#...this is a little different from the soap kit because you may ACTUALLY have to twist my arm on this lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jodilin65 · 6 months

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I would have gotten my entry posted earlier if I wasn’t fighting the usual battle of fatigue. Again, better than anxiety, but anything that affects your daily activities or peace of mind is never good.

Tom was sent home from the plasma place after they said his arms were too bruised. He feels like that’s their fault for pressuring him to put heat on his arms when he’s noticed that this actually makes it take longer for the bruises to fade. He’s going to look and see how far another plasma company is.

Yesterday was painting day at the clubhouse and we painted manatees. Mine came out okay. Could have been better, but it wasn’t that bad.

I have a funny story about painting class but first, I’m so glad I had decent energy yesterday! I walked down in the warm sunshine and back and still felt good. The day before was horrible. I was just so tired to the point that it was really getting me down. I still think the main culprit is my thyroid, so I hope going back on multivitamins will eventually make a difference. There’s vitamin D in them and while it’s not as much as a typical adult dose there’s a bit of concern that it may go the opposite way and make my thyroid work a little too hard and make me anxious but I can skip the vitamins on some days if I have to.

It’s just frustrating because like I said, while I think my thyroid is the main culprit, I don’t know for sure. If not, then I don’t know if it’s something in the way I sleep or if I really do have chronic fatigue and this is just the way it’s gonna be for half of the time or more.

Tom says he doesn’t think I’ll have it for the rest of my life because my problems change.

Yeah, after nearly a decade, maybe.

I had burning down there yesterday that made me begin to doubt the soap. So because I have $25 of store credit every 3 months, I ordered a yeast infection kit. Could take a week to get to me, and I don’t know if I’ll have to fight with the applicators, but at least it’s free. For now, I took some leftover Monistat cream, put the biggest glob I could fit on my fingertip, and shoved it up there last night before bed (excuse my explicit description here, lol). I haven’t had any burning so far today, which now leads me to think that it was a yeast infection. I started to highly suspect this at the end of my day yesterday just by the symptoms and the fact that it had been several days since I used that harsh soap.

I don’t know why (to replace primary care visits?) but my insurance company will pay me $100 for someone to do a home check where they come to the house. They take your blood pressure and go over your meds, make sure you’re safe, etc. So I said sure, why not? So we’re gonna schedule that sometime soon. We have eye exams scheduled for the 4th.

Tom walked with me down to the clubhouse because he wanted to get more steps. I’ll admit that I’m glad he didn’t come in with me because it’s nice to have some things we do on our own like how he does the plasma thing on his own. We just don’t need to do every single thing together.

The redneck was actually kind of funny yesterday. He was coming up the street on his golf cart with Happy and as soon as he saw me he goes, “Oh no!” and puts a hand over Happy’s mouth, lol.

A surprising number of people turned out to paint and a few didn’t even show up. I ended up sitting next to a woman named Sandy and she was pretty nice. She was quiet and soft-spoken.

Behind me sat Debi, a rude Trump whore I never liked. She was rude to me in the group a couple of years ago as people who disagree with you often are instead of politely making their own point and leaving it at that. You know, the my-way-is-correct-and-your-way-is-all-wrong kind of thing.

Before class got going, Debi stood up to lower the speed of the fan between our two tables because it was causing a disco ball effect with flashing shadows as the blades swung under the recessed lighting. She looked at me and smiled and said I had it too. It was noticeable on our canvases but Sandy and I didn’t mind. I just wanted some air flow because it was hot in there.

So then Gail, who was leading the class had us all introduce ourselves. This was something I didn’t want to do because I was there to paint and not socialize. Also, because of my unique name, I knew Debi would know who I was. With a temper like mine, if she pissed me off bad enough, there’s no saying what I might have done.

So now the few people in the group who might not like me because I don’t always agree with them knew who I was but no one gave me any shit.

When Debi walked by me later on, she didn’t even glance my way. I had to fight the urge to stick my foot out in front of me just because I hate the little bitch. At the end of the class, when we were having our pictures taken with our paintings and I was talking to someone else, I thought I saw her looking my way with a contemptuous look on her face, not that it matters, of course. It was actually kind of funny.

The only thing I didn’t like about the class was that it wasn’t quite as structured as I thought it would be with Gail guiding us step by step but at least she was there to answer questions. It was nice to get out for the two or so hours I was out of the house.

And to leave my paper journal in the bathroom, lol. I always thought it would be interesting to see if it was mentioned in the group, but there’s been no mention of that or any pictures posted from the class yet.

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

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The Family Tree is... a Disaster

Takes place in the TCW Leverage AU. It does contain a few deviations, namely that the narrative ended up shifting Plo's role in Ahsoka's life, and Ventress's role overall.

This is mostly just dialogue where I outline the fuckery that is the disaster lineage family tree, not actual fic. It stemmed from my incessant need to justify "25yo Obi-Wan somehow got custody of 9yo Anakin without Shmi dying."

Warnings for: canon character death (modernized), canon violence (modernized), and references to Nazis and white supremacists (Palpatine collects WWII weaponry as a parallel to his canon display of Sith artifacts in his office as chancellor, and Ahsoka thinks it's sketchy)

----

"Okay," Cody says, setting down a glass of whiskey as he drops into the seat across the table. "What the hell is your family tree like?"

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow, and continues cleaning off the definitely-not-stolen crystal komodo dragon he'd won in today's job. "I beg your pardon?"

"You and Skywalker," Cody says, gesturing between Obi-Wan, who is just sitting there minding his own business, and Anakin, who is across the closed-for-tonight bar and doing something inadvisable on the pool table. "You've said he was your brother, and mentioned raising him, which, sure, I'm over twenty years older than my youngest brother, people take over parenting roles all the time. But you have different last names, have mentioned stepfamilies that the other doesn't have, reference things as 'your aunt, not mine,' and I am just getting... very confused. I figured it was personal and I could leave well enough alone, but considering your older brother almost shot us today--"

"Okay, Xanatos is not my brother," Obi-Wan immediately says. "Just. I just have to stop you right there. Xanatos was a student of my father's for a time, but I promise he's not family. Nobody except maybe Komari would consider him even close, and she doesn't count since she's in prison for life and the farthest thing from stable."

Cody gestures. "That, Obi-Wan. That's what I'm talking about. I don't even know who Komari is."

Obi-Wan purses his lips in a failed attempt to not smile. "Do you actually want the explanation? It's long and unnecessarily complicated."

"So's mine," Cody snorts. Obi-Wan waits, patient and pleasant, and is rewarded when Cody sighs. "Please."

"Of course, my dear. To answer your first question, though, Anakin is my half-brother." With a smile, Obi-Wan digs a piece of paper and a pen from his briefcase. "So, center of the chain: me, my father Qui-Gon, my grandfather Yan, and my great-grandfather Yoda. With me so far?"

"Easy enough. Do you have to go back that far?"

"Great-grandfather Yoda is still alive and regularly escaping the old folks' home to terrorize younger relatives, so yes," Obi-Wan says. "Given that you may just meet a tiny, meddling relative of mine when he's bored, we do in fact have to go back that far."

"...how old is he?"

"We don't know for sure. A hundred and eight-ish is the best guess." Obi-Wan shrugs. "It's not a huge deal, mostly he likes bothering Anakin these days. Anyway, grandfather. Yan Dooku. Inherited a minory duchy from his maternal grandfather decades back. Mostly hangs around there because he's on terrorist watchlists in the States."

"Oh, lovely."

Obi-Wan grins. "Trust me, it gets worse. Anyway, grandfather never actually married, but spent most of his time with his 'best friend' Sifo Dyas, who died about a decade back."

"Gay?"

"Well, we know that now, but they got together in the seventies, and this was back when they were both working government jobs, so, you know. It happens."

"Good to know," Cody says. "So, Yoda's kid is Yan, who inherited a title and land from a maternal relative, and had a life partner but never married. With you so far."

"All of Yan's kids were adopted," Obi-Wan continues, sketching out the first branch away from the Yan/Sifo partnership. "Rael was actually grandfather's cousin, maternally, and ended up in his custody after getting orphaned at five. These days, he does most of the stewardship duties at the Serenno Duchy. His daughter Nim is teaching military history at a university in Germany."

Cody nods. "Uncle number one is named Rael, technically your dad's cousin, has a daughter. Got it."

"About a decade after Rael, they adopted my father, Qui-Gon. He and grandfather fought, frequently, but they did care for each other. My father was a botanist, did bio-engineering. We'll get back to him later, because he's where things get complicated." Obi-Wan made sure to leave room around the name. "Just a few years older than me was--is--Komari Vosa. She is... serving a life sentence. I think she fought Jango once."

"She fought my father?"

"To the best of my knowledge, they both almost died, yes," Obi-Wan says. "She's in maximum security these days. She was an assassin. I'll get a call if she breaks out, and I'll let you know along with everyone else."

"Bad news auntie, got it."

"Last adoption, sort of, is Ventress," Obi-Wan finishes off. "A few years younger than me, is technically grandfather's personal assistant and does secretarial work and the like, but we all know he's planning to leave as much of the inheritance to her as he is to the rest of us. She's aggressive and unpleasant, but she takes care of him and hasn't actually threatened to kill any of us yet, so that's fine."

"How'd she join?" Cody asks.

