge of determination, she excused herself and dashed out into the pouring rain. And there, amidst the deserted streets of Mayfair, fate intervened. She spotted the third Bridgerton sibling running towards her, his steps echoing her own.

Their bodies collided, merging into an embrace that spoke volumes of their longing and desire. Reluctantly parting from the hug, their eyes locked, refusing to let go. Their families, including the Marquess, bore witness to this poignant scene, their hearts swelling with hope and joy.

"I cannot endure this any longer. I need you, Colin," she uttered, her voice trembling with raw emotion. "My love for you is so immense that the mere thought of staying apart is a physical agony. Every passing second feels like a punishment.

Whether I'm anywhere in the world, I see you. I see you in the hues of every sunset, in the blossoming of every flower, in the descent of every falling fruit, and in the innocent smiles of children.

I see you even in my tears of anguish," Colin confessed fervently, his words ringing in the rain-soaked air. The intensity of his declaration blurred the lines between raindrops and tears, stirring a tempest within her.

"You are the only vision I long to behold from the moment I wake till my last breath on this Earth. Please, take me back," he pleaded earnestly, raindrops intermingling with his panting breath.

"Colin Bridgerton, you are the love that found its way back to me. Of course, I will always have you back," she whispered, as she cupped his cheeks her voice filled with unwavering devotion.

“Always," she added, her words an ethereal promise that reverberated through the rain-soaked air, their foreheads gently touchin

The turners and the bridgertons smiled form the shelter of their homes. Lady turner looked at marquess Whitewood. Who only smiled graciously at the couple.

Admiring their love. Their love would be good, bad, alive dead,it would glow in the dark, it would leave a permanent mark but their love. would always come back.

————-

Do not steal my work

[bookoformon]

Mosiah Chapter 23. "The Fire of the People."

An account of Alma and the people of the Lord, who were driven into the wilderness by the people of King Noah.

Comprising chapters 23 and 24.

CHAPTER 23

Alma refuses to be king—He serves as high priest—The Lord chastens His people, and the Lamanites conquer the land of Helam—Amulon, leader of King Noah’s wicked priests, rules subject to the Lamanite monarch. About 145–121 B.C.

Helam = "Land of Dreams."

חלם A by-form of the previous: the verb חלם (halam I) means to be strong. Verb חלם (halam II) means to dream, and its derived noun חלום (halom) means a dream.

Amulon= "the fire of the people."

The common meaning of togetherness (which leads some scholars to believe that it might be kindred to the root אמם ('mm), from whence stems the word אמה ('umma), meaning tribe or people):

ελη The noun υλη (ule) means basic matter or elementary matter: the stuff something is made from. In the older classics, this noun refers to wood — our noun derives from the Proto-Indo-European root "swel-", meaning both wood in the sense of forest, and wood the material (hence too the English word sill and the familiar Latin word silvas, hence our English adjective sylvan, or pertaining to woods) — but as wood was a primary building material from which people made houses, furniture and even utensils, our word began to be used to denote any basic material.

Wood, of course, was also the primary fuel of people, and as we discuss in our article on πυρ (pur), fire, a society was centered upon and organized around its fire.

1 Now Alma, "young but capable" having been warned of the Lord that the armies of king Noah "decline" would come upon them, and having made it known to his people, therefore they gathered together their flocks, and took of their grain, and departed into the wilderness before the armies of king Noah.

2 And the Lord did strengthen them, that the people of king Noah could not overtake them to destroy them.

3 And they fled eight days’ journey into the wilderness.

4 And they came to a land, yea, even a very beautiful and pleasant land, a land of pure water.

5 And they pitched their tents, and began to till the ground, and began to build buildings; yea, they were industrious, and did labor exceedingly.

6 And the people were desirous that Alma should be their king, for he was beloved by his people.

The journey from a land filled with slavery and violence refers to the departure of the Pilgrims from England for America where a new start would be possible. To start anything over is to reach an 8th Day.

