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azzo0 · 24 days

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"Katsuki!" You called from the bedroom, lying on your stomach as you read a romance novel. You'd just seen a line you read a handful of times in other romance novels. It was a line that managed to make you smile like an idiot, with butterflies dancing in your stomach.

"What?" He yelled from the living room, where he repaired one of his gauntlets.

"C'mere for a sec," you got up with the book, and Katsuki walked into the room shirtless with a little grease on his chest and arms. Even better for your request.

"What the fuck? You just called me in, and now yer pushin' me away?" He knitted his eyebrows when you pushed him out of the room.

"Katsuki, can you do this?" You handed him the book, and he took it, looking down at the page in confusion.

"A lot is goin' on here, sweets. I'm a hero, not an actor." He said, cherry eyes scanning the page.

"Oh, come on! I'm sure you can do this one." You pointed at the line, and he brought it closer to his face, reading it out loud, his eyebrows raising amusedly.

"I looked up from my work when I heard the door open to see William. He stood in the doorway, one of his hands on the header above him. "Hey," he greeted-" Katsuki stopped to look at you, "I don't see what you want me to do? Stand in the door and say hi?"

"No, no. You're supposed to do what William did," you explained, demonstrating what you meant by showing him, even though your hand wouldn't reach for the header, "Get it?"

"Hah? What's so special about it in the first place?" He asked, flipping the book shut and giving it back to you.

"It's just sexy, okay?" You huffed, "I've read similar lines in many other books, and I just wanna know what it would be like when you do it."

"Fine," he grumbles, "Stand inside."

You happily skipped inside while he stood outside. He took a step closer and stood in the doorway. He brought his hand up and held the doorframe, thick bicep flexing in the process, revealing a few blond hair in his pit. He leaned closer to you, snaking a calloused hand to your back, roughly pulling you closer.

"This what ya wanted, hm?" He whispered into your ear, sending tingles down your spine. He smirked at your flustered state and snuck a peck to your lips.

He chuckled at your stupor and turned around to leave. He glanced back, a triumphant smirk on his lips, "Let me know if there's somethin' else that William dude does. I can do it better than him anyway~"

#okay now i can sleep in peace #GOOD NIGHT #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo #katsuki bakugo x reader

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kekaki-cupcakes · 7 months

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Hiiii! How are you hanging?

Warning: periods? Not sure if it’s a warning. If it is or it makes you uncomfortable I am so so sorry it was not my intention

Could you write for Leo Valdez being his s/o’s biggest simp and like acting as heater and heating pad especially when she’s on her period and building her lots of gadgets for basically anything he thinks she may need?

Feel free to skip this obviously!

Sorry again and have a lovely day!

Bye! (Ps I have reade your Nike one for about 20 times now and it still is so fun and amazing! ‘Cant wait for the Hypnos one!)

I'm working on so much rn so this is just a short head canon list that sort of derailed but it was so cute to write. I'm glad you liked the Nike one, and the Hypnos fic was just posted I hope you find it <3

And period talk doesn't make me uncomfortable don't worry I'm fine with writing lots of that kind of stuff I just have like, limits with smut and age gap kind of stuff [I'm also a minor]

This header just gave me like, hot water bottle cover vibes and matched the rest of it too, hope you enjoy!

Hotboy/Hotpack---Leo V x gn reader on their period

»»————-　★　————-««

-No but like he’s literally perfect for the job

-Who else is better at laying down as a weighted blanket and heating himself up to perfect temperature and then just literally fiddling with rubix cubes while you use him as a hot water bottle

-He’d be so happy to as well, like it was the best job in the world [which it is to him, he gets cuddles as well as being a good boyfriend. It’s a win win]. Even if you didn’t ask, he’d catch you microwaving a wheat pack while you take painkillers in the camp kitchen and sneak up behind you and hug you. Or maybe he’d lay across the counter dramatically,

-‘mi amor are you replacing me? Why would you do this? I love you, and now there's other guys in your life!’

-‘it’s literally a hot water bottle’

-‘No! I must win you back!...Come on let’s go make out-’

-Then he’d take the hot water bottle away and smother you in kisses [if you felt like it] and drag you back to your cabin. He’d bring your favorite snacks and steal Pipers Ipad, the one with the hello kitty stickers, and you’d watch movies to pass the time.

-He’s the type to try those different rubbing points on your stomach to help with cramps [gods his hands are so fine, but that’s besides the point] and even if they didn’t work you’d get a massage out of it <3

-So we’ve all agreed Leo is the little spoon, right?

-He’d act so tough and macho, spooning you to heat up his hands on your stomach but then you rolled over in your sleep once and woke up to him grinning his head off while you hugged him

-Of course you figured it out and now you’re the big spoon because he’s just so small and cuddly, like a teddy bear [even if he’s a bit boney] and when you get cramps it works even better. He’s like a life sized heat pack pressed against you, and he always holds you hands as well because he’s just like that :D

-He has the softest curly hair when it isn’t covered in sawdust and grease, and when he lays his head on your chest or that little spot between your neck and your shoulder you could just run your hands through it. Or maybe put little plaits in it. He’d love that. Touch is definitely his love language, once he realizes he does deserve it, as well as gifts and acts of service.

-Gifts and acts of service is a subconscious thing for him that he doesn’t even realize he does and likes until he spots the shelf next to your bed filled with all the little things he’s made. Gold or silver jewelry [he quickly figured out which one was favorite through trial and error you didn’t even notice], little metal flowers he’d welded with his fingers, which were literally made with love. There’d be things like lollies and packets of gum he’d realized you liked and promptly bought when he went out, fairy lights he’d made in the shape of hearts, candles with your favorite scents he’d made from when Hazel had a wax-y crafts phase, and more.

-If you ever gave him something in return, he’d probably cry

-But he knows you love him and he definitely knows he loves you [as well as the rest of CHB lol]

»»————-　★　————-««

#pjo fandom #pjo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #leovaldez #Leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x oc #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x y/n #Leo valdez x gender neutral reader #reader on their period #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #but no y/n dw #lol

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lunarbuck · 6 months

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Kinktober Week 2: Formal Wear

header: @jen-with-a-pen

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader (any race)

Word Count: 2k

Prompt: Formal Wear

Warnings: bucky is your ex bf, unwanted touching (by someone else, not bucky), sexual tension, oral (m receiving), smut (p in v), praise, pet names [dove, pretty girl, baby], light spanking, swearing, possessiveness

a/n: y'all...... you're not even ready for this

my masterlist | kinktober masterlist | @lunarbucklibrary

You slide your hands down the smooth satin of your dress, relishing the way it glides against your skin. Tonight’s party is one you’ve been looking forward to for some time now, and you can’t wait to see the look on his face when you walk through those doors.

You’re dressed for revenge, and you don’t care how petty it is.

After a quick ride to the venue, you pause just outside the doors to the ballroom. You take a deep breath, rolling your shoulders, before pushing the doors open. Your heels click on the marble floor, and you flash a smile at the familiar faces that greet you.

This isn’t your first Avengers gala, and it certainly won’t be your last, but tonight is different. Tonight isn’t about greasing palms and fake smiles. No, tonight is about one thing and one thing only.

Making sure Bucky Barnes knows just what he’s missing out on.

He broke up with you a week and a half ago. You spent the first week feeling like your heart had been ripped out and stomped on, unsure if you’d ever recover. The past few days, though, have been spent getting ready for this moment right here.

You find your way to the bar and order a vodka soda, letting your eyes wander around the room. You can tell the moment he spots you. His gaze licks down your back like fire, making you shiver.