"Ky Narec was a friend of Qui-Gon's; Ventress was his daughter. Ky died a few years after Qui-Gon did, and Ventress was a mess, after." Obi-Wan shrugs and scratches that connection into the little sketch of a family tree as well. "Grandfather offered her a job until she got herself back together, and then she just kind of... stuck around."

"Youngest aunt, more of a cousin." Cody summarizes. "Now we go back to your father?"

"Qui-Gon Jinn was a man of many skills," Obi-Wan says drily. "Adequate birth control was not one of them."

It's almost a pity that Cody wasn't drinking anything, because going by the way he chokes, Obi-Wan's pretty sure the spit take would have been spectacular.

"I'm sorry," Cody says. "Can you repeat that?"

"I was an accident," Obi-Wan says, not even bothering to hide his smile. "So was Anakin."

"So that sounds like... a story."

"It is," Obi-Wan confirms. "My biological mother has never been in the picture. They had a fling, she wasn't sure if she'd want to abort or give me up, just that she wasn't ready to be a parent, and Qui-Gon volunteered to take full custody so she could go back to her life after the birth. I've never met her, but I kept her family name. You can consider her irrelevant beyond that."

Cody nods.

"So, when I was about a year old, Qui-Gon reconnects with an old flame, they get married two years later. Step-mother number one is Tahl. Lovely woman, I absolutely adored her, and she had a daughter, my stepsister, Bant Eerin."

"I met her, right?" Cody asks.

"Yes, she was the doctor who patched up my bullet wound a few months ago," Obi-Wan says. "With the giant glasses that make her look a little fish-eyed."

"She was nice."

"She is," Obi-Wan agrees. "At any rate, that was our family for a while, and then Tahl died when I was fourteen. Bant wanted to go to a magnet school for medical studies, and Qui-Gon's grief was... not optimal for taking care of multiple teenagers, shall we say, so Bant moved in with her paternal uncle, Kit Fisto, and Kit's son Nahdar. He's a marine biologist, incredibly friendly, and has no idea of any of the rest of my side of the family's questionable activities. If you ever meet him, you will pretend that we are a legal firm with a team of security consultants."

Cody raises a brow. Obi-Wan despairs. "Best you could do?"

"We're not that likely to run into him." Obi-Wan draws out a new line. "So, Qui-Gon deals poorly with grief. This is also around the time that Xanatos came around to ruin our lives a little. He was a very rich and unpleasant man, but he's dead as of four hours ago, so you don't have to worry about him. Or his son."

"His son?"

"Anakin handled that," Obi-Wan says. "Thoroughly. Granta Omega is no longer an issue. He's not dead, but... well. Anakin has his ways. Er--I should probably mention Feemor; he was my father's assistant at the university for a long time. Anakin and I still call him our uncle."

"Also a person to avoid mentioning criminal activity to?" Cody prompts.

"Well... no, but only because I don't think he'd care. The man is, forgive me, more of a 'walking sweatervest' than I am. He's a very bland and unassuming man. He once described himself as the background character of the soap opera that is my family's existence."

"Sounds like a charmer."

"Oh, he's very kind and clever, and witty as well. I adore him, and he really is family. He's just also very, very normal. Not boring, but..." Obi-Wan trails off and shrugs helplessly. "He's an editor for an agricultural research journal. Also not someone I anticipate us running into."

"Noted."

"Right, so, Qui-Gon dealing poorly with his grief didn't involve much drinking, but there were a few months of him trying to... lose himself in the pleasures of the flesh?" Obi-Wan tries, and then deflates at the look on Cody's face. "He was slagging around. Shmi got pregnant with Anakin, who was born when I was sixteen. Shared custody at first, Qui-Gon got him weekends and every other holiday, that sort of thing, and then they got married because they actually did like each other well enough, and it was easier on the taxes."

"So Shmi is stepmother number two."

"Shmi is stepmother number two, yes." Obi-Wan sketches in Anakin and Shmi. "About nine and a half years after Anakin was born, Shmi and Qui-Gon were in a car accident with... well, it later turned out it wasn't an accident, there was a hitman called Maul involved, he's actually Ventress's second cousin or something, I don't know. Grandfather handled most of that problem. Qui-Gon died, Shmi was in intensive care, and I got custody of Anakin as his nearest adult relative. We weren't very close before that, because I was off at university by the time he was old enough to form memories, but that changed once he started living with me. I more or less raised him as a single parent from that point."

"This is why he jokes that you're like a father to him."

"Precisely," Obi-Wan says. "Shmi took about a year to recover enough to move again, and grandfather covered the costs. She still had to live with a dedicated carer and attend daily physical therapy. At that physical therapy, she met Cliegg Lars, whose son Owen was also a patient there. They hit it off, and three years later, they married. When Anakin refers to his stepfamily he's talking about the Lars out in Nevada."

"Nevada?"

"They have a farm. A very, very normal one. We don't drag them into our activities, unless we have an at-risk person who needs a safe house." Obi-Wan pauses, and then decides this really needs to be stressed. "This is important to me and Anakin, that we don't get them involved unless there's absolutely no other choice. Shmi's been through a lot, and the Lars are busy enough running the farm."

"Works for me," Cody says. "We've got enough safe houses that it shouldn't be an issue. I'm guessing this story doesn't end there, though."

Obi-Wan grimaces. "My own love life has been... a bit of a mess."

"I already know about Kryze, at least."

There's that. "I was temporarily engaged to a friend, Siri Tachi, shortly after high school. We were in a relationship, but this was mostly something done to appease a relative of hers that was getting overbearing to the point of absurdity, and she couldn't just cut them off. We broke off the engagement after the relative passed, and we're still friends."

He notes that down, then adds the other embarrassment of his early years. "First marriage was actually a drunken joke between myself and my best friend when we were in college. We got it annulled a few months later because we just didn't have time to drop by the courthouse before then, and he's actually engaged to Asajj now."

"Asajj?" Cody asks, watching in fascination as Obi-Wan tries to mark in both his own short marriage and the newer, long-term engagement without crossing any lines. He settles for just writing the name twice and including an asterisk with 'this is the same person.'

"Ventress," Obi-Wan clarifies. "Yeah, Quinlan's a fun guy. His little sister, Aayla, treats Anakin like a beloved younger cousin."

"Are they also off-limits for criminal activity?"

"No, Aayla's the one that taught Ahsoka how to vent-crawl," Obi-Wan says. "And I'm pretty sure Quinlan has contacts in every major government branch, criminal organization, and Fortune 500 company on the planet. I reach out to them regularly."

"Resources, then."

Obi-Wan nods. "Some time later, I married Satine. We had a son; you've met Korkie. We split due to incompatibility a year and change before Qui-Gon's death. Satine doesn't engage in criminal activity, but Bo-Katan is..."

"I've met Bo-Katan. I know what she's like, Obi. You don't have to explain."

"She works with Maul sometimes."

"...the man who killed your father?"

"Yes. It's all very stupid and convoluted." Obi-Wan still writes her in. "So, that's them. Korkie goes to boarding school, and I try not to involve him in anything. Anakin and Ahsoka like to teach him self-defense and the like, but Satine is adamant that he stay unaware of my less legal dealings until he's an adult."

Cody shrugs. "Makes sense. Is that every--wait, no, Skywalker's married."

Obi-Wan grins. "Yes, and Padme's got twins on the way."

"I was there when he told us," Cody says drily. "He was very loud about it. Okay, how does Ahsoka fit in?"

"Hold on, I forgot Beru," Obi-Wan mutters. "Owen's fiancee. Same rules as the Lars. Okay, you asked about Ahsoka. Right. So. Um."

He dithers. Cody waits for him, and then Obi-Wan just gives up. "Ahsoka, dear, would you like to explain how you joined the family, so to speak?"

Ahsoka looks up from whatever she and the boys are doing--there are multiple beer glasses and straws and duct tape involved, and Obi-Wan doesn't really want to know--and then flips off the table and over to Obi-Wan and Cody. She looks over the family tree chart, and then says, "Oooh, did you tell him about the cult?"

"You were in a cult?" Cody demands.

"No, Komari was. She was head priestess or something. I dunno, it's why she's in prison and stuff."

"I did not tell him about the cult," Obi-Wan mutters, already regretting this. "The Bando Gora aren't a problem anymore. I've already gotten to explaining how you and Anakin know each other."

Ahsoka rolls her eyes, steals his pen, and starts sketching in around Quinlan's name, over by Asajj since Obi-Wan's section is too crowded. "Okay, so, Quinlan's adopted. His dad is Tholme, and Tholme's dad is Plo Koon. Plo Koon is good friends with my Auntie, Shaak Ti, who raised me. They live next door to each other, out in the country, and I'd play in his yard a lot, because he had puppies, and he took me to visit his bees. Whenever Auntie needed a babysitter, she asked Quinlan or Aayla to do it since she knew and trusted them, and Aayla needed pocket money."

"This is so unnecessarily complicated," Cody mutters.

"It is!" Ahsoka chirps. Her grin is far too sharp. "So, this one time, Aayla was watching me when I was fourteen, and she was just helping me with my physics homework. BAM, the door slams open, and in stumbled Skyguy with his arm missing. I've never met him before, and my first introduction is him shortly after he's gotten an unplanned amputation."

