#A Natural Harmony of Ingredients

[mewguca]

⚠️ ((MASSIVE WATCHER SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING AND ALL OF THE POST-GAME))

Some assorted ramblings about Watcher lorestuff. These are mostly concerning the Second Ending; I might make another post later. shrugs. I don't want to posit these as the "Correct" readings or whatever, just the ones I'm currently fond of. Hopefully you get something out of this.

The Kingdom, a Distorted Reflection of The Void Sea

A Triple Affirmative?

The Prince's "Kingdom" exists as an alternative Solution, a distorted reflection of Ascension, as the title suggests. The language used to describe its glorious vision is strikingly reminiscent of language around the Great Problem:

"Imagine: a single substrate… Life!Throughout all time! Nothing lost. No one lost. A living memory of all life, forever! From bug to god, all as one. None above the other. A TRUE end to the pattern. That is my vision."

– The Prince (Rot Friend!)

I mean, I'm not sure how much more explicitly Prince can state it. Its Kingdom is THE solution, in its eyes. A catalog of all things, living forever, free from the struggles of the Cycle. And this Solution is farther-reaching than any we've ever seen; the (Prince's) Rot Engulfs everything. It does not discriminate between bug and god, between rock and carbon, between microbe and macro-organism. All are welcome in its Kingdom, and that Kingdom is ever-growing.

Of course, I am speaking from a theoretical standpoint here; I am not advocating for the Kingdom as a "true" Solution. I don't believe the Great Problem can ever be solved; it is against the nature of the world. But perhaps I am getting ahead of myself. Regardless, I believe the Kingdom to be untenable.

Certain regions in Watcher cannot be infected, which may suggest this Solution is not as all-encompassing as it seems. But Watcher plays with the fabric of space and time and the realms between the material and the Void, so this may be a moot point. Regardless, I'd rather focus on Philosophy than Practicality.

This "Solution" is Thoroughly Undesirable; we wish to leave the carnal plane of suffering and repetition, not bind ourselves to it forever!

Sure, nothing will be "lost", but who will be there to appreciate the memories of its little amalgamation? The Prince? And what of the ingredients it has ingested? Digested into soup of flesh, where all are one, and all are nothing.

This Solution, naturally, is presented as an alternative to Ascension, a side-stepping of the Great Problem. But I have a slightly different proposition:

The Kingdom is the Antithesis to the Ascension, just like the Rot is the Antithesis to Void Sea.

Ascension Versus Assimilation

The nature of Ascension is vague, but one possible interpretation I find of note is a melding of one's many disparate selves, no longer separated. A fullness of Self, and a fullness of perspective, freed to move on to world beyond the Carnal Plane. Even with more collective interpretations, I do believe each moving part is of equal significance. It is a mural of stained glass; an integration of many pieces arranged to form a greater whole.

Each piece fits together, but each piece is distinct. There is a harmony to this, and no one is above the other. A freedom from the struggles of the carnal plane and the oppression of the Cycle.

In the Kingdom, however, these many pieces eventually blend into an indistinguishable mass, equal by nature of their assimilation, rather than integration.

"Oh, you have brought sundries? You can leave them here if you wish, as a contribution. My processes will dissolve them to their base components and those components will be added to the mass. Nothing to waste, every bit counts!"

– The Prince, when brought an item

Its dialogue does not change based on item. This frustrated me, but in hindsight, I believe it serves to further my point. The details do not matter to the Prince; everything is broken down to its base components and assimilated into the Mass.

A World without Death, but also a Story without Continuation.

Opposing Forces

"As with all great deeds, my work is not without great challenge. It has taken eons and the light fades. The paths close and change. I can almost feel... a will... at odds with my own."

– The Prince

My buddy gandolph said something really insightful about the nature of the Rot we see in the Watcher. They've said it better than I can, so I'll just leave this here:

(this is all inference. just one reading of many)

I find this extremely compelling, and I'm big into the idea of the Rot and the Void Sea acting as opposing forces as well as foils.

"...If you leave a stone on the ground, and come back some time later, it's covered in dust. This happens everywhere, and over several lifetimes of creatures such as you, the ground slowly builds upwards.

So why doesn't the ground collide with the sky? Because far down, under the very very old layers of the earth, the rock is being dissolved or removed. The entity which does this is known as the Void Sea."

– Subterranean Teal Pearl

Rot is an unmitigated growth, often compared to cancerous cells. It is life without termination; a construction with no completion. It builds and builds, grows and grows, assimilates and assimilates...

The Void Sea counteracts this force by dissolving this unmitigated growth and allowing new life to spring forth. To allow for new birth, there must also be space for death. For change.

Where Rot remains, Void moves forward. The Kingdom would keep its inhabited trapped in this world for all eternity, whilst Ascension seeks to ferry them to the next.

Unfortunate Evolution:

Unfortunate Evolution is an interesting segment, and I feel it illustrates this dichotomy between Rot and Void quite deftly. Once you enter, you cannot warp out, giving this a Cinematic sort of feel. I do believe it is meant to parallel the entrance into the Void Sea at the end of the basegame, just... twisted.

The use of zero gravity signifies a relation to Iterator Internals, but I think the drastic shift in movement is a purposeful parallel to swimming in the Void Sea. This movement is harder to control than swimming, though. You can't move very far forward without pushing off a wall or throwing something or otherwise utilizing pre-existing momentum.

You "swim" upwards, in contrast to swimming downwards into the Void Sea

Unfortunate Evolution feels cold and desolate, still and quiet, like a corpse. In contrast, the Void Sea, as liquid, feels brimming with life and movement.

You're teased with a glimpse of the "Rot worm", though it's initially sectioned off from you, rather than a being sharing that same space.

As you venture into the open space, the background is dark and dilapidated. Contrast this with the increase in Light as you venture further into the Void Sea, especially with how many lights you see. Illumination versus Obfuscation.

The biggest difference is perhaps in the results of these meetings.

The Void Worm guides you towards enlightenment, facilitating your journey towards ascension. It interacts with you, bringing you with it, cutting your string, and then it allows you to complete your journey. You swim into the light, ascending, and the game ends.

The Rot Worm, meanwhile, tells you nothing, takes you nowhere, and hardly even seems to acknowledge you. You swim past it and end up at a portal that takes you back to Outer Rim. And then you continue on like nothing ever happened. It's... notably Anti-climactic, at least to me. But I believe that is the point. The Rot Worm (and UE by extension) is only an imitation of the familiar; a fleeting distraction in a much longer journey.

...Or, it was like that for me, at least. Maybe it's not intentional, but I think this reading is very neat. The Prince's Rot has no enlightenment or salvation or even ending to offer you. Just an indiscriminate consumption of all in its wake and the stagnation that follows.

The Conclusion:

Therefore, the Prince's "Enlightenment" is antithetical to its very being. There are many ways to interpret the ending, of course. Perhaps this was a counteraction from the Void Sea, restraining the Prince in its hubris and re-establishing the cycle of death and rebirth. Was this a conscious act, or simply a natural occurrence? I'm unsure. Alternatively, but not mutually exclusive to this reading, is the suggestion that the Prince was "paralyzed from its contradictory existence", as gandolph stated.

The contradiction of the Prince's Self and Ego versus the unification and equality of all life. The contradiction of its pursuit of enlightenment and cataloguing with its mindless desire for consumption and assimilation. The contradiction between their inherited imperative and its implicit nature.

At the Prince's Coronation, its Kingdom crumbles. Karma Flowers engulf its corruption, and so life is born anew. In a way, I suppose its blessed substrate has been achieved, just not in the way it expected. The rot will be consumed, just like the dust before it.

UPDATE: adding these images of Survivor's Ending and Prince's Ending for further comparison.

Side-by-side, you can see the resemblance between the Slugtree and the Throne, though there are also some notable differences:

The Slugtree's trunk is much thicker, making it seem healthy and long-lasting. Throne's "trunk", by contrast, seems sickly and distorted

Slugtree is covered in "leaves" whilst the Throne is (at least by silhouette) barren. Again, the Slugtree appears full of life whilst the Throne is sickly and dying

Slugtree is full of light; Throne's only light is the Karma flowers now growing atop it / consuming it

Also note how the slugtree is full of slugcats that form a greater image together but still exist as their own beings . nothing to add for throne here but it adds to the "Ascension is Integration whilst Kingdom is Assimilation" reading

sorry for poor organization. here are some more thoughts:

A Prince Versus a King

Okay luna this is really cool, but like, isn't the Prince just a datamined name anyways? does it being a 'Prince' instead of a 'King' even matter?

great question guy I made up in my head just now. Everything matters, of course, but here are my thoughts on it being a 'Prince' specifically:

The Prince is likely meant to serve as a foil to Spinning Top (Echo Friend), as the Prince is a nascent consciousness, and ST is a child. Naming it 'Prince' strengthens this connection.

The Prince is not a child, however. Children learn and grow. Children eventually become adults, and they move on. We see this with Spinning Top. As we accompany on them on their journey throughout space-time, we prompt the self-reflection necessary to process their memories and accept the next chapter in their life. (There's a whole post I could write about ST and their insight into Echoes, but that's for another time.) By its very nature, the Prince can never move on. It does not have Self reflection, because Self is all it can ever truly know. All it learns is assimilated into the mass. Like I said, its attempts at enlightenment are contradicted by its nature as Rot. Hence, they serve as foils.

The term 'Prince' may suggest an attempt at humility, which is deeply ironic, but understandable. Prince proselytizes about its world of equality, but inherently this cannot be, because it has placed itself at the top of everything, implicitly, by assuming its way is best for everyone. A Kingdom needs its ruler, and Prince has graciously accepted such a role.

I think my favorite reading, however, is that the Prince is simply yet to succeed its Throne. That there is some point it hasn't reached, something still left to achieve. Perhaps once its Kingdom's construction has completed?

The Ending, then, serves as its "Coronation." A crown of Karma flowers for the freshly-appointed King. An Elegy to Ignorance.

------------

EDIT: also want to make a nuance disclaimer that rot in General is not inherently the same as Prince Rot / Kingdom specifically yay . and im just a little guy make sure to read lots of different posts 🙏👍

there's also much to be said about the Throne and the Rot and the Brain Trees and etc but someone else can do that much better than me. And also another disclaimer that this reading may become outdated with future updates yay. happy watching everyone

[pitchsidestories]

Dancing Through Life II Lucy Bronze x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1314

summary: after the training camp you finally got to spend some time alone with your girlfriend.

author's note: hi everyone we hope you'll like the oneshot. Any form of feedback is appreciated. 🫶🏻🫶🏻

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

“Finally, home.”, a happy sigh escaped your lips as you stepped inside.

Shortly after you, your girlfriend entered your shared flat. The two of you dropped your bags on the floor at the same time.

A broad grin lit up Lucy’s face: “I can’t wait for our own kitchen, bed and Narla of course.”

You couldn’t help but to notice that the Portuguese sun had brought out her freckles even more, which looked adorable in your eyes.

“And some time for us.”, you added in a delighted tone.

The defender's warm laughter filled the room: “Oh yes, I lost count on how many times we were interrupted during game.”

“Way too often.”, you agreed smiling.

Memories of the England camp came back to you in waves. The first half in the Algarve has remained a fond impression, even if it was equally exhausting. You both didn't plan it, but as the more experienced footballers in the team, the younger players naturally gravitated towards Lucy and you.

At this, Lucy grimaced: “We didn’t have a single minute alone.”

Whenever you two thought you had a moment just for the two of you, Maya, Grace, Lauren, Aggie or Jess came. The time as a couple was cut short between their intervention, the training drills and the Nations League games.

And yet you were grateful for the pictures the young Manchester United captain took at the beach, the picturesque sunsets forever captured on film.

“True.”, you said quietly.

One quick glance later, an excited West Highland Terrier ran out of the bedroom and wagged its tail excitedly to greet you.

Immediately Lucy got down on her knees, the pain forgotten at the sight of her beloved dog, whom she began to cuddle: “Hello, Narla. We missed you too.”

“Very much.”, you admitted and joined in the cuddling. While Narla pressed wet kisses onto your face, which you tried to escape with a laugh.

Smirking, Lucy remarked: “She missed you too.”

“I can tell.”, you giggled.

More seriously, your girlfriend looked up at you and asked you a question that made your stomach growl:” Are you hungry?”

“Hungry? More like starving.”, you replied amusedly, placing a hand dramatically on your empty stomach.

Determined, she slapped her thighs before slowly standing up, the intense weeks having left their mark: “I’ll cook.”

“That's like music to our ears, isn't it, Narla?”, you winked at the small Westie who seemed to agree with you on this point. With a quick flick of the hand, you connected your mobile phone to the speakers and the first harmonious tones rang out within your four walls.

Lucy watched as the little dog wagged her tail with excitement.

“I think she agrees.”, she smirked.

“Oh yes, clearly a yes from her.”, you laughed, petting Narla.

“Absolutely.”

Lucy opened the fridge, taking ingredients out and got to work. You studied every movement with curious excitement. Whatever she touched, it promised to be a delicious meal.

“What are you cooking, Chef Lucy?”, you asked innocently.

She turned to you, smug as ever: “It’s a surprise.”

“Sounds amazing.”

“It will be.”

A delicious smell filled the kitchen within minutes, making you almost as impatient has Narla who sat in front of Lucy, hoping that she would drop something.

You realised that you were no better than your dog when you got up and snuck up to Lucy. You distracted her by wrapping your arms around her waist and inconspicuously grabbed a spoon full of sauce to taste.

“Hmm, delicious.”, you hummed, deliberately ignoring your girlfriends protests.

Lucy rolled her eyes with a gentle smile: “Hey, it’s not done yet.”

You blinked at her with puppy eyes: “Sorry.”

Lucy opened her mouth, about to playfully scold you as she always did but nothing came out. She paused.

It took you a few seconds until you realised that she was listing to the music.

“That’s our song!”, she announced suddenly.

“Oh, you recognised it?”

“Of course.”

The food on the stove was suddenly forgotten.

You studied Lucys face, her eyes softened.

“Do you remember when it first became our song?”

“I do.”, she nodded.

You both stood there, remembering how this song played whenever you met. At every bar, every restaurant and every shop. Your friends used to play it at parties too because they knew it was a safe way to get you two on the dance floor. You hadn’t actively listened to that song in a while.

“It’s a nice memory, dont you think?”

Lucy didn’t reply. Instead, she reached for your arms and pulled you in.

“Dance with me.”

You laughed in surprise: “What? In the kitchen?”

“Of course. Where else?”, she said and started swaying you to the rhythm of the music.

“Okay.”, you finally agreed.

You gave in, fully moving your body in sync to hers. Her hands rested on your waist as you stepped and turned, your hands lingered on her shoulders. It was easy to follow each other’s movements.

You stared into your girlfriends’ eyes and a pleasant warmth spread through your body. Your heartbeat sped up. It was almost like falling in love all over again.

“We should do that more often.”, you smiled at her.

A mischievous smile played on Lucy’s lips: “Dancing?”

“Yes. Although the dancing sessions with the team during camp were fun too.”, you admitted with a wink.

The defender couldn't help bursting out in a hearty laugh: “I wouldn’t count that as dancing.”

“No and how would you call this here?”, you asked teasingly.

“This? That’s called cooking.”, she replied with a cheeky grin.

It was only now that you noticed the bubbling on the hob, you had both been too engrossed in dancing beforehand.

“Oh my god the food!”, you exclaimed.  

Unlike you, Lucy remained calm and waved away your worries: “Don’t worry, I’ve got everything under control.”