As you sip your drink, you feel someone approach, but you can tell it’s not Bucky. “You look gorgeous tonight,” a man tells you. At first glance, you don’t recognize him, but a moment later, you place him as an investor you’ve sweet-talked a few times before. His hand slides along your lower back, and you’re quickly reminded of how handsy he tends to be.

“Thanks,” you reply, cringing inwardly.

“Wanna dance?” He doesn’t give you a chance to answer, tugging you away from the bar and to the center of the front of the room where people are dancing. The bass thumps in your chest as you dance with Mr. Handsy, ignoring the way your skin crawls at his touch.

A flash of metal catches your attention, and suddenly, he’s right there. Bucky Barnes, in all his tuxedo-d glory, stands just four feet next to you. He’s not dancing, not even swaying with the music. He’s just standing there, staring at you.

Your body hums under his heated gaze. You watch his eyes drag over your figure and suppress a smirk. His eyes darken, and his tongue darts out, wetting his lower lip.

Mr. Handsy presses himself against your back and slides his hands along your hips. Bucky’s eyes flash to the man touching you, and you see him clench his metal fist. He looks so fucking good right now, bathed in the low light. Bucky’s tux is perfectly fitted to his mountain-like, sculpted body.

You can’t help the desire that pools in your lower belly. Despite the way your brain is screaming, your pussy can’t seem to hear it. Even though he broke your heart, you remember how amazing he made you feel.

Mr. Handsy’s fingers brush your ribs, and you’re rudely snapped awake from your memories. You turn around in his grip and push against his chest, trying to put space between you and his unwanted touches, but his fingers tighten around your ribcage.

You open your mouth to tell him off, but you’re abruptly pulled backward and into a familiar, muscular chest. His cologne invades your senses, woodsy and masculine. Mr. Handsy frowns but ultimately decides that you’re not worth fighting the Winter Soldier over.

“You wear this dress for me?” Bucky’s low voice growls in your ear. You stand up straighter as his hands slide across your hips to your lower belly, pressing your ass against him.

“No.” You silently curse the way your voice wavers, and you don’t have to be looking at him to know that Bucky is smirking.

“Don’t lie, dove. You know you’re shit at it.” You bristle at the pet name, the one that has always made you swoon.

“‘M not lying.” Bucky’s metal fingers drift up your body, tracing between your breasts to circle your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, he wraps his fingers enough to remind you how much you liked it when he held you this way.

“Little dove, you’re just asking for me to fuck the truth out of you.” You press your thighs together and shudder, wetness pooling in your panties. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. You were supposed to flaunt how well you’re doing in Bucky’s stupid, perfect face, get drunk, then go home feeling great.

He isn’t supposed to be talking about fucking you, and you aren’t supposed to be grinding your ass against him.

You shake your head, unable to come up with the words to tell him to fuck off.

“You know what I think? I think you got all dolled up just for me. You wanted to show me how big and bad you are, but all you’ve done is show me how much you miss me. That right, dove?” Your body betrays you, but the more time you spend in his arms, the less you seem to care.

Bucky gives the column of your throat a light squeeze, and your lips part on a gasp. “I bet you’re fucking soaked right now. If I slipped my hand into your panties right now, they’d be wet.” The slit of your dress goes high up your thigh, so high that he could do just that if he wants. Part of you silently begs for him to find out, for his fingers to drag over your clit.

Without another word, Bucky slides his hand to cup the back of your neck in a possessive grip and guides you off the dance floor and toward the doors. You’re in a trance, hypnotized by his words and intoxicating presence.

Bucky walks you to the elevator bank, jabbing the number for the top floor, then turns to you. He towers over you, blue eyes blazing, and your breath catches in your throat. A bell dings, and he walks you backward into the open doors of the elevator. Your back hits the wall, and he leans over you, hands landing on either side of your head.

“You look good enough to fucking eat, dove,” he rasps. “You really gonna tell me you don’t want this?” Bucky slides one of his muscular thighs between your legs, pressing it where you need him most. “Gonna sit there and pretend you don’t want me?”

As much as you want to push him away, shout at him, tell him that he’s full of it, you know it’s a lie. You want him so badly you’re buzzing with it. You need him more than air.

When the elevator reaches the top floor, Bucky’s fingers circle your wrist, and he tugs you to his room, shutting the door behind you. The moment the latch clicks, you know you’re a goner.

He approaches you slowly, and you try to keep the space between the two of you, walking backward until your legs hit the bed. You wobble on your heels and can’t catch yourself before your ass hits the mattress.

Bucky stands over you, stealing your breath, as he slowly removes his tux jacket. He smirks, the look full of heat and hunger. His hands cup your jaw, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. You gaze up at him, unable to keep your eyes off his face.

“So beautiful, dove,” he tells you. Without thinking, you slide off the mattress, knees landing against the plush carpet on the floor, so you’re kneeling in front of Bucky. He raises an eyebrow as your fingers fumble with his belt. You manage to tug it free, popping the button on his slacks before pulling the zipper down.

You pull his cock out, not bothering to get rid of his pants, and you salivate. Before Bucky, giving oral was a chore, but with him, it brought you so much pleasure. That hasn’t changed, it seems. You drag your tongue over his tip before taking him into your mouth. Bucky’s fingers slide along your scalp, gripping your hair. You bob your head, taking him as deeply as you can, gagging when he hits the back of your throat.

“Shit,” Bucky groans. “Missed your fucking mouth, dove.” Your clit pulses at his words, and you squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to alleviate the pressure. Your tongue teases the vein on the underside of his cock, and you hum when he moans.

You know Bucky’s body like the back of your hand, and when his hips jolt, thrusting his cock further into your mouth, you pull away. You can’t help but smirk at the disheveled look on his face. He was getting close, and you just ruined that for him.

“Wipe the smirk off your face, little dove. You’re gonna regret that.” Bucky hoists you up onto the bed, and you land face down, bouncing with the impact. His hands slide along your legs, pushing your skirt up to expose your panties. You shout when his fingers wrap around your ankles, tugging you backward until your feet hit the ground. With the height of your heels, your ass sticks out and up in this position.

Bucky’s fingers trace along the outline of your panties, sending chills down your spine. He tugs the waistband, drags the garment down your legs, and helps you step out of it. Your mind spins as the cool air caresses your heated pussy.

“You’re such a liar, dove. You’re soaked, and it’s all for me, isn’t it?” You clench the comforter tightly, trying not to squirm under his gaze. A light smack to your ass makes you yelp. “Answer the question, dove.”

“Y-yes,” you whimper. “It’s all for you.” Bucky chuckles and grips your hips until you feel his cock drag through the wetness between your thighs.

“Your pussy knows who it belongs to, isn’t that right, dove?” You shake your head, hiding your face in the blankets, but that earns you another slap. “Don’t fucking lie to me, pretty girl. You and I both know how much your pussy fucking loves me.”

The tip of his cock presses against your entrance, and you stifle a moan. Bucky is big, the biggest you’ve ever had, and in just the week and a half you’ve been broken up, you’ve craved this more than you care to admit.

“You can tell yourself whatever you want, baby, but your perfect cunt is telling me all I need to know.” He slides into you, stretching your pussy around his cock, and you moan loudly. He doesn’t give you a moment to breathe or adjust. He just sets a brutal, deep pace and fucks you like he owns you.

Bucky fucks you into the mattress, your back arching to take him deeper. You’re putty in his hands, unable to resist the pleasure he pours into your body.

“That’s right, dove,” he whispers huskily. “Take my fucking cock like a good girl.” Your pussy clenches when he calls you ‘good girl’, and you know he did it on purpose. He knows how much you love that.