Anakin, on the other side of the room, giggles. Obi-Wan just sighs. The Fett brothers appear to be in the land of 'horrified fascination.'

Ahsoka revels in it. "There's blood everywhere, I'm screaming, Aayla's panicking, Anakin's halfway to unconscious and insisting we can't call the hospital, and nobody can get Obi-Wan on the phone. Quinlan's in another country, and Auntie Shaak and Uncle Plo are at a movie, so they've both got their cellphones off. Tholme was faking his death at that point to get away from an incident with the Irish Mob, so we didn't even try him."

"What the actual fuck," Rex breathes.

Ahsoka continues with relish. "We get Bant to pick up, and she's there an hour later with Padme, because Padme knows how to drive the way Skyguy does, and the entire drive there is just Auntie Bant on speakerphone telling Aayla how to stop the bleeding and get him stabilized while Padme's screaming at traffic at the top of her lungs."

"I owe Aayla a fruit basket," Anakin muses aloud. "The anniversary of her saving my life is coming up, it's warranted."

"Five years, baby!" Ahsoka crows. She fist-pumps.

Obi-Wan just drops his head into his hands. "You're killing me, children."

Anakin shrugs, grinning. "You know, I think Fett Senior might have been involved in that fight."

"My shitty dad cut off your arm?" Rex demands.

"No, I think he was busy fighting the Interpol guy," Anakin says. "But he was definitely there. I think. Blood loss kinda got to me after a bit, but I'm pretty sure Jango Fett was there, and also Boba might've been hiding in the getaway car?"

"I need another glass," Cody mutters. He doesn't stand up, though.

"Wait," Rex says. "So who cut off your arm?"

Anakin shrugs with an unsure noise. "Someone tried to convince me it was Grandpa Yan, but he was in the middle of a court case in Italy for some kind of parole violation when it happened, so he had an alibi."

"...did he actually violate parole?" Cody asks, and Obi-Wan thinks he looks like he doesn't know if he actually wants an answer.

Ahsoka shrugs. So does Anakin. Obi-Wan carefully looks at a spot behind Cody, and doesn't explain anything about wine tastings used as covers for illicit arms deals.

"The arm?" Rex prompts, sounding a little desperate to get back to the question he likely thinks is the most important.

"I still say it was Skeevy Sheev," Ahsoka chimes in.

"It wasn't Palpatine," Anakin snaps.

"Your creepy older friend who took you to operas and gives you fancy gifts and knows way too much about swords who was conveniently there to talk to the police and cover for you so you didn't get arrested for getting in the middle of a gang war in the first place, yes," Ahsoka says, dropping into a chair and sighing dramatically. "The guy who definitely hasn't been trying to convince you for a year and change that your wife is cheating on you with your older brother."

"Ahsoka!"

"What? He is."

"Anakin," Rex says, "your life sounds like a trainwreck."

"I'm not going to assume a frail, elderly man cut my arm off!" Anakin protests. "Even if he wanted to, he doesn't exactly have the muscle for it!"

"Grandfather's older," Obi-Wan points out, even though he knows it won't help. "And he definitely still could."

"Ha!" Ahsoka shouts.

"He could have hired someone?" Cody suggests. "Doesn't need to do it himself, if he has enough money."

Obi-Wan has a sneaking suspicion that Cody is deliberately stirring the pot as revenge for Anakin sending him eighty-seven cat memes inside an hour during last night's dinner.

"You all suck," Anakin declares. "Also, what the hell do you mean 'knows way too much about swords,' Ahsoka? You know way too much about swords!"

"Yeah, but I'm like ninety-percent sure that his antiques are Prussian and mid-century German military officer dress uniform relics, and pairing that with the Nazi pistols he's got on display--"

"He's just a history buff! And his family's German, of course he prioritizes that region, it's not like he doesn't have Russian or French or English antiques in there too, it's all sides of the war and--"

"I'm just saying he's almost definitely sending me sketchy glances like he thinks I'm planning to steal the silver on the three occasions you've had me with you when you stop by, and I'm pretty sure it's got less to do with my criminal record and more to do with me being, you know, not white."

Anakin looks ready to blow, so Obi-Wan interrupts. "Ahsoka, you were explaining how Anakin passing out on Aayla and scaring us all half to death led to your friendship?"

Ahsoka blinks at him, and then sticks her tongue out at Anakin and turns back to the chart. "So basically, Skyguy had to recuperate in Uncle Plo's living room for a week or two, and I kept showing up to bother him because he was bored and nobody would give him a laptop for 'security reasons,' because he had to lay low and stuff. He made me help him sketch out designs for a prosthesis and do all the writing for the math he had to do for the 3D printer, and we got to chatting."

Ahsoka hops up and back onto a table, legs swinging below her. "I decided he was cool and started following him around while he was getting used to only having one hand, mostly because I was bored. He showed me how to hotwire a car, and explained the best places to put a bug if you were looking to make it sneaky, and he picked my pocket to show off so many times when he was walking around Uncle Plo's house that I made him teach me that, too. And, uh, then Aayla found out and they got into a shouting match about it and decided they both needed to teach me parkour so I could get out of any mess I got myself into, since I was obviously going to follow them into a life of crime."

"And you did," Anakin says, far too proudly. "You're the best thief in this half of the country."

"Only because Aayla moved out east."

Anakin rolls his eyes and pulls Ahsoka into his side, digging his knuckles into her skull. "Best thief! You are the best thief! Be proud of yourself!"

"Let go!"

"Never!"

Obi-Wan sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead. "Children, please."

"You're not my dad," Ahsoka growls out at him. "Skyguy, I'm going to bite you!"

"Good luck, the only arm you can access is the one that's going to break your teeth."

Ahsoka shrieks in outrage and stomps on Anakin's instep.

It's almost funny, for all that Obi-Wan's seen it play out a million times before, but the really interesting part is seeing Rex's look of fond dismay.

Obi-Wan thinks he might be adding a branch out to the Fetts soon. He's not actually sure if Rex is interested in Anakin or Ahsoka, and he's smack dab between them in age, so that's not a help either, but... well. The expression is familiar enough.

"Please tell me you don't match-make," Cody mutters to him.

"No, I plan to let the pieces fall where they will," Obi-Wan responds, just as low, and far more amused. "I'm simply trying to predict where those landings are to be."

Cody looks at him, and then back at the roughhousing trio, and sighs heavily. "You know, I really didn't think that you technically being minor royalty was going to be the least convoluted thing in your story, Obi-Wan."

He laughs, because it's true. "I'm first in line to inherit the title, since Rael denounced his claim. Nim isn't interested, and Qui-Gon's dead, so... I'm next."

Cody makes a face. "Delightful. I'm guessing that's not a connection we can safely make use of."

"No more than the Kryze or Naberries, I'm afraid." Obi-Wan claps him on the shoulder. "Chin up, I've plenty others in the metaphorical rolodex, all far less legitimate and far more amenable to work with our little outfit."

"Rolodex, really?" Cody snorts. "You're not that old."

Obi-Wan smiles winningly. "You don't know how old I am, Cody. All my IDs are fake."

"Anakin's twenty-four, and you're sixteen years older than him, going by the story you just told me," Cody points out. "I do know how to do basic math, Obi-Wan."

"I had to try," Obi-Wan admits. "I threw a lot of information at you all at once; I'd hoped you missed some of the ages in there."

"I have eight brothers," Cody scoffs. "And literally dozens of cousins, plus niblings, uncles, aunts, and so on. I have experience on this."

"If I asked you to list of the age of every single relative you have, you'd be able to do it?"

"Do you want me to draw a chart? I can draw a chart."

Obi-Wan can't help but laugh. "I'd be delighted, my dear."

Cody rolls his eyes, but Obi-Wan thinks--it's hard to tell in the dimmed lights of the closed bar--that there's a hint of a blush on the man's face. Obi-Wan lets himself slouch to the side, drops his head to rest on one fist, indolent debauchery in every line of his body. Cody does his best to ignore him, but Obi-Wan knows how to smile lazily and blink slowly and draw a man in.

(The whole 'indolent debauchery in every line of his body' phrasing is Anakin's, from back when he was a teenager trying to read highbrow literature to impress a cute girl... and to come up with new insults for his older brother.)

"So," Cody says, with a cough meant to somehow distract Obi-Wan from whatever's showing on the man's face. "Why, uh, why is your grandfather on terrorist watchlists?"

"Well, he didn't initially do anything," Obi-Wan says. "He was just a gay man who didn't hide it quite well enough, and had too much money and too white a face for someone to just call the cops on a faulty report. The Red Scare was technically over by that point, I think, but if a few people made suggestions that he was more loyal to the country that gave him a noble title than to the United States... he received a few warnings, of course, and it could have all blown over..."

"But?"

"But my grandfather is not a man to do things by halves, and instead decided that if the government was to list him as a threat, then he would oblige and make himself a threat," Obi-Wan finishes. "Living up to their labels, rolling with the assumptions, whatever you'd like to call it. It all irked him, and so he made some incredibly questionable decisions to make the government's lives harder. Some weren't bad, like donating to anti-war foundations that were protesting the Gulf War and the interventions in Yugoslavia, that sort of thing, and some were... nobody really looks well on gunrunning, you know."

"For fuck's sake..."