Despite her assurances, you opened the window to let in some fresh air. “Are you sure?”, you questioned.  

“Yeah, you know I don’t play when it comes to food.”

You knew that she prided herself on being a good cook and that when something like this happened, it was in the right hands. Slowly you began to relax again as you watched her put the finishing touches to the food with practised grips.

Whilst doing so, you couldn't help chuckling at a memory: “Yes, it's a bit of a shame you don't wear glasses anymore, they looked funny when they got cloudy from the hot steam.”

“You know what? I don’t miss that at all.”, Lucy shook her head in amusement. The defender had to worry too often that her contact lenses would fall out during a game or that she would lose her glasses in a strange hotel room.

Only sometimes, on a long day, did the older woman caught herself longing for poorer eyesight, where she would rather not see so sharply because the world had lost its softness with it.

While you knew how her answer came about, you'll love your friend's glasses forever because you met her for the first time with them on her nose: “I thought you might say that.”

“Yeah, I can finally see what I’m doing.”

“Dinner’s ready?”

Lucy confirmed it with a simple yes.

“Perfect, I’ll set the table.”, you announced satisfied. Afterwards you lit some candles and dimmed the overhead lightning to create a cozier atmosphere.

“Romantic. I like that.”, Lucy remarked as she brought the cooked meal, which already smelled heavenly, to the table.

With a knowing smile you responded: “Oh, I know you do.”

“It’s finally just us.”, your girlfriend said.

Quickly, you added: “Us plus Narla.”

“Exactly.”, she grinned.

After you had taken the first bite and absorbed everything, you realised: ”It’s perfect.”

“I agree.”, Lucy hummed.

One thing was for certain, there was no one you would rather dance through life with than her.

gif source: https://www.tumblr.com/glimmerofawesome/691333988304977921?source=share

[likeumeanit9497]

ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ | ᴄ.ꜱ. |

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ ꜰᴏᴜʀ

series masterlist here

summary: Eleanor moves through the world like a shadow searching for light, and Chris burns too brightly, as if trying to outshine a buried grief. When they collide on a night filled with a mutual self-loathing, something quiet but insistent begins to grow between them — a pull that they never dare speak of, yet orbit in harmony nonetheless. Their bond deepens quickly, shaped by vulnerability, near-misses, and the ache of things left unsaid. As their lives pull and blur at the edges, they learn that what they are for one another in the moment may matter more than how it ends. 

warnings (throughout the series): smut; angst; addiction; family trauma; depression; heavy drinking; mentions of death; mentions of abuse; 18+

The morning had pulled her from sleep gently, as though the house itself, worn by years of small mercies and private griefs, had resolved to keep watch over her. She stirred beneath the weight of a soft comforter in a room that didn’t belong to her, yet felt, in a strange way, like something close.

Chris’s arm lay draped across her waist, heavy with sleep’s trust, his breath warm where it gathered at the back of her neck. She turned her head, careful not to wake him, and let herself watch him for a moment. She would never get over the way the hush of dawn made his face softer: the slope of his nose, freckles like faint punctuation across his cheeks, the parting of his plush lips.

Something clenched in her chest. A tightness that was part guilt, part gratitude, part foolish, tremulous hope. She eased herself free from him and slipped out of the bed as silently as she could. The floorboards creaked beneath her bare feet, a sound that somehow only added to the intimacy of it all, like the house knew she was awake.

Downstairs, the kitchen was already glowing with early light. Marylou was at the counter, sleeves rolled up, arranging a cluster of mixing bowls and ingredients. Her curls were pinned back haphazardly, and she already had a smear of flour on her cheek. She looked so natural, so at home in the rhythm of domestic ritual, that Eleanor felt something in her settle just from watching her.

“Good morning, Sunshine!” Marylou called, her voice warm and bright.

Eleanor felt her own mouth shape itself around a smile before she had quite decided to grant one, “Morning.”

“I was just being a little proactive,” Marylou said, gesturing at the ingredients, “But if you’re feeling up to it, we can get started.”

“I’d like that,” Eleanor said softly, stepping forward.

They found a quiet rhythm quickly — Marylou measuring the wet ingredients, Eleanor working on the dry. She sifted flour with hands that were calmer than she had expected, her motions slow and steady. There was something meditative about the act. A stillness she had not felt in days.

“You bake often?” Marylou asked, glancing over with a grin.

“Not really,” Eleanor admitted, eyes on the small drift of flour gathering near her wrist, “More of a…watcher than a doer. But I’ve always meant to do it more.”

“Well, I think that still counts,” Marylou replied, cracking an egg with practiced ease, “Besides, anyone who’s up before nine with a mixing bowl in hand is a marvel in my books.”

They shared a smile. For a while, their talk drifted toward the safe, familiar landmarks — the weather, Eleanor’s approaching thesis deadline, how the boys were always late risers. But eventually, Marylou’s voice took on a gentler tone.

“So,” She said casually, “Is your family going away for the holidays? Is that why you’re not headed home?”

Eleanor’s hands froze on the spoon. A flush crawled up the back of her neck and bloomed across her cheeks. She stared at the bowl, willing her voice to work, to lie maybe. But her throat felt thick.

“Oh, no…” She said, voice landing far too quietly, “It’s— no.”

Silence stretched excruciatingly before Marylou’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry. That was far too personal, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s okay,” Eleanor said quickly, even as her voice trembled. She felt foolish for wanting so much to sound composed.

Marylou stepped back instinctively, like she was trying to physically undo the question. “I didn’t mean to bring anything up, truly. We can pretend it didn’t happen. Forget I asked.”

Eleanor looked down, dragging a fingertip across the flowered counter top. Her voice was smaller now. “Chris really didn’t tell you anything?”

Marylou shook her head. “My boys have always been good at keeping secrets. Especially when it matters.”

Something pulled at Eleanor’s ribs at that. The thought of Chris keeping her close, keeping her story safe. “I like that about him,” She murmured.

“He’s a good one,” Marylou replied fondly, as though the truth of it needed no further dressing.

They stood in silence for a beat, until Marylou reached across the counter and patted Eleanor’s hand. She took a slow breath and reached for the rolling pin, letting the motion ground her.

“My mom has…some problems with, uh, drinking,” She said, voice barely above a whisper. Marylou did not react. Did not frown or widen her eyes or ask for more. She simply nodded.

“Did Chris tell you about his dad?” She asked, after a long moment.

Eleanor nodded, “He did.”

They looked at each other for a breath over the spread of flour and cookie dough, and a wave of understanding passed between them.

“I just want you to know,” Marylou said softly, resting a hand on Eleanor’s shoulder, “I may not know much about you yet. But I know my son. And to my knowledge, he’s never told anyone about his father. And he’s never—” She paused, a brief flicker of mischief in her eyes, “—brought a girl home.”

Eleanor blinked. The words settled in her chest like a slow flare of heat. Dangerous and low. She bent over the dough, pressing cookie cutters into its softness with more force than she meant. She did not want to cry, not in front of this woman who had been nothing but kind. Marylou went back to humming under her breath, filling the room with a gentle holiday melody.

Eleanor worked in silence, swallowing around the lump in her throat, trying not to let herself hope too much. Because no matter how tender the morning, how kind the kitchen, she could not forget what had happened two nights ago. His rejection, her hurtful words. And the way he had looked at her anyway — with love, with care, with everything she knew she did not deserve. But she hoped, deep down, that one day she would.

—

The cookies were rested on a wire rack, their sugared coats catching the kitchen light as if they were small, edible jewels. Eleanor had taken her time with the decorating — squinting in concentration as she traced delicate snowflake patterns, pressing tiny candy buttons into gingerbread chests with care. Marylou’s voice had drifted over her shoulder all the while, soft with trivial comforts — recipes, weather, small recollections — words settling like dust motes in a shaft of sun. Eleanor had never moved so slowly, so purposefully, in a kitchen before. It felt astonishing — as though time itself could be coaxed to pause if only she focused hard enough on a swirl of icing.

Now, with two of the best cookies nestled on a plate, she climbed the stairs with a hush in her steps, careful not to betray the fragile porcelain with the clink of her tread. Chris’s door was cracked, just enough to reveal the stillness of the room beyond. She pushed it open with her shoulder, slipped inside. He was still asleep, sprawled diagonally across the bed like he had fought something in his dreams. His hair was mussed, cheeks creased with pillow lines, and the blankets had twisted halfway down his body, baring the familiar grey of his boxers and the curve of his bare ribs.

She hesitated for a second — at the small thrill of crossing into his quiet. Then she padded to the bed, sank carefully beside him, the plate balanced on her palm like something sacred. She nestled into the warmth of his side, the nearness of him drawing something calm and reckless from her at once. She lifted a cookie and traced its sugary edge beneath his nose, as if to conjure him gently back to her.

It worked at once: a twitch of his brow, a scrunch of his nose — then a half-formed sound, low and rough at the back of his throat, before his arm caught her waist in a single, sleepy snare. She laughed — an unguarded, bright sound that startled her almost as much as the way her chest landed flush to his. The plate teetered dangerously near the edge of the mattress. He pulled her on top of him and buried his face against her collarbone, biting her skin playfully just once.

“You smell so sweet,” He murmured, voice a tangle of sleep and impulse.

Her body went utterly still, the warmth unfurling like a quick spill of wine in her belly. She felt the beat of her heart skip hard against his ribs — the small shock of it — the want to say something clever, anything, but nothing came. She felt the weight of it — that phrase — how it lingered between them, unspoken in all the ways it could be finished.

He stirred, surfaced just enough to realize it too. His voice cleared at the edges. “I mean— the cookies,” He said, quick to amend, “You made cookies.”

That made her giggle — breathy, unchecked — the sound barely hers, the plate rescued and set on his chest. She sat up slightly, balancing herself on his hips, still straddling him and trying to ignore the morning tension in his lap. “Mhmm,” She said, and grabbed one of the cookies off the plate. “Open.”

He obeyed — eyes half-lidded, lashes low, a slow bite that brushed her fingers just enough to catch her breath. He chewed lazily, as though drawing something private from the taste, never once looking away from her. When he swallowed, he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, letting his eyes flutter shut as he let out a pleased sound.

“You’re in an awfully good mood today,” She teased, voice low, her fingertips drifting to brush a flake of sugar from his jaw.

“I am,” He said, eyes crinkling, “I’m happy you’re here.”

The words lodged in her chest like something caught mid-flight. She swallowed around them, dizzy and light, and looked down at him again. His cheeks were perfectly pink, icing smudged faintly near the corner of his mouth.

“I’m happy to be here too,” She replied. And then, in a conspiratorial whisper, “I love your mom.”

That made him chuckle. A real, unguarded sound that warmed her from the inside out. “She loves you too,” He said, as if it were a fact that had always been true.

Her chest swelled. That gentle, familiar rush of joy when it has been absent for too long. When it arrives, you don’t quite know what to do with it, how to hold it. So she did not. Instead, she leaned in slightly and tapped a finger against her lips, voice as small as her heartbeat. “Kiss.”

Chris blinked, still drowsy, his gaze heavy-lidded and unguarded. Then his eyes dropped immediately to her mouth, something quiet and almost dazed passing over his face. “Kiss?” He echoed, in a whisper that felt far heavier than the word itself.

She nodded slowly. Eyes sparkling, lashes low. “A friend kiss.”

Something in his eyes softened at that, and his hands found her cheeks — warm and steady. He held her like something precious. His fingers brushed back a wild strand at her temple, lingering just long enough to make her hold her breath. “Okay,” He breathed. And when he drew her down, it was as if the room itself stilled to watch.

The kiss was slow. So slow. It was not searching or impatient or greedy like she was used to. There was no edge of expectation to it, no pull for more. Just soft lips against soft lips. His mouth moved gently against hers, tasting of sleep and sugar, and her whole body softened into him like snow melting under sun.

His hands stayed at her jaw as they kissed, thumbs brushing the edge of her cheekbone. She let the plate of cookies slip onto the mattress beside them, forgotten. All of her attention had narrowed into this moment, this feeling of comfort, the exact point of contact between her mouth and his. She felt his mouth shape itself around her lower lip once, and then still — as if learning something it wanted to remember exactly. She melted — into the shape of him, the shape of her, the same of them.

When she finally pulled back, breathless, it was only due to the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the hall — the sudden, real-world sound that shattered the spell but left its warmth behind. She turned her head just as the door creaked open. Matt leaned into the room, expression unreadable for a beat as he took in the scene — her curled over Chris’s lap, flushed and wide-eyed, Chris’s hands still lazily holding her waist.

Matt’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a smirk, “You both awake?”

Eleanor pulled herself upright, clearing her throat, “Barely,” She lied.

He forced his mouth back into a straight face. “We’re leaving for the rink in twenty.” He said, and with that, he vanished back down the hall.

She turned back to Chris, raising a brow with a suspicious little grin, “Rink?”

He chuckled, brushing a hand through his hair as he guided her gently off his lap and into the space beside him so he could stretch. “Skating,” He confirmed, yawning, “You were warned.”

She sighed dramatically and sank back into the pillow as he rolled out of bed, “I thought you’d spare me.”

“Nope. You’re definitely coming.”

She smiled into the duvet despite herself, heart still humming from the kiss, still holding the shape of his mouth. Watching him cross the room, still sleepy in his boxers, she felt something flutter low in her belly again, but gentler this time. That undefined current between them that haunted her. And she was okay with that. For now, she was just happy to be here, with him. And for the first time in a long time, here felt like exactly where she was meant to be.

—

The skate laces refused to cooperate. Chris tugged at them, fingers fumbling more than they should have, the tongue of his boot slipping sideways again. Mild curses bloomed under his breath, though it was not truly the skates that made him clumsy. His mind, always betraying him, had abandoned the cold rink long before — it drifted instead back home, back into the hush of his room where morning light fell across her skin like art at an exhibit. Back in the weight of her sitting on top of him with cookie crumbs forgotten on the bed and her finger tapping against her lips like a secret.

She had asked him to kiss her. Not in the half-dark of some drunken, ruinous night; not in grief’s reckless pull; but because she simply wanted it. He doubted he would ever forget the way she looked at him when she asked. Sparkling eyes, flushed cheeks, that smile that had been absent for too long and returned as if it had never left her face. It had not felt the way their first kiss had — no, that one had been half-desperate, half-panicked, an impulsive reach toward something slipping away.

But this time, it had been easy. Like they had kissed a hundred times already. Like it was muscle memory. Like his mouth already knew how to meet hers in the dark and in the morning light and in every quiet moment in between.

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he did not fight it. Nick’s voice rose and fell in a half-heard joke, Matt’s laugh joined it, and then Eleanor’s — that sudden sound, bright and unguarded — skimmed across the cold air like a skipped stone. Chris focused on his skates: no knot, no progress, only the loose tongue of the boot sliding out of place. He blinked; shook himself from the fog. And then — felt a tug on his hoodie sleeve.

“Earth to Chris.”

He turned, drawn back to her. She was watching him with eyebrows lifted, head tilted slightly, the ghost of that same smile playing at her lips, as if she found him half-amusing, half-lovable in his distraction.

“Sorry,” He said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand that remembered how her hair had felt gathered in his palm, “What’s up?”

“Think you could tie mine when you’re done?” She asked, lifting an unlaced foot an inch off the floor, “I’m kinda useless in this department.”

He let out a breathy laugh — grateful to be tethered to the present — and hurried through his own laces. “Yeah, yeah. I got you.”

