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phoward89 · 24 days

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Jealous!Coryo x Reader, Odair!Ancestor x Reader.

Series Masterlist

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. That man is a walking blood red flag waving heavily in the wind! engagement (not reader), smut, infidelity, love triangle, manipulation, stalking?, gaslighting, fluff, Head Gamemaker!Coryo, District 4 Cruise Ship Heir!Odair OC. Dark!Coriolanus, Jealous!Coriolanus, Dom!Coriolanus

Chapter 4:

You just resumed chopping up the vegetables for the quick stir fry you were going to make for dinner whenever a knock sounded at your door. Oh, so Coriolanus came back for his forgotten jacket. That's good. So, without giving it much thought, you put down your knife and left the kitchen- to go into the main room and answer the door.

But when you opened the door, it wasn't your platinum blonde ex that greeted you, but your current bronze haired boyfriend. Odysseus.

“I brought you some dinner from North Italia.” He smiled, holding up a couple of cardboard boxes with the restaurant’s label on them. “It's squid ink tonnarelli and tiramisu.” Odysseus informed you with a bright smile, making his way to your kitchen. “I think you'll like it; it's what I always get when I go there.”

“I usually get the chicken parm and some cannolis, but I'm sure what you got me will be good.” You half lied. Oh, you were honest about what you always ordered from North Italia (a place that you and Coryo seemed to both order out from and attend his business dinners at), but not about how you felt about what Odysseus got you. Just the thought of eating something made of squid ink made you cringe.

Like, really? Squid ink? Food made with squid ink… You know that Odysseus is really into his District 4 roots, but isn't squid ink food a bit much.

“Hmmm…” Your boyfriend skeptically hummed.

“I was chopping up some veggies to make a stir fry with, but I guess I'll just put them up in the fridge for another day.” You told your boyfriend, following right behind him.

Upon entering the kitchen, Odysseus stopped dead in his tracks. The takeout containers fell out of his hands, due to his shock at seeing a red suit jacket and a large bouquet of red roses on your kitchen island.

Your eyes went wide as you remembered the roses and Coriolanus’ forgotten jacket that are on your kitchen island. Oh no…Odysseus saw them.

“Odysseus?” You tentatively asked, coming up next to him and placing a hand softly on his arm.

He could react one of two ways…

Either lash out on you or cry, but both would come with an accusation.

Pushing your hand off of his arm, Odysseus turned to you only to incredulously exclaim, “We've been together for over a week and you're already cheating on me!” Shaking his head, causing his bronze waves to rustle around his shoulders, he rhetorically asked, “What the hell's wrong with you, honey? I thought you were a nice girl.”

“I am a nice girl, Odysseus.” You told your boyfriend, only to quickly deny the cheating (that you finished doing not that long ago) with, “I didn't cheat. An old friend from my Academy days came over. He's a gentleman; has a thing for bringing roses, and forgot his jacket when he left.”

“You expect me to believe that, Y/N?” Odysseus bitterly scoffed. “Please, don't lie to me. We both know that you're not an Academy graduate, honey.”

That took you aback. Why would he assume that you weren't an Academy graduate?

“But-” You began, only for your boyfriend to cut you off with, “We both know what kind of people attend the Academy, Y/N. Hell, I attended it because it's for rich people, and sadly, honey, you're not rich.”

You felt a heavy, sad feeling welling up in your chest, but you pushed it down. You didn't want your new boyfriend to see you get upset from his words. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Plus you only felt comfortable enough with one man to let yourself show emotions around them. Or at least you did, before everything went down the previous month…

Trying and failing not to let your boyfriend's words get under your skin, you retorted with, “I know I'm not rich, Odysseus. I never said I was, but I was raised around rich kids despite growing up not having a pot to piss in.”

“Look, you don't need to impress me by trying to fluff up your background with Academy cred. I’m not into the social hierarchy of the Capitol, unlike my father.” Odysseus told you, clicking his tongue in a slight reprimanding manner. Crossing his arms over his firm chest, he revealed, “I like you, honey, but the fact that I can't trust you now cause of-” Waving his hand towards the red jacket and roses on the island. Refolding his arm over his chest, your boyfriend sighed, “I think we need to take a break for a few days, so I can clear my head and see how I feel about us.”

Of course, he wanted to take a break. You don't blame him one bit for that. If the roles were reversed, you'd probably want a break too.

“I think that maybe you should take a few personal self-help mental health days. Uh, 3 of them should be good.”

“What? Odysseus-”, You began, feeling that 3 personal self-help mental health days was uncalled for just because the two of you got into a fight and decided to take a small break, but Odysseus cut you off dramatically with, “I suspect you of cheating and you need to think about what you did. Plus, honey, we don't need tension in the company, you do work in the marketing department of the Odair Luxury Cruises.”

“You can't expect me to stay home because we're having a misunderstanding, Odysseus. Hell, we don't even work on the same floor.”

“I don't need any company drama, Y/N, and we're not having a misunderstanding. I caught you cheating, honey, and now I have to decide if I want to give you another chance or not; I don't need to be seeing you around my Pop's company while trying to figure out what to do with you.” Odysseus told you before exiting your apartment; leaving you alone in your kitchen entrance to stew in your thoughts.

You’re alone in the elevator, holding the large bouquet of red roses in your hand; red jacket draped over the crook of your arm, furiously rubbing away the tears that are trickling down your cheeks. Your eyes were starting to blur as you saw the floor numbers begin to reach double digits.

You had to quickly dry your eyes. You couldn't let that platinum haired ex of yours see you crying.

No.

You just wanted to give him back his jacket and roses; thank him for fucking up your new relationship too.

Suddenly, the elevator reached its destination and came to a stop. The doors opened with a loud ding, causing you to step out and into the foyer. You didn't even bother to take in the foyer’s modern decor, just made a beeline towards the penthouse door. The sooner you give Coriolanus his stuff back, the sooner you can go back to your apartment and wallow in your misery. Think of something to say when you call up your boss in the morning to take a few impromptu self-help healing days.

Coming to a stop in front of the ornate door, you scrubbed your eyes dry for a final time and let out a sigh. Balling your hand into a fist, you knocked- quickly to signal that you didn't want to wait in the foyer too long.

It felt like hours as you waited for Coriolanus to answer the door, but in reality it was only minutes.

And when you saw him leaning in the doorway, eyes taking in your upset form, you didn't hesitate to throw his forgotten jacket and roses at him while shouting at him to take his stuff back and to stay the fuck out of your life.

When Coriolanus heard the knock on his door, he was on his sofa watching the P-PANEM (Political-PANEM) channel on TV to see how he was doing since announcing his Senate run. And, sadly, he was ranked at the bottom, which pisses him off. So, your knock was actually a nice distraction from the bullshit he was listening to about himself.

And he knew it was you too. How did he know? Eh, call it lover's intuition.

It only took Coriolanus a few minutes to reach his front door and answer it.

But when he saw your red puffy eyes paired with the roses and his red jacket in your clutches, he knew that his plan worked. He just wasn't expecting it to be so soon. Wow, seems like Odair just had to see you tonight. He was expecting the big cheating breakup fight to happen in the morning or tomorrow night. But it happening so soon worked in his favor.

“Take your roses and jacket back.” You told the tall, sinewy man in front of you while throwing the stuff at him. The jacket and roses flew over his shoulder, landing on the marble floor with a loud thud. “And stay out of my fucking life, you damn bastard.”

Coriolanus figured you'd be upset about a breakup with Odysseus l, but he wasn't expecting you to order him to stay out of your life. Okay, now he wants to know what Odair said to you. What happened to make you start calling him a bastard with a hateful tone of voice.

“Baby, what happened?” The platinum blonde asked, placing his hands on your shoulders in a show of concern and sympathy.

“My boyfriend, Odysseus, came over to bring me some squid ink tonnarelli and tiramisu from his dinner meeting at North Italia, but he saw your jacket and the roses you left in my kitchen and now my life's ruined.”

“God, I hope you didn't eat the squid ink shit? That sounds like a case of botulism just ready to happen.” Coriolanus dryly jokes. On a serious note, he did think that the food sounded disgusting- but to each their own.

But hearing you say that your life's ruined did concern him. A simple breakup doesn't ruin somebody's life. So, he was getting the feeling that more than a breakup occurred.

“How is your life ruined now, Y/N?” The blonde asked, needing to know how bad he needed to punish Odysseus for making you cry; ‘ruining your life’.

“Odysseus wants to take a break for a few days and told me that since I work in the marketing department for his father's company that I have to- well he ordered me to- take a few days off for personal self-help mental health days; that Odair Luxury Cruises doesn't need any issues due to me cheating on him.”

“What? He told you that?” Coriolanus asked, not believing the bullshit manwhore Odair was pulling on you. You two didn't even work on the same department, with you being in marketing and him on the top floor playing VP.

“Yes, he did.” You confirmed with a nod.

You're a hard worker and great at your job. Coriolanus was awed that Odysseus was putting your career in jeopardy over his bruised ego. Fuck, even Coriolanus wouldn't do that. In fact, he'd do the opposite. He'd be up your ass at work, trying to work things out.

Then, the aspiring politician had a wonderful idea. Yes, yes, it was perfect. He'd surely win you back with his sudden spur of the moment idea.

“Come in, we need to talk.” Coriolanus told you, grabbing your hand in his and leading you inside of his lavish and modernly designed penthouse.

“There's nothing for us to talk about, Coriolanus.” You objected, trying to pull your hand out of Coriolanus'.

Your ex just tightened his hold on your hand while closing the door behind you. “Yes, baby, we have something very important to talk about.” You just rolled your eyes at him, prompting him to say, “You're fearful about your job, so let's talk about a new career opportunity that’ll make you 92 thousand a year.”

“And what would that be, your personal mistress?” You sarcastically scoffed.

“No.” Coriolanus shook his head, leading you around the items you threw on his floor (the maid’ll get it in the morning). “You'd be my campaign manager; my public affairs advisor.”

“What?” You asked, feeling as if the air was knocked out of you, while entering the large living room with Coriolanus.

“Well, you'd be working with me at the Citadel as my assistant, but I'd have you running my Senate campaign and PR.” He told explained, leading you over to the large white leather sofa.

“Part of your PR would be me promoting your engagement and wedding to Livia, Coriolanus. I don't know if I can do that.” You honestly told him while sitting down on the sofa.

Coriolanus sat down next to you, only to cup your chin and say in a manipulative and soft baritone, “It's a money match. And arranged between Strabo Plinth and The Cardews, nothing more. You can do PR on it because, my darling rose, I hate Livia and she hates me right back.” Tenderly stroking your jaw, he went on to assure you, “I have no feelings for her, whatsoever. But it's you that I feel rather fond of.”

Hmm…so he feels rather fond of you. Nice to know that you're on the same level as an old stuffed animal or a memory. Things that people are fond of are usually things that get forgotten or tossed to the side.

Of course, you're easily expendable. You're something that's perfect to be fond of.

You loved (you still love him, but refuse to admit it since you're moving on from him) Coriolanus, but he's just fond of you. Just your shitty luck, huh?

But, despite how you feel, the yearly salary that Coriolanus promised you was more than enough to rent your apartment and to give you a life that your mother and brother always dreamed of for you. A life where you're able to be successful. And perhaps you'll be able to find love again while attending various social events that are only exclusive to high Capitolite society.

“Fine, I'll do it. I'll take you up on your job offer.” You told him, hoping that you wouldn't regret saying yes.

“Wonderful, darling.” Coriolanus smiled widely, pearly whites on full display. He thought that he'd gotten you right where he wanted you, but he has no idea that you're just using the new career move to secure a future in Panem.

A future without him. One where you can rely on yourself and show everyone that you're perfectly capable of being successful in the dog eat dog world of Capitol City, Panem.

Plus, there won't be any work drama at the Odair company if/when you and Odysseus decide to work things out and get back together.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @tian-monique @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @dcylight-fciry

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blanketorghost · 7 months

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A taste of Something New (Pt. 1)

"When I'm not with you, I think of you always..."

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Yuu vignette!! I did promise some Yuu pining pre-Azul catching feelings so <3

Fic under the cut!

Summary: Against his better judgement, Yuu wants to bring Azul a meaningful souvenir from the scalding sands.

• Pairing: Yuu Fujisaki x Azul Ashengrotto (one-sided), Azul Ashengrotto x Jamil Viper (implied, one-sided)

• Timeline: During/Post Al'ab Narya and Ch. 4. Pre Ch. 5

• Notes: Azul may be OOC? Have never been good at writing him convincingly imho

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A simple, recycled cardboard cover. Lined ivory paper with the faintest smell of persimmon. That's what Yuu first saw when he got the idea. The item in itself... wasn't something that really caught much attention when placed besides its other, flashier patterned hard-cover companions. But it was what he could afford on his meager budget. Either way, what mattered was the content.

For the writing materials, though... pencil would be best in theory. But wouldn't that be a bit tacky? Careless, even? Pencil meant insecurity of oneself... leniency. It meant you didn't trust yourself not to make any mistakes. At least, Yuu thought, that's what Azul would assume, right? He was all about appearances. Maybe ink would be a better option.

What if he messed up writing, though?

Yuu picks up another notebook from the stall and ponders. He could always write two just to be safe.

With a heavy sigh, Yuu pays for the stationery alongside some trinkets Grim had gotten enthralled by, checking the price on each one.

Still on budget. Nice.

The idea of gifting Azul a recipe book had come to him on a whim, something he only realized when Jamil was guiding them through Camel market. Seeing all the foreign fruit, smelling such different scents than he was used to... Surely, this could benefit Azul's research for Mostro Lounge. At first, he had thought of just buying the book ready-made, full of expert recipes and images for reference. But wouldn't that be just... too easy? If Azul wanted a Scalding Sands recipe book, he could just order it online. If anything, Yuu could even accidentally gift him a double of one of the many, many books he had on his personal library. So why not make a unique one instead?

It would definitely be a challenge to write in such short notice, though.

To be entirely honest, Yuu wasn't exactly a foodie. His cooking was meant to be easy and cheap as to not go over the meager allowance Crowley gave him each month, and he barely had any time to indulge on cooking anything else than what was essential for him and Grim to survive. He didn't even know where to start. Compared to people like Trey or Jamil, he was already at a disadvantage. And his own skewed sense of self and ego didn't allow him to ask for any help in the matter, so he was stuck at square one.

All of these thoughts and others flooded Yuu's brain as he chewed on the veggie shawarma he'd been offered for lunch. In fact, if it weren't for the sudden disappearance of one of the orders, he would've kept on chewing at it while looking absentmindedly at the crowds passing by.

"Grim... what did I tell you about stealing food?"

"Fgnah! Don't look at me that way!! I didn't take anything! Why take ONE wrap when I could swipe a whole spit of meat from the stall? I'd get way more food!"

"Please don't do that. Ever." Jamil chimes in. And for once, Yuu has to agree with anything he says.

As the group recounts their orders, Yuu looks down at Grim, who's spared little talk after being wrongfully accused of shawarma theft. The little guy was glaring at the ground and had his arms crossed, tapping his foot on the sandy floor as he awaited an apology.

"... wanna try mine?" Yuu crowches down to his friend's level and offers his own wrap to Grim, who side-eyes it momentarily before whipping his head away.

"You ain't gonna eat it?"

"I'm not hungry." Yuu dangles the shawarma in an attempt to make it look enticing, some veggies falling to the ground.