“You missed being my good girl, huh, dove?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you moan, not caring how pathetic you sound. Bucky leans down, clasping the back of your neck with his metal fingers, and pushes you further into the mattress. Your orgasm comes barreling toward you, and though your mind screams at the betrayal, you fall over the edge.

“Shit, yes, dove. Come all over my cock. You’re squeezing the shit out of me, baby.” You shake with the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you can tell Bucky’s getting close. His hips stutter, rhythm faltering as he fucks you harder and harder.

“Fuck, dove, gonna fill you up.” Bucky comes on a loud moan, squeezing the back of your neck tightly before pulling out. You feel his fingers drag along your inner thigh before pushing into your pussy, forcing his cum deeper inside of you.

Your breaths are shallow as you come to terms with what just happened. As much as you wish you regretted it, you don’t. And as much as you hope this will be the last time this happens, you know it’s just the first. Bucky is your drug; you’re addicted. It’s going to take a long time before you’re able to quit him.

@flightlessangelwings | #fawktober 2023 list

I am discontinuing my taglist. Please follow @lunarbucklibrary and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics.

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twogyuu · 8 months

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hi holly ♡♡ can i please get vernon + 19 for your screenplay ask game?

also it's been a while! how are you beloved? i just saw your new header and it made me giggle out loud i love it ♡

pairing: vernon x reader

19. ""so what are we exactly?" // ". . . is there a wrong answer to this question?"

genre: fluff, angst, crack if you squint, friends-2-???, dance!au, ft. joshua! HAHAHA

wc: 792

a/n: hi hi xan! im doing alright :) been busy adulting so haven't been a whole lot of writing mood hahaha - i moved this weekend! excited, but a little nervous and exhausted. i don't have anything yet, so i've been using my boxes of kpop albums/merch as a miniature table LOL 💀😂 thank you for checking in! i hope you enjoy this and are doing well, yourself 🫶🏻 hehehehe

Please pick a SVT member and a number from this prompt list, and I'll write a drabble for you :)

. . . .

Your stomach felt hollow and your sense of smell felt stale despite the sacred aroma of food filled with grease and an extra, extra pinch of salt - the signature stamp of delicious for an all-American diner.

This was your usual post-hangover go-to after a night out, equalizing the alcohol that filled you belly last night with an extra helping of burgers made of brioche bun. Nonetheless, you couldn't help but let your food in front of you grow cold as your friends stuffed their faces and moaned out of satisfaction, even though this was probably their umpteenth time here.

The argument that ensued on the car ride home with Vernon left you with a bitter taste on your tongue - and it lingered. You have known him for the better part of your twenties when you met him through Chan so many years ago. Bright-eyed and a man of few words, he was perhaps the last person you expected to befriend from the dance studio. You were opinionated and particular. Alas, a stupid project brought the two of you together and you couldn't come a part since. Dare you admit it, your confidant, best friend, partner in crime - what have you. Somewhere along the way, the two of you started tiptoeing across the lines of friends and something more.

A performance turned into a hand for a dance at Seungcheol's wedding.

Simple brush of fingers in between class changes in the hallway turned into handholding past midnight, wandering the streets downtown.

Playful jabs and shoves turned into heart-to-hearts that lasted into the morning, over turtle chips and pop because he didn't like alcohol.

A peck on the cheek in the depths of the night when only the dinky LED lightbulb overhead lit the studio turned into a full on makeout session on Soonyoung's bedroom.

So, who could blame you when you asked him for clarity?

You felt a gentle nudge of an elbow into your left side and you turned your head slightly to acknowledge him. You didn't dare to look up for your feared the waterworks might start and you didn't need the entirety of your friends and this diner to know of your issues.

Wordlessly, Vernon held up a single fry to your lips. The tip was stained with white horseradish sauce because you didn't like ketchup and enjoyed the wasabi-like sensation that followed after.

Your eyes flickered to him quickly then back to the fry, still refusing to open your mouth.

He . . . can't be doing things like this after what he said.

He shouldn't.

But he was.

"You should eat, babe," Vernon mumbled. The nickname of affection slipping between his lips so casually and easily. It was second nature to him at this point. You weren't so sure if it was out of affection, however - maybe, it was just habit. He nudged it closer, his movements a little too fast because the sauce touched your top lip.

"Oh shit!" Vernon's eyes widened and he threw the fry down. He quickly reached for a napkin instead and began wiping your lip. "I'm so sorry."

"Vernon," you whimpered, your cheeks feeling warm. You tried to push his hand away to no avail. "You don't need to-"

"What are you guys, exactly?"

Your booth turned silent and all eyes zeroed in on you and Vernon. You were both frozen, the napkin hovering over your lips and your hand still wrapped around the latter's wrist. You gulped, straining your eyes to see who the question came from.

Joshua sat across from Vernon, a burger held up to his mouth, but his lips were pursed, brows crinkled in a similar fashion.

The booth waited for an answer; no one dared moved until they got one. You took this opportunity to move away from Vernon, shoving his hand away, ducking your head, and scooting closer to Jun on your right. Jun shuffled closer to the edge, worried.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the look of hurt that crossed Vernon's face when you moved away.

What were you supposed to say? You had the same question and no clear answer.

"Um," Vernon put the napkin down and scratched the back of his head before he looked up innocently at Joshua. "I-is there a wrong answer to this question?"

Joshua let go of his burger, plopping into a wrapper with a quiet 'thwack' as it landed. The grease and ketchup seeped into the paper, not letting it fall away. Joshua sighed and shook his head.

"There is," Joshua answered for you and your heart skipped a beat - not for Joshua, but in anticipation of an answer from Vernon finally.

"Think carefully, Chwe because it's something we've all been wondering for the past year."

#vernon x reader #vernon scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen drabbles #twogyuu:writing #twogyuu:ask games #aceofvernons

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shoshiwrites · 2 months

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The lovely @mercurygray is running Blind Dates again this year — now with a blog @blind-dates-fest! — and I wanted to make it four for four!

My sincerest apologies to Esther Bubley, whose photo stories for the Office of War Information I borrowed for this piece (and header), more specifically the six-week bus trip she took in 1943 to document the country's travels during wartime.

Her photos are amazing and can be found in multiple books on the Internet Archive and on the Library of Congress website. Her OWI peers included Jack Delano, Marion Post Wolcott, Gordon Parks, and John Vachon, and I should probably put together a second post instead of taking up all the space in this one!

Without further ado, meet Paulette!

so many miles and so long since i've met you

It’s 5:00 AM, and she’s hungry.

She’d gone for a boxed lunch at the last station, scarfing it down at a corner bench with her camera on her lap, her jacket flung over it for protection. The taste of salmon salad lingers in her mouth, her fingertips still smelling of orange peel even though she’d waited in line to reach the ladies’ room, politely elbowed her way between fellow passengers reapplying lipstick and dabbing their makeup to scrub her hands clean at the small sink.

I could go for a Coca-Cola right about now.

If nothing else, it would keep her awake to keep shooting, capture the people waiting who look as tired as she feels, as tired as she knows she looks by now. She’d gotten some good pictures at the machine shop back in Indianapolis, the garage where the mechanics worked and the drivers wrote out trip reports.

Maybe she’s predisposed, her comfort in these places. Her papa’s a mechanic too; she knows the chambray shirts with their pockets, stained with oil and stuffed with pens, wrenches hanging on the wall, the smell of new tires and grease.

She tries not to yawn, and fails, into the back of her wrist. Sleep finds a way here — she sees it in heavy shoulders, click, the flyaway curls, click, the man walking through with a stack of used pillows off an incoming bus, click. The children dozing on their father’s arm, little brown shoes barely touching the floor, the stuffed bunny in the little one’s arms. Click, click, click. The woman behind her has taken up a whole bench, her pumps kicked off besides. Click. Her camera is small, comparatively, and even still, they all sleep so soundly that the noise doesn’t wake a single person.