The opportunity is also a problem as the Pilgrims and Puritans discovered- without a complete set of new habits, it all starts over again and indeed they did.

Not too long after the Civil War, another kind of Eight Days, World Wars I and II took place, then came communism, then came George W. Bush and Dick Cheney, then came Donald Trump, after that Vladimir Putin. Things aren't changing they aren't getting better. They get worn out, but eventually they get stirred up again.

In Torah terms, we haven't really beached ourselves on the Other Side yet. We dream about it, we pretend, but the presence of savages that cannot govern in our planet's capitol cities is forestalling an appropriate way of life for everyone on this world:

7 But he said unto them: Behold, it is not expedient that we should have a king; for thus saith the Lord: Ye shall not esteem one flesh above another, or one man shall not think himself above another; therefore I say unto you it is not expedient that ye should have a king.

8 Nevertheless, if it were possible that ye could always have just men to be your kings it would be well for you to have a king.

9 But remember the iniquity of king Noah and his priests; and I myself was caught in a snare, and did many things which were abominable in the sight of the Lord, which caused me sore repentance;

The Snare is the wrestling match we undergo to become free of the ego self that tries to get away with things. It is the struggle between the follower and the leader. If the immature follower wins it, the adult will be a tyrant. He will never blend in, become educated, he will be always suck the life out of things. The Torah explains the importance of overcoming the snare:

10 Nevertheless, after much tribulation, the Lord did hear my cries, and did answer my prayers, and has made me an instrument in his hands in bringing so many of you to a knowledge of his truth.

11 Nevertheless, in this I do not glory, for I am unworthy to glory of myself.

12 And now I say unto you, ye have been oppressed by king Noah, and have been in bondage to him and his priests, and have been brought into iniquity by them; therefore ye were bound with the bands of iniquity.

13 And now as ye have been delivered by the power of God out of these bonds; yea, even out of the hands of king Noah and his people, and also from the bonds of iniquity, even so I desire that ye should stand fast in this liberty wherewith ye have been made free, and that ye trust no man to be a king over you.

14 And also trust no one to be your teacher nor your minister, except he be a man of God, walking in his ways and keeping his commandments.

15 Thus did Alma teach his people, that every man should love his neighbor as himself, that there should be no contention among them.

16 And now, Alma was their high priest, he being the founder of their church.

Anyone just man who teaches of the importance of the Prime Commandment and instills human equity in the church, government and society is a High Priest of God and speaks with His Authority, and no other:

17 And it came to pass that none received authority to preach or to teach except it were by him from God. Therefore he consecrated all their priests and all their teachers; and none were consecrated except they were just men.

18 Therefore they did watch over their people, and did nourish them with things pertaining to righteousness.

19 And it came to pass that they began to prosper exceedingly in the land; and they called the land Helam.

20 And it came to pass that they did multiply and prosper exceedingly in the land of Helam; and they built a city, which they called the city of Helam. "The place of dreams."

21 Nevertheless the Lord seeth fit to chasten his people; yea, he trieth their patience and their faith.

22 Nevertheless—whosoever putteth his trust in him the same shall be lifted up at the last day. Yea, and thus it was with this people.

23 For behold, I will show unto you that they were brought into bondage, and none could deliver them but the Lord their God, yea, even the God of Abraham and Isaac and of Jacob.

24 And it came to pass that he did deliver them, and he did show forth his mighty power unto them, and great were their rejoicings.

25 For behold, it came to pass that while they were in the land of Helam, yea, in the city of Helam, while tilling the land round about, behold an army of the Lamanites was in the borders of the land.

The selfish ego always borders things, and it must always be driven off. Humans have to be self-taught in the disciplines needed to do work, be effective at it, and cooperate with others. Everyone hates doing it there is always something else one could do with one's time, even still the ignorances cannot encroach. If they are allowed, they will take wives and make ignorant sons of the womb of time and then who will put them back where they came from?