He managed his own knots at last, then shifted to her. Crouched before her, he caught her foot, steadying it between his knees like second nature. He worked the laces through his fingers, slow, sure, the rough scrape of fabric against his skin oddly comforting. He could feel the warmth of her ankle even through the skates, felt her breath above him, imagined her watching him with that amused curiosity she wore so easily today.

“I really wish you weren’t making me do this,” She murmured, her voice pitched low with false complaint.

He glanced up at her through his lashes, a crooked smile playing on his lips, “Come on,” He said, “You’re from the East Coast. This shit’s in your blood.”

She groaned, shifting dramatically as he finished one foot. He tapped her shin gently, and she lifted her other foot, knee brushing his chest. It jolted something gentle in him. “I’ve never actually skated before,” She admitted, quieter this time.

He paused. His eyes lifted to hers, and there it was — that flicker of nerves, doing a great job at hiding beneath her exaggerated eye-roll and bravado. The wild in her eyes was dulled into something uncertain, and he felt his chest tighten.

“That’s okay,” He said softly, “You’ve got the best coach you could ask for.”

She looked up at him then, something fragile and grateful and bright behind her lashes. Her teeth caught her bottom lip — slowly, almost unconsciously — and Chris felt his own breath stutter. That small, unconscious gesture — so simple, so innocent — seemed somehow more intimate than any kiss could be. More dangerous, too. His mouth ached. Still tasted like hers. He blinked hard, tried to shake it off, and finished the knot with a decisive pull, as if to steady himself.

“There,” He said, settling back, “Perfect.”

She offered him a lopsided grin, “There’s gonna be nothing perfect about this experience.”

He stood and extended his hand to her, “Guess we’re about to find out.”

They began the slow shuffle toward the rink together, her skates clacking against the rubber flooring, her hand tight at his elbow as if to test how much of him she could lean on. He did not mind. He almost wished the corridor were longer, so she would hold him that way a little while more.

The moment her blades touched the ice, Eleanor’s body jolted into panic.

“Chris—!” She gasped, arms flailing, both hands flying to clutch the front of his coat, “Oh my god, oh my god, I’m gonna die—”

He caught her, laughter easing from his chest as he gripped her waist. “You’re not gonna die.”

She pressed closer, knees locked, skates quivering beneath her. “I’m serious, Chris, this was a mistake — can you just, like, drag me over to the rail?”

“No chance,” He murmured, lips curved, nose nearly brushing her temple, “You gotta trust me.”

“Chris,” She warned, “I will cry.”

He bent closer, so she would hear it only as a hush against her ear, “I won’t let you fall. Just relax. Lean into me.”

She gave a breathy, terrified laugh but slowly he felt her shift — her weight yielding, bit by bit, until her hips settled against his. He turned her carefully, aligning her back to his chest, fitting her inside the loose shape of him.

“There we go,” He whispered, tightening his arms around her ribcage as they started forward, “Now we skate.”

They moved together in slow, careful circles, the cold air kissing his face, her sweet-smelling hair tickling his chin. But he felt her gradually loosen, felt her let herself drift into his rhythm. She leaned into him, trusted his direction, let herself glide where he guided her.

And then, a bright peal of laughter broke from her throat. It startled him, how genuine it sounded. How much it made his chest feel like it could split wide open with relief and something warmer, deeper. She called out to Nick and Matt as they passed, triumphant. “Look at me!” She shouted, “I’m doing it!”

“You’re doing great,” He chuckled, pushing them faster as his brothers cheered for her. She squealed, giddy, shouting for more speed, and Chris obliged, feeling a heady mix of pride and adrenaline spike in his veins. He could not stop grinning. She felt weightless in his arms, the easiest thing he had ever held.

When at last her legs gave their first protest, she laughed again, breathless. “Okay, okay, I’m done. Break time,” She huffed, palm pressed to her chest like a small pledge.

He slowed them gently, steering her back to the safety of solid ground, steadying her with hands as if she were a promise he refused to break. When she sank onto the bench, she did so with theatrical drama, but her cheeks were warm, her eyes bright with something new. He stood above her a moment longer, watching the breath still clouding her lips. She lifted her face to him, flushed,

“Go on,” She said, motioning toward the rink where Matt and Nick were now firing pucks into a net at the far end, “Have fun. I’ll be right here. Watching and judging.”

He gave her a fond smile — quiet and unguarded and belonging only to her. “Don’t judge too hard.”

“Never.”

With one last look at her — small and bundled and bright against the battered wooden bench — he pushed himself back out onto the ice, blades biting a groove into the cold sheen. Matt’s shout greeted him before he reached them, a careless bark of brotherly ridicule. His stick came skittering across the ice — Nick’s lazy pass. Chris caught it without looking, his body already moving in practiced arcs.

“You’re on Nick’s team,” Matt called, “He’s getting slaughtered.”

Nick lifted his glove in mock salute, then lost his footing as the puck rebounded off the boards. He was laughing — breathless, unbothered. Chris felt the cold air claim his cheeks, the rush of speed biting at his throat, and he let muscle memory wrap him in something simpler than thought. He ducked past Matt’s swing, hooked the puck clear, flung a grin at Nick that made them both teenagers again — boys on a pond, shouting insults through the echo of frozen dusk.

But some truths wait at the edge of all this easy motion. Mid-glide, Matt’s voice broke the spell. “So,” He said, flicking the puck toward the goal, “Wanna tell me what I walked in on this morning?”

Nick made an exaggerated sound of disgust, nearly tripping on his skates, “Please, don’t. Spare me.”

Chris chuckled, trying not to sound uncomfortable. He kept his eyes on the puck as he corralled it with a tap, “It was nothing. Just a—” And then the word caught in his mouth, the echo of her whisper flaring behind his teeth, “—a friend kiss.”

Matt stared, flat and unconvinced. “You two are so weird.”

Chris didn’t argue. It was weird. It wasn’t just a friend kiss. It had felt soft and easy in a way he never thought possible. He flicked the puck toward Nick, skating backwards now, wind slicing a flush into his jaw. His tongue found the ghost of her on his lip — so faint now, but there. It always would be.

He cast a glance over his shoulder, as if some gentle instinct compelled it. And there she was — a small figure buried in a scarf, hunched against the rink’s chill. Her eyes found his instantly, bright with that secret, delicate light. She lifted a hand in a half-wave that never quite formed, a gesture so unremarkable yet so his.

And then — a flicker. A shift. That almost imperceptible hush before weather changes, the cold pressing in, heavier than it should be. He felt it first along his spine — that unkind whisper of a memory his body remembered before his mind could name it.

At the far side of the rink, someone new slid out of the blurred crowd — a lone figure skimming the ice with quiet command. Even before his gaze could make sense of the silhouette — the white beanie, the pale coat that fell like money — he knew. His breath stopped. The easy motion of his limbs turned leaden.

No. It couldn’t be.

But there she was — the woman he hoped would remain a forgotten ghost of his past — gliding toward him with that same exquisite, unfathomable poise. Her chin lifted, her mouth carved into a hair raising smile that gave nothing away. Her eyes pinned him in place, forbidding him any small lie of distance. And she was skating right toward him.

͏𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ❤︎ ͏

tags: @slvtf0rchr1s @pip4444chris @oopsiedaisydeer @switchstvrns @ellssturn @idefinitelyhateu @courta13 @b-eharrlichkeit @stellasbookshelf

a/n: eek one of my fave chapters (minus the end yuck we hate cliffhangers) love you all <3

[lilacs-stars]

sweet like you

pairing: bridget x fem!reader (requested) (note: reader is charming's sister) SUMMARY: you and your pink-haired best friend have your own ways of showing affection. but what will happen if you take things to the next level? GENRE: tooth-rotting fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining CW: nothing really, reader is down bad, thoughts of loneliness and worries she's not good enough, mouth-watering descriptions of food WC: 7k

A/N: this one was heavily based off of the five love languages! I personally think that bridget shows love by gift giving and quality time (although I am willing to hear people out on this), and reader is words of affirmation and physical touch, with maybe a dash of acts of service. hope you guys enjoy, and thank you to the anon who requested this! please give me feedback and suggestions, I’d love to know your thoughts!

You fidget nervously, skittishly glancing up at the girl in front of you.

You were so afraid to do it, to maybe ruin what you two already have.

But if you don’t, you’ll be trapped in a life overshadowed by regret, yearning for a love that will forever linger in your heart like a forgotten memory just out of reach, a devotion that has taken root in you so deep you know it is impossible to abandon or ignore.

And with that thought, you gently lean in towards her soft, pink lips.

“So? How is it?”

The pink-haired girl in front of you stands with her arms hugged to her chest, hands curled in fists that sit right below her chin. She looks at you with an anticipation so potent it's practically overflowing, rocking back and forth in a way that makes you think she’ll combust at any second. Her kind eyes are stretched wide open, staring down your every move as she eagerly awaits your answer.

You take a bite into the freshly baked fruit tart in your hand, the perfectly golden crust and masterful arrangement of strawberries, blueberries, and kiwi slices on top making it look almost too good to eat.

As soon as the flavors make contact with your tongue, you practically melt away at the sweet, delicious taste that graces your tastebuds. The pastry base is like a crisp and delightfully buttery embrace that unifies all the elements, a shell that cradles the flavors with care. The fruits on top are delectable and juicy, the natural sweetness and burst of tang adding a refreshing balance to the sugary taste of the pastry, like little fireworks on your tongue.

Your favorite part, however, is the heavenly vanilla custard filling. It’s smooth and decadent, like diving into a saccharine river of vanilla that glides across your tongue. It’s as if the very essence of pure bliss itself was captured and transformed into a rich, sweet nectar. The cool, silky filling and fresh fruits are delightful in how they contrast the warm, flaky crust, all the ingredients coming together in a harmonious composition of textures and flavors.

Your eyes, which had fluttered closed in sheer ecstasy, open again to see a Bridget that is buzzing with excitement.

Your mouth, still stuffed and chewing, manages to mumble out, “It-it’s incredible," as you cover it with your spare hand—proper etiquette being second nature to you by now—trying to get out the partially coherent words.

Bridget still looks at you with a zealous sparkle in her eyes, expression unchanged and expectant, relentlessly teetering on the balls of her feet like a hummingbird rapidly flapping its wings as it hovers by a flower. Most people would have stopped at the compliment, but you, being a near-professional taste tester from the number of Bridget’s creations that you’ve tried since you met her, have a full evaluation prepared as you swallow.

“The crust is very buttery and just the right amount of crispiness, perfectly balancing out the smooth creaminess of the custard. The fruits add a bit of tartness and a fresh, juicy taste that evens out the sweetness of the rest of the pastry, that could be a bit overwhelming otherwise. As for aesthetics”—you shift around slightly from your position on the edge of her bed, the fluffy pink comforter beneath you practically swallowing you whole—“your placement is very well-done. I would recommend adding a glaze to the fruits, both to make them glossy and to enrich the taste.”

Bridget nods her head fervently, absorbing your every word like your suggestions are an indisputable truth. “I feel like the crust is a bit soggy, too,” she adds, face wrinkled in a frown as she stares at the dessert in your hand.

You look down at your half-bitten treat—its original, untouched beauty now destroyed—in a scrutinizing consideration. “Did you wait for the crust to cool down before adding the filling?” Bridget tilts her head upwards, eyes deep in thought as she looks to the ceiling. “Hmm, now that you mention it, I don’t think I did.”

"That must be the cause." You are certainly no baker yourself, but you’ve had lots of practice critiquing Bridget’s creations to the point where you are highly knowledgeable in the theory of baking. “Still, it is unbelievably delicious.” As if hearing those words for the first time, Bridget’s face lights up, her features all but radiating a brilliant glow as she beams. She clasps her hands together, crying, “Aww, thanks!”

You can’t help but laugh a little—Bridget’s limitless joy is truly contagious. At times like this, when you're staring up at her, gaze swirled with pure adoration and awe as if she's an angel that descended from the heavens in front of your eyes, you start to think just how lucky you are. For once in your life, the strings of fate finally pulled in your favor, crossing your paths with the girl clad in a bright pink dress facing you.

Fate is often cruel to you, like an unrelenting winter wind blowing in your face and biting at your skin, like nature laughing at you as you shiver in raw misery, coldness seeping deep into your bones. A cruel trickster that seems to follow you with malevolent intentions, a vicious smirk painted on its face as it sends every misfortune barreling your way.

You might have been born a royal, a princess that has an unfathomable number of gowns stacked in her closet and an equal number of suitors lined up for her hand. But you aren’t like your brother; you don’t approach groups of strangers and introduce yourself with a wink and an alluring demeanor. He is Prince Charming, after all, which causes you to often ruminate over how accurately your parents named him.

Instead of flashing a winsome smile to every guest at a ball, or every visitor invited to your house, and strike up a conversation with them, you often seek refuge in the quiet expanse of your own room. When required to make an appearance, you prefer to loiter around in the shadows or pass by unseen, like a ghost. This has made you quite the anomaly in the royal world; everyone always whispers behind covered hands and in hushed voices, spreading rumors and wildly speculating about why the princess of such a gregarious family never makes a presence of herself publicly.

And it’s the same at school. Bridget, like your brother, will approach absolutely anyone with a smile gracing her features and kind eyes crinkled in the corners, oftentimes with a home-baked treat in hand. She has countless friends, many random people she mentions or smiles at in the hallways that you’ve never even seen before. She’s never had to worry about finding a partner in class, never avoided eye contact in a crowd of people she didn’t know, never sat watching other people’s carefree conversations with the weight of being an outsider, always looking in through the glass of isolation keeping you from them. 

Which is why, to this day, in moments like these, you question whether fate has made a mistake of some sort—maybe jumbled up different karmic ties or gotten confused with names when it came time to draw people’s futures. Or, your biggest fear, is that this is all some elaborate plan, a puzzle piece in destiny’s plan to make your life as ill-fortuned as possible.

In times like this one, you peer up at Bridget and wonder, why in the world, out of her multitude of friends, did she decide to spend the most time with you? To dub you her “best friend”, if you will. 

Bridget had noticed your solitary manners a long time ago—like a magnet, she’s drawn to the people who are most in need of a friend, the most ostracized of the outcasts. And so, she had patiently sat with you every day, struck up a conversation even when you gave her the shortest answers possible that were still deemed polite, and attempted to make plans with you, although you always tried to cover up your outlandish excuses with gracious thank-yous. 

Over time, the girl with the bright eyes and unfaltering smile finally wore you down, until you began sitting next to her yourself, began looking forward to your idle conversations, and even sought to spend as much time with her as possible. In fact, you spend more time at her dorm than you do yours; neither of you have roommates, so the only time you go back to your room is to get into bed. Besides that, you spend every waking moment basking in Bridget’s cheery presence, so much so that half your belongings are scattered on her floor (your doing), or neatly tucked away in a drawer (her tidying up after you leave).

Your relationship grew to a point where you began to know Bridget well enough that you couldn't keep denying the way she seemed to know everyone, and on a rather personal basis as well. How she had a party or event she was invited to every weekend, or how she had an entire roster of people willing to help her at the smallest of notices anytime she needed a favor. Sure, she may not seem like the “popular” sort, which had definitely deceived you as well when you first met her, but she was definitely well-known and especially well-liked. 

So you found yourself many a night sitting on her bed—as you are now—looking at the stack of pretentious letters and notes, carefully placed in ostentatious envelopes with cloyingly ornate lettering, wondering what about you made Bridget seek you out. And that’s when you first thought of it. Maybe, just maybe, she didn’t actually like you.

