#spring constant unit

[rajansmoorthy]

What is spring constant? - significance, formula, unit, dimension & numerical

WHAT IS SPRING CONSTANT ?           Hooke’s law of elasticity Spring constant(k) is the constant of proportionality or the amount of energy delivered proportionality in the Hooke’s law experimental trial. Stronger or stiffer springs will have higher spring constant. For a specific mass added to the spring, springs with higher the spring constant will have more modest(smaller) displacement than…

[fragilecapric0rnn]

its "was that an earthquake or did my upstairs neighbors just get home" hours

[patchs-curiosity-corner]

𝑳𝒆𝒕 𝑴𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒀𝒐𝒖 | 𝑺.𝑹. [𝟏]

𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝟏𝟓𝐭𝐡 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟕 - 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒉

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: A new member is added to the BAU soon after Reid’s kidnapping. She seems determined not to overlook him.

𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: angst, hurt/comfort, slight arguing, themes of drug addiction and self harm, referenced overdose, likely inaccurate depiction of drug addiction/withdrawal, Spencer and Reader being insecure.

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 2.5k

𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓’𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: Fair warning this could be horrible. It’s part one of hopefully six total oneshots stemming from the concept of ‘5 times you help Spencer Reid heal, and one time he helps you.’ So, heart attack levels of cheese. Largely inspired by my righteous fury when no one helped Reid with his addiction. I will do a tag list for anyone interested in being alerted when part 2 comes out! Not proofread.

𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

You and Spencer Reid don’t get along.

Maybe that’s the wrong way to put it; it would be more accurate to say that he doesn’t get along with you. You were brought on a month ago, 36 days 4 hours and 27 minutes had passed since you had first walked into the bullpen and given him one more person to deal with. It didn’t help that you were sweet, gentle and understanding in a way seemed to grate on his already frayed nerves. You’re 22, but only recently, recently enough to have just barely squeaked out the title of “youngest member to join the BAU” that had previously belonged to him. It’s a childish record, he’s a 25 year old man, and it shouldn’t affect him much less upset him, but it does. 

Your presence feels like a personal insult. Your arrival so soon after his kidnapping churns his stomach, makes him wonder if the team is questioning his capabilities as a profiler. Why else would they need to suddenly hire an extra person? Not-so-deep down he knows that logically, it probably had to do with the recent increase in the units budget. Nothing to do with him, but rather Hotch taking advantage of the opportunity to have another pair of boots on the ground during cases. None of that matters though, because Spencer doesn’t feel very logical right now.

He’s found more little ways to justify his distaste for you in the weeks since your arrival. The way you always seem to smile and nod along with his ramblings, despite the fact they’re not directed at you. You must be mocking him, he concludes, secretly patronizing him for his inability to shut up. Or the way you look at him after learning about his recent… ordeal with Tobias Hankel, the gentle sympathy in your eyes he willingly misinterprets as pity. He hates being pitied. He hates being patronized. He hates the analytical way you always seem to look at him, and he almost immediately convinces himself that above all: he hates you.

———

Something’s up with Reid.

You’d noticed it from day one, but it had been easy to disregard as growing pains. After all, with Emily having only joined months before you, you were sure there was going to be a bit of an adjustment period, especially when the sting of losing one of their previous teammates was still so fresh. You’d heard so many good things about Elle from everyone, and you’d be lying if it didn’t make you feel even a little bit insecure as the greenest among them.

It takes about a week for you to realize there’s something more to his behavior than awkward aloofness. The way he wears long sleeves even as the cool air of spring grows warmer, the near-constant twitch in his brow, and especially the way he seems to constantly fidget with those aforementioned sleeves, scratching nervously at his inner elbow. Even just the way his wiry fingers tighten around the strap of his bag, you can’t shake it.

Something is terribly wrong.

You try to remain casual, asking after him when he disappears into the bathroom for a touch too long, or when he takes a sick day that even as the newbie you know is out of character. Innocuous little questions like: “Is Reid alright?” or “Does he seem paler lately?” that gleaned no real answer from any of their teammates. It made you furious. Spencer was a part of their team, part of their family, regardless of his icy attitude towards you. So why wouldn’t any of them help him?

You watch him deteriorate over time, in the 36 days you’d spent on the team you’d been silently festering, mentally begging someone to do something, anything for Reid. Help him! your eyes beg Morgan, Hotch, Gideon, JJ, anyone. He’s going to die like this…

…but no one does, and enough is enough.

———

Spencer can’t eat, he can’t sleep either. Whenever he tries to his mind is filled with the memory of the horrible night he spent with Hankel, his crystal clear eidetic memory forcing him to relive that torture again and again the moment he closes his eyes. He knows there must be dark circles under his eyes, that his cheeks are likely sunken and pale, eyes rimmed red from lack of sleep. He’s certain the others must have noticed, there’s no way they couldn’t. But he tries to convince himself they haven’t, because if they had and no one had checked on him? …He doesn’t want to consider that reality.

The soft rapping of knuckles against his door stirs him out of his sleepless daze. It’s late, late enough that no one in their right mind would be awake right now, much less knocking on his door. In his drained state he heaves himself off the couch, plodding with weighted feet over to the door of his apartment. He doesn’t bother to check the peephole, if he did maybe he wouldn’t have been so startled by who he sees upon pulling open the door.

You.

A travel bag slung over your shoulder and a determined look set on your features. You both just stand there for a moment, until your voice breaks the silence.

“Hi.” It’s just one word, but it tugs at something inside him he can’t quite name.

“Hey.” He croaks back apathetically, or at least he tries to. Before he can say anything else or even question what you’re doing you push past him into his apartment, tossing your bag onto his kitchen island. “What the hell-“ Is all he manages to get out, irritation swelling in his chest as he scowls at your form, looking at him with arms crossed, fingers picking at the frayed edges of your sweater.

And just like that it’s quiet again. It’s his voice that breaks the silence this time, quiet and tired: “What are you doing here?”

“Make sure you don’t die, hopefully.” you murmur, your own voice cracked by anxiety and a frail attempt at humor. “Where are they?” That makes his jaw tighten, you both know what you’re talking about, and it causes long-suppressed frustration to boil up in his chest.

“You have no right to be here. You- you have no right to look through my things.” The words are gritted out through teeth clenched so tight you worry they may crack. It’s painful, watching him fight so hard against the help you’re trying to offer.

“Look, Spencer” you sigh, unable to hide the pained expression of your own face, “Hotch knows. I talked to him about it.” You brace for something, anything. Maybe shouting, you seriously doubted Reid would ever consider laying a hand on you but… drugs did funny things to those you would have thought you knew. “S-so you either let me help you, or I’ll be forced to report your current addiction to Strauss.” Your voice had wavered at the beginning, but the more you spoke the more conviction bled into your voice. Soon all the pent up anxiety and worry for your brilliant coworker was pushing you forward, fueling your words. “I won’t stand by Spencer, because if you keep going like this it’s not a matter of if but when it kills you, and that is the last thing I would ever want because you are too damn good for that.”

Reid glares at you, every ounce of misplaced anger in his system directed at you alone in a gaze far more furious than you or anyone thought him capable of. Then his shoulders slump, and that tired, worn appearance returns. He could deny it, claim you had no proof, but with no energy left in his tired, broken body- He didn’t have it in him to lie. When Spencer finally speaks it’s quiet, and reluctant.

“In the bathroom,” his voice croaks, “Inside the medicine cabinet.”

He would have expected you to immediately go there, to play the role of drill sergeant for his sudden makeshift rehab, but you don’t. Instead your own shoulders sag, and in a number of slow steps you cross the room to where he stands, wrapping your arms tightly around his middle. Spencer goes stiff at first, unable to process the sudden display of affection, why this girl seems to care so much about him when he’d been nothing but distant to her at best. After everything he’s been through though -even with his germaphobia- it’s impossible not to relax into the embrace, his own slender arms wrapping around you in return. It’s nice to be held again, he thinks.

“This is going to be awful.” You mumble against his chest, “A week and a half, that’s all Hotch could give us. Far as anyone’s concerned I had a family emergency and you’re on a mandated sabbatical.” It takes him a minute or so to process her words, stuck in the haze of affection after going to long without.

“…what are you talking about?” Reid asks, his voice is quiet. He can’t understand why you care so much, he just needs you to go away now, before he gets addicted to your presence as well. Before something happened to you and you left; like his Mother, like Elle.

“Getting you clean.” You say hesitantly, finally pulling away from him after what felt like a peaceful eternity. “Under normal circumstances quitting outright is a terrible idea, but-“ you swallow thickly- “you’re a federal agent, so there’s a clock ticking.”

“And your plan is…?” Spencer sighs, running a heavy hand through his hair and down his face. He tries to ignore the feeling that lingers, the ghost of you in his arms.

“Stay with you through the inevitable withdrawals, I hope.” The words are tentative, not as confidant as before while you pick nervously at the sleeve of your sweater. “The first thing I have to do is get rid of all the Dilaudid in this apartment.”

His body goes rigid again, this time with the flash of panic that goes through him at your words. Hands clenching and jaw tightening, the thought of losing the thing he’d come to rely on so desperately makes him terrified. Part of Spencer wants to say ‘no,’ to stop you- beg you not to let what gave him peace drain away… But he just can’t muster the energy, forced to watch in dejected silence as you conduct a thorough search of his apartment for the offending drug -his only comfort and companion in these past two months- and dispose of it, all in a few moments. Gone.

Once you’re finished, you settle yourself on his warm, comfortable couch, letting out a quiet sigh as you wave him closer. “C’mere.”

Reid lets himself be touched for the second time that night, accepting your offer and laying his head on your lap. He’s quickly hit with a hazy feeling as your fingers slide into his hair, playing gently with the chocolate strands and scratching lightly at his scalp.

“Are you angry with me?” You ask softly after a moment, concerned by the silent treatment he was currently giving you. Again he can’t lie to you, even compared to the unwillingness to admit his fear and anger. In an act of petty rebellion he refuses to look at you when he answers.

“…yes.”

“That’s alright.” He hears you reply, as soft and gentle as everything else you had been so far. “You can be angry, Spence.”

“Why are you even here?” He bites back, a storm of emotions behind his eyes as he finally looks up at your face: anger, sadness, confusion, fear. The brilliant ‘boy-genius’ reduced to an absolute mess.Your answer is just as easily spoken and simple as before: 

“Because I care about you.” Those five words ring in his head even as you continue. “Because despite how we started out you are an incredibly genuine person, Spencer, and probably one of the most brilliant minds I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.” Spencer shakes his head, for once lost for words. Why were you here, being so nice to him? Why did you even care in the first place when he had been so cold and hostile to you over the past month. 

“I don’t- you shouldn’t care.” He spits out, turning away from her. The action feels petulant.

“But I do.” You say a hint of amusement in your voice despite the circumstances. “And you can’t stop me from caring.”His face feels hot, and his jaw clenches again as he rolls back over to hide his face in your stomach. Reid mumbles in a voice almost too low to hear: 

“You’re frustrating.” It makes you laugh.

“Don’t worry Reid,” you say through your laughter, “the feeling is definitely mutual.”

———

The next week is just as brutal as you had both been expecting.

Spencer didn’t know what he expected drug withdrawal to be like. He’d read plenty of textbooks sure but they did nothing to prepare him for a firsthand experience. The only way he can think of to describe it is pure, unadulterated misery. His body struggles without consistent doses of Dilaudid to keep him going, it’s evident he had become much more dependent than he realized in a short amount of time. He can’t eat, he feels violently sick. Too hot one moment and freezing the next with his emotions following much the same kind of roller coaster.

You stay through all of it, keeping him comforted during panic attacks and soothing his fevers with a cool washcloth as you try to get him to drink just a little more water, even if it may come back up minutes later. You’re tired, exhausted even, and yet you won’t leave Spencer’s side for more than a second. It’s easy to endure the moments of anger he has, shouting and cruel words flung in your direction are hardly any price at all if it means he might recover faster. He doesn’t understand how you take it, all the snapping, screaming and crying. Reid takes out every anxiety and fear he has on you, and still you remain in the end, ready to let him fall into your arms again and cry like a child.

He feels guilty, ashamed even in this state. An overwhelming feeling of helplessness weighs heavy on his heart, but little by little, things do get better, even if he doesn’t notice at first.

It must be the 8th day of this hell when he realizes that slowly, far too gradually for him to notice: things have returned to something oddly adjacent to normal. Sitting at his kitchen table with a cup of warm honey tea in his hands, watching you hum along to the radio while you prepare breakfast… Spencer almost feels human again. Things weren’t perfect by any means, his hands still trembled, the ghosts left behind by the worst of it all still tugged at his mind, a familiar voice begging him for just one more hit. But the voice is tiny now, easier to ignore. It was strangely peaceful, in fact, the way he could sit at this table and observe the domestic scene of you cooking breakfast in his kitchen. His chest warms pleasantly, and for what feels like the first time in years:

Spencer can finally breathe.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

more words for worldbuilding: time (pt. 4)

attribute of duration: ad infinitum, all-time, annual, brief, chronic, concise, constant, continuous, endless, eternal, evanescent, everlasting, fleeting, for keeps, immortal, indefinitely, interminable, laconic, lifelong, long, long-standing, momentary, never-ending, old, ongoing, perennial, perpetual, running, short, short-lived, steady, through, timeless, transient/transitory, unbroken, undying, unflagging, unrelenting, whirlwind

attribute of time: actual, afterward/afterwards, almost, antediluvian, at, behind the times, colonial, concurrent, dilatory, due, early, ever, extemporaneous or extemporary, felicitous, foremost, for keeps, forward, from scratch, gradually, hence, hurried, initial, instantly, irregular, just about, lastly, later, leisurely, meanwhile, narrowly, next, nocturnal, old-fashioned, once and for all, on the double, overdue, pell-mell, perpetual, posthaste, preceding, precipitous/precipitate, previous, primarily, primary/prime, primitive, pristine, promptly, quickly, rapidly, right, sharp, simultaneous, sudden, summarily, swiftly/swift, temporal, thereafter, ultimate, untimely, up-to-date, while, yet

date: anniversary

day: afternoon, anniversary, date, ephemeral, journal, morning, nightly, noon, time

definite period: date, furlough, instant, midnight, noon, sabbatical, shift

division of: day, second

duration: brevity, continuation, endure, extent, halt, remain

frequency: rapidity, sometimes

hour: afternoon, morning, noon, time

indefinite period: age, anytime, bout, breath, convenience, eon, era, future, hiatus, infinity, interlude, interruption, lapse, leisure, lull, millenium, moment, past, period, recess, respite, round, semester, space, spell, stint, suspension, tour, vacation, while

minute: flash, jiffy, tick, wink

month: almanac, gestation, moon, time

part of a day: afternoon, dawn, daybreak, dusk, gloom, morning, nightfall, sunset, twilight

past or future: following, past, previous, succeeding/successive

proximity: immediate, now, succeeding/successive

relative order: follow, succeed

season: autumn, spring, summer, winter

specific: anniversary, date, daybreak, instance, point, yesterday, zero hour

stage of existence: administration, childhood, day, generation, millenium, phase, stage, tenure

stage of life form: adolescence, babyhood, cradle, landmark, lifetime, maternity, prime, spell, youth

temporal association: anachronism, dispatch, eternity, following, haste, past, precedence, previous, rush, succeeding/successive

temporal object: anytime, time

time relative to present: abaft, after, ahead, amid/amidst, antecedent, back, beforehand, belated, bygone, coincident, current, destined, during, ensuing, eventual, fated, first, fore, former, forthwith, historical, immediately, impending, infant/infantile, just, momentarily, nearing, newly, once, present, previous, prior, recent, shortly, soon, subsequent, succeeding/successive, ultimate, until, yet

unit of time measure: day, minute, wink

within a time period: epoch, interval, semester, spell, stretch, while

year: almanac, annual, time, yearly

NOTE

Excerpted from Roget's 21st Century Thesaurus, Updated and Expanded 3rd Edition, in Dictionary Form, edited by The Princeton Language Institute.