26 Now it came to pass that the brethren of Alma fled from their fields, and gathered themselves together in the city of Helam; and they were much frightened because of the appearance of the Lamanites.

27 But Alma went forth and stood among them, and exhorted them that they should not be frightened, but that they should remember the Lord their God and he would deliver them.

28 Therefore they hushed their fears, and began to cry unto the Lord that he would soften the hearts of the Lamanites, that they would spare them, and their wives, and their children.

29 And it came to pass that the Lord did soften the hearts of the Lamanites. And Alma and his brethren went forth and delivered themselves up into their hands; and the Lamanites took possession of the land of Helam.

30 Now the armies of the Lamanites, which had followed after the people of king Limhi "the refuge", had been lost in the wilderness for many days.

31 And behold, they had found those priests of king Noah, in a place which they called Amulon; and they had begun to possess the land of Amulon and had begun to till the ground.

= mean, lazy, beligerant babies are about to be born. "layers upon layers":

32 Now the name of the leader of those priests was Amulon. "the fire of the people" = General Welfare

33 And it came to pass that Amulon did plead with the Lamanites; and he also sent forth their wives, who were the daughters of the Lamanites, to plead with their brethren, that they should not destroy their husbands.

34 And the Lamanites had compassion on Amulon and his brethren, and did not destroy them, because of their wives.

35 And Amulon and his brethren did join the Lamanites, and they were traveling in the wilderness in search of the land of Nephi when they discovered the land of Helam, which was possessed by Alma and his brethren.

36 And it came to pass that the Lamanites promised unto Alma and his brethren, that if they would show them the way which led to the land of Nephi that they would grant unto them their lives and their liberty.

37 But after Alma had shown them the way that led to the land of Nephi the Lamanites would not keep their promise; but they set guards round about the land of Helam, over Alma and his brethren.

38 And the remainder of them went to the land of Nephi; and a part of them returned to the land of Helam, and also brought with them the wives and the children of the guards who had been left in the land.

39 And the king of the Lamanites had granted unto Amulon that he should be a king and a ruler over his people, who were in the land of Helam; nevertheless he should have no power to do anything contrary to the will of the king of the Lamanites.

In the section just before this, a man named Gideon "the Common Defense" raises an army and hews down a tyrant. If one rises up, this is what we must do if the Greater Good is to succeed.

Barring this unlikely occurrence, there are the polls, our greatest weapon against prejudice, tyranny, slavery, and a dim future. Accurate and appropriate operation of the polls is one of the most important duties of the government, and the expectation their integrity will be protected the most important one of the people.

Part 2 is next.

[hochgouez-nerzhus]

Nantosuelta

Nantosuelta

Nantosuelta’s themes are health, miracles, providence and abundance.  Her symbols are spring water and cornucopia.  This Gaulisch Goddess’s name literally translates as ‘of the winding stream’. We can go to Nantosuelta’s cool, clean waters when our body, mind or soul requires refreshment and healing. Additionally, artists often depict Nantosuelta carrying a cornucopia, giving her the symbolism of providence and abundance.

What do you need in your life right now? If it’s love, drink a warm glass of spring water to draw Nantosuelta’s energy and emotional warmth to you. If you need a cooler head, on the other hand, drink the water cold.

On this  day in 1858, a young girl had a vision of Mary (a Goddess type) near a grotto in Lourdes, France. According to magical tradition, this is an area where the Goddess was worshiped in ancient times. After the vision, the water became renowned for its miraculous  healing qualities, reinforcing the fact that the Goddess is alive and well.

While most of us can’t travel to Lourdes, we can enjoy a healing bath at home. Fill the tub with warm water (Nantosuelta exist in the streaming water), a few bay leaves, a handful of mint and a pinch of thyme (three healthful herbs). Soak in the water  and visualize any sickness or disease leaving your body. When you let out the water, the negative energy neatly goes down the drain!”

(Patricia Telesco, “365 Goddess: a daily guide to the magic and inspiration of the goddess”.)