Good shots of the garage in Indianapolis, and better ones of the women who washed the bus windows, the baggage clerks hustling with their caps and cigarettes. They let her roam, with the permissions she’s got, all stamped and tucked in her bag. Behind the driver’s seat, the front, the middle, the back. Her bus out of D. C. was segregated; it depends which bus, which city. Everyone looks at her funny until they forget she’s there.

Paulette has plans for a short stay in the next city, photographing a driver and his family. A real bed and supper at a table, marking the halfway point of this East-Coast-Midwest criss-cross. She thinks of sending a few postcards home — there’s hardly time, but Maman always likes to hear from her, and Paulette knows she’ll catch hell if Charlie and Dot don’t have anything to tape up.

Is it better to send the same postcard, or different ones, she wonders. Sometimes the twins like to match, and sometimes there’s nothing worse. Just as long as she calls Charlie Charles — makes him feel like a grownup, like Pa’s official correspondence, and her sister Dot or Sis. Marie-Dorothée makes her sound like their grandmother, Dot says. Paulette, ten years older, out of sight and on the road with her knowing smile, does as she’s told.

“Miss?”

Her eyes fly open to the asker, the soldier in front of her as tired as the rest. It pulls at his frame, still upright with the force of hard training. His voice is a little hoarse, that sleepiness, like it’s not a question. “Mind if I sit here?”

Here is the space between her and the end of the carved bench, not much. But here, it’s all at a premium. She nods.

He slumps in next to her, his bag on his lap, and they touch at too many points to count, warm hip warm thigh warm calf. He’s close enough that she can see freckles under the artificial light. If she got up, she could make a photo. Give him some space.

She feels like she’s missed her chance, the part where she introduces herself and asks for permission. There’s no one here to distract him, no friends or pretty girls to let her fade into the background. Something tells her to get up and walk around. Her bus will be here in an hour anyway, it’d do her good to get the blood in her legs moving. And there’s no such thing as enough pictures, of course. She taps her finger against the flattened lever on the side of her camera.

“Neat gadget,” says the soldier.

Paulette’s had the Rolleiflex just under a year, and she’s just now getting less jumpy about it. Photographers have to get used to expensive pieces of equipment. Mr. Linehan back at the office had no patience for it, squeamishness. Trust yourself, a colleague told her. George Gordon, always wore an old leather jacket and signed his letters G. G. He’s somewhere in Maryland now, or Massachusetts.

She’d saved and saved. Gotten a good deal, too. Did some free photos in exchange for the balance. Probably put the corner store out of business from all the Mounds bars she didn’t buy. She’d kill for one of those now, too.

“Thank you,” she says, even though that’s not the thing to say.

“My sister’s got one of those little Brownie cameras.”

“Has she? I’ve still got mine at home.”

“Where’s that?”

Maybe she has to give him credit for that. Don’t I ask the questions, she wants to say. “Cincinnati.” There’s a small bruise at his jaw, and maybe she wouldn’t even call it that, it’s still reddish-pink. Training accident, she guesses. “Where are you headed, soldier?”

“Ain’t that confidential?” He smiles, and she can see the slight overlap of one of his front teeth. Boyish. That’s the word. She doesn’t quite feel girlish, here in her tired slacks and her curls that haven’t seen a bottle of hairspray in weeks. “South. Georgia.” Paulette nods. “You?”

“Far as the next bus takes me.”

“Taking pictures?”

“Taking pictures.” Where d’you wish you were headed? she wants to ask. Maybe that’s too much. Maybe that’s something she doesn’t allow herself here, doesn’t want to, usually. Doesn’t have the time. You don’t fill a portfolio getting distracted. You don’t get taken seriously, either.

She doesn’t know him, anyhow.

“You take a lot?”

“Too many.” Her finger hurts from it. She lets the air out of her nose, something like a smile. “On my last frame, actually. On this roll.” She know she’d better load the next one before the bus rolls up. “You wanna see how I change ‘em?”

He’s twisted in his seat already to talk to her. Nods, watches her hands fiddle with the body, pull the film taut. She’s suddenly self-conscious, but he stays silent. His head is bowed, the scent of his hair and his sweat and the remnants of aftershave in her nose. He points a finger, slowly following her movements, her steps. The scent of orange. His lunch, or hers?

“Gotta take one now, dontcha?” he says quietly, that little bit of brassy shine to his voice.

She smiles. “Would you oblige the lady?” The words run together, in her accent, in her tiredness.

Paulette can’t think about where he’s headed. His easy calm, the flecks in his eyes. The little twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Thought you’d never ask.”

She does get up, gets him turning in profile, thumb curving at his bottom lip as he looks off. The light glints off his boots. A little posed, for her usual. And it never feels like this, like a photo might be just for her. She takes two, just in case. She doesn’t pull out her notebook.

“S’pose my mother wants a copy-” he starts.

Silly. “Oh, of course!” The notebook, the tiny pencil. He writes down the address. Kokomo. Not so far from Cincinnati. “And- and your name?”

“Floyd. Floyd Talbert.” Does she stick out her hand? He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, before she can say anything. “S’pose I ask if- if I can write you?”

It’s not the first time. She’s lost count, actually. She’s never given it, the road forgiving her with warning bells and train whistles, timetables. There are freckles on the bridge of his nose.

She tears a scrap of paper off the metal rings. Paulette Schafer. Her home address. Her mother hosts servicemen for Sunday dinner, shoos them out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon. “You can call me Pauli.”

“I hope so.” He smiles. “When’s your bus?”

Her watch — the thing she hasn’t looked at for the last hour — tells her twenty minutes. “Soon. I’m headed west.”

“Cryin’ shame.”

“You know, I can’t spend all my film on you.”

He leans back against the wall. “You’d like to though, huh?”

Floyd Talbert, how many times has a girl wanted to keep a photo of you in her pocket? “You’re a compelling subject.”

He smirks, and something in her stomach flutters.

“You say that to all the handsome soldiers.”

“‘Course.”

She’d better head out now if she wants to get some good quotes out of the driver, a few shots of the baggage clerks, if she doesn’t want to get stuck in the jump seat if it’s a full house.

“It’s been a pleasure, Floyd,” she says, and sticks out her hand.

A voice intones over the PA, 6:00 AM to Kansas City- “All mine, Pauli Schafer.” A beat passes, and he’s looking at her with an expression she can’t name. “Can I walk you out?”

She knows he’ll let her do what she needs to, stay quiet by her side. 6:00 AM to Kansas City- She wishes they had time for a cup of coffee. She’ll take a moment though, get one more picture of him walking out in the morning light. “You may.”

#blind dates 24 #blind dates oc fest #further apologies to vashti bunyan #shoshi writes #work: so many miles and so long since i've met you #paulette's tag

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steviesbicrisis · 2 years

Text

Hello Everyone!

A little welcoming post for whoever has stumbled upon my blog, thank you for visiting! What you will find here:

Anything stranger things related, especially Gay Stranger Things Tumblr version;

I write Steddie and sometimes other queer pairs from ST (More under the cut);

My ask is open to anyone! Prompts, questions, or anything you want to talk about is very much welcomed and appreciated!

My DMs are also open if you wanna chat about our hyperfixations together!

Rarely, I might write/reblog about:

♦ Tv Shows: Heartstopper, Doctor Who, Friends, The Office, Sherlock, Glee and many more ♦ Anime: Naruto, MHA, SpyxFamily, Given, Haikyuu ♦ Kpop: BTS, Gidle, Infinite, TXT, GNCD ♦ Superheroes: Batman, anything Marvel ♦ Ghibli studio: any movie from them, Howl's moving castle has my heart.