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary.

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[crossfandomslut]

At Peace in Your Fire pt. 3

part 1 and part 2

Summary: Hewn City bs and lots of Eris screen time haha

Pairing: ErisxArcheron!reader

Word Count: 4k

Notes: I am so so excited that people are liking this story so far !!! I love all your comments and am so appreciative of the likes and reblogs ! For this chapter, I did use a big chunk of the direct dialog from ACOWAR for the Hewn City meeting with Eris, because I think its important context and I wasn't about to rewrite SJM's mastery. So disclaimer, I do not own any of SJM's characters or speak for her or them in anyway ! This is just for shits and gigs and I hope y'all enjoy this chapter ! Also please let me know how we feel about the Eris POV :)

Amber eyes and a pale face littered in freckles, framed by fiery red hair,  stared wildly at her. Eyes full of fear and confusion contorted his beautiful features. He was stunning, truly. Rakish, almost lanky, but toned muscles rippled under his well-fitted clothes as he fell to the ground gripping and clawing at his throat, trying to force air back into his lungs. Y/n did that to him. She made another being feel that pain and suffering. But he was hurting her sister. He was hurting Feyre. Y/n didn’t know why she had to remind herself of that fact so often to justify her actions that day on the frozen lake, but she had fallen asleep thinking about the male every night since.

Now that Feyre was home, things started moving pretty quickly. Hybern was making moves in the Spring Court to bring down the wall to the human lands, and thus putting Prythian on the brink of another war. Everyone was hard at work planning, coordinating, and scheming, but Y/n was told to just keep training. She wanted to be useful when the time came, so she was going to need to hone her powers and her physical abilities. She finally got to be a part of the plans when Rhys announced at family dinner that everyone would be taking a trip to Hewn City.

Y/n wasn’t afraid per-say, but she wasn’t sure what to expect. Feyre had told her that Amarantha’s ‘lair’ for lack of a better term, was designed after the city. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see that firsthand after hearing about everything that Feyre and Rhys went through. She was going to put on a brave face though. It’s not about her. It was about helping this court, her new family, and potentially the fate of the world as they knew it.

She studied herself in the mirror after selecting the right dress. Rhys had told her to wear whatever color she wanted, but she knew that this visit to Hewn City was all about appearances and she needed to help show that they were a united front. She had never been fond of black. It always looked so good on her twin, but Y/n preferred softer, neutral tones that helped her blend into the trees and underbrush. Tonight however, she would step out of her comfort zone. Adapt. Her constant mantra. So, she studied herself in the mirror, eyes gliding along her body that was no longer too thin, but now tones and showing real muscle. Her hips were wider, her arms and thighs thicker. A body to fill out such a fine dress. It was a floor length gown, as black as obsidian. It had see-through long sleeves and a modest neckline. Nothing flashy, she didn’t need to draw attention to herself, she just needed to blend in and help silently from the dais. But as she looked at herself, she thought that she looked quite pretty. She always thought she was the most plain of her sister, even now as Fae, but tonight, Y/n would try to wear this dress with confidence and that casual coolness that came so naturally to all the others.

 Eris’ POV

 That beautiful female on the frozen lake haunted him every waking and sleeping hour of Eris’ life. The way she literally took his breath away. If it weren’t for her power actually stealing the air from his lungs, her beauty alone would have stopped him in his tracks. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his many centuries of existence. He could help but laugh when she stormed up to him in the Winter Court wearing little more than pajamas. He shouldn’t have laughed. If the Illyrians thought she was important enough to bring along, he shouldn’t have underestimated her. He saw her face every time he closed his eyes. Her y/e/c orbs staring straight into his soul. It ratted him, which not much did anymore.

Eris hated Hewn City and he hated Keir. He was so tired of playing these court games and scheming behind the scenes. He knew Rhys liked to make an entrance, but he was growing bored and restless. Until he saw her. She was just as beautiful as the first time he saw her, but now, dressed in a night court black gown, she didn’t glow like she did when she was comfortable in her chestnut brown pants and a forest green sweater. Who is she?

Y/n’s POV

Stood atop the dais behind the single throne that Feyre and Rhys shared, Y/n scanned the room. Doing her best to keep her face carefully neutral, she stood there while Rhys addressed the court introduced Feyre as their High Lady, and coolly demanded that they kneel. After a long pause, the whole room on their knees before them, he released them to enjoy the festivities.

A man with blonde hair, that Y/n identified as Keir, Mor’s father only by blood, approached the dais. Then, the last person she expected to see approached as well. The male from the lake, with the glowing amber eyes and hair that reminded her of a maple trees falling red leaves. She swore her heart stopped beating when he made eye contact with her as he bowed. Not to Rhys or Feyre, but to her.

“Keir. Eris. So kind of you to join us. But don’t be so eager to get our meeting over with, go enjoy the evening. Azriel’s shadows will find you when we’re ready.” Rhys slid his bored gaze over each male and waved a hand in dismissal.

Eris. That was his name. Eris Eris Eris. The name clanged around her brain, and she had to choke back the desire to know how it felt on her tongue. She knew his name now and it made falling asleep to picturing his face feel like she was violating him in some way. She knew she shouldn’t have been thinking about him in the first place. He tried to kill her sister, or bring her back to his father who was a known tyrant and took brutality to another level. She should definitely not be thinking about him. But there he was. And gods damn he was even more devastating than she remembered. For starters, he wasn’t covered in blood, and she wasn’t choking the daylights out of him. But more than that, he had this air about him. He exuded a confidence that was purely Fae male and came from centuries of a life lived. Then she remembered the way that fire had danced from his fingertips. He could wield flame like an extension of his own body. It was beautiful. Y/n once again had to reprimand herself, because those same beautiful flames coming from his long, calloused fingers, were causing harm and pain to her own sister. That light and radiance that fire had was diminished in the context of it’s use. How dare he make Y/n fear something she loved so dearly? How dare her use fire, which is the root of all life, use it to hurt and destroy?

Y/n was snapped out of her daydreaming by the sound of someone clearing their throat. She realized Eris had not broken eye contact with her and was now starring at her expectantly. With no small amount of embarrassment, she realized she was probably just standing here gazing into his eyes while her whole family stood there and watched. He cheeks heated and Eris’ smirk grew.

“I asked you for a dance, lady…?”

“Y/n, you do not have to dance with him. Honestly, you don’t even have to talk to him.” Rhys said.

“Y/n...” She hated how much she liked her name falling from his lips. ���Just once dance, Lady Y/n, and I’ll share what I know of the Spring Court in our meeting this evening.” Still smirking, he held out a hand.

“Fine.” Y/n unceremoniously slapped her hand into his. Just because she was practically vibrating with anticipation of being so close to the male, didn’t mean he needed to know that. And neither did her family. For all anyone else knew, she hated Eris as much as they all did. She certainly should if she knew what was good for her. Gods, what was wrong with her!?

That smirk turned into a cocky grin as Eris led Y/n to the dance floor. He tugged on her hand still held in his and pulled her close to his body. Not pressing against her, but close enough that she could feel the heat coming off his body. He was unnaturally hot being a fire wielder, but Y/n never minded the heat. Even found herself having to hold back from pressing every inch of her against the warmth. He stood close to a foot taller than her, and she had to tilt her head up to lock eyes with him. She was met with amber eyes dancing with amusement, and he was met with a cold hard glare.

Eris blew out a soft laugh and asked, “why, little dove, do you hate me so much? We don’t even know each other yet.”

Y/n tried not to linger on the ‘yet’ as she leveled him an incredulous glare. “You mean aside from the fact that you chased my sister across a frozen lake, blasting fire at her and then restrained her with said fire?”

He had the audacity to laugh again. “Yes, Y/n, aside from that. I would very much like to know you. You hating me makes that slightly difficult.”

Gods that smirk. Y/n was trying to think straight as he floated her around the dance floor like it was nothing. She hoped he didn’t realize she was using her magic to keep herself from tripping over her own feet or stepping on his. He was such a beautiful dancer. And the truth was, she wanted to know him too. But instead she said, “you use your gift of fire to hurt others. You use that delicate flame to inflict pain and fear.” She desperately hoped her voice was staying steady, but then he scoffed at her and the leash she had on her temper slipped from her fingers. She feels her voice raising and her cheeks heating as she goes on. “Fire is not meant to cause pain, Eris!”

He halts their movement. That was enough to make her blink and remember where they were. Her eyes and her voice soften as she tries to look straight into his soul and speak directly to it. Her hands drift to hold both of his in her much smaller ones. “Fire is beautiful and lovely and soft and warm. Fire is nurturing and breathes life into everything. Fire is a gentle protector and a kind companion. I am so sorry someone told you otherwise and that you’ve been told to use it as a weapon.” He just blinked at her for what felt like an eternity. Suddenly the music stops, and the room erupts into applause for the musicians. “Eris…?” Y/n sys his name as gently as she can, but he pulled away from her so fast and muttered an ‘excuse me’ before he turned on his heels and practically ran out of the ball room.

Y/n stands there until someone accidently bumps into her and jolts her out of her head and back into her body. Slowly, she makes her way back to the dais staring at her feet, still not totally present. She looks up when she reaches her family only to see them all with a hand over their mouth to choke back a laugh. “What?” Y/n’s brow scrunches and she tilts her head in confusion.

Cassian is the first to break, laughing so loud a few partygoers jump and glasses shatter. The next is Mor, and finally, Feyre asks through tears in her eyes and a barely concealed giggle, “What the hell did you say to him!?”

Y/n just took her spot on the dais next to Feyre and Rhys as they laughed and laughed together and resumed staring at the floor trying not to be eager to see Eris at the meeting later this evening.

Eris’ POV

He had to get out of there. Had to get out of that room that felt too similar to under the mountain and away from that female who was far too gentle and kind to be anywhere near him. ‘The Mother must really hate me’ he thinks as he reaches the city’s edge and can finally breathe again. He knew the shadowsinger would find him soon and call for the meeting, but before then he needed to regain his composure. Y/n didn’t need to use her power to stop his breathing and make his heart race.

He took a few deep breaths and the shaking in his hands and the ache in his chest eased slightly. His mind drifted to the feeling of her in his arms, how well they danced across the floor together and how lovely her hands felt pressed to his chest. ‘Fire is not meant to cause pain’ Y/n had said. The words had come from her mouth with such passion and determination that he almost believed her. He wanted to. Gods did he want to believe her and her kind words and her cold calloused hands that soothed his burning skin. There was no way for Y/n to have known his father had struck him across the chest just this morning. A show of power after his father bested him during sparring. The punishment for winning would have been far more gruesome. Y/n’s cold unassuming hand placed directly over where his father’s had left the flesh raw and painful. Her lovely hand placed there while she looked him in the eyes and told him that fire wasn’t meant to cause pain and that she was sorry. He couldn’t believe she was real, and his need to know her just grew tenfold. But he wasn’t good enough for her. He wasn’t good. He should keep his distance and save her the misery of his company again.

Eris was dreading the mask he would dawn in this meeting and the monster she would think of him as afterward. A shadow wrapped around his wrist and tugged. It was time. Eris schooled his features into the calm, bored, arrogant heir, winnowed back into the halls of the palace, and sauntered his way into the meeting.

Y/n’s POV

The meeting was nothing of what Y/n expected. Eris came in, and straight up avoided eye contact with her. She couldn’t lie, that stung a bit.

He sat across from Rhys, but looked to Mor with a knowing glint in his eye and said, “you look well, Mor.”

“You don’t speak to her,” Azriel said softly.

Eris gave a bitter smile. “I see you’re still holding a grudge.”

Y/n was so confused.

“This arrangement, Eris,” Rhys spoke, “relies solely upon you keeping your mouth shut.”

Eris huffed a laugh. “And haven’t I done an excellent job? Not even my father suspected when I left tonight.”

Feyre glanced between her mate and Eris. “How did this come about?”

Apparently, Feyre was just as lost as you were.

Eris explains that he caught Azriel’s shadows snooping around the Autumn court after they returned from the frozen lake, and that his brothers ‘mysteriously’ forgot about Feyre’s powers. He said that he had taught himself a few things about daemati powers and how to block them out. He says that he didn’t tell his father because he knew that Baron would want to hunt Feyre down and kill her for his belief that she stole part of his power. He doesn’t believe that Baron knows just how much of a threat Hybern is, but that he wont join forces with them if he finds out about Feyre’s powers.

“So what’s the asking price for you silence then, Eris?” Mor demanded. “Another little bride for you to torture?”

All the blood drained from Y/n’s face as her eyes darted between Mor and Eris. Her head hurt from trying to put this puzzle together without having all the pieces. She knew that Mor’s father had tried to marry her off and Mor took control of her own fate by sleeping with Cassian, but she hadn’t known the male she was sold off to was supposed to be Eris. The pounding in her head did not cease.

Something flickered in Eris’ eyes. “I don’t know who fed you those lies to begin with, Morrigan,” he said with vicious calm. “Likely the bastards you surround yourself with.”

A sneer from Azriel. And a sharp intake of breath from Y/n. If he had looked at her she would have seen the brief flash of guilt in his eyes.

Mor snarled, rattling the glasses. “You never gave any evidence to the contrary. Certainly not when you left me in those woods.”

“There were forces at work that you have never considered,” Eris said coldly. “And I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. Believe what you want about me.”

“You hunted me like an animal,” Feyre cut in. “I think we will choose to believe the worst.”

Y/n didn’t know how to feel. Couldn’t think of anything to say or do, so she just dropped her gaze to the floor. She shouldn’t come to Eris’ defense. She just met the male and apparently her gut feeling about him was wrong. Her family hated him and he hurt Mor. Something didn’t feel right, but what would she even say? There were literal centuries of bad blood between her found family and this male who for some gods forsaken reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about. This arrogant, spiteful, male who attacked her sister! Not just Feyre it seems, but Mor as well. Even if he didn’t have direct hand in harming her, he didn’t help her. Why didn’t he help her? Her head was still spinning trying to sort through all these conflicting feelings. She felt like she needed to come to Eris’ defense, but why? Maybe because she felt deep down in her soul that no one ever had. She could feel that he was good, so why were his actions such the opposite? The pounding in her head wouldn’t stop and she felt as if she might faint. The conversation starting to sound like they were underwater.