In Celtic mythology, Nantosuelta was a Goddess of nature, the earth, fire, and fertility. The Mediomatrici (Alsace, Lorraine) depicted Her in art as holding a model house or dovecote, on a pole (a bee hive). Nantosuelta is attested by statues, and by inscriptions. She was sometimes paired with Sucellus. Nantosuelta was also the Goddess of Nature in Lusitanian mythology. In addition, Her symbol the raven symbolized Her connection as a Goddess of the dead and fertility – which thus linked Her with the Irish Goddess Morrígan and Her two companions.

Relief of Nantosuelta and Sucellus from Sarrebourg

In one relief, Nantosuelta holds a patera, or a broad ritual dish that was used for drinking during a ritual, and tips the contents of the patera onto an altar.  In an English relief, Nantosuelta is shown with apples instead of a patera.  Other attributes include a pot or a beehive.

A depiction of Nantosuelta from Speyer, showing her distinctive sceptre and birds. The head of Sol can be seen in the tympanum.

Nantosuelta’s name was reconstructed by linguists and cannot be definitely translated, yet two accepted approximations of its meaning in Proto-Celtic are “She of the Winding River” and “She of the Sun-drenched Valley”, though Her attributes do not show Her as a water-deity (actually, the watery attributes seem more likely to describe the Goddess Icovellauna, ‘Divine Pourer of the Waters’, a Gallic Goddess who was also worshipped in Metz, France).

Winding River by Paul Byrne

“For a long time the name Nantosuelta was assumed to mean ‘winding river’, being derived from the reconstructed proto-Celtic from *Nanto-swelt- with the feminine ending ā which can be rendered as ‘river-turning [spirit]’. However, in common with the Brythonic languages it is possible that the Gaulish nanto could mean both river/stream and valley (the Cymric cognate being nant that is usually taken to mean ‘stream’ but which, in its older form, also meant ‘valley’. The swel component of the came could be derived from the proto-Celtic *sƒwol-/*s3li- (sun, which yields the Cymric form of haul). The final particle, ta is contained in the proto-Celtic word tတ-je/o (thaw) and bears the connotation of ‘to warm’. Thus, an alternative interpretation for Nantosuelta would be ‘She of the Sun-warmed Valley’. Potentially this could be used in the context of ‘plenty’ but it might also bear the context of the sun-drenched realms of the netherworld. Thus Nantosuelta’s association with the raven might indicate that She had a function as a psychopomp.”

Sunny Valley

Nantosuelta by AlaskanExile on DeviantArt

Chief amongst Her associations is Her little house, usually depicted on a long pole like a scepter of some kind.  Other associated objects, as previously mentioned, include a bird, a bee-hive and honeycombs.  The latter certainly have homely connotations and She therefore appears to have been a Goddess of hearth and home, well-being and prosperity.  Like Her husband, She also had nourishment and fertility aspects and sometimes carried a cornucorpia.  In Britain, She is probably to be found depicted on a small stone from East Stoke in Nottinghamshire…shown [with] bushy hair and carries a bowlful of apples.

More on Nantosuelta’s epigraphy and iconography can be found here.

Variants: (Continental Celtic) Nantsovelta; (Breton Celtic) Nataseuelta

Sources:

Earlybritishkingdoms.com, “Nantosuelta, Goddess of the Home“.

Sita. Awitchylife.wordpress.com, “Weekly Deity Nantosuelta“.