Grim eyes the wrap suspiciously before quickly swiping it from Yuu's hands with starry eyes, basically devouring it as soon as he gets it. Taking big bites and making a little mess on his hands with the sticky sauce. "Mmmh! The vegetables are so fresh and crunchy! The onions and bell peppers are perfectly sautéed and the cumin really makes the cauliflower taste even better! Mnh..." Grim takes another bite of the shawarma, completely delighted. "The lime's also super refreshing. And the chickpeas are crunchy on the outside and butteyr on the inside! It's a perfect balance!"

"Hm. You can really taste all that?" Yuu asks, a little amused at his friend's detailed explanation.

"An'... *munch* this is *munch* just the basics!" Grim exclaims proudly in-between bites. "I could totally tell you every ingredient in this!"

"Do you, now?" Yuu hums. It may be a long shot, but maybe Grim's big appetite could finally be useful. He may not get ratios right, but that would be a good start. "... Hey, Grim? I've got a proposal for you."

#twisted wonderland #yuu fujisaki #azul ashengrotto #twst grim #fanfic stuff #azuyuu #azul x yuu #yuu is actually my pathetic little meaow meow #does azul even deserve him tbh

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drchenquill · 9 days

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Nine sentences, Nine people~

Thank you @orphanheirs for tagging me in this!!! So, here we have 9 (I think?) sentences from "who's to judge?" between my angry italian man, Valerio, and the main character, Thana:

He pressed it into the fullblood’s hand, who thanked him. Then he waved him away and said, “You can go.” He obeyed the command immediately; we were now alone.

He opened the book and started flipping through it haphazardly, which irritated me a little. “What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for the phrase.”

“Verse.”

“Whatever.”

The more time I spent with this man, the more I hoped to be electrocuted so violently by my collar that I was allowed to lie in a coma for a month.

Tagging, without any pressure: @frostedlemonwriter, @jpalcotte, @leahnardo-da-veggie, @americanfemcel, @bml1997, @bargainbincheese, @oliolioxenfreewrites, @sleepywriter00, @ink-enchanted and whoever wants to, everybody is welcome~

#tag game #writing tag game #tag games #writeblr #writing #writers #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity

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moonfurthetemmie · 2 years

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Final Girl Finch ending

fuuuuck yeeaaaaah

favorite ending for the name alone

but also Hacker actually gets saved and good things happen

This ending relies on a chance encounter between Finch and Randy at idk walmart or whatever and Finch recognizing Randy

it’s like that spiderman pointing meme but randy’s sweating nervously and Finch is Approaching

he’s like “Hey you’re That Guy that helped Hacker escape right?” and Randy goes “…nnnnnno…” y'know like a liar. this results in Randy getting interrogated in the middle of target or wherever. And i mean the funny version of interrogate that’s ‘Insistently Asking Questions And Not Letting The Person Go’ and not Ink’s version of interrogation

Randy ends up telling him everything and then he’s gotta fuckin go or bobby’s probably going to come looking for him and he doesn’t want Finch to end up like Hacker because of him too, but Finch goes ‘whoa hold tf gimme your phone i’m giving you my number text me when you get home’

Randy does and then Finch is just like ‘ok cool. i’ve got an idea’ and then just doesn’t text again for ages

Until one day Randy gets a text from him that’s like ‘when are you going to be out next’ and they meet up and Finch reveals many many months worth of research into Demony Shit and he goes ‘we’re getting you and Hacker out of there’

and then it happens

there’s like a boss battle but through the power of being Just Some Fuckin Guy in a Horror Movie (world) he’s become The Protagonist and has the power of impulsiveness, dumbassery, and modern day technology on his side

Randy brings Hacker out of his room and without Bobby there the runes they have aren’t working super well so Hacker’s very Confused and not entirely with it, but slowly he comes back and he recognizes Finch and they have a very heartfelt reunion that involves lots of hacker crying and apologizing for never texting him back like he said he would and Finch is just like “hacker you got kidnapped and turned into a demon why are you apologizing for that of all things”

Hacker’s going to have some issues for a while but he gets better! The physical changes he’s stuck with but his mental state recovers and soon he’s almost like how he was before.

He can’t eat normal food for a while, but they slowly work on it. They start with meats and work their way towards fruits and veggies and then eventually candy and junk food. Hacker is very excited to upgrade to junk food

While Hacker’s starting to recover, Finch finds out about Ink’s little experiments on some of her coworkers

He tells Dream immediately and Dream’s just like ‘Oh. Hm. I see. I’ll talk to her about it. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.’

It’s impossible to tell how upset Dream is about this but 'talk to her about it’ isn’t what Finch was hoping for. And a week or so later Ink’s still. working there. He knows Dream did have some kind of chat with her though because she’s glaring daggers at him.

he brings it up to Dream again and Dream has no intentions of firing or arresting her. Finch is now very very suspicious and does some digging

And he finds out that Dream’s been sending Ink to 'take care of’ anyone and everyone who disagrees with JR’s policies. Whether they be violently protesting or just speaking out. He also finds out just how horrific Ink’s interrogation methods are and about all of the brainwashing and shit

He gathers up a bunch of it and exposes Dream (and also Ink, and possibly several other officials) to the media and there’s enough evidence that he can’t reasonably deny it

he’s really confused though why’s Finch doing this? This is for the Greater Good

he is quickly arrested, along with Ink, and they’re both put in the max security cells

fun fact, the magic nullifying barriers that the cells are strong enough to stop Dream’s aura from burning him because of his own negative emotions, so he is not going to slowly go mad from searing pain that he can’t seem to stop. i do have some mercy

fun fact #2 for this exact reason dream has one of these barriers installed in his apartment so he can Emotions freely

When Finch accused Dream and Ink of Heinous Crimes, Ink’s apartment was searched (with an actually reasonable warrant) and they found all of Ink’s lovely paintings of people murdered in horrible, gruesome ways that matched several murders that went 'unsolved’, most of which had been people who’d spoken out against JR in some way

the paintings are returned because they’re technically personal property and also no one wants to keep them. the talent of the artist is undeniable but jesus christ those are fucked up

Finch ends up taking over JR and vows to make sure it serves actual justice, and not Dream’s twisted version of it. He came here to do Good Things and by god is he going to make that happen. hacker and randy come with him btw

The Meme Squad also gets arrested and THIS TIME they’re put in the Max Security Cells

i say 'cells’. They attempted to separate them but it made them freak the fuck out and finch decided that they could share a cell. it’s not like they were going to kill each other, or get out together. they calm down. They’re still unhappy that they’re in there at all but at least they’re not going to be separated.

did i mention they have a lot of separation anxiety

bonus points if they pass Dream and Ink’s cells and they just look in like ??????? and Dream looks just as confused as they do about it and Ink just glares

so yeah that happened.

and then blue shows up! You know how he’s really possessive of Dream? yeah he’s not super happy about what finch did.

fortunately finch is used to fighting for his life and after fighting bobby he is not afraid of who he perceives to be Some Guy. also he knows demons exist and blue seemed to just fucking Appear so he threw a crucifix at him and orange screeched and fuckin vanished, leaving a very confused blue boy with a vaguely cross shaped mark on his face and possibly also a bloody nose

Blue gets arrested for Attempted Murder and only attempted murder because currently they have no idea about his kidnappings and actual murders and he’s not about to tell anyone. This does however mean he gets to go to the Normal Cells and there are People There and he gets to talk to people and that helps him a lot.

he also gets some real therapy for his abuse survivor trauma and other issues he has from being alone for so long

He’s probably the first one of the main 6 who get better enough to leave

he gets so much better i’m so proud of him

Randy and Hacker end up staying in JR too

hacker and finch are very soft,,,,,,

Finch ends up making a little unit to deal with Supernatural Shit and Randy’s in charge of it. Most people thought he was crazy until Hacker came in and was like 'hi. can confirm demons exist. also ghosts. there’s one in here already and finch told me they’ve been writing on the walls didn’t you guys notice that at least’

the protests die down. finch is not crazy. The unit checks out any reports of supernatural activity. Most of them aren’t actually ghosts or anything which is Good but some of them are actually and that’s not so great. Some of the ones that are are just very lonely and sad ghosts though so they bring them to JR so they can be friends with Ani while they see if there’s anything they can do about helping them pass on or whatever. they also want ani to have a friend and ani is VERY UPSET that they think they need friends >:/

not really but shhh

oh yeah speaking of Ani- after dealing with Bobby, Finch wasn’t super scared of Ani anymore, and they got bored of trying to kill him. they just fuck with him now. stealing pens. writing mean things on the wall. hiding his keyboard. that sort of stuff. they’re very petty. Hacker can also see them and he thinks this is really funny

mmm lemme see what else

oh yeah Finch makes it a policy to give everyone in the Max Security Cells a Thing or two for Entertainment. Nothing that can be used as a weapon ofc but just Something. They’ll ask the inmates what they want but if they can’t decide or say they don’t want anything they get a standard deck of cards. It’s really not fair to leave them in there with nothing to do but think and idk do yoga or whatever.

Cards are the default because there’s a lot of different games you can play with them.

Dream got one because he didn’t respond when asked if he wanted to have anything brought in for entertainment.

Ink got a notepad and pen to draw with (And also she demanded Terry be brought in so she could take care of him and no one really wanted to go into her apartment and do it so they allowed it).

The Meme Squad got one thing each and they all decided to get cards so they can try to build the biggest most epic card tower they could. also the longest god damn go fish games ever

kevin was not allowed to be brought into the cell because he requires a bit more room then a little cell. also dream apparently knew kevin from the village and nightmare confirmed that there’s only been one Kevin and not multiple chickens named Kevin, so Finch really doesn’t want to know why kevin’s still alive. he has someone else go take care of Kevin.

Everyone’s getting therapy so if Nightmare does well with it Kevin will probably be brought to JR and given a nice pen and Nightmare can go out there and take care of his baby. the person who’d been taking care of kevin is relieved

Finch also goes to talk to Dream sometimes, after he realized just how deeply fricked Dream’s mind was. it’s not his fault the villagers were insane and let a kid grow up thinking he was an angel who could fix everything wrong with the world

dream’s going to be there the longest. it will probably take many many many years for him to get better. but he has that time

there’s a thought that blue keeps getting possessed by random ghosts that want to kill Finch so he keeps breaking which would be really funny but it wouldn’t actually do anything

I think that’s it?

hacker and finch are so soft tho

Can you tell that this ending is the most thought out

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fiftytwotwentythree · 1 year

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Wellness Wednesday:

It's Gonna Be May

Dude, I love May.

I am excited for yard games, cookouts, movies, golfing, campfires, traveling with no fear of icy roads or freezing temps.

The first week of May I am diving in hard. Got a Fresh Haircut, Taking PTO, catching a Matinee Flick with My Buddies, Getting a Massage, Free Comic Book Day on Saturday, and I am planning on having a good time with my family.

I don't know why but things just seem easier in May. Probably my favorite month/time year - right up there with September. Hoping to lose some tension and just relax.

Workout-wise - I started working out to music and it been a total gamechanger. Yeah - this is nothing new or unheard of - but I been typically watching/listening to show or the news while working out.

My workouts were averaging around 55mins each session.

Now with music on in the background I am knocking out workout sessions in about 23 mins... and I am still getting the same amount of sweat if not more.

Only difficulty I have experienced with the new workout routine is what album to put on. Looking for album that is solid throughout.

Listened to couple Foo Fighters, Weezer, Blink 182, The Darkness, and Childish Gambino albums, and one Movie Soundtrack.

Food-wise, I am working on cleaning out my cupboards, fridge, and freezer before buying anymore food/meals outside fresh fruit, fresh veggies, milk, and bread.

Earlier I bought a lot of groceries for meal prepping and never prepped them. So, that is my mini goal to tackle but I not going to be pigheaded or stubborn about it - going to be loosey-goosey with my meals.

18th CHECK-IN:

Current Goals:

Lose 52 lbs

Completed as of 4/12/2023

New Goal: Maintain or Continue on The Weight Loss Path

Avoid "Junk Food"

Minimize Take-Out / Fast Food Consumption

Short Term:

Vegetarian-ish Diet: Completed

End Date: 4/09/2023 - 46 Days Total

Stats from April:

Food:

Salads: 17

Bags of Popcorn: 17

Leftover Meals: 16

Cans of Soup: 4

Oranges: 0

Take Out: 0

Candy/Sweets: 0

Workout:

Jumping Jacks: 6,000

Push-Ups: 3,000

Glute Bridges: 3,000

Assisted Push-Ups: 3,000

Reverse Leg Lifts: 1,500

Leg Kickbacks: 1,500

Squats: 0

Sit-Ups: 0

Plank (mins): 0

Weight Loss:

Weightloss This Month: -9 lbs

Average Weightloss per Week: -2.25 lbs

Total Weightloss: -57.2 lbs

Entertainment:

Movies Watched: 12

Favorite from the Month:

Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves

Hours of Television Watched: ~5 hours ( Ink Master )

Books:

Books Completed This Month: 0

Book Title(s) Completed This Month: -n/a-

Book Total for the Year: 2

Meal Tracker:

THURSDAY

Lunch:

(2) Johnsonville Beddar with Cheddar Smoked Sausages on Toasted Hotdog Buns

- Ketchup

(3) Scoops of Potato Salad

Snack:

Handful of Wonderful's Salt & Vinegar Pistachios

Bag of Orville Redenbacher Ultimate Butter Popcorn

Supper:

Panera Bread Microwavable Potato Soup

- 8 Crackers

Chef Salad

(3) Scoops of Potato Salad

(1) Glass of Chocolate Milk

FRIDAY

Lunch:

(2) Hot Roast Beef and Melted American White Cheese on Toast Sandies

Snack:

Handful of Wonderful's Smokey BBQ Pistachios

(2) Bowls of Valley Top Popcorn

Individual Bag of Wonderful's Salt & Pepper Pistachios

Supper:

Birds Eye Veggie Teriyaki Stir Fry served over

- Annie Chun's Sticky White Rice

- Planters Peanuts

(1) Glass of Chocolate Milk

SATURDAY

Lunch:

Big Sur Microwavable Breakfast Burrito

Snack:

(3) Handfuls of Nice's Salt & Pepper Cashews

(1) Handful of Good & Gather's Tex Mex Trail Mix

(2) Bowls of Valley Top Popcorn

Supper:

(10) Pieces of Tyson's Crispy Chicken Strips

- BBQ Sauce

- Parmesan Garlic Sauce

- Polynesian Sauce

- Ranch

- Spicy Garlic Sauce

(1) Glass of Chocolate Milk

SUNDAY

Lunch:

(2) Johnsoville Beddar with Cheddar Smoked Sausages on Toasted Hotdog Buns

- Ketchup

(1) Glass of Chocolate Milk

Snack:

Handful of Wonderful's Smokey BBQ Pistachios

Handful of Good & Gather Tex Mex Trail Mix

Bowl of Valley Top Popcorn

Supper:

Southwest Salad

(1) Glass of Chocolate Milk

MONDAY

Lunch:

Chef Salad

(1) Hardboiled Egg

Bowl of Valley Top Popcorn

Snack:

Handful of Good & Gather's Tex Mex Trail Mix

Handful of Wonderful's Salt & Vinegar Pistachios

(1) Hardboiled Egg

Supper:

Bowl of Cesaer Salad with Croutons

(1) Hardboiled Egg

Bowl of Good & Gather's Shelled Salt & Pepper Pistachios

(1) Glass of Chocolate Milk

TUESDAY

Lunch:

Bowl of Leftover Cesaer Salad with Croutons

Snack:

Handful of Good & Gather's Tex Mex Trail Mix

Bowl of Good & Gather's Shelled Salt & Pepper Pistachios

Supper:

(2) Hardboiled Eggs

(2) Buttered Pieces of Toast

(1) Glass of Chocolate Milk

WEDNESDAY

Lunch:

(1) Roast Beef and Pastrami Sandwich on a Toasted Wheat Hoagie with Melted Provolone

- Miracle Whip

(2) Handfuls of Good & Gather's Tex Mex Trail Mix

Bowl of Good & Gather's Shelled Salt & Pepper Pistachios

Supper:

Large Plate of Birds Eye Oven Bake Creamy Parmesan Garlic Chicken (with Penne Pasta and Broccoli)

- Dusting of Parmesan Cheese

- Dusting of Pepper

- (2) Scoops of Peas

- Half a Can of Pineapple Chunks

(1) Glass of Chocolate Milk

Workouts:

THURSDAY

(200) Jumping Jacks [4 sets of 50]

(100) Glute Bridges [4 sets of 25]

(100) Push-Ups [10 sets of 10]

(100) Assisted Push-Ups [2 Sets of 50]

(50) Reverse Leg Lifts [5 sets of 10]

(50) Leg Kickbacks [5 sets of 10]

FRIDAY

(200) Jumping Jacks [4 sets of 50]

(100) Glute Bridges [4 sets of 25]

(100) Push-Ups [10 sets of 10]

(100) Assisted Push-Ups [2 Sets of 50]

(50) Reverse Leg Lifts [5 sets of 10]

(50) Leg Kickbacks [5 sets of 10]

SATURDAY

(200) Jumping Jacks [4 sets of 50]

(100) Glute Bridges [4 sets of 25]

(100) Push-Ups [10 sets of 10]

(100) Assisted Push-Ups [2 sets of 50]

(50) Reverse Leg Lifts [5 sets of 10]

(50) Leg Kickbacks [5 sets of 10]

SUNDAY

(200) Jumping Jacks [4 sets of 50]

(100) Glute Bridges [4 sets of 25]

(100) Push-Ups [10 sets of 10]

(100) Assisted Push-Ups [2 sets of 50]

(50) Reverse Leg Lifts [5 sets of 10]

(50) Leg Kickbacks [5 sets of 10]

MONDAY

(200) Jumping Jacks [4 sets of 50]

(100) Glute Bridges [4 sets of 25]

(100) Push-Ups [10 sets of 10]

(100) Assisted Push-Ups [2 Sets of 50]

(50) Reverse Leg Lifts [5 sets of 10]

(50) Leg Kickbacks [5 sets of 10]

(100) Sit-Ups [4 Sets of 25]

TUESDAY

(200) Jumping Jacks [4 sets of 50]

(100) Glute Bridges [4 sets of 25]

(100) Push-Ups [5 sets of 10]

(100) Assisted Push-Ups [1 Set]

(50) Reverse Leg Lifts [5 sets of 10]

(50) Leg Kickbacks [5 sets of 10]

(5 mins) Planks [8 sets of 30secs; 1 set of 1min]

WEDNESDAY

(200) Jumping Jacks [4 sets of 50]

(100) Glute Bridges[4 sets of 25]

(100) Push-Ups [10 sets of 10]

(100) Assisted Push-Ups [2 Sets of 50]

(50) Reverse Leg Lifts [5 sets of 10]

(50) Leg Kickbacks [5 sets of 10]

(100) Sit-Ups [4 Sets of 25]

WEIGHT TRACKER:

Starting Weight (Noon, 1/01/2023): XXX.X lbs

Weight at Last Check-In, 4/26/2023: -1.8 lbs

Weight As of Noon, 5/03/2023: -1.6 lbs

Total Weight Loss: -58.8 lbs

Closing Thoughts:

The Good:

I've been attempting to read book for over a month - really wanted to have one completed in the month of April but the books I chose were dragging. I pivoted and gave up on those books and picked up a new book at the beginning of the week and it is cruising - over half way complete.

Finishing workouts in a reasonable amount of time.

Added Planks and Sit-Ups to the workout routine. So far so good - no back pain, but do have that core/ab burn.

I went ham and bought a large variety of cashews and Pistachios.

The Bad:

I heard some comment a long time ago that if you go clean (no takeout, junk food, sugar sweets) for just 21 days that you would break all the cravings. Well....It has been well over 21 days - closer to 122 days - can somebody explain why I just want to go all 'Tracy Morgan" on a Double Whopper with Cheese with a of Side Chips??? If I even get a whiff of BK I start drooling.

The Ugly:

My Sleep and My Workouts have been battling each other for dominance. Been having to take a nap just so I can workout which then causes my workouts to take place at odd hours of the day - talking anywhere between 2am and 5am

#52 in 23

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sugar-petals · 3 years

Text

↳ NOTE: how on earth did i not write this yet 😳 enjoy!

genre: post-idol au, 1.1k words total

» warnings. ⚠️ none, just fluff

MASTERLIST

⟪ jeon jungkook ⟫

when a room is cluttered, he puts it back in order with breakdancing in between

of course he’s still the #1 laundry fairy

fabric softener remains the ideal b-day present for him, we know how sensitive he is to scents

typical 5AM jogger who only ever wears tank tops

what the heck is a long sleeve, these tats are made for showing and that’s just what they’ll do! jungkook is very confident about it

truth is, his other arm is now inked as well and the glorious thighs and calves will soon follow

only a matter of time until the neck and back are due

all his tattoos plus a wedding ring on top... that’s the aesthetic

google is his best friend, jungkook lets himself tutor about household stuff through youtube

needs very concrete grocery lists, takes his time to look carefully at products, clueless koo at the convenience store until he builds a routine

once caught a thief running down the street

hoodie gamer husband with no hoodies because his spouse has stolen them all. that explains his tank top schtick um

hasn’t left the house for fun since eight months or so, is now twice as buff in the meantime, he can barely move from all the muscle ache

best friends with the pizza delivery dude

⟪ kim seokjin ⟫

small talks with all the delivery staff as well

spends 70% of his time playing with pets

and the other 30% with looking for the good ole soy sauce, because where is it again? he could build his own soy sauce factory and would still run out the second he really needs it. jin and soy sauce is like jack sparrow: why’s the rum gone?

runs a meme twt about daily hacks and mishaps, will post random pics with disheveled hair and RJ pajamas

only to torture his followers with great styling and kissy selfies

everybody wants to steal jin from his partner but that won’t happen teehee

treats laundry and cleaning like parkour

tries to make his own sparkling water but overdid it at first try, now he’s notoriously careful with carbonating, guests call it the machine from hell and don’t understand his obsession

his neighbors are thoroughly confused by what seems to be going on in his house but they like jin simply for being himself

once almost broke a toe jumping into a makeshift swimming pool

1000% best friends with his spouse energy

⟪ kim taehyung ⟫

nobody in the neighborhood needs an alarm clock. taehyung’s earth-shattering 6AM sneeze can wake ‘em all

when the reverberations dust through the street, yeontan is awake as well and begins a symphony of barks

cycles to the bakery every morning

grows his own fruit and veggies in the backyard

collects art

notorious suit wearer since he wants to wow his spouse

has a whole collection of strawhats, was sad for an entire weekend when the wind blew his favorite one far away

turns out the hat landed on yoongi’s garage down the block, it was promptly returned a week later after yoongi noticed it there

enjoys cooking but makes an even better baker

drives to the confectionist on sundays

sings trot under the shower

still can’t fall asleep without hugging something or someone

owns a karaoke station cuz he can, sometimes sings while scrubbing, multi-tae-sking

most devoted husband of all time award

⟪ kim namjoon ⟫

the most classic stay at home dad who seemingly adopts the entire neighborhood kids too

hosts a lot of birthday parties where he is forced to sing for the lols, kids just love it when RM does his soulful voice crack impersonation

“again, do it again!“

is basically uncle joonie at this point

sits underneath an oak in the garden reading poetry by women

video calls with yoongi to nail the cooking

but usually jin helps out in person

collects photographies of hiking trips with his partner

installs all kinds of safety measures knowing his own clumsiness: fire detectors, anti-slip shower mats, and he uses children’s knives anyway

goes on bicycle tours with taehyung, they often meet at the bakery by chance

has a designated library room, but it’s often used for making out instead, oh well then

plants his own trees

⟪ min yoongi ⟫

built holly an actual hut

might make the local headline: town’s smolest husband operates county’s largest barbecue

big house big cars and big rings? not too far off from reality. yoongi knows how to invest his money. the grandpa owns actual stonks

yoongi’s car is basically a studio on wheels, excellent speaker quality

guests who don’t separate the trash or litter simply don’t get invited again

fends off racist neighbors with an electric leaf blower, put a hex on several teenage bullies the other week at the gas station and drove off with his sunglasses on, yoongi remains on his no bullshit grind

michelin chef at this point, the man cooks so passionately

the whole block thinks a DJ lives in that one house painted in black, yoongi bumps a rap rave every weekend, but it’s actually just a few people

gets a complaint over playing the drums one day, settles with guitars and piano instead

once painted a mural in the hallway

still owns his middle finger cat doormat, will keep it until forever

⟪ jung hoseok ⟫

ginormous closet

every duvet placed and flattened, 90° angles, not one crumb of dust and lint

would win the world championship of speed ironing and the dishwasher loading olympics

blasts endorphin music while he irons

the epitome of germaphobe so he keeps it all spotless

vacuum cleans tri-weekly, uses a broom almost daily

knows about the latest household innovations, gets interested in literally all of them, buys them before you can even put any on the hobi birthday wishlist

drives a sparkling car with a sparkling watch on but he’s still down to earth and grateful

likes watching sitcoms in his free time

enjoys going to the cinema but it has to be a harmless movie, anything 16+ scares him and makes him cry

mistrusts all ladders, calls namjoon instead

of course has a dance studio in his house

the type to sit on his partner’s lap when there’s a thunderstorm

⟪ park jimin ⟫

keeps a whole separate bathroom closet for his pet allergy medication

owns three smoochy kitties from a shelter what did you think

jimin loves cats and the cats love him, every other item he buys for decoration is basically cat-themed

gave up on the hair being everywhere, gladly yoongi gifted him a vacuum robot

which mochi tries hard not to stumble over, especially in a state of being tired

taehyung is a permanent guest in the household

and another tradition: jimin takes the longest in the bathroom, very much into beauty trends

seductively sways around the counters in his apron but what else is new

adorably washes dishes by hand with pink gloves, hums while doing it, it’s a dream come true

no clue about taxes, calls yoongi for help, his cats sometimes shred the bills just because so that’s also useful

very extroverted household, lots of friends visiting

the whole neighborhood is jelly of jimin’s spouse, if that causes a civil war at some point don’t be surprised

〔 m.list | ao3 〕

#bts #bts hc #bts scenario #bts imagine #bangtan #bts house husbands #bts headcanons #jimin #jungkook #hoseok #jin #namjoon #yoongi #taehyung #bts au

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iamfruitie · 3 years

Note

Spicy madmare

After today’s prompt feral mare and mad deced to take a bath to clean up

(Side note my auto correct tried to change ‘clean up’ to ‘cream up’)

I’ll be honest and say that it took me a hot second to realize you meant the prompt for Veggie Ink Month XD

But also, that auto-correct be on to something~ -------------------------------------

Mare happily sat in the tub with Mad facing him in his lap, scrubbing the blood from his chest with a very soapy loofah. Mad’s eyes were dead set on his task, making sure that every speck was gone. Mare was still feral at this point, his rage gone but he just couldn’t get fully calm, at least not yet.

“You took down both of those middle-ranks, didn’t you?” Mare asked with a hum.

“Huh?” Mad snapped from his focus. “Oh! Yeah.” Mad awkwardly giggled, now just mindlessly rubbing the foamy soap with a hand.

“All on your own.” Mare’s hands went to Mad’s thighs and he pulled him in close. “My Claim is so strong~” Mare purred, pressing his face into Mad’s collarbone, having no problems smelling his Claim Mark over the fruity perfume of soap.

“I-I was wondering when that would kick in.” Mad squeaked, even after all this time he was still flustered by how Mare’s feral form got him worked up. “We’re-uh-we’re in water so this won’t-”

“I want my Claim to feel good.” Mare took a hand away from Mad’s thigh and, with how much larger it was in feral form, was easily able to wrap it around both of their cocks.

“Ah~” Mad gasped out and dropped the loofah. He held on to Mare’s shoulders, biting the inside of his lip to muffle his next groan as Mare make quick work of pumping his hand.

“Let me hear you, Claim,” Mare whispered into Mad’s ear. “I want to hear every intoxicating sound you make.”

“Mare~” Mad moaned out. He was already starting to pant and, in an impulsive thought, reached his hands up and grabbed Mare’s horns. Mare let out a groan, a growl, and then bit right into Mad’s Mark. “Oh, fuck!” Mad shouted out, the sudden strong wave of pleasure hitting him hard and getting him to cum already. Mare kept his teeth clamped in as he kept his hand going and Mad gripped his horns tighter, getting Mare to finally cum as well.

Mad hissed when Mare popped his teeth out and worked on catching his breath as Mare licked the blood away, helping the actual wound part close up fast. Soon Mad realized his hands were just on Mare’s head, fingers in his hair.

“You good?” Mare asked, nuzzling into Mad’s neck.

“Yeah.” Mad tilted his head in thought. “So, what did the one Demon say about me?”

“We should rinse off.”

“Don’t avoid the question, Mare.”

“I still have a little feral blood in me, Mad. I’m okay with having a little more fun with my Claim~” Mare hoped to distract Mad by kissing him and it worked...for now.

#anon #nsft #madmare #demonhunter!au #did not mean for it to be that long #not even that long #but not a short blurb I had intended XD

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iamvegorott · 7 months

Text

Ink Month 2023 Day 8

Pumpkin

CW: Anti does discuss when he slit his own throat. Nothing too graphic, but adding a warning to be safe

----------

Dark washed his hands in the sink, getting the rest of the pumpkin residue off his skin before grabbing a towel and drying them off. He’d clean and cook the pumpkin seeds after he finished carving the pumpkin.

“How is it coming along?” Dark asked, going to the table where Anti was drawing on the pumpkin with a Sharpie. He had the tip of his tongue sticking out between his lips as he worked on the final line.

“And done.” Anti turned the pumpkin around and showed the face he’d drawn out.

“Terrifying.” Dark chuckled, picking up the large knife as Anti sat the pumpkin in front of him.

“Wait until I get the blood involved. Then it’ll look scary as fuck.” Anti giggled.

“Please tell me you’re using fake blood.” Dark glanced his eyes over to Anti before putting his full focus on the pumpkin, pushing the knife into its ‘eye’.

“Chase would give me hell if…I didn’t…” Anti’s voice trailed off, silently watching Dark work on the carving.

“You okay?” Dark popped out the triangle-shaped eye.

“I…huh…” Anti started at the pumpkin. “I didn’t think I’d ever really think of that again.”

“Think of what?” Dark lowered the knife, getting concerned about the look in Anti’s eyes.

“The day I got a body.”

“Maybe we should do something else. We can work on the seeds or just go out for a walk or-”

“Have you been through that before?” Anti ignored Dark’s suggestions, seeming to be off in his own world. “Slitting your own throat?”