“I was given and order. And sent to do it with two of my…brothers.”

“And what of the brother you hunted down alongside me? The one whose lover you helped to execute before his eyes?” Feyre accused.

Eris slammed a hand on the table, which did nothing to help Y/n headache. No one seemed to notice her flinch and start to sway. “You know nothing about what happened that day. Nothing.”

“Indulge me,” was all Feyre said in response.

“How do you think he made it to the Spring border,” Eris’ voice had returned to its normal low and sharp nature. “I wasn’t there- when they did it. Ask him. I refused. It was the firs and only time I have denied my father anything. He punished me. And by the time I got free… They were going to kill him too. I made sure they didn’t. Made sure Tamlin got word- anonymously- to get the hell over to his own border.” Eris picked at a stray thread on his jacket, “not all of us were as lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”

Sharp, stabbing, shooting pain ran through Y/n’s head and it was so surprising that she let out a yelp as she dropped to the floor, and everything went black. The last thing she remembered hearing was the voice of Eris’ panicked voice crying her name.

Taglist: @abysshaven @myromanempiree @lilah-asteria @96jnie @ivy-34 @minaethrym

[beauty-funny-trippy]

Even now, in the 21st century, a rising, hate-filled bigotry reaches into the past and has revived the cruelty of archaic, Bronze Age laws.

The Weaponization of Laws— In Africa, 31 countries have criminalized consensual same-sex sexual activity, despite it being a clear violation of human rights. Amnesty International is calling on African states and governments to comply with international or regional human rights laws and basic principles of human dignity and equality. “Across Africa, LGBTQ persons find themselves contending with a disturbing regression of progress. ...Arbitrary arrests and detentions have become all too common, treating the mere act of being oneself as a criminal offense. In some places, the death penalty looms as a terrifying spectre, a brutally unjust punishment for simply being who they are. We face what can only be described as a deepening crisis of homophobic lawfare.” said Tigere Chagutah of Amnesty International.

Bishop asks Trump to Show Mercy to LGBTQ People and Migrants @ashleymilesphil, an African lgbtq refugee, puts the Bishop’s call for mercy into perspective: "The recent plea from a U.S. bishop asking President Trump to show mercy to LGBTQ migrants is a powerful reminder of the critical need for compassion and humanity in addressing the struggles of queer communities worldwide. While this call is directed toward the United States, it resonates deeply with us LGBTQ refugees in East Africa who face unimaginable persecution simply for existing. "In our countries, being LGBTQ is illegal and often punishable by imprisonment or death. We live under constant threat not only from the law but also from hostile communities, violent attacks, and systemic discrimination that leaves us without shelter, healthcare, or basic human dignity. Many of us were forced to flee our homes and families, only to find that refugee camps like Kakuma and Gorom offer no true sanctuary. Here, we are silenced, beaten, and in some cases, killed for daring to be ourselves. "We urge the global community, including faith leaders, activists, and allies, to amplify our voices and call for justice. Mercy is not enough if it does not come with action. We need decriminalization, protection, access to basic services, and the chance to live without fear. "Please do not forget us LGBTQ refugees in East Africa who are still crying out for solidarity. We need your voices to speak up for us. "Together, we can call on governments, organizations, and individuals to move beyond mercy to meaningful action. Let’s strive for a world where no one is criminalized for love, and every LGBTQ person, no matter where they are, has the right to live in freedom and dignity." Signed, ~LGBTQ Refugees in East Africa Please consider showing support for the refugees in East Africa by donating at the link below. They may be thousands of miles away, but we, all of us, are bound together by our humanity, not by our proximity. Every single donation, no matter how small, helps.

If you can't donate, please consider sharing this post on your blog. Because Human Rights do not simply arise by themselves. They spring from actions, and the will of individuals, like us, to make them happen. My sincere THANK YOU for taking the time to read this. And perhaps now is a good time for those of us not living in fear, to feel a moment of quiet gratitude.

[beegomess]

Hearts woven in threads || Paul Lahote x Fem!Reader

A/N: English is not my native language, so I apologize in advance for any typos. I hope you enjoy!

masterlist || Hearts woven in threads

Chapter 05

Normality seemed to return little by little - or the closest to what your new life could offer. Months had already passed since its first transformation, and now, it was no longer something out of the ordinary. Your body had learned to deal with impulses and changes, and with time, the mind too. Becoming a shey was almost instinctive now. It was like breathing. As if that gigantic four-legged animal had always lived inside you - you were only sleeping until recently.

His friendship with Kim also flourished during this time. The coexistence brought a lightness that you didn't even know you needed, even if there was still a space saved for Leah. She was missed, even when you tried not to think about it.

Paul, on the other hand, was a constant. You two slept together almost every night, sometimes in your house, sometimes in his, and when, for any reason, you needed to sleep apart, it was as if a part was missing. And if at first the instinct already united them strongly, now the loop seemed even more powerful - more hungry.

The connection between you has become urgent, almost wild at times. The imprinting seemed to have awakened something primitive, uncontrollable. You could barely stay away. The kisses lasted longer, the touches were more accurate. And on the nights when the house was only yours, it was as if the whole world disappeared.

Your mother seemed to have accepted that new phase of her life without many questions. Maybe because she don't know exactly what to ask. But her absences became more and more frequent - unexpected trips to visit family members, weekends away, messages left on the refrigerator door with vague return dates. Sometimes, it seemed too convenient. But you chose not to investigate.

As for the pack, you had found your place - or almost. The relationship with others was good, natural. Quil, Embry and even Jared seemed to have accepted his presence with surprising ease. But even so, there was something in the way Sam conducted everything that made you a little uncomfortable sometimes. Nothing open. Just a subtle annoyance, between the lines, a restlessness that you couldn't ignore. You didn't always agree with his methods, but for now, you preferred to keep it quiet. Maybe because you didn't know exactly what to do with this feeling yet.

And then, the day of your graduation arrived.

The typical heat of spring was already mixed with the first touches of summer, leaving everything with that end-of-cycle aroma. The school was decorated in an exaggerated way - balloons and colorful banners, the students wearing scholarships with faces that oscillated between relief and fear of what came next. You saw everything with a certain distance. So many things had changed. So many things were still changing. But there was something special about being there, even so.

Kim looked radiant, laughing with the group of friends she managed to gather around - and of course, from time to time, her eyes searched for Jared, who still oscillated between keeping a safe distance and surrendering to what he felt for her. You didn't really know how he could resist. Maybe it was fear, but Kim deserved more, and deep down, you knew she knew that too.

The ceremony passed in a blur of applause, speeches and camera flashes. The real celebration, however, would come later. Still that night, the school would organize a party for the graduates, something traditional and always chaotic. You would go, of course. Kim too. It was the least after all.

The spring sky still kept a remnant of reddish sun, dyeing the clouds with orange and pink tones while the crowd of students and family members began to disperse from the ceremony. The freshly cut grass in the school yard was all marked by heels and dress shoes.

While walking with Kim towards the entrance of the gym, where the party would begin, she laughed at something she told about how her mother tried to fix her dress with hot glue at the last minute.

- I swear I thought I was going to go on stage and fall apart a whole - she said between laughs, already holding a plastic punch cup.

You also laughed, lighter than you expected to feel that night. But the next moment, a chill ran down the back of his neck. And it wasn't because of the warm wind.

You knew before you even saw him.

- Hey. - his voice came low, close to your ear. - Can I steal you for a moment?

You turned around and found him there, with a half-crooked tie and that half-smile he wore when he was trying to look carefree, but there was something urgent hidden in the bottom of his eyes.

Kim looked from one to the other and, without saying anything, just nodded, walking away with a curious smile on his face.

Paul gently pulled you by the arm, guiding you to a corner further away from the courtyard, between the parked cars and a set of low trees that surrounded the place. The music of the party began to echo from the gym.

- Are you going to tell me that you can't stay away from me even for an hour? - you provoked, raising an eyebrow.

He let out a nasal laugh.

- Well... that too. But that's not why I came to talk.

His tone became more serious, although the smile had not yet completely disappeared.

- Sam called. It seems that he felt something at the northern edge of the reserve. It may be a mistake, but... you know how he is with these things.

You sighed, your shoulders falling a little.

- Really? Now?

Paul tilted his head, approaching a step.

- For a second, I considered going without you... - He said, pretending to think - But then I imagined your drama for being away from me for more than five minutes. And I decided to spare you from this.

You narrowed your eyes, trying to hold a smile.

- How attentive of you.

- I know. - he raised his eyebrows, theatrical. - I'm a responsible boyfriend. Which, by chance, looks terribly good in a suit.

You laughed, pretending to roll your eyes, but you couldn't help but agree.

- Well... it doesn't seem like we have much choice. So let's go soon.

You accompanied him to the others. Quil and Embry were already waiting near the edge of the courtyard. Jared was a few meters away, saying goodbye to Kim, who was now staring at the floor with her arms crossed, clearly trying to look strong.

You approached her slowly.

- Kim...

She looked up at the same time, reading everything on your face.

- I know - she said before you could open your mouth. - It's the world ending again.

You pursed your lips, feeling the tightness in your chest.

- I swear I didn't want to go...

Kim snorted a laugh, but it didn't look exactly fun.

- You promised me you would dance until you fell. I'm wearing heels because of you, even.

You held her hand.

- And I'll comply. It just won't be today.

She hesitated, looking over her shoulder where Paul was waiting. Then, he looked at you again.

- Okay. But you'll make it up to me. With a real party. Just us.

You smiled.

- The most iconic possible.

She laughed lighter this time, her face softening.

- It's agreed.

You hugged each other quickly, before it got too emotional. When you walked away, Kim stood there, watching you walk towards the boys. Paul was waiting for you with his hands in his pockets and a skewed smile. When you got close, he passed his arm around your shoulders automatically, his fingers sliding over the skin of your bare back.

Kim kept standing still, watching.

Paul said something to you, and you turned your face laughing, your eyes shining in a way she didn't see often. It was as if a bubble involved you two - everything else seemed just like noise.

She felt the weight of that intimacy like a cold touch in her ribs. It was as if she saw what she could have, what she might feel with Jared - and she didn't.

The forest looked darker that night, as if even the moon had chosen to hide. The branches rusped in the wind, and the air carried a subtle but continuous tension. The patrol was silent, almost automatic - each one following the designated trail, attentive to any unusual sign. But in the end, it wasn't a big deal.

No new traces. No strong smell. No threat.

When the patrol was closed, you and Paul decided not to go back to Emily's house with the others. The lights in his house were still off, and the street seemed even quieter than usual. It was already dawn when you came in.

The door closed behind you with a deaf snar. The house plunged again into silence, broken only by Paul's steps right behind you.

You dropped the keys on the sideboard and didn't even bother to turn on the lights. You already knew exactly where everything was.

He felt when Paul approached from behind, the heat of his body touching his even before his hands touched his waist. And it was fast - there was no hesitation, just need. He turned you in front of you with a firm pull, the eyes burning in yours, the heavy breathing still from the race in the patrol shift.

You opened your mouth to say something - maybe a provocation - but you didn't have time. His mouth took yours as if it were the only way to calm the tension that throbbed between the two of you. And maybe it was.

The kiss was voracious. There was nothing sweet, nothing calm. Paul pushed you until he touched the corridor wall, and his body went along with pleasure, as if he was waiting for it from the moment he appeared on his side in the forest.

His hands were already under his blouse, and yours was pulling his T-shirt over his head. The clothes were taken off as if it burned.

- Shower? - you managed to ask between one kiss and another, already panting, when he pressed his forehead on yours.

- Now? - he gave a half smile.

You didn't answer. He took him by the hand and pulled him in a hurry, the two almost tripping on the way. They went up the stairs shrugging, laughing low between stolen kisses. He grabbed her before you reached the bathroom door and turned her back against the corridor wall, his firm hands squeezing her thigh, pulling her leg up, fitting her hip tightly to yours.

The next second, the bathroom door was opened with force. In a few steps, you were already inside, getting rid of the last pieces of clothing on the cold floor. Paul turned the shower register with one hand, and with the other pulled you under the water without giving you a chance to retreat.

The hot water fell on the two as a relief and a provocation at the same time. The temperature contrasted with the impatience with which his hands slid through his body, as if he wanted to memorize everything again - as if he hadn't already done it dozens of times.

You were completely immersed in the fog that formed in your mind when he turned your body firmly, leaving you with your back to him, his chest hot and solid glued to your wet back.

Paul's mouth ran down his shoulder with precise, hungry bites, leaving small marks that the water did not carry. His lips met your neck and collarbone, and you gasped, your eyes closing when you felt one of his hands rise to grab your breast, while the other slowly explored between your legs.

You grabbed his arm instinctively, your fingers digging lightly into the skin of the forearm that wrapped your waist. It wasn't exactly to stop him - it was as if you needed something to hold on to, a point of support in the middle of the storm that his touch caused. His fingers slipped into soft scratches, which intensified as the pleasure increased, marking him as much as he marked you.

Each touch was like an electric current that ran down her spine and exploded in low heat in her womb. His body molded to his, looking for more, asking for more, even without words.

His head fell softly on Paul's shoulder, surrendering without resistance. His eyes closed, his lips parted, and a sigh escaped the second he pulled you even more against him.

- Fuck - you gasped in a hoarse whisper, more for the intensity than for the words themselves.

Paul just smiled against your skin, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you. One of the hands went up slowly until it wrapped your neck firmly, your fingers pressing with the exact care of those who know your every limit. The other hand went to his hip, firm, determined - not to prevent, but to anchor, keep you exactly where he wanted.

And you already knew what would come after that.

His body responded even before his mind could reason, his legs almost failing with the weight of desire that accumulated too fast, too strong.

You bit your lip hard, trying not to moan too loudly, but it was useless. Paul moved behind you with precision and hunger, and the muffled sound of the colliding bodies mixed with the constant sound of water hitting the tile. It was raw and intense.

His fingers still squeezed his arm, but now in pure surrender. Sometimes they slipped to the tile or went up to the back of his neck, pulling their wet hair, seeking control where there was none.

And even when it was all over and you stood there, panting, the water still running, he didn't move away.

Paul kept you leaning against his chest, your arm wrapping around your waist, your chin resting on top of your head as if you still didn't want to leave there. As if even after the satiated body, the instinct still asked for more.

You took a deep breath, trying to recover, your eyes closed, and it was at that moment - almost without thinking, without brake - that you let out:

- I love you.

It wasn't rehearsed. Not very romantic, but it was real. A panting whisper, tearing the silence with all the intensity of that moment.

Paul smiled against his skin, his lips pressing a warm and long kiss on the curve of his shoulder.

- I love you too - he murmured, satisfied, as if he had waited for it.

Paul left the bathroom before you after that. When you came out of the bathroom still with wet hair, wrapped in one of your most comfortable robes. The house was silent, except for the soft sound of the fine rain against the windows.

He was drying the wires with the towel when he noticed that Paul was not in the room. Franziu frowned, but without worry. At this point, it was already more than common for him to circulate freely around the house as if it were his too - which, little by little, was starting to seem true.