Suggested Links:

http://theses.univ-lyon2.fr/documents/getpart.php?id=lyon2.2009.beck_n&part=159118

[blushnote]

Hello

↳ requested | 2.4k words

↳ jeonghan smut 

jeonghan gets kind of bored when he visits your family during the holiday break. it’s always exciting in the beginning – returning to your childhood home, smelling the homecooked meals organized on the dining table, flipping through aged photobooks to laugh at the much younger, much sillier versions of yourself. but then the nostalgia slowly fades, and you’re restless.

you know it’s fairly exhausting for jeonghan too. he has to greet all of your family and experience their inevitable downpour of slightly repetitive questions. he enjoys their curiosity, though he definitely has his limits, and on day three of the holiday visit you find him downstairs, crouched at a small, plastic pink table where he colours in chunky crayons with your five-year-old niece.

it’s painful to break the news to him, and you see the light rapidly dissipate from his eyes when you say: “my dad wants you in the kitchen again.” for the entire day, your family was occupied with preparing a christmas dinner. jeonghan could hardly fry an egg without a cloud of smoke billowing around the stove. you figured they were just looking to spend more time with him.

“no!” your niece throws one of her crayons across the table, “i want jeonghannie to stay down here! we’re colouring!” she starts to pout, and her cheeks puff out in harmless anger.

“see?” jeonghan says, “i can’t leave. it would be an offense.”

you fold your arms across your chest, conveying the helplessness of the situation. she pitches a reasonable argument, but it’s not going to withstand your parent’s persistence. you bend down and pat your upset niece on the head, lending her an apology that she simply huffs in response to. jeonghan knows his fate. he gives her a sweet hug and a kiss, then follows you upstairs.

“i’m sorry,” you murmur to jeonghan just before rounding the corner into the kitchen, “this should be the last time they ask for you.” to comfort him a little, you straighten out of the collar of his button-up flannel, and then rub your palm in lulling circles on his chest.

jeonghan shrugs, “don’t stress over it. at least if i ruin supper, we can get take-out.”

you laugh and push gently against his chest, “don’t ruin the supper, you idiot. just don’t touch anything.”

it feels good to see your boyfriend smile. though the last three days have been overwhelming, you discover that everyday there’s something to look forward to. for example, last night you stayed up late in the living room, drinking hot chocolate and watching old movies that you found beneath cobwebs in the basement. you even found an ancient tape of your parent’s wedding.

and tonight, you were looking forward to the house being completely empty. after the holiday dinner your family was heading to a party hosted down the street, as they did each year. you managed to avoid the entire situation by making up a false claim that you and jeonghan had already made plans to see the christmas light show on the opposite side of town.

jeonghan especially has been awaiting this night. to put it lightly – he hasn’t been able to fuck you in about a week, and while you’ve been tempted to have sex during the deep night when everyone else is asleep, you both know that neither of you will be able to keep quiet. you’ve been embarrassed enough in your lifetime. you don’t need your parents hearing your intimacy.

“hello?! sweetie, are you getting jeonghan?!” your father suddenly shouts from the kitchen.

you wear a fake smile on your mouth and shout back, “yes, daddy! we’re coming!”

grasping jeonghan’s wrist, you pull him into the kitchen, where your father turns around with an oven mitt on one hand, while the other holds a pair of giant, silver tongs. there are multiple pots bubbling on the stove, plates and bowls and cutlery organized on the dining table, while something appears to be cooking in the oven. jeonghan unenthusiastically rubs at his nape.

“you wanted me?” he says, clearly tensed.

“of course!” your father exclaims jubilantly, “i need you to get these spices out of the cupboard for me, so we can make one of my favourite sauces. you’ll love it, jeonghan. i guarantee it!”

your boyfriend creaks his neck around with the same fluidity as the tin-man, and gives you an awfully crooked smile, but you can only muffle your laughter into your fist.

supper became a nightmare, for multiple reasons. first off, jeonghan managed to burn your father’s favourite sauce, so he had to run to the store and purchase a much less palatable brand. secondly, your niece dropped the strawberry cake. thirdly, jeonghan was getting restless. you could tell he wanted everyone to leave the house for the holiday party as soon as possible.

you’re currently in the bathroom, washing the white and pink frosting from your niece’s tiny hands while an intense cleaning of crushed strawberries and pieces of cake transpires in the kitchen. jeonghan is next to you with a towel, ready to dry her hands. eventually, your niece is lead out of the bathroom by your sister, who decides it’s time for them to go home.

as soon as you bid your goodbyes and hugs, everyone starts to return to the dining table, though jeonghan grabs your elbow and yanks you into the bathroom.

he shuts the door, rakes a frustrated hand through his umber hair and immediately asks, “when is everyone leaving?”