"Indeed," Obi-Wan chuckles. "Ironically, he has minimal opinion on the optimal form of economics, for all that virulent xenophobia and the remnants of anti-communism were involved in the whole mess. He just wanted to create problems for the people that were causing him problems."

Cody shakes his head. "I want to judge that, but you've met my father."

"Jango Fett is, indeed, also not a man to do things by halves," Obi-Wan agrees, attempting to nod gravely but breaking into a smile at the end. "That man is absurd."

"At least he's not dragging Boba into it anymore," Cody mutters. He drags over the fresh sheet of paper and pen that Obi-Wan offers him. "Okay, right, let's start with Jaster..."

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thisaccisdead · 4 years

Text

montreal - roman hurt/comfort

pairing: this was written to all be platonic prinxiety, but can definitely be interpreted romantically !

warnings: unconventional self harm, non-graphic descriptions of wounds/injury

summary: a post-POF roman hurt/comfort fic in january 2021? yes <3

word count: 3.2k

notes: large portions of this were salvaged from one (1) night last summer at 4am when i was having a . time. the rest has been mainly recently written before i go to bed, with some extra bits added during my history classes B)) also shout out to [REDACTED]. u may not read this but if u do, i hope u know who u are & ilu

Virgil had been trying to calm himself down for the better part of an hour, as soon as they got back from the wedding fiasco; and he was doing a relatively okay job. Considering the circumstances, at least. Or so he thought, when he registered a spike in Thomas’s anxiety. This only served to make Virgil more anxious, because he had thought he had been doing well—until, he realized it wasn’t anxiety, not exactly, not fully—and it wasn’t coming from him.

Once he'd figured that out, it wasn't hard to trace the feeling to the imagination. He paused at the door. If this was where the strongest negative emotions were coming from, he already knew which side this was about. And could he really be surprised? Roman had wanted that callback for so long. Even at the court case, even when Roman gave Thomas his sentence, Virgil knew it killed him. And Virgil didn't do anything. Because he was so fucking scared of Thomas being bad, or of Janus winning, or something, and now whatever was going on was his fault, and--

And now was not the time for these thoughts. He breathed in. He opened the door.

Immediately, he was coughing out soot, heat burned his cheeks, his eyes blurred with protective tears forming against the smoke. It was hard to see, let alone process, what was happening. Then, he caught sight of the Dragon Witch. And he caught sight of—

“Roman!” Virgil choked on the yell, coughing again.

Obviously Roman couldn’t hear him from the distance, especially considering the brutal roar of the creature. Adrenaline kicked in, and as Virgil began to sprint towards the prince, he took in the entirety of the scene with alarm. Roman was...fighting, sure, except that Virgil had seen him fight before, and this... wasn’t right. Roman bested manticore-chimeras like it was a breeze, he HAD bested the Dragon Witch herself in every form she took, “just for training.” He always moved like he was in a ballet, not a battle, like it was more for show than challenge, and now...

Virgil watched Roman fall to a hard swish of the creature’s tail, and stay there. He almost expected the Dragon Witch to take mercy, or at least, to accept an early victory. But he watched her rear back, raise a taloned hand, the magma-red in her throat glowing brighter and brighter—just as Virgil got close enough to let fight win over flight.

Virgil crashed into Roman; they rolled just far enough that the swipe of claws only ripped the edge of Virgil’s jacket.

Immediate danger out of the way, Virgil clenched his eyes tight, trying to do it how Logan taught him. He found something that didn’t make sense--the grass. The grass was dry, therefore it should have been burning, but it wasn’t. He took that foothold to dispel all the fantastical elements of the scene, Dragon Witch and all her carnage blinking from existence. The new calm of the scene was jarring.

That just left a great big field, Virgil, and one absolute dumbass.

"What the fuck, Princey?!"

Virgil’s voice was distorted with stress, and Roman stared up at him wide-eyed, unsure—even terrified in a way that hurt. Virgil quickly pushed himself up so he wasn't pinning the other. Roman tried to copy this movement, only to groan, start coughing, and fall back again.

“Shit, I—“ Virgil looked at his hands and found red on them, looked at Roman and saw the color painting his chest. “I thought I dispelled all the imaginary stuff, why—?“

“Left brain sides can only dispel so much of what right brain sides feel,” Roman said, voice rough and thin and upsettingly casual, “Since they feel so real to me, you can’t get rid of them.”

“They feel…? Christ, ok, you need a medical kit, uhm—“ Virgil closed his eyes again; he was notoriously shitty at summoning things, and he had to concentrate for this—

“That’s ok; I’ve got it,” Roman said, letting out a quiet hiss as he propped himself up on one arm, and summoned the medical kit with the other, “You can go now.”

Virgil gaped at him in disbelief. When Roman attempted to stand up, and Virgil could no longer deny he wasn’t joking, he exclaimed, “Like Hell am I going, idiot!”

Roman just stared at him, and Virgil cursed under his breath. “Ok ok, let’s just... we should do this in the bathroom, uhm—“

Virgil awkwardly clambered over to Roman again, taking his hand, so he could blink them over together. He knew it would probably be more comfortable for Roman to sink in and out, but considering Virgil wasn’t practiced at that, he wasn’t going to risk screwing it up.

They apparated into the bathtub, and Virgil scrambled up, taking the med kit from Roman's hands.

Ok, ok, now Virgil just had to remember that one time Logan lectured them all on “Side Safety.” He took a shaky breath and washed his hands quickly, before turning back to Roman. He allowed himself to fully assess the prince this time and… Jesus. He was slumped against the back of the tub, having given up his attempts at composure while he thought Virgil wasn’t looking. His litany of scrapes, cuts, bruising, his shallow breathing, and--most of all--the wet, red patch slowly growing on his shirt, sparked renewed panic in Virgil.

“Ok, fuck, ok--let’s do this,” Virgil said, mostly to himself, as he knelt down by Roman to undo his already tattered shirt and take a wet towel to his chest. He had to suck in a breath at the sight of the jagged wound, a nauseous feeling catching up to him.

“You’ve already done a lot, you know,” Roman insisted. “You can--”

“If you tell me to go, Princey, I swear I’ll make these wounds worse myself,” he said, not meaning it in the slightest, which he would assume Roman knew--but the way Roman flinched and shut his mouth told a different story. “Shit, I didn’t mean that. Of course I didn’t mean that!”

Roman glanced away, and Virgil reached to cup his cheek, an instinct he didn’t know he had. Luckily, he caught himself in time to retract his hand. They both avoided eye contact for a second; Virgil cleared his throat; and he reached for the bottle of hydrogen peroxide before pausing. He vaguely recalled Logan mentioning how strong alcohols would only cause more harm, and they should just stick to mild soap instead. He gave the cut a longer look-over—it was certainly not a pretty sight, but probably not as bad as it looked. It was large, but not too deep. Plus, as sides, it would heal itself without needing anything like stitches or professional medical work. The past scars littering Roman’s body were proof of that. Actually--had he always had this many scars? Virgil squinted. How often did he do this?

Virgil finished cleansing and bandaging the wound to the best of his ability, with little talk beyond the occasional, soft “sorry” at Roman’s winces. When he had finished, he gave Roman his hoodie (an action the Prince was too tired to take much notice of), since summoning a new shirt seemed like a waste of whatever energy he had left.

“Ok, Princey, all done. Uhm, are you—how, how are you?” Virgil mentally kicked himself.

A small, bitter smile tugged at Roman’s lips for just a moment. He opened his mouth and then closed it, and finally shrugged. “Thank you for your help.”

It hurt, Virgil realized. Roman’s quiet voice, where near-shouting was his usual speech. His unkempt hair sticking to his forehead, where it was usually styled to be very lightly and intentionally ruffled. The bags beneath his eyes where there was usually concealer. All of it hurt.

Virgil sucked in a breath. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m being annoying, but I hope you know there’s absolutely no way I’m leaving yet.”

“Virgil,” Roman almost said it as a whine, which was closer to his usual style, so Virgil considered it progress.

“Roman,” Virgil deadpanned back.

Roman huffed. “Maybe I need space to really explore my feelings, and you’re actually being a terrible friend right now,” he argued.

“Uh-huh, well being a terrible friend is always my favorite, so,” Virgil leaned down, fumbling slightly as he picked Roman up bridal style, “We’re gonna get you to bed, and you can explore your feelings by sleeping.”

“Great, now you’re damsel-in-distressing me,” Roman said sarcastically, but he leaned his head into Virgil’s chest as he did so, which kind of ruined his point.

“Yeah, yeah. Act more like Megara next time, and maybe it’ll be different.”

•••

Roman groaned upon waking up. His whole body ached, but mainly it was focused around a sharper pain in his chest. He let his eyes flutter open, only to find Virgil staring at him from his desk.

“Ah,” Roman uttered, a jumble of memories from the past few hours returning. They felt foggy and mildly icky, but mainly the pain in them was the numb kind of pain, the tired kind. Really, it was indistinguishable from the dull ache of his bruises and cuts.

“Yeah,” Virgil said, as though he understood, even though he couldn’t possibly. “Uh, wanna talk about it?”

It was clear Virgil felt awkward asking the question. It was unclear whether that was due to his tendency to be embarrassed by everything he said, or—far more likely—that he wanted to stop babying a stupid prince, and just go about his business.

Roman sat up, suppressing a wince as best he could. “Do you want to hear about it?”

