#life's a party but i'm practicing social distancing

[noyasmashing]

hellooo, i don't know if you do requests but ive been REALLY wanting to see this fiction come to life:

frat boy suna x nerd reader. they meet at a frat party when reader joins the blunt rotation going on. as things progress, suna enexpectedly gets the best sex he's ever had after being ridden on by the reader for the first time.

me oh my, this idea has me foaming at the mouth, thank you for the request ;3

Dom!reader x Sub! Suna

CW: p in v sex, unprotected sex, smoking and alcohol, degrading (slut is used a lot), cream pie, nudes?? (reader takes a pic of suna at the end)

The bass thumped through the air, mingling with the buzz of voices and laughter. Amidst the lively crowd, you stood slightly out of place, clutching your drink and feeling a bit overwhelmed by the pulsating energy around you. As a dedicated nerd and bookworm, social gatherings like this were definitely outside your comfort zone.

You watched from a distance as a group of slightly familiar college kids passed around a joint, their laughter echoing over the music. One of your many tipsy friends giggled noticing your stare. Firmly gripping your wrist as a smile tugged at her lips, “You want a hit?” She asked playfully, forcing to two of you to the small group gathered by the sofa.

“Heyyy, do you guys mind if we join?” She asked without a hint of nervousness, while you stood there, rather awkwardly.

One of the well known Miya twins immediately began flirting with your friend making you scoff. Looking at the sea of faces, one of the guys, with a mop of dark hair who you could have sworn was on the volleyball team caught your eye.

"Come on, [Name], loosen up and take a puff!" your friend encouraged, nudging you forward. Taking the half-smoked roll into your hand and feeling its warmth, you gently pressed it to your lips and sucked in.

After inhaling deeply, you briefly shut your eyes to savor the drugs effects before reopening them to meet those familiar yellow ones through your lengthy lashes. After passing the joint to the random person next to you, Suna spoke up in his usual monotone voice.

"I haven't seen you around before. You new here?" His eyes held a hint of curiosity as he glanced at you. You shook your head,

"Nah, I'm just don’t see the fun in parties," you replied, a smile forming on your lips, but it's not the usual grin Suna witnesses on the faces of the girls he typically charms. It's the type of smile he recognizes on the court, one that spells trouble.

"I'm Suna. And who might you be, baby?" he introduced himself, switching to his typical flirty voice - the one he reserves for girls. It's a tone that never fails to drive them wild and have them begging for him to fuck them in a matter of seconds.

But you, you couldn’t help rolling your eyes at his rather forward question, tipping your head back to finish off your drink before wandering off, hopefully to find something better to do.

You glanced over to see your friend practically making out with Osamu, already feeling ready to head home since you had plenty of homework to finish. As you put on your jacket and headed towards the door, you suddenly came face to face with the familiar dark-haired boy.

"Ready to leave, baby?" he asked, his well-built figure leaning towards you. You couldn't help but let out a laugh, a faint blush appearing on his handsome face.

"Why would I ever let you near me with that over used, excuse for a dick? I have no interest in dirty, worthless sluts like you."

"What did you just call me?" However, his reply lacked any form of retaliation. In fact, he sounded rather turned on.

You flash that menacing smile once more, leaning in closer so he could catch a whiff of your strawberry perfume. Slowly and deliberately, you repeat your words to him,

"Dirty. Worthless. Slut."

You tried to blame it on the weed, you really did, but you knew one hit couldn't have caused this. You found yourself sitting on his meaty thighs, his sweaty palms gripping your waist tightly.

Your lips crashed against his, his tongue exploring your mouth eagerly. Breaking away for a moment, he panted heavily while you smirked down at him.

"You're such a slut, Rin. Are you really going to hook up with someone you just met?" You scolded seductively. The heat in the room seemed to swell, making the atmosphere even more charged.

Despite your harsh words, Suna's body reacted to your degradation, thrusting up for more friction. He had been with countless women before, he watched squirm on his cock, and it bored him. He wanted something more, you were a challenge he couldn't resist.

You laughed at his pitiful state as he whispered, "I want to fuck you so badly." He couldn’t resist the embarrassment, hiding in the crook of your neck, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

"Maybe I'll let inside me if you're lucky," you teased, feeling his cock throb against you in response. But he wasn't about to give in so easily.

"Your the one who wanted to sit on top of me!" he argued, pulling away to meet your intense gaze. His brash words causing you to clench around nothing.

"Shut up, slut. Good boys don't speak unless I say so, got it?"

Your hands moved to his belt, unbuckling it and unzipping his baggy jeans. You could feel Suna's hips twitch as your hand brushed over his hard erection through his boxer briefs. He knew he must look pathetic, his cock eager and leaking precum, but he was finally turned on for the first time in awhile, and at the mere words you spoke.

Without even bothering to remove your skirt, you pushed your soaking wet panties to the side, ready to take his aching member inside you.

"Wait," he stammered, looking up at your half-lidded, seductive gaze that intensified his desire. "Don't we need..."

Instead of allowing him to finish, you lowered yourself onto his throbbing shaft, causing him to throw his head back with a moan. You attempted to laugh, but it emerged mostly as heavy pants of pleasure.

"Hmm. I don’t know you would worry about that sort of thing, I’m on birth control." you reassured him, though it diminished him slightly. Despite this, he couldn't help but thrust into you eagerly.

You mocked his helpless state, lifting your hips before swiftly driving them back down, fully engulfing him inside you.

"Aww, my little slut, you're getting excited, aren't you?" you taunted, maintaining your aggressive rhythm, which left his knuckles white and the tops of his ears red. He had never imagined his body would respond so intensely to something so humiliating. Yet here he was, already on the brink of climax.

"Y-yours?" he questioned at the possessive nickname, struggling to hold back his pitiful whines.

"That really does turn you on. I can feel you pulsing inside me," you replied, feeling his cock brushing against your tight walls, eliciting moans from both of you.

You placed your hands on his shoulders firmly, gaining more leverage to bounce up and down rapidly.

His face displayed intense pleasure, with half-lidded eyes, an open mouth filled with drool, staring up at you desperately.

Suna's heart raced so fast that he felt lightheaded. His back arched off the bed as waves of pleasure continued to crash over him.

"Let me come inside you, please. I-I want to fill you up," he desperately begged, his voice cracking with shameless desire.

"Alright, whore, I'll spoil you today, but don't get used to it," you coo’d, coaxing his orgasm out with steady, harsh thrusts that had him moaning loudly, oblivious to the people in the next dorm trying to sleep. He was too far gone to care, the sensation of filling you up while being degraded overwhelming him. Tears threatened to fall from his lashes as he whimpered even more.

You, too, felt the coil of pleasure unwind as you rode his trembling cock, releasing sharp grunts atop him.

You let him stay inside you as he recovered from the intense pleasure that overwhelmed him. Quickly you reached for his phone on the bedside table while his eyes remained closed, unaware of your actions. But the flash of his camera made those pretty eyes snap open in surprise as you captured a breathtaking photo of the scene before you.

“Send that to me, kay?”

Maybe parties weren't so bad after all, especially when they ended like this.

#sub haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu #dom reader #haikyu smut #sub!character #dom!reader #haikyu x you #sub character #haikyuu fanfiction #suna haikyuu #sub suna #suna rintarou #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarō #suna rintaro haikyuu #suna rintaro smut #frat bro #frat guy #suna rintaro x y/n #suna rintaro x you #suna rintaro imagine #suna rinatro

[openstorygames]

Kids Play TTRPGs

There are plenty of people who started playing D&D or other TTRPGs as kids. Heck, imaginative play (which all kids engage in on some level and in some manner) is central to what TTRPGs do. Roleplaying is a critical part of developing your child self as a person!

So what's the benefit of giving kids a rule-bound system like D&D, Quest, or Kids on Bikes? Why should kids play TTRPGs and not just make-believe?

TTRPGs teach boundaries.

Some of this depends on how a particular group runs, but a healthy TTRPG group teaches kids where boundaries are and how to respect them.

This can show up in lots of ways.

letting dice determine success

working within the limitations of a class, feature, or spell description

avoiding upsetting or scary topics, as requested by a player

offering trigger warnings and safety tools

accepting when a GM says no

respecting when another player says no

Some of those things are organic to telling a story together. Some of them are brought in to keep the game fun for everyone, like safety tools. All of these examples—and more!—help kids practice boundaries one step removed from real life, where things are a bit harder.

TTRPGS provide escape.

As adults, we think of TTRPGs as escape from the crushing reality we live in. We can free ourselves from the news cycle or our social media feeds for a few hours and pretend we live in a world where our actions are world-changing (and I'm talking saving-the-world-from-evil-powers world-changing).

Kids need escape too! Not so that they're living outside of the world, but so they can practice the skills they need to live within it.

It's way easier to advocate for your PC who's scared of creepy crawlies than it is to admit your skin crawls around your buddy's pet snake.

Kids can practice all sorts of social skills in the freedom of TTRPGs because those games provide escape and distance from the world they actually inhabit. For example:

admitting fears

facing conflict

handling disagreement

learning about themselves

experimenting with consequences (from stealing a loaf of bread to going full murderhobo at times)

setting goals and making plans

Games are low stakes ways for all of us to practice tough conversations or new social skills. Why not let kids get a leg up by teaching them to role play?

TTRPGs build confidence.

Practice makes perfect, and TTRPGs are a great place to practice your sense of self (while inhabiting a character).

As kids get more confident roleplaying their PC, they learn gain confidence in who they are and speaking from that place.

This doesn't look like adults might expect though. We think of the bard suddenly offering a grand speech, or the shy loner forging bonds with the rest of the party.

Kids gaining confidence might not look like what you expect (more on that another time), but TTRPGs help clear the path for confident, empowered kids. And that's something worth making space for!

#ttrpgs #ttrpgkids #kids play ttrpgs #gamer kids #growing up with ttrpgs #growing up with dnd #confidence #social skills #boundaries #dnd #D&D #roleplaying #roleplaying games #tabletop #ttrpg community #make believe #make believe is for kids too

[imashoe69420]

Rise!Leo X Reader Headcanons☆彡

Some points are from my other works I’ve written on here so some stuff may look familiar lol

Relationship: Dating (official)

Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (but in second person)

Warnings ⚠️ : Swearing

Genre: mostly fluff, some angst

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

• One thing about Leo is he is a very touchy person.

• Whenever you're around, he has to hold your hand or set you on his lap with his chin resting on the top of your head or something of the sort.

• He would never tell his brothers, but he loves to carry you around. If he has to go anywhere outside of viewing distance, he will carry you like a koala wherever he needed to go. Yes, it slightly inconvenienced him, but at least he could occasionally kiss your cheek or neck as he prepared a snack in the kitchen.

• Although he was charming, he often poked fun at you. Especially when he found your diary from the 5th grade where you had an obsession with this one boy that's presently kinda ugly.

• “Dear diary, Colin is soooo cute!" Leo read in an exaggerated breathy voice.

•"Leo, don't!" You screamed playfully as you tried to reach for the diary, but he held it away out of your reach.

• "Hold on, just one more page!"

• "Leo! Give it back!"

• But sometimes, he didn't register your mood before making a crude joke.

• One time, he made a joke about something you were insecure about. Usually you'd just laugh it off, but you had had a bad day and that was your breaking point.

• He felt like the worst boyfriend seeing you cry because of him. He apologized over and over until he practically went horse. "I'm sorry, that was dumb. I'm dumb. That was stupid. I thought it was gonna be funny. I'm sorry, don't cry!"

• "No... it's just... today kinda sucked." You told him.

• Leo was relieved that it wasn't solely him that made you upset, but he was still pissed at himself.

• He got you a few blankets to wrap you in, and then he tried to cook you something that epically failed, so he settled for some canned tomato soup that he tried to pass off as his own. Which epically failed again.

• "You did not!" You accused him. "You don't know how to cook.”

• "I do too!"

• "Do not!"

• "Do too!" Leo grabbed you, smothering you with kisses as you giggled and tried to push him away.

• He always knew how to make you feel better.

• During every one of his missions, he would send you a selfie of him posing with the villain in the background. The villain was usually getting their ass kicked by his brothers.

• Be back soon, babe! He would text you.

• You laughed and texted back, You shouldn’t be texting me! You’re gonna get hurt!

• Just checking in w the love of my life, he texted back, making you blush.

• Of course, Leo can’t meet new people often, but you had introduced him to your younger siblings when he had swooped in through your open window and your eight (8) year old sister stood staring at him in awe.

• Leo didn’t know what to say as he didn’t even know you had siblings. He just stared awkwardly for a bit.

• “(Y/N) has you on her screen saver.” Their sister ratted on them.

• (Y/N)’s ten (10) brother stalked out of his room to see who his sister was talking to. He screamed when he saw Leo. “(Y/N)! There’s a monster in the living room!”

• (Y/N) rushed out of their room and sighed when they just saw the turtle still staring dumbfounded at her little sister, Harriet.

• “Harri, Carson, this is Leo.” (Y/N) said slowly as they approached Leo rested a hand against his shoulder, finally shaking him out of his stupor. “He isn’t a monster. He’s… uh, a friend.”

• Harriet quickly took advantage of Leo’s social awkwardness and forced him into a tea party, then a makeover. She kept asking him question after question: how old are you? Where do you live? What’s it like being a turtle? Do you go to school? What grade are you in? Do you like to color? What color lipstick do you want: red or purple?