“i-i don’t know,” you confess, “probably in the next hour.”

jeonghan grits his teeth. “i can’t wait an hour. i want you now.”

his hands fasten around your hips, squeezing them atop the fabric of your form-fitting black dress. he then pushes your back against the door, and his lips press warm, open-mouthed kisses against your neck. it’s incredibly difficult to resist him. you want to melt into his touch, especially when his teeth scrape softly against your powerful pulse. his hands start to push up your dress.

“n-no,” you grunt as butterflies rush to your abdomen, “j-jeonghan, we c-can’t—,”

his hand drifts up the tender inside of your thigh, where his index and middle finger come to press against your clit through your underwear. he rubs your flesh slowly, teasingly, attempting to sway your earlier conviction. his teeth nip at your ear, and something molten dampens between your legs when his tongue then licks at the firm bone of your jaw.

“don’t be like that,” jeonghan hums to you enticingly, “i can feel how wet you are, princess. you want me to fuck you now, hmm?” he pushes his fingers against the fabric, touching your slit.

“nn-not now,” you fumble with your words, “after dinner we ca—”

oh no.

you can hear your father shouting for you again. swallowing thickly, you attempt to flatten out the trembling in your vocal cords. he wants to know if you’re going to finish dinner.

“y-yes, daddy!” you yelp from the bathroom, “i’ll be there in a few minutes!”

for a short-lived moment, you lock eyes with jeonghan, and his gaze has morphed into something incredibly lustful and dark. his fingers slip beneath your underwear, and you inhale sharply upon feeling the digits stroke your folds, undeniably wet and glimmering with your own juices. he places the latter hand against the door, right next to your head, closing you in further.

jeonghan begins to push his index finger past your slit. your expression contorts heavily, like a crumpled tissue, and a tremor shoots through your legs, making them feel like jelly. the stretch is quite gentle and slight, but you feel the sensation deep in your core, to which jeonghan only increases your pleasure by slipping in his second finger. you moan softly, your walls clenching.

his knuckles stop him from pushing his slender digits any further. he curls just his fingertips, digging into your velvet-like flesh. jeonghan watches with delight as your mouth gapes open. he then leans in close to your ear, and you can practically hear the smirk in his words.

“you drive me crazy whenever you say that word, princess.”

his fingers attempt to loosen the tightness of your flesh. you can feel how he scissors them inside you, even the immoral manner in which your sweetness begins to drip down jeonghan’s hand. this kink of his – it was unbeknownst to you until this very moment, though it appears to have jeonghan wound up tremendously. admittedly, you think his kink is pretty damn hot.

you just told your family you’d be back at the table in a couple minutes, but that possibility has been continuously dwindling the second you announced it. maybe you could cum quickly if jeonghan allowed you, and nobody would suspect a thing. in order to do so, you’d have to abide to his desires. nothing satisfied you more than pressing your lips against his ear to whisper:

“oh? is that so? does it also drive daddy crazy when his princess does this?”

you grab jeonghan’s wrist and pull his hand away from your core. his fingers are sticky, glittering in your arousal that generously slicks the pretty digits. jeonghan watches you intensely as you bring his index and middle finger near your mouth, your pink tongue poking out to lap at your own sweetness. you close your lips around them and start to suckle, moaning softly in content.

jeonghan’s gaze is darker than any midnight sky. he simply can’t pry his eyes away from how you treat his fingers like his cock – swirling your tongue, slightly scraping your teeth, leaving messy trails of saliva and bobbing your head. additionally, the innocent fluttering of your eyelashes, as well as the fact that your family is down the hall, attempts to completely ruin him.