And once that thought popped in your mind, once it was planted and dug its roots in your brain, it grew rapidly, spreading uncontrollably like a weed that was left unchecked for a bit too long. Bridget probably only talked to you in the beginning just to be nice, the intrusive, unwanted voice hissed in your mind. She didn’t really like you. And now you keep on leeching onto her, and she’s way too nice to say she finds you annoying.

Fueled by your disbelief that anyone, especially someone with as many options as Bridget, would actively want to spend their time with you, you started to believe that Bridget was only entertaining you out of required courtesy. And so, you tried spending less time with her after that, building up your walls again and shutting her out; suddenly, you didn’t approach her in the hallways anymore, were always too busy “studying” to hang out in her room, and your long rants about various, trivial topics were reduced to simple, curt responses.

But Bridget persisted, always choosing you amidst a myriad of familiar faces beckoning her over. She still wanted to make plans with you, still left you treats outside your door to taste test. And so, with a hesitant uncertainty, only brought out by your crippling fear and burning shame at the possibility of even coming close to hurting Bridget’s feelings from your cold actions, you decided that she might actually want to be with you, of her own free will. 

That night, you had thanked her for being such a good friend to you. She replied as sweetly and modestly as ever (“Oh, it’s nothing! Don’t even mention it.”) When you brought up how you wouldn’t have any friends if not for her choosing to persistently break down your walls, as you are undeniably terrible at making friends, she had simply told you that your style of befriending people was to wait for them to approach you first, whilst her style was to approach them first.

She had pointed out, with a compassionate wrinkle in her brow, that with your way, at least you could be certain that whoever cared enough about you to initiate something and work towards befriending you probably had genuine intentions, which was a drawback of becoming friends with just anyone, like she did—you never who truly likes you, and who’s plotting to stab you in the back. You kept your mouth shut that night, but you really couldn’t help but think if that were true, then did that mean that the only person with genuine intentions towards you in the entire school was Bridget herself?

Fate, you decided, is certainly an interesting character.

“Maybe I should make another batch.” Bridget’s musings draw you back to the present, where she now stands with a bitten fruit tart in her hand and two unoccupied cavities in the tray she had baked them in. “I was thinking of handing these out to my History of World Magic class tomorrow, but they aren’t very good…” She frowns again as she looks down at her pastry, as if furrowing her brow and staring intensely at it can miraculously fix it, or at least give her some insight into discerning what to improve.

“Bridget.” You push up off the bed, taking a step towards her and placing a firm hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to make another batch. These ones are already great.”

Abruptly, you swoop in towards her opposite hand, stealing a bite from her already partially-eaten dessert. You chew with a smile on your face as you look at Bridget’s slightly startled expression, commenting, “See? This one is just as good as the other one.”

Bridget remains frozen for a moment, her forehead still puckered, before she relents into a soft grin. “Alright, then. If you say so. I guess they are alright.”

“That’s the spirit.” You let go of her shoulder, now leisurely strolling around the room, eyeing the various objects neatly placed on her furniture. Eyes scanning over each item, your hand subconsciously reaches out, fingertips languidly brushing along her possessions as if soaking up her essence. “About History, I’m so unprepared for that test we have coming up. Ugh, who even assigns that much work? Especially since Mr. Poirier already grades so harshly. Like, last test, he marked me down because I only gave three examples of goblin strikes in the past century out of the five he taught. I mean, you can’t mark someone down if you never said how many examples to give! He’s so unfai—”

Your voice cuts off as your eyes snag on a collection of objects on Bridget's desk that weren’t there before, an assortment of various tools and materials that when combined appear to belong to a crafting set: multicolored beads, tubes of sparkly glitter, delicate metal chains, a set of pliers, and a bright pink vial of glue.

“What are these?” you ask curiously, leaning in closer with a furrowed brow as you inspect the items on the desk, trying to make out what they are, or rather, what they are going to be made into.

“Ah! It’s nothing!” Bridget squeals, rushing over and throwing a spare blanket over the desk before you can take a closer look.

You spin around to face her, a frown etched into your features. “If it’s nothing, then why are you hiding it?”

“It’s not important!”

“You know you’re only making me want to know even more.”

“It’s really nothing! Just don’t think about it.”

You lift your hand, inching it closer to the draped cloth. “I’m thinking about it,” you tease, playfully moving your arm at a gradual, yet deliberate, pace towards the desk. “Still thinking about it. I’m getting closer, closer, closer…”

Just as your fingers are about to make contact with the blanket to pull it off, Bridget lurches forward, taking your troublesome hand in hers as she leads you away, towards the other side of the room with a nervous giggle.

“Come on!” you exclaim with a huff. “What’s so bad about what you’re doing that you don’t want to show me?”

“It’s not bad!” Bridget counters. “It’s just…look, you’ll find out what it is soon. Just give me some time, okay?”

“Hmm…” you hum, glancing upwards with faux consideration. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to wait that long.” A small, cheeky grin dances on your face as you try to conceal it with a feigned pout.

Bridget shoots you a look, a small smile finally spreading across her lips. “What were we talking about again? That’s right, History of World Magic. So, what were you saying?”

You notice the sudden—and rather forced—attempt to change the subject, but ultimately decide to brush it off. “Yeah, I was saying how Mr. Poirier is so unfair when it comes to grading! And his tests are always so hard. Like, seriously, he makes up test questions that he never even talked about during class. He just expects us to memorize the whole textbook or something.”

Bridget gives a small, rueful shrug. “Well, I guess he just wants us to learn the information well.” You shoot her a sharp look, one that screams, "Seriously? You’re defending him?"

“Hey, I have an idea!" Bridget exclaims, eyes lighting up again. "How about tomorrow, after school, we go to the library and study for the test? With both our minds put together, we’re a lot less likely to miss something. After all, two heads are better than one. You aren’t busy or anything, right?”

You shake your head no, although it does pass your mind how Bridget must already know that you never have any plans besides the ones she makes with you. “’Kay, study session tomorrow sounds good. Although we’re probably going to be there till midnight. I mean, seriously, who assigns one test on four different chapters?”

Just as you launch into yet another rant about your insensitive teacher whom you practically despise at this point, a deep, low horn sounds from somewhere out in the hallway, reverberating against the walls.

Both you and Bridget glance up at the clock on her wall, which is custom-made in the shape of a pink heart surrounded by a white rim, now with its glittery hands pointing at ten and twelve.

“How is it curfew already?” you groan, rolling your eyes. “Guess I have to head back to my room.” Many times, you’ve contemplated requesting to move in with Bridget, so you two can officially be roommates. After all, you practically are, with the way that people always knock on Bridget’s door first when asking for you (although that seldom happens, and the few rare times it has, it’s always been on a teacher’s behest). But every time you start to consider it, your mind plummets back into that dark place, the belief rooted deep into your consciousness whispering that you’d just burden Bridget with your inescapable presence and occupied space. 

“Aw, well, I’ll see you tomorrow in class! And at the library!” Bridget says as she walks you to the door, her constant smiling shining through once again.

You both bid each other goodnight, and as you walk the familiar solitary path back to your room, the absence of Bridget’s cheerful and bright energy is achingly present. It’s as if a piece of you was stripped away, torn from your very being and leaving you numb and hollow, merely a void of fleeting emotions just out of your grasp. Like the sun disappearing during an eclipse, leaving everyone shrouded in darkness as they await its return, you feel as though your very liveliness is missing from you. You glide down the hallways soundlessly like a ghost, your body nothing more than a shell of the exuberance brought out by the girl who’s constantly emanating pure, unbridled positivity.

Despite your feelings of emptiness, a soft ray of warmth settles onto your soul as memories of the evening, and every other moment you spent in Bridget’s company, replay in your mind. You still hear her melodious laugh, still see the bright sparkle in her eyes only displayed in someone who has not yet been dulled by the merciless, unsparing nature of the world.

Even though she’s not there, you still feel as though she is, carrying a piece of her deep in your heart while you reminisce over your memories, as you always do when you’re in the quiet loneliness of your own company. Even though she’s not there, your heart races at the mere thought of her: her gaze as she listens intently to what you have to say, the way her arms wrap around your torso and how her hair tickles your neck as she gives you a tight, enthusiastic hug.

Even though she’s not there, a shadow of her presence forever lingers in your heart and mind, leaving you yearning to bask in her warm glow again.

You step into the library the next day, after the final bell dismisses you from your last lesson. The library is one of your favorite places in the entire school—aside from Bridget’s room, of course. The peaceful retreat of the rows of dusty shelves and worn, rickety tables is unmatched. The tranquility of the gentle silence that always covers the area like a blanket, the smell of weathered books holding untold quantities of knowledge soothing you with the smallest whiff. Whenever you step across that threshold, it’s like being taken into a different dimension, one with fewer heavy burdens weighing down your shoulders and more blissful ease, a feeling one only reaches when in an untroubled state of mind.

No one looks at you as you walk in, not even sparing a single glance or the slightest movement that acknowledges your arrival. Not that that’s an unusual feeling for you.

You make your way down the aisles of books to your usual table, where you and Bridget always sit, standing in a secluded corner. The book bag slung over your shoulder is weighed down with all the books and notes stuffed into it, causing your arm to ache with strain. Grimacing as the hemp strap painfully digs into your shoulder, certainly leaving a mark that you’ll discover later, you mentally hurl a few obscenities at your teacher for his absurd teaching methods that make your bag so heavy.

However, as you move towards the table, you can see that there’s already some foreign object placed on top of it. A shocked, annoyed anger sizzles inside of you, vexation pumping through your veins at the thought of someone stealing your table. Sure, it doesn’t actually belong to you, and everyone has an equal right to choose any seat they desire, but it’s still your preferred spot and any other one would feel disconcerting and out of place.

As you near, now silently directing your colorful words towards the table thief, you begin to notice that no one else is around; nor do you see any materials on the table besides the peculiar item, which appears to be a small plastic container.

You approach the box, noticing that there’s a small, fuchsia-colored note stuck to the top as you get closer. Instantly, you recognize the handwriting, the half-cursive swirls and loops paired with the little hearts topping all the i’s instead of dots engraved into your brain.

“Dear Y/N,

I’m so so sooo sorry, but someone had an emergency and I had to go help them! I feel really bad for leaving you, and I promise I’ll make it up to you! 

For now, I made you some treats as an apology (and to help make studying a little more bearable). Sorry again! I hope you enjoy them! 

Love always,

Bridget

You smile at the little heart drawn next to her name, a staple of her signature. Opening the lid of the container, you see that sure enough, it’s stocked with plenty of macarons, a multitude of colors and flavors beckoning at you to try them.

You sigh as you grab a chair to sit in, the small wave of relief that washes over you soon overshadowed by the returning feeling of loneliness, rekindling inside of you like a greeting from an old friend you haven’t seen in a while. You reside in its arms with a comfort brought not by the warmth of a tender hug that soothes your pain and fills the hollow void residing in you, but instead by the ease of familiarity, the peace obtained when the outcome is a cruel one, yet one you foresaw. The security granted by basking in the solace of numbing arms wrapped around you, the feeling of being all alone and undesired, unwanted, something you’ve grown all too accustomed to.

Once again, you’re given a painful reminder of how popular Bridget is, how many other friends she has. How at the end of the day, you're simply an option, a choice she chooses to make. One that she can always change in the blink of an eye.

But you know that you can’t really be disappointed or feel so rejected because of this. After all, it's not like you can expect her to not have a life outside of you—ignoring the fact that you don’t really have a life outside of her. It would be selfish of you to want her to yourself all the time, right? 

Readjusting your chair closer to the table, you remind yourself that it’s nice enough of her to even remember your plans, much less take the time to stop by here and leave you a note explaining her absence, in addition to a sweet—both figuratively and literally—gift. She could have just forsaken you with no note, no warning. But then again, that’s simply not the type of person Bridget is. If she knew just how much her presence affects you, how she fills your days with a joy, a happiness so pure and unparalleled by everything and everyone else, you’re almost certain she’d never leave your side again.

To her, you’re just another friend, someone she enjoys seeing. To you, she’s your sun, the very being you revolve around and depend on to survive.

She truly is your everything.

The mouthwatering macarons eyeing you through the clear plastic invite you to take a bite, and you indulge yourself as you rip off the lid and relish in the soft crunch of the outer layers and the smooth flavors bursting within, reminding you of something akin to a dessert sandwich.

After munching on quite a few of them—you simply couldn’t help yourself, they were absolutely delicious—you begrudgingly heave your bag onto the table, pulling out the materials you so diligently packed.

You crack open your textbook to the first chapter, then your notebook to the first blank page. Ripping a sheet out from the spine, you place it down next to your notes. Every time you write something in your notebook, you copy it down on the empty page.

After all, you couldn’t let Bridget’s kindhearted nature get in the way of her good grades. Even if it did mean more grueling work on your part.

For her, you are willing to do anything. Just to see her beam at you again with those rosy lips, the sparkle in her eyes twinkling brightly at you. Reminding you that you’re the cause behind her happiness.

No matter the cost for you.

The sea of faces and bodies in front of you is slightly overwhelming, blurred flashes passing you as you struggle to find your way through the crowd. But then, your eyes snatch on a head of pink curls bouncing up and down animatedly, and instantly, you’re washed over with a wave of relief. Slipping through the cracks between the meandering crowd, you make your way over to the table Bridget is sitting at today in the Dining Hall.

“Hey,” you say gingerly, placing a hand on her shoulder to get her attention as you approach her from behind.

Bridget twists her head back, face visibly lighting up at the sight of you. “Y/N!” she exclaims, scooting over and excitedly patting the space next to her.

You take your seat, turning to face her. “Uh, so, about yesterday…” 

Your plan was to thank her for the macarons and the thoughtful note, but before you get the chance, her eyes widen at your words as her face erupts in a look of deep penitence. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! Fay was trying a new spell and accidentally burned half her hair off…” Her face contorts to a look of serious shock and concern, probably reimagining the scene.

“I know that’s no excuse though! I felt so bad for bailing on you, that I stayed up all last night just to finish this…”

She turns around and bends over her seat, reaching into her bag on the floor. She grabs something, then twists back around to you, clutching the mysterious object tightly in her hand.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands!” she instructs, vibrant with pulsating enthusiasm. A bit tentatively, you do as she says, putting your cupped palm out in front of you as you shut your eyes.

You feel a small, very solid object get placed in your hands (So not a new dessert to try, you think with only the slightest tinge of disappointment). But that all dissipates as soon as Bridget exclaims, “You can open them now!”

Your eyes flutter open, gaze pointed downwards towards your palms. Immediately, a tender surge of awe floods your heart, making its pace quicken as it beats rapidly. Your heart throbs with such a profound gratitude you worry it’s going to burst any second from how touched you feel.

You pick up the chain placed in your cupped hands, an elated smile breaking through as you take in the bracelet Bridget gave you. Decorated with numerous charms, you take the time to study all of them carefully, running your fingers over the meticulous hand-crafted details as you realize the significance of each one.

They’re not random designs chosen simply for aesthetic purposes; no, each one resembles something, either about you or your relationship with Bridget. A clear-cut gemstone of your favorite color placed next to a small depiction of your favorite animal both hang off the chain. Then there’s a metallic red apple symbolizing the one time you two went apple picking at an orchard; a little set of playing cards with the same design at the deck she used when she first taught you how to play; a small face of a gray kitten with white whiskers, resembling the one you two saved from an incredibly high and strangely twisted tree the first time you visited Wonderland. 

Nevertheless, the finest of them all is the pink, glittery heart that sits right in the middle. Embellished on its surface is a fancy cursive B next to your first initial, conjoined with a small plus sign. 