“Of course I do.” Virgil said it without an ounce of hesitation. Roman’s breath caught.

“Oh.” Roman shifted slightly over, and Virgil took a seat by him on the bed. “Okay. Uhm. I don’t know, I just—I messed up.” What else was new?

“...What did you mess up?” Virgil asked, with an inkling of suspicion, like he knew what this was about. But it wasn’t that; it wasn’t the callback—that was over and done and dead. Roman had created so many fantasies, so many crazy scenarios where they could somehow still make it in that stupid movie, and it had always filled him with hope or crushing pain or something, but as of this afternoon? He didn’t even care. It didn’t matter.

So, Roman ignored the question, and instead commented, “Janus got accepted.”

“What the fuck.”

Roman observed Virgil’s stricken expression like an unsettling kind of mirror of himself when—

My name is Janus.

“Yeah,” Roman sighed, “I didn’t take it so well either.”

Virgil looked at him for a long moment, seeming to go through several series of emotions, before he was able to ask, “...What happened?”

Roman inhaled sharply. “I was wrong about being wrong about the wedding. Patton was also wrong; Janus was right, and then Patton was right because he wasn’t a total asshole to Janus, and I’m evil; Thomas hates me; whatever, you get it.”

He thought he would break down, saying it, but he felt oddly… fine. He sat, staring at the same spot as he was before, absentmindedly annoyed at the way his bandages itched. The normalcy of the situation almost made it worse. This sucked. This wasn’t even bad.This was the worst he had ever felt.

“Oook,” Virgil said, clearly not knowing where to start, “I—you—what do you mean: Thomas hates you?”

“Thought that one was self-explanatory.”

“He can’t hate you,” Virgil said with a laughable amount of conviction. “You’re still his… y’know.. goals. Desires. Hopes. Whatever. Just because this one didn’t go… perfectly, doesn’t mean you won’t keep—“ he struggled to find the phrasing for a moment— “...fighting, uh, valiantly for Thomas’s dreams!” he attempted at the encouragement with a weak smile.

Roman just shook his head. “No. I don’t know what he wants.”

Virgil’s smile dropped into confusion. “But… you are his wants.”

“That’s kind of the problem.”

Virgil seemed at a loss, and Roman felt like an asshole. Here he was trying to help him, and Roman couldn’t even be bothered to put on a smile to dismiss him from the duty.

“Please go,” Roman attempted weakly when he couldn’t find a more convincing argument in himself. He was meant to be an actor, but he knew he couldn’t hide the fact that he wanted him to stay, of course he did, so badly. He hoped Virgil would just quit with the chivalry and go despite that.

Virgil sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I'm going about this all wrong.”

Roman knew it probably wasn’t really him Virgil was mad at, but it was hard not to shrink away anyway.

“Look, Roman—“ Virgil turned to him, looked at him seriously, took his hands in his— “To be honest? I don’t care what happened. I don’t care who was right or wrong—I mean, we all know I’ve been in the wrong more than my fair share. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Roman didn’t miss the ambiguity of the end statement. “But… look, you don’t get it. When you mess up, you’re still you. You’re still...,” Roman gestured vaguely, which upset his bandages, and when he looked down at himself, he took note of the black/purple hoodie he was wearing. He melted slightly. This was exactly the point he was trying to make, “You’re still... y’know. Important.”

“Wh—? Of course you’re important, Ro. You’re creativity—“

“Thomas has two of those.”

Virgil looked at him like he was stupid. “Right, as if you’re anything like Remus.”

Roman’s lip quivered at that, and he had to look away, which was so stupid. And suddenly he felt all of the embarrassment at once—of this situation, of everything that had happened before, of the way he was about to cry, in front of Virgil, after he said that, which must look so—

“Roman?”

A hand was on his cheek, softly turning his face towards Virgil’s, though Roman still refused to meet his eyes.

Virgil cursed to himself under his breath. “Shit, this is exactly what I was trying not to say.” He sighed, and Roman hesitantly looked up at him. “Look. Even if you weren’t creativity, if you weren’t hopes or dreams or any of it—if you were a completely pointless side, which you aren’t, but if you were—I wouldn’t care. What I care about is that you’re... Roman. That you bother me until I sing Disney with you, that when you put your heart into something, you do it to a stupid amount, that you make Thomas take trashy buzzfeed soulmate quizzes when he’s stressed, and that you fucking try so hard for everything, even when I’m being a little bitch about it,” he paused. With the hand on Roman’s cheek, he traced the line of a scar down his jaw. It was one of the ones Roman usually made sure to put an illusion over, he noted offhandedly. “I care, because you’re my best friend.”

“Don’t say that,” Roman choked out. He couldn’t handle it if it was a lie, and part of him couldn’t manage hearing it as anything but exactly that. “Just—just—“

“Oh, Princey..”

Virgil held him as he broke. Roman didn’t know how long they sat like that as he let everything wash over him for a final time, let it all truly sink in at long last. He took heaving, messy sobs, no doubt ruining Virgil’s shirt in the process—he was quiet, though. He shook silently, save a couple choked breaths, in the other’s arms--that was a habit he had taught himself long ago.

When Roman had tired himself out, when all that was left was the pain in chest, (which was also suddenly duller—he was healing fast, even for a side—) he pulled back from the embrace. Virgil didn’t move by much, kept them so their fingers were laced together, as they sat staring at each other.

“Uhm. Thanks,” Roman gave a shaky smile, “You really—uh... I... I said some stupid stuff, huh?”

Virgil hesitated before he spoke, as if he knew he shouldn’t ask this right now, but needed to anyway. “...Roman, why’d you go to the Imagination?”

Roman felt ice stab at his chest upon the question. He didn’t want to do this. They had already talked about so much that he shouldn’t have gotten into; this was meant to be the part where they either parted or watched a stupid movie. And this, out of everything, was the conversation he most needed to avoid.

“Uh—I mean, to let off steam?” Roman gave a laugh as best he could. “Obviously, it didn’t go to plan—“

“Didn’t it?”

Roman’s face fell immediately. He struggled to come up with an answer, and even if he had had one, he didn’t think the sound would come out. This was enough of an answer in itself

“Shit,” Virgil breathed. Roman couldn’t help but be mildly annoyed by his surprise—clearly he had already known, he didn’t have to make it a big deal now.

“I… Princey—Roman…” Virgil looked him up and down, and Roman wanted to curl up and hide. “...how many times?”

“Not many,” Roman mumbled. Virgil must have known he was pushing the subject too far, because he just frowned and said,

“OK. I mean...it’s not OK, obviously, but you already know that, I just—“ he sighed. “Just… can you talk to me? Instead? Please? When you feel like… that.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Roman responded hastily, wanting an out from this topic.

Virgil gave him a look. “I’m serious. I mean—look, you don’t even have to talk about it if you don’t want. Just, come to me first, yeah?”

Roman’s face burned; he was embarrassed; he wanted to shrug this whole thing off, or roll his eyes, or maybe scream in annoyance. But the rational part of him knew Virgil was right. “OK,” he agreed softly, “...Thanks. For everything.”

Virgil looked surprised, and then flustered, and then waved off the earnest reply. “I mean, it wasn’t--I didn’t--it’s not like I did anything really--”

“You did.”

Virgil’s face softened. “Yeah, well... you’d’ve done the same for me. You... have done the same for me.”

Roman smiled gently at him. “By the way, Virge--” He hesitated. He was about to sound like a real dumbass if Virgil had only been saying this stuff for comfort’s sake. But making a fool of himself was becoming a theme for him anyway, so he continued, “You’re my best friend too.”

I love you.

In the same beats Roman thought it, Virgil squeezed his hand lightly 3 times. A breath passed between them. An understanding. That Roman couldn’t say it out loud, and Virgil wouldn’t.

Instead, Virgil fell back across the bed, bringing Roman with him in the motion. Roman let out a startled gasp and elbowed him lightly. “Hey! I’m injured, that could have been a fatal impact for me!” he whined.

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, yeah, OK. So, do you wanna watch a stupid movie, or what?”

#lucy.fic #romangst #roman sanders angst #roman hurt/comfort #prinxiety #platonic prinxiety #ts roman #ts virgil #everyone ik reading the title of this fic: ohhh my god we know u like penelope scott we know #‘we know u associate this song w roman we KNOW</3’#roman sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #also standard statement that im not a writer i just write sometimes pls do not. judge thishehusgs

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mysticalmarzicats · 3 years

Text

The SUPER LONG HeadCannon post.

Considering how loosey-goosey Cats is with its narrative Im sure that every sing cats fan out there has their own specific slightly different headcannon as to what’s actually going on in this show.

for peeps not into cats its a feature not a bug. I promise.

So heres mine..

Beware a long ramble about how I think the Cats Universe functions/ Cat magic politics in the read more

But first a few warnings 1. Obviously this is all just personal headcannon feel free to agree/ disagree with part or all of it. Everyone's headcanons are valid in a show like this. If you wanna use some of this for your own HC's and or in your fics feel free! (Then like..poke me. I always am down to read more fics) 2. If you enjoy a sympathetic Macavity then unfortunately were gonna have to agree to disagree. I enjoy me a good straightforward villain sometimes and these hc’s favor that interpretation.

Okay warnings out of the way let's start with

Part 1: what is a jellicle cat?