• Although he was uncomfortable, Leo tried his best to be nice and charismatic.

• Your brother sat in the corner of his sister’s room to make sure that what you said was true and Leo wouldn’t to eat her.

• “Are you and (Y/N) in love?” Harriet asked the turtle. He tried to laugh it off, but the little girl stared intently at him, waiting for an answer.

• Of course Leo’s in love with you, but he’d never said it verbatim. Maybe an “I love you” or “you’re the love of my life”, but he’d never said he was in love with you.

• “No duh!” Carson scoffed before Leo could answer. “They’re always talking about him but didn’t think to tell us that he was a big green monster!”

• “Stop it! You’re hurting his feelings!” Harriet threw a dusty eyeshadow at her brother. “You’re being a bad brother in-law!”

• “He’s the in-law, not me!” The boy retorts.

• “Hey, can we just—” Leo tried to deescalate the situation for the sake of his heart mere seconds away from pounding out of his chest at the idea of him and (Y/N) getting married.

• The kids continued to argue until (Y/N) came into the room with a plate of cheese, crackers, and grapes cut in half. The siblings flocked over to the plate, leaving Leo in a chair that was way too short for him.

• (Y/N) stifled a laugh at the makeup smeared all over Leo’s face.

• “Looks like Harri likes you.” They took a makeup wipe sitting in a pack on their little sister’s dresser.

• The turtle shrugged, a smile on his face as you wiped away his colorful yet messy “makeover”.

#fanfic #rottmnt #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt fluff #rottmnt leo #rottmnt leo x reader #rottmnt raph #rottmnt reader insert #x reader #rise donnie x reader #rise leo #rise leo x reader #headcanon #rottmnt headcanons

[drdemonprince]

my thoughts and values align with yours re: STIs and risk AND i keep coming up against resistance to the recent discussions as a high-risk person still living almost entirely isolated amidst the ongoing pandemic. and when i take a second to breathe and think, i realize these are not conflicting at all. the friction isn't that i view illness morally or that i think we should avoid all risk. it's that the majority of folks without question take precautions to reduce STI exposure but the majority of people no longer consider doing the so minorly inconvenient precautions to reduce the spread of covid, which i would argue is much riskier than STIs at this point. and it's so exhausting because then i have to, based on my risk analysis of covid, take way more precautions because no one else is looking out for me. community care and harm reduction are my biggest driving values and i grieve how absent they are around me. i just wanted to share in case others are feeling similarly while reading this discussion. you rock and i so hope i get to engage in a beautiful public kinky scene some day.

Hey, thanks so much for sharing and walking us through your thought process.

What I might add is that individual people might not seemingly put much effort into COVID mitigation anymore because they have next to zero institutional support in doing so. Many of my disabled friends have to work in areas with a high risk of COVID exposure: waiting tables, stocking grocery store shelves, working as home health aids or phlebotomists, or teaching in schools. Some of them are high risk themselves, but because they have no choice but to work in areas where their life is put on the line, they have very high stress decompression needs and feel already resigned to their disposability in society, and so they do also go out to bars with their friends or hold parties or visit clubs.

I also know people who are able to socially distance quite strictly, test regularly, are vaccinated and boosted, but who intentionally make plans to visit cruising spaces or gay orgies very rarely so that they can remain relatively safe COVID wise but also not kill themselves out of despair (I'm not being hyperbolic here, that's exactly what some people have told me are the competing risks they face when they balance COVID exposure against isolation. And I know that many high risk populations face these same severe negative mental health outcomes too -- in fact, I know high risk people who choose to go out in public at times in order to remain sane, but who have to sit with the fact that it could be a mortal danger to do so).

I also think about how the queer community came together in the fight against AIDS to make condoms available, to educate one another about safer sex practices or harm reductionist practices, to engage in sex together in risk mitigating ways (such as gloved fisting) and how they pushed for the government to make drug treatment available to them. I see a lot of queer and disabled advocacy groups doing similar work today to spread accurate data on COVID as best they can, promote masking, organize solely outdoor events, encourage vaccination, and remind people of the stakes.

And I see such a massive gap between the ways in which risk mitigation was made possible through such community efforts, and how catastrophically the government fails us regarding COVID. We are not given free tests anymore. Vaccines aren't free anymore either. It is no longer a state of emergency. Many of us have been forced back into in-person work at our jobs. Our unemployment benefits have been cut. Student loan payments are roaring back into action. Disability benefits and medicare's expansion is rolling back. We no longer have accurate testing and tracing data. Masks are no longer required.

If a person wants to behave responsibly regarding COVID, how are they even supposed to? They can wear a mask in public and not experience in-person community to the extend they might like or need. But they can't actually prevent themselves from getting or spreading the virus because they've been forced back to work. I understand many people do not even take these small steps to reduce harm and that it is dismaying and outrageous. And I think you have ever right to feel outraged by it. But I also think individual behavior flows from social support and institutional pressure, and nearly all of that is heading in the wrong direction right now.

And I think about how collective the push for better government interventions regarding AIDS was, and how much the push regarding COVID instead is focused on targeting individual people for the actions they've made within a very unsupportive context. It was not beneficial to view individuals who had bareback sex or shot heroin as the origin of HIV, and I don't think it's helpful to understand COVID as a phenomenon of individuals failing to mask now.

Granted, it took HIV activism YEARS to get to the point of ACT UP. And we're not so many years deep into COVID yet comparatively. Personally when I look at all these facts in context I see a population that largely did take COVID seriously for a time, but who, due to a mix of institutional failure, mass misinformation, risk resignation, and despair, no longer do so in their behavior.

I don't believe in moralizing emotions and I think from your perspective you're affected by all these factors PLUS the massive risk of developing Long Covid symptoms or worse. And I know you know and live all this shit already so forgive me for preaching to the choir. But I do want to gently push back against the idea that most people don't care about COVID the way they care about STI's. I believe our discourse on both has been horrifically poisoned by individualism, capitalism, and institutional failure.

Some articles I have written on the subject:

[docholligay]

I love your discussion today. How do you find your people? Any tips and tricks, or did you get lucky? My people are out there! I want to find them!

There is an element of luck in all our lives, up to and including the fact that we're all still this side of the dirt, so yes, i would say I've been lucky, and I do think of myself as a scandalously lucky person, but some of that is luck and some of it is how I look at life.

ANYWAY, I cannot do anything about your luck, but I can tell you some of the things that have made me more likely to enjoy a wide group of found family, close friends, casual friends, and friendly acquaintances, all of whom have a valuable part in my life and my enjoyment of it. I am largely a very happy person I do in fact credit a lot of that to the fact that I have a lot of positive social interactions in my day to day.

So, how do you find your people?

Firstly: What makes you a great friend? I talk a lot about being aware of why you're fucking annoying, and I do believe that and try to practice it--it helps me understand why someone might not want to be my friend--but it's also important to recognize why you're fucking GREAT as a friend. What do you bring to friendship?

I, for example, am an extremely enthusiastic person. Win an award? Get a paper accepted? Get married? Run a new time? I am absolutely the one who will be like, "Oh that's so cool! That's fucking awesome, I had no idea you were so smart/fast/sexy." I will want you to tell everyone, I will tell our mutual acquaintances, I will be your cheerleader. I also love to plan parties and trips! I am so delighted to plan an outing for us together, I just want your company. I am very generous, and a great cook, and when my friends need help, I can and have moved heaven and earth to go help them. I am funny and great at small talk and not boring, for sure. These are areas where I fucking SHINE. I try my best to show them to my advantage when I'm making friends. Like yes, it will take me 4 months to send a package I've had ready for you, but once you get it it will be lovingly packaged and also very thoughtful, and it wasn't something you were expecting, so.

Secondly:

I regret to inform everyone that, much like is constantly told to lesbians on her about getting a girlfriend: In order to make friends, you have to talk to people. People cannot love you if they do not know you.

And I don't mean, 'venting about your life online' that will give you, of course, friendly contacts, but I'm going to tell you the truth of that matter: Every person you meet online is only a sliver of that person, not even in some intentional underhanded way, just, we have so much more distance to craft what we want to say and how we want to say it, how we want to present ourselves. We all do it. They also are MUCH less exposed to what might make you a challenge. Which we also all have! But you cannot feel known, and loved, and really treasured, until you've gotten the opportunity to get under someone's skin. The love is truly in that. You'll all hate me saying that. That's fine.

This is not to say online friends cannot become real, in some sort of Velveteen Rabbit via our Google Overlords! There are people I knew online, some of whom I barely fucking knew, REALLY, and I met them in person and came to like them a lot! Some of them I count as very close and would drop everything to help, immediately. BUT, the opposite has also been true. I have met up with people I very much liked online, and in person I was like, "Having to live with your individual quirks and annoyances is too much for me. The vibes are not there." And people have felt the same of me!

Anyway, back to an actual tip: Be open to friendship and opportunity. These people I am now friends with? Some of them I wasn't even close online to, they just hit me up when I made an open call to meet up. And we hit it off splendidly! But I had to be open to the opportunity of making an open call, and they had to be open to the opportunity of answering it. They had to show up.

In this vein, so, I just saw someone at my boot camp class yesterday, who I was friends with in high school but I hadn't seen in forever. We chatted, and he still seemed like a very cool guy, and so...we made plans to go get a drink. Not vague plans, but, "Oh hey, I'll be back in town next Saturday." I am very well known for jumping on these moments and opportunities. An acquaintance had a book on her to-read list I really liked, so I asked her to tell me when she starts reading it, and I'll reread it, and she can come over to my house for wine and a chat. She was touched and delighted.

So, if you are chatting with someone and they're like, "Oh, I've always wanted to try 'x cafe'" that is a fucking stellar opportunity to go, "Oh, me too! We should go next week, are you free Thursday?" I legitimately credit my social circle to my expansive and, somewhat daring (we'll go into that in a minute) seeking of chances to discover someone wonderful.

You CANNOT wait for someone to court you. You have to pursue their friendship. The people I like to be around, I make it an effort to be around when I can, though of course I am not perfect at this. I drop balls too, I'm human! But I make time for zoom calls and visits and coffee dates and also. Also! I send people emails of little things that make me think of them, or notes, or postcards.

Okay onto being daring. The hard part of this is that, being this open to opportunity means you are also open to hurt. To rejection. And it hurts! It hurts badly, but it is part of the cost of finding your people, is giving people the opportunity to say, 'You are not my people." If someone doesn't answer any of your efforts to connect, you may have to let it go, and that of course is very sad. I have gotten my feelings hurt badly because I thought someone was SO cool, and they thought I was just, annoying and argumentative, which, I mean obviously, but they did not find it charming ahaha. It is allowed to hurt, but it also has to be okay for people. There’s someone in my congregation who really really wants to be my pal because we’re both Under the Rainbow, and I just DO NOT CARE for the cut of their jib. I feel bad about that, but, I could never actually be their friend. It happens to everyone who tries to make friends, at some point.

So, look for people who like some of the things you do, or who you find interesting to talk to. I met people through writing, through autocross (competitive driving car club thing), through running, through wine tasting, through travel. Be an interesting person with interests that require you to do things, and you will be far more likely to meet people like that. Join meetup groups, library book clubs, one of my greatest tips for finding friends is to get out there and do things.

Also, the more people you meet, the better you’ll get at figuring out if you’ll hit it off with someone. Or at least I have! I have figured out what I TEND to like in people, and what people TEND to respond to in me, and what makes me just too nuts.

But yeah, you can’t hit if you don’t swing.

If you meant something more specific, let me know!

[random-writer-23]

The pearl Guns (Jesper x F Reader)

A/N: Hello lovelies! Welcome to the first one-shot I'm publishing on this blog, this one was written pretty recently so it's probably going to be much better than the others I'll be posting on here of my past writing, but when I get to publishing more new stuff it'll hopefully be decent as well. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and any comments, likes, shares, and reblogs are appreciated! Happy reading! Word count: 3131 Requested: No Warnings: not really, just the usual Jesper flirting and just sexual tension but nothing other than that.

As a member of ketterdams socially elite, I was expected to behave like a perfect lady at all times of the day, whether it was at a dinner party hosted by my father, a traveling conference my father forced me to attend, art shows, or whatever else my father expected of me. My father was one of the biggest and richest merchants in the city and as a result, I being his one and only daughter had practically no say in my life. I had to be the perfect daughter in order to preserve his reputation. Which is why I am currently getting ready for a large dinner party my father is hosting.

"is it still too loose (y/n)?" My maid Magaret asked, referring to the corset backing of the dress I was wearing.

"Oh um, just a little tighter Margaret" I replied, feeling the tug of the ribbon on my back tightening my corset. "that's good" I responded when I felt the dress tight enough to support me. She tied it at the back and stepped away towards my vanity mirror where she started preparing to do my hair. I looked in the full-body mirror at the dress. It was an (f/c) dress that stretched all the way to my ankles. I gave a small spin while Margaret nodded her head approvingly.

"Alright, dear now sit down so I can do your hair" Margaret moved me to sit in front of the mirror and grabbed my hairbrush, beginning to brush my hair. Once she was done she patted my shoulder and I turned around so she could do my makeup. Once she finished she patted my shoulder and I stood up while she cleaned up my vanity.

"thank you, Margaret," I said as she helped me into my shoes.