An everlasting symbol of your intimate bond.

Your mouth is fully agape, eyes round as saucers and eyebrows arched in a mix of nearly tangible astonishment and disbelief as you turn the bracelet around in your hands over and over, examining each charm with a sharp, precise eye. Bridget sits in quiet anticipation, holding her breath as she awaits any kind of reaction that can give her even a glimmer of an idea as to how you feel.

“Remember when you were asking me about the stuff on my desk the other day and I said I'd show you soon?” she asks, breaking the thick silence that has grown to be unbearable for her. “Well, I was working on this as a surprise for you. And, I mean, I felt so bad for leaving you yesterday that I wanted to give it to you today as a little apology.”

Your gaze finally breaks away from the bracelet, meeting Bridget’s jittery eyes. Before she can even process what’s happening, the next thing she knows you’ve lurched forward, arms wrapping so tightly around her body that she struggles to even breathe.

After she gets over the initial wave of shock, Bridget’s wide eyes melt into a compassionate smile, returning the embrace. You hug her firmly, getting lost in the moment and not letting go until you hear a little, “I can’t breathe,” paired with a soft tap on your back, drawing you out of your daze as you realize you’re practically smothering her.

“Oh! I-I’m sorry!” you exclaim, drawing back quickly and examining her figure with knitted brows, making sure she’s alright. “I just…I love it so much! It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me!”

Bridget gives a bubbly laugh, eyes matching her grin as she says, “Oh, it really was nothing. I mean, you’re a princess. I’m sure you’ve gotten much nicer things.”

Smiling, you don’t mention how even the most lavish of luxuries, the most exorbitant of material goods only the finest money can buy, all pale into nonexistence when compared to her gift. The thought, the care, the hours of painstaking work and dedicated moments spent carefully crafting, all for you, is simply unfathomable and impossible to match. You may be holding a small bracelet worth not even a tenth of the simplest of rings you normally get gifted by your family, but to you, it’s worth more than every mansion and diamond in the whole world.

You shake your head left and right, tears of joy brimming and threatening to spill as you lean into Bridget for yet another hug (this time making sure not to squeeze her quite so hard). You know that later, you’ll probably lie in bed and wince at your brashness in this moment, hands covering your flustered face as you toss and turn in embarrassment—but for right now, you’re too swept up in your emotions to care.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” you exclaim, pulling away once again to reach into your bag this time. Retrieving a stack of papers neatly stapled, with lines and lines of orderly notes written in meticulous handwriting, you hand them to Bridget. “I figured since you probably wouldn’t have the time to take notes for the test, I took them for you.”

This time, it’s Bridget’s turn to be flustered from your benevolent gesture. “You really didn’t have to!” she cries, a stunned expression painted on her face as she flips through the numerous pages of detailed notes. She peers back up to meet your gaze with a swirl of shock and delight, her gently creased eyes and the lines on her forehead displaying her inner thoughts. Bridget often wears her emotions on her sleeve, and from sharing countless hours with her, you’ve learned to interpret her facial expressions so well you can practically read her mind. And through her gaze, you can see how she’s in disbelief at the thought that, despite your hatred for the subject and assignment—which you made very well-known—you still spent twice the time you had to on it, just for her.

“Well, I guess we’re even now,” you casually add, saving Bridget from having to formulate a response—you can clearly tell she’s having difficulty putting her emotions into words.

She shakes her head ardently from side to side, her springy curls bouncing vibrantly. “No, we still lost the time we were supposed to spend together! And I did promise I’d make it up to you.”

Before you can open your mouth to tell her that she’d made it up plenty, her head swivels to the side. You follow her gaze to a wide window a few meters away, the bright rays of sun poking out through the clouds and casting golden stripes on the table in front of you. 

Her head snaps back towards you, the light in her eyes burning bright as she enthusiastically suggests, “I heard the weather is really nice this weekend! How about we go on a picnic?”

“A picnic?” you repeat inquisitively. You don’t know what you were expecting, but this certainly surprised you. 

“Yeah!” Bridget’s talking quickens, the glimmer in her eyes shining brighter as she continues while the vague idea solidifies in her mind. “It’ll be a lot more fun than another study session. I can make the food and you can bring the stuff! The fields just south of here are a popular spot. It’s going to be so much fun!” 

She squeals as she claps her hands together. You match her smile, her enthusiasm once again infecting you. “Picnic it is, then,” you reply, grinning as she beams at your approval. 

A subtle sigh slips past your lips, unnoticed by Bridget. The same way you always wish she didn’t miss how you look at her, pure adoration and devotion mirrored in your gaze, staring at her as if she created the skies and stars with her own two hands. Which she really did—at least in your universe. 

A soft breeze blows against your face, tenderly caressing your cheeks as leaves rustle overhead, whispering to the wind of secrets unheard. The sky is a clear, vibrant blue, all but a few clouds lazily drifting by. Sunshine filters through the branches, casting dappled patterns of light over the checkered blanket beneath you. Birds somewhere in the treetops chatter and sing their pleasing songs, weaving a tapestry of notes that paint the horizon with harmonious brushstrokes. The grass sways gently, mirroring the serene breathing of the landscape.

Everything is tranquil, from the fluttering of butterfly wings to the laughter that sounds from pink lips, like the most melodious of music to your ears. The conversation isn’t that important to you; trivial, inconsequential topics that you really couldn’t care less for. But what truly matters is the way her eyes fill with the purest of sparkles, the way she doubles over as she giggles, the breeze brushing her captivatingly gorgeous curls out of her face.

There’s nothing in the world you would trade for this moment, this sliver in time where you are completely at peace. Where not a single care or worry can reach you, not when the only thing on your mind is how much your heart swells with pure affection, how simply perfect the girl in front of you is.

After she manages to catch her breath from laughing, Bridget meets your gaze—one that is directed at her, but isn’t really looking at her. Your eyes are distant, the unwavering smile on your speaking volumes of emotions.

“Those sandwiches were really good, weren’t they?” she asks you, referring to the special-made lunch that you two had just finished.

You nod, still grinning at her with a persistent gaze. “They were great, Bridget. Nothing that you make could ever taste anything less than delicious.”

She blushes, swatting at your arm playfully. “Hey, that’s not true!”

You laugh, sitting up from how you were previously lying on your back. Catching Bridget’s hand in midair, you reply, “Well, it is, because I don’t lie.”

“Oh? Since when?” she asks, mirth dancing on her features.

“Since always.” You feign annoyance at her accusations, your smile still shining through.

“Ah! Speaking of food, I have something special for you.”

You hum in surprise, watching as Bridget reaches over to your woven picnic basket. She shuffles closer to you, to the point where her knees almost brush against your thigh, with how she’s sitting cross-legged and you with your legs outstretched whilst leaning on one arm.

Opening the lid, her hand disappears inside for a moment before reemerging with a singular cupcake, topped with a swirly pastel pink frosting and decorated with small sprinkles in shades of white and red. 

“This is a new recipe,” she explains, holding the treat out to you. “I made it with this super rare flower essence, shipped straight from Wonderland. Let’s just say I gave the batter a lick, and I think it’s my best creation yet.”

“You haven’t tried it yet?” you ask, moving to sit in a position similar to Bridget’s as you accept the dessert. 

“Nope! I wanted you to have the first bite.”

Your smile only grows wider, now stretching from ear to ear, an undeniable sense of glee emanating from you. You’d normally argue with her, telling her that she really didn’t need to do something like this. But from all those failed attempts you’ve only learned that Bridget never listens, always putting you first time and time again. So, this time, you simply take a bite, nearly melting away again as the flavors hit.

The frosting has a sugary, saccharine taste, the sprinkles adding a delightfully contrasting texture to the creamy richness of the pink swirl. The cake below it is soft and moist, as if eating a fluffy cloud. The vanilla flavor is smooth, an undercurrent that balances out the sweetness. There’s a slight twinge from a distinct flavor as well, something you’ve never tasted and can’t quite put your finger on. The same way that coffee elevates the taste of chocolate, this special ingredient brings out the sweetness of the vanilla, balancing out the sugar of the frosting. Every mouthful is incredibly light and absolutely delectable, making each moment it graces your taste buds feel like an indulgent bite of heaven.

“So? How is it?” Bridget asks as your eyes swiftly open. Her anticipation lingers in the air, along with your awaited response.

But you barely hear her words, too focused on how the color of the frosting perfectly matches her delicate, roseate lips. They’re so gentle, yet lush, almost forming the most endearing of pouts.

Eyes darting from her eyes, to her lips, back up to her wide, doe eyes again, you throw caution to the wind and spring forward. Your hands move in front of you, supporting your weight as you lean in.

Your lips make contact with her velvety ones, which are even smoother than you imagined. A stolen kiss, lasting but a moment, yet enwrapped by the tender caress of your mouth, the purest of affections seeping in as you hold her lips between yours, then draw back for the briefest pause.

Eyes locked with her wide, expressive ones as you linger a mere inch away from her face, you respond to her earlier question.

“Delicious and incredibly sweet. Just like you.”

end x

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[tender-rosiey]

heyy, may i ask for a satoruxreader where its readers birthday and gojo and megumi are tryna bake a cake for reader? (ofc gojo has a backup cake that he bought just incase anything goes wrong cuz ofc its gojo what do you expect)

kind — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: what do you guys do when people start singing happy bday? I just smile until my cheeks hurt 🥲 anyways this is set when megumi was still a kid

"megumi, wake up!" satoru yells as he slams the door of the boy's room open. naturally, he is met with one ruthless glare, but he rapidly tries to save himself, "before you get mad, look at the date!"

the boy grumbles before getting up and checking the calendar. his eyes widen at the 'y/n's birthday' written under the date. quickly, he scrambles to his feet and starts pulling satoru downstairs and towards the entrance.

"where are we going?" satoru inquires the rushing megumi.

megumi pauses then looks at him, confused and wondering just why is this guy so stupid, "to get the cake obviously."

satoru laughs loudly and starts shaking his head, "megumi, megumi, megumi…we are going to bake the cake ourselves!"

the boy in question pales at the suggestion and looks at his sister's room in hopes of her waking up and rescuing him. however, the girl does not get the telepathic waves her brother is sending and is still soundly asleep.

so megumi is then dragged by one very excited gojo satoru. satoru eagerly wears his apron—one that has a very proud catoru on it—then he helps megumi put his own. megumi’s apron has a chibi drawing of his divine dogs and no matter how much he denies it, it’s obvious that he likes it.

while satoru gets the ingredients, megumi is laying out the rules for today’s baking mission. satoru does glare at him every now and then but he can’t exactly complain. his experiences with baking are disasters that can't be ignored.

so naturally, the little boy was in charge of the measurements cause god forbid satoru does it.

“satoru, how the hell did you mess that up?!”

“y/n, it said two spoons!”

“TABLE SPOONS NOT TWO SPOONS FROM A FREAKING SPATULA, YOU SUGAR OBSSESSED—“

so no, satoru shall never touch something related to measurements. the both of them stand in front of the ingredients, determination radiating off of them.

satoru takes hold of the recipe and starts reading, “we need a cup of white sugar!”

nodding, megumi swiftly gets the cup and hands it to satoru.

satoru pours it in the bowl and megumi has to stop him from ‘taste-testing’. from there on, they start working in (partial) harmony—fighting every now and then with megumi almost losing his marbles over the supposed adult trying to eat something every minute.

after a bit, they are finally done with the dry ingredients, each of them sporting a handful of flour on his hair. megumi glares up at satoru, “you ruined my hair.”

“now you will look more like me and people won’t think that I kidnapped you!” satoru beams but megumi easily ignores him.

said boy grumbles and starts padding away to get the wet ingredients, doing his best to gather them in his arms and delivering them in one trip. satoru simply watches him with a little grin before asking, “say, what do you think of y/n?”

after putting the ingredients on the counter, megumi looks up at satoru, confused, “why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. I mean it’s obvious you like her more than me,” satoru fake sniffles—in megumi’s eyes it’s asking to be punched but oh well, “but, I want to hear you say it.”

satoru doesn’t expect him to answer so he doesn’t question any further.

satoru starts pouring the wet ingredients together. he starts humming a soft tune, your favorite song, and finally combining the ingredients together. he then hands megumi the bowl for him to mix the batter.

the boy silently does it. and they are left to bask in the silence, before megumi finally speaks up, “I think she is nice…probably one of the kindest people I have met.”

satoru smiles at him then laughs lightly, patting the boy’s head, “that’s good.”

when megumi is done with the mixing, he—with the help of gojo—pours the batter in the baking pan. megumi’s face is troubled for a moment before he looks at satoru, “you’re going to marry her, right?”

proudly, satoru nods, “was planning on doing it even before your little grumpy-self showed up.”

megumi watches satoru put the baking pan in the oven with ease. satoru then dusts his hands and megumi glares at him, “break her heart and I will fight you.”

satoru grins, frame towering over the boy, “you think you can win?”

the boy nods up at the white-haired man and gets into a fighting stance almost immediately, summoning his divine dogs. satoru quirks a brow and he seems like he is going to fight megumi as well, but, instead, he bends down to ruffle the boy’s hair.

normally, he would instantly swat his hand away, but right now, it catches megumi by surprise and he looks at satoru wide-eyed.

“you don’t have to worry about me breaking her heart.”

reluctantly, megumi looks down and mutters a small ‘good’.

after a long while, they hear your voice, “I am home!”

“Y/N!!!!!” your boyfriend screams the moment you step in. he tackles you into a very big hug and starts peppering your face in kisses, “how was your day?”

“it was okay,” you pat his head then you look at the boy, “hey, megumi! how’re you?”

megumi nods with a small smile and you chuckle before noticing what he is wearing, “what’s with the aprons, you guys?”

satoru, who hasn’t stopped kissing your cheek since you entered, replies excitedly, “we were trying cook something!”

you sweatdrop and nervously look at your boyfriend, “…and how did that turn out?”

“hey!” he huffs, “you need to have some faith in my cooking skills!”

“satoru, last time I did that you—“

“what’s that burning smell?” a sleepy tsumiki mumbles as she finally gets out of her room.

megumi and satoru share a look before satoru darts to the kitchen screaming about his masterpiece. you and the kids follow suit. when you enter, you find satoru on his knees—devastated and probably about to start act two of his ‘I am great cook’—with a very burnt cake in his hands.

tsumiki goes to pat the sad cook’s back while megumi grumbles, “I shouldn’t have unrealistic expectations anymore.”

you chuckle at the scene unfolding in front of you. however, you already find yourself walking towards satoru. he quickly throws himself into your embrace. rolling your eyes, you still rub his back to comfort him about his deceased cake.

what you don’t notice is satoru winking at megumi who gets the cue to close the lights.

you look around in the now dark room, “did the lights go out again?—“

satoru disappears from your arms and you hear rustling and whispers. however, it quickly quiets down and when the lights are back on, you’re met with quite the sight.

satoru, megumi, and tsumiki are all wearing birthday party hats. there is also a very humongous cake on the counter.

the cake has a miniature version of the four of you. mini megumi is noticeably grumpy with mini tsumiki having the sweetest smile on her face—just like the real one. mini satoru is latching onto your mini version who looks done with everything around her.

there are also towers of gifts distributed in the entire room.

but you barely have time to focus on them any further before satoru eagerly blows a birthday whistle and screaming out, “on my mark—three, two, one, go! happy birthday to you!”

the kids sing along—though megumi does it a little shyly.

overwhelmed, your eyes start to tear up and satoru’s feet naturally take him to you. his arm is around your waist as he pulls you close and continues singing for you.

megumi also makes his way to stand beside you with tsumiki tagging along. you lock eyes with satoru who smiles tenderly at you, singing, “happy birthday, dear y/n,” he presses a kiss right under your eye while wiping your tears, “happy birthday, y/n.”