This may seem basic but it's kinda not I mean we have many variations in fic already. We have actual cats, we have human aus, we have anthro universes ect ect. My own personal Hc for Jellicle Cats goes as follows, Jellicle cats are cats with a tad bit of magic. I favor a universe where they look like actual cats while out of the junkyard/around humans but while in the junkyard (or when the humans aren't around) they look like human cat hybrids

Now in my crossover fic I describe it as a Cat with a "tad bit more Purrsonality" because I am a sucker for a good pun but also that is a good encapsulation of what I think magic is like for the universe.

Magic in this universe stems from belief/stories. In Jellicle songs for Jellicle cats, a few of the lines reference famous cats from stories ( Dick Whittingtons cat, an assistant to the pied piper, a cats who was around when the pharaohs made the sphinx) I believe that these were all ancestors/previous reincarnations of the Jellicle tribe.

In short, stories= magic, humans tell stories about special/unusual cats-> special cats gain a small amount of magic enough to make them sentient. As a side note this is also why the Jellicle ball is so important now that they are sentient they can tell stories about themselves

A Jellicle cat can be either born into it. ( two Jellicle parents will always produce Jellicle kits) or they can become one over the course of their life. A good example of two Cats who I think Became Jellicle are Skimbleshanks and Bustopher jones.

Both of them are very well known by humans and beloved by a large group. For Skimble its the entire train staff and passengers and for Bustopher it's all the chefs and club members at the clubs he visits and so while these two probably started out as normal cats over their life enough humans told stories about them ( just little things like " oh my gosh the cat that comes to the backdoor where I work is such a little gentleman! He even has white spats ^^ or " was that Skimble running along the train?" " oh yup! He's on duty, gonna go give those lazy bagmen a telling off") that they became a little bit more than ordinary cats. They gained self awareness and eventually found the junkyard.. speaking of which

Part 2: The Junkyard

The junkyard isn't really a actual junkyard well it sort of is.. there's a part of it that connects to a actual junkyard in the real-world but honestly It's more of a liminal in-between space, it's where anything you've ever truly lost ends up. Not exactly a parallel universe more like one of those small soap bubbles that form on bigger bubbles.

Cats in general are good at loosing themselves for hours or days at a time ( you know... when you've searched every where but still can't find em) Jellicle Cats are especially good at it. Jellicle Cats are able to find entrances and exits to the Junkyard practically anywhere. Some Jellicle are strays in the outside world and some live with human pets, some decide they don't want to leave the junkyard at all and simply live out most of their life there only going out for food ect.

Okay so you have a loose conglomeration of magicalish cats all living and loving and running around and such. There isn't a real political system as such (because cats don't really go in for that sort of thing) but you do have a society that is similar to normal cat colonies. Eg. Queens co-raising kits, Tom's being a tad more separate but ultimately friendly with each other.

And of course like any society you're gonna run into problems. Most problems can be sorted out between cats but if you have a really big problem that's when you bring it to the wisest Cat you know. With the current Jellicle tribe that cat is Old Deuteronomy.

If I can steal and butcher a Terry Pratchett quote Cat politics is as such.

“Unlike wizards dogs, who like nothing better than a complicated hierarchy, witches cats don’t go in much for the structured approach to career progression. It’s up to each individual witch cat to take on a girl kit to hand the area over to when she dies teach and train in their specialty. Witches cats are not by nature gregarious political, at least with other witches cats, and they certainly don’t have leaders. Granny Weatherwax Old Deuteronomy was the most highly-regarded of the leaders they didn’t have.”

Okay so this is good and all but what does it have to do with..

Part 3: the Current Jellicles/ the whole Macavity &Grizabella deal?

Let start with Grizabella. Grizabella was born Jellicle and has always craved glamour and sparkle since she was little. Hence why she was the glamour cat, she longs for recognition and fame when she was young this took the form of decorating herself and flashy dances. She wanted recognition and prestige which is why she decided that she was going to be the mate of the highest status cat around. Deuteronomy was still young at this point but was considered a up and coming leader and so she set her sights on him.

Deuteronomy was very pleased with her attentions and returned them making them mates.

Macavity was also born a Jellicle, he is the same age as Deuts and Grizabella, in his youth he was a bit more like mungojerrie and rumpleteaser stealing inconsequential items from humans for fun. He also had a bit more magic than usual for a jellicle cat giving him the ability to levitate which he used to his advantage on heists.

On one such heist he found a weak magical jewel. Because of his affinity for magic he could sense its power. It was locked away behind glass that was too tough for him and so he wasn't able to steal it.. but he found out that night that his thievery didn't just extend to the physical realm. He could steal magic and add it to his own..Macavity began stealing magic items/magical knowledge from anywhere he could find it. To the point of becoming obsessed.

Things started to go really wrong however when the previous Jellicle leader was dying, the Previous leader has to choose the next one and pass on the wisdom of how to complete the Jellicle choice. Deuteronomy and Macavity were both possible candidates but based on some of Macavitys cruel actions in pursuit of magic the previous leader chose Duets.

This of course royally pissed off Macavity who vowed that he would have the secret of the jellicle choice even if he had to tear it out of Deuteronomys head himself.

There was a big fight in the tribe. But ultimately Macavity and a few of his closest supporters were magically exiled from the junkyard.

And there was peace... for a time.

In the outside world Macavity was building his criminal empire and expanding his magical powers. He learned how to steal magic not only from objects but from cats as well.

Inside the junkyard life went back to a generally normal, they maybe had a few more patrols now incase Macavity came back and tried to test their barriers but otherwise life went on and... well Grizabella was realizing that being the Leaders Mate wasn't all that glamorous.

Leaders have a lot of responsibilities and stuff to deal with. So she began wandering, she began exploring the human world...And in these wanderings she met up with Macavity again.

Macavity mastermind manipulator that he is regained Grizabellas trust,-after all he was just " thinking about the tribes welfare" and " he really should have been leader after all one on one He is far stronger than Deuteronomy" & " with my knowledge and power the Jellicle cats wouldn't just survive but thrive!"

And unfortunately Grizabella fell for that glamorous aura of danger he had.

At first Macavity simply used her as a spy all while stringing her along with affection and false promises. But eventually he came up with a far more devious plan...

See the magical barrier that kept them out would only allow them back in if either the leader or one of thier blood relatives called them back in to the fold. This was a safe guard for any cats that wanted to leave Macavity and rejoin the clan And so Mac having burned all his previous bridges convinced Grizabella that he wanted Kits, after all a kit calling out for his daddy would be just the blood relative he needed to get back in a -plus they could be a whole happy family see?- . Grizabella went along with this plan truly believing that Mac would be a better leader and that he loved her.

She also slept with Deuteronomy as well at this time to allay suspicion. Out of this pregnancy Munkstrap and Tugger were born...

Now interesting irl cat biology fact... did you know that a Queen can have kits from multiple fathers in the same litter? Its true!

And so Grizabella has to try and guess which kit is Macs and which is Duets. Once the kits are old enough to speak she guesses that its Tugger based on color, temperament, markings , etc..

One dark night they attempt their coup. Mac and his hench cats on one side and Grizabella holding baby tugger on the other. Grizabella cajoles baby Tugger into calling out to Macavity..

Macavity attempts to enter only for the magic to still be in place. Griz picked the wrong kid. Alarms go off, Macavity splits, the coup is discovered.

Griz is brought back to the tribe and Duet is in the horrible position of having to decide what to do with the Mate that had betrayed him. ( side note not betrayed as in slept with another cat. They're cats casual polyamory and coupling are just an accepted thing in cat society. It's more the whole " PLANNED A COUP BEHIND MY BACK! thing) ultimately he still loves her.

Deuteronomy offers her a second chance but Grizabella refuses it and leaves, leaving behind her two small kits and Duet for the Glamorous life she believes she'll have with Macavity, after all her loves her right?

Obviously when she runs to Macavity it's no such luck. He's pissed with her for ruining the coup and was never really in love in the first place and almost kills her before she points out that she's not technically exiled and can still spy for him.

Grizabella while not technically exiled is definitely socially exiled though so her reports are limited to skulking around the edges of the junkyard and maybe whatever some naïve kittens tell her.

And so life goes on Deuteronomy has other mates, Macavity plots his revenge dark magics keeping him young, and Grizabella is the resident outcast that all the mothers tell their kits to avoid.

All of this drama is the basis for the Jellicle Cats as they are today. ( but how did Macavity get into the Jellicle ball?! Hush.. that's for a different headcannon. A Demeter head cannon..)

#cats 1998 #cats musical #cats headcanons #Marzicatscannon

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thora-jane · 4 years

Text

Twin-Way Mirror Pt. 1 (Weasley Twins/Reader Love Triangle)

Series Summary: You've been friends with the Weasley twins since your first train to Hogwarts, but as the three of you start your 6th year, you start to question if your feelings go beyond friendship.

Summary for Pt 1: as Summer draws to a close, some old friends come to take you off to the Quidditch World Cup

Warnings: none, I don't think. Maybe some tension between you and your parents.