“you’re such a dirty fucking girl,” jeonghan growls lowly while pushing his fingers further into your warm, wet mouth, “what i’d give for this house to be empty. i’d bend you across every surface and fuck you like it’s the only thing you’re good for.”

you pull his fingers from your mouth and inhale a deep breath. a string of your spit catches the fluorescent light, leading from your swelled lips to jeonghan’s fingertips. he keeps his stare fixated on you while lowering his hand, moving it back beneath your dress; however, the playful nature of your expression is wiped clean when jeonghan rubs your own saliva into your clit.

he grins upon seeing your knees blatantly quiver, and your hand instinctually shoot out to grasp his shoulder. jeonghan lends the sensitive region plenty of attention. he massages the nerves and even slightly pinches it between his fingers. you yelp in a sudden jolt of pleasure, to which jeonghan has to shush you, reminding you to be quiet.

“keep your voice down, princess. i know you love it when daddy touches you like this, but you don’t want to give us away, now do you?”

“n-no, daddy.” you mewl at a pathetic, small volume.

“hmm, you’re so obedient,” jeonghan purrs while rubbing firm circles against your clit, “now, are you gonna cum, baby? at least let me taste you before we head back to the table?”

your eyes squeeze shut, and you nod your head. jeonghan slides his index and middle finger inside you again while his thumb brushes down sternly on your swollen rosebud. it’s nearly impossible for you to remain silent, especially with the sound your slick makes as jeonghan thrusts against your golden spot, abusing it repeatedly, encompassing your face in heat.

“o-ooh, ff-fuck,” you grip onto his shoulders sternly, your jaw unhinged, “m’gonna cum, daddy, please please please, m-make me cum, daddy, please—!”

at this point, neither you or jeonghan care about your reckless mewling. if anything, it fuels jeonghan to pleasure you more intensely, until the pressure in your abdomen is simply too much and your entire world sparkles as you contract around jeonghan’s long fingers. he crushes his mouth on top of yours, kissing you roughly, teeth clashing with tongue and bruised, glossy lips.

“does that feel good, princess?” jeonghan taunts as your hips attempt to ride his hand, “does it feel good when you cum on daddy’s fingers? hmm? like the dirty little girl you are?”

your head thumps against the door. everything that surrounds you spins at an indiscernible pace, and you feel nothing but the fiery thrum of pleasure that melts throughout your body. you can hardly muster the energy to whine a response. in fact, you almost don’t note that the boy had dropped onto his knees, his fingers latching around the waistband of your underwear.

he pulls the fabric a little way down your thighs, biting his lip upon seeing how much of your arousal had doused the pretty material. then, he’s bunching up your dress, your eyes rolling back into your skull the second jeonghan’s tongue buries against your pulsing core. he licks at you ravenously, eating you out to a point where you’re on the very brink of collapsing.

“fuck,” jeonghan curses as your fingers glide meekly through his thick, coffee hair, “you taste so sweet, princess.” he parts your folds and laps directly at your honeyed centre, twisting his warm, slippery tongue deep inside you, even suckles on your poor clit. you’re trembling as though you’re built of toothpicks. the dinner seems like a distant memory, something purely fictional.

“d-daddy, pl-please,” you whine, tugging in futile grasps against his scalp. jeonghan then pulls your underwear back up and helps you to stand properly.

“sorry, princess,” he apologizes, “you know i’d be tasting you all day if you let me.”

“o-oh, i know.” you respond, smiling at him faintly.

though you’re completely tended to (apart from the wet, uncomfortable underwear), you can’t even begin to imagine how badly jeonghan must be aching in his pants. however, you’ve been away from the dining room for way more than a few minutes. a prickling heat overwhelms your entire face. there’s no way the family didn’t hear your earlier moans and pleas.

“what the hell are we gonna do?” you huff, taking a seat on the toilet, allowing your legs a momentary rest. “everyone definitely heard us.”

“so?” jeonghan counters, unphased. “let’s just stay in here until they go to their party. they’re not gonna interrupt us at this point anyways.”

you’d almost slap the smirk from jeonghan’s satisfied face if your legs weren’t reduced to complete mush.