“WOHOOO!” satoru loudly cheers and picks you up, twirling you around making you laugh. when he sets you down, he presses one loud smooch to your cheek once again.

tsumiki giggles before she quips, “blow the candle, y/n!”

your head snaps towards satoru who is already smirking at you. you narrow your eyes, “don’t you even dare. it’s my birthday!”

“really now?” he tilts his head before easily throwing you over his shoulder and quickly blowing out all the candles, ignoring your nonstop hitting of his back. he then starts spinning around and his laughter fills the room.

“SATORU, YOU’RE GOING TO DROP ME! STOP!”

“NEVERRRRR!”

meanwhile, megumi and tsumiki are left sighing at the scene in front of them.

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do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[hsjazebel]

FRAGMENTS OF HAPPINESS

Summary: Y/n and Harry celebrate the arrival of their baby girl with a walk in the park.

masterlist

Y/n felt enveloped in the softness of her wool cardigan, which kept her company as she walked with Harry along the park path.

Every step they took together seemed like a harmonious ballet, marked by the sweet and constant rhythm of the nature that surrounded them.

The warmth of the spring sun caressed her skin, inviting her to let herself be carried away by the sensations of the moment.

Little Emma's pram moved silently in front of them, guided by Y/n's loving hand.

Wrapped in a soft and light wool blanket, the little girl slept peacefully, transmitting a sense of peace and tranquility that enveloped the entire scene with an aura of magic. Her regular and peaceful breathing was like a delicate lullaby that accompanied her parents' walk.

They found a secluded corner under the cool shade of a majestic tree, where Harry carefully spread a red and white checked blanket on the green lawn.

The softness of the cozy fabric seemed to invite Y/n and Harry to immerse themselves completely in the present moment, abandoning themselves to the beauty of the nature that surrounded them.

As Harry prepared the sandwiches with care and attention, the inviting scent of their fresh ingredients wafted through the air, enveloping their senses in a warm and welcoming embrace.

The sound of small woodland animals moving around them added a gentle melody to their peaceful walk in the park.

Y/n leaned towards Emma in her pram, gently stroking her face with her fingertips. "Look how beautiful she is, Harry," she whispered, a bright smile painted on her lips. "She is so perfect, as if she were sculpted from heaven itself."

Harry approached Y/n, placing a hand on her shoulder and letting her gaze wander into their little girl's sleeping face. "She is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to us," he replied in an emotional voice. “I couldn't have imagined a more precious gift than her.”

Y/n smiled, her eyes bright with joy and gratitude. "We are so lucky to have her, Harry. I can't wait to share all the love we have in our hearts with her."

Harry nodded, squeezing Y/n's hand lightly in his. "And I can't wait to see everything the future has in store for us as a family. I know that together we can face anything."

The sunlight filtered through the branches of the trees, creating plays of light and shadow that danced on the green lawn.

The birds sang happily in the branches, adding a natural symphony to their sweet spring serenade. It was as if nature itself celebrated the beauty and purity of the love that bound Y/n, Harry and little Emma.

Y/n looked at Harry with eyes full of love as he carefully placed the sandwiches on her plate.

His presence next to her gave her a feeling of calm and security, as if together they could face whatever her life had in store for them.

Their bond was so strong that it seemed to defy time and space, enveloping them in an intimate and unbreakable embrace.

As they ate, they whispered about their dreams and hopes for the future.

They imagined the wonderful world they would build for Emma, ​​one of love, respect and understanding. Every word they exchanged was like a fragment of a precious mosaic, which would tell the story of their love forever.

After the picnic, Y/n and Harry decide to take Emma for a ride on the nearby swings.

The park, bathed in the golden light of the sunset, looks like a living painting.

The lush green grass contrasts with the colorful flowers blooming along the path, while the sound of leaves blowing in the breeze creates a soothing melody.

Harry gently pushes the pram as Y/n walks alongside him, the scent of spring flowers surrounding them adding a sweet note to the air.

Their laughter and whispers mix with the birdsong, creating a symphony of love and joy that fills the park.

“Look, little Emma,” Y/n says with a bright smile, pointing to the swinging swings. "One day you will be able to climb on those swings and fly high into the sky. But for now, enjoy the gentle rocking of the pram."

The swings, illuminated by the light of the sunset, seem to swing in sync with the heartbeat of Y/n and Harry.

Every movement is a preview of future adventures, of dreams to be realized and of joys to share together.

Harry joins Y/n's smile, affectionately caressing Emma's little face. "It will be amazing to see the world through your eyes, baby. Every day will be an adventure."

Sitting on a nearby bench, Y/n and Harry embrace each other tenderly, lulled by the tranquility of the park at sunset.

The sky paints shades of pink and gold as the sun slowly hides behind the horizon.

In that moment, they are pervaded by a feeling of peace and happiness, aware that their love, strong and unconditional, will always accompany them along the path of life.

[haveyouplayedthisttrpg]

Have you played WILDERFEAST

By Horrible Guild / KC Shi

Take up the role of the monster-hunting, food-cooking, wildlife-conserving Wilder as you explore the world. Gather ingredients to give you strength to wield oversized cooking utensils in combat against frenzied monsters that disturb the harmony of nature, then cook them to mutate and take on their abilities as your own.

[windvexer]

Hi, Chicken!

Perhaps a silly question, but maybe you know: is the chemical composition of stones (regular rocks picked up on a beach, or in a forest) somehow important in spells? Can I just use them in a protection spell if I associate them with something solid and safe? Or can I use a rock whose shape reminds me of the moon in a spell related to the moon?

I'm not really into crystal magic, but I like picking up pretty rocks and putting them on my windowsill, so I thought about using them.

Good morning! You can certainly do anything you like. Here is some theory you may find to be helpful.

We might consider that any object can have three bodies: its physical body, it's mental body, and its astral body. (this is an oversimplification).

These bodies stack together like matryoshka dolls. The physical body is the anchor that holds the mental body, and the mental body is the harbor that accepts and shelters the astral body.

The physical body is just as you describe in your post: the chemical composition and the shape of the rock.

Many rocks found in the forest or beach only have a physical body, and do not have mental or astral bodies,

The mental body is something people create by assigning meaning and possibility to the rock.

The mental body can be thought of as a gossamer vessel nestled within an object that can hold the even more subtle energies of astral (magical) power.

The concept of adding a mental body to something is more or less the same thing as "programming" or "setting intent."

Physical body: Rock that looks like a moon Mental body: "This rock looks like the moon, therefore it's good at hosting lunar energies." Astral body: Lunar energy channeled into the rock, filling the mental and physical bodies like sand filling up a shapely glass bottle

In this paradigm, the process of developing and setting the mental body is vital for acts of magic; in fact, if you're in a rush, you can skip the physical altogether.

Technically - and to actually answer your question, Anon - you can apply any mental body to anything and it will work, at least for a little while.

Specifically, all mental bodies last until they are worn down and eroded by the astral ecosystem, and the ecosystem of human thoughts (as, after all, all humans can create mental bodies - not just practitioners).

if the mental body is in harmony with its physical body, then the physical body provides support that shelters the mental body. This is like building a swimming pool at the bottom of a natural basin.

The natural curve of the land holds and supports the cement. But even if the swimming pool cement cracks, the water isn't going anywhere fast - the physical environment of the construct supports its purpose, so the effects of the construct last much longer without maintenance; and the rain supplements water in the natural basin anyway.

If the mental body is rooted in a hostile or unsupportive environment, it will fade much more quickly. This is like building a swimming pool at the top of a precarious volcano. Yes, you can do it. And it will hold water. But the extreme environment of the volcano heat cracks the cement, and when the cement cracks the water will spill out and tumble away. It may rain, but the pool is not at the bottom of a basin to collect rain - it will only get what falls right into it.

When people talk about "you don't need any tools or ingredients, all you need for magic is yourself and your energy," in my praxis what they are probably saying is, "you don't need the physical body of objects; you can skip that and work only with mental structures that you directly energize."

And this is true. You can attach mental bodies to anything, regardless of their suitability to host that type of magic.

If all of this is true, then which found rocks are the best for any given purpose?

I think starting with rocks that you associate with things (like solid protection, or the moon) is a very good start.

Work enough with found objects and perhaps you will find a system developing for yourself; rocks with a bluish tint always seem well-suited for hosting the Moon, and big heavy black rocks with mica sparkles always seem best for protection, and so on.

However, more work can always be done.

In my opinion, the single most impactful thing the average practitioner can do to increase the power and efficacy of a spell is to just decorate the physical spell vessel in alignment with the spell intent.

If you have a nice sturdy rock and you paint a protective symbol on it, then the mythical landscape of that rock changes. It becomes an environment more in harmony with a protective mental body.

Please forgive me as we delve here a little deeper:

What is the ideal form of your protective spell? Should it be like a placid moat that becomes infinitely wide and confusingly misty for intruders?

This is different from a protection which is like a goat made of fire which has a battle scream and headbutts intruders.

These two protections ought to have different physical bodies, because they are very different things.

Still you would choose the rock based on initial impressions: "doesn't this rock sort of remind you of an angry goat?"

But then you can take it home and paint it.

The symbols you choose for the placid moat might include the color blue, long waving lines, the alchemical symbol for water, and the symbol of the moon to represent illusions; words themselves make good decorations, as do sigils. (Painting the physical body with a symbol that directly translates into the mental body... a good decoration, I think).

All of these decorations terraform the mythical landscape of the stone to prepare it to hold the mental construct. And indeed, as you decorate the stone, you are also simultaneously building the mental body.

But you don't necessarily need to create permanent changes. Using knot magic and tying up the stone in a net, adding it to a jar or pouch with other ingredients, or placing it on top of specially prepared sigils or artwork can also function as decorations that modify the physical body.

Then, when the time for enchantment comes, I hazard your found stone will make a significantly better protection than someone who just bought and cleansed some celestite off of Etsy.

But what about the chemical composition of the stone? There are always attributes in any object we can't change.

Stones are slow and heavy. To me, at least. I'm never going to decorate a stone hard enough that it doesn't make a spell slower and heavier.

But at a certain point, the details become fine enough that they stop having an impact.

What if the refined white sugar I use is beet sugar, not cane sugar? What if the sugar beet was from a heritage cultivar, not a modern one? What if the cultivar of the beet was genetically modified? What if the package of brown sugar from beets is dark brown sugar, not light brown sugar?

To me, it's brown sugar.

To me, it's a heavy black rock with some mica in it.

You can go all the way down if you want. You can get really into isotope witchcraft, that would be cool.

But once I paint a big red X on it, I believe most of those fine details are superseded.

And even if you don't want to modify the physical body at all, you can attach a mental body to anything.

Once you develop your path enough to get symbols that directly link the physical to the mental (like, wolves mean protection, and red means protection, and an X means protection), you can start to really modify physical vessels to very closely match the intent of the spell.

And when the physical vessel and the intent are totally harmonized, and you add magical/astral energies that are lockstep with intent and form, the floodgates are opened and magic starts flowing through in very powerful ways.

But not all spells need to be like powerful, raging rivers.

You can dig a pond into any object, and fill it with energy. If it's a bad spot you will probably have to keep reconditioning the pond and hauling water to it, but it'll still work.

[honestlyboringperson]

I Tried My Hand at Designing the Full Witches of the Main Cast of Magia Record.

CAMPANELLA (Yachiyo Nanami)

The ticket puncher witch. Her nature is admittance. From not only beneath her dress, but under her hat and as well as the multitude of eyes on her tail, black watery tears spill forth with such intensity that her entire barrier is flooded with her tears. She eternally waits for a train for her board on and be reunited with her friends, but she struggles to find the train station itself. Using her lantern, she will eternally wander her ever flooded barrier to find her way to the station. If one were to be harmed by the ticket puncher at the end of her scorpion like tail, great devastation and tragedy awaits them in the near future.

YU HONG (Tsuruno Yui)

The witch of ham. Her nature is harmonious. Both great fortune and great success are the ingredients used by this witch in her kitchen, but all that she ends up producing is dubious meals that may or may not cause harm to the human body. She detests any form of household tensions and if she senses even the slightest resentment of a family member, she will force her victim into eating a feast of her aforementioned dubious cooking. Only those who don’t hide themselves from family troubles or conflict can defeat her.

BEATRICE (Felicia Mitsuki)

The eyelid witch. Her nature is tumultuous. A witch who spends most, if not all her time completely asleep within her barrier, and will almost never actively hunt humans when awake. On the other hand, this witch for whatever reason harbours a complete and utter hatred for other witches and whenever she is awake, will mercilessly locate and smash other witches flat with her mallet like hands. If there is something positive that catches her attention however, she will fear that they will somehow leave her and attempt to bury them in her concrete like tears that she spews forth from her eyes.

THERESIA (Sana Futaba)

The inquisition chair witch. Her nature is transparency. Eternally sitting atop a chair with a mind of its own, this innocent witch lives in perpetual torment and agony. The chair itself is not a part of the witch, and carries out its duty to keep the witch chained to its spiked body and weaponize the truly staggering amount of torture devices it has at its disposal. The witch desires not to hurt anyone and is further tormented by the acts of intense violence that unfold before her. Due to being invisible, her sobs are the only clue where to strike if one wants to hunt this pitiful witch. When the witch dies, a single innocuous sound of a cat meowing will echo through the barrier.

ZOLA (Kaede Akino)

The witch of plot lands. Her nature is to be territorial. Within this witches’ head is planted the simple goal of expanding her territory. When she arrives to an urban area, she desires nothing but to return it to nature and covers it completely in rotten moss. She doesn’t tolerate any form of pest, as she sees them as encroaching on her property and will mercilessly destroy anything that steps into her barrier. Despite this outwardly aggressive behaviour, she is gentle towards the plant life in her barrier, which she grows herself. For some odd reason, these plants moan and can move on their own like zombies, so it’s best not to approach them at all.

CENDRILLION (Rena Minami)

The glass slipper witch. Her nature is transformative. This witch detests herself, and desires to change no matter what. When she senses someone in her barrier, she rush up to them and tear their face off. These faces are then turned into masks, and the witch can freely transform into them. However, she cannot imitate the soul of her victims and usually just ends up acting like a wild animal. If one were to gaze into the mirror on her arm like appendage for too long, she will steal their soul. When the witch dies, a single glass slipper will fall out of no where and shatter to pieces.

ELFRIEDE (Momoko Togame)

The witch of manicured nails. Her nature is self-discipline. This witch cares not where it’s power flies. It continually and proudly displays and decorates the fingers and nails that not only make up her body, but also fly around her as well. It takes great care of its shoddy manicures, but when someone insults it’s nails it becomes quite depressed and either attempts to pierce the victim with her razor sharp nails, or becomes paralyzed with insecurity. Only those who can get up again and again even after misfortune can successfully defeat this witch.

TOTENTANZ (Mitama Yakumo)

The witch of flower petals. Her nature is forewarning. This witch doesn’t forget that no matter what, death comes to all things. It resents its environment and desires nothing but it’s untimely destruction. It is strangely gentlemanly, and escorts those who enter her barrier with pure white gloves, but her terrifying power that is connected to the untimely end of all things often ends up decaying anything that her petals fall upon. Even if you manage to defeat this witch, the sheer amount of pent up curses will often end up taint a soul gem to its limit and will end with a new witch springing up in her place.