⬇️ Content Navigator ⬇️

Ficlets

Headcanons

Prompts

Edits

Asks

Incorrect Quotes

On Going:

Gareth the Matchmaker - AO3 (Social Media AU);

Half-Italian Steve;

Completed:

Multichaptered

Radio Hearts - AO3 (Social Media AU | Steddie week 2023);

Corroded Flowers - AO3 (Band AU | Social Media AU);

Unconventional soulmates AU (Stobin as platonic soulmates);

Compulsory Heterosexuality;

Star Wars AU;

Oneshots

The struggle of finding the perfect gift for a son of Aphrodite (PJO AU)

Eddie's coming out;

Gareth the TikTok matchmaker;

Adoption papers, the best Christmas gift;

Angst Stobin;

Childhood friends;

The one where everybody finds out (about Eddie and Steve) (Friends AU);

Grease AU;

Roommates (New Girl AU);

Parents AU;

Biquette the Goat (Corroded Coffin AU);

Role Swap | College AU;

Nurse Steve.

Others:

Stranger things rewatch thoughts: Season 1 - Season 2;

MHA x Stranger things - Characters profile;

Poll: Ultimate Steddie Prompt;

Steddie Fic Recs;

Steve Harrington's house analysis;

The Wizardly Fruity Four (Harry Potter AU);

Icons: Bi Steve Icon + Header | Italian Steve Icon | Super Mario Steve & Dustin Matching Icons | Pride Steve Icon + Header | Pride Fruity Four Header.

Fill The Jars Steddie Version: Tropes and AUs | NSFW

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calisources · 9 months

Text

B111// GREASE LIGHTING. an icon psd .

this psd will be free to download in one week time (by July 21th). for the time being it's under a payhip wall. this psd highlights AND turns most backgrounds with a cyan tint and highlights some greens. soft to medium depending on the screencaps.

remember to reblog if you save/use. credit has to be visible on your carrd/doc if you use. (reblog, not like. please.) it was made to be a pinpost image but can be used as a promo or header. whatever you like.

consider donating through paypal or buy me a coffee through ko-fi.it truly helps me a lot. i am currently in the need of some cash so if you can spare a dollar, that would be great! if not, please just spread the art!

this psd is FREE (TBA) or 5 DOLLARS VIA PAYHIP. if you only use one panel, still has to credit me. i'm specially in need of cash this month, so any donations count, please!

can be found on DEVIANART (tba).

#icon psd #rp psd #psds #coloring psd #rp resources #roleplay resources #( cali psds. )#if you want it for free you can wait a week!#for now it's on a paywall

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oonajaeadira · 3 months

Text

State of the WIP Address

Spent the week devising seance tricks. (It's like stage magic, but feminine! and spooky!) Will spend the weekend painting outdoor art structures. (It's like being a contract installation artist! but cold!) Next week will be writing and memorizing a show. (It's like being a responsible artist who had her show written by this time! but not!) If I have a minute where I'm feeling like I'm making leeway on these things and my SO isn't taking up all my ding dang time, I'm feeling the writing bug buzzing.... Pero and Joel and Pats are calllllllinnnnnnng.....

STATE OF THE WIPS

FLUFFBRUARY SIX-SENTENCE FICLETS I've chosen the 29 Pedros. And matched them to the 29 prompts. I'm working on 29 of the stupidest header pics you've ever seen. It will be fun to write more of these...they always seem to grease the wheel.

TROPE FIC: MODERN DOM!PERO I just wrote a scene with swords in it. Because idc that it's modern, sword and knife proficiency is hot. And Pero is hot. Ergo Pero = swords. So swords.

LEAVE OFF YOUR WANDERING: WINTER This story usually comes to visit when I'm drifting off to sleep. This chapter has a very soft Joel. Very soft. And that's mainly to balance out the fact that it also has the violent Joel too.

GOOD. THINGS. TAKE. TIME. Not all can be smooth sailing in a dating dynamic that's new for both Pats and Pres. Jealousies will need to be addressed. And resolved.

TROPE FIC: ALPHA!JAVI No progress at this time.

TROPE FIC: SEX POLLEN!OBERYN No progress at this time.

#state of the wip address

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jokingmisfit · 1 year

Note

Apologies if requests are closed, I wasn't able to see it in your header on mobile or in a recent post. If requests are open, is it possible I could request headcanons of yandere Heisenberg who has kidnapped foreign female darling who's a metal restorator, please? Thank you so much for considering!

Sorry it took so long to get to. Now I wasn't sure if you wanted someone who was just foreign to Romania (which from what I've read the fictional location is based in) or if you meant like being Hispanic/Latino, so I did my best to incorporate both ideas. Also this kinda hops around, sorry. I hope you enjoy!

Headcanons for Heisenberg with a Foreign Metal Restorator S/O

Firstly, as soon as Heisenberg sees you, this hot ass babe, working on metal, all covered in grease, with your hair messy, no gloves, and a determined look on your face he’s falling, hard.

(Speaking of hard, he is)

Now if you have darker shades of skin, whether you’re African, African American, Hispanic, Hawaiian, Native Alaskan, Native American, Asian, etc. he is gonna try to come up with cute nicknames that just turn out slightly racist. Just let him know it’s rude and he will do anything to make it up. (I see him as someone with no social awareness and he just comes out more dickish than he means to, at least to you) He’s not racist just stupid.

He would let you work in his workspace, but he just can’t watch you work and do his own work at the same time. So, instead he’ll give you your own section of the factory to work. Of course, he’ll bother you all the time without care for your own focus.

If you sell any of the things you work on he’ll be slightly pissed each time. Heisenberg thinks he is the only one who deserves your art. He will try and hide the things you plan on selling or even trying to get them from you himself.

If you have any special piercings, tattoos, etc from your culture he will mess with them constantly. He’s deathly curious about the world he can’t travel. He’ll ask you questions while tracing the tattoos, wondering what they mean. He’ll inquire on any and all piercings wanting to know why or how.

Now let’s say you’re just foreign to Romania. You’re still bombarded with questions. Heisenberg still wants to know about your culture and what things mean.

Let’s say that you speak another language. Ohoho~ he is all over it. He’ll have you talk to him in whatever language it is all the time.

(Use your knowledge when horny, it’ll work)

Arguments end quickly if you start speaking another language.

You can say whatever you want in this other language because he’s just glad to listen.

Heisenberg likes the amenity of not knowing what you’re saying so he’ll only ask what a few words mean here and there.

Heisenberg will spend hours just talking with you about different metals and how to work with them.

If you ever hurt yourself while working he is on your ass like a mama bear. Dressing the wounds and hovering when you try to work more.

He provides you with any and all materials, he’ll also try to use this as an excuse to keep whatever you’ve made/restored.

All in all he is obsessed with you and will not leave you alone.

#Karl Heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #jesteranswers #karl heisenberg headcanons #karl heisenberg x y/n

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castletown-cafe · 2 years

Text

Castletown Café Episode 8: Pipis Cookies

“HEY EVERY !! IS THI5 TH E [[Accept All Cookies]] RESIPE [Is it me you’re looking for] ? WELL LOOK NO FURTH3R [[Little Sponge]]S !! FOR [THE LOW LOW PRICE] OF [[free]] YOU C4N FIN LLY MAKE YOUR VERY OWN [PIPIS] [[Web cookies]]. THE5E LITTLE [Suckers] LO0K JUST L I KE [Fresh PIPIS Only $4.99] WTH DELICIS [[Lemon flavored]].