“Not that specifically. Let’s go do something else.” Dark placed the knife on the other side of the table, keeping it out of Anti’s reach.

“It’s a strange feeling. It hurts at first. Piercing the skin always does, but then everything gets warm and wet.” Anti traced his fingers across his neck.

“Anti, darling, can you sit down for me?” Dark placed a gentle hand on Anti’s shoulder.

“Huh? Oh…sure.” Anti let Dark guide him to turn and sit on a kitchen chair.

“Stay right here.” Dark stepped away long enough to fill a cup with some water before returning and handing it to Anti, crouching in front of him so he could see his face better.

“Why do I have this?” Anti asked, looking down at the cup in his hand.

“Drink it, trust me, it’ll help.” Dark’s voice was soft and tender.

“Alright.” Anti shrugged and took a sip. He paused and then downed the rest of the water.

“Are you still with me?” Dark asked, taking the empty cup and setting it aside.

“Did I leave?” Anti asked back, looking genuinely confused.

“A little.” Dark placed a hand on Anti’s face, rubbing his cheek with his thumb.

“What the fuck was that about?”

“We’ll talk about it later. You’re going to need some rest.”

“Why am I so tired?” Anti tried to fight it off, but he couldn’t stop from leaning against Dark’s hand, eyes heavy and having to blink hard in hopes of not keeping them closed.

“It happens. Moments like that take a lot out of you.” Dark straightened back up.

“I hate it,” Anti grumbled as Dark lifted him to his feet and then lifted him in his arms fully.

“We all do.” Dark felt Anti wrap his arms and legs around him.

“Being held feels nice.” Anti tucked his face into the crook of Dark’s neck.

“That’s good to hear.” Dark carried Anti to the bedroom and laid him out of the bed, getting their shoes off before laying down with him.

“Don’t leave again.” Anti curled up against Dark’s chest, holding his shirt with both hands.

“I won’t. I’ll stay right here while you sleep, I promise.” Dark rubbed Anti’s back.

“Stay,” Anti mumbled, trying to press as much of his body against Dark as he could, seeking more of the comfort having another person was bringing him.

“I will,” Dark whispered and softly started humming, feeling that Anti slowly relaxed more and more as time went on. “It’s okay, Anti.” He said out loud when he knew Anti was asleep and couldn’t hear him. “I understand.”

#danti #ink month 2023 #veggie ink month #veggie writes

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plants-and-swords · 4 years

Text

I am SUPER MEGA LATE this month, September has been a ride for me!!

However!! Here are the prompts for this year’s Cookie Run Inktober, an event i’ve been running for a few years now!

This event is no rush either, take your time with this, do multiple a day to catch up, don’t do some on days where you need a break. This isn’t a contest, it will be more fun to do it at your pace! Please, have fun!!

Below all the days will be clarified!

——————————————————————————

Gingerbrave: It wouldn’t be Cookie Run without it’s iconic mascot!

Common Cookie: Draw one of the other common cookies

Rare Cookie: Draw a rare cookie you like, or think is underappreciated

Epic Cookie: Draw an epic cookie you like, or think is underappreciated

Treasure: Draw a treasure you really like, or have always wanted to draw!

Dragon: Draw one of the dragon cookies, or what you think one of the unrevealed dragons may look like!

Wizard’s Archives: Draw something based on the Wizards Archive’s event

Fresh Veggies: Draw something either based on the Spinach update, Sandwich update, or both!

Legendary Cookie: Draw any legendary cookie!

Guild Expidition: What cookies do you send out on expiditions? What will they find..!

Raids: Based on the newest update, draw a raid boss, or something based on the raids!

Meta: Draw a cookie that is/has been in the meta this year!

Cookie or Creature...?: Draw a cookie that can turn into an animal or is part-animal! (Like fig)

Magical Cookies: Draw any cookie that has a magic-based ability! Not limited to city of wizards cookies

Dreamy Cookieland: Draw something based on the Dreamy Cookieland event

Fruity Cookies: There’s more than just the citrus squad now! Draw any fruit-based cookie

Super Epic: What is your favorite costume of the super epic rank? Draw it!

Darkness: Draw a cookie who has been pulled in by the darkness...

NPC: We’ve gotten a lot of NPCs recently, draw one that sticks out to you!

Cookie Run OC: draw one of your existing or create a new cookie run oc!

Martial Arts Tournament: Draw something based on the Martial Arts Tournament event

Sailing through the seas: Draw a cookie who travels the sea!

00ooOO00 ooOo00o!: Draw something with sorbet shark cookie!!

The city’s gaurdians: draw Mocha Ray and/or Lobster Cookie

Whos that crying?: Draw a cookie who cries, such as Onion or Squid Ink!

Newspaper Delivery: Draw chestnut or something based on the Christmas event from late 2019!

Happy Anniversary: Cookie Run’s Global Release Anniversary! Draw a picture to commemorate it!

Shipping: the day to draw your cookie OTP! If i see pedo stuff i will burn your shoes :)

Pillow Fight: draw something based on the pillow fight event!!

Cheddar Mines: draw something based on the newest mining update in cookie run!

Custom costume: Happy halloween! Make a costume for any cookie to wear on this spooky night! Let’s hope they get candy!

#cookie run #cr ovenbreak #cookie run ovenbreak #ovenbreak #cr #cookie run: ovenbreak #crob #cookieruninktober2020

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

Eccentricity [Chapter 9: Now I Love Your Shadow And I Love Your Curls]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sex, violence, and drug use.

Word Count: 7.6k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk

Field Trip

“You want to go to Chicago with me?”

I coughed, having almost inhaled a chunk of pineapple off my slice of GrubHubbed pizza. We were sitting on the grass outside Forks And Spoons under the shade of the maple trees, which were turning from jade to ruby to amber to fool’s gold, rejoining the earth they once rose from one fallen leaf at a time. It hadn’t rained in almost four days—was that some kind of record?!—and the leaves littering the ground crunched when I stepped on them, which I did purposefully and often. The breeze was soft and whispery and temperate. I could get used to this whole having actual seasons thing. “What, in like a hypothetical, at some point in my life kind of way?”

Joe smiled. His U Chicago hoodie of the day was black. “No, as in this weekend.”

“Really?”

“The Cubs have a game on Saturday, and it’s supposed to be rainy and overcast the whole time, and I just thought...” He shrugged, toying with a piece of pizza crust before tossing it to the squirrels. He’s nervous, I realized. How the hell do I have the ability to make the sexy undead Italian man nervous? “It might be nice for us to be able to get away for a few days. Away from my family. Away from Charlie. Not that I don’t appreciate the ambient noise of his snoring from the living room couch, it’s super endearing, I seriously consider dating him instead of you at least twice a week.”

“Go for it. Charlie could use a rich husband. His pension is pathetic.”

“You wouldn’t miss me?”

“I am not necessarily opposed to clandestinely seducing my sugar daddy stepdad should the occasion arise.”

Joe crossed himself like a nun passing tattooed, cursing, lip-pierced teenagers on the sidewalk. “Lord, protect me from this harlot.”

A weekend away. No Charlie, no constant and chaotic whirlwind of Lees, no Ben. I hadn’t spoken to Ben since our misadventure in the Lee kitchen; if he wasn’t avoiding me of his own volition, he was following orders to stay away. Joe claimed that they’d talked it out. I wasn’t sure if I believed him. “I accept your invitation. Although, truthfully, I’d rather get hit by a bus than watch an entire real-life, no-commercial-breaks baseball game.”

“I accept your acceptance. And I’ll throw in a visit to the Shedd Aquarium, just for you. They have baby sea otters.”

“Sweet.” I checked my iPhone. “I’m gonna be late for Chemistry.”

“Anything fun planned?”

“We’re doing a lab involving hydrochloric acid. I’m highly concerned that Ben will accidentally spill some on himself. The miraculous instantaneous healing thing might raise a few questions.”

“Hm,” Joe replied. But he wasn’t looking at me; he was looking at my bandaged hand. And he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Joe, I’m fine.”

“Yeah.” He took a preoccupied swig of his Dr. Pepper. Solemnity never seemed right on him; it was like he was wearing somebody else’s skin. “You’ve mentioned that.”

“Hey. Mob guy.”

Now his eyes flicked to mine.

“No more sad spaghetti.”

“Okay.” He surrendered, took my face in his hands, gave me a kiss on each cheek and then one quick parting peck on the forehead. “You win. I’m not sad. I’m ecstatic, actually. I’m gonna be eating my weight in hotdogs and mustard-slathered pretzels on Saturday. What’s there not to be ecstatic about?”

“The fact that your license says you’re only twenty and consequently can’t get a beer?”

Joe blinked, remembering. “Fuck.”

I drained my Diet Coke, flung my pizza crust to the skittering grey squirrels—no eerie albino forest friends today—and pulled on my backpack. “See ya. Have an awesome time in Game Theory.”

“Thanks, I probably won’t!” he chimed, waving, grinning compliantly; and yet did I still sense some lingering menace of disquiet, of fear? I suspected I did. Chicago would cure everything.

Ben tensed when I walked into Professor Belvin’s classroom, ran his fingers through his unruly blond hair, peered fixedly down at his notebook and feigned obliviousness. There was already a metal tray of Erlenmeyer flasks, labeled bottles of solutions, burettes, goggles, gloves, and an unassembled ring stand crowding our small table by the open window. Autumn air poured in like seawater through cracks in the hull of a ship.

“Guess who’s gonna see the Cubs play up close and personal this Saturday?” I announced.

He pretended to have just noticed me. “...You...? But that doesn’t sound like you.”

“It was Joe’s idea. I’m acting like I’m not totally thrilled and freaking out about it, but I am. Don’t tell him.”

Now Ben was the one staring at my bandaged hand. His green eyes were large and unfocused.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

“Sure,” Ben returned noncommittally.

I started skimming through the packet of lab instructions and setting up our titration experiment as Professor Belvin circulated through the classroom, observing, commenting, offering suggestions and critiques. My wounded hand—still sore in the lull between Advil doses and relatively useless—was quite the embarrassing hinderance; I fumbled with a large glass flask and almost dropped it.

Ben shook his head and reached out to stop me. “Here, oh my god, this is so pitiful, sit down. Please sit down. I’ll set it up. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks.” I peeked at his notebook. “Your handwriting is atrocious. Haven’t you had like a century to work on that?”

“Penmanship was never at the top of my to-do list, tragically.”

“What language is that, anyway?” The phrases scrawled in black ink in Ben’s notebook definitely weren’t English. Or Italian. “Elvish? Are you a lowkey Lord Of The Rings fan? Magic and self-sacrifice and nearly insurmountable evil, I could see that being your thing.”

He smirked, struggling with the ring stand. “It’s Welsh.”

“Welsh,” I repeated, perplexed. “Welsh...like how Gwil is Welsh?”

“Precisely.”

Professor Belvin checked in on us, nodded in approval, reminded me that I was always welcome to stop by at bowling league activities, and resumed his wandering.

“Gwil still speaks it,” Ben continued. “The rest of them speak it too. At least enough for basic communication.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, fascinated, examining the long, unfamiliar words riddled with Ls and Ws and Cs. “But that must be very useful.”

“It is. Welsh is nearly a dead language at this point. It’s like talking in code. I always refused to learn it on principle...or maybe I was just being difficult. I would study other languages, Arabic, Japanese...but not Welsh. That was always Gwil’s language. Their language. It was a Lee thing. But now...”

“Now you’re sort of a Lee too,” I finished for him, smiling.

“Whatever,” Ben said, hiding behind his bangs.

I watched him as he at last tamed the ring stand, secured the burette, placed the Erlenmeyer flask. Then he began reading the labels on the solution bottles. “Guess what else.”

“What, Baby Swan?”

I grinned, showing off my unremarkable, entirely benign human teeth. “I’ll bring you back your very own U Chicago hoodie.”

That night, after a pleasantly prosaic dinner with Charlie—burgers, one veggie and one of the conventional variety, and milkshakes at Danny’s Diner—I started packing a small, Arizona-sky-blue suitcase as sparse raindrops pattered against the roof and moonlight streamed in through the open window. Then I ticked off my mental inventory.

“Jeans, sweaters, pajamas, socks...”

I pawed through the top drawer of my old, scratched dresser—the same one that had once upon a time been Renee’s—and contemplated the bra and panty options. Would my theme be comfort and practicality, or feral impenitent seductress? Friday and Saturday in Chicago would be our first nights alone together. That had to be significant, right? After some deliberation, I gathered a handful of lacy, transparent, and/or exceptionally skimpy lingerie from Victoria’s Secret that Jessica had more or less forced upon me during a shopping trip in Port Angeles last month. As I dropped them into the open suitcase, I glanced up to see the albino owl outside my open bedroom window.

“You never know,” I told the owl, shrugging.

It leered judgmentally back at me with those gory red eyes.

“Oh shut up. How many eggs have you laid in your lifetime, Casper The Unfriendly Ghost? Probably like a bazillion. Freaking feathery trollop.”

The owl had nothing to offer in its own defense.

“Why don’t you ever come around when Joe’s here? I’m sure he’d love to meet you. He’s pale and weird too. Although I like his eyes a little better than yours. No offense, Snowflake.”

The owl blinked, tilted its gaze at me, ruffled its feathers and sent the raindrops that had gathered there flying in every direction.

I slid my iPhone out of my back pocket, spun around, and snapped a quick selfie with the owl in the background. “Say cheese, Marshmallow!”

The owl immediately unfurled its wings and flapped off into the trees, vanishing.

“Huh. I guess homegirl is camera shy.” I texted my selfie to Archer, typing out with my thumbs: I am the Steve Irwin of Forks. Behold, one of my many forest friends.

Archer replied a few minutes later: WOW! Pasty and mildly disturbing. Exactly your type. :)

“Yours too, apparently,” I murmured, smiling in my empty room.

I went to my full-length mirror with the plastic, teal-colored border, briefly appraised my reflection, felt a dull swell of approval for what I saw there. The version of myself that had once been so consumed by fears of inadequacy seemed impossibly far away, maybe even fictitious, a dream so vivid I could mistake it for truth. Three things were taped across the top of the mirror: Joe’s Official Citation!! No More Sad Spaghetti!! post-it, his Official Whatever You Want Pass, and a photo of us dressed up together and standing in front of the limo in the Lees’ driveway just before the Calawah University Homecoming dance. I peeled off the Official Whatever You Want Pass, carefully folded it into a neat little square, and tucked it into my wallet.

When the rain began to pour and thunder rolled in off the Pacific Ocean, I closed my bedroom window; but I remembered to leave it unlocked for Joe.

Departure

“Got your license?”

“Yes, Dad,” Joe sighed.

“Got your airport snacks?”

Joe held up the gallon-sized Ziploc bag filled with pumpkin and white chocolate chip cookies. “We’re ready to rock.”

“Call me when you get there safe,” Mercy fretted, hugging me and then Joe. “And Joseph, sweetheart, you make sure you keep an eye on her. She’s never been to Chicago before, it’s a big city, and O’Hare is an absolute nightmare, it’s so easy to get lost...”

“I don’t think he needs any reminders, love.” Dr. Lee laid a hand on her shoulder, stroked his neatly-trimmed beard with the other, watched us with a vague and wistful smile.