He went down the stairs in light steps, still running the towel through his hair, until he heard a slight metallic creaking coming from the kitchen. When he approached, he caught Paul opening the closet, taking the cat's food and filled Oliver's pot with the same naturalness with which he breathed. Oliver appeared soon after, as if he had understood the cue, and brushed Paul's legs before leaning on the food.

You laughed low.

- You're living here and I didn't even notice?

Paul threw a crooked smile over his shoulder.

- I'm just being helpful.

He approached, took the towel off your hands and you went up together, and when you got to the room, you let yourself fall on your back on the bed while he closed the door. Paul joined you, pulling your body against his with ease. His still wet hair left a slight dark spot on his T-shirt, but he didn't seem to care.

Lying with her back on his chest, her leg intertaced with his, the television on some channel - everything seemed right.

You slept like this. Involved by him, by the calm breathing, by the constant heat of Paul's body. No dreams, no worries. When he woke up, the side of the bed where he had been was already cold. Paul had left before the sun rose. A note rested on the pillow, written with its hurried handwriting:

"Sam's emergency, I'll be back as soon as I'm done. love you."

You went down in silence. The house was empty - your mother was still traveling. It's been days since you heard any sound besides Paul's around the house. And now, there was only yours.

She prepared something to eat - more out of habit than out of hunger - and stayed for a while leaning against the kitchen door frame, watching the silent garden. There was something in the air that bothered. A light vibration, almost imperceptible.

That's where the beats came.

You frowned, your senses immediately alert. It wasn't Paul's way to hit. Not even your mother. Not even anyone from the pack.

When he opened the door, the world seemed to leave the axis for a moment.

- Leah...

The name came out in a whisper, but loaded with everything that has been kept since she left.

- Hi...

You opened the door for good and she came in without ceremony. Even far away, Leah still seemed to fit in that space.

- Your house looks the same - she commented, with a small smile, half of a corner. - But with less smell of food now.

You laughed, still a little incredulous by her presence there, closing the door behind her.

- Yeah. My mother is traveling. The house is quieter than it should be.

She nodded, walking to the couch, her eyes going through details as if she wanted to make sure that nothing had changed too much.

You followed her, sitting next to her, with your heart racing and calm at the same time.

- When did you arrive? - you asked.

Leah took a few seconds to answer.

- Earlier today. I didn't talk to anyone. I just felt that... it was about time.

You watched her in silence for a moment. Her face was different, but it was her. It was Leah, your Leah. And you had forgotten how much you missed it.

- Does Seth know you're here?

- Not yet - she replied, and after a pause, she completed with a brief smile. - But he'll know. And it won't leave me quiet for long.

- He missed you a lot. - You spoke gently. - And me too.

She didn't answer. He just looked forward, as if he was trying to hold something.

- You seemed... so far away - you continued, after a while. - Even when Seth told me that sometimes you answered one or two messages, it still seemed like you had really disappeared.

- I needed it.

- I understand, but... You could have called me... Before leaving. I couldn't solve your pain, but I would have listened.

She took a deep breath, without haste. But you already knew. I already understood. I just wanted to hear from her voice.

- I know, I just... I was tired. Of the pain, of the weight, of the place that everything occupied in here. I just... needed to shut up a little. Stop listening to the world. The pack. Sam.

You nodded slowly. No judgments. Because deep down, you always knew that when she left, it wouldn't be bad. It would be out of necessity.

A comfortable silence filled the space. You leaned your back against the sofa and let the words settle in the air.

- I imagined many ways to see you again - you said, with a weak smile. - But none was better than this one.

- Better how?

- You here. Whole. Even if still a little in pieces.

Leah laughed, almost relieved.

- I'm sorry for worrying you like that.

- Bullshit. You are my best friend. I would have worried if you were living with me.

She smiled back, this time for real. A shy smile, small, but that illuminated.

- And you're the only person who would call me best friend after two years of silence.

- I never stopped.

Leah settled on the couch with one of her legs bent and the other stretched, as if she still remembered exactly where she was most comfortable there. You sat sideways, pulling a pillow to your lap, and for a while they just stood there. No hurry. As if time had paused to allow the reunion to exist.

- And you? - Leah asked, after a while. The voice was low, but full of intention. - How were these two years?

You let out a light sigh and let your eyes wander around the room.

- They were... long and kind of chaotic - he replied. - Especially at the beginning. It was like a part of me was missing all the time, you know? I got very angry. Not from you. But of everything. Of how everything suddenly became different.

Leah listened in silence, her eyes fixed on you. And that was her way of hearing: whole.

- The transformation happened shortly after you left - you continued. - It was confusing. Too fast. I didn't have room to understand anything, just react. And accept.

She nodded slowly. You knew she understood more than anyone could.

- I thought I was going to hate you, really - you said with a small smile, almost melancholic. - But I just missed you. In everything. Even in your bad mood.

Leah laughed, and for a second, it was as if the two years had not existed.

- I needed to disappear - she said. - I knew Seth would handle it. And you too.

- I thought you needed it. That's why I didn't go after it - you answered sincerely. - But I wondered every day if you were okay.

She took a deep breath. And then, with an almost instinctive gesture, he turned his face towards the corridor. You noticed when her gaze narrowed for a moment, analyzing something in the air. The sharp wolf scent was never lost - she felt it. The smell she remembered to be Paul's was still there, impregnated on the walls of the house, on the couch, on you.

But Leah didn't say anything. He just looked at you again with a small, calm smile. Almost an accomplice.

You noticed.

- What's wrong? - he asked, trying to look casual.

- Nothing - she answered lightly.

You laughed low.

- Come, I'll do something to you. I'm hungry. And I bet you haven't eaten anything decent in days.

Leah followed you with her eyes walking around the house as if looking for the memories of a time that, even with everything, was still good.

In the kitchen, you opened the refrigerator with a sigh and shook your head when you saw the mess.

- It will have to be improvised. Can it be a sandwich with scrambled egg? It's at the gourmet level of my current cuisine.

- Gourmet? - Leah raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter with a half debauched smile. - Since when have you become a breakfast chef?

- Since my mother started traveling all the time. - you replied, already taking the eggs and some bread. - I'm starting to wonder what she does out there.

Leah laughed weakly and you smiled too, putting the frying pan on the fire, and soon the sound of the eggs crackling filled the silence. It was strange how everything between you fell back into that old rhythm. As if nothing had changed - and at the same time, everything had changed.

- Ah - Leah said suddenly, leaning over to look better towards the corner of the kitchen. - What the hell is that?

You followed her gaze and laughed.

- Oliver's pot. Our cat.

Leah stared at you, surprised.

- Do you have a cat?

- Yes. - You answered casually, stirring your eggs. - My mother took him to a shelter. He hates me in the morning and loves to climb into the sink when I'm washing dishes. It's an intense relationship.

She laughed, and the sound of her laughter seemed to make the air lighter.

- You two are worse than I imagined. - Leah replied, with a dramatic and amused expression.

You laughed, shaking your head. He finished assembling two sandwiches and put one of them in front of her.

Leah took the sandwich and took a bite, still watching you as if she were absorbing everything little by little.

- Two years is a long time - she said, finally. - But I feel like I've never been.

You nodded. The truth was there between you, but it wasn't time to force it. So, he asked lighter:

- And where have you been?

Leah looked away, thoughtful.

- Around there. Some reservations in Canada, a few months in Alaska... I don't even know very well. - She gave a corner smile. - I never stayed long in one place.

- Alone?

- Always. - The answer came quickly, and then she added, with the lowest voice: - Seth knew, of course. He texted me sometimes, even when I didn't answer. I think it was just for me to know that he was still there.

You nodded in silence.

You looked at her and for a moment, it seemed that everything they had lived was there, hovering over the kitchen.

- Now I'm one of you. So, if you're going to run away, let me know.

- If you want so much. - Leah smiled sideways, her eyes narrowing slightly. - But there's something else... it smells like another wolf here besides yours.

You froze only for a second, enough for her to notice. But Leah didn't say anything. He just looked at you with that complicit smile, as if he had always known everything.

- Well, there's a lot I haven't told you yet, so... - you said, resting your elbows on the bench, looking at her.

Leah shrugged with that ironic air that only she had.

- Oh, as if this were a great news coming from you.

You laughed, throwing your head back.

- Was it that obvious?

She raises an eyebrow, sarcastically.

- You two have always been kind of... inevitable.

But before anyone could say anything else, the sound of the front door opening and then closing echoed through the house - the key turning, steps entering.

- Your mother called me and said she was coming back - Paul's voice arrived before him, crossing the house naturally. He showed up in the kitchen with two bags in his hands. - So I went to the market and bought...

His step slowed down when his eyes met Leah, leaning against the bench with the sandwich half in her hand. For a second, time seemed to hold my breath.

- I swear that was the last sentence I expected to hear coming out of your mouth someday.

You laughed, instinctively.

- He has his moments.

Leah gave a half smile, the one that always came when she refused to admit that she was surprised - or touched.

- Yeah, I see.

Paul let out a low laugh, but his eyes didn't disguise the surprise - as if he was still absorbing the scene there in the kitchen.

- There's a vision that I didn't think I'd see so soon - he said, dropping the bags on the bench.

Leah raised the sandwich, as if toasting it.

- Surprise.

You smiled, watching the two exchange barbs as if time had paused. Paul tilted his head, his eyes still on Leah.

- And whole, apparently.

Leah nodded with a half smile, without breaking the rhythm.

He took a step to the side, starting to take the items out of the bags - cereals, juice, a package of naturally fermented bread that you knew he pretended not to like, but always ended up eating.

- I'm glad you're back - he said, without much fanfare.

Leah looked at you, then back to him.

- Me too. I'm still getting used to it, but... it's good to see everyone. Or almost everyone.

Paul just nodded with a light sound in his throat, as if he wanted to say more, but didn't know if it was time.

- Sam will know you're around when you see us on the round today - he said, casually, like someone who drops a stone in the middle of a calm lake.

His gaze was automatic: a subtle, severe, silent cut. Nothing threatening, but direct. Paul felt - you saw it on his shoulders, which slowed down for a second. But he didn't back down.

Leah, on the other hand, looked away.

- Yeah... I thought that moment would come. I just don't know if I'm ready for him.

The silence that came after was not uncomfortable. He was one of those who respect the memory of unresolved things.

- You can stay here if you want. - you said, turning slightly in her direction.

Leah looked at you with that half smile that always appeared when she wanted to look tougher than she really was.

- I know. But I think it's better to go home. Seth will be there... he deserves it.

- So have lunch with us first - you replied, without thinking twice. - My mom is coming back now, she'll freak out when she sees you here.

Leah let out a nasal laugh, shaking her head.

- Emotional blackmail? Really?

- Oh, stop. You miss her too - you answered, opening the refrigerator as if that closed the subject.

Your mother arrived less than half an hour later. The noise of the car at the entrance was followed by a quick call around the house, and you barely had time to answer before it appeared at the kitchen door - the bag with clothes still hanging on your arm.

When her eyes met Leah, standing there between you and Paul, the world seemed to stop for a second.

- Leah, darling! - she exclaimed, dropping her bag on the floor.

Leah let out a surprised laugh, and the next moment the two were hugging each other. It was that kind of hug that doesn't ask, that doesn't require explanations. A hug that recognizes an absence and welcomes it back.

- I knew you were going to come back soon - your mother said, her voice a little stuckled.

- You and your scary intuition - Leah replied, smiling against her shoulder.

Lunch was simple, but full of life. Her mother didn't stop talking, asking questions, trying to make up for the two years Leah was away. Paul sat next to you, participating here and there, but also leaving space. He understood.

Oliver tuggled into Leah's legs as if she had always been part of the house.

After lunch, Leah seemed lighter, as if the weight of the turn was, little by little, fitting in the right place. When she decided to go, the tone was calm.

In the following days, life resumed its rhythm, but with a new frequency in the background. Leah was officially back. Everyone already knew. Seth walked with an evident glow in his eyes, although he tried to disguise it.

Sam also already knew - it was impossible for he not to know. Still, Leah didn't look for him. Not a word, not an appearance.

You didn't comment on that. No one commented. It was like a thread of tension that crossed the peace of the new beginning, but without bursting. Paul, in silence, respected. Your mother too.

And even now, lying in Paul's bed hours before the patrol, with the warm night breeze entering through the open window, this thought was still spinning inside her head.

You were on your back, your eyes fixed on the dark ceiling of the room, but your mind was miles away. The heat of Paul's body next to him was constant, firm. He was lying on his side, one arm thrown around his waist, and even in silence, it was as if he already knew.

- You seem too agitated for someone who says you're trying to sleep - he said, the grave voice cutting the silence naturally.

You let out a short sigh and turned your face a little, not knowing whether to smile or answer.

- I can't turn my head off - he murmured.

Paul didn't say anything right away. He just slid his hand through his ribs in a calm, almost automatic gesture.

- Leah?

You nodded.

- She's weird again. I don't know. Looks like she's... leaving without going, you know?

Paul turned his body a little more, now leaning on the shoulder of his own arm, facing you.

- I saw it too.

- And?

- And maybe she just needs to breathe a little. Really, this time.

You felt a slight discomfort in your chest.

- I invited her to Kim's birthday tomorrow. But she...

- ...won't show up - he completed for you.

You looked at him and found understanding.

- I keep wondering if she's going to run away again. And if it is, if I should try to stop it.

Paul took a deep breath and, for the first time that night, hesitated.

- Sam wouldn't let me.

His gaze narrowed a little.

- What do you mean?

- He said he would go after her in a few days. She asked if I had seen her.

You didn't answer, but Paul noticed the subtle way his body became more tense under his arm. He didn't justify himself right away. He just pulled his hand with his, intertwining his fingers firmly.

- I wasn't going to hide it from you. I just wanted to... give you a break.

You were silent for a moment before sighing, letting your face turn in his direction, shaking his hand back, without answering with words.

The night passed in a slow breath. After the conversation with Paul, sleep came light, almost lazy - as if the body itself respected the weight that its emotions still carried.

The dawn patrol ran quietly, marked only by the sound of the footsteps in the forest. As always, no one mentioned Leah.

The sky began to clear when you arrived at the beach, wearing a light blouse over your bikini. Emily was already there, with a basket in her hands and her eyes half-closed before the first golden light of the sun. One of those rare days when the whole sky seemed open.

- This is a birthday present - she commented, smiling, as you approached.

- I think even the weather likes Kim - you replied, taking another basket from the floor.

You spread a large towel over the sand, right there, where the sun began to warm discreetly. The sea still seemed dormant, quiet, and the wind played with the tips of your hair.

- And Leah? - Emily asked after a moment, the tone trying to sound casual, but not being able to totally hide the hesitation. - Is she coming?

You fixed a plate on the edge of the towel before answering.

- I invited. She thanked me, but said she couldn't. I didn't want to force... - you shrugged. - But she's fine. Just... a little far away, again.

Emily nodded, her eyes fixed on some point of the sea.

The silence that came next was interrupted by Kim's excited voice, calling from afar:

- I can't believe you guys set everything up.