“besides, when we’re alone, you can scream for me as loud as you want.”

[possessivesuffix]

Update from my ongoing LIV distribution statistics digitization effort:

There’s nothing too surprizing in that the data from things like Anatolian, Tocharian, Sabellic or Old Prussian on one hand (too scantily preserved in the first place), Albanian and Armenian on the other (relative isolatedness + extensive contact influence) has sizable gaps in it

— but it is rather interesting to note that there is actually very little data for *sR- clusters even in some major branches of IE; the 11 roots with *sl- for example are represented by 9-10 reflexes in Germanic, but only two in Latin and none in the entirety of Indo-Iranian at all

There was the proposal a while back that Germanic (and PIE in general?) *sw- is actually partly from *s-gʷ-, *s-Gw- (visible even in LIV data: *gwel- ~ *gul- ‘verschlingen, schlucken’, found in numerous branches; *swel- ‘verschlucken’, only in Germanic and Avestan). I would wonder if there are some similar cases here, and e.g. *sl- is also partly from something like *s-d-? Or maybe there is rather a development of *sl- into something else than the expected *sr- in Indo-Iranian.

Mostly this kind of a thing however makes me think that current reconstructions of PIE phonotactics just pool together distinct phonotactics profiles from the different later areal divisions of the family, and that the real thing had much less complexity compared to what we currently reconstruct. Especially since there is also a clear general trend that heavier roots (e.g. *bʰreyHk-, *prewth₂-, *skreybʰ-) have fewer descendants than lighter ones (e.g. *h₁es-, *ḱey-, *mer-).

[hoodie-at-the-bar]

the non-irish irishman

I have a thing for an Irish accent. Declan’s bio said I needed a passport because he would need to return home at least once a year. I could be down with that.

I met Declan through Bumble, and we had some light back and forth messages before we decided to meet up. Same classic 2018 reason: he didn’t say anything offensive, and he was cute enough. 

He picked the sWel, a bar in Fremont that also served pizza. I can’t even remember if we had any pizza, I just remembered when he said “Hello” he was fully American. I’m not saying I was disappointed, but when a guy fills his bio with shamrock emojis, speaking of his Irish descent and traveling back just to find out he’s only been there a couple times - I felt a little misled. It’s one of those “I’m totally mixed race: I’m part German, Irish, Norweigian and part Native American.”

I’m sorry, but you’re pretty much a white dude.

No hate! I love me some white dudes - but don’t lead me to believe otherwise. I felt had! To me, “home” is where you grew up, or have spent a significant amount of time, or I don’t know, received mail for a certain length of time? But I wasn’t even mad, I was just thrown off. 

Declan was perfectly nice. He had a bandage on his forearm that looked like he had received treatment earlier. When I asked about it, he danced around the potential of having Crohn’s disease. I wanted to make him feel comfortable, so I told him I’ve had some experience with raising money through Team Challenge, a running program part of the Crohn’s & Colitis Foundation to find a cure. A cure for “crappy diseases” we would say. 

He raised his eyebrows and revealed he was too, joining Team Challenge. After talking some more, we learned his coach was a good friend of mine, and we then had some common ground. I respected this was new for him, so he was too shy to speak about the disease. I don’t know if that explains him giving fragments of a story, like his “strong Irish heritage” - I just wasn’t sure how to connect with him or get an idea as to what he was really thinking, or even what he was about.

After about an hour, it was time to go. Declan paid for our drinks - yes I remember now, we didn’t have any pizza - just drinks. I said good luck on his job interview (he was unemployed) and we hugged goodbye.

We messaged a few times thereafter, I checked in on how his interview went, he asked how my weekend was - normal core shaking conversation. We drifted off, and move don from there.

-October 2, 2018

Date # w/1 BMBL Declan Irish Suitors in 2018 YTD: 26 Dates in 2018 YTD: 31