Mercy went back to trimming the flowers she had spread out across the kitchen countertop, white calla lilies that she threaded one by one into a translucent sapphire blue vase. “Now don’t forget to say goodbye to your brother. He’s out back feeding the new ducks. And I expect these ones to stick around for a while, thank you very much.”

“Mom, I don’t need to say goodbye to Rami. I’ll just think it. Really loudly.” Joe rubbed his temples with his fingertips and squeezed his eyes shut. “Peace out, you nosy bastard.”

“Joseph,” Mercy pleaded.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go say goodbye. Don’t get all aggressive. Don’t take it out on the flowers.” Aggressive...what a joke. I doubted that Mercy Eleanor Lee, formerly Martin, had a single aggressive bone in her immortal body; not even the infinitesimal stapes of her inner ears or the sesamoids of her feet.

“They’re calla lilies,” she replied dreamily, tending them like children. “And they symbolize love, and beauty, and fidelity...”

My nostrils itched and burned faintly in dissent. “I think I’m allergic to them.”

“You’re allergic to fidelity?” Joe asked, raising his eyebrows. “That’s it, now you’re definitely not getting my reclaimed virginity. No ma’am. I am not hit-it-and-quit-it material.”

“Oh sweet baby Jesus,” Mercy murmured.

“I’m going,” Joe said, showing his palms in capitulation and disappearing out the back door. I dragged my suitcase to the front one, politely declining Mercy and Gwil’s offers to help.

Lucy—her bleached hair in a high half-ponytail and wearing polka-dotted black tights, combat boots, a plaid miniskirt, and an extremely Octoberish orange sweater—was sitting cross-legged on the roof of Gwil’s Volvo. God, he’s such a dad. “Have a nice time,” she chirped artfully.

I opened the hatch of Joe’s Subaru and threw my suitcase inside. “Why do you sound like you already know I will?”

“I might have some relevant clairvoyant insight.”

“No way.” I stared up at her, stunned, my hands on my waist. “But you can’t see me, right...?”

“True. But this vision wasn’t of you. It was of Joe. You just happened to be there.”

Interesting. Very interesting. “And what transpired in this vision?” A night full of hot, steamy, blissful vampire sex? A girl could dream.

Lucy closed her eyes, recalling it fondly, maybe even cherishing it. “You were sitting in the stands of a professional baseball game. I could hear the crowd roaring, the umpire’s trumpeting interruptions. Blue and white...everyone was wearing blue and white. And you were there together—Joe a vampire, you human, side by side, almost entwined—shouting to each other over the thunderous noise and laughing and pushing nuggets of soft pretzels into each other’s mouths. So happy. I’d never seen Joe so happy.” Her striking pale eyes came open. “And he’s someone who’s already rather prone to happiness, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I have,” I agreed.

“He’s never been serious about anybody else. I hope you know that.”

“I know that’s what he tells me.”

“It’s the truth,” Lucy insisted. “I would know if it wasn’t. Rami would know, Ben would know. Joe...he’s kind of the opposite of you. He’s always been the easiest to read. He’s the one Rami hears most loudly, the one who shows up most often in my visions. He’s clear, you know? Uncomplicated. Authentic. And what you mean to him...it’s something everybody sees. It’s a contagious sort of lightness, of joy. So thank you for that.”

And if whatever mysterious genetic switch that renders me immune to your talents wasn’t flipped, I’m pretty sure I’d look the same way. “I should definitely be thanking you,” I said. “You guys have a pretty cool existence going on here. And I’m so grateful to be invited into it.” For however long this lasts, anyway.

“None of us really invited you,” Lucy demurred. “We just let it happen.”

“So everyone knew I was coming? Because you saw it?”

“Everyone but Joe.”

“You never told him?”

“No. Not even now.” Lucy turned sharply towards the trees, as if she heard something in the soaring western hemlocks that swayed drunkenly in the wind. After a moment, she continued. “I’m not sure if I can even explain why. It wasn’t that I feared changing the timeline or something...my visions always come true regardless. Always. But I guess...” She tugged on her short half-ponytail, pondering. “I guess I didn’t want to cloud any of his decision-making, any of his emotions with the specter of the inevitable. I wanted whatever he felt for you to be completely organic. And it is.”

I considered her. “You are extremely thoughtful for someone who spends as much time shopping as you do.”

Lucy laughed in a high-pitched, almost juvenile trill, netting her fingers beneath her chin, her elbows resting on her bent knees. “I do like to shop. I didn’t always though.” She peered off into the trees again, this time pensively. “Did Joe tell you anything about my life before Gwil saved me?”

“Aside from the copious hippie jokes, not really.”

She nodded, her eyes far-away and still lost in the forest. “Gwil and Mercy are inordinately wonderful people. My biological father and mother, unfortunately, were not. And maybe they couldn’t help it, because from what I understand their parents were monsters too. I don’t think of them very often now, not even to resent them. But when I was alive I burned with it, with all that hatred, with all that bitterness. Every bruise was another log on the fire. Every screaming match or hurled plate was a splash of gasoline. So I ran away and found what I fancied to be a new family, and I lived on basement couches and out of vans and in abandoned buildings, and I explored increasingly inventive ways of putting that fire out.”

The October breeze cascaded through the trees, carrying echoes of birdsong and disembodied distant voices and the scent of pine. It reminded me of Joe.

“Chemically speaking,” Lucy said, “that first hit of heroin, that first high...it’s the best you’ll ever feel in your entire life. Nothing else will ever compare. Not skydiving, not backpacking through Southeast Asia on some Pulitzer-prize-winning journey of self-discovery, not winning the lottery, not the births of your children, not falling in love. And once you accept that, what’s the point in stopping? Everything you ever experience will live in the shadow of that needle. You’re twenty-five and you’ve already seen the endgame. You’re born, you suffer, you catch a glimpse of paradise, you pay bills and push shopping carts down the aisles of grocery stores and insipidly smile your way through your husband’s work parties until you die. What’s the fucking point? So I didn’t stop shooting heroin. And the whole time, I knew it was killing me. That’s what they don’t tell kids when they force them to make those idiotic classroom promises to never do drugs. You know it’s killing you, but you don’t care. Because it feels so goddamn good. Because it becomes the only sliver of your existence that doesn’t cut like glass beneath your skin. Sometimes you love things so much you let them kill you, isn’t that ridiculous?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer her; still, I heard my own voice: “Yes, it is.”

“It took dying for me to see that life is worth living. That there’s magic in the mundane and the frivolous. And that there’s beauty everywhere if you bother to look for it.” Lucy uncrossed her trim legs, leapt gracefully off the Volvo, and—with definite but not unkind scrutiny—pulled at the collar of my thrift shop sweater. “Even in your very, very, very misguided fashion preferences.”

The front door of the Lee house swung open, and Joe jogged out, carrying his suitcase. Gwil, Mercy, Scarlett, Rami, and Ben appeared on the porch to wave us off.

“What’d you do?!” Joe demanded, pointing at Lucy.

“Nothing,” she quipped.

“You guys gotta stop doing this!” Joe exclaimed. “You know what you’re doing, you know exactly what you’re doing, you gotta stop cornering people and forcing them to listen to your creepy tragic backstories! Nobody freaking asked!”

Lucy chuckled patiently and stood on her tiptoes to hug him goodbye. “Have fun.”

“You know it.” Joe tossed his suitcase into the Subaru and opened the driver’s door. “Ready, Baby Swan?”

“Almost.”

I walked to the wrap-around porch, climbed the steps, held my hand out to Ben. My stitches had almost completely dissolved over the past week, and the clunky impediment of bandages was no more. Joe crossed his arms and watched from beside the Subaru with an uneasy frown, but he didn’t try to stop me. He nodded to Rami, so subtly I almost didn’t notice. Rami nodded back.

“I will miss your melodramatic brooding immensely,” I told Ben. “Please do some fun family stuff while we’re gone. I’ll see you soon. Dan eich bendith.”

“Dan eich bendith,” he replied, taken aback. And then, after a moment’s hesitation, he ignored my outstretched hand and embraced me, his grasp so strong and yet so careful. His scent like crisp leaves and salted caramel and autumn sieved into a bottle unfolded in my lungs like an opened book.

“I Googled that especially for you,” I whispered. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m in awe.” His words were characteristically sardonic, but I heard warmth in them as well. When Ben pulled away, I saw that everyone else was smiling. Mercy had tears in her eyes.

I retreated back down the porch steps and met Joe by the Subaru. “Okay, mob guy. I’m good.”

He slid on his sunglasses, shook his head, flashed a proud and toothy grin. “You definitely are.”

All the way down Route 101 to the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, we listened to Joe’s classic rock mixtapes and my NOAA Ocean Podcast episodes, reviewed the weekend itinerary, ran through the bare essentials for me to understand an MLB game (“Which I am totally not excited about whatsoever,” I informed Joe, who knew enough not to believe me).

When the Boeing 747 ascended above the clouds and unimpeded sunlight poured in from the other passengers’ windows, Joe put on a black sleeping mask over his sunglasses and reclined his seat, tried to nap, passed the time until he would be safe beneath the curtains of the sky again.

Somewhere over the Dakotas, as I leafed through a book about the Great Barrier Reef for my Marine Botany class, Joe’s hand bumped mine. “Hey,” he said drowsily, seriously; and I braced myself for some emotional declaration, some dire warning, some grave realization of the futility of what we agreed—almost always wordlessly, and yet unfailingly—was love.

“Yeah?”

“It’s an emergency.”

“Uh oh,” I replied, smiling now.

“Flag down the flight attendant and get some more of those honey roasted peanut packets,” Joe said. “I’m starving myself back to death over here.”

The Windy City

The bat cracked deafeningly against the baseball pitched at nearly a hundred miles per hour. It was a home run. The crowd erupted into mindless, primal shrieks of conquest; and when Joe jumped to his feet, clapping and cheering and nearly spilling his blue-and-white bucket of popcorn, I found that I did as well. I screamed for the team of a city I’d never lived in, sank back into my seat beside Joe, nestled against his chest as his right arm closed around my waist and hauled me in closer, as his left hand teased me with a soft pretzel nugget hovering just out of reach. And in that moment, I felt like Lucy, snatching Polaroids out of the space-time continuum of the present and the future and the past. There was where Joe and I were right now, of course; the day we had met each other in the nonfiction section of the Calawah University library; the dance floor at Homecoming; the first night he snuck soundlessly into my bedroom window; all those years we still had left to spend together. Not forever, but perhaps long enough.

“I like this baseball thing,” I told him over the roar of the crowd, twirling my fingers around the curling locks of dark hair that stuck out from under his Cubs cap. Or maybe I just like you.

“Whew, thank god.” Joe wiped his forehead with the back of his hand in mock relief. “Now I don’t have to break up with you.”

After the game—a 5-3 Cubs victory, close enough to keep the spectators’ blood pumping throughout—we boarded the L, held onto the metal railings as the packed train car bumped and swerved along, and disembarked in Little Italy. Historic brownstones were interrupted by a freckling of pizzerias, Italian ice stands, and sports bars spilling out shouts of triumph and despair. We were staying in the Four Seasons with a view of Lake Michigan; but we had an hour of daylight—albeit chilled, dreary, and forever threatening rain—left in our Saturday. Tomorrow would be the aquarium, and then dinner before catching our flight back to Seattle, back to the greenery and fog and eternal dampness that I was beginning to think of as my home. Had I really only left Phoenix two months ago? Had I ever really lived there at all?

“So,” Joe said as we walked under shedding green ash and black cherry trees, his arm draped across my shoulders. “Guess what the University of Chicago has. In addition to a killer Economics PhD program, which yours truly will be graduating from in approximately 2027, astonishingly aged not a single day. Maybe he’s born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline.”

“Hideous sweatshirts?” I guessed.

“One of the best Marine Biology departments in the world. And the affiliated Marine Biological Laboratory up in Massachusetts, where they send their PhDs to do research.”

“Wait, seriously?” I stopped abruptly, the heels of my boots squealing against the sidewalk. “You mean...for me?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, for my other girlfriend who is also inexplicably super obsessed with the ocean. I clearly have a type.”

“You want me...to come to Chicago...with you...after graduation? For like...a five to seven year commitment?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Well, that just sounds...serious.”

“Huh. What do you know. I guess we’re serious after all.” He took my hand and pulled me gently forward, leading me down West Taylor Street. He seemed to have a destination in mind.

“How is this going to work for you, anyway?” I asked, beaming uncontrollably now, trotting along beside him. “Living in a place that isn’t Washington or Scotland or Alaska?” Chicago was cold and cloudy for a lot of the year, true, but few cities were Forks-level wet and sunless. Forks-level tyrannically depressing, I would have said two months ago.

He shrugged, unphased. “Night classes. Sunglasses. Faking a chronic illness so I don’t have to leave our house. I’m really good at that one. Plus I can get a doctor’s note any time I want one. I’ve got connections, you know.”

Our house. He said OUR house.

Joe came to halt in front of a stately yet plain brownstone which now operated as a trendy bookstore, the kind that sold six dollar lattes and hosted anarchist poetry slams on Friday nights.

“Is this where we’re going to crack hipsters’ kneecaps as a bonding activity?” I asked.

“This is where I grew up.”

I looked again, studying the earth-colored stone quarried over a century ago, the wrought iron railings that framed the front steps, the rectangular windows revealing the illumination and shadows of other families’ lives. “Joe,” I said softly, leaning into him, searching for my words.

“There were eight Mazzello kids: Joseph, Charles, Mimi, Salvador, Donna, Lucia, Bianca, and Giuliano.” He rattled them off like a jingle from a fast food commercial. “And I was the oldest. So when my dad dropped dead of a heart attack in the middle of his shift at the Zenith Radio factory, it was my job to step up and figure out how to keep everyone fed. I was seventeen and completely hopeless at school back then; Sal was always the smart one, the disciplined one, he ended up as a math professor at Loyola University. I was just some directionless, grieving kid who never shut up. But there was a place for boys like me in Chicago in the 1920s. The mob could get you money. The mob could turn that same incessant chatter that got you bruised at school into something useful. And the mob could give you a family.”

Joe watched the brownstone solemnly, meditatively, his hands in his pockets.

“My mom sobbed for an hour the first time I brought home an envelope full of bills with Hamilton’s face on them. She knew how I got it. But how could she say no, how could she tell me to stop? We’d never seen money like that. All my siblings could finish school. My sisters could have new dresses on days that weren’t Christmas and Easter, my brothers new shoes, Sal the glasses he needed so badly. My mother always had something to put in the offering plate at church. And once you were in the mob, it wasn’t exactly easy to leave. But they took care of their own. After I died, they sent my mother money for years, until her own children were established enough to support her. That’s when I learned that money wasn’t just something that put food on the dinner table or kept the lights on. It’s a way of showing loyalty, of giving people peace and comfort and meaningful choices in their lives. It’s how I’ve been taught to give back to the world. So I guess I shouldn’t have disparaged my fellow vampires back in Forks, because there’s a slice of my tragic backstory, Baby Swan. Now you know. And you should know everything, since we’re in this thing together. Or maybe I just want you to.”

I laid my palm against his cool and flawless face, ran my thumb lightly across his cheek. “You really are serious about me.”

“I am alarmingly serious about you.”

“Even though this thing of ours has an expiration date?” Since I can never become a vampire. Since I will never have the distinction of being a permanent fixture of the Lee coven.