You turned around and saw her approaching with a wide smile, her hair still a little messy. Jared came right behind, laughing at some joke Paul told, while the others went further back, with bags and towels in their hands.

The sun, already high, made the sand shine as if summer had woken up earlier that day. The sea breeze was light, and the whole scene seemed taken from a rare interval of the routine.

Kim approached slowly, her eyes running through the details scattered on the towel: the colorful glasses, the improvised cake, the sandwiches stacked in a large pot. And smiled.

- Seriously... this is so cute. I loved it - she said, sincere, with a joy that didn't scream, just warmed up.

- I knew you would like it - Emily replied with a soft smile, fixing the plastic cutlery next to the napkins.

Jared, with his laughter still stuck in his throat, added:

- It just wasn't easy to get her out of bed at this time.

Kim cast a dramatic look at him, but the expression fell into a laugh soon after.

- Irrelevant details. - And turned to you. - But seriously... thank you. This here is already worth my whole day.

You smiled and, without saying anything, took the wrapped package you had left aside. He reached out to her, who arched her eyebrows, surprised.

- More?

- A gift doesn't hurt - you said, with that casual tone that disguised the care with which you had chosen the bracelet.

Kim carefully unwrapped, and when she saw what it was, her eyes lit up again. She has already put the bracelet on her wrist right there, testing the fitting, turning her arm for the sun to catch right in the middle of the blue pebble.

- It's perfect - he said, without exaggeration, and then hugged you quickly. When he walked away, he already returned to the provocative tone. - But you still owe me that party.

You laughed, rolling your eyes lazily.

- I know.

Kim went to Emily to show the bracelet, excited, and you took the opportunity to stretch one of the towels better on the sand. Jared had already thrown himself next to you, saying something that only made sense to Embry, who laughed out loud.

The party was gaining body with a hot naturalness, without haste. The voices mixed with the calm sound of the waves, and the smell of the sea spread between the extended towels and the bottles partially buried in the sand to maintain the temperature.

Paul was already next to him, sitting close enough for his arm to touch his from time to time. He laughed out loud at some nonsense Quil said - a full, carefree laugh that made something inside you warm up.

You leaned on your arms, your feet immersed in the sand, and watched the group around. Kim was lying with her eyes closed, absorbing every ray of sun as if she wanted to save them for the gray days. Jared was still trying to convince her to get into the water, whispering something that made her laugh and shake her head, pretending to deny it.

Paul had his eyes fixed on you. When his gaze crossed his, a small wave of heat ran through his chest. He didn't say anything right away - he just arched an eyebrow, with that air of lazy challenge that you already knew well.

- What's wrong? - You asked with a light smile.

But then he leaned in his direction and said, with a low and provocative voice:

- Come on, come with me.

You stared at him, trying to keep your expression impassive.

- Is this serious? It's not even that hot yet.

Paul gave a half smile, getting up slowly.

- Are you cold? - He asked in a mocking tone.

You raised an eyebrow, but didn't answer. He just got up and took off his clothes calmly, standing now, his feet sinking deeper into the sand.

He approached, still with that half smile. And before he could predict, he took you in his lap with ease and ran straight to the water.

- Paul! - you shouted, laughing out loud, already preparing for the icy impact.

And then he threw you.

The sea swallowed you for a second, and when you emerged, your hair stuck to your face and your lips open in a laugh, you saw Paul dive soon after. You stayed there for a while, between splashes and provocations, playing as if the rest of the world had disappeared.

From afar, whoever looked at it would see two bodies that knew exactly how to exist together.

The water was still cold enough to get involuntary laughter, but it didn't matter anymore. You and Paul swam close, provoking each other between splashes and quick dives. He vanished under the surface and appeared on the other side, pulled you by the waist, stole a kiss or tickled on purpose. The world had disappeared, and the sea seemed to exist only for you two.

It was when you decided to get out of the water that he reached you from behind, his firm arms sliding around your wet waist. He laughed against his neck and began to kiss his cheek several times, one after the other, with an almost childish dedication.

- Are you trying to buy me cutely now? - you asked between laughs, your eyes closing with a meek joy.

- I'm trying to stop you from getting out of the water. - he murmured, laughing too, and pulled you back against him, as if he didn't want that moment to end.

And Leah saw it.

She was in her wolf form, near the top of the cliff, where the wind was strong and the smell of salt mixed with that of the forest. She had approached moved by an impulse that not even she herself had understood. She wanted to see. Just see. Like someone who checks an old scar, even knowing it's going to hurt.

And it hurt.

Imprinting was already a reality for both of you, she knew. She had already understood that it was mutual. But seeing you two together, with that lightness and intimacy that is not taught, you just feel... was something else. It was a punch of silence inside the chest. An absence that echoed. Maybe she was upset that you didn't say anything about it before.

Paul was light with you. You were gentle with him. What you had was whole.

And Leah, no matter how much she tried not to feel, not to think, not to compare, not to remember... she saw herself there, alone, seeing the kind of love she wanted for herself, but she couldn't touch. It was like observing through the window something that already had, but was broken even before using it.

She stayed there longer than she should.

But then Sam felt it.

And, in a second, you also felt it. A subtle vibration between the pack, the instinctive sign that something - or someone - familiar was nearby.

Paul frowned, looking away in the direction of the cliff. You followed the movement, but you didn't see anything.

That's when she ran away.

Fast, light, like the wind cutting through the trees. Sam, in the distance, stopped for a moment, his eyes fixed on a point high. The others also felt - a silent and ancient recognition. But no one said anything.

__________________________

The following weeks passed like the drag of the wind through the trees: constant, but never the same.

Jacob was changing - and everyone felt it. The tantrums, the inexplicable pains, the too much heat even on cold days. It was like watching a train about to derail, and Sam kept his eyes fixed on the rails. Paul too. Their presence around Jacob became more frequent, the two sharing silent glances during patrols and short meetings, as if each new step of the boy needed to be measured carefully.

This, in a way, took Leah's focus away.

Without having to deal with Sam's direct attention, she returned to the routine of the pack almost imperceptibly - like a shadow that never left, just waited for the right moment to move again.

Being back wasn't exactly easy. Even more so when much of the pack's life revolved around Emily's house. It was strange to see her there, even if Leah always kept a certain distance, occupying the quietest corners of the room, the words too contained for any real approach. But she was there. That was what mattered.

You, on the other hand, didn't see Paul as often as before. His obligations to Sam, the care for Jacob and all that seemed to fill the days more than any other subject.

You and Jacob got along well, the kind of strange well-being of those who share a nature that has not yet been fully revealed. He was curious, he watched you as if trying to understand something beyond the surface. And although he spoke little, there was firmness and respect in his every gesture - a presence that not everyone could conquer so soon.

In recent days, he had been spending more time with the pack. Afternoons like that at Emily's house became frequent. But in that one in particular, something weighed in the air - something that followed him from earlier, since an unexpected visit.

The rain was falling without truce when you parked in front of the balcony. The headlights cut the darkness for a moment, illuminating the almost comic scene of four soaked boys: Jacob, Quil, Jared and Paul, leaning against the wall as if they were punishments. They were laughing, clearly having fun at the expense of something - or someone.

You ran to them with your coat pulled over your head, dodging from the puddles.

- Emily didn't let you in? - he asked, laughing before the answer.

- No way - Emily appeared at the door, her arms crossed. - They were going to wet the whole house.

You took the towels Emily brought and started distributing them. Paul took his last, and before drying his face, he leaned over and left a quick kiss on his face - simple, usual, but still hot as always. You smiled without thinking, and leaned back on the wooden railing of the balcony, watching the group.

That's when he noticed the silence between the laughter. Or rather: the silence in Jacob. He smiled with the others, but it was as if the whole body was holding something.

- How was today? - you asked, without aiming directly at him, but feeling that the question was for him.

- Jacob delayed us. - Jared was the first to provoke.

- Bella showed up at his house - Quil added, almost without holding back his laughter.

You turned your head a little.

- Bella? That Cullen girl?

- Her own - Paul said, drying his hair with the towel and casting a look full of malice at Jacob. - Also known as Jacob's girl.

Jacob snorted, his gaze still low, but with a small smile on the corner of his mouth.

You arched an eyebrow, with a light tone in your voice:

- Oh, so she's your girlfriend now?

Quil burst out laughing even before Jacob answered. He, on the other hand, let out a low sigh, almost resigned, and shrugged.

- She's just a friend and seemed nervous, scared. But also angry. As if I had done something wrong. - his voice came out low, almost as if he was talking more to himself than to others.

- She doesn't understand - said Paul, seriously for the first time since you arrived. - No human understands.

Jacob nodded, his jaw tense. It was visible that he was still trying to find some kind of logic in what he was living, as if it were possible to organize all that within a common explanation. But it wasn't.

That's when Emily opened the door, and the delicious smell coming from the kitchen escaped along with her.

- Very well - he said, with an affectionate firmness. - No more teenage drama. Come in before I change my mind.

- Finally - grumbled Quil, entering as if that was the best invitation he would receive that day.

Paul passed his arm around your back naturally, his fingers briefly brushing your waist as he guided you to the entrance. A simple gesture, almost automatic... but full of everything that existed between you two.

Inside the house, the cozy warmth of the wood and the soft sound of the dishes being organized on the table helped to dissipate some of the tension that was still hanging in the air. The rain was still heavy outside, hitting the windows with an almost hypnotic intensity.

It was then that the sound of an arriving car echoed, followed by the steps of someone entering the door. Rachel, Jacob's sister, appeared at the entrance, with her hair wet from the rain. She entered with an almost calm naturalness, but still there was a slight formality in the way she behaved - as if she were in a place that, although she was familiar with, was not yet entirely hers.

- Your ride has arrived. - She said, looking briefly at Jacob, and then at everyone else, with a quick and polite smile. It didn't seem like a surprise with the presence of more people there. Everyone was already used to seeing her there, but it was recent, since Jacob's transformation, that she had begun to appear more frequently.

Jacob, with a somewhat tired look, turned to her, with a slightly closed expression.

- I could go on foot. - He said, but his voice carried a tone that was more habitual than really trying to refuse.

Rachel shrugged, the carefree movement, but her eyes shone for a moment, as if she was trying to disarm the situation. She didn't seem bothered.

- Okay, but just to warn you, you would be chased by a certain girl, out there. - She spoke lightly, but something in the way she said "girl" made the comment have more weight than it appeared.

Jacob raised an eyebrow, a mixture of surprise and discomfort.

- Did you see her? - He asked, as if he needed confirmation that the situation was real.

Rachel sighed, her eyes diverting for a moment to the rain outside, before looking back at him.

- She insisted that I ask you to call back. - She said, with an almost tired tone, but also cautious. - She only left there when she made me promise.

You, who was away, watching the scene while helping Emily in the kitchen, couldn't help but notice the lightness in the way Rachel spoke, but also the weight that each word seemed to carry, especially when you mentioned Bella.

Rachel looked at you for a brief moment. Your smile was cordial, polite, but you caught the small gesture of deviation in your eyes, as if you were holding yourself. You didn't know if it was because you were there or if it was because she already knew about you and Paul, but the discomfort was clear - it just wasn't too exposed. A subtlety that, somehow, you managed to recognize.

You knew that she and Paul had been involved in some way in the months you were away, Leah told you what she knew. But that wasn't really a problem. Well, it's not like you haven't experienced other things too. But you couldn't help but be curious to know how everything ended between them.

But, contrary to what many might expect, you didn't feel uncomfortable. It wasn't like you were being challenged, but something there, in that interaction, seemed... delicate.

She then turned to Jacob with a brief gesture of her head.

- Come on, Jake. - he said, in a lighter tone, already walking towards the door.

Jacob got up and took a quick look at the group, like someone who didn't want to leave, but knew he needed to.

- See you tomorrow. - he said, kind of automatically.

Rachel just waved her hand to the others, and soon the two were outside. The sound of the door closing was followed by the low snoring of the engine turning on outside. Lighthouses cut the rain, and their car disappeared among the trees on the road.

Still, the light - and silent - tension seemed to have left a trail there. A shadow in the air that no one wanted to name.

The night followed. Conversations resumed little by little, plates collected, the wood creaking under distracted steps. But on the outside, another kind of silence filled the interior of the car that went down the wet road.

The headlights illuminated broken strips on the asphalt and the fog that began to form close to the ground. Jacob still had remnants of laughter on his face, commenting on some Quil joke before they left. Rachel nodded slightly, firm hands on the steering wheel. It wasn't that he wasn't listening - it's just that there was something else there, haunting his thoughts.

- How long ago did she come back? - he let go, casually, like someone who talks about the weather.

Jacob turned his face a little, curious.

- Who?

Rachel didn't answer, but the quick and direct look was enough of the answer.

- Oh... it's been a few months, I think. It's been a while, yes. - he said, as if only now he really realized. - Why?

- Curiosity. - And he faced the road ahead again, as if that closed the subject.

The sound of the tires on the wet track filled the following minutes. Jacob spoke a little more, trying to start a conversation, but Rachel just murmured in response - present in the body, but distant in the look.

She knew you. In sight. From afar. She saw you walking through the school corridors, always next to Leah or Kim. She knew enough to recognize the name, remember the posture, the way you seemed to occupy space without making an effort. And yes - She knew about Paul.

Not everything. Not about imprinting, not exactly. But she knew enough to understand that, where once there was something, now there was something completely different. And this new presence - yours - messed with something inside her that Rachel didn't know how to name.

Maybe it was just discomfort. The type that appears when someone enters a space that, for a moment, you thought was yours. Even without ever having been.

________________________

Next Chapter

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[fresitalimonsandia]

ii. _sTART oVER

𝑳𝒂 𝑽𝒊𝒆 𝑬𝒏 𝑹𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔

Word Count: 2.7k

pairing: ot8!ateez x fem!reader x ot8!stray kids

thriller & fantasy au (non kpop-idols au)

language: english

chapter summary: you had to reveal the dragon's secret to two complete strangers…

warnings: pregnancy, executions mentions, murders mentions, appearance of other idols as main characters

dividers by diviniyae

author's notes: I hope to publish the third chapter later.

La Vie en Rose Masterlist

taglist is open!

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Narrator’s POV

Dawn stretched across the radiant sky, announcing a new morning—a new day to remain standing. The 14 divisions of the kingdom were preparing to begin their daily activities. However, today there were other plans in motion; this would not be a routine day.

The Spring Harvest Festival. And no less important, the presentation of the 16 candidates to become the next king.

There were only 10 known species in the kingdom, some more privileged than others. If not for the Oracle, history would likely have done nothing but repeat itself—those favored ruling above the marginalized who longed for something better.

Various trials, challenges, and dilemmas would test each of the candidates, selected by their respective species. Chosen ones, considered capable of facing adversity and cruel destinies.

One king for so many creatures. A single individual meant to unite them all, regardless of where they came from or what they were told they were made for.

But just as there exists a “somewhat fair” method to choose a new ruler, there also exists the shadow—uncertainty, disillusionment, the fear that this competition might end up just like the one held 20 years ago.

Should that happen, the kingdom would fall, unraveling into chaos, misery, hatred, and resentment. Nothing and no one would be able to overcome the curses and fear that would shroud so many creatures.