"Of course dearie" she replied brushing my dress out straight and giving me a smile as she left the room. Margaret has been my maid since the day I was born, cleaning my room, feeding me, reading me stories before bed, taking me to school, and taking care of me when I was sick. She was more like a parent to me than my actual father is. After my mother passed he distanced himself from me. I always assumed it was because I am the spitting image of her. I took one last look at myself in my mirror, I looked like the ideal image of a perfectly well-behaved daughter, all that was left to do was to play the part. I exited my room and headed downstairs to stand next to my father as he welcomed people into the house.

"Please behave tonight (y/n)" My father whispered with an exasperated sigh, placing a stern hand on my shoulder. Which to others might have looked like a gesture of comfort, but I knew it was an order. I stood up straight smiling and offering to take our guest's coats making small talk with the ladies as my dad spoke to the merchants, directing them to a conference room where the merchant council was going to meet. While those not attending the meeting were directed to the living room to talk amongst themselves and enjoy the rest of the party. After the rest of the merchant council had arrived my father gave my shoulder a squeeze and walked off toward the conference room to participate in the council meeting. I was left to my own devices to wander around and keep the guests occupied and wanting for nothing. I wandered into the living room where everyone was chatting with each other. The band playing their music softly in the background. I smiled while chatting with some of the guests before, excusing myself to get a drink. I poured myself a cup of water refusing to let one of the servants do it for me and then exited the room squeezing past the waiters who were getting ready to serve trays of appetizers to the guests since the actual food wouldn't be served until after the council meeting ended. Smiling and nodded through the halls of people making small talk and giving hugs until I finally made it outside. Giving a nod of acknowledgment to the guards posted at the door, who were no doubt ordered by my father to keep a close watch on me. Once I finally made it outside I took a deep breath and moved myself past the few guests who were lingering and chatting in the garden, toward my favorite spot. I sighed walking past the decorative rows of rose bushes, kicking a small rock along the path. The gazebo sat upon the highest spot in the garden, shining in the moonlight and overlooking the bay. Lifting my skirt I stepped gently over a puddle of mud and onto the hard floor of the gazebo. I looked around, finally out of view of the guards stationed at the door.

"man I hate these dinners," I said to no one, in particular, letting out a huff, I finished my drink and placed the empty cup on the gazebo railing.

"You and me both beautiful" A man's voice replied and I spun around to see where the voice came from.

"And who are you?" I asked backing up and holding the skirt of my dress up, in case I had to make a run for it. The man gave me a weird look before gesturing to his clothes.

"I thought it was a bit obvious that I'm a guard, love" He laughed, and against my better judgment I laughed as well.

"well, whose guard are you?" I asked calming down my giggles, "cause you can't be one of my father's I would have seen you around here before." I watched his eyes widen for a second before he composed his features and spoke.

"You're (l/n)'sF daughter?" He asked and I nodded in response letting go of the hold I had on my skirt and leaning up against the railing of the gazebo. The stranger's presence made me oddly relaxed. "how could someone as ugly as him make someone as pretty as you" He flirted with a wink and I blushed looking away from him.

"Why thank you" I giggled bringing my hand up to my face to hide my blush.

"and if you must know, I'm only a temporary hire. First time working here, brought in for the party" He explained and I nodded along. It wasn't unusual for my father to bring in members of the stadwatch for events and parties he put on. More security means fewer problems he always said.

"I see, well that explains why I haven't seen you around" I replied with a smile, "so you're a stadwatch guard I presume?" I asked moving away from the railing to sit on one of the gazebo benches.

"you could say that" He moved from the entrance of the gazebo to lean against the railing across from me, as he moved I snuck a glance at the guns holstered to his side.

"so if you're a guard, why aren't you, y'know guarding things?" I asked with a small smile.

"I am, I'm guarding you, the most important guest at the party" He declared "you don't know what kind of unsavory characters are lurking in your gardens" He lowered his voice and looked around animatedly. Making me laugh.

"I should have assumed my father would send a guard to tail me" I sighed dramatically before looking at the stranger slyly, "I just didn't know he'd be so handsome" I giggled, as a surprised look crossed the guard's face, he reached up scratching the back of his neck shyly.

"I don't think I can take so much flattery from such an angel" He smiled and fanned himself dramatically, which made me laugh again. We fell into a short silence as our laughter died down.

"if I may ask what kind of guns do you have," I asked partly wondering about his guns, and also just wanting to keep talking to this handsome stranger instead going back to the boring party full of stuffy noble folk and businessmen.

"Oh these?" He moved his coat aside to show off the one holstered on his left hip, and I nodded. He took it out of the holster and moved closer to where I sat, for me to see them. "They're zemeni-made" he explained. "and you see the handle?" he pointed at the handle which had a pearlescent look to them, so I suspected it to be pearl. "it's made of pearl" he confirmed my suspicions.

"That's what I thought it was!" I said excitedly prying my eyes away from the guns to look up at him, to see him already looking at me with a smile. I looked back at his guns quickly, my face heating up again. "what else?" I asked him, and he cleared his throat to continue.

"well they can fire up to 6 shots really quickly one after the other, and as for the type of gun they're revolvers" He held it out to me. "you can hold it if you'd like"

"oh, could I?" I asked positively beaming at the offer.

"of course" He responded with a chuckle, I stood up and took the revolver from him gently, and examined it.

"Now what's that?" I pointed to the middle of the gun where a weird-looking circle sat.

"That's the barrel, it's what holds the bullets" he explained and I nodded. "there's the trigger, that's what you press to shoot it," he said pointing to the trigger. "you wanna try shooting it?" He asked with a sly smile and I nodded excitedly. "alright, let's uhhhh aha" he said his eyes landing on the cup I had placed on the railing and had just about forgotten. He walked over and moved it to the middle of the railing. "Now back up a little" He walked back to me and moved to stand next to me. "that's it, and then since it's already loaded" He held my wrist gently and fixed how I was holding the gun "that's better, we're going to pull this right here to cock the gun, and now keep your finger off the trigger there, we're gonna aim first." He moved from my side to behind me and let go of my wrist moving his hand up my arm and stopping at my elbow. I shuddered as a chill ran up my spine "now straighten your arm, love" He said pushing my arm straight "that's it" I felt the hand not holding my arm come to rest on my hip. My breath hitched as my face flushed, and I could feel my heartbeat quicken when he spoke, I prayed he couldn't hear how loud it was. "Now point it straight ahead" he moved my arm so it was pointing directly at the cup on the railing. "and close one eye and look down at the gun, is it pointing at the cup?" He asked. I didn't really trust myself to speak so I nodded. "all right now when you're ready, fix your stance 'cause there's going to be a little recoil and I don't want you to fall. Widen your feet" I fixed my stance like he said, "there you go, now bring your finger to the trigger, don't pull yet" He shifted, his hand moving from my elbow back to my hand, fitting it snuggly in his, placing his finger over mine on the trigger. "you ready?" he asked.

"yeah, ready" I responded, trying desperately to control my racing heart. I felt him push my finger down on the trigger and heard a loud bang as the bullet shot out of the gun and hit the cup on the railing shattering it to pieces. I grinned as I realized I hit it, letting out a stream of giggles in my excitement. "I hit it!" I squealed moving out of his hold to jump around in excitement.

"I knew you would," he replied, and my smile faded slightly at the realization I couldn't feel his warmth anymore. "a little more practice and you'll probably be better than me" he added with a smile and I chuckled, looking at the gun in my hand I regretfully gave it back, and he tucked it away, back in his holster. I watched his movements carefully until I heard the distant sound of footsteps coming hurriedly in our direction.

"Oh no that'll be the other guards" I looked at him worriedly, "they probably heard the sound!" I said my voice rising in panic. "they're going to tell my father!" I whispered in horror mainly to myself.

"hey, hey don't worry, just uh... follow my lead," He said with a sly smile. I nodded turning to face the approaching guards who were now within eyesight.

"What's going on over here, we heard a gunshot. are you alright miss (l/n)" The taller guard asked us, holding his hand on his gun warily.

"That's my fault, I was trying to entertain miss (l/n) while watching over her" the stranger responded to him, as he stood at attention. I nodded my agreement.

"oh yes, my father instructed him to watch me, and he saw me out here alone. It's not his fault, I was curious about his guns, and asked if I could shoot one" I told the guards, and they nodded along.

"well alright miss (l/n), as long as there's no trouble we should be returning to our posts" the shorter one replied and they both gave me a short bow as I dismissed them. Once they were out of sight the man and I burst into a fit of giggles.

"that was close!" I laughed covering my mouth with my hand as I did.

"what do you mean you were a natural!" he exclaimed as our laughter died down, and we descended into a nice silence. I looked down at my feet clasping my hands in front of me as he cleared his throat. I looked back up at him for a moment meeting his eyes, as I smiled.

"oh I um, I never got your name," I said quietly, trying not to disturb the moment.

"well, you never asked for it love" He responded his face breaking out into a smile as he took a step closer to me.

"I'm asking now" I challenged, a matching smile appearing across my face, only then realizing how close we were.

"well then, Love my name is-" He was inturrupted by the grating voice of my father, shattering the calm between the man and I.

"(y/n)" I heard his voice, it sounded far off but I knew if I didn't go now it would get closer as he looked for me.

"I'm sorry, you were saying? your name." I apologized on behalf of my father and tried to resume conversation with the guard.

"next time love," The guard said with a sly smile, taking my hand and pressing a slow kiss to the top. "you best be off" he let go of my hand and the warmth of his kiss stayed with me as he left the gazebo. My eyes trailed him as he left and I went to find my father before he got any angrier than he probably was.

Dinner was served by the time I made it back to the house, and my father gave me a stern look that meant we'd be having a discussion later. I ate my dinner in silence, sitting next to my father, listening to the chatter of guests as they all spoke with one another.

It wasn't until late in the night when we bid the last guests a good night as they left the house, and my father turned on me.

"the guards posted at the garden door informed me of your little gunslinging," he said his voice level and steady. "what were you doing? hmm?" He asked sternly.

"I went outside for some fresh air and then started talking to one of the members of the stadwatch you brought in for tonight's party. The one you instructed to tail me tonight" I explained wringing my fingers as I avoided eye contact with him.

"What are you talking about? I didn't send anyone to watch you tonight, and I didn't bring in any extra members of the stadwatch for tonight's party" He said tired of this conversation already.

I looked at him shocked "but, the guard..." I trailed off at the look my father gave me, and he sighed pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes.

"(y/n), it's been a long night, we'll continue this conversation another day, just go to your room" He demanded softly.

"but i- yes father" I responded not feeling up to protest. I made my way up the stairs and stopped at the top. "goodnight father" I said quietly.

"goodnight (y/)- " He hesitated cutting himself off in the middle of my name before speaking again. "goodnight (n/n)" he said calling me by the affectionate nickname he used to when I was small. My eyes watered as I turned away from him and continued down the hall to my room. He hasn't called me that since before my mom passed.

I laid in bed that night staring at my ceiling long after Margaret had left after helping me out of my formal dinner wear. Thinking thoughts about the stranger and why he would have lied to me, thoughts about his lies merged into thoughts of how gentle he was, and how warm his hands felt on my arms and hip. Those thoughts slowly turned into other thoughts, fantasizing about the stranger in ways that were most definitely not ladylike. Finally falling asleep to the comforting thought of when I would possibly see him again.

--Time skip--

The answer to that would be never. I looked for him at the next party my father hosted, and the next one, and the next one. But he was never to be seen at any of them. I asked stadwatch guards I met about the boy with the pearl revolvers and none of them knew. Eventually, my memory of the stranger grew faint. I couldn't remember the details of his face or the sound of his voice, but no matter how fuzzy the memory of my moment with the stranger got the warmth of the kiss he placed on my hand that night stayed with me forever.

~Fin~

QOTD: Who's your favourite crow?

Join my discord server: https://discord.gg/9bwRmtXCuB

AN: so originally this was supposed to be continued and much longer than it is here, but I just felt that it was a nice ending, so I cut out the longer version and ended it like this, however....... I still have the other version of this story, so I'm thinking of posting that version as well as keeping this version up. So let me know what you guys think. But I hope you enjoyed this. 

#Jesper fahey #Jesper x reader #Jesper fahey x reader #Six of crows #Shadow and bone #the crows #crooked kingdom #fanfic #Fanfiction #oneshot #x reader #fluff #jesper x reader fluff #jesper fahey x reader fluff #shadow and bone s2 #Jesper #Jes #Shadow and bone netflix #shadow and bone season two #netflix shadow and bone #Jesper fanfic #Jesper oneshot #Jesper x reader oneshot #Jesper x reader fanfic #Jesper x reader fanfiction #Jesper fahey x reader onshot

[fearofahumanplanet]

For whichever OCs have the most fun answers: 69. How energetic is your oc? Are they constantly tired, or constantly bouncing off the walls?

70. What about your oc’s lifestyle would they change if they had the ability? Why?

71. What is your oc’s go-to for offense? What weapon, what style of fighting? Or are words more their weapon of choice?

The ask game in question

"69. How energetic is your oc? Are they constantly tired, or constantly bouncing off the walls?"

I think everyone knows the answer to this question for Wadjet lmao, that girl is constantly moving at a million miles an hour and somehow expecting everyone to keep up. The other three protagonists are varying levels of chronic fatigue and constant need of more sleep

"70. What about your oc’s lifestyle would they change if they had the ability? Why?"

Jörmungandr would... I'm honestly not sure how to answer this question, because I don't think there's a single thing about her life she doesn't want different.