“That’s not a problem for today. That’s a problem for ten or fifteen years from now, whenever you decide you want to settle down and have kids and do the whole Great American Dream bit. You’ll be sick of me by then anyway. You’ll be dying to get away from us. Hahaha, get it? It’s a pun. Dying to get away from the vampires.”

I couldn’t imagine ever being sick of Joseph Francis Mazzello. Still, ten or fifteen years felt almost as good as forever to me. Fifteen autumns, fifteen Christmases, fifteen journeys around the sun that he avoided so deftly. “Why me, Joe?” I asked, incredulous. “You could have anyone. Any human, any vampire. Why me?”

“Because you’re you,” he said simply. And his mystified dark eyes added: What kind of a question is that? “You’re smart and you’re hilarious and you actually care about the world, about where it came from, about where it’s going, about people and places and animals that you’ll never meet. You’re indomitable. You’re fearless almost to the point of recklessness. And yet you’re so kind. You’re even nice to Ben, and humans are never nice to him...they’re either horrified or confused, or they’re too busy fantasizing about him to remember that he’s a real fucking person. But you’ve always tried to see the good in him. Even when he didn’t deserve it.” Joe shook his head, marveling. “And yeah, I’ve...I’ve screwed around, full disclosure. I’ve done the hookup thing. And it was great for what it was. But I never wanted more. I never felt some gnawing, sentimental, Hallmark-channel need for connection, to understand who they were as people. And then I met you, and...I want to know every single goddamn thing about you. I want to know your favorite color, what books you read, what the hell is so appealing about pineapple pizza, what you dream of. I feel like I could never get tired of trying to understand you.”

A refrain circled through my mind like a whirlpool, dragging every other thought down into oblivion: I love him, I love him, I love him. “Blue,” I said at last.

“What?”

“Turquoise blue, like the sky in Arizona. That’s my favorite color.”

The smile, slow and wonderous, rippled across his face. He took my hand again. “Come on.”

Joe led me onwards, down a few blocks and around a corner, as the muted sun receded from the sky and the first stars took its place, pinpricks of celestial light in a blanket of violet, azure, amber, rust. He stopped in front of the Church of Saint Lawrence, established in 1902 according to the sign mounted on the brick wall that faced the street, perhaps the same church that he had once visited with his family as an impatient child, snickering with his brothers and sisters and kicking the back of the pew in front of him with shoes that never fit quite right. There was a fountain bubbling with transparent water, a statue of the Virgin Mary at the center, coins made of copper and nickel and zinc glinting through the water under corridors of silvery luminance cast by the streetlights.

“I lied about not having my own superpower,” Joe informed me mischievously, not at all serious.

“Oh, did you now?”

“Absolutely.” He opened his wallet, rooted around, pulled out a penny and handed it to me. “I can make wishes come true. So go ahead.” He nodded towards the fountain. “Make your wish.”

The penny was worn and nearly indecipherable, but I was just barely able to read that it had been minted in 1928. The same year Joe was turned. “Joe...I can’t just throw this away!”

“You’re not throwing it away. You’re exchanging it for a wish. Now wish.”

I closed my eyes, chose my wish, tossed the penny into the fountain. The plink it made when it hit the water was bright and yet mournful somehow, like windchimes, like flickering candlelight.

“Outstanding job,” Joe complimented.

He was so visibly proud, so content, so faultless. The streetlights threw shadows across the sidewalk, the fountain, the whole world it seemed. I laced my fingers behind his neck, gazing up at him. “What are we doing tonight, mob guy?”

“I’m so glad you asked. You see, we have options.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“Door Number One,” Joe began. “It’s been a long day, and you’re exhausted from the illustrious honor of witnessing a Cubs victory firsthand. So we go back to the hotel, find some shark documentary on tv, order room service, shower, and drift off into a peaceful slumber. Just like last night.”

“Not bad. How about Door Number Two?”

“Door Number Two. You’re tired, but not that tired. We go back to the hotel, find that same aforementioned shark documentary, but totally ignore it and make out instead. Maybe we even round second base, in the spirit of the Cubs. Whatever you’re up for. Then we shower and drift off into a peaceful slumber.”

“Even better,” I said, and I meant it. “And what’s Door Number Three?”

Now Joe became jittery; his eyes darted to the fountain, the church, the cars that rolled lazily by. He was so desperate to conceal his hope, to not impose any undue influence upon me. I felt infinitesimal, almost weightless drops of rain against my cheeks, my collarbones, the downy undersides of my arms. “Well, uh, Door Number Three is...it’s...well...uh...it’s...”

Door Number Three is a home fucking run. “I want Door Number Three.”

“Really? Because you don’t have to say that, you can say no, that’s completely fine, it’s more than fine actually, it’s awesome, it’s totally cool, I’m seriously fine either way, and you can obviously change your mind whenever—”

“Wait.” I broke away from him, yanked my own wallet out of my purse, found the Official Whatever You Want Pass, hastily unfolded it, and presented it to Joe. “I want Door Number Three.”

He barked out a shocked laugh, accepted the pass, studied it in disbelief. “You are full of surprises, ma’am. It took me a hundred years to find a woman like you. And I don’t think I ever will again. Makes one wonder if this whole eternity thing is all it’s cracked up to be.” He tucked the pass into his pocket and kissed me beneath the streetlights, beneath the stars. “So there’s one tiny caveat to my wish-granting superpower.”

“Yeah?”

He smiled impishly, nudging the tip of my nose with his. “You have to tell me what you wished for.” He was joking, as he almost always was; I didn’t have to tell him anything. He wouldn’t press the issue. I doubted that he was really expecting me to answer at all. And yet I wanted to tell Joe; I yearned, for once, to be as clear as Lucy had said he was.

“For you and me,” I replied in little more than a whisper. “And for forever.”

Home

The only thing that startled me was how profoundly unstartling it all was, how wholly uncomplicated, how effortless.

I didn’t feel like a different person afterwards. I didn’t feel that some latent spark of lust, of carnality had been ignited, had singed through me, had left me forever marked like the heights of children ticked off on a doorframe over decades; I felt neither ruined nor awakened, no wiser, no older, no more enlightened as to the incalculable eccentricities of the vast and enigmatic universe. I felt only happiness, and exhausted satisfaction, and a deep, dreamless peace that engulfed me like frothy fingertips of waves dragging pebbles and shells back into the sea. I felt only a homecoming that was measured not in miles but in soul.

We slept in as the morning sun rose over Lake Michigan, bought Ben a hoodie (black, of course, per his usual aesthetic) from the University of Chicago gift shop, strolled unhurriedly through the dimly-lit, relentlessly blue pathways of the Shedd Aquarium. As I stood in the glass tunnel and watched sawfish and blacktip reef sharks soar by overhead, Joe linked his arms around my waist, tucked his chin into the dip of my collarbone, kissed the slope of my jaw.

“What do you think?” he asked, perhaps a touch apprehensively. “Could you get used to the Chicago life for a few years?”

“I would be tempted to kidnap some of these guys and bring them home to live in our bathtub. But yes.”

And Joe murmured, smiling, his lips to my temple: “That’s illegal, ma’am.”

Our flight back to the West Coast took off after dusk, and there was no blinding sunlight for Joe to avoid; only immense glooms of clouds and gleaming distant stars and the unfathomable void of space, cursed with crushing pressure and darkness like the cervices of the ocean floor.

Fifteen years might not be enough, I thought, resting my forehead against the cold airplane window as the city lights died behind us, as Joe’s hand weaved through mine on the armrest. But forever sounds just about right.

Larkin

There once was a boy born in a stone cottage with a dirt floor in a vanishingly inconsequential village just west of Clifden, Ireland. It was February 9th, 1672, bitterly cold, miserably wet, and the sea was murderous with storms. His mother was illiterate, as her mother had been, and as her mother had been as well, all the way back to people who painted mammoths on cave walls with their fingers; she was thirty-three and already exhausted with living, her seven children forever underfoot, her full and ruddy cheeks perpetually smudged with dirt from the field and ashes from the fire. Her husband was a failure and a drunk, but half a day’s worth of work once or twice a week was better than none at all; and as much as she never would have admitted it, he was a tether for her in a world that was often, as she had learned, both lonely and cruel.

She gave the baby boy a name—a strong Irish name, none of that audacious English rubbish—that meant rough or fierce, just like the sea that rose and ruptured against the rocky cliffs outside. He would need to be rough to survive in this world. He would need to be fierce.

He began like all the other children had been: sweet and yet anonymous, yielding, needful, worryingly small. She rocked him absently with one arm as she stirred the stew pot with the other. She sang to him, told him stories long before he could comprehend them, tales of the Lord and the saints and all their malevolent adversaries: serpents, pestilence, demons, dragons. She tossed stray sticks to him so he could carve pictures into the dirt floor and keep out of the way as she labored with the laundry or the sewing. And he grew, and he grew; and there was nothing remarkable about him at all, that boy speckled with mud and soot and the perpetual bruises of children mostly left to their own devices, that boy with pallid skin like his mother’s and black hair like his father’s and eyes so light and vibrant a brown they were nearly gold.

The boy was a baby, and then a child, and then a young man. And his mother realized one day—all at once, as a mother does when their attention is divided among so many other lives, when the children’s analogous faces bleed into each other and even their names sometimes escape her, even those names that she had chosen herself from the stories her own mother once passed to her through threadbare whispers—that people had a habit of following him, of listening to him. That there was an ether of allure that hovered around him like the mists that clung to the precarious, crumbling cliffs that touched the sea; that there was something like what the heathens called magic. And when the war came, that boy who was no longer a boy left his mother’s stone cottage and enlisted in Clifden, lied about his age, signed his name with an X because that was all he knew how to spell. But he was sure to tell the man who handled the ledger that he did have a real name, a good Irish name, a name apt for a soldier, a name that his mother had told him meant rough or fierce: Larkin.

There are men who join wars out of loyalty, principle, love for their homes; and then there are men who join to escape their homes, perhaps to forget them entirely. If you were to consult that ledger signed in a pub in Clifden, Ireland in 1688, you would read that I fought for Ireland, for the Catholics, for Christ the Lord and all his saints. But what I really fought for was my own resurrection: to take that boy stained with dirt and ignorance, drown him in the blood of other mothers’ trivial sons, and dredge up some greater version of myself that I had always known existed, that was hidden somewhere in the netlike darkness of the marrow of my bones.

People follow me, and they always have. I couldn’t tell you why. When I called them to enlist, when I thrusted swords and pikes into their calloused farmers’ fists, when I told them they could fight and live to see their wretched homes again, they believed me. I climbed the ranks like a ladder, like a mountain made of bones. And all those other mothers’ sons laid down for me so I could walk across the bridge of their spines to what I mistakenly assumed was invincibility.

At the Battle Of The Boyne, my horse was shot out from under me. A Williamite caught me beneath the ribs with his dagger. And as I bled out, staring up at the sky and impatiently waiting for the pain to vanish as my consciousness withdrew like low tide, I became aware that someone was lifting me, holding me, spiriting me through the battlefield and then the wilderness; and that my pain, in a disconcerting turn of events, had swelled to a vicious and unrelenting inferno.

Three days later, I woke to find that I was resurrected again, this time as something more than human. The man who turned me was blond-haired, light-eyed, agile and yet gentle, ancient and yet ever-changing.

“I thought you’d survive,” Nikolai said in a thick Slavic accent, standing over me with a kind smile. Then he helped me to my feet. “You have greatness in you. It sweats out of your pores, it’s in every word you speak. What a shame it would be for all of that to go to waste.”

He taught me everything: how to read and write, how to hunt, how to dodge the sunlight, how to survive an existence that was both theoretically endless and yet forever on the precipice of being cut short. He introduced me to the Draghi, to vampires who were remarkable for their ferocity, or their creativity, or their curiosity, or their cleverness, or all those things at once: Victorien, Honora, Elizabeth, Kestrel, Zhang, Sergei, Ana, Gwilym. And most crucially, Nikolai showed me that my human talents were magnified several times over, that his own followers were not immune to them, that there was power in collecting exceptional individuals like pieces of china stacked in a locked cabinet; and that if I could learn to climb immortal bones, the ladder never needed to end.

You never quite get used to the power, to the invincibility, to the promise of eternity. You never take it for granted. It hits you, again and again, in ceaseless and victorious waves. Once I was a barefoot toddler who sketched dragons and Catholic saints from the stories my mother told me into the dirt floor of our drafty stone cottage. Now I live in palaces with marble floors, with spiral staircases and libraries and gold-dripping ballrooms, with unobstructed views of any sea I choose. Now I am the dragon.

My phone rang, and I checked the name on the screen. Then I answered. “Hello, beauty. How’s the other side of the Pacific treating you?”

And Liesl answered, in a soft and astonished voice: “I don’t think Lucy can read her. I don’t think any of them can.”

I could feel it again. Another wave, crashing through me like the ocean, like the unstoppable rolling of time: power and insatiability and exhilaration. I smiled in my twilight-lit study as long-dead stars rose outside and the wind howled like wolves over the East Sea. “You know what to do.”

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fangirlxwritesx67 · 4 years

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Make Me Wanna Kiss You

Dean x OFC Rhea, 1200 words, cute fluff and food

Written for my sweet @winchesterxfamilybusiness Make Me Swoon 250 Followers Challenge. Sabrina, it has been a delight to get to know you! I admire you as a person, a fangirl, and a friend. Hope this makes you swoon

Rhea sighed as she locked the door behind at the small family-owned restaurant where she worked. The last lunch customer had just left, and now she had only a couple of hours before the restaurant would reopen for dinner, and plenty of work to do in the meantime. She had to chop vegetables for salads, fruit for cocktail garnishes, and slice the bread that would go on the table with every meal. There was also cleaning to be done and silverware - always silverware to be rolled.

But first, her own lunch. One of the perks of this job was that the owners provided a meal between the seatings. Usually it was a burger, hot sandwich, or the daily special, whatever the kitchen needed to get rid of, but it was free and better than what she could cook on her own.

Lately, though, there was an added attraction to employee meal time: the handsome new line cook, Dean Winchester.

He had started a couple of months ago when the last line cook stormed out in a huff over food safety measures. Dean fit into the kitchen like he had always been there.

At first, Rhea had been attracted to him for his good looks. His handsome face, sprinkled with freckles, was all chiseled angles, except for his mouth that was ridiculously plush. His apple green eyes were bracketed by lines that deepened in the rare moments that he laughed.

He turned out to be a hard worker, steady and less temperamental than most of the kitchen staff she had worked with over the years. He moved from stove to line to fridge to broiler with grace and rhythm that reminded her of a dancer. And his hands, those broad knuckles, scarred and freckled - she had lost moments, sometimes, watching him work.

Dean didn’t talk a lot, but Rhea had managed to gather that he was new in town, that he had a younger brother, and that his pride and joy was his car, a ‘67 Chevy Impala he referred to lovingly as Baby. He smoked, of course, drank a little too hard, and was inked as far up his arms as she could see under his black chef’s jacket.

Lately, she had started to linger in the kitchen when he made her lunch, for no reason other than she wanted to be near him. Sometimes she felt like she was talking to a brick wall, but then occasionally he would chuckle or simply crack a smile so bright it made her blush.

“It’s sandwich day!” He greeted her with a wide grin. “The other waitress already got hers and went-” he gestured with a spatula at the door. “So pick what you want, whatever you want, that I can put between two piece of bread.”

Rhea paused, taken aback.

“But wait.” Dean continued. “Let me guess, BLT on wheat toast, extra crispy bacon, add cheddar and avocado, side of fries.”