“BUT WAIT !! DON,T [Breathe] YET, WE’vE GOT [[A 2 FOR 1 SPECIL]] ! [NOT ONLY DO YOU GET] A [[Browser cookie]] RESIPE BUT ONE FOR [[The icing on the cake]] INCLUDED !

“CL1CK HERE BELOW [[While Supplies Last!]]”

Thank you, Spamton, I’ll take it from here.

Easter may have come and gone, but spring is still in full swing and so is nesting season. Wouldn’t surprise me if Spamton loves this time of year because, well, pipis. Most likely inspired by Pipi’s attack from the Mega Man franchise, hence the name, these strange blue eggs explode into little projectiles shaped like Spamton’s face that are inescapable and deal damage. When confronted with them, your goal is to destroy them before they destroy you.

Despite resembling eggs, they are described as “an invasive species of freshwater clam”, a joke referring to the pipi, a species of seawater clam native to New Zealand, which shares the same name as the aforementioned Pipi.

These sugar cookies inspired by Spamton’s infamous attack are full of lemon flavor fitting for spring! How fancy, a few of them are even decorated with little bows, a nod to the very rare Ms. Pipis you may encounter in an otherwise darker route.

For the cookie recipe, I looked at several lemon sugar cookie recipes and based mine off of the two I liked best: Rosanna Pansino’s Lemon Sugar Cookie recipe from her book “The Nerdy Nummies Cookbook”, as well as Maria Lichty’s recipe from twopeasandtheirpod.com - with a few of my own modifications. These cookies turned out beautifully. Soft, fluffy, lemony, and delicious.

As for the lemon icing, I ran into trouble. Not necessarily with the recipe so much as my own inexperience with making and working with cookie icing. The header image is evidence I’m no expert with royal icing and I do need a lot of practice, and I learned the hard way just how thin this icing can be. I totally understand if you want to use a different icing recipe after reading this, but be warned, many cookie icings call for milk, which doesn’t mix well with lemon juice unless you’re making buttermilk. I was worried this would result in lumpy icing, and since I didn’t have any non-dairy milk alternatives, I instead followed Rosanna Pansino’s recipe on Royal Icing (also found in her Nerdy Nummies cookbook) which uses egg whites, powdered sugar, vanilla, and my own addition of 1/4 cup lemon juice to make it “lemon royal icing”. If you’re going to use this recipe, I strongly suggest adding up to 5 cups of powdered sugar so it’s thicker and not too runny, but still floods nicely.

And now, on to the recipes!

PIPIS COOKIES:

Ingredients:

3 cups all-purpose flour

1 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp baking soda

1/4 tsp salt

2 sticks (1 cup) softened butter (it doesn’t matter if it’s salted or unsalted)

1 & 1/2 cup sugar

2 large eggs

2 tablespoons lemon zest

2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice

1 tsp vanilla

Combine flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt in a mixing bowl and set aside. In another, larger mixing bowl, cream together butter and sugar, then beat in eggs, vanilla, lemon zest and lemon juice. Lastly add in your flour mixture, a little at a time, forming your cookie dough. After you’ve gotten all your flour mixture fully incorporated into a nice big doughy ball, divide that dough in half, shape those halves into balls, place in separate airtight containers, and store in the refrigerator anywhere between several hours to overnight.

Preheat your oven to 350 F. Grease your cookie sheets or line them with parchment paper. Bring the chilled dough out of the refrigerator and dust your work surface with flour, then roll out dough to 1/4 inch thick. With an egg-shaped cookie cutter, cut out cookies and transfer these to cookie sheets. Re-roll the dough and cut out more cookies to use as much of your dough as possible.

Bake cookies for 8 to 10 minutes or until cookies are puffed up and no longer shiny or wet looking. Let cookies cool on cookie sheet for several minutes before transferring to a wire rack to cool completely.

[[BIG SHOT]] TIP: When one of your cookie sheets is full, bake that sheet of cookies while continuing to roll out dough and cut out more cookies to fill in the other sheet. This way, you always have a batch baking as you continue to use as much of your dough as possible, and saves time waiting. Don’t forget to set a timer for the baking cookies!

After your cookies have baked and cooled, it’s time to make the icing.

LEMON [PIPIS] ICING:

Ingredients:

4 or 5 egg whites - if you want it thicker like I did, maybe just use 4 egg whites, but 5 will give you more icing if you need it.

4 or 5 cups powdered sugar

1/4 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice

1/2 tsp vanilla extract

Blue and red/pink food coloring

First, with a hand or stand mixer, whip your egg whites until foamy. Add in your powdered sugar, a cup at a time, until desired consistency is reached - if you want your icing nice and thick with a high viscosity, you’ll need at least a whole 32 ounce package of powdered sugar and if you used 5 egg whites, you’ll need another cup more, so make sure you have at least two packages of powdered sugar!

Next, mix in your lemon juice and vanilla. Divide your icing up into different bowls. You’ll want 75 percent of your icing to be blue, 5 percent of it pink, and to leave about 20 percent of it white. Add several drops of blue food coloring to the largest amount of icing (plus an optional drop or two of green to make it teal) and a couple drops of red to the smallest amount to make it pink. Only a few cookies will have pink bows.

You’ll want a piping bag with a good tip. I used a Wilton Tip #4 along with a Wilton re-usable piping bag and coupler. To ice the cookies, pipe an outline following the shape of the cookie, then fill it in, or “flood” it. Don’t get too close to the edges - these cookies are not a flat surface and the icing can still run down the sides. Once your blue icing has begun to harden, grab your white royal icing and write in “pipis” on each cookie (or even just some of them). Add a pink bow on only a few of them - the “Ms. Pipis” are meant to be rare! The easiest way to do this is to make two tiny triangles joined together at the tips. Instant bow!

What I like about the end result of my icing attempt is how only the outside hardened at first, leaving the inside soft for the first couple of days, when the cookies are at their freshest. Sure, this meant they didn’t stack as easily, but I’m okay with that. If you’re more experienced with cookie decorating, I’d love to hear from you if you have any tips you want to share. Thank you for reading!

Sources:

Rosanna Pansino, “The Nerdy Nummies Cookbook”, ISBN 978-1-5011-0401-5

Maria Lichty, https://www.twopeasandtheirpod.com/lemon-sugar-cookies/

#castletown cafe #deltarune #deltarune chapter 2 #pipis #spamton #deltarune pipis #pipis deltarune #spamton g spamton #spamton fanart #deltarune food #deltarune inspired recipe #cookies #sugar cookies #recipe #cw food #tw food #my art

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minorhoursmagazine · 1 year

Text

Issue 29, containing: Housekeeping (Nondiagetic), An Interesting Method for Skimming Wax, Some Advice for Those Seeking the Northwest Passage, A Partial Guide to Avoiding Casual Poisonings, Letters, Commonplaces, &c.

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

SOME EDITORIAL NOTES

A new year, and here we are. Welcome. There's fresh bread from the oven, with which I have just eaten a slathering of local maple butter, and with which I will later make a deeply hedonistic grilled cheese.

I will attempt to keep my concentration on the writing of these articles, rather than the promise of dairy yet to come.

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

HOUSEKEEPING (NONDIAGETIC)

I sometimes think about the inaccuracy of the subtitle of this microzine-- which, if you'd rather not stare too closely at the miniature text in the header, reads in part:

"a newsletter of miscellany, fiction, and art"

(I am omitting my name from the subtitle, as, if I had my druthers, I would not list a name at all, but rather credit this whole venture to an anonymous collective of Editors bravely trying to rein in an errant essayist who seems hellbent on style over substance.)

(Also I have been reliably informed that I should, quote, "get over it.")