Wadjet would want to maintain more of a consistent social group instead of just bouncing from party to party to drown her woes.

No one knows what Badb wants and she doesn't either.

Huītzilōpōchtli would want to live somewhere else and put all the violence and war and sacrifice of the past behind them, just be somewhere nice with their wife.

"71. What is your oc’s go-to for offense? What weapon, what style of fighting? Or are words more their weapon of choice?

Jörmungandr is the horrifying epitome of jack of all trades, being both very strong and very fast and pretty damn talented with practically every weapon you can throw at her. That said, she prefers polearms (particularly war scythes), agility, and ingenuity in combat.

Wadjet, on the other hand, relies more heavily on speed and - I've always found no better way to say this - she fights like a belly dancer might if given combat experience and two khopeshes. It's pretty damn entertaining.

Badb prefers not to fight at all, instead manipulating others into fighting in her stead or (if forced to engage) relying on her INCREDIBLY HORRIFYING illusion magic and firearms to keep her distance and psychologically torment people to death

Huītzilōpōchtli is essentially just Jason Voorhees but faster - not exactly speedy, mind you, but in that nice mid-point between being quick and lumbering. They rely heavily on brutality, psychological warfare & shock tactics, and essentially killing most people in one ridiculous blow.

Thanks for the ask, I hope you're doing well!

#besties tag #asks

[tfblovesfood]

The Rise (and Crumbcoating) of DIY Cake Decorating

Disclaimer: this post contains some Amazon links (especially for those cake decorating books). I may earn commissions through purchases as an affiliate, which may pay for my bills - LOL.

Decorating a DIY birthday or other occasion cake is a choice, AND AN OFTEN GREAT ONE!

Many families opt to be their own cake designers for their kids, either because they want to save money or cater for their special diets (GFCF, vegan, diabetic, etc.).

So, how did the practice of making your own edible red-letter-day centerpiece start?

Before about the ‘50s, almost all low-to-middle class families often ate simple cakes with simple icings. The cake decorating tips and piping bags were mostly left to the pros. Believe it or not, pastry chef Dewey McKinnley Wilton was teaching bakers THAT ART in nationwide hotels, starting in 1929, on the head end of the Great Depression.

A year later, John D. Duff applied for a patent for an “invention that relates to a dehydrated flour for use in making pastry products and to a process of making the same.” He dehydrated flour, molasses, sugar, shortening, salt, baking soda, powdered whole egg, ginger, and cinnamon. All the home baker - burdened by the Depression - had to do was just add water, bake it into a pan, and call it a cake.

And that disappointed home bakers in the ‘50s. Though the addition of two eggs in most brands’ mix instructions - and later, oil - improved cake texture, they were yearning for more than just a plain cake, especially at birthdays.

Enter Ernest Dichter, an Austrian psychologist. He discovered that housewives who made cakes from mixes often were disappointed by the results, even if they followed the instructions to the letter.

He wrote, “This is typical of what the average housewife said: 'Yes, I'm using a cake mix; it saves me a lot of trouble but I really shouldn't.’”

He persuaded cake mix companies to present suggestions for finishing the baked cakes in creative ways with frosting as well as include recipes for frosting flavors.

Magazines followed suit in piquing suggestions to decorate mix-made cakes. One McCall’s article offered instructions for one shaped like Humpty Dumpty.

And books on cake decorating followed into the ‘60s, with Wilton Enterprises soon expanding and reaping the increases of sales of their pastry bags, piping tips, and special food colorings as a result of Dr. Dicther’s persuasion. Specially shaped cake pans - and the first ones shaped like licensed characters, starting with Disney’s - also appeared.

Here’s me at 7, with a Disney-themed cake (decorated by DM, a Wilton School student) at an in-school birthday party. (Such moments are rare in recent years, especially in the USA, given the strict nutritional guidelines and the overemphasis on standardized testing.) Photo taken by my DF, 6/1996.

In 1974, Norman Wilton, son of Dewey, published The Wilton Way of Cake Decorating. 25 years later, Southerner Anne Bryn took cake mixes even further by penning the cookbook, The Cake Mix Doctor. (The 2009 sequel is available on Kindle.)

Fast forward to 2020, the nadir of the coronavirus pandemic. It seemingly was a real-life recreation of the Madeline episode “Madeline and the Tea Party” on a much larger scale.

Like Lord Cucuface’s allergic reaction that wrecked Sugar Dimples’s Hollywood-sized tea party blowout, social distancing guidelines all but shelved party plans for parents used to hosting kids’ birthdays at their local Chuck E Cheese’s locations, roller rinks, and even Walt Disney World, in which its four theme parks closed for about 4 months, to name but three places outside their homes.

For some parents, they shifted from ordering those fondant-cloaked centerpieces from specialty bakeries (or even those grocery store sheet cakes); grabbed their cake mixes or used recipes; and made their own creations. They turned to videoconferenced classes or subscription video courses to hone their piping skills.

Even some celebrities got into the homemade celebration cake act. Actress Stassi Schroeder made a birthday cake for casting director Beau Clark with Duncan Hines yellow cake mix and decorated it by marbling Duncan Hines chocolate and Pillsbury Funfetti frostings. After ringing it with the sprinkles, she dubbed it a “freaking homemade masterpiece.”

Mariah Carey also went the homemade route, baking her boyfriend Bryan Tanaka a Tiger King cake.

Stories like those proved that whichever their financial statuses, self-decorated-and-baked cakes always have their appeal.

Not skilled with a pastry bag and piping tips? That’s OK. Rick and Sasha Reichhart’s Extreme Cakeovers will transform your cake mix-made cakes into something that appears to cost some ten dollars a slice at your local bakery.

[animatedtext]

#life's a party but i'm practicing social distancing #gif #animaedtext #rainbow

[aquataurian]

Hello guys! This is my first ever post on astrology observations. Since I'm into astrology, I've observed much about certain sun and moon placements. I'm not a professional astrologer but I've enough knowledge about basic astrology. I'll post on sun and moon placements only as I'm still observing rising and other aspects. Thank you!

#1 ASTRO OBSERVATIONS

• AQUARIUS SUNS are sophisticated. They like subtle things. Sometimes you can't differentiate between a virgo and an aquarius. They give off the same vibe.

• TAURUS MOONS can literally remain calm in problematic situations. They handle their emotions so well and you never know what they do next. They are soft-hearted creatures and get overwhelmed easily but they hide it often. Have trust issues sometimes. Big on physical touch and good food. They're sensual with who they want to be with. Picky af. Come off as unemotional at times but really, they feel everything deeply and they'll only let their trusted ones know about it.

• VIRGO SUNS are hilarious af. I've met alot of virgos and they gave me the same vibe. They are family-oriented and care alot about their parents and children. They are emotional and practical at the same time hahah. Some virgos aren't like that but as much as I've seen, they love spending time with their family and friends. They often talk about their 'good old days' and memories hit them hard.

• GEMINI MOONS are not as manipulative as people think they are. They're very intelligent and they do know what others are thinking. They're mind-readers. And because of this, they are very likely to assume things which is not even true. They think their judgement is accurate but not always. They are prone to assume due to this quality until and unless they listen to the whole story. Apart from this, they make great friends. Very social. You may not trust them easily. But in reality, they're trustworthy. Also, they don't talk thaat much as it seems what gemini moons are prone to do. They hide things well. Very well infact. And whenever they talk, you know they never shut up hahah.

• SCORPIO SUNS neve really get over that one person who they once loved. They can crush on the same person for years. Loyal af. They love very deeply. They never stop loving unless it's been years their person doesn't even care about them. Else, they'll love you from distance and they'll let you know. Rejections hurt them tbh. No one can love you like a scorpio. He/She has intense feelings for you and he/she will let you know that.

• CAPRICORN SUNS are the best people in the world. They are everything you want. Cap suns with earth moon are very loyal and they treat you as their family. They're so funny and you'll love them. They come off as arrogant but when you get to know them, you'll know that they hate arrogance when once you thought they were that. Cap suns with water moon are emotional but they never ever show it. They are picky and they know it. But they trust others easily once they find someone similar. Often taken advantage of. Cap suns with fire moon are so humorous. They are the life of the party. Cap suns with air moon are intellectuals. They're social. Work hard for achieving their goals. They make good friends but they need intellectual stimulation. Without that, they can be still your friends but won't care much about you.

• ARIES MOON is emotional. Very emotional. They hide it. They want to seem stronger on the outside. They often consider it as their weakness. But one thing that I've observed is crystal clear that they never forget the ones who made them a better person or did something good for them or made them happier. They do value people and their enigmatic presence in their life. They're lovable and not everybody gets that. Quality time is very important to them. Family oriented. Pure souls. They're innocent. And ofc, short tempered and aggressive af. But they never hold grudges. Forget things quickly unless they have an earth sun.

That's it for today! Stay tuned for more such observations.

#aquarius sun #taurus moon #moon signs #sun signs #astrology #astro observations #gemini moon #aries moon #scorpio sun #capricorn sun #virgo sun

[zaffrenotes]

To Ruined Friendships

Fandom: Westworld Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader Rating/Warnings: PG-13; spicy language, alcohol consumption, heavy smoochin Author's Note: This entire thing was inspired by a dream I had about one black hat cowboy who cannot for the life of him consume a drink without looking like he's going to inhale it. I tried to work on my other WIPs for an entirely different fandom, but my brain refused to focus on anyone other than Logan Delos. I don't have the energy to create a sideblog for this, so any Logan fans who happen to find this from the tags, please don't judge me for the other fandom(s) I'm in. I already know, lol. Word Count/Reading Time: +/- 2600 words (10 minutes reading)

hell if I know who to tag for this...if I ever write more and you want to get an update, leave a comment, I guess?: @the-blind-assassin-12 @ao719 @the-soot-sprite possibly @ofpixelsandscribbles @burnsoslow

Another night rubbing shoulders with the elite in a penthouse, and all you want to do is retreat into one of the half dozen empty rooms to rest your feet. Beauty always has a price, and tonight your feet were being sacrificed to the stiletto gods in the name of fashion. As a waiter weaves between guests, you deftly trade the empty crystal flute in your hand for a fresh one off their tray, the slim glass chilling your fingertips.

A tiny, imperceptible sigh slips past your lips as you look out at the wall of windows, city skyline twinkling in the distance. Glancing through the crowd, you try to find a familiar face of one of your girlfriends, when you feel someone’s fingers on your back, ghosting over the ink at the base of your spine. Over your shoulder, a warm, though somewhat world-weary voice makes your body tingle. “Hey gorgeous, I was wondering if I’d see you here tonight.”

You know he’s grinning before you even turn your head; a sly smile spreads across your painted lips when you see you were right, and you lean in to press your cheek to Logan’s in greeting. His beard tickles your face, and the movement is small, but you feel him pull you closer to him, pressing his fingertips into your smooth skin. “You know me,” you reply, gently squeezing his bicep for balance, noses nearly touching as you both move to kiss the other cheek. “Any excuse to squander part of my father’s fortune on a party dress.”

His cheek twitches up as he grins wider, and once more, the grit in his voice makes you want to find a dark corner and do unspeakable things with him. “Only you could make a napkin’s worth of fabric look like couture,” he teases, stepping back to admire your outfit. “I own pocket squares larger than what you’ve got on!” His gaze lowers appreciatively, taking you in, before settling at your feet. You shift your weight from one hip to the other; tilting your head back to take a sip of champagne, you’re surprised to see his dark eyes on you as you swallow and lower the glass. There’s a hint of something there, the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Been here long? Why don’t we find somewhere quiet to catch up? You can let your hair down, along with… anything else, to get comfortable.” Were it not for the playful expression in his eyes, his proposition would warrant throwing the remainder of your drink directly into his exquisite face.

But you know Logan. You’ve known him too long for the invitation to be anything but amicable, much to your dismay. You’re well aware of the caliber of women he’s taken to the bedroom, and while you consider yourself attractive enough for the circles you keep, there’s no way he would ever see you as more than just a family friend. Knowing that doesn’t keep you from stroking his ego and taunting him at every opportunity, though. “My hair’s already down,” you tease, grinning as you roll your eyes at him.

“You know what I mean,” he replies, brushing your tresses over one shoulder. His thumb lingers on the strip of silk there, slipping between the material to rest on your skin, before pulling away. “We’ve known each other for years now, you’d think there would’ve been one night of indecency.” Before you’re able to respond, he glances up, noticing one of the other guests. “To be continued,” he says, raising his brows to you. He’s already begun to walk away.

“As always,” you reply, raising your glass to him.

-

You catch his eye more than a few times as you both make the rounds, catching up with friends and being introduced to new acquaintances vying for a way into social circles and business ventures. He winks at you before throwing back a drink, appearing as if he’d take a bite out of the glass to get every last drop of liquid from it. You nod as you pass by him while he converses with another guest, your arm linked with a friend’s as you walk off to powder your noses. You even catch him looking at you from across the room like he wants to ask you something, but the moment disappears when he pulls his phone from his pocket to take a call.

The evening goes on much longer than you anticipated. Even with windows of interesting conversation to pass the time, you begin to grow weary of the company, drowning out a discussion around you while you stake a claim on one of the pristine white couches. Your legs are crossed in front of you, one foot dangling in the air, while the one closer to the floor looks like it’s about to snap away from the rest of your leg. You’re balancing the weight on a sliver of one side of the heels, and you gaze out at the outdoor pool, wishing you could sit by the edge and dip your feet in the cool, chlorinated water.