Word count: 2,200

female!reader, 2nd person POV

Summer Holidays were special, you supposed, what with everyone taking a break from classes and unwinding for a couple months. You personally hadn’t been as big of a fan since you started Hogwarts. You were a Muggleborn, and Hogwarts was the first time you felt you actually understood school. You had been a horrible student in muggle school and consistently got terrible marks, but at Hogwarts? You were the brightest witch of your year. Even before your first day of classes, you had poured over every book cover to cover, examined your wand and robes for hours on end, and it took everything inside you not to start making potions.

Summer holidays were just the months in between. The time when you would lie to all your muggle friends about your new school (a private school, meant to reform students doing poorly in the academics department), and hold your breath amidst the tension of your muggle parents heavily encouraging you to continue to study muggle subjects and go to a muggle university after you graduate (“Come now, (y/n), you can’t possibly think you can just live out your life as a witch, do you?”).

A silver lining to all of this were the letters you would get from your friends. Once the sun had gone down and you could release your pet owl, Eros, with a letter or two strapped to his foot. In the morning, he would fly back with a letter or package before falling asleep in his cage. The letters would be from a few different friends every once in a while; Angelina would write to you about the latest news in Quidditch, always assuring you that this would be the year you make it onto the team, Hermione would send you newspaper clippings as your parents didn’t want you subscribing to a wizard newspaper, even Oliver would write and tell you about how his summers were going since he knew you didn’t see your friends much. And of course, there were the letters from the Weasleys.

You were in the same year as the twins, Fred and George, but no one could ever be friends with just a few of the Weasleys, it was always all or nothing. Ginny would write to you about quidditch (also assuring you you’d make the team, though you never did), Mr. Weasely would write and ask for common muggle objects, or with a whole laundry list of questions about muggle life, Mrs. Weasely would write asking you if you were being taken care of, sending you recipes and craft patterns, knowing how much you loved to cook and work with yarn, even Ron and Percy would write you, though mostly because Mrs. Weasley made them. Percy never let on as he scribbled about ministry business, but almost all of Ron’s consisted of “How are you, I am fine, mum wants me to write you. The twins miss you. xoxo Sorry, that was Fred and George.”

Ah, the Twins. Their letters were always your favorite, filled with page-long jokes or stories of their epic pranks and escapades, sometimes with a chocolate frog or some other sweet taped to the inside of the letter. Of course, when they mentioned making a line of pranking sweets, you were a bit hesitant to eat some of the things they sent. But you always seemed to walk away from the experience with all your teeth and toes, so you figured you wouldn’t get pranked unless they were there in person.

You kept all the letters and souvenirs and clippings sent, and even hung some up on your bedroom wall. Of course, none of the letters sent to you went unanswered, there would be days on end when you would write and craft responses to them, especially when one of the twins sent you a letter. You always closed out their responses assuring them that the three of you would see eachother again soon, and that next term would arrive before they knew it.

Granted, when you said this, you didn’t expect anyone to show up on your doorstep one day.

You were up in your room, writing out a response to George’s most recent letter and scrounging around for one of the candybars you had bought for him after finally convincing him to try muggle candy. It was then that you heard the doorbell ring. You paid it no attention, and chalked it all up to one of your mum’s friends stopping by for a coffee.

This of course, was not the case. You heard a few different voices, besides your mum, one or two of them belonged to who you assumed were women, but the others sounded much deeper. Then you heard thumping footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hall. The next thing you knew, there was a loud pounding on the door.

Then there was silence.

You weren’t quite sure who was there, but you hadn’t heard anything from your parents about company. And if there was one thing you’ve learned at Hogwarts, in these past few years especially, is that you always need to be on your toes.

You drew your wand out from your tied back hair and, holding it at the ready, opened up the door.

You weren’t quite sure who you were expecting, but not a second later two messes of red and black hair came flying towards you as Harry and Ron yanked you into a half-hug, half-tackle.

“(y/n)!” Harry laughed, moving your hand holding your wand so it didn’t stab him in the face, “the look on your face!”

Ron almost snorted, “Bloody hell, the twins would have paid galleons to see that!”

It took you a moment to recover your breath, but once the two boys stepped back from their hug, you managed to stutter out a question.

“Why are...uh...what are you doing here? And where are the twins?” You turned to Ron, who had walked over to your desk and started looking up at all the letters tapped to the wall, he started talking, but you could tell he was much more absorbed in all the papers and pictures and doodles.

“We’re here to pick you up, you’re all packed, aren’t you? The cup is in a few days and-say, were you going to eat this?” he interrupted himself, holding up one of the candy bars.

You walked past your bed and yanked a pillow out from Harry, who had seemed to make himself comfortable before you hit him with a pillow, then did the same to Ron.

“No, you may not eat that, that isn’t for you. And what cup? What do you mean all packed?” You tossed the pillow back onto your bed, and it landed on Harry’s face with an ‘oof’ before you pulled your trunk out of the closet and started tossing some of your cleaner and folded laundry in there, “Ronald I have no clue what you’re talking about. Harry, what does he mean?”

Although neither of you were in the Weasely family, you and Harry treated each other like siblings. Maybe not close friends, but the two of you were close enough that talking to him wasn’t too difficult.

“The Quidditch World Cup. Ron, didn’t you tell her?” He sat back up on your bed, looking over at Ron with his brow furrowed, “Your mum had you write her about it the other day, yeah?”

Ron smacked himself in the head, “I knew I was forgetting something! (Y/n), Dad got enough tickets to the Quidditch World Cup and you’re coming with us. Now, mum thought I wrote you and you’re supposed to be packed for school too, we’re taking all your stuff to the burrow and dropping you off at the Hogwarts express with the rest of us.”

“You’re only just now telling me?!” You tried not to shriek as you started packing faster, racking through your brain for all the things you’d need. You hadn’t gotten the list of books yet this year, but you intended on going before the year started. After running to the closet again and tossing your school uniform into the trunk, you ran over to the desk and shoved Ron aside to grab your box of letter writing things and some of the magical books you thought might be useful this year. While hastily stacking the boxes and books into your trunk, you ordered Ron and Harry from over your shoulder, “Ron, my potions kit should be under the bed. Harry, run to the bathroom and grab the small bag with butterflies on it, it should have my toothbrush, soap, shampoo, makeup -bathroom stuff. Well?”

The two boys nodded, a little intimidated at the speed you were packing. As Harry Ran to the bathroom, you turned to Ron.

“Do you remember the extra thing on the list this year? Fourth years and up needed…?”

“Don’t remind me. Fourth years and up need dress robes. I hate mine, they’re bloody awful,” he sighed, looking morose as he handed you your cauldron full of potion tools, “I’ll look like an old lady in them. What about you?”

You ran over to the closet, rifling through the jumpers and other clothes, tossing a Mrs.-Weasley-Handmade-Jumper into the trunk, “My mum took me out to get a dress a few days back, it should be...ah yes, here it is,” You pulled out a dress with see-through billowy sleeves and a skirt that went almost to the floor when you wore it, “You think this is good enough?” He raised his eyebrows, nodding.

“It looks nice,” You could tell he wasn’t too interested and agreed only to be polite, but you appreciate the sentiment as you carefully tucked it into your trunk. Harry came back and tossed the bag to you and you added it to your trunk before closing the lid and placing Eros’s cage on top. Sticking your wand back into your hair and slinging your yarn bag over your shoulder, you looked back at the two boys.

“Where are the twins? I thought they would have wanted to come pick me up?”

Ron tossed you the candy bars on your desk before walking to the other side of the trunk and helping you lift it, “Well, mum needed Hermione and Harry to help us get to a muggle house, and I tagged along. They wanted to come, but mum said she wanted to make a good impression on your parents and the last time they picked someone up from a muggle house dad had to go to at least a dozen ministry hearings.”

You chuckled, remembering how back in their third year they stole the car to pick up Harry from his aunt and uncle’s, “That sounds about right, Harry, could you get the door?”

Harry picked up Eros’s cage and held the door wide open as you and Ron waddled the trunk out of your room, stopping as you got to the edge of the stairs.

Your mum, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley turned at the sound of you making your way down the hall. The two witches waved, their faces lighting up as you greeted them, then Mrs. Weasley pulled out her wand and waved it gently, “Let me help you with that, dearie,” She smiled as your trunk delicately floated down the stairs.

“(y/n), Mrs. Weasely and Miss-” She looked over at Hermione for a second, before Hermione answered. “Granger,” She smiled politely.

“Yes, Miss Granger just explained to me that their family was going to take you to a...Wizard Football match?” She smiled a little, puzzled by the own words coming out of her mouth, “they offered to have you stay at their house,” She glanced at your trunk and the wide grin on your face, “I take it you’re interested in going?”

You nodded vigorously before pausing, “Is...Is that alright with you?”

She smiled, though it looked a bit forced, “Yes, yes it is. Just make sure you brush up on your real school subjects, please. And do mind your manners.”

You practically squealed, your hands shaking excitedly as you ran to grab your normal shoes (school shoes and dress shoes had been packed in the trunk).

Mrs. Weasely thanked your mum again and the boys and Hermione helped carry your trunk out to the car. Once you had all settled in and started to drive off, Mrs. Weasley looked at you through the rearview mirror.

“Your mum seems like a wonderful lady, but she isn’t too fond of magic, is she?” She asked gently, and you noticed the whole car go a bit quiet.

“No, she isn’t. I think she’d rather I focus more on traditional muggle subjects than magic,” You answered shyly, looking down at the yarn in your bag.