Of the numerous things currently annoying me about the subtitle, above and beyond naming conventions, there is also the use of the terms "newsletter," "fiction," and "art."

("Miscellany" may survive the cull, because it is both accurate and also a pleasant word to say.)

(Miscellany. Mys-cell-aye-nie. It looks like Arkham might loom behind it while the scent of salt and cold brine inexorably rises in a grey and creeping mist.)

"Newsletter" is doesn't feel right, though I haven't quite determined what might be closer. "Fiction," regardless of the actual content of some of these articles, doesn't feel accurate either. And "art," even assuming a gentle reader might deem my photographs as such, was always a stretch.

And so while the header remains as it is for the moment, a change is on the wind. I've been spending an even greater amount of time than usual reading through the older magazines and publications that The Minor Hours seeks to emulate, and, to the Editors' horror, I must confess that the feral urge to use the word "diuerse" grows stronger by the day.

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

AN INTERESTING METHOD FOR SKIMMING WAX

As long-time readers may recall, part of my overall journey toward kitchen witchery and experimental archaeology has involved finding and working out the recipes behind historical foods, cosmetics, and home goods.

The most recent of these that exist within the "fairly complete now, thank you" category is the recipe I've worked out for a pomatum suitable for the lips, variants of which I've found in several old scanned and OCR'd texts, with the mid-1600s being the earliest occurrence so far (and somehow involving-- grapes?) and the latest appearing in and around the 1710s.

I would share that recipe but, sadly, I have done so elsewhere; instead, let me share a stranger revelation: the matter of wax, and its cleanup.

One batch of this pomatum requires an ounce of beeswax. I have lately been made aware that beeswax is not a grease, and therefore dish soap has no power over it; it is also not a fat, but woe be to those who seek to pour it down a drain, lest it solidify just as much as a fat might when cooled.

Following the recommendations of those who have come before me in the modern age, I have instead tried to boil the wax off of whatever objects they come in contact with. This works-- to a degree. Since the wax does not magically disappear, I can at best only transfer the wax from one object (my pomatum-making tools) to another (the large pot I found at the thrift store and am sacrificing for the greater good to the wax gods).

There is, however, an intermediary step: skimming.

As the wax melts in the boiling pot, it leaves its moorings and floats to the top of the heated water. From there, a small mesh strainer, as one would use to hoist out a dumpling or, indeed, skim the top of some liquid creation, can be used in a nice repetitive manner to remove the majority of the melted wax.

--Or.

I found, as I skimmed, that I wasn't truly gathering everything. I knew this to be the case because using the strainer was actually my second attempt at collecting wax. The first was the slow but incredibly effective method I found while hunting around to begin with: that of the Cold Metal Spoon.

Take a metal spoon and, in its bowl, set an ice cube (or however many should fit in it). The metal now instantly chilled, draw the back of the spoon across the top of the hot, waxy water. The wax, hitting the cold spoon, will immediately cool and cling to the metal, allowing you to collect far more wax that the mesh strainer managed.

As a demonstration, behold:

Fig. 1. The back of an as-yet-unwaxed spoon.

Fig. 2. Spoon avec ice.

Fig. 3. Besmirched!

Fig. 4. The lady, half revealed.

I am, overall, extremely pleased with this method, and only seek now to find a significantly larger metal ladle.

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

SOME ADVICE FOR THOSE SEEKING THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE

Pack a compass.*

* While the pointing Hand of Franklin† has been listed under "Preferred Equipment," it will not be available for the foreseeable future.‡

† No note was made of the properties of the non-capitalized hand of Franklin, and it is therefore excluded from these pages.

‡ This is largely because the body of John Franklin§ is also not available for the foreseeable future.

§ Further, it should be made clear that the Hand of Franklin, regardless of its present location, would be contaminated with lead, botulism, and possibly toothmarks, none of which have been found to be reliable aids to navigation.

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

A PARTIAL GUIDE TO AVOIDING CASUAL POISONINGS

With the success of the lip pomatum, I've found myself eager to explore historical recipes further. This leads, unfortunately, to two additional concerns: (1) determining the modern-day equivalent of various ingredients, and (2) ensuring that those same ingredients are not, in fact, poisonous.

[Interestingly, the tertiary concern of "is it legal to seek out or possess these ingredients" does not appear to have made this list. -Eds.]

Even the pomatum itself required some of this research.

Fig. 5. A recipe containing two bad ideas and one very good way to explode a fine mist of wax over one's entire kitchen.

Of the bad ideas, let it be said that:

Fresh butter was an English addition to this receipt. The original French listed sweet almond oil, which contains significantly less likelihood of poisoning the users of the pomatum through molds, bacteria, and the general horror of applying butter to one's face.

Orcanet required some study, but revealed itself to be an older spelling of alkanet, or what we now might purchase under the name alkanet root, Alkanna tinctoria, or ratan jot. While it is a popular colorant for the makers of "natural" cosmetics, there is some concern regarding what happens to the livers of people who ingest it, and it therefore seems unwise to include in a lip balm.

(Hilariously, the receipt itself only lists orcanet as necessary for thickening-- and assuming that that was the case, I replaced it with powdered arrowroot and went about my business. However, in researching alkanet, I didn't see any particular mention of thickening properties... but I did see that while in alkaline solutions, alkanet turns blue, in acidic solutions -- such as any that might contain orange-flower water and sweet almond oil -- it turns a lovely shade of crimson.)

(But it was included in this receipt only, of course, for thickening.)

Of the good way to explode one's kitchen, let it be said:

An important lesson can be learned regarding the application of room-temperature hydrosols to a wax-and-oil mix heated to somewhere above 145 degrees Fahrenheit.

The lesson is "don't."

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

LETTERS

Received by the Magazine via a Dream, Probably, "On the Subject of Mountains":

To the Editors:

While we acknowledge your appropriate appreciation of our regality [Issue 28, "Regarding Mountains" - Eds.], we wish you to know that we of course hold a deep interest in the termination of human lives. We merely do not feel the need to be as obvious about it as our young neighbors to the east. Murder is folded into our orogeny. We cordially invite you to visit again any time to explore further.

Sincerely,

The White Mountains

******

From the Editors, to The White Mountains, "We Had to Look Up the Word 'Orogeny'":

The Editors would like to humbly, and from a distance, like to apologize for continuing to think of you as the Green Mountains, due to the unfortunate necessities of nomenclature and the observances of faith required by certain large and bloodthirsty deities previously referenced.

Having now completed the niceties, we would also like to relate that we have been reliably informed that our mountains are stronger, more shredded, and could kick all your asses if you were inclined to meet in the parking lot after school.

We trust that this letter meets you in good health and with kind regards, -The Editors

******

Received by the Magazine through Diuerse Worrying Methods, "As It Pertains to Sleeping in New Places":

Dear Editors:

Please accept our apologies re: the moving of everything to the Wrong Place. [Issue 28, "Sleeping in New Places" - Eds.] AirBnB guests keep moving things, and we hate it. Our malevolence is restricted only to them, not to guests of the family.

Telekinetically yours,

The Ghosts of the House

******

From the Editors, to The Ghosts of the House, "Ghost Are Often Memories, Accessed in Ways Both Strange and Humbling":

The Editors have cause to remember other guests in the House-- of which one, more kin to you than the others, decided to wander to the familial cemetery to visit a little while with the dead. It was dark out, and the land rolling underfoot, and they declined a lantern for the way.

Being of a narrative inclination, this struck the Editors unwise; being sadly entrenched in a world that rarely requires the services of the genre-savvy, we can only assume that that which returned from the graves matched in all particulars the person who had left.