Scanning through the guests once more, you notice Logan at the bar. He’s in the middle of a conversation with two gentlemen, but he catches your eye, glancing over long enough to notice your legs again. He flicks his eyes upwards to the rooms, tilting his head at an angle in silent question. You scoff and shake your head, blinking slowly to dismiss his invitation, and give up your position on the couch to go to look for the bathroom. He simply smiles as you cross the room, before returning to the conversation at the bar.

-

You’re outside on one of the balconies, forearms resting on the brushed steel railing as you lean against metal and glass, absentmindedly staring out at the city. The cool night air feels refreshing against your skin, now warm and flushed from too much champagne and not enough food; there’s never enough food at these things, and you would sell your soul for a plate of loaded nachos or even a tiny slider. Behind you, there’s a click and a hiss from the plate glass door opening. Jovial music and conversation from inside filters through the temporary break, and you sigh to yourself in preparation of putting on your party face to make idle conversation.

“That is one hell of a view.” An all too familiar voice fills the air after the door hisses shut. Logan.

You respond without turning around to acknowledge him. “Your family sure knows how to pick a party venue, I’ll give you that.”

“We do, but that’s not the view I was talking about.”

Body warming at his suggestive tone, you turn around to see Logan’s eyes fixed on your backside, unashamed of his blatant ogling. There’s a glass tumbler in his hand, with barely a sip’s worth of what looks like whiskey in it. “There you go again, getting a girl’s hopes up,” you tease, fidgeting with your hair.

“You know you’re fucking gorgeous, especially in that dress tonight.” His voice travels as he walks over to a darker part of the balcony, swirling the remnants of his drink.

Emboldened by the alcohol still coursing through your system, you play along, walking slowly towards him. “Let me guess, next you’re going to tell me it would look even better in a pile next to your bed.” You roll your eyes at him, but your heart begins to race at the idea.

He grins warmly at you, a tendril of hair knocking loose when he tilts his head and shrugs. You want to reach forward and smooth it back in place, and run your fingers against the side of his scalp. His hair’s longer than it was before; he’s been away at the park for a longer visit this time around. His unnervingly dark eyes are practically black in the shadows, eyeing you like prey. Extending a hand towards you, he reaches for the strap on your shoulder again as if to adjust it, but instead he lifts it and lets it fall off the slope of your skin, staring at the unblemished swath of flesh before him. You feel the material fall until it rests in the crook of your elbow, thankful to be holding up a glass to keep the silk from falling away any further off your body. “A dress like this? I’d have the decency to hang it up first.” He tugs at the fabric again, pulling it up over your shoulder to return your modesty.

“Keep saying shit like that, and one of these days I might believe you.”

“Should I keep talking then?” He chuckles.

You exhale, shaking your head with disbelief. He takes another step away from where you can be seen, and you follow him. “I’m not drunk enough to take you seriously,” you scoff, looking just beyond his gaze.

Logan reaches forward again, fingers landing on the base of your glass, and he pushes it up towards your mouth. “Then by all means, take another sip,” he grins.

“Bullshit,” you utter through a nervous smile, though you don’t stop yourself from tipping the edge of the flute to your lips and tilting your head up, downing half the contents in one gulp.

“Fuck it,” he whispers.

You swallow, and effervescent bubbles tickle the length of your throat so much that it takes you a second to register feeling Logan’s lips at the juncture of your jawline and earlobe. The way his beard brushes against you as you pull the glass away from your lips makes you lose your grip, and the flute falls to the ground, shattering near your feet. You gasp with surprise, unsure if it’s from the shock of dropping the glass or from the fact that Logan fucking Delos just kissed you.

In one swift movement, Logan wraps his unencumbered hand around your waist to pivot you away from the broken glass. His drink-laden hand blindly stretches out to set the glass on the thin metal railing, and he kisses you properly this time, impossibly soft lips on your open mouth and both of his hands are on your waist. He tastes sweet, smokey and woody from the whiskey, setting your lips on fire as he kisses you. Your hands fly up to his shoulders, gripping at his suit jacket as he leads you both towards an exterior wall. The shock of the cool wall against your exposed back makes you gasp again, and you push Logan away. “What’re you doing?” Your head is swimming, blood pulsing from the alcohol and the rush of emotions as you search Logan’s eyes for an answer.

“Might be ending our friendship,” he laughs wryly. His eyes land on your lips, before looking up to meet your gaze. “Want me to stop?”

The look in his eyes is intense; two black pools stare into you, daring you to continue. You tug the lapels of his jacket, pulling him close as your pelvis tilts forward to meet his. “Finish what you start,” you whisper, Cheshire-grin giving away your desire. He kisses you again, grabbing hold of the back of your thighs as he lifts you. You spread your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he presses you up against the wall, the pair of you kissing each other like it’s your last night on earth. There’s an urgency in your actions; if there’s a moment of hesitation from either of you, the spell will break, so you ignore the burning in your lungs to kiss him again. When you feel how hard he is pressed up against you, you tilt your head back and let your eyes flutter closed. He takes it as an opportunity to swirl his tongue against your neck, and you think about feeling his tongue elsewhere on your body.

Your back presses against the wall even more, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist tighter, pinning you in place. As you utter curses of pleasure into the night air, your feet feel relief for the first time all night, weightless as you destroy any propriety that existed with Logan Delos.

-

You can feel the sun against your eyelids, and the soft sounds of someone typing away at a keyboard. Between the dull ache at the base of your skull and your throbbing temples, you smack your lips together a few times, grimacing at the dryness in your mouth. You turn your face into what you think is a pillow, but determine to be a fleece blanket due to its soft yet formless design. There’s a faint aroma of coffee in the air, and you hope your roommate left some in the carafe. “Dear god, don’t let me drink that much ever again,” you groan, voice strained and scratchy from dehydration. “I made a complete ass of myself in front of Logan.” A minute passes without your roommate’s usual prodding; all you hear is typing now and then. “How’d we get home?”

You’re met with more silence, but your level of irritation is nothing compared to the hangover headache growing with each passing minute of consciousness. You’re about to ask for Tylenol, when you hear the click and hiss of a glass door opening, followed by the sound of someone splashing in a pool. The apartment you share with your roommate has no access to a pool, let alone a back door made of glass. Opening your eyes feels like peeling apart pieces of tape, but with effort you blink slowly and allow your eyes to focus, trying to ignore the glare from the midday sun. You realize the fleece blanket you were resting on was your arm, nestled in the sleeve of a plush bathrobe. It was the kind of robe often seen hanging in the bathroom of high-end hotels.

“That was a side of you I haven’t seen before. Good morning, sunshine.” The voice is distinctively, impossibly Logan’s, with a new note of lightness to it that wasn’t present during last night’s party. “Care to see something interesting?”

You push yourself off the sofa slowly, adjusting the robe on you - apparently you fell asleep wearing it, and you have no idea where your dress or shoes are - and sit up. Logan’s dressed casually in black, seated at a desk a few feet away, with multiple monitors in front of him. One looks to be running code or tracking stock market activity, but he disconnects the laptop in the middle of the desk and carries it over to the couch, taking a seat next to you. There’s a video clip paused on the screen, and he waits to make sure you’re alert enough to watch, before letting it play.

The video shows a clip from the hotel’s CCTV cameras, pointed at the infinity pool. The only lights are coming from the pool walls, and the timestamp reflects it was the middle of the night, long after the party would’ve ended. There’s a naked male figure treading water matching Logan’s build, and then an undressed woman appears from the bottom edge of the frame, preparing to jump into the pool with him. You gasp, covering your mouth with one hand, making out a tattoo on her lower back - your tattoo - before cannonballing into the pool and making out with Logan just before dipping under the water’s surface.

Logan pauses the video, beaming an annoyingly adorable smug expression across his face as he resists the urge to tease you right away. Instead, he leans over, pecks your cheek, and eyes the glimpse of cleavage availed to him between the folds of your robe. “Lady’s choice - I could fuck your hangover away, or there’s coffee in the kitchen. What’ll it be?”

#logan delos #logan delos x reader #westworld #zaffrenotes writes #apparently for more than one fandom now #is this a fluke? #cw: alcohol #cw: swearing #cw: mild citrus #more than a lime but less than lemons #I love the way Ben cannot drink or eat like a normal human #it's endearing and I love him for it #chomp chomp Bennie

[helloalycia]

teenage dirtbag [three] // wanda maximoff

summary: Wanda's boyfriend continues to be an aggravation in your life, causing some distance between you and Wanda

warning/s: none

author's note: i really appreciate the feedback you guys gave in the last part – it’s always motivating to read your reactions/comments 🥰

part one | part two | part four | part five | masterlist | wattpad

Sorting things out with Wanda made everything return to normal in no time. So much in fact that she decided I was worth inviting to her and her brother's birthday party.

Never in a million years did I expect the most popular girl in our grade to know who I was, let alone invite me to her birthday party, so to say I was surprised was an understatement.

"It's not a big deal if you can't make it," she said when she handed me the invitation in class. "I mean, I'd love it if you could, but yeah, no pressure."

I was in awe, accepting the invite and reading it quickly. It must have been a pretty expensive party if she was giving out special invites, that's for sure.

"You want me to come?" I asked, still unsure whether this was a joke or not.

"Only if you want to," she said quickly, eyes darting around the room and anywhere but at me. "Like I said, you don't have to. It's not a big deal and– I– yeah." She pressed her lips together and stopped rambling, offering me a small smile.

"Thanks," I said quietly, slotting the invite in my notebook. "I'll, er, I'll think about it."

She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and faced forward, nodding. "Yeah, sure, no rush."

After that awkward conversation, I discovered she'd also invited Y/BF/N, the two of them developing a little friendship the more she'd hung out with me. He didn't mind going, but only wanted to do so if I went.

"I feel like I kinda don't wanna go," I admitted to him after school as we were studying in the library.

"Oh?" He rose an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

I played with the pencil in my hand. "I don't know, it's just– it's gonna be full of all of her other friends. And they don't really like me. Plus, her dick of a boyfriend is gonna be there. I just think she might have invited me to be nice. Like she might have felt like she had to because we sit together, y'know?"

"I think you know that isn't true," he said knowingly. "Maybe, just maybe, she actually wants us there, wants you there, to celebrate her birthday."

I chewed the inside of my mouth, giving it some thought. But the idea of going to Wanda's house party and seeing a bunch of people I didn't care about getting pissed wasn't comforting. Besides, even if I went, I'd probably see Wanda once before she'd get scooped away by Nate. What was the point?

"Nah, I don't think I'm going," I decided. "She won't notice. I'll just get her a present instead."

Y/BF/N sighed, clearly not impressed with my answer. Nonetheless, he said, "Okay, suit yourself."

"You can go if you want," I added, knowing his presence wasn't linked with mine.

"No Y/N, no party," he said with a dismissive shrug, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Such a good friend," I said teasingly, but there was truth to my words. And I knew he knew that. 

When I saw photos and videos of Wanda and Pietro's party all over my social media the day after, I knew I'd made the right choice in not going. It was the same visuals of everyone getting drunk, doing stupid shit and making a mess. Call me a loser, but that wasn't really my scene. Pietro and Wanda both seemed to enjoy it though, judging from the pictures.

Instead, I bought her a birthday present, knowing I didn't have to but I kind of wanted to, and planned to give it to her when she turned up to class. It was her birthday today, despite throwing the party over the weekend, so I hoped it would make up for my absence (thought I doubted she noticed).

She showed up and settled beside me as I was writing the date in my notebook, making me look up to see she'd made an extra effort to dress up for her birthday, looking fancier than usual. I couldn't help but smile at the giant '18' birthday badge pinned to her jacket.

"Happy birthday, Wanda," was the first thing I said when I saw her. "You look amazing."

A bashful smile appeared on her lips. "Thank you, Y/N."

"I hope your party went well," I said, giving her my full attention whilst trying not to drool over how beautiful she looked.

Surprisingly, her smile faded and her eyebrows knitted together. "Yeah, it did... could you not make it? I tried looking for you and– yeah..."

I opened my mouth to speak, admittedly a little embarrassed that she'd caught me out. I was sure she wouldn't notice – the pictures made it seem like there were loads of guests, I'd definitely have blended in if I were there – but clearly I was mistaken.

"I just thought–" she began, before shaking her head. "Never mind."

"Sorry, I thought–" I started, but like her, didn't know what to say. "Parties aren't my thing," I admitted truthfully. "But it looked fun. You enjoyed it, right?"

She nodded, a small forced smile on her lips. "Yeah, right. It's cool. No biggie."

I swallowed awkwardly. It seemed like a biggie and now I felt bad.

"I, er, got you a gift," I blurted, hoping to change the subject. Reaching into my backpack, I pulled out the terribly wrapped present and held it out nervously. "I hope you, er, like it."

Her eyebrows raised as her eyes flickered between the present and I. "Oh? You didn't have to. I wasn't expecting anything."

Was it hot in here or was it just me?

I pulled my collar away from my neck, hoping to circulate some air. "I wanted to. It's not a big deal."

She accepted the gift, fingers brushing mine and making me even more nervous, before opening it up. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she revealed a brand new leather paintbrush carry case.

"The one you always carry around is tattered and falling apart, so I thought I'd get you a new one," I explained, feeling like I had to. "I mean, unless the other one has some sort of sentimental value, then in that case, I can just return this."