“How- how did you know?”

“I pay attention. You like things a certain way. And I know you usually eat the veggies of the day, but I see you sneaking fries off the warmer.”

Rhea blushed, but it was true. “Okay, but I can’t eat a side of fries every day. Do you know how much fatter I’d be?”

Dean’s expression turned dead serious. “First of all, there is nothing fat about you. Second, who cares? Life is short. Eat the fries. I like to see a woman who enjoys her meals.” He turned away suddenly, as if afraid he had said too much.

He was silent while he made and plated not one BLT but two. He handed her both and took off his apron before he spoke again.

“C’mon, its a clear sunny fall day. Let’s eat outside.”

“Outside?” Rhea was confused. The restaurant didn’t have outdoor seating. But Dean held the back door to the kitchen open and she followed. Around the corner there was a messy pile of milk crates. He set three in a row against the side of the building and settled onto one.

Rhea set the plates on the center crate like it was a table before sitting down. The sun-warmed brick of the building felt good against her back. When she picked up her sandwich, it was perfect. For a few moments, they ate in comfortable silence.

A sudden gust of wind drove a shower of yellow and orange leaves in their direction, and she laughed as she tried to keep them off her food. Dean picked one up and looked at it almost solemnly.

“I guess if the leaves are falling, it’s time for me to cook fall food. What do you think of pumpkin soup?” He turned to her, as if her opinion mattered for the restaurant menu.

She shook her head, wrinkling her nose. “Eww, no. Everything is pumpkin this time of year. I like a good slice of pumpkin pie, but there can be too much of a good thing.”

Dean smirked as if there was something funny about that before he spoke again. “What do you suggest then?”

“Mac and cheese. Nothing like good old fashioned homemade cheesy pasta. And you can do so much with it, you can make it simple or fancy, you can add veggies, you can put bread crumbs on top, plus it’s not too expensive and everybody likes it.” Her voice trailed off.

“Great idea! See, I knew you were a lady who knew her food. Plus, my brother says I make the best mac and cheese in the world. Of course, he might be biased. When we were kids, we often didn’t have anything else. So I’d do my best to dress it up, add hot dogs, marshmallow fluff.”

Rhea laughed, but Dean was dead serious. “Well, it sounds like he thinks the world of you. I’m sure you are a great big brother, although now I have some doubts about your culinary ideas.”

Dean was the one who laughed then, head back, eyes crinkled. The thought crossed her mind that he looked younger when he was happy. When his eyes met hers again, they held a question she didn’t quite understand.

“But as long as you promise to keep it a little more traditional, I’ll try anything you want to make.”

“You gotta stop doing that.” Dean held out his hand unexpectedly over their empty plates on the milk crate table.

“What?” Rhea slipped her hand into his. His palm was warm and he curled his finger over hers.

“Saying things that make me want to kiss you.”

She searched his face for any sign that he was joking, but his eyes shone earnestly and his lips curled with hope.

“What makes you think I don’t want you to kiss me, Dean Winchester?” She answered at last.

Their first kiss tasted a little bit like bacon, and as Dean brought one hand up to caress her face, the wind blew another cascade of leaves down around them.

Rhea had things to do, food to prepare and silverware to roll. She had mac and cheese to taste in the future. But that afternoon, with the sun on her face and Dean’s lips on hers, there was nothing else she wanted.

*** SPN First Last and Always: @boondoctorwho @dawnie1988 @deanwanddamons @defenderrosetyler @divadinag @emoryhemsworth @fookinghelljensensthighs @idreamofplaid @kalesrebellion @kickingitwithkirk @maddiepants @magssteenkamp @onethirstyunicorn @there-must-be-a-lock @tloveswriting Dean Curious: @adoptdontshoppets @awesomesusiebstuff @deangirl7695 @deans-baby-momma @mrsjenniferwinchester @stoneyggirl @supersassyprobablysad @wayward-gypsy @winchesterxfamilybusiness Gay Screaming: @boondoctorwho, @cherry3point14 @cracksinthewalls, @fookinghelljensensthighs @itmighthavebeenintentional, @justcallmeasmodeus, @lastactiontricia @littlegreenplasticsoldier @mskathywriteswords, @rockhoochie, @there-must-be-a-lock, @thoughtslikeaminefield

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x ofc #make me swoon

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wisehoagiekidwobbler · 4 years

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100 Prompts for Working with Your Grimoire on a Daily Basis.

Your grimoire is a living document. Recording your spiritual practice in a sacred manner is a great way to stay connected to your spirituality. Plus, by recording things like your new moon intentions, rituals and your moods or dreams during certain astrological events, you are creating a way to observe and bear witness to your spiritual path as it evolves. I recommend making your grimoire a part of your daily spiritual practice so that it becomes an innate part of your witchy path. Sometimes it can be a challenge to find new ways to work with your grimoire though, and then the document becomes stagnant, no longer keeping up with your daily spiritual experience. Once you have recorded the magickal correspondences of your favorite herbs and crystals, astrological signs and a few spells or recipes, you may find yourself stuck as to how to continue working with your grimoire. To help you out with that block, here are 100 prompts to kickstart your creativity and get your witchy observations underway:

1. Record information about plants that are native to your area.

2. Get to know your sun sign. How does it manifest in your real life? What house do you have the sun in and what other planets are also in that house? All of these elements affect your astrological relationship with the sun.

3. Look up your own moon sign, as well as any planets or asteroids in your natal chart that are in the sign of Cancer, (the sign of the moon), and record what you find in your grimoire.

4. Create a page in your grimoire to record the intentions you set at each new moon for the entire year so that you can keep track of your progress.

5. Write out tutorials for particular projects you make often or are interested in making, such as tinctures, infused oils, homemade gin or flower essences.

6. Make natural ink from plants to use when writing in your grimoire. (There is a great tutorial for this in The Modern Witch’s Guide to Lammas online course!)

7. In addition to individual profile pages for each plant, create indexes of particular traits, correspondences or astrological rulers for easy reference.

8. Record recipes for diffuser blends, tinctures, tea blends, spells and other herbal concoctions and leave space at the bottom to note in a few days, weeks or months, how the recipe’s effect turned out.

9. Keep track in your grimoire of where you acquire your favorite versions of each plant. As you practice herbalism regularly, you will discover that you prefer some plants from certain shops over others or from your own garden or not.

10. Rather than simply drawing a picture of the plant on its profile page in its most commonly recognized form, include more detailed drawings as well of the plant as it appears in various seasons and periods of its life cycle.

11. Keep a record of the types of pollinators that visit your garden and research their likes, dislikes and functions.

12. Work with the spring astrological signs of Aries, Taurus and Gemini and record information you find about the energies of these signs in your grimoire.

13. Work with the summer astrological signs of Cancer, Leo and Virgo and record information you find about the energies of these signs in your grimoire.

14. Work with the fall astrological signs of Libra, Scorpio and Sagittarius and record information you find about the energies of these signs in your grimoire.

15. Work with the winter astrological signs of Capricorn, Aquarius and Pisces and record information you find about the energies of these signs in your grimoire.

16. Profile crystals and herbs related to Ostara and Beltane, such as tulips and clover, or rose quartz and aquamarine.

17. Profile crystals and herbs related to the Summer Solstice and Lammas, such as wheat, sunflowers and citrine.

18. Profile herbs associated with Samhain, such as Rosemary, Mugwort and Yarrow.

19. Profile crystals associated with Samhain, such as Bloodstone, Obsidian and Black Tourmaline.

20. Profile crystals and herbs associated with Yule such as garnet and moss agate, or holly and peppermint.

21. Profile crystals and herbs associated with the moon, such as selenite and jasmine.

22. Journaling Prompt: Where do you feel like you shine? In what situation do you feel your best, most brilliant self?

23. Summer is when the sun is at its strongest. Record scientific, metaphysical and astrological information about the sun.

24. Record the steps you take for your Ostara and Beltane rituals and your springtime full moon ritual, so you can refer back to them in future spring seasons.

25. Record the steps you take in your Summer Solstice and Strawberry Moon rituals. It can be very helpful and enlightening in the future to be able to refer back and see what you did and how you felt at the time.

26. Record the steps you take in your Samhain and Blood Moon rituals. It can be very helpful and enlightening in the future to be able to refer back and see what you did and how you felt at the time.

27. Record the steps you take for your Yule and December full moon rituals, so that you can refer back to them in the future.

28. Journaling Prompt: Summer is the season of abundance. What is in full bloom and abundant growth in your life right now? What needs a little extra care to achieve abundance?

29. Meditate or do a card reading outside in the sunshine. Feel the warmth shine down on your skin and record the results of your solar-powered meditation or reading.

30. Now that your garden is in abundant production, record the recipes (culinary, medicinal and otherwise) that you are using your herbs and veggies in.

31. Record information about the energy of the new moon.

32. Start a Lunar Grimoire to keep track of your new moon rituals.

33. Record information about the astrological sign that the moon is currently in.

34. Journaling Prompt: What intentions are you setting at this new moon? What goals are you setting? How do your physical goals and spiritual intentions differ from each other?

35. Record your favorite oils, crystals and herbs to aid in manifestation work for realizing the intentions you set at the new moon.

36. Look up which phase the moon was in when you were born and record information about it.

37. Journaling Prompt: What have you manifested since the last new moon? Did you realize your intentions or goals that you set then?

38. Pull one tarot card every new moon and record it in the same section of your grimoire each month so you can refer back to where you were at for the beginning of each lunar cycle in the year.

39. Record information about the energy of the full moon.

40. Start a Lunar Grimoire to keep track of your full moon rituals.

41. Keep a daily record of particular habits you want to start, such as drinking water, exercising or practicing a morning or evening ritual.

42. If you have pets or a familiar, research any plants that may be harmful for them and record them in your grimoire for safety reference.

43. Record information about the astrological sign that the moon is currently in.

44. Research moon goddesses such as Selene, Diana and Hecate and write in your grimoire information about how they are worshiped.

45. If you commonly suffer from a particular ailment, research which plants and homeopathic remedies exist to treat it and record them in your grimoire. (Please note: Always consult a doctor for serious or chronic conditions. Do not mix homeopathic remedies with Western medicine and medication without speaking to your doctor first.)

46. Journaling Prompt: What do you want to celebrate at this full moon? How have you grown and what have you achieved in the last lunar cycle?

47. The new moon is associated with the maiden aspect of the Triple Goddess. Research the maiden and goddesses associated with her and record what resonates with you in your grimoire.

48. Spring is associated with the maiden aspect of the Triple Goddess. Research the maiden and goddesses associated with her and record what resonates with you in your grimoire.

49. Summer is associated with the mother aspect of the Triple Goddess. Research the mother and goddesses associated with her and record what resonates with you in your grimoire.

50. The full moon is associated with the mother aspect of the Triple Goddess. Research the mother and goddesses associated with her and record what resonates with you in your grimoire.

51. Autumn is associated with the crone aspect of the Triple Goddess. Research the crone and goddesses associated with her and record what resonates with you in your grimoire.

52. Write down all of the tools you like to use in moon rituals, including your favorite candles, tarot decks, teas and oil blends.

53. Journaling Prompt: What do you want to release from the past lunar cycle?

54. Sketch out the layout of your garden or planters.

55. Research plants that are native to your area or that you want to grow yourself and record information you find about them, as well as their magickal properties.

56. If you plant to grow plants that you can cook with, write down a few magickal recipes you will be able to use them in.

57. Journaling Prompt: What does rebirth mean to you? Is it the natural cycle of the seasons or something more literal or magickal?

58. Design a tarot spread for spring and record it in your grimoire. Themes for your spread could include rebirth and new growth.

59. Journaling Prompt: What aspect of your spiritual or magickal life do you need to do a little spring cleaning in? What can you clear out to make room for new ideas?

60. Speaking of spring cleaning, record the ways in which you are adding a magickal touch to your cleaning routine, such as saging your home or infusing your cleaning products with your intentions for the spring season. This can become a ritual in and of itself.

61. You may also want to “spring clean” your grimoire: smudge it with smoke to release any negativity or energy it has collected over the winter and start the season fresh.

62. Record in your grimoire family recipes you make each year during the holidays, such as the family gingerbread cookie recipe. This is perfect for kitchen witches who use their grimoires as recipe books as well.

63. Journaling Prompt: Reflect on the past year and how you have grown in your spiritual journey during that time.

64. Record a favorite holiday story or Yule legend, such as A Christmas Carol or the story of the yule log. Then, each year, you will be able to read this story out loud from your grimoire to create a new holiday tradition.

65. Make plans for the new year in terms of your spiritual journey. What new ideas and techniques do you want to study?

66. Sketch or trace mandalas into your grimoire and color them in. Coloring may be trendy but it really is deeply meditative and relaxing, and mandalas can be very powerful for centering your energy. The perfect activity for a rainy, winter day!

67. Press sprigs of holly leaves, pine or cedar in your grimoire to scent the book with the feeling of the season.

68. Research and record information about gods and goddesses associated with Yule and other winter holidays, such as Saturnalia. You might find a new tradition you feel drawn to.

69. Journaling prompt: What in your life is coming to an end? How do you feel about that?

70. Design a tarot spread for fall or Samhain and record it in your grimoire for future use. Themes for your spread could include letting go of something or connecting with your ancestors/ancestral knowledge.

71. Research traditional witchcraft in your ancestral culture. Are there any particular spells or practices that you can incorporate into your own magick? Record them in your grimoire.

72. Journaling prompt: How does the crone goddess present herself in your own life? Is there someone that you think represents her? How do you relate to her wise and often misunderstood energy personally?

73. Have a favorite fall recipe? Look up the magickal associations of the main ingredients and record the recipe in your grimoire.

74. Sketch a plan for your fall garden, along with how you are physically and spiritually clearing out the garden from summer. Note what the magickal associations of your new fall plants are.

75. Journaling prompt: Fall and Samhain are sometimes associated with inner darkness and understanding that side of ourselves. How do you deal with dark thoughts when they occur? How can you better harness that darkness and turn it into something productive and useful?

76. Carved pumpkins or jack-o-lanterns are a traditional form of protective magick. Sketch out your ideas and final plans for your jack-o-lantern this year in your grimoire! Incorporate protective sigils or pentagrams into the design for an extra magickal boost.

77. Press fall leaves in your grimoire and try to identify them on the page. What is their significance? What do they represent together and individually for you?

78. Record magickal traditions and superstitions of the cultures that your ancestors came from. Write down spells and rituals you come across, even if they aren’t something you would every practice yourself – having this understanding of where you come from can help you more deeply connect with your own unique magick.

79. Record all of the plants you are starting from seed or planning to put in your garden. You could even sketch out your garden layout, as well as record the magickal correspondences of each plant.

80. Create a dream journal section in your grimoire to record your dreams each morning and the astrological and outside factors that may have influenced them.

81. Have a reading done by a professional tarot, tea leaf or palm reader, and record in your grimoire what they said or predicted about you. Leave space to record in a few weeks or months how their predictions manifested.

82. Develop a daily skincare routine for hot weather and sun exposure and record the routine, as well as recipes for any homemade cosmetics used in the routine.

83. Draw constellations that you see in the sky and record when and where you see them and information about the mythology behind them.

84. Draw your own natal chart and record information about the placement of your planets, signs and houses.

85. Keep a running list of witchy books you are interested in reading and currently reading. Give a brief review of each to refer back to after you have finished them.