[seriousbrat]

Golpalott's Laws

I've done Gamp's Law before, so now let's tackle Golpalott!

We know from canon that there are at least three laws, and we know the third law word for word thanks to Hermione. I'm going to take a stab at some other possible laws, 5 in total. None of this is based in canon but on historical concepts within herbal medicine!

You can also refer to my potions and ingredients guide for more info!

I'm going to start by assuming that Golpalott's laws refer specifically to the creation of antidotes, rather than potion-making in general.

GOLPALOTT'S LAWS FOR THE CREATION OF ANTIDOTES.

Law #1

An antidote will consider first things Healthful, then things Unhealthful.

This is based on an idea outlined by Roman physician Galen in his Ars Medica. How I would understand it in terms of making antidotes is that in order to create an effective antidote you have to consider the 'healthy' state that the body should be in and primarily work towards that as a desired state, before focusing on addressing specific symptoms. (a pretty basic idea in holistic medicine)

Law #2

An antidote will strive for balance in all things.

This is related to what I briefly covered in the potions guide linked above about herbal energetics. Essentially, this would mean that you must consider the antidote as a balanced whole, the different components working in harmony with each other-- rather than just chucking in ingredients that seem to cure the specific malady. Too many ingredients with one single effect might cause an imbalance in other areas of the body, so this must be counterbalanced.

Law #3

The antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each of the separate components.

This is the one we know from canon. Essentially it means that for more complex poisons made from multiple different venemous components, it's not enough for the antidote to address each individual poison. The antidote must also contain an additional component that makes the potion work 'near-alchemically' as a balanced whole. This law relates directly to Law#2 but is a continuation of it.

Law #4

An antidote will travel the most expedient path through the body, as indicated by the poison in question.

This is related to what Matthew Wood talks about here on the affinities of specific herbs to specific organs. According to Wood, three basic principles ought to be considered: (1) the affinity of the herb to a pattern of disease, (2) the affinity of the herb to an organ or system, and (3) the affinity of the herb to the basic pattern of self-governance in the organism (from center to circumference). These ideas stem from the work of Galen and Nicholas Culpepper.

So, when creating an antidote for a specific poison, you first have to identify what part of the body that poison affects, and choose ingredients that will direct your antidote to the affected organ or system as efficiently as possible.

Law #5

The components of an antidote will reflect the nature of its poisonous counterpart.

This is based on the ancient doctrine of 'like cures like,' or similia similibus curantur, first put forth by Paracelsus, and is the founding concept behind the pseudoscience of Homeopathy. It's essentially the idea that specific maladies can be cured with controlled doses of whatever produces the malady in the first place. I also cover this in the guide linked above. While this has no scientific basis, it is true that historically, toxic plants have been used as medicine in various ways. So in a fantasy world I think it's interesting to consider this as an idea: using small amounts of venomous substances in order to cure poisonings.

[fallingstarsandthemoon]

Cookie Run x MCYT AU-ANCIENTS, anybody?

Feel free to send in asks and requests for this AU alongside my other AUs! Fanart is welcomed WITH CREDIT!

This is a little creative project I’ve been working on for a couple months now, (I usually draw faster than that, but procrastination is a bitch and some of these were hard to design due to it being a stark contrast from the usual style I have,) but I’m proud I got the ancients out of the way, whom I decided would be OG MCYTs. Here are their mock in-game descriptions:

Diamond Cookie (DanTDM)- Perseverance:

In a dark, yet lively, effervescent cave leagues below the surface, a radiant diamond cluster, naturally forged by the thickest molten sugar and pressure to withstand almost anything, surfaced within the cave. Little did it know that it would become the main ingredient to a legend. Diamond Cookie sticks true to his resistant and valuable ingredients as well as the Soul Jam of Perseverance, believing if something isn’t working out, try, try again. As a  past scientist, engineer, adventurer, and now a hero, he’s had several mishaps and failures over the years, but he still picks himself up again and keeps moving, seeking to help inspire others to push forward and make something new out of the broken and old.

Even if he or everything he’s ever loved is crumbling around him, he’ll fight to the bitter end.

Berry Soda Cookie (LDshadowlady)- Empathy:

Among the shimmering sands, the vibrant coral reefs, and the open blue, there lives a guardian and a master of the waves and tides, wielding a glittering trident and the Soul Jam of Empathy. Berry Soda Cookie, baked with a myriad of berries and having lived on both land and sea, she has a vast understanding of other’s distress and feelings. If there’s worry or a change in the usual nature of her domain, she’ll be the first to know about it. She loves getting to know about every perspective and lifestyle she can. She has eyes all over the ocean wherever the light touches, from the shallows to the deep blue, and tends to act as a mediator in most situations. She’ll do everything she can to keep a stable balance. That is, until that fateful day that caused her to retreat into the darkest depths of the sea.

Will her soul ever see the light once more?

Golden Cream Cookie (Stampy)-Compassion:

Baked with the sweetest and richest of merengue and cream, Golden Cream Cookie has a compassionate spirit for his denizens like no other, hence his Soul Jam. While he can’t exactly read minds, he always does his best to help those in distress. After all, his kingdom among the plains and forest is known for their bustling trade of goods and services. Despite being a king, he’ll help those communities in even the lowest of classes. He does have a tendency to overwork himself or sometimes misinterpret the cookies’ needs, but it doesn’t change the fact that he has a heart of gold. He promotes mutualism and color in life and strives for himself and others to leave Earthbread better than they came. He forgives many for their wrongdoings and does his best to guide them to fix it.

Even so, there’s always the hard truth to face that he can’t help or forgive everyone.

Cherry Choco Cookie (Captain Sparklez)- Harmony:

There stands a calm, solid, rhythmic presence at the center of the Chocolate Citadel. With a rose golden crown adorning his head and his Charred Cherryblade by his side, Cherry Choco Cookie firmly believes there’s harmony and unity in all things, hence his Soul Jam of Harmony. Where there’s chaos? There’s order. Where there’s death, life is sure to come in its steed. He was baked with the sweetest cherries and the most bitter cacao after all. In a way, it’s a miracle how he worked his way up from being just some bard to an expert swordsman and a king. He’s a soul of few words, but he means well, and he’s just as musically inclined as most of his kingdom.

Where has this sovereign of harmony gone? What has he seen?

Pure Iris Cookie (Aphmau) - Creativity:

There’s nobody who understands the diversity of talent more than the bold and energetic Pure Iris Cookie. Born from the petals of a perfect iris at the rebirth of summer, she started out as a simple mage who encouraged cookies to forge their own paths. She believes everyone has something they’re good at, no matter how common or rare, and that anything can be made into something special. No wonder her garden kingdom was a capital of the arts in Crispia. All cookies have to do is find their spark, which can be easier said than done at times, but the end result is what matters. She’d give anything to get the same glory of her old kingdom back… whether it be the petal feathers off her back or her own life…

She won’t fail them again. Over her crumbled dough and withered petals.

[stellarstars-stuff]

My Virtue Of Harmony Oc

yeah she's butter for now, i can't take the egg one bcuz someone's got already wings like Eternal Sugar, and can't take her being the Ruler Fairy(I hate this spelling) Kingdom concept so... I have to make my OWN. Don't mind about taking the butter ingredient, hehehe... (I see you, sorry)

Her capes like pancake, maple syrups, nature stuff, etc.

I'm still look up to change the designs soonly, still not finalized! Especially her name. Her soul jam still be green like example:

Pure Vanilla Cookie.

BTW BRO JUST LOOK AT HER OLD ONE:

V

now she's edible. Changes, possible to associate the future generations, respects every musics. Not going to be the Beast of Fame, She will be corrupted and look like one of the urban legends.

[altaissiatla]

Do you have any headcanons about certain members of the House of Black?

House of Black Headcanons

I have far too many, dearest star, hence what I had thought would be a little 50K fanfic turned into the ongoing 200K + beast that has taken over my life outside of academia.

I feel like I could spend hours, until Merlin comes again, compiling all of the headcanons for each member because trust I have thought about them ALL.

Something that makes it easier for me to manage all of these headcanons for this family is archetyping.

And it all starts with the number 3.

What some, in the wizarding world, might think of as "foul, creepy Black Family practices" is literally just them sticking to their roots as witches and wizards. In a way, it is another aspect of them living to the family motto Toujours Pur--their blood AND their magic shall always be pure.

Their practises are very pagan-like, traditional, outside the bounds of the morally acceptable magical craft. Therefore, I have headcanoned them to dabble in things like sentient magical homes, blood magic, blood pacts for intermarriage with other pureblood families, archiving family histories and grimoires and research. They have an ancient practice of reading the Tapestry in Grimmauld to divine family progress and futures and to read about the past. They venerate their ancestors before the Tapestry. When they die, they come back as portraits so that they will always have a means of communication between the dead and the living, thus immortalising them in some way. They are famed in astrology and astronomy, charms and transfigurations. They thrive with potions because they have access to knowledge of multicultural ingredients that are otherwise known as illegal by modern wizarding standards. And finally, they always consider numerology.

Numerology and the Black Family go hand in hand to me. It is the branch of knowledge that entails conspiring with occult significances of numbers.

If we look at the canon Black family tree, we can see that a good amount of them have an heir and a spare or aim to have at least three children. Three is birth-life-death. It is mind-body-soul. It is the Earth-Sun-Moon. It is completeness, harmony, wealth, balance. To the Black Family, the number three is safe.

As fun as it is to deduce these sibling/cousin (because... incest) dynamics to Eldest-Middle-Youngest child theory, I like to see it as something else, which I've touched on in Everything Matter's Ch. XX:

Star-Saint-Snake OR Star-Snake-Saint OR Saint-Snake-Star

These three archetypes are how I choose to sort them and manage my headcanons because as unique as everyone's personality can be, this family is a hivemind. We see it with Sirius even after being sorted into Gryffindor and being socialised with "good" people, he still exhibits classical Black family traits. But I digress.

Star:

Named after a celestial being and is usually the first-born child, therefore the heir.

Pressured by the burdens of being the eldest, the heir or having to be the child that steps up to the expectations of what it means to be a Black.

Usually, the one who continues the main branch of the family name.

Is extremely naturally intelligent, skilled in one particular field of magic despite being well-rounded as per their family customs.

These children are stubborn, confident, bold and firm--they literally the foundations of the generation.

Some examples: Sirius Orion Black, Bellatrix Lestrange (nee Black), Walburga Irene Black, Pollux Black.

Saint:

Usually not named after a celestial being but if they are, the meaning is far more in tune with the definition/role of a saint.

These are the children who are usually the second-born or youngest, the ones who strive and aspire to be as seen and desired as the heir/star, or at the very least acknowledged in some way.

This role is often given to daughters, those who will carry on the family name through blood.

These children are true jack of all trades and masters of none--they are emotional, the healers, the observers, the giver even when no one asked them to.

In Catholicism, to be canonised as a saint one must have at least two out of the three great miracles: the resurrection of the dead, the complete cure (reconstruction of a person judged to be incurable) or curing of an illness. These children often have performed these miracles without them knowing on a small scale with few witnesses and therefore will not be seen as the saints that they are.

Some examples:

Regulus Arcturus Black (survives 1979 and has a child); Narcissa E. Black (could read the Tapestry, is gifted in healing magic, has a child); OC Vérene Rasalas Black (has literally done all of the above)

And finally, we have Snakes:

These are the ever changing, quietly or loudly rebellious children who are neither the first nor second choice.

They have more freedom than their siblings but are still carrying the weight of family laws, expectations, and are often forgotten or neglected.

They can be named after anything and thus they can become anything, names have power, I fear.

These are the children who appear to be the generational curse breakers and have the potential to succeed if they are able to continue to withstand and unlearn their family's inherited traits/teachings.

They are cunning, resilient and are often the backbones of their sibling/generational unit because they turn to career fields that help build and maintain connections within the wizarding world, all for the sake of their family.

Some examples: Cassiopeia Black, Alphard Pollux Black, Andromeda Tonks (nee Black)

The best part about these archetypes is that at some point in their lives they will each have fallen into the roles of either being a Saint, Snake or a Star--regardless of their gender and sexual orientation and the path that they stride.

Sirius was raised a Star and became a Snake.

Walburga was raised a Saint, became a Star, reverted back into a Saint.

Alphard was raised a Star and became a Snake.

Cygnus was a Snake and wanted to be a Saint.

Cassiopeia was raised a Saint and became a Snake.

Regulus was raised a Snake, became a Saint, turned into a Star.

Orion was raised a Snake and became a Star.

Narcissa was raised a Snake and became a Saint.

Bellatrix was raised a Saint and became a Star.

Andromeda was raised a Snake and became a Star.

Vérene is the literal embodiment of a Saint but depending on the circumstances weaves in and out of being a Snake and Star.

I could write an entire thesis on each of these archetypes and their complexities, and I probably will because this post is just scratching at the surface of it.

With all of this being said, I feel like I should lighten the mood with some lighter headcanons because yes, even in toxic/abusive households, love once lived there:

Pollux was born the only surviving twin, and their sibling would have been named Castor -- two years later, he was given a little sister named Cassiopeia. They complete one another in ways that only they will understand, is if Castor was reborn to join Pollux. Where Pollux is of dark grey eyes, black hair, warm toned pale skin, Cassiopeia is of light blue/grey eyes, pale blonde hair, cool toned pale skin. They contrast and complement one another beautifully. Plus, they love to gossip, they can do so like how twins just know each other.

Cassiopeia was aro/ace.

Pollux was highly skilled in Alchemy and Charms. Cass was highly skilled in craft-related transfiguration magic, like knot and weaving magic. (She is a highly qualified seamstress and sells magically imbued clothing wear; tends to make items for the family so that they will always have a piece of the family's magic with them).

Where you saw Pollux with Cass, you saw Marius with Dorea. Even without magic, Marius Black was skilled in potion making and translated many things that required corporeal magic into something that he could use. Thus, his potions turned into making tinctures and later with the use of more mundane/muggle ingredients he became something of akin to a herbalist. He had been the one to help Dorea with her studies at home and briefly her homework from Hogwarts.

On that note, yes, Marius Black ran away. Only then do I believe was he scorched from the Tapestry because even though it was such a shame that he did not have magic he was still their blood. He later married a muggle woman named Lucille Florence and together they had a girl named Aster Carintha Black (the recessive magical carrier that starts a muggleborn family line that will be explored in the sequel of Everything Matters).

Orion and Alphard were born in the same year (1929), just as Lucretia and Walburga were (1925). Their nicknames were Barnebe, Al, Lucy and Wal.

Orion had the fattest crush on Walburga. It's true I was there.

Walburga, who was on the path of a Star as her father's first Heir Apparent, who later turned Saint, carried a lot of guilt and shame for liking her cousin and for the way she tended to look at girls at school as well.

Walburga was a daddy's girl, Pollux's favourite. Alphard was Irma's favourite but became Cassiopeia's boy. Cygnus was a mama's boy but was also raised by Walburga. Orion was his big sister, Lucretia's boy. Lucretia was Arcturus's dear girl until she married a Prewett.

Alphard was highly skilled in Memory Magic, creating subsections of the branch of study that are nearly unheard of or no longer in practice. Walburga was highly skilled in Divination but was not allowed to pursue a career in it even as a gifted Seer. Orion was highly skilled in Arithmancy.