"Are you kidding? I love it!" she exclaimed, looking to me with a grin. "It's beautiful, Y/N. I don't even know what else to say."

My shoulders relaxed, a relieved smile tugging at my lips. "Good. Th-that's good. I'm glad you like it."

Without warning, she moved forward off her stool and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, pulling me in for a hug. I was startled, unable to think straight with her body pressed so close to mine and her floral perfume wafting into my nose. Why did she have to smell so good?

"Thank you," she muttered, pulling away but not quite letting go. Her eyes were glowing as they watched me carefully, accompanying her weak-in-the-knees smile. I was sure I'd melt. "It means a lot."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak for fear I'd say something stupid. I resisted the urge to look down at her lips, which were pulled into a small, appreciative smile. She let go of me, looking to the case again and unravelling it. I caught my breath meanwhile, my senses still on override as her perfume lingered.

She was just so damn beautiful.

—

"Okay, how about this – robotic or organic aliens. Which would you rather invade our planet?" Y/BF/N asked.

I chuckled at his question. "Definitely haven't thought about that one, but let's see..."

We were hanging in the bleachers out near the football field as we waited for football practice to end. Y/BF/N had a Film project to do and needed to film the field, so I offered to help like the good friend I was.

"Probably organic," I answered as I balanced on the bleachers, standing up and tiptoeing down them like steps. "At least we could reason with them if they tried to kill us because they'd have a conscience. Robotic aliens would just be programmed to take over and that's it."

Y/BF/N seemed against the idea as he played with his camera. "Yeah, but if they were robotic, all we'd have to do is launch a missile at them and they'd explode. You can break metal. It's harder to break organic matter."

I stifled a laugh. "You've given this much thought, I see."

He gave me a knowing look. "You telling me you don't think aliens exist?"

I stopped tiptoeing and stood still as I looked down at him with humoured eyes. "You know I know aliens exist."

He waved his hand like that was enough reasoning. "There you go then!"

I laughed, wondering how he thought of this stuff, then continued to balance as I walked down the bleachers. Probably the wrong choice as when I heard a voice call me, I looked up, saw it was Wanda, then proceeded to miss a step and fall onto my arse.

"Oh God, Y/N, are you okay?" she asked, moving forward to help me.

My face heated up as Y/BF/N laughed his arse off beside me. I accepted Wanda's hand and let her pull me up, before letting go immediately when I could handle it myself. Her presence always made me nervous, but this was just terrible.

"Yeah, I'm good," I said, glancing at her and freezing at her piercing gaze and suppressed smile.

"You sure?" she asked, glancing at Y/BF/N, before trying to hide her own laughter.

Fuck me, why was I such a mess whenever she was around?

"Very sure," I said, though my back began to ache from where I hit it. "What's up, anyway?"

Y/BF/N finally shut up, to my relief, and Wanda minimised her laughter before scratching her head.

"I'm waiting for practice to end so I can take Pietro home," she said, nodding to the field. "I saw you both sat here and thought I'd say hi. Are you guys watching practice?"

"Not really," I answered, before tilting my head to Y/BF/N. "We're just waiting for it to end so Y/BF/N can film for his project."

"Ooh, that sounds interesting," she said, intrigued and looking to him now. "What's that about?"

As he caught her up on it, I found myself checking Wanda out without realising. She was animated as she listened to Y/BF/N talk about his assignment, eyes giving him all of her attention, and a permanent smile was fixed on her lips as she listened to him. Though it wasn't directed at me, I felt butterflies swirling a storm in my stomach and clutched it, hoping they'd go away. I loved and hated the feeling all at once.

Breaking me from my reverie, a football flew past all three of us and hit the bleachers, startling us all. We looked in the direction it came from and saw the football team looking back at us, some laughing and some disgruntled. Two players ran towards us and when they got close enough, I made them out as Pietro and Nate.

Nate was laughing as he looked between us all, before his gaze fell on me. "It's Y/N, right? I feel like I'm always throwing that thing at you. Sorry about that."

But his constant laughing and lack of guilt refuted his words. I merely clenched my jaw and narrowed my eyes his way, not that he seemed to care nor notice. I was a mere fly in a world that revolved around him. He'd never notice.

"Babe, I'm sorry, I didn't even know you were over here," he added, looking to Wanda. "You okay?"

Wanda crossed her arms and seemed frustrated. "I'm fine, Nate. Just get your ball."

He shrugged and grabbed his ball. Before leaving, he pressed a kiss to Wanda's cheek which made me wince, but she made no attempt in enjoying it. He didn't seem to care as he took off running back to his team. Pietro smiled apologetically at the three of us.

"I'm sorry," he said genuinely. "He can be such a dick sometimes."

That was the understatement of the century.

With that, he turned and ran back to his team to finish up. Wanda sighed, running a hand through her hair, as Y/BF/N and I exchanged glances.

"I should get the car running," she said awkwardly, pointing a thumb over her shoulder and towards the car park. "Good luck with your assignment, Y/BF/N. And I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N."

Waving goodbye with an awkward smile, I watched her leave and wondered the same thing I always did whenever Nate decided to make an appearance in my life.

How could she be dating such a dick?

—

Apart from the birthday party I didn't go to, I'd never been invited (or had a reason to go) to Wanda's house. I'd seen it, rode my bike past it, but never actually been in it. So, when she invited me to her place to work on a project we'd been assigned in class, I was unsure how to feel. She was adamant though and I had no reason to say no, so the only thing left to do was say yes. Even when she offered to drive me there after school.

"This is your car?" I asked with disbelief.

I knew absolutely nothing about cars, but I wasn't blind. Hers was a gorgeous deep red colour with a convertible roof that was currently lowered so anyone in it would feel the sun on their back and wind in their hair.

"Yeah, you like it?" she asked as she got into the driver's seat.

I gulped and sat in the passenger's seat, throwing my backpack at my feet. "It's so nice. You sure you don't mind me drinking in this?"

I had a Pepsi bottle in my hand and was deathly afraid of opening it now in case I spilt it and the cleaning bill would be more than I made in a year at the pizza parlour.

She laughed, already pulling out of the car park. "Of course. Don't be silly."

I glanced in her direction, trying not to get distracted by how good she looked in the driver's seat. She was wearing a red leather jacket, funnily enough, matching the exterior of her car, and she had dark eyeliner around her eyes, accentuating the shape and colour of them and leaving me speechless whenever she looked my way.

"There's CDs in the glove compartment," she was saying as she focused on the road. "Or you can mess around with the radio. It's up to you."

"CDs?" I asked, it piquing my interest. I reached into the glove compartment, adding, "What is this, the 2000s?"

She rolled her eyes playfully, accepting my teasing, as I flicked through the small stack of albums.

"I don't know, I guess I just like having the physical version," she said with a shrug. "It's kind of like a collection."

I chuckled at her need to explain herself, watching the way she rubbed her neck nervously, smiling with embarrassment. Looking back to the albums, a particular one grabbed my attention and I plucked it out with raised brows.

"Oh my God, you like Paramore?" I asked, looking to her with surprise. "Now it's definitely the 2000s."

Her cheeks flushed as she grew flustered. I nudged her in the side gently, getting her attention briefly.

"I'm kidding," I reassured, tilting my head her way playfully. "I actually love Paramore. They're my favourite band."

"Really?" she asked with surprise as I put the CD in her car. I hummed in response, to which she continued, "Have you ever seen them live?"

As For a Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic played quietly in the background, I nodded my head. "Yeah, once. It was a few years ago, but the tickets were shitty and I could just about make them out on stage in the distance."

Wanda laughed, the sound making my heart skip a beat. "No, that's so sad!"

I chuckled in agreement. "Yeah. It was, but oh well. They have a tour coming up this summer, right? Maybe I can get better tickets this time 'round... what about you? Have you ever seen them live?"

She hummed, making a turn at some traffic lights and chewing her lower lip as she focused on doing so. It was definitely the wrong time, but I found myself admiring how attractive it was, especially when her jaw tensed and her defined jawline was on display.

"Yeah, I saw them a few times," she finally responded, pulling me from my stupor. "Some really good seats, some really shitty ones." She giggled at the end, making me smile. "Maybe we could go to that concert in the summer. If you're up for it?"

This seemed like one of those times where you made plans with a friend that you knew would never happen, so to not cause an awkwardness in the conversation, I nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, maybe."

She glanced at me and I mirrored her smile, the flash of excitement in her eyes knocking me breathless.

When we reached her house, I was awestruck at how big it was from the inside. I mean, it looked huge from the outside, but the inside was even better. Her family were rich, I knew that, but this was some other level of rich.

"Here, c'mon, I'll get you a drink, then we can go into the dining room to start," Wanda said, failing to recognise my amazement and instead leading me to the kitchen. "We have tropical juice, apple juice, water, Sprite, Cola... which d'you want?"

I settled at the island, taking a seat and subtly admiring her kitchen. "Er, apple juice is fine with me."

She smiled brightly before pouring me a glass, whilst pouring herself some Sprite. Standing opposite me, we both took a moment to have a drink, but didn't get chance to exchange words as her mum entered the room and noticed me instantly.

"Y/N, it's so lovely to see you again!" she said kindly, patting me on the shoulder before heading to the fridge. "You girls hanging out? Studying?"

"We have a project," Wanda filled in as I nodded in agreement. "We alright to claim the dining room?"

After grabbing some water from the fridge, Wanda's mum pressed a kiss to her daughter's cheek. "Sure thing, sweetie. If you need anything, just let me know." Smiling once more at me, she said, "It's good to see you, Y/N."

"You too," I said with a friendly smile before she left.

"Come on," Wanda said, motioning for me to follow. "We have tons to do."

The next hour and a half was spent with Wanda and I planning out our project, our work sprawled along the dining table messily. We were making progress, until she got a call suddenly. It seemed serious as she gave me an apologetic glance and excused herself. I let her go and leaned back in my seat, wondering what I could do as I waited for her to return. That thought was resolved quite quickly when Pietro popped his head in the doorway and spotted me.

"Y/N! What an honour to welcome you to our humble abode," he exclaimed, entering the room fully. "What brings you here?"

Pietro's presence always brought an amused smile to my lips. "Wanda and I are working on a Chemistry project. She's just nipped out for a phone call."

He tutted dramatically, crossing his arms. "Well, well, well. We can't have that! Wanda needs to learn to entertain her guests. C'mon. I was about to head to the gaming room and could use the company."

I was visibly surprised. "You have a gaming room? Dude, that's awesome!"

He laughed. "C'mon."

Joining Pietro, the two of us headed to this so-called gaming room and I was not disappointed. There was a huge TV with a PlayStation and Nintendo Switch connected to it, a snooker table, a foosball table, a dart board, some old arcade games – it was amazing, any gamer's biggest dream.

"What you feeling, princess?" he said with that flirtatious smile of his.

I rolled my eyes playfully. He was being overtly flirty, more so than his sister was – was it a Maximoff personality trait or something? – and I wasn't sure whether he meant it or was just being his usual self.

"Are you flirting?" I deadpanned, tilting my head curiously. "I can't tell."

He pocketed his hands, swinging back on the heels of his feet. "That depends. Is it working?"

Despite my lack of interest in him like that, I felt my face heat up at the attention. "Pietro, I must tell you that any moves you attempt to make kind of won't work."

"And why's that?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the snooker table with a cheeky smile on his lips. "Am I not your type?"

"Unless you change into a girl, then no," I played along, making him flush with embarrassment. "Hate to break it to you, but I'm gay."

"Okay, I guess that makes sense," he mumbled to himself, before sighing and meeting my eyes. "We can still be friends, right? Or is that forbidden since you're already friends with my sister?"

I laughed and approached him. "Friends works. I don't think Wanda will care. I certainly don't."

He grinned. "Awesome! Well, d'you wanna play a round of foosball?"

"Sure," I said with an amused expression. "Bet I can kick your arse."

He pushed himself off the table and feigned surprise. "Oh? Game on, Y/L/N."

I didn't realise how long Wanda had been on the phone until I managed to get through three rounds of foosball and was in the middle of a snooker game with Pietro.

"You may have beat me at foosball, but you're terrible at this," he pointed out with stifled laughter.

I'd missed my third shot and it was more funny than it was embarrassing.

"Your talking distracts me," I said dismissively, before lining up the next shot with my cue.

He watched as I tried to take my shot before sighing loudly. I glanced at him with a quirked brow.

"You have a thought you'd like to share?" I asked playfully.

He hesitated, moving forward to correct my posture. "Look, if you just aim it like this–"

"Don't even think about it, Romeo," I said jokingly, standing up straight and pushing him away gently. "I know what you're thinking."

He laughed. "What? I was just going to help you aim!"

I gave him a knowing look. "So holding me close is just a bonus?"

"Fine, take your shot without my help and see what happens," he said dismissively, waving his hand.

"I'll do just that," I said with confidence, before bending down and taking my shot. The ball hit the other and neither were pocketed, which was an achievement as I'd got the cue ball in several times before, but still pretty shit as I didn't score any points.

Pietro smiled with satisfaction, leaning on his cue. "You happy with that?"

I held in a laugh as I looked to him. "Shut up."

He chuckled before bumping me out the way. "Now for the professional."

Bending down to take his shot, he pulled back his cue before hitting the balls. They rolled around on the table and one ball was about to go in, but I quickly grabbed it before he could get the point.

"Y/N!" he shouted between laughter. "That's cheating!"