This is the magical kingdom of Kixxuodo, the very name of which no one even dared to think about—wondering if it was closer to extinction than to any possible salvation.

The Harvest Festival left no one exempt from their duties—not even the king himself, of course. And yet, he would rather not be there locked in his office, buried beneath a mountain of documents, he could easily sign later on.

Right now, he was where he believed he truly belonged—out in the fields, among the crops. Feeling the earth slip through his calloused hands, just like the first time his father had taken him to work. Fields that remained steady and well cared for, thanks to the constant effort of his workers—a reflection that his reign as king had not gone unnoticed and had yet to show any major cracks or failures.

He only wished his father were here to witness the dedication and wise decisions he had made for the good of the kingdom.

After a while, as the king carefully furrowed the soil and made sure everything was in order, someone very admirable slowly approached, clearly proud of the king’s attitude.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t come to speak about that. His visit had nothing to do with praise—it carried bad news.

“How are you today, Your Majesty?”.

Despite the quiet arrival of the calm man the king admired so much, the king didn’t flinch. He paused his hard work, turned toward him, and the two shared a look of mutual admiration and warmth, recalling past moments together. Of course, the king was glad that his first encounter of the day was with his mentor.

“Everything’s going wonderfully so far, sir. It’s just that, you know, today is a special day—and the last place I want to be is in the office,”. He replied kindly, subtly hinting that he wasn’t in the mood to be burdened with official matters at the moment. Still, he knew that if Min Yoongi had gone through the trouble of tracking him down in the fields, it had to be something serious.

“I know I can’t ignore my responsibilities, so go ahead—tell me what brought you here.”.

Yoongi appreciated that the king didn’t ask in an annoyed tone. He tried not to show the worry on his face, not wanting to give away what troubled him… and what didn’t. Without further delay, he explained the situation.

“There are already riots in the streets, Your Majesty. People are starting to act out and cause chaos, just in case none of the candidates convince them. They’re afraid it’ll all happen again, just like twenty years ago. And that’s not all…”.

Kim Namjoon had only been a child when the previous competition took place. He doesn’t remember much about what happened. The only thing forever etched in his memory was how the winner’s father donated the throne to Namjoon’s father—and how his father then promised, before the entire kingdom, that his only son would one day be king.

He was not chosen, and thanks to Min Yoongi—a sorcerer with years of experience—he had a small sense that even the oracle had rejected him to some extent. Even so, that didn’t stop him from lifting the kingdom up and moving forward once he was crowned.

He wouldn’t lie—he disliked the idea of serving the kingdom for such a short time. But there was no room for protest. Rules were rules, and the protocol required the competition to take place this year to select a new leader. He, too, had doubts about this new competition—that, once again, it would lead to more destruction instead of unity. He understood his people better than anyone.

“…There are rumors about Park Jihyo’s release from the dungeon and her involvement as a mentor in the competition…”.

Namjoon raised his right hand, signaling that he wanted complete silence. Yoongi obeyed and watched closely as his pupil processed the information.

There was no need to explain the future of Kim Namjoon, the king, or his connection with the woman who was supposed to be queen twenty years ago—Park Jihyo. Everyone quickly understood that this would turn into a rivalry, especially with the crown slipping from Namjoon’s head in the near future.

After all, both Namjoon and his father had spared her life twice. When she was imprisoned for the murder of the five princes, both the Order of Angels and Demons had agreed to execute her. Namjoon’s father had the final say—and he rejected the sentence. There wasn’t enough evidence to convict Jihyo, and not even magic had been of any use. So they had to accept that the trial would be suspended for a few years and eventually reopened …to evaluate when Namjoon could take the throne. That’s right—his father had been fully committed to fulfilling his promise. When his son finally ascended to the throne, the request was reviewed once more—this time with even greater insistence. Namjoon also rejected it.

It turned out that Park Jihyo had confessed upon entering prison that someone had taken her child from her before the murders occurred—a child who was still a newborn. In fact, Jihyo hadn’t even been able to confirm whether it was a boy or a girl. She had vowed that if she made it out of the dungeon alive, she would search for her child and exact revenge on those who had rejected and harmed her little one.

Both Mr. Kim and the current king understood that feeling well. They, too, had lost someone. Though Namjoon was subtle about the subject, he had never rested—his search for his younger sister hadn’t stopped in the past twenty years.

Namjoon had only spared Jihyo so she could reunite with her child. He just hoped she wouldn’t be a problem during the competition.

The sixteen participants were allowed to choose their mentors. Naturally, it was suggested that former participants could be among them—or other significant figures.

As the king, Namjoon couldn’t be part of the competition, not even as a judge. But Park Jihyo could—and she had, in fact, been summoned. During the Harvest Festival, she would meet her chosen participant.

The king wasn’t going to be left behind—he needed a counterattack, and that would be his fiancée and her chosen one.

“Don’t worry, old man. I’ll send some of my men to keep the situation under control. We can’t let anyone ruin today’s plans.”.

This time, Namjoon showed real irritation. And as much as he wanted to keep working in the fields—which helped him manage his emotions—he had to return to the castle and handle everything.

Part of his frustration also stemmed from knowing that Yoongi was a very good friend of Jihyo. In fact, he was the one who would be picking her up upon her release from the dungeon. Yoongi wasn’t a man of one side—he was much more than that.

Yoongi maintained his composure, as he always did, understanding the anger—an anger that didn’t come from a king, but from a friend who felt betrayed for not being his mentor’s first choice.

He didn’t respond and simply took his leave. He still had to visit Jihyo’s mother first. This day was only just starting to get interesting.

You had been hiding for at least an hour and a half in the smallest chapel of the Angels. It turned out that the only missing piece to become a priestess was to register your pregnancy in the natality hall… and the only existing hall in the entire kingdom was located in the Angel zone.

It was a protocol that had been established many years ago. The current crown might revoke your attempt to become a priestess if you didn’t prove that the pregnancy by the dragon was real—you couldn’t really blame them. So the risk had to be taken: that the boy in charge of birth records would discover your not-so-hidden secret.

What you didn’t expect was for him to meet up with a friend—and that by accident, his presence would go unnoticed by you, ruining your caution and revealing, not to one, but to two people, that you were carrying in your small belly a possible destroyer of the kingdom.

It would be a lie if you said you weren't a little distracted by their beauty. It was easy to recognize that one was an angel and the other a sorcerer, and oh dear god, they were absolutely stunning. Not to mention their toned bodies—clearly a sign of excellent training and strength.

They quickly snapped you out of your daydream as they began to freak out a little. Words like protest, the crown being overthrown, and more began to fly around.

That didn’t come as a surprise—even if it had been a long time since you’d had social interactions. The ghosts had warned that these would be the most common reactions to expect upon revealing your pregnancy.

After two minutes—during which they completely ignored your presence—arguing about what to do with the situation (which at first seemed unrelated to them), they finally decided to leave you alone in one of the chapels in the Angel zone.

Both assured that no one else would come, since one of the sorcerers responsible for offering blessings that day was out of the kingdom, and apparently, he was the only one working there.

Your gaze wandered around the architecture: white marble covering every surface, making the place seem not just bright—but celestial. The light alone made it glow more intensely. Without it, the place would probably look desolate and sad.

Eventually, the waiting came to an end. Both boys entered silently through the beautiful glass door—you could swear they paused every few seconds to glance back and check if they were being followed.

The boy with chubby cheeks approached as soon as his eyes found you. He sat down on the bench beside you, and you waited to hear what he had to say.

Meanwhile, the angel remained standing in front of the two of you. This time, he had revealed his beautiful wings, which almost distracted you, but the other boy’s voice quickly pulled your attention back.

“This ring was forged a long time ago, with the purpose of revealing if a pregnant sorceress was carrying a dragon.”.

You hadn’t noticed that when he entered the chapel, his hand had been clenched into a fist—he had been hiding the ring.

At first glance, it looked cheap and simple. It seemed to be made of metal and merely painted to appear like silver. The only remarkable feature was the set of engraved symbols on the inside, which could only have been made by a sorcerer.

“If you put on the ring, and it burns, your pregnancy will be confirmed,”.

The beautiful angel assured this time. At least he wasn’t as hysterical as when you first appeared. So, you took it—you gently pulled the ring from the sorcerer’s hand, brushing against his skin for a few seconds.

And under their watchful eyes, you placed the ring on the ring finger of your left hand—only for it to begin incinerating. At first, fear struck you, expecting to feel pain, but instead, a wave of warmth spread through your entire body.

The ring vanished into your clothing, now reduced to ashes. So focused on the process, you forgot to observe their reactions.

They looked concerned, but rules were rules, and the angel had to proceed with registering the pregnancy. At that point, they didn’t seem to know what else to say—confirmation had just made you their future superior.

The angel left the chapel to retrieve the paperwork. It was only then that a couple of strange boxes nearby caught your attention, marked for delivery to the king’s castle as soon as possible.

“What are those boxes for?”.

you asked the boy with the adorable cheeks, raising your voice slightly. Luckily, your tone came across sweet and light rather than rude. He was still seated beside you, head bowed, clearly lost in thought—likely about what had just happened, given the slight frown on his face.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to call you ‘Priestess’ just yet, but since we’ll be seeing more of each other from now on, let me introduce myself—”.

His worried frown shifted into something more serious as he gently took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back with great delicacy.

You knew this was something sorcerers did to acknowledge a superior, though it would likely take time to get used to. Still, for a brief moment, your heart felt warm. You didn’t quite understand why—perhaps it was the dragon’s influence.

He let go of your hand and finally answered the question.

“My dear friend the angel and I are part of the competition. We’re participants, and those boxes are our belongings—we’ll be taking them to the castle.”.

You didn’t bother hiding your surprise. Your mouth formed a small “O,” and suddenly, everything began to make sense.

The dramatic reaction upon discovering the pregnancy, the sorcerer’s easy access to the infamous ring, the audacity to suggest something had to be done…

Okay, so your plan to be discreet had clearly failed—but not just a little. You had unknowingly revealed your secret to two participants in the very competition you would now oversee.

Your gaze remained fixed on the boy in disbelief until the angel returned, bringing everything needed.

You broke eye contact to receive the documents and pen to fill out the required information.

“I present myself before you, my lady. I am Bang Chan. The people of the angels have chosen me as a candidate to become king,” said the pale-skinned boy, bowing respectfully as you looked for a more comfortable place in the chapel to fill out the forms. You didn’t know the proper way to respond—maybe you’d learn tonight at the harvest festival. Still, there was no time to feel embarrassed, because the other boy stood up to do the same, though clearly without acknowledging you as future priestess.

“And I’m Jisung. I was selected among many sorcerers. I hope not to fail—even you—in this competition. Furthermore, I know it’s none of my business, my lady, but… are you from around here? I’ve never seen you before, and believe me, I know all the sorcerers—even the ones who haven’t yet been officially confirmed by the kingdom.”.

You were about to simply return the greeting and introduce yourself casually, but Jisung’s question threw you off completely.

How were you going to register yourself without linking back to your mother and brother? If possible, it would be best to hide that you even had a family—especially considering both were directly involved in the competition.

ongoing taglist: @hwangjoanna @juicyjaxxy

[ellieslaces]

CAN’T CATCH ME NOW. (prologue)

presenting: Umbrella’s Hunger Games

featuring: leon kennedy x fem!reader

synopsis: the Hunger Games, an annual show of brutal control the Capitol has over each of the twelve Districts. the Games’ number one sponsor: Umbrella Corporation, the creator of the Games’ most horrific torture strategies and nightmare inducing deaths. these games have always been cautionary, always a far away but constant threat — until you find yourself Reaped and thrown into an area full of your worst fears with 23 other Tributes, all out for blood.

content warnings (future): harsh language; heavy violence; gore; torture; heavy themes of murder; infanticide; social injustice; class discrimination; brief mention of suicidal thoughts; angst; character death; eventual smut; enemies to lovers

notes: this is inspired by the Hunger Games (no 1) and takes place in the universe; if topics such as violence murder infanticide etc trigger you, skip this series; the reader is said to be a Career Tribute

Chloe talks: posting a my prologue for my new Leon Hunger Games series before the next strike tomorrow! please enjoy, I’m convinced this will be my magnum opus :)

word count: 768 (it’s a prologue, so it’s short)

now playing: can’t catch me now ; olivia rodrigo

how you can help Palestine! 🇵🇸

Images of dark alleys, of scorching hot deserts, of raging icy tundras, of sickly beautiful yet dangerous forests haunted each child’s dreams. Not for any reason in particular other than the fact that the images were fed to them since birth. Spoon fed into their heads — the showings of each years annual Hunger Games.

Decades upon decades ago, the ocean swallowed nearly half the continent in a devastating and unprecedented tsunami. States and even smaller countries were lost to the depths of the sea, leaving the remaining forty percent of the country overflowed with a surplus of population.

Women, men, and children with nowhere to go, now crowded the north part of what once was the United States. Now twenty of the fifty states remained, thousands upon thousands of casualties, leaving too many for the forty percent of the country to support.

The government handled it with the worst of ideas, their support was lost, their lack of understanding and empathy led to an inevitable uprising. People stormed the gates of the White House, threatened to kill — and did kill — senators, and representatives, and judges, and even their families.

This uprising nearly destroyed the country as a whole. Thousands were slaughtered, bloodlines were destroyed, families killed by the rebels. Until a group of unknown power that had been hiding behind the scenes for decades stepped forward, taking control of the people. This led to a bloodbath of violence, political control, and the people finally were forced to accept their defeat.

From then, the country was divided into thirteen Districts, each with its own purpose of serving the new country’s Capitol. This new country — Panem — was run with a ruthless government, a controlling President with no mercy and a clever mind. He was cruel, and heartless, and as dangerous as he was calm.

No one dared to object him, no one dared to take his power for fear of the consequences. So, for decades, President Ozwell E. Spencer ran the country. His company — one he started long before he was elected as President — Umbrella was the sole sponsor and creator of the annual Hunger Games.

Where each spring, twenty four children between the ages of twelve and nineteen were picked at random by pairs to represent their District in a fight to the death.

One boy, one girl from each District, chosen by random to be plucked, and bathed, and painted, and paraded, and eventually murdered for the sake of entertainment. Once, these Games were a reminder of what revolution could do, how it could crumble a nation. But that notion was long gone, all that now remained was the entertainment value of their deaths. Deaths none of them deserved. Deaths you never imagined you’d actually witness, much less cause yourself.

The intricacies of these Games were lost upon you, all you knew was to survive. Despite being a so called ‘Career’ and had as close to luxury as you could for someone from one of the Districts, you hardly had the stomach to commit things such as murder. Much less upon other children, people your age.

District One, luxury items, riches, and favor of the Capitol itself. Careers, the title of the Tributes that were put into the Games each year. These Tributes were raised with advantage, raised with early training available to them. Available to you.

For the majority of your life, since you were able to understand what the Games meant, you’d been trained by Victors, the Redfield siblings. Chris and his sister, Claire, were once Tributes themselves, in consecutive years.

