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yellow, folded inwards,
glued back to
itself; creased.

dust-mangled dirt spurt
along its trodden back.

“don’t forget the kids
and groceries.
love you.

— John”

have
to go to work.

going to be late.

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So there is a running joke in my family that we had a fourth child called timmy that died horribly somehow, and whenever there is an open ended statement about one of the kids someone will say “we don’t talk about timmy” and pause for a second before continuing with our conversation. Its all aimed at my youngest brother and I’m worried one day that he is going to get us all arrested for the murder of “Timmy”.

10/10 Would recommend.

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I’ve finally finish Rowan’s bust image! Woohoo! ♪ I was first just going to post his image up but I wanted to share the whole family’s bust artworks!

So Cyrill (red tiefling) is who I play in a long going homebrew campaign! Then you have his Mum, Sanura Beck. Then his older half-brother Rowan Beck!

It really makes me happy seeing them together! I have been working on doing bust images of backstory characters for Cyrill! I think I have two more left to do! But no idea when I’ll get around to it, hopefully soon! ♪

evycrystal
evycrystal
evycrystal
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image

Thank you, @katnissandpeeta125​ for this AMAZING cover art!  I love it!

Read on A03 

Story Summary:   
 (AU) Peeta is a loving, single father who’s vowed it’ll always be just him and her, but as his daughter gets older, he questions his ability to raise her on his own. A move brings changes and new people into their lives, and the more his daughter raves about her, the more Peeta is unable to contain his curiosity about his daughter’s teacher, the mysterious, seemingly aloof Miss Everdeen, who always seems to be there for his daughter when she’s in trouble.

Sneak Peek of Chapter Six:  

“Where did you get that?!” Johanna exclaimed, already putting her grubby paws all over Katniss’s muffins.  

Katniss sighed.  “I’m willing to share, but do you have to touch them all, Johanna?” 

“Sorry, Brainless.  I mean, oops, I can’t call you that anymore, right?”  Katniss had won the race and for payment, she’d demanded Johanna never call her by that affectionate nickname again.  

“So, Kat,” Johanna grudgingly began, “where did you get the basket?”   

“It was a gift.”  Katniss picked up one of the muffins and surveyed it.  It was a hearty-looking one with flecks of orange and drizzled with white icing that appeared to form a design, a starburst licking at the edges of the muffin top.  He’d labeled them all for reference; this one was a glazed orange nut muffin.  “From, uh, the father of one of my students.”

“From a father?!”

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(pomegranate)


there is a pomegranate tree in

my grandparents’ back garden.

there is nothing as sweet as

the seeds of those pomegranates.


in mythology, bleeding into

art and literature and poetry,

pomegranate seeds are a tether.

persephone consumed six, and

spent half of the rest of her

immortal life in the underworld,

tethered by those six seeds.


i spent six summers with that tree,

claiming its fruits as soon as

my grandfather deemed them ripe.

six summers of a tether,

a thick rope, winding around

my lungs, tighter and tighter with

every pomegranate seed.


we haven’t visited my grandparents

in years now, but tethers can cross

continents, worlds, and realms.


does persephone feel this

ache in her chest

when autumn draws near?

does she taste the sweetness of

the six seeds on her tongue,

tart and sweet and running red,

like oozing blood?

can she leave, if they hurt her,

if the spirits in the underworld

get too loud too fast?


hey dad,

split open this pomegranate for me,

i’ll pick apart the seeds.

hey dad,

make sure not to squeeze too hard.

you’ve gotta be gentle with it,

the sweet red tends to splatter.


jericho, 10.24.20

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We usually remember our loved ones fondly once they have passed. Time reminds us of the things we loved about them and lets us forget the arguments and faults.


I would like it if some of my loved ones would hurry up and become a happy memory instead of a current rascist, hateful son of a bitch.

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