It is wise, sometimes, to let the ghosts have their way with things, and to have a healthy respect for howsoever they might wish to conduct their business. To that end the Editors would like to assure the Ghosts of the House that they felt as welcome as any traveler could hope, and that they very definitely won't report any strange activities their Kin might engage in of a ghost-like or alternately-revenant nature.

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

COMMONPLACES

From Jessica Hayworth, "story about a lake I did recently":

>>Woman: A LAKE OPENED UP INSIDE MY CHEST. >> Woman: I THOUGHT WOW, THAT'S NEW. NEVER HAD A BODY OF WATER IN ME BEFORE.

******

From Jessica Hayworth, "story about a lake I did recently":

>>Interviewer: DID YOU HAVE TO INVITE IT INSIDE? >>Woman: I DON'T THINK A LAKE ASKS PERMISSION. >>Interviewer: [laughing] NO. NO IT PROBABLY DOESN'T. >>Woman: [laughing] IMAGINE THAT. >>Both: "HELLO I AM YOUR LAKE. I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN YOUR LAKE. >>Both: "OPEN UP PLEASE. OPEN." >>Both: "OPEN SESAME."

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

ANNOUNCEMENTS

I'm going over-long as it is, but it should be noted that there are New Tiers on the Patreon, which I will probably talk about at some point. I make no promises as to when, however, because time is a lie.

Welcome to 2023. I'm going to go make a grilled cheese.

******

If you would like to write a letter to be produced/answered in the magazine, please email me at [email protected] with the subject line:

Letter to the Magazine: [subject of letter as you would like to see it printed]

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-Until next week, be safe.

#the minor hours and small thoughts magazine #katherine crighton #january 1 2023

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frogssincorner · 2 years

Text

In the pocket of my dress, I've got a copper key

🍒 ↷ hi!! i'm frogpot, or just frog for short :]

heres a few quick things about me ↴

i use nameself pronouns

im genderqueer

im lesbian, asexual, and on the aromantic spectrum

i love writing, reading and drawing

i do musical theatre and looooove musicals

🍎 ↷ i'm just here having a good time, reading fics, talking to people, and having fun, however i also write fanfics at @imkitty-justkitty feel free to check my stuff out <3 ! :D 🌹

🍒 ↷ always happy to talk in asks, however i'm not comfortable with people dm'ing me out of the blue :) 🌹

🍎 ↷ below the cut is a list of the tags i use to help out with navigation , the @'s for my sideblogs , and explanations for the musical references across my blog for anyone interested <3 🌹

🍒 ↷ I try to tag everything i reblog/post, for the sake of easy navigation and not losing things in the crowd of my blog !

🍎 ↷ Tags for basic things ↴

refrogs ⇨ reblogging

🗯️ ribbit ! ⇨ talking to people

🕺 frog says hello !! ⇨ intro post(s)

🍒 ↷ Tags for fandoms ↴

i use the term fandom loosely- what i mean by this is just 'tags for media i enjoy and reblog/post abt'

♡ ↷ grease 🐞

♡ ↷ tangle tower 🌿

♡ ↷ marauders 🦁

♡ ↷ golden trio era 🪄

♡ ↷ west side story 🎯

♡ ↷ lamb to the slaughter 🐑

♡ ↷ spider-man 🕷️

♡ ↷ marvel 👽

♡ ↷ anthpo 🐟

♡ ↷ caroline konstnar 🦑

♡ ↷ dear evan hansen 👕

♡ ↷ 35mm 📮

♡ ↷ 25th annual putnam county spelling bee 🐝

♡ ↷ the drowsy chaperone 🧣

🍎 ↷ Fic tags ↴

i reblog fanfiction with the tag 'lily pond ↷ 🌺🐸'

i also tag my fanfic reblogs with tags of the names of the characters the fic centers around (and the fandom theyre from ((fandoms listed above ))) ↷

↷ lily evans 💌

↷ ginny weasley 💌

↷ sirius black 💌

↷ james potter 💌

↷ remus lupin 💌

↷ poly!marauders 💌

↷ regulus black 💌

↷ peter pettigrew 💌

↷ riff 💌

↷ matt murdock 💌

↷ bucky barnes 💌

My Sideblogs ;

🍒 i use different names on different blogs/accounts/profiles/etc as a comfort thing, in the way i experience names gender and pronouns, it feels right to have different names :) 🍒

@dannys-stimboards ; where i make and post my own stimboards !! :D

@eurydi-sees-stims ; i reblog stimboards i like

@sliipperyywhenwet ; starkid focussed

Musical References On My Blog ! ;

Blog Header ; in reference to the musical : Alice By Heart

Profile Picture ; a photo of Amber Gray as Persephone in the musical : Hadestown

Blog Title ; a lyrics in the song 'independence' from the musical : Trail to Oregon

Bio ; lyrics in the song 'fancy dress' from the musical : The Drowsy Chaperone

Lyrics at the top of this post ( In the pocket of my dress, I've got a copper key ) ; lyrics in the song 'crazy town' from the musical : 35MM

#new theme means intro post with new theme :D #i could edit the original post but hhhh #frog's introduction

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carrionhand · 2 years

Note

Nice header. Do that to me. Or is your bark louder than your bite

You want me to. Cast abominable filth at you? Make you vile? Make you a spectacle?

I'll need to empty the grease trap, and know your address??

#ic #what does this mean

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yesterdayscake · 3 months

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in the last few days I’ve designed about nine different dresses, including a small capsule party dress wardrobe, and had another little gender crisis thrown in there, but I think i’ve managed to get through my (partly heatwave induced) tizzy, and get all my wiggles out in a way that won’t derarail the actual dress making process but…who tf knows.

most of the ideas and fabric and ribbon hunts were centred on a black dress, because of my fond ‘party dress’ memories brought up while trying to get a handle on all the thoughts swimming around my head. and I think those feelings were good, but they are going to be placed in a basket and put on the shelf as a fun future project if me and sewing get along ok.

I joke about it in my header but…fashion school was…a lot, and I’ve kind of stuck to mostly handstitching for a lokg time but though I do have the patience and fastidiousness for hand stitching a twenties style frock I don’t currently have the elbow grease to do it, and also it’s summer, my hands are already swollen as fuck right now. I’m probably going to have to ice my hands after cutting my pattern as it is

so yeah no. seeing machines are awesome. I just…need to remember that…and hope tension issues don’t drive me up the wall

so.

the reason the black dress (party dress 2.0) isn’t happening right now is because there are some absolutely beautiful and very beloved pieces of of silk that ended up in my fabric box at some point that were a gift to mom from dad. I was sort of like, ‘I shouldn’t just use it, but mom gave her ok. (I think I should check in with dad as well because I don’t want him to get blindsided and then see me wearing it at the wedding and be writing an aita post about ruining my sisters wedding…so that conversation will have to happen at some point….but tentatively I am able to use the beautiful silk I have rather than spending over $100. and when I make my party frock Inwon’t be feeling as much pressure about nice-nice-super-special-enough-for-my-sister’s-wedding fabric so that’s lovely

so that saves me like $100 or something. which is good because I found a gorgeous pair of shoes I’ll happily spend the money on lmao orz

but first comes the trial run with my cotton which I managed to find today

it’s really lovely and will make a lovely dress for a tea party or something.

I haven’t done measurements, but I do think that the width isn’t quite wide enough for the bottom, side/branch/‘skirt’ part of the pattern, so I think I’ll probably have to add some on. which means longer on the sewing machine. which sucks, but we do want it to be roomy enough to be breezy and nice

I drew up some options for the design tonight but I think I’m going to stew on it and feel the lace I have coming before making my decision

#project file #one hour dress #cotton voile #photos tomorrow because it’s after midnight #2024

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