86. Record a list of songs and musical artists that put you in a magickal or spiritual mindset.

87. Collage a mini vision board of your intentions on a page spread in your grimoire.

88. Write or sketch out yoga sequences such as custom sun and moon salutations.

89. Draw different crystal formations and record information about their meanings and functions.

90. Explore the ways that the element of air manifests in your life.

91. Explore the ways that the element of earth manifests in your life.

92. Explore the ways that the element of fire manifests in your life.

93. Explore the ways that the element of water manifests in your life.

94. Research other witchcraft traditions than your own to discover what you can learn from them. Explore the labels you have used, those you have shied away from and what that all might mean for the future of your practice.

95. Journaling Prompt: How do you relate to technology in your spiritual life? Do you utilize it or turn away from it? Why or why not?

96. Record a spiritual history of your family, beginning as far back as you are aware. What were the spiritual beliefs of your immediate family and of your ancestors? How did those family traditions evolve over time and how do the beliefs of others affect your practice today?

97. Lay outside on a partly cloudy day and look for shapes in the clouds. Draw what you see and record what you think it means.

98. Create an index of herbs and crystals so that you can cross-reference them by their many variations of folk names.

99. Create a tarot journal section in your grimoire and write down the meaning of each card and your personal associations and reactions to it. You could also do this for individual oracle decks!

100. Journaling Prompt: What kind of witchcraft do you identify most with and why?

#grimoire #witchcraft #book of spells #wicca #book of shadows #witch #spell book #witches journal #magic book #pagan #magic #spells #witches #witchy #wiccan #magical

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sinfuldreamers · 3 years

Text

Fuck it, that’s my new motto, the mindset I’ve been lately. I’m not sure it’ll last, but it’s the first time in months I’ve felt somewhat stronger. Not strong, but not suffocating—at least not today. You’re continuing silence doesn’t gut me quite like it did a few weeks ago.

These past few months have felt impossible, and yet I’m still somehow pulling myself through them. Flowers bloom across my forearm in black ink, the skin still stinging from the new artwork I wear. It’s a reward of sorts, and a reminder.

Changes have been therapeutic. My hair is a new color, and I’m physically taking up less space these days, even if mentally I’m taking on more. I drink less coffee, devour less sweets, swapped chips and cheez its for fruits and veggies.

I can’t say I’m done—hoping, wishing, missing. But I am tired of crying, pleading, shattering. I try to fill my time with other things, healthier things. I still love you, but I’m starting to learn that just because I don’t have you doesn’t mean I don’t have anything.

-04/14/2021

#my writing #self care #self healing #spilled ink #writing #writers on tumblr #break up #break ups #love #loss #hurt #strength #breakups #heartache #heartbreak #survival

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zippiestdraws · 4 years

Text

Choking Curiosity Ch 9

ftm reader x Michael Myers

read on ao3

The microwave clock says five-fifty am when Michael creeps into the house. He shakes the dew out of the mask’s hair and reaches for the kitchen towel to wipe off the latex.

The book is new. He saunters to it slowly, leaving it untouched other than plucking the note from the cover. Your request in writing is met with indifference, barely read, but his thumb rubs over the inking of your name at the bottom.

He’d seen it amongst your things, but this trinket he can keep. He pockets the paper, crumpling it in his grip, and picks up the book. Beginner’s Guide to American Sign Language.

Michael snarls under the mask. Past anger wells in his chest at the words, fighting to vent through his fingers. They tried to make him use sign language in Smith’s Grove. He never wanted to learn to communicate better, even if out of spite, it was what he could control. The only sign that really stuck was the middle finger.

Michael climbs the stairs with a harsh grip on the spine, sparing a glare towards your bedroom door and throwing the book into his room before him.

*** You wake up with purpose this morning and only spend half the amount of time as usual sitting in your bed before getting up.

Fussing with the bedhead in the mirror, you brush your teeth when a thought hits you. You haven’t seen your new roommate brush his teeth.

Ew.

You sigh. You’re going to have to get him a toothbrush and some deodorant, you can’t imagine being on the lam has left him smelling decent. You gag. He better not have touched your toothbrush.

The book is gone from the counter, which you count as a win. There’s no response to your note, but you’ll take what you can get. You just need to remember to study your book too, when you get back.

Thinking about the cookout, you stop short.

‘Was I supposed to bring a dish?’

You groan, hopefully they won’t judge you for bringing some chips and dip.

You get dressed what would be considered way too early, but you need to get gas anyway, and luckily you did because, as you leave your house, you see Abtin approach from his yard.

He gifts you a tomato from his garden, to your surprise, and begins to tell you how his plants are doing. He tells you he’s gonna cook the rabbit that keeps eating his cabbage if he catches it, in the way he jokes for shock value.

“So, hey, is that your brother I keep seeing behind your house? He keeps coming and going-”

You choke on your own spit.

“I’m just messing with you, I know what it is.” He laughs and slaps his knee. You don’t know what you would say if you could say something. What excuse could you give? You hope he doesn’t mean what you think he does, but you’re the only person he gossips to anyway.

You’re relieved when he moves on to critique the spray paint still out front, but at least Halloween is next month and then you’ll probably be able to paint the house.

In another ten minutes, you pocket your tomato and make it to your car to drive for the first time in probably two months. Hopefully you’ll have enough gas to make it to a station.

*** You’re lucky you filled the tank before leaving because you got lost twice trying to find the turn off indicated on the map. Finally, on another turn back, you see a faded red flannel tied around a tree, and upon closer inspection, an old dirt road hidden at an odd angle.

When the trees part into a wider clearing down the road, you slow to a stop in the drive of what appears to be a tricked out log cabin. Putting your car in park, you jump at a loud whack nearby, someone splitting logs in your peripheral.

Jake is wearing what looks like a cowboy hat, but you’re more enamored with the way his arms look in his sleeveless vest when he swings the axe. You close your mouth and remind yourself he’s spoken for. Stepping out of the car and grabbing the food you brought, he waves to you, then points to the cabin. Right on time you see Dwight and someone you don’t know lifting a wooden picnic bench, and you jog over to help because Dwight looks like he’s about to get squashed.

At its destination, the other man introduces himself as David and slaps hands with you, throwing his arm around Dwight. It’s almost surprising, the two of them look like a stereotypical high school nerd and bully, but David tussles his hair like an older brother.

After letting go, he pulls you over to where some logs are felled around a firepit to “grab a beer and meet the queers”. You laugh at the overtness of it, and again as a girl with red hair chucks a bag of marshmallows at his head when she hears him say it. Maybe finding someone like you isn’t a lost cause here.

“Hey!”, when David opens the cooler, you look up to see Laurie standing there pointing at you. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you smile, glad to see a familiar face.

“I came with Meg and Claudette,” Laurie gestures at the two other women who nod to you.

“I’m Meg and this is Claudette, to be clear,” the girl with red hair clarifies and nods her head across from her, “and over there is Ace- and so help me, Ace, if you shoot that at me I will roast you over the fire.”

You turn towards who she’s speaking to and see an older man sitting in a blue, plastic kiddie pool struggling to fill a small water pistol while laughing.

“Here you go, mate.” David grabs your attention trying to hand you a beer.

“Oh, no thanks, I gotta drive home tonight-” you put your hand up, but he presses it into your palm.

“Come on, relax, just one won’t hurt. And if you get hammered, you can just camp out here like everyone else.”

It’s in your hand now and you nod at him, but you don’t want to reveal that you think beer tastes like shit.

Dwight returns with Jake and firewood in tow, Ace squirts the water gun at them ‘to cool Jake down’ and you duck out of the way as they drop the tinder into the pit.

“Hey, glad you came,” Jake says, dusting splinters from his hands.

“He brought chips!” You both hear David yell over from the table, presumably with his mouthful.

“Yeah, sorry I didn’t bring something better-” you start to apologize but he tells you not to worry about it, chips are great and you brought enough so that David can’t eat them all. David yells back that he takes that as a challenge.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve laughed this much.

It’s a warm enough afternoon that you don’t need to light the bonfire yet, and David gets the grill going while Jake runs back to his cabin to grab the meat. At this point you remember the tomato in your pocket, pulling it out and setting it on the table sheepishly.

“Nice tomato! I always bring a vegetarian option for everybody too, Jake keeps them separate on the grill for me.” Claudette smiles at you from across the table as she sets down some plates.

“Thanks, my neighbor actually gave it to me from his garden this morning before I left.”

The two of you talk, and you learn that planting marigolds with tomatoes is a great way to prevent pests and Claudette knows a whole lot about gardening because she happens to be a botanist.

Meg sits down next to her and listens happily for a couple of minutes before calling Ace over to challenge him to an arm wrestle.

“Don’t let him near the grill, everything he touches burns…” Meg whispers out of the side of her mouth as he walks over. You catch Laurie’s eye from where she’s standing with Dwight, Jake, and David at the grill, exiting the conversation before swiftly making her way over to you.

“I’m gonna show (Y/n) where the bathroom is.”, her hand lands on your shoulder, you guess you have no choice.

You swing your legs around the bench and follow her off towards the cabin with a shrug. When you’re a few paces away from the group, she hisses to you under her breath without looking and you almost miss it.

“Have you seen him again?”

It takes a second before you register what she’s talking about, but you respond before you come to a full conclusion on what you tell her.

“No, not since the first time.” She opens the front door of the cabin and you avoid eye contact. You hope your body language reads ‘upset’ and not ‘hiding something’. “I don’t want to talk about it right now…”

Laurie lets it drop, but sounds irritated when she points out the bathroom. On the way back you whisper a ‘sorry’ and she responds with a ‘me too’. You scrunch your brows in confusion, but head over to the grill. She disappears from your side but a thirty seconds later a stream of water hits you in the side of the head.

You yelp in shock and duck, but Laurie keeps squirting the gun, catching Dwight in the crossfire.

“It’s on!” David yells, dropping the tongs on the grill and vaulting over the table after her. Laurie runs to the other side of the kiddie pool that you see Ace getting out of, holding a beer aloft.

There’s a stand off on either side of the water, broken by David launching over it and landing one foot in the drink to lunge at Laurie, only for her to jump out of his reach. Almost in slow motion, everyone watches as his one foot slips on the plastic and he goes tumbling down, soaking his pants and getting a face full of grass. Everybody has a good laugh while he climbs out with a flurry of curses and peels off his shirt.

Damn.

Jake calls over as he sets one huge plate of hot dogs and burgers on the table and follows it with one of corncobs and what’s probably the veggie patties that Claudette mentioned. Meg whistles at the sight of the food and starts serving hot dogs after passing the vegetarian plate to Claudette, everyone falling in at the table to eat.

*** You eat until you’re stuffed, unashamed as everyone else does the same. The sun is sinking in the sky now, casting a pleasant glow through the trees. Jake deems it enough to start the fire and you approach to watch curiously as he strikes flint onto the dry brush and blows on it.

When he’s finished he tells the group to keep an eye on it while he fetches the s’mores stuff.

“I thought we put it out right here-” Dwight turns toward the logs, confused, but Jake takes him by the arm to bring him along to the cabin.

“I brought it inside because the chocolate was melting.” Dwight seems to accept this and follows along.

When they're out of earshot, Meg leans in towards the log you’re sitting on from her own.

“Jake is proposing tonight! I think he’s doing it!” She squeals a bit in excitement and tries to look like she’s not watching when Dwight looks back before ducking inside.

You share in their excitement and join Ace in stoking the fire into a roaring flame. You watch the smoke dance and carry some ashes into the air and lean back happily. The sky is turning from purple to deep blue now. The light from the fire dances off the trunks of the trees, and you take in the nature of your surroundings as your friends chatter around you.

You squint at a shape between the trees and it moves behind a thicker trunk.

White mask.

*** Michael would never admit to himself of ever feeling jealousy, but a certain irritation of possessiveness grows as he watches. His stomach rumbles at the food, but it’s of little relevance to him.

He spots Laurie and his knife is already in his dominant hand. The strings are connecting what he’s seeing to the same feeling of what he saw watching the teenagers in 1978. This time Laurie is collateral. Funny.

All he has to do is wait.

He could go after the two that already diverged from the group, but he wanted you separated. He moves closer to where you will see him.

The firelight flickers over your form, creating a beautiful moving sepia of you that reminds Michael of the old photographs in the asylum. As you poke at the fire, it licks towards your fingers and that are drawn back sharply.

What sounds would you make when it touched you?

Your eyes had a dream like quality, observing the realness of your habitat, peering through rose-tinted glasses to only see the welcoming nature when surrounded by the lurking sharpness of it.

He may have felt smug when the illusion broke around his presence.

Michael moves out of your line of sight, but he humors over the way a human freezes like an animal in the headlights.

The annoying man who fell in the pool speaks. Michael doesn’t like the way he looks at you.

“Oi, (y/n), you look like you’ve seen a ghost, what’s got you bothered?”

You snap out of it quickly, looking towards him and then shaking your head.

“Um, yeah sorry, I’m just...cold. I’m gonna go get my jacket from my car, I’ll be right back.”

You skitter off nervously, Michael can see the confusion on some of the other faces.

You make it to your car before scanning the woods and spinning to check your blindspot, but you don’t need it, Michael is already walking toward you and you can see the way the orange of the distant campfire glints off of the knife he’s brandishing. You step back, you don’t want to be intimidated, but you fear for what he’ll do to your friends.

The car door stands between the two of you when you open it, pulling out your jacket without breaking eye contact. It’s seeming like you can’t escape him.

“How did you get here?”, you whisper, not knowing exactly where Jake and Dwight are.

You wait for an answer, and when you give up on one, he turns his head deliberately toward the backseat of your car and back to you.

You’re incredulous, the main question you don’t want to elaborate on is “how?”, but you wave it away to get to the point.

“Please.”, you don’t know what you’re appealing to, but you hope there’s some leverage you have in the way he sees the situation. “Please don’t hurt these people. I’ll-”

What will you do?

You don’t know, but you have to save them from whatever he’s planning.

“I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll-I’ll leave right now, okay?” He just stares at you. He twists his knife once.

“The car is open, I’ll go make an excuse to leave and be right be right back, I promise.” You hold up your hands placatingly.

You do a quick jog back to campfire and it looks like you return shortly after Jake and Dwight.

“So, what’d I miss?”, you hope you don’t enter as clumsily as you feel.

Jake and Dwight turn to you on the log and Dwight is wearing the biggest sheepish smile and looks like he cried a little bit. You can see the little gold band on Dwight’s left hand and smile back, issuing proper congratulations.

You force yourself to say it, feeling guilty for springing it on them during a sentimental moment.

“I wanted to stay for the s’mores, sorry guys, but I gotta get home.” Some sad ‘awws’ erupt from the girls and Laurie looks at you suspiciously.

“What, are you afraid of the dark?”, David jeers as you say your goodbyes.

“No, I just have work tomorrow.”, you grimace.

he responds with a hum of acknowledgement before laughing.

“Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave.”

You give him a good natured punch in the shoulder before waving to everyone and heading out.

Approaching your car once more, you can see Michael’s silhouette in the backseat and gulp. Sliding in and starting the car like normal, you try not to look back, but in the mirror you see the shadowed eyes watching you.

It’s easy to imagine how vulnerable you are to him in the backseat. The ride home is awkward, but only for you.

#Slashers #slasher x reader #Michael Myers #michael myers x reader #male reader #trans writers #choking curiosity #alcohol tw #but its just a beer mention

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