Chris Redfield won at nineteen with pure brutality, physical strength and power, partaking in the bloodbath and taking out a good majority of the other Tributes in the beginning. Chris’s Games lasted a mere week.

While Claire Redfield managed to outsmart each and every other Tribute in her arena, successfully becoming the Victor by simply waiting for them all to die by natural causes, or killing themselves with their own stupidity. Her Games lasted three, the ending of said Games pushed quickly to be brought to a conclusion. Leading the girl to become Victor at a mere thirteen.

So, despite the fact that you weren’t technically supposed to be trained by Mentors unless Reaped, the Redfield siblings trained you behind the curtain. They prepared you for the possibility of you being Reaped, of being subjected to the horrors they’d seen. To the murder they had to commit to stay alive. They wanted you to win, to have a chance of survival.

But, maybe they should have just let you die. Maybe they shouldn’t have taken you under their wing when they found you shivering in the rain after a school bully had taken your pack and shoes and jacket.

Maybe they should have just let you be killed. Then you wouldn’t have to live with the memory of him.

[beardedmrbean]

Amid many other global crises, the human rights situation in Afghanistan has been overshadowed in the international media. Millions of people continue to suffer from systemic rights violations under the Taliban-run government, a UN report has found.

Tasked with assisting the people of Afghanistan, the United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan (UNAMA) monitors the human rights situation in the country, issuing regular reports. In its latest update on the human rights situation in Afghanistan, UNAMA not only documented cases of gender-based violence and public floggings, but also the growing persecution of the Ismaili community.

Ismailism is a branch of Shia Islam, while Sunni Islam is the dominant religion in Afghanistan. Most members of the Ismaili community live in the country's northern provinces, such as Badakhshan or Baghlan. In the former, there have been at least 50 cases of members of the Ismaili community being forced to convert to the Sunni faith. Those who refused to do so were subjected to physical assaults, coercion and death threats.

"They are only accepted as Muslims if they profess the Sunni faith by force," Yaqub Yasna, a professor and member of the Afghan Ismaili community, told DW. Yasna himself was accused of blasphemy after the Taliban takeover of 2021 because he advocated enlightenment and tolerance in society. He was forced to step down from his position at his university and went into exile for fear of reprisals.

'Breeding ground for violence'

Yasna said that even before the Taliban's return to power, tolerance toward the Ismaili minority in Afghanistan was limited but that the political system had at least protected their civil rights.

He said that under the Taliban, tolerance had continued to decline steadily. "When their rights are violated today, they don't know who they can turn to. Their children are forced to profess the Sunni faith," he explained. "Under Taliban rule, only one faith is considered legitimate. Anything that deviates from their interpretation of Islam is rejected and thus creates a breeding ground for violence against religious minorities."

Afghan human rights activist Abdullah Ahmadi confirmed there was increasing pressure on one of the last remaining religious minorities in Afghanistan. "We have received several reports showing that children from the Ismaili community are being forced to attend Sunni-run religious schools. If they refuse to do so, or do not attend classes regularly, their families have to pay heavy fines," he said.

Ahmadi complained that the international community had responded only hesitantly to the human rights violations in his country. He called for targeted sanctions against Taliban officials, saying they "must be held accountable."

Nowruz holiday declared 'un-Islamic'

Historically, the country was a significant center of religious diversity, but there are very few members of non-Muslim communities left in Afghanistan today.

The last members of the Jewish community left the country in September 2021. Those Christians who still live there tend to practice their faith in secret. And the Hazaras, another ethnic minority in Afghanistan who are predominantly Shiite, continue to be persecuted.

The Taliban only accept one interpretation of religion and have banned certain rituals and festivals, including Nowruz, which marks the beginning of spring and a new year. They declared the holiday "un-Islamic" and said that nobody in Afghanistan should observe the celebration.

Women's rights in decline

The situation of all women is also getting worse, which means that half of society is subject to systematic oppression. According to the UNAMA report, girls continue to be "barred from participating in education beyond grade six" and there has been "no announcement made by the de facto authorities regarding the reopening of high schools and universities to girls and women."

In the western city of Herat, the Taliban has confiscated several rickshaws and warned drivers not to transport women who were unaccompanied by a "mahram," a close male relative.

Afghans deported from Pakistan, Iran

Despite this disastrous situation, Afghans who fled to neighboring countries are being expelled en masse. According to the United Nations, around 110,000 people, including women and children, were forced to return from Pakistan in April. Large numbers of people are also being deported from Iran.

"We live in fear of being deported to Afghanistan every day," Afghan journalist Marzia Rahimi told DW. "What am I supposed to do with my children there?"

Rahimi said that only misery and terror awaited her in Afghanistan if she returned, explaining that she had left because she was unable to continue working as a journalist under Taliban rule and would not have been able to provide her daughter with an education.

Most independent media outlets have been banned or placed under the control of the state. Journalists who criticize the regime risk being arrested and tortured.

Under the Taliban, the country has also been plunged into an even more catastrophic socioeconomic crisis. Some 64% of the population of 41.5 million lives in poverty, according to the UN, with 50% dependent on humanitarian aid for survival and 14% suffering from acute hunger.

[whencyclopedia]

Battle of Lake Erie

The Battle of Lake Erie (10 September 1813), also known as the Battle of Put-in-Bay, was a decisive naval engagement in the War of 1812. It saw a squadron of US ships, under Oliver Hazard Perry, defeat a British squadron near Put-in-Bay, Ohio, ultimately leading to the American domination of Lake Erie and allowing for their recapture of Detroit.

The Battle of Lake Erie

Julian Oliver Davidson (Public Domain)

Background

In the spring of 1813, the sounds of constant shipbuilding echoed off the waters of the Great Lakes. For almost a year now, the nations of the United States and the United Kingdom had been at war, with the fate of Canada hanging in the balance. Two US invasions of the British colony had already been repelled before the Americans shifted their focus to the Great Lakes, particularly the mighty Lake Ontario. Both sides knew that naval superiority would give the Americans an advantage in their next invasion attempt, leading both sides to race to put new ships in the water. By June, the Americans and the British each had naval squadrons patrolling Lake Ontario, however, neither squadron moved to attack the other. Since naval actions tended to be unpredictable – reliant as they were on external factors like the wind – neither squadron wanted to take the initiative and risk its own destruction. Instead, the squadrons just danced around one another, waiting for the other to make the first move.

Ships were also being built on Lake Erie, even though it was considered by both sides to be of secondary importance to Lake Ontario. Currently, Lake Erie was under the control of the British, who had seized it early in the war and had used it to help maintain their occupation of the Michigan Territory after the Siege of Detroit (15-16 August 1812). If the Americans wanted to retake Michigan, they would need to first establish dominance on Erie, leading them to begin a shipbuilding program on this lake as well. Command of this burgeoning US squadron was given to Oliver Hazard Perry, a 27-year-old naval officer from Rhode Island, who had already accumulated a great deal of naval experience during his service in the Quasi-War and the First Barbary War. In late March, Perry arrived at Presque Isle, where the new ships were being built at a frantic pace. Crews of axmen had already laid low the surrounding forests to gather enough wood for the vessels, often chopping nonstop from sunrise to sunset; so swift was their work that, in the words of historian Pierre Berton, "a tree on the outskirts of the settlement can be growing one day and part of a ship the next" (508).

Still, there were frustrating delays. Food shortages led the workers to go on strike, while materials ordered from far-off locations – canvas from Philadelphia, for example, or spike rods from Buffalo – took a while to arrive. When the ships finally neared completion in July, Perry faced a new problem: a lack of sailors. Commodore Isaac Chauncey, the commander of the Lake Ontario fleet and Perry's direct superior, had kept all the best sailors for himself, sending Perry only those he considered to be the dregs of his squadron. Eager to attack as soon as possible, Perry spent the following weeks pleading with Chauncey for more men, writing, "For God's sake…send me men and officers" (Berton, 523). In August, Chauncey finally relented and sent Perry 89 experienced men. Among these reinforcements was Lt. Jesse Elliott, whose recent exploits, including the daring capture of two British brigs, had turned him into a war hero. Perry was so happy to have these men that he put Elliott in command of one of the new ships, USS Niagara, and let him choose his own crew. Elliott, an arrogant and ambitious man who felt slighted that he had not been given Perry's job, chose all the best men, leaving the other captains to grumble that the ships were unequally manned now that all the best sailors were on the Niagara.

Oliver Hazard Perry

Gilbert Stuart and Jane Stuart (Public Domain)

On 31 August, Perry received more welcome news: General William Henry Harrison, commander of the US Army of the Northwest, had sent him 100 Kentucky riflemen to act as marines in the coming battle. The Kentuckians, many of whom had never seen a ship before, marveled at each and every detail, climbing the masts and exploring the holds before Perry ordered them on deck to teach them naval etiquette. By early September, Perry's small squadron was ready for battle, or as ready as it was likely to get. Of his nine vessels, three were brigs (Lawrence, Caledonia, Niagara), five were schooners (Ariel, Scorpion, Somers, Porcupine, Tigress), and one was a sloop (Trippe). His flagship, USS Lawrence, was named after his friend, Captain James Lawrence, who had recently been mortally wounded aboard the USS Chesapeake in a single-ship action off Boston. Lawrence's last words – "Don't give up the ship" – were sewn in white letters on a dark blue battle flag that Perry intended to hoist onto his masthead as a signal for action. With his ships in the water and his men on the decks, Perry now had only to wait for the coming fight.

Continue reading...

[girlactionfigure]

Iran is fucked. Bigly.

"if Syria falls... Israel will go into Lebanon and force its conditions. If Syria falls in their hands, Palestine will be lost."

— Hassan Nasrallah, secretary-general of Hezbollah (ret.)

Let's talk about how Iran is fucked.

After 40 years of hard work, Iran managed to create a "ring of fire" around Israel and Saudi Arabia. It was a remarkably cheap way to terrorize Iran's enemies without facing direct consequences. One of the reasons Iran chose this strategy is because in reality Iran is a poor and weak country. This was a way to project power without actually having it. 

Now, Iran met real power and 40 years of hard work went down the drain in a few months. Seeing how Iran only got weaker and poorer in the last couple of decades, it won't be easy to restore what it’d lost. 

So, what happened?

Gaza: After October 7, Israel really went to town on Gaza. The enclave was razed and suffered immense casualties. The majority of Hamas's trained men and nearly all their field commanders were killed. Their missile stores have been decimated. Now, the majority of Palestinians no longer support the group. They may start supporting a new bunch of terrorists soon, but it's doubtful these will be Iran's allies seeing what a poor ally Iran has been to the Palestinians this year.

Lebanon: Israel decapitated Hezbollah by destroying its entire command structure, castrated it by dismantling its missile and drone arsenal and killing thousands of its trained men, and hobbled it by signing a strange ceasefire deal that allows Israel to bomb Hezbollah but not the other way around. Evidence of the group's wretched state can be seen in it accepting this humiliating ceasefire (and abandoning Gaza), not responding to constant Israeli attacks after the ceasefire, and its total inability to aid Assad.

Syria: The collapse of the Assad regime brought fourth a plethora of diverse groups who only have one thing in common. They hate Iran. They are so busy stomping portraits of Khamenei they don't even have time to burn Israeli flags. Syria was a vital link in Iran's land bridge to Lebanon. Without Iran, it won't be able to resupply Hezbollah, which is at the lowest point in its history right now.

Iraq: Iran’s favorability rating among Iraqis has hit its lowest point in recent years, falling even below the popular support for the United States. Iran's feeble assistance to its allies is likely to bring this number even lower. Iran has shown itself to be an exploiter rather than a friend, and so it's likely to start losing friends in Iraq as well. As the Arab Spring has shown us, no Arab state is isolated, which brings us to our final station:

Yemen: The Houthis are still attacking ships in the Red Sea and have shown no signs of disloyalty to Iran. However, there are some signs that the success of the rebels in Syria will inspire Yemen's internationally recognized government to renew its war against the Houthi usurpers (people tend to forget Yemen is fighting a civil war as well). If the general drop of support for Iran in the Arab world is reflected in Yemen as well, then the Houthis have an uphill battle ahead of them.

Iran: Weakness invites aggression and the regime looks weaker than ever right now. Its leader is old and feeble. Its failures and defeats are mounting. Life is getting worse for ordinary Iranians. Tick tock.

URI KURLIANCHIK

DEC 11

[fatehbaz]

taking relentless severe psychic damage from watching several hours of videos of television commercial advertisements from the United States in December 1999.

a world-historical moment, an all-time high peak of self-assured smirking arrogance.

ascendant home computers and internet modems. a new millennium! a time after Cold War but before Nining Leven, with saxophone-playing heads of state and cheery Spielbierg-ian sentimentality attempting to plaster over 1970s/1980s disappointments and hangovers with renewed millennarian End-Of-History optimism.

come celebrate with us! look at these images of The Nation! from sparkling Times Square and the cast of "Friends" in bustling cosmopolitan New York City, to sunny Californian prosperity, to those cartoonish frogs in the quasi-mythical Deep South-ish rural periphery of Budweiser ads, and all the suburban Midwestern Kay's Jeweler's in between! planetary hegemony. "Head east from the Colosseum, across the ruts of chariots, and you'll find an imperial estate built by a second-century Caesar. It's a rough ride. And if the agile and durable Chevy Tracker can handle these ancient roads, driving back home will be a walk in the park. Chevy Tracker: It Gets Around!"

or perhaps "our" power extends beyond this terrestrial imperium, into space, conquering the stars. UFOs; space aliens; The X-Files; Independence Day; Space Jam; Men in Black; the Phoenix Lights; Coast to Coast AM on the radio; Space Command in Colorado Springs.

the anxious fragility belied by the desperate constant promotion of an almost religious dedication to recognizable icons.

talking chihuahuas, marketing jingles, annual football game events. self-referential circular cross-promotion maelstrom.

"An all-new holiday spectacular, a Christmas special destined to become a family classic! With music from REM's Michael Stipe, voiced by Ally McBeal's Peter MacNicol, and starring Drew Barrymore! It's Olive the Other Reindeer! At 8/7 Central Fox Friday!"

trying to insist that this "classic" cultural iconography binds us. it has always lived in your heart. fabricating in real-time a supposedly shared history, insisting on this "reality" even at the moment of its very creation. hammering away at the soul.

Daffy Duck saunters in and pronounces: "Eat your way into the new millennium with this 'gigundo' party sub from Subway!"

why aren't you smiling?