Arcturus (Son of Sirius and Hesper) was one sour little boy but gods, his brothers Lycoris and Regulus loved him so much despite it. Lycoris was fun-loving and Regulus was a metamorphmagus who often morphed into family members while at school to attend their classes (you can imagine how tired the staff must have been). Arcturus was never truly the same after they died. Both of them came back as portraits after their death and prefer to live with their grumpy big brother still.

Sirius I Black (1845-1853) was a charismatic and sweet boy known for his musical ear. He did not have a portrait and came back as a ghost because of his sudden death. He tends to play the piano at family events and is both inquisitive and shy.

Elladora Black is the reason why we have The Hall of Elladora in House Lycoreia, the first ancestral home of the Blacks, located Blackpool.

Phineas Nigellus Black was an undiagnosed autistic man, I cannot make this up, Hogwarts Legacy has showed me things I cannot unsee or hear.

Queerness and Neurodivergence run rampant in this entire family. These things really can be hereditary :)

I hope that this post wasn't too long and that you like them, dearest.

As always thank you for asking me and being interested.

~A

[itstheoneshot]

Kinktober Day 27

Aphrodisiacs - Yeosang

!dom Yeosang

Yeosang was smart, so much smarter than he gave on. He did research, as did you, science, natural remedies, plants that could alter your state, and his current fascination was with chemicals that increase your libido.

“Drink up,” He urges you, “I promise, it tastes good.”

You lift the cup to your mouth, the sweet aroma fills your nostrils as you let the liquid enter your mouth. Hot tea, herbal, a concoction created by the man sitting across from you who is consuming the same beverage. He was correct, it did taste good, warming your insides immediately. Yeosang reaches over to take your hand, staring at you lovingly at first… and then hungrily.

You were sceptical that a few herbs, leaves and spices could make you feel this way, but your cheeks warm up from not just the temperature, and that warmth continues downwards, tingling, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end, and alerting you to the source and centre of that heat.

“Come,” Yeosang murmurs, “Finish it.”

There was only a mouthful left, and you drink it quickly before placing the now empty cup down on the table. Yeosang squeezes your hand gently, feeling that same warmth, his eyes focus in on the way that you lick your lips to catch a stray droplet before he looks up at you again. It is exciting, partaking in his little experiments when they benefit you just as much as it does him.

“This was different to the last one,” You observe, “What should I expect?”

Yeosang chuckles, “Just feel it, my love… just let your body feel the way that it makes you.”

You follow Yeosang out of the dining room and barely make it a metre down the hall before you really begin to understand. Drawn to him more than usual, are you imagining this? Yeosang feels it too, turning you to face him with ease and stepping you back up against the wall with a fiery kiss, a warning of what is about to come. He is eager, dragging you down the hallway without pulling away, it is messy and desperate, each second apart is too long, he needs you and you need him now.

Finally reaching your bedroom, in an attempt to take control you pull him down on top of you, but not thinking it through, you have given him all of the power. With him hovering over you, your legs spread apart to give him space between them just so that you can wrap them around him, desperately trying to get him closer as if there were any space between you in the first place. Your hands slip under his shirt, needing it off him, needing to feel those perfectly sculpted muscles, a request which he happily obliges, only pulling back from the kiss for a moment to remove the clothing before he begins to work on yours. You don’t know which of you is more attracted, obsessed, and you swear you have never needed him like this before.

“Holy shit.”

It takes mere minutes to be fully undressed, you are already dripping, and Yeosang is rock hard, as he enters you without preparation, but you didn’t need it anyway. He fills you up, but again, this time it feels different. Increased pleasure, increased attraction, was this really all from a single cup of homemade herbal tea? You cry out his name as he pulls back to thrust into you again, letting your legs fall so that you can use your strength to lift yourself up and give him a better angle to fuck you in. Your back is arched and he reaches depths that he could not normally, his eyes roll back in his head and low moans leave him in harmony with yours of a much higher pitch.

“Good girl,” He praises you, “Do you believe me now?”

You weren’t really sceptical, you knew that there had to be some merit to the drink, and all the ingredients in it, maca root, ginseng, yin yang huo, what else was there again? but you had no idea that it would work so well. He fucks into you hard and fast, keeping you on edge for so long that you fear you are going to go crazy.

“Yes,” You nod enthusiastically, quickly remembering to answer him, “Yes, Yeosang, oh fuck, yes!”

The focus of his kisses soon move from your lips, to your jaw, and down your neck. They move back up, right to your ear, heavy breathing against it has your mind racing, vision blurring, you have got to be close. Your fingers tangle in his long black hair, soft to the touch, everything feels different now, in the best way possible. His skin is soft and smooth, muscles more… hard, veiny, and oh god, his cock, curved just a little, each thrust into you helps you up, up, up, and over… orgasming in his arms, so overwhelmed that you start to cry from the intensity of the pleasure. One orgasm leads to two, three, again you feel that nothing has ever felt this fucking good. You need him like oxygen, and you could go for hours if your body allowed it.

You are practically screaming when Yeosang finally pulls out, his hand racing to his cock to pump it only a few times before he releases, the force of his load so hard that it reaches your neck. Watching him while your own legs shake with the aftershocks of your high, mind still racing, body still reeling from the help that you had, it is too much, and you are already counting down for another round. You glance down at your body, stomach and chest slicked with his seed, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. Yeosang leans down to kiss you, not caring about the mess, just wanting to be with you, unable to be apart. It is hot, the hottest you have ever felt, not quite sure if you can find the words to describe it.

“I hope you kept that recipe,” You murmur in between a deep kiss, “I will definitely want us to drink that again.”

———

kinktober masterlist

[frozenfries]

Cozy Café : A VALORANT Headcanon

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written for this game, but inspiration struck at a random time. This totally hasn’t been sitting in my drafts since last January

Prompt: If the agents worked at a café, what would their roles and/or signature drink be?

Amidst the chaos of battle, a quaint café stands as a sanctuary for the weary agents. Here, they can take refuge from their high-stakes duels, and trade their weapons for aprons to pursue a different kind of mission: the art of brewing the perfect cup of coffee.

Phoenix: with his vibrant personality and quick reflexes, he’s the charismatic face of the café. Entertaining customers with his barista skills comes naturally as he conjures up dazzling coffee concoctions with a flair of his hand, a burst of flame and a confident grin. His signature drink, The Ignition Latte, is a fiery blend that invigorates even the most exhausted of patrons. Jett: agile on and off the battlefield, she brings her lightning-fast speed and precision to the café. With a swift motion of her finger, she effortlessly crafts delicate latte art, transforming each cup into its own masterpiece. Her Cloud Burst Cappuccino is a smooth delight, creating a moment of feather-light happiness for those who drink it. Viper: the formidable chemist brings her scientific expertise to the world of coffee. With a touch of her gloved hand, she infuses her creations with unique flavors and aromas, leaving customers in awe. Her Venomous Mocha is a mysterious blend that tantalizes the taste buds and leaves a lingering, addictive aftertaste. Sage: with her nurturing personality and herbal knowledge, she adds a touch of serenity to the café and its menu. Her Rejuvenation Tea is a calming infusion that restores both body and mind, providing a moment of tranquility amidst the chaos of everyday. Omen: ever the enigma, he brings an air of mystery to the café. With a flick of his wrist, he conjures up ethereal and smoky concoctions, leaving people wondering how he manages to capture such unique flavors. His Shadowy Cold Brew is a chilling experience that takes customers on a journey through darkness and light. KAY/O: the robotic agent assists in the day-to-day operations of the café, precisely measuring ingredients, ensuring efficiency, and maintaining the coffee shop's cutting-edge technology. KAY/O's presence adds a futuristic touch to the atmosphere, making customers feel like they've stepped into a realm where man and machine coexist harmoniously. Sova: a master archer, you can find him behind the counter carefully crafting his signature drink, The Tracker's Shot: a potent blend of espresso and a hint of blueberry syrup, topped with a delicate foam art of a wolf's paw print. Sova takes great pride in his creation, often using it as a conversation starter with customers, enthralling them with tales of his adventures in the wilderness. Cypher: the watchful surveillance expert provides security for the establishment. He has a keen eye for detail, which translates seamlessly into his signature drink, The Watchful Eye Latte: a meticulous combination of steamed milk, a shot of espresso, and a dash of vanilla spice syrup, served with a meticulous swirl of latte art depicting an intricate camera lens.

Chamber: the polished agent with a mysterious past has a taste for the unconventional, which is reflected in his signature creation, The Trademark Mocha: a rich concoction of dark chocolate, a double shot of espresso, and a hint of cinnamon, sprinkled with a dash of edible gold glitter that gives it an otherworldly shimmer.

Astra: with the ability to infuse her cosmic energy into any environment, she can elevate even a simple drink into an otherworldly experience. The Celestial Brew starts with a base of rich, smooth espresso, followed by a fusion of steamed milk and vanilla syrup, creating a swirling galaxy effect. To top it off is a dollop of homemade lavender-infused whipped cream, a touch of stardust and a sprinkle of edible glitter.

[bunny-claws]

behenian fixed stars ✦

the behenian fixed stars are a collection of fifteen stars that are considered especially useful for magical applications in medieval astrology (agrippa, henry cornelius. three books of occult philosophy, early 1500s.). the mention of these stars appears in many different manuscripts and writings, but is most commonly sourced back to hermes trismegistus (hermes on the 15 fixed stars). medieval applications for fixed stars included enchanting jewelry and crafting talismans using herbal and crystalline correspondences; modern celestial witches can very much do the same.

"now the manner of making these kinds of rings, is this, [viz]. when any star ascends fortunately, with the fortunate aspect, or conjunction of the moon, we must take a stone, and herb that is under that star, and make a ring of the metal that is suitable to this star, and in it fasten the stone, putting the herb, or root under it; not omitting the inscriptions of images, names, and characters, as also the proper suffumigations [incense]." - agrippa, three books of occult philosophy.

the word "fortunate" in this case and per my understanding indicates when a celestial body is in a harmonious aspect to the sun or the moon, which have "obtained the administration of the heavens and all bodies that are under them." - agrippa, three books of occult philosophy.

using the official names of these stars, you can learn to incorporate them into your spellwork and rituals by tracking the sun and moon's transit through the star's designated constellation [listed below], and then using corresponding ingredients and components to craft spells (spectral class, colors, herbs, crystals, etc. [also listed below]).

"the conclusion we ought to accept from everything discussed is that all things in the world, in all their qualities, orders, and boundaries, arise from the aspects of the moon with the sun since whatever constitutes vegetation and composite bodies exists thanks to the stars and the moon. this is the greater power they receive and the harm they suffer because of an eclipse of the moon or other eclipsed planets; from the sun, the moon, and the fixed stars come the permanent mutations, being altered and receiving benefit from good qualities and harm from bad ones. an eclipse affects the sun and the moon and the other planets, and it is likened to the harm done to other composite bodies" - attrell, dan; porreca, david. picatrix: a medieval treatise on astral magic (magic in history).

in regards to the excerpt above: because of the great reverence of the sun and moon in this particular practice, solar and lunar eclipses are considered malefic and will negatively impact any benefic magic that is done during those events. on the other hand, solar and lunar eclipses are perfect for baneful magic. but that's a topic for another day.

[enchanting items with celestial energy]

[stellar color magic]

[royal stars]

[star maps]

the 15 behenian fixed stars ✦

alcycone (the pleiades)

official designation: eta tauri

constellation: taurus

spectral class: b7

gemstone: quartz

plants: frankincense, fennel

colors: light blue, silver

planets: the moon, mars

keywords: love, eminence, seeking inner knowledge, peace, spirit work, summoning demons, revealing secrets, finding lost things, wind calling

aldebaran

official designation: alpha tauri

constellation: taurus

spectral class: k5

gemstones: garnet, ruby

plants: milk thistle, woodruff, dragon's blood

colors: red

planets: venus, mars

keywords: honor, intelligence, eloquence, steadfastness, courage, honesty, success

algol

official designation: beta persei

constellation: perseus

spectral class: b8

gemstone: diamond

plants: black hellebore, mugwort

colors: black, dark red

planets: saturn, jupiter

keywords: nobility, strength, courage, intense passion, protection from spells, the forces of the natural world; vengeance, hatred

algorab

official designation: delta corvi

constellation: corvus

spectral class: a0

gemstone: onyx

plants: burdock, henbane, comfrey

colors: black, red

planets: mars, saturn

keywords: craftiness, passion, protection, repelling evil; anger, hatred, nightmares, revenge, lying, materialistic

alkaid

official designation: eta ursae majoris

constellation: ursa major

spectral class: b3

gemstones: lodestone, magnet

plants: chicory

colors: black, grey

planets: moon, venus

keywords: protection during travel, direction, guidance

alphecca

official designation: alpha coronae borealis

constellation: corona borealis

spectral class: a0

gemstones: topaz

plants: rosemary, trefoil, ivy

colors: pink, blue

planets: mercury, venus

keywords: love, honor, artistic skills, beauty, quiet achievement, spiritualism, friendship, fidelity, a change in social status that is earned

antares

official designation: alpha scorpii

constellation: scorpius

spectral class: m1.5

gemstones: amethyst, sardonyx

plants: saffron, snakeroot, pipevine

colors: red, purple

planets: mars, jupiter

keywords: strength, wisdom, memory, protection, defense, binding, banishing

arcturus

official designation: alpha boötis

constellation: boötes

spectral class: k1.5

gemstones: red and green jasper

plants: plantain

colors: red, green

planets: mars, jupiter

keywords: wealth, honor, successful travel by sea, healing

capella

official designation: alpha aurigae

constellation: auriga

spectral class: g3

gemstones: sapphire

plants: horehound, mint, mugwort, thyme

colors: green

planets: jupiter, saturn

keywords: healing, honor, public position, wealth, ambition

deneb algedi

official designation: delta capricorni

constellation: capricornus

spectral class: a7

gemstones: chalcedony

plants: mandrake, marjoram, catnip, mugwort

colors: black, brown

planets: jupiter, saturn

keywords: wisdom, integrity, justice, balance, home protection, wealth, favor in lawsuits

procyon

official designation: alpha canis minoris

constellation: canis minor

spectral class: f5

gemstones: agate

plants: heliotrope, buttercup, marigold, pennyroyal

colors: red, yellow, white

planets: mercury, mars

keywords: power, good health, wealth, fame, the favor of air spirits

regulus

official designation: alpha leonis

constellation: leo

spectral class: b7

gemstones: garnet, amber, granite

metal: gold

plants: mugwort, celandine, mastic

colors: yellow, gold

planets: mars, jupiter

keywords: power, success, strength, dispelling depression and sorrow, overcoming anger, luck, victory

sirius

official designation: alpha canis majoris

constellation: canis major

spectral class: a1

gemstones: blue and green beryl

plants: juniper, dragonwort, mugwort

colors: blue, seafoam green, white

planets: mars, jupiter, venus

keywords: communication, marital peace, passion, faithfulness, wealth, devotion, resentment

spica

official designation: alpha virginis

constellation: virgo

spectral class: b1

gemstones: emerald

plants: sage, periwinkle, mugwort, mandrake

colors: green, white

planets: mercury, venus

keywords: success, wealth, protection, banishing, abundance, legal matters

vega

official designation: alpha lyrae

constellation: lyra

spectral class: a0

gemstones: chrysolite, peridot

plant: winter savory, chicory, fumitory

colors: deep red, black

planets: mercury, venus

keywords: warding nightmares, demons, and fears; hopefulness, idealism, pretentious

some correspondences are personal to me; others are derived from the three books of occult philosophy and the picatrix

translations for the picatrix provided by dan attrell and david porreca.

© 2025 bunny-claws