"Technically we didn't establish rules," I pointed out, before moving backwards as he tried to grab it from my hand. "What do you say to calling it a draw and playing something else?"

"I say that's a childish way to admit you've lost," he responded, before moving forward quickly. I dodged his attempt and he pursed his lips. "Y/N."

"Pietro."

He smirked. "Seriously?"

I grinned.

He tried to grab it again and ended up chasing me around the room as I avoided giving in. Taking the piss out of Y/BF/N enough times had prepared me for moments like this, so I was able to avoid Pietro long enough to run into whoever walked through the door.

"Shit, Wanda, I'm sorry," I said between laughter, steadying both me and her.

She smiled with confusion, about to speak, but Pietro caught up to me and lifted me up, throwing me onto the couch before I could protest.

"No more cheating," he said sternly, as I lifted my head from the pile of cushions on the couch to look up at him.

"You're an arse," I said, pushing myself up off the couch.

"And you're a sore loser!"

We had a mini staring competition before the two of erupted into laughter.

"You're not half bad, Pietro," I complimented as he helped me up.

"Thank you, princess," he said, the flirtatious smile on his lips again.

I shoved him in the shoulder playfully before looking to Wanda, who was chewing on her lip as she looked between Pietro and I with an unreadable expression.

"So, what prompted you to leave Y/N alone for an hour?" Pietro asked, wrapping an arm around my shoulder, making me shove him away. He grinned at me before looking to Wanda.

"Nate called," Wanda responded carefully, arms crossed as she continued to look between us. God, I hoped she didn't think Pietro and I liked each other. That would be embarrassing.

Pietro scoffed from beside me, making Wanda sigh with annoyance.

"Don't start, Piet," she said and gave him a look which he seemed to understand.

By the sounds of it, Pietro didn't seem to like Wanda's dick of a boyfriend either. That was strange since wasn't impressing the brother the first part of being in a relationship with someone? And they were on the same football team, so I figured he'd at least tolerate him.

"Are we alright to get back to studying?" Wanda asked, directing her stare to me. The annoyance she held for Pietro was still present in her eyes and I suddenly felt nervous when she looked my way.

"Yeah, of course," I said, before giving Pietro a half-smile. "Rematch at snooker next time. Sound good?"

"Try to keep the balls on the table and we'll see," he teased, before nodding to Wanda. "You should get back to your project before Wanda kills us both with her deadly glare."

I smiled awkwardly, looking back to Wanda as she was indeed glaring at her brother. Clearly there was some sibling rivalry going on here, and I definitely didn't want to get in the middle of it, so I headed to Wanda, signalling I was ready to leave.

The two of us headed back to the dining room in an uncomfortable silence. I felt like I'd done something wrong and she was giving me the silent treatment which was strange. Then I figured it was probably something with Nate that made her annoyed, so didn't question it too much.

We sat back down and I looked at what we'd done so far to try and pick up where we left off, but then she spoke out of the blue, taking me by surprise.

"Do you like my brother?"

It was so abrupt that I took a moment to acknowledge it, blinking. "What?"

"Pietro," she clarified, saying it with such dismissiveness like it wasn't a big deal. Her attention was on the books before us as she continued, "Do you like him?"

I tried not to laugh as I shook my head. "No, Wanda. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's a great guy. But yeah, no, I don't like him like that."

She chewed her lip, nodding, but I swear I saw a hint of a smile on her lips. I hoped it wasn't the thought of Pietro and I that made her annoyed. I wasn't that bad, was I? I know she cared about her brother and was probably overprotective, but me being his girlfriend couldn't have been that bad, right?

We got back to work in no time, getting a lot done. I didn't realise how late it was getting until Wanda's mum poked her head in, asking if I wanted to stay for dinner.

"Dinner?" I asked, eyebrows raising with surprise. I checked my watch and realised how long I'd been here. "Damn, maybe I should head back."

"Nonsense, you must stay," her mum insisted. "Y/M/N won't mind. A daughter of hers is a daughter of mine."

"You can even sleepover if you want," Wanda offered, and I almost choked on my own spit. "It's getting pretty late."

I shook my head, forcing a small smile so they wouldn't get offended. "Honestly, it's fine. I can head back."

"Please?" Wanda asked with a hopeful expression. "It's the least I can do. I kinda wasted your time for an hour earlier..."

"I should ask my mum," I said, chewing on the inside of my mouth.

"Oh, I'll ring and let her know," Wanda's mum said breezily, before looking to Wanda. "D'you think you can clear your things up? Your brother is gonna set the table."

"Sure, mum." Wanda smiled her way as she left, before looking to me. "I've got clothes and a spare toothbrush you can use tonight."

I smiled awkwardly, nodding. Sleeping over at my crush's house wasn't how I thought I'd be spending my Wednesday evening, yet here we were.

#wanda maximoff au #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #elizabeth olsen #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #marvel #mcu

[nerdythebard]

#39: Bacchus, God of Wine

Eat, drink, and be merry, Gods and Goddesses!

The revelry never stops when Bacchus comes to town. The god of wine, theatre, and madness is the host whose parties you do want to attend. Indulgence, hedonism, and entertainment is the bare minimum that Bacchus's worshippers purse in life. His cult absolves from social constrains and puts responsibilities aside. But be careful, as you can easily lost yourself in the frenzy of indulgence and madness of liberation. You have been warned...

Next Time: He's a maneater... I guess Daryl Hall & John Oates were right.

Let's see what do we bring to the party (please, not another potato salad!):

Hey, Brother! Pour the Wine: The first and foremost of Bacchus's dominions; fermented grape juice. Drinking more gives him additional protections and benefits.

Off the Rails on the Crazy Train: Bacchus's madness and intoxication spill all over the battlefield, slowing and stunning enemies. He also inflicts burping damage. No, I'm not kidding.

King of Belly Flops: One of Bacchus's signature moves is performing a belly flop that deals AoE damage.

---

Bacchus is a god, but he started as a demigod son of Jupiter. He also takes all sorts of people under his wing. Therefore, we're making him an Aasimar (Protector). We get a +2 Charisma and +1 Wisdom, 60 feet of Darkvision, resistance to necrotic and radiant damage, ability to speak Common and Celestial, and the Light cantrip. We additionally get Healing Hands: once per long rest, we can use our action to restore a number of Hit Points equal to our level to one creature we touch. Perfect hangover cure.

As the finest winemaker in all the realms, Bacchus is going to be a Guild Artisan. We gain proficiency in Insight and Persuasion, proficiency with one type of artisan's tools (Brewer's supplies), one language of our choice (I suggest Sylvan or Elvish), and the Guild Membership feature. Whenever we visit a town with our guild's outpost, we can request food and lodging, as well as help when dealing with higher society, as guilds tend to hold a large amount of social and political power. All tongues get loose with the right amount of wine.

ABILITY SCORES

We're starting with Charisma, persuading to drink with us shouldn't be hard and might open many doors. Constitution will be next, it takes some serious fortitude to drink as much as Bacchus. Follow that up with Wisdom; spending the childhood with a satyr teacher probably teaches you how to be wise and street-smart, instead of science and mathematics (that's what the centaurs are for).

Dexterity is next, Bacchus is a chonky fella and yet his belly flops are legendary in force and distance. Strength will be on the lower end, we're a lover, not a fighter. Finally, we're dumping Intelligence, like I said before, our upbringing was less academic and more practical.

CLASS

Level 1 - Bard: As a god of theatre and entertainment, we should start with the entertainment class. Bards get a d8 as their Hit Dice, [8 + Constitution modifier] initial Hit Points, proficiency with light armour, simple weapons, hand crossbows, longswords, rapiers, shortswords, and three musical instruments of our choice. Bacchus doesn't seem to be wearing any armour, but I'm sure a regular leather won't harm him. We can also get a quarterstaff to mimic his holy rod, the Thyrsus. Our saving throws are Dexterity and Charisma, and we get to pick any three skills (Animal Handling, Nature, and Performance).

With Bardic Inspiration, we can boost our allies' chances of success. A rousing performance, a song, or a glass of wine, and our target gains a d6 Inspiration Die; they can use it once within the next 10 minutes on one ability check, saving throw, or attack roll. Our number of IDs equal our Charisma modifier, and we regain all spent IDs after a long rest.

Bards are also full-casters, so they get Spellcasting. Charisma is our casting ability, and we know cantrips and rituals. Bards know a fixed number of spells and start with two cantrips (Friends and Thunderclap) and four 1st-level spells (Charm Person, Cure Wounds, Id Insinuation, and Tasha's Hideous Laughter).

Level 2 - Bard: With Jack of All Trades, we can now apply half of our proficiency bonus (rounded down) to any ability check that uses skills we're not proficient in. We also know Song of Rest; during short rest, when the party is using Hit Dice to recover Hit Points, we can add extra 1d6 healing to their rest. For this level's spell, we're actually going to hold until the next one.

Level 3 - Bard: We get Expertise. We can choose two skills we're proficient with and double our proficiency bonus when performing skill checks. Let's choose Insight and Persuasion.

We also get to pick our subclass, our Bard College. For the seemingly bumbling drunk Bacchus is, we're gonna reach into an old UA called Kits of Old and choose College of Satire. Doing so, gives us proficiency with thieves' tools and in Sleight of Hand and one another skill of our choice (Medicine). We are also a Tumbling Fool; as a bonus action, we can Tumble. When we do so, until the end of our turn:

we gain the benefit of both Dash and Disengage

we gain climbing speed equal to our current speed

we get half damage from falling

For this level's spells, since we've skipped it previously, we can pick two 2nd-level spells we've unlocked: Crown of Madness and Shatter.

At 3rd level, we also get an ability coming from our race: Radiant Soul. Ethereal wings of light sprout from our back and for 1 minute we gain the flying speed of 30 feet and once per our turn we can deal extra radiant damage (equal to our level) to an attack or a spell.

Level 4 - Warlock: I'll tell you why very soon. Multiclassing into Warlock gives us proficiencies we already have, so let's move straight into Pact Magic. This form of spellcasting is unique to Warlocks; basically, we know a fixed number of spells and they are always cast at the highest level we can reach. It does, however, result in a very limited spell pool. Warlocks also start by picking their subclass, choosing their Otherworldly Patron. Since Bacchus was raised by the satyr Silenus, we're going with the Archfey Patron.

Archfey Warlocks get Fey Presence. Once per short or long rest, as an action, we can force a Wisdom saving throw onto all creatures within 10 foot cube from ourselves. On a failed save, the creatures are either charmed or frightened (our choice) until the end of our next turn.

Finally, for this level's spells, we get to pick two cantrips (Magic Stone and Poison Spray) and two 1st-level spells (Sense Emotion and Sleep).

Level 5 - Warlock: We unlock Eldritch Invocations, which are small feats we can customize our Warlock with. Usually it means we can cast spells without burning our precious slots. We start by learning two Invocations:

Armour of Shadows lets us cast Mage Armour at will without spending slots or components.

Green Lord's Gift boosts our healing capabilities. Whenever we regain Hit Points, we take every die's maximum value.

We can get another 1st-level spell, let's pick the Healing Elixir for the refreshing vial of liquid courage.

Level 6 - Warlock: We are granted a Pact Boon, an extension of our contract. We get an option between four boons. Now, Bacchus doesn't really use a weapon, doesn't have a familiar, and isn't all about books and spells. We may however use Pact of the Talisman as this sorta lucky charm. Wearing the Talisman lets us add a 1d4 roll result to a failed ability check, potentially turning it into a success. We can use this feature the number of times equal to our proficiency bonus per long rest.

We also unlock 2nd-level spells here. Since alcohol is known to make people open to suggestions, we're gonna pick the Suggestion spell.

Level 7 - Warlock: We finally get an ASI! Let's put one point into Charisma and one into Dexterity. We also get another cantrip here (Prestidigitation) and another spell (Darkness).

Level 8 - Warlock: We don't necessarily get anything class-wise here, but we do unlock 3rd-level spells. For that, let's make our party guests more eager to indulge with Incite Greed.

We can also pick another Eldritch Invocation: Misty Visions lets us cast the Silent Image spell at will.

Level 9 - Warlock: We get our first Archfey subclass feature: with Misty Escape, we can use our reaction whenever we take damage to turn invisible and teleport up to 60 feet to an unoccupied space. We remain invisible until the start of our next turn or until we attack or cast a spell.

For this level's spell, let's take a look at the Archfey spell list and grow some wine-making ingredients with Plant Growth.

Level 10 - Warlock: Halfway through the build and we unlock 4th-level Warlock slots. From our spell list, we're gonna pick Sickening Radiance. We can also pick another Eldritch Invocation: Sculptor of Flesh lets us cast the Polymorph spell once per long rest using the Warlock spell slot. Useful when we need to turn some pirates into dolphins.

Level 11 - Warlock: Oh, ASI, how did I miss you. Let's put one point into our Dexterity and one into Constitution. For this level's spell, we're gonna take Banishment to show the unwanted guests the door.

Level 12 - Warlock: We unlock 5th and final level of Warlock spells. Let's pick Synaptic Static here, as well as another Eldritch Invocation. Whispers of the Grave lets us cast the Speak with Dead spell at will.

Level 13 - Warlock: We learn another cantrip (Mind Sliver) and we gain another subclass feature. Beguiling Defences give us immunity to being charmed. Additionally, when a creature tries to charm us, we can pull the Uno Reverse card and force a Wisdom saving throw onto it to be charmed for 1 minute instead.