[kimbapisnotsushi]

here have a medley of miscellaneous timeskip pro team headcanons bc WOW i haven't posted in a while and this is my only stress outlet other than binging new series <3333

starting off strong with ejp raijin LET'S GOOOOOO

washio 🫱🏼‍🫲🏼suna 🫱🏼‍🫲🏼komori: being EXHAUSTED from carrying the pro team world on their backs

no no i'm kidding. mostly

they keep a tally of other pro team matches in which their former teammates go up against each other and are REALLY smug if their respective teammate wins. which means you get shit like this

komori, cheerfully: "so how about that hornets v falcons game last night, huh?" suna: "oh shut UP tell iizuna tsukasa that aran-san could kick his ass any day of the week you little SHIT - "

they ARE united on the jackals front tho. all three of them want the adlers to go down HARD.

is suna nursing a grudge against ushijima from high school? yeah. is he ever going to get over it? probably not.

only komori feels bad bc he is fond of kageyama, but, hey, family's family

they ask washio why he hates the adlers and he looks them dead in the eyes and goes "hoshiumi kourai . . . he is a man that requires constant vigilance"

actually wait i know we all saw everyone watching and talking about the game (which makes me wanna cry SO bad) but god. how fucking funny would it be if players from monster gen convinced everyone else on their very professional and very mature teams to take sides

ejp raijin captain, who's been friends with hirugami fukurou for like ten years: "okay so explain to me again why we need to blow our entire team budget on jackals merch when we're not even going to the goddamn game?" komori: "well, it started on a cloudy but beautifully crisp spring day in 2012 - "

SPEAKING OF TACHIBANA RED FALCONS

hakuba joins the team, sees aran, and IMMEDIATELY starts texting the old kamomedai group chat

altho tbh i don't think there's no way that the "who-from-where-made-WHAT-pro-team" news never breaches the high school circuit. like come ON you know everyone's keeping up with the third year stars when they graduate

by the time the first years are third years they've got everyone pinned down on a fucking MAP. they have a shared file where they update each other on EVERYTHING. it's way less creepy than it sounds they're just a really passionate bunch okay!!!!

well that AND they can't help but brag about their amazing upperclassmen

okay sorry back to it. so it really goes more like

hakuba: "HOLY SHIT OJIRO ARAN FROM INARIZAKI IS HERE" suwa: "hakuba, we already knew that. i linked the article when it first dropped, remember?" hakuba: "yeah but it's still so WEIRD like it's OJIRO ARAN from INARIZAKI" hoshiumi: "lol atsumu told me he talks in his sleep, go find out if it's true"

aran actually does recognize hakuba mostly because gin paid him a compliment ONE (1) time and then aran had to listen to atsumu complain incessantly about the "stupid wall of muscle with stupid hair and his stupid height and stupid arms" ever since

ALSO. i think people get hakuba and hyakuzawa mixed up a lot. they've both got a similar height and build and hairstyle and play the same position

(not to mention the similar backstories)

it becomes a running joke throughout the pro leagues and makes for a fun time with falcons v warriors matches

in the event of a hyakuhina hookup (which i feel like actually could happen) they somehow get onto the topic of "haha it'd be even harder to tell them apart with your eyes closed!" and hinata, without thinking, goes "well, i probably could" and everyone is like "WHAT"

he digs himself an even deeper hole by saying "no, i just meant - i know hyakuzawa's body really well!!!" and everyone immediately starts screaming

poor hyakuzawa is dying on the inside

i think shibayama (MY BELOVED) kind of occasionally forgets that he also has his own fanbase and is sort of semi-famous as the libero of tokai heavy industries esperanza bc. he knows kenma and yaku and lev and komi and yamamoto and fukunaga and, in general, a bunch of people that he believes are much more well-known than he is

he's always so flattered whenever someone stops him in the street to ask for a pic or when he sees posts online gushing about him

this is extra funny bc he never talks about his friends like they're famous so all of his teammates don't really know that shibayama is friends with all these other famous people

and then one of them, an avid kodzuken fan, spams their group chat when kodzuken's newest video is released and shibayama shows up in it

they're like "SHIBAYAMA!! HOW COME YOU NEVER TOLD US THAT YOU'RE FRIENDS WITH KODZUKEN??" and shibayama is like "i have?? i talk about kenma-san all the time??" and they're like "YOU'RE TELLING ME KODZUKEN IS THE SAME KENMA-SAN WHO RIPPED HIS HIGH SCHOOL JERSEY TRYING TO JUMP OVER A FENCE???"

(shibayama's second year. they'd been dealing with things. it worked out, in the end. even if they had to lie to nekomata and naoki about why all their jerseys ended up with holes in them.)

i love the pro teams you guys they're so fucking funny

[theserpentandlotus]

The Secret Teachings of Mary Magdalene: Sophia Eve Ophiuchus Gaia and the Number 13

Mary with her left foot (left hand path=the path of the heart) on the snake with the apple.

Mary Magdalene and the Number 13

Mary Magdalene is mentioned 13 times in the Bible; More than any other disciple of Yehoshua (Jesus). She was considered the 13th but most prized disciple by Jesus as reported by many of the other disciples on various occasions especially in the noncannonical texts (this is for a reason). Many would take this to have negative connotations. This is because the number 13 is often tied to death and superstition. The perfect display of this is in the fear surrounding Friday the 13th, or in the fact that many elevators in the United States do not contain a 13th floor.

Believe it or not, the fear of the number thirteen runs deeper than some superficial superstition, this is once again tied to the fear of women's potential, wisdom and power.

The Moon, Womb and Water

Thirteen is the number of moon cycles contained within each Lunar Year. This link here seems like a stretch, but let me continue. The moon is directly connected to two things here on earth, the water's tides as the moon pulls on it, and women's monthly cycles. Although today, because of many external and genetic factors and etc., many women today do not always bleed in coordinance with the moon. It is still true though that women on avg have a cycle of about 28 days and when the body is in homeostasis, a woman is more likely to notice that her womb sheds during one phase of the moon or the other.

This connects Mary Magdalene to the number 13, moon, blood red life force of the womb. See her above with the egg of life, a feminine fertility symbol. One of her main associated symbols. Could also be hinting to the fact that she did indeed give birth, would be worth looking into. This would definitely explain the association of eggs with the Christian version of Easter outside of its associations with the goddess Eostre.

Lets even examine Mary Magdalene's name, Magdala a town named after an ancient spring where Phoenicians, proto-Hebrews, and ancient Jews would go and ritualistically cleanse themselves. Even her first name showing relation to the divine waters Mar=sea). [Click this video for more information. SACRED SPRING OF MAGDALA ]

Ophiuchus & the Fall of the Feminine Priestesshood

Now let's get back to the 13th constellation. Although there is 12 zodiacal signs, there is a 13th located on the astronomical ecliptic, between Sagittarius and Scorpio named Ophichus. This sign is a snake also called Serpens in battle with a man.

Earliest known records referring to this constellation show that it was linked to the slaying of Pytho, the spent guardian of the Oracle of Delphi and the Omphalos. Pytho, the great guardian serpent was slain by the god Apollo. This battle was personified and preserved in the stars as the first mythos behind the constellation of Ophiuchus. The story relating to this battle is one that speaks of Apollo convincing the male seafarers to rape and pillage the city of Pythos, rename it Delphi, kidnap the Pythia (High Priestess), and take over the Priestesshood for themselves through the ordinance of Apollo. Here's how the story connects. The guardian serpent Pytho was guardian of the Omphalos (navel) of the Earth Mother Gaia. Apollo coming in and destroying her rites and traditions ultimately led to the shift in matriarchal religious systems to that being only of male.

The Serpent: from Sophia to Eden

The serpent another demonized figure in modern day abrahamic traditions, probably because of the actions previously stated in history, has shifted from its original meaning. In Gnostic Christianity as well as many other traditions found globally, the serpent represents 2 constants. The feminine principle and wisdom. Besides the many serpent goddesses and gods found across time, there is one that I will mention specifically here. According to the Gnostic traditions, the divine feminine is represented by a grand serpent named Sophia. Her name literally means Wisdom itself (see its deeper meaning through the word SOPHistication). To prove her serpent form, let's break down her name. The Greek word Sophos means Wisdom and is where we get the name from. -Oph/-Ophi/Ophis denote a serpent or shape-shifting appearance through words like not only Ophiuchus, but also Ophiology, the study of snakes, and ophiolatry or the worship of snakes. I hope that I have established enough of a linguistic and etymological connection to show you that Sophia was indeed represented by a Divine Serpent.

Venus, Apples and the Eastern Star

What serpent is the only serpent that seems to speak to anyone in the bible? The serpent in the garden. Who else would it be to convince Eve to eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. I just want to add, the serpent in the garden told her, she its from it, she shall surely not die... she didnt. So maybe she was worth listening to. You cannot have ascension without the experience of opposites and duality, because that's what good and even are, opposites. What fruit is typically represented here? The apple. Why? Well, cut an apple horizontally, what do you see? A five pointed star. I must also add that it is not ironic that the serpent in the image below of Eve and Adam in the garden is depicted as black. Definitely side eyeing the artist but anyways...

There are many planets and stars in our sky, but there's only one referring to the bright and shining morning star (Also called the Eastern Star...👀)... that being venus. Why is the 5 pointed star associated with Venus? Because every 8 years Venus forms 5 pointed star in our heavens. When studying magic, especially sympathetic magic one will see that Venus is indeed the planet associated with apples. This is why. Venus is also the same planet Jesus refers to himself as (the bright morning star). Lucifer does also refer to himself as the bright morning star, BUT there is evidence to support that this reference might actually be the sun in this case instead of venus. I will expound at a later date regarding this topic.

Reclaiming the Forbidden Wisdom

So in essence, what is all of this attempting to show you. That the number 13 is demonized because it is a heavily occultic number highly associated with the hidden unknown and mystery. The same goes for Mary Magdalene Ophiuchus and the wise snake, Sophia. Mary Magdalene deemed a whore, Eve, a defiant who cause all of our descent and pain, Sophia the evil devil trickster snake. Somebody's lying. Lets just say this, did the snake ever kill anyone in the bible? Nope. But who was responsible for majority of the deaths within the bible? I will leave this unanswered for you to draw your own conclusions. The story is being told by the victor and not those slain to keep their story hidden and in secret.

The truth is just like in the story of Apollo conquering the city of Pythos murdering Pytho the snake, taking the priestesshood and turning it into a male priestly class, and destroying Gaia's omphalos(navel or central spring/ well), brung about the destruction of the divine feminine across the world in her many forms so is the hijacking of the mystery behind the snake and it's great treasures and secrets hidden within its wisdom that it is waiting to share with us.

Just like in the case of Ophiuchus battling Serpens, women's power was and still is being subdued and supressed by the masculine principle (As above, so below, as within, so without... meaning we are ALL also suppressing the feminine principle within self and it is directlyeffecting our outward experience).Just as in both these cases, so is the demonization and the hijacking of women's rites and spiritual practices devoted to the Mother Goddess of which whom Mary Magdalene and Yehoshuwa (Jesus) were priests and priestesses of. Don't believe me? Read the Nag Hammadi texts and specifically, the Gospel of Judas. Jesus confirms that Judas is right about Jesus being from the 8th realm of Barbelo also called Sophia.

To reclaim the serpent, the womb, the number 13 and Mary's sanctification and pontetial deification is to reclaim the divine feminine buried beneath centuries of patriarchal revision limiting our views of the contributions to society and spirituality as a whole by women, especially those like Mary Magdalene.

This is but one of Mary Magdalene's many secrets, she has so much to share with us if we only listen. If anyone doesn't believe any part of what I'm saying, please go do your own research and confirm or deny it for yourself. For those who have stuck around this long. Thank you for reading.

-Nagini Serene from The Mystic Order of the Serpent 🐍 and Lotus 🪷

4/25/25 12:10 waning Cresent 14%

This publishing is currently under construction and will later contain sources to provide more information...

For more information on the Divine Feminine within Christianity, please watch:

[anarchblr]

also this was a million years ago (and by a million I mean two) so i don't know if you remember it, but I encountered an essay by Mariátegui where he argues that the Inca had communism despite living under a monarchy. that was from the third essay from Seven Interpretive Essays on Peruvian Reality, "The Problem of Land" that seemed like it fit with what you've talked about where the Leninist definition of a state allows for absurd claims like "monarchy with a proletarian class character"

"Inca communism, which cannot be negated or disparaged for having developed under the autocratic regime of the Incas, is therefore designated as agrarian communism. The essential traits of the Inca economy, according to the careful definition of our historical process by Cesar Ugarte, were the following:

Collective ownership of farmland by the ayllu or group of related families, although the property was divided into individual and non-transferable lots; collective ownership of waters, pasture, and woodlands by the marca or tribe, or the federation of ayllus settled around a village; cooperative labor; individual allotment of harvests and produce."

Oh that was your?!

I'm so sorry that, because I'm shadowbanned, you might've not seen my initial reply, but I figure you're referring to this?

In any case, I think Mariategui, assuming that the quote is to be taken at face value with no added context, is wrong in calling it "communism" for a variety of reasons.

In all honesty, it is true that the ayllu is a communal, agrarian domestic sphere, but it's not communism.

Such kind of communal productive forces of society have existed proibably since time immemorial; the south american ayllu, central american milpas, the mesoamerican chinampas, north american owachira, the european commons, etc.

It should be better understood as a sort of rudimentary collectivism that was the base unit for other economic systems that could grow up from it, much like how Marx talked about the so-called "asiatic mode of production":

"Those small and extremely ancient Indian communities, for example, some of which continue to exist to this day, are based on the possession of the land in common, on the blending of agriculture and handicrafts and on an unalterable division of labour, which serves as a fixed plan and basis for action whenever a new community is started. The communities occupy areas of from 100 up to several thousand acres, and each forms a compact whole producing all it requires. Most of the products are destined for direct use by the community itself, and are not commodities. [..] It is the surplus alone that becomes a commodity, and a part of that surplus cannot become a commodity until it has reached the hands of the state, because from time immemorial a certain quantity of the community's production has found its way to the state as rent in kind. The form of the community varies in different parts of India. In the simplest communities, the land is tilled in common, and the produce is divided among the members. At the same time, spinning and weaving are carried on in each family as subsidiary industries. Alongside the mass of people thus occupied in the same way, we find the 'chief inhabitant', who is judge, police authority and tax-gatherer in one; [..] the Brahmin [..]; the calendar-Brahmin [..]. This dozen or so of individuals is maintained at the expense of the whole community. If the population increases, a new community is founded, on the pattern of the old one, on unoccupied land. The whole mechanism reveals a systematic division of labour [..] The simplicity of the productive organism in these self-sufficing communities which constantly reproduce themselves in the same form and, when accidentally destroyed, spring up again on the same spot and with the same name - this simplicity supplies the key to the riddle of the unchangeability of Asiatic societies, which is in such striking contrast with the constant dissolution and refounding of Asiatic states, and their never-ceasing changes of dynasty. The structure of the fundamental economic elements of society remains untouched by the storms which blow up in the cloudy regions of politics."

-Karl Marx, Capital vol. I, pg. 477-79, Penguin Ed.

and the corresponding footnote:

'Under this simple form . . . the inhabitants of the country have lived from time immemorial. The boundaries of the villages have been but seldom altered, and though the villages themselves have been sometimes injured, and even desolated by war, famine, and disease, the same name. the same limits, the same interests, and even the same families, have continued for ages. The inhabitants give themselves no trouble about the breaking up and division of kingdoms; while the village remains entire, they care not to what power it is transferred, or to what sovereign it devolves; its internal economy remains unchanged' (T. Stamford, Raffies, late Lieut.-Gov. of Java, The History of Java, London, 1817, Vol. 1, p. 285).

all emphasis has been mine.

hope this has been illuminating