Level 14 - Warlock: We learn bits of heavy-duty magic power with Mystic Arcanum. We can choose to learn one high-level spell from beyond normal capabilities of a Warlock. We can cast these spells once per long rest without expending the spell slot (that we don't normally have). For our 6th-level Arcanum let's get the Mental Prison spell.

Level 15 - Warlock: Once more ASI. Let's put one point into Constitution and one into Charisma. We also get to pick another Eldritch Invocation: Bond of the Talisman lets us teleport to another person wearing our talisman (or them teleporting to us) as long as we're on the same plane of existence. We can use this feature a number of time equal to our proficiency bonus per long rest.

Level 16 - Warlock: We get the next Mystic Arcanum. For our 7th-level magic grenade, we're going to hit our enemies with the mother of all hangovers from Power Word: Pain.

Level 17 - Warlock: We get our final subclass upgrade. Dark Delirium forces one creature within 60 feet of us into an illusory realm. On a failed Wisdom saving throw, the creature is charmed or frightened by us (our choice) for 1 minute or until dealt damage, and cannot see, hear, or sense anyone but themselves and us.

Level 18 - Warlock: For another Mystic Arcanum, we looking at 8th-level spells. What's better for the God of Madness than the Maddening Darkness spell. We also get to pick our final Eldritch Invocation: Witch Sight gives us ultimate vision; no shapeshifter or illusionist can now disguise or conceal themselves before us.

Level 19 - Warlock: Time for our final ASI. Let's finally cap the Charisma to 20 and use our one remaining point for Intelligence.

Level 20 - Warlock: Our capstone is Warlock 17, and we unlock the final magic grenade. For 9th-level Mystic Arcanum, we're gonna pick the True Polymorph spell.

---

Here we sit, enjoying the shade (Hey, Brother! Pour the wine!) Drink the drink that I have made (Hey, Brother! Pour the wine!)

Let's see... First of all, we're a master of illusion, charms, and persuasion. On top of being completely immune to charming - probably the most common effect in the game. Our tricks also give us some mobility and distance, which helps us in survival.

Our AC (with Mage Armour) is 15, we've a +2 bonus to our Initiative, and the average Hit Points of 149.

Unfortunately, the Multiclass results in a lot of resources to manage at once (spell slots, Bardic Inspiration, etc.), and for a big part of the build we were a bit too squishy to be a frontline combatant. We also have the negative modifier to our Intelligence and our abilities are average overall.

---

And that's the vinter of Olympus, Diony-- I mean, Bacchus. Yeah. Our first Roman god. I'll see you in the next one, friends. I need a drink before the... next one...

- Nerdy out.

#smite #smite gods #hirez smite #dnd #dungeons and dragons #character building #d&d 5e #dnd 5e #d&d #d&d build #dnd build #protector aasimar #bard #warlock #archfey #fey #bacchus #dionysos #greek gods #roman mythology

[msmoonfire]

Easy Candlework 101 - All you must know

So you wanna use candles, right?! Keep reading for more juice.❤

Hey guys, today I'm sharing with you the most essential info & rules to achieve effective candlework in your everyday life. I'll try to keep it as concise and simple as possible & hope this post helps you maximize the outcome of your rituals!

Little disclaimer: by *ritual* I mean the sole purpose you're using the candle for. Your commitment and intent IS THE RITUAL. Not necessarily related to a session featuring other magic tools and formal spellwork.

To make sure you're using the best candle for your intent, check each specific correspondence here below. Focus on your goal and consider for how long are you going to use the candle. Practice makes perfect! *PLEASE STAY SAFE WHILE HANDLING CANDLES, FIRES AND MATCHES. BE EXTRA CAREFUL, DON'T LEAVE CANDLES UNATTENDED.*

Thank you loves, xox msmoonfire IG: msmoonfire

1. When to light a candle.

Candles should be used ONLY IN MOMENTS OF NEED, STRUGGLE AND WEAKNESS. Using a candle in moments where it's not necessary is INEFFECTIVE. You can't use them as an "additional" or "supportive" ritual for what is already perfectly fine. Save yourself some money and stop wasting candles for non-honorable purposes. Fire energy is proud and very strong, it doesn't like just to be a useless "accessory" in your space. Do not offend it.

Each time you light a candle, there must be a serious reason why.

2. What candle do I choose?

Size, height, duration, color and scent all depend on your needs.

Maxi votive candles (40h+ duration) - Use if you're stuck in a situation that'll take long weeks or even an entire month to come to an end: you can light it every night for 2-3 hours until you achieve your goals.

Big candles (30h+ duration) - Use if you're stuck in a situation that'll take about 15 days to come to an end: you can light it every night for 2-3 hours until you achieve your goals.

Medium candles (20-26h duration) - Use if you're stuck in a situation that'll take between 1 week and 10 days to come to an end: you can light it every night for 2-3 hours until you achieve your goals.

Mini candles (2-4h duration) - Use if you're invoking the help of fire energy for just a 1-day matter, use tealights and small candles. Let it burn until the flame expires by itself, do not suppress it.

BARE CANDLE: it's the candle alone, you decide what type of candle holder goes underneath. Plates, flat coasters & ashtrays are recommended. Very effective in small sizes. Use if you don't need extra protection and for shortest term rituals (1-2 days). When larger, it can be placed inside a lantern or vase (read VASE C. or LANTERN). Can't be lit in social settings, indoor only. This type of candle supports the presence of other flames.

JAR CANDLE: Jarred candle or jar containing a candle, includes a jar cap. The cap is very useful for suppressing the flame gently; this type is recommended for long term rituals that require you to light up and extinguish the candle every night. Excellent for patience, perseverance, affection and self-help. Can be lit in social settings ALONE, without the interference of other candles.

LANTERN: whatever candle you decide to place inside a lantern. Best effective for welcoming GUIDANCE, spirituality, PEACE, HOPE and INSPIRATION. DON'T USE for anything related to sadness/negativity/confusion, this candle WON'T HELP YOU SOLVE PROBLEMS. Can only be lit in private or familiar settings, both outdoor and indoor. This type of candle supports the presence of other bare flames at a reasonable distance.

VASE CANDLE: candle poured or placed inside a vase holder. Vase candles don't have a cap, they're open on top. Best suitable for pyromancy/flame reading, social relationships, deep spellwork and protection (the taller the vase/the darker the color of the vase, the stronger the protection). By far the most powerful yet sensitive of all, can't be lit in social settings. Indoor only. This type of candle DOES NOT support the presence of other flames.

ROUND/FLOATING CANDLE: has round edges, made to float on water during a relaxing bath or just for atmosphere in a pond. They interact well with water energy, best suitable for emotions, mystery and for any sort of healing ritual. Can be lit in social settings but most effective in private, both indoor and outdoor. This type of candle supports the presence of other "twin" flames.

CLASSIC THIN & TALL CANDLE (candelabra): typical slender candle, excellent for spirituality, enlightment, ambition, special occasions and wealth. Being a tall candle, it strives towards a higher dimention and energy. Can be lit in social settings, indoor only. Supports the presence of other flames. Best effective if colored (non-white).

3. What color should I pick?

White: neutral wishes, positive energy within ourselves, light-hearted thoughts, purity, weather, anything home-related, balance, equality, winter.

Black: deep issues, overcoming fears and disorders, difficult problems of any sort, protection, investigation, inner strength, vision, tension, explicit clarity, negative energy to fight off.

Indigo, Purple: spirituality, beliefs, transformation, rebirth, higher knowledge, research, prayers, emotional connection, meditation, strong neutral energy that needs to be channeled upwards.

Blue: motivation, logic, control, consistency, physical movement, gaps and lacks of any sort, donations, masculine energy, males, assertiveness, addiction, prizes, charts, competitiveness, law.

Lilac, light blue, turquoise, periwinkle etc.: freedom, exploration, travel, serenity, peace of mind, good will, big steps, dreams, mood improvement, healing, positive energy that needs to expand, summer.

Light/Dark grey: must use this color only in case you run out of candles or have a minor neutral doubt. It's the weakest, most vulnerable color of all. Its absolute neutrality can be affected by negativity.

Yellows: your own relationship with nature outdoor, vitality, the arts, music, musical instruments, games, service, help, encouragement, small steps, new life, newborns, babies, spring.

Oranges: boldness, personality, social relationships, respect, parties, breaking control, breaking the rules, breaking patterns, decision making, negative energy from other people that needs to be sent back to the source, breakups.

Browns: formalities, work environment, stability, assets, tasks, stasis, milestones, practicalities, buildings, construction, neutral energy that has to stay fixed and stored inside your own body and possessions, long term memory, autumn.

Greens: environment, plants, progress, accountability, sustainability, food, sports, animals, crafts, strong neutral energy that is essential for our survival, common sense, empathy, inspiration.

Pinks (antique, candy, dust...): Love, collaboration, confessions, talks/chats, sex, behavioral changes, patience, understanding, menstrual cycle, labor, delivery, reception, friendships, courage, gossip, feminine energy, females, intuition.

Reds: passions (hobbies, competitions, dreams, jobs), determination, fury, anger, negative energy that needs to be balanced out, high pressure, stress, beauty, glamour, taboos, speed, war, drama, devastation, destruction, short term memory.

Fuchsia: anything moral, ethic thoughts, human rights, philosophy, heightened sensitivity/intuition, humanitarian propaganda, originality, demonstrations, collectivity, unity, deep conversations, study, culture, open mind.

Gold: = Yellow + all things money-related and sunshine.

Silver: loneliness, cozy environment, cold temper, sacred space, the outer space, modernity, modern style, metals, fish, any measure of time, time, clocks, watches, anything cold/frozen/precious/eternal.

Bronze: similar to brown + the past, hearth, wood, the 4 seasons, strength, warm environment, anything cooked/boiling hot/old/seasoned, spices, resistance, hospitality, endurance, restoration, recycling, maintenance.

#candles #candle #fire #fire energy #candle work #spellwork #love spell #spells #protection spell #bos #book of shadows #ritual #rituals #pagan witch #pagan #witch #paganism #wicca #witchblr #witches #magick #magic #witchythings #witchery #witchcraft #cottage witch #fire spell #energy work #witches of tumblr #witches of instagram

[chrisevansluv]

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

If someone doesn't want to check the link, the anon sent the full interview!

#chris evans #cevans #Details Magazine #2012 #interview

[indelibleevidence]

Waaa, I need to vent and my housemate is already in bed, so Tumblr, you're up. Tl;dr: first world problems for a disabled person with family issues and no offline social life.

***

I've spent the past week either cancelling fun things, or waiting up during the day (I'm nocturnal) for things that end up not happening, and so I end up losing out on sleep, and now my entire brain feels like soup.

A friend was supposed to be visiting for my birthday, but we decided to be sensible because of the new COVID variant, and not knowing how vaccine resistant it is (my friend has elderly parents, so...)

Then I was supposed to Zoom with that friend and another old friend, and meet other friend's new baby, but Tumblr decided not to show her the message trying to organise it until it was too late, so that ended up not happening (Anna, if you see this, I don't blame you even a tiny bit, these things happen).

Then my sister (who I haven't seen for 5 years, despite her living 1 hour away from me) and brother (2 years, because pandemic and general life business), decide that they want to travel through before Christmas to come and see me, just as Omicron hits, and even though the government hasn't imposed any restrictions on in-country travel yet, I don't feel like it's a good idea to go sit in a pub with a bunch of mouthbreathing strangers who aren't wearing masks because they're eating. And I have neither the energy nor the skill to cook a decent meal for 5 people, because when they were handing out dinner party skills, I was over in the line for a double helping of social conscience because it came with a free chocolate milkshake. So I tell my practically estranged family members to wait until we know a bit more about Omicron, which I'm sure is going to be sooooo helpful for our sibling bonds.

So far, so crappy. But hey, at least I get to have my COVID booster, right? Nope, because the taxi doesn't show up, because the fare was cheap (short distance) so none of the taxi drivers wanted to take it, so I have to just not go, and the NHS has me down as a non-attendance, which puts strain on an already overburdened and underfunded health system. Thanks, taxi driver! It's not like I'm disabled or anything, and taxis are the easiest way to get to places (in theory) without putting extra strain on my body - oh, WAIT... So no COVID booster. But at least that strain on my body thing won't be happening, because I haven't left the house...but wait! Apparently stress while waiting for a no-show taxi, plus getting ready to go out, is just as bad for my body as actually going out. So I get all of the disability flare-up, and none of the booster. Yay.

And then today I was supposed to have my gas and electric meters upgraded to smart meters, only I thought it was just the gas, and if they'd mentioned that they were doing the electric too, I could have told them they couldn't do it, because about 4 years ago a different supplier told me they couldn't, and that I'd have to call the electricity supplier because of some wiring issue that they couldn't fix on their own, because potential asbestos. And then I didn't, because this is a rental property, and I didn't particularly care about getting a smart meter while the one we had worked fine. But I could have TOLD them not to bother. So that led to me waiting up three hours past my usual bedtime, with nothing actually being done, because they need to sort out the electric meter because otherwise a new gas meter won't work.

And this has been the week my body decided it needed a period, and also it's less than two weeks until Christmas, and Christmas is the most depressing holiday of the year, and I haven't done any shopping, and I will be alone over Christmas AGAIN.

Okay, I'm done. Like I said, all first-world problems, but now I'm exhausted and I do not want. *sulk*

#personal #waa waa waa