“Ah well, I wouldn’t fret too much over that, dearie. Muggles can be like that sometimes, but she’ll come around,” She offered a smile through the mirror again. Before you knew it, you were back to talking with your younger friends, excitedly asking about their summers as the five of you made your trip back to the burrow.

#fred and george #george x y/n #george x you #george x reader #fred x reader #fred x y/n #fred x you #fred weasly x reader #george wealsey x reader #fred weasley #george weasley #hogwarts #books & libraries

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hazellvesque · 4 years

Text

your wounds; my sutures

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians/The Trials of Apollo

Rating: PG

Pairing: Nico di Angelo/Will Solace

Summary: When Will Solace, Camp Half-Blood’s greatest healer, is the one who gets hurt in battle, the son of Hades has to step up to the plate and put the skills he learned in the infirmary to good use.

Word Count: 2,572

Warnings: graphic descriptions of cuts, blood, stitches, and questionable amateur medical practice.

Read on Ao3

* * *

The second he caught sight of the gaping wound in his boyfriend’s shoulder, Nico almost blacked out. It was hard to believe Will was even still conscious with so much blood seeping out.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Will’s voice was strained, yet somehow calm, as if he hadn’t just taken a direct hit from the dangerous end of a sword. He was sitting on the ground, using his good arm to keep himself propped upright. The wound slashed across his shoulder blade, beginning just a few inches to the right of the base of his neck. The weapon had cut straight through his shirt, leaving tattered scraps of fabric as the only discretionary cover for the graphic injury.

“Nico? Are you still with me?”

“You’re bleeding,” Nico said lamely, snapping back to reality, still not quite believing what he was seeing.

He’d seen much worse in the past. Hell, he’d caused much worse. But this was Will Solace. He was Camp Half-Blood’s greatest healer. He wasn’t supposed to be the one who got hurt, ever.

If Nico could, he would resurrect the monster just to kill it all over again. It deserved a punishment far worse than evaporating into golden dust, but at least the satisfaction might quell Nico’s anger a bit. He couldn’t stop staring at the wound. Fortunately, Will was faced away from him. Nico imagined the pained expression on Will’s face, how he was probably fighting to keep his lopsided, reassuring smile bright despite it all.

“What do we do?” Nico spoke quietly, but desperately.

The two boys were utterly exhausted. The fight had taken nearly everything out of them. Will’s own healing abilities couldn’t possibly work well right now - he was so weak he could hardly sit upright on his own. Nico thought of shadow traveling to Camp or even to the nearest hospital; he’d have to do some quick thinking to explain the situation to a mortal doctor, but the idea was quickly shut down by the black fuzziness already creeping into the corners of his vision. He probably wouldn’t be able to move himself ten feet without passing out.

They’d have to solve this the old-fashioned way.

Will gestured with his head towards his bag. It lay a few feet away, discarded early in the fight and no doubt now containing a few broken supplies and squished ambrosia squares.

“Grab some supplies for me? I don’t want to move too much and make it worse.” Will said, his breathing labored. “You’re going to have to help me clean and close it up.”

“Right.” Nico nodded a little too fast, hardly processing Will’s words at all.

Nico dashed over to Will’s backpack and tore it open. In moments, the grass was strewn with miscellaneous bandages, ice packs, and burn creams that would be utterly useless in helping solve the problem at hand. He searched for the vial of nectar he knew should be there, and swore under his breath when he found it shattered, the pieces of broken glass nicking his fingertips and the golden liquid seeping into the canvas fabric, causing an utterly useless sticky mess. Reaching further, Nico pulled out everything he thought would be useful - gloves, cloth, peroxide, and the small suture kit box at the very bottom of the bag.

He rushed back to Will’s side, fighting the wave of nausea that hit him, both from sight of the cut and from standing up too fast. He quickly pulled on the latex gloves, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“You remember the first step in treating a wound?” Will asked.

“I have to clean it. And apply pressure to stop the bleeding,” Nico recited mechanically. Then he paused, head tilted, mouth scrunched in annoyance. “I can’t believe you’re turning this into a medical lesson.”

“Never a bad time to brush you up on your basic skills.”

“This is anything but basic.” Nico’s hands trembled so hard that he nearly dropped the tools in his hands. “I can’t really see the whole thing. I’m going to have to-“ he gulped, silently chiding himself for how stupid he felt for asking, “-to take off your shirt. Cut it off, I mean. To get to the, uh...”

Even through what must have been some of the worst physical pain of his life, Will chuckled. “If you want to prevent me from bleeding out, then yes, unfortunately, you’re going to have to see me shirtless. Did you grab the scissors?”

“No,” Will’s shirt was already torn nearly to shreds, and precious time was slipping away. Biting back his mortification, Nico took hold of the already torn collar of Will’s orange camp shirt and ripped straight down, letting the cotton fibers fall apart in his hands. He quickly tore in two other places, removing the blood-stained fabric entirely.

Any embarrassing implication of his actions was immediately shut down by the now clearer sight of the dark red stickiness quickly streaking down the right side of Will’s body.

“Talk to me, Nico, what’s going on?”

Nico half-consciously began soaking the cloth in peroxide. “Isn’t this going to sting?”

“Like hell,” Will made a hmph sound under his breath, then he laughed, “I know it was super common back in your day to do this-”

“I’m going to forgive you for that because you’re hurt right now.”

“But peroxide on deep wounds can do more harm than good, so really, this is a last resort, since we don’t have any nectar. Even just clean water or soap would be better, but that doesn’t matter now. Just…don’t use a lot, just enough to make sure nothing gets infected. Give me something to hold on to?”

With his right hand, Nico held the folded, peroxide-soaked rag precariously close to Will’s injured shoulder. His left hand silently slipped into Will’s and squeezed tight. “Do you want me to tell you when?”

“No, just go for it.”

He went for it.

Three of Nico’s senses sparked to life all at once: the sound of Will biting back a scream ringing in his ears, the gruesome sight of the cut bubbling from the peroxide chemicals burned into his eyes, and the feeling of all of the bones in his left hand being crushed by Will’s iron grip as he squeezed in desperation from the pain.

“I’m sorry!” Nico cried. He twisted the already red-soaked cloth in his hand so that he could use the clean side to put more pressure on the cut. He could feel the heat radiating off Will’s body, which sent an odd shiver down his spine.

“Don’t be,” Will said, though the tone of his voice would suggest otherwise. “You’re doing everything right. You should be more sorry about the stitches you’re going to have to put in.”

If he hadn’t been so focused on stopping the bleeding, Nico’s arms would have dropped uselessly to his sides in shock. Instead, he let his jaw do the dropping. “The what I’m going to have to put where? Will, I can’t-“

“If I can pull a baby out of a cloud nymph, you can learn how to properly stitch someone up.” Will hissed through gritted teeth.

“But-”

“I can’t be the only one reattaching limbs at Camp, I need help sometimes so you may as well get practice now.”

“I’m not exactly the best at healing people. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“I’ll talk you through it,” Will squeezed Nico’s hand, which Nico hadn’t realized he was still holding. “If it were practically anywhere else on my body I would just do it myself, but I got hit in the worst possible spot.”

Nico dropped the bloody cloth and sat back on his heels, dumbfounded. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Will reassured him. “I promise. I trust you.”

The bold statement made Nico flush, his heart rate increasing even more, though by now he thought that would have been impossible. With his new determination, he opened the small box from Will’s bag. Inside lay a small, curved needle already threaded with a thin black cord, two differently shaped pairs of what looked like fancy tweezers, a small pair of scissors, and a tiny blade Nico hoped he wouldn’t have to use.

“How do I do this?” Nico steeled himself, swallowing down his doubts.

Will quickly explained the basic process: Nico would need to use both of the “tweezers” - one of which was actually a needle holder - simultaneously. One would be used to hold the skin in place and the other, as the name suggested, was to push the needle through. Then, he’d have to tie off the thread like a knot and cut off any excess. Rinse and repeat all the way up, until hopefully the cut would be closed well enough to not reopen on the way to get professional care.

Nico delicately traced his gloved hand across the bottom of the cut, right where he’d need to start stitching. The bleeding had subsided, but Will’s skin was still too warm and bright red.

He got to work right away.

The first stitch was the most difficult. Nico had wielded swords as long as he was tall, but the intimidation of putting a tiny, intentional hole in someone was somehow worse. His hands trembled as he pushed the needle through one side, out the other, and knotted the thread tight.

“Does that hurt?” Nico asked timidly.

Will hesitated before answering: “Not as much as getting myself slashed open in the first place.”

Glad to see he still had a sense of humor, despite it all.

Nico continued his diligent work, taking about a minute to complete each tiny stitch. He’d probably need to do about 20 more to get the wound closed entirely.

“This...reminds me,” Will said, his voice sounding far-away and dreamy. Whether it was blissful reminiscing or exhaustion, it was difficult to tell. “Of Manhattan. And Annabeth.”

“What about Annabeth?”

Will was rambling now, taking his mind off the pain in the only way he could. “She was hit in the same place. Protecting Percy. During the battle against Kronos. I was the one who healed her back then. We were all looking for my brother Michael when Percy dragged me out of the search party and said he needed a healer. He was really freaked out, it was kind of scary to be honest. I’m pretty sure that was the first time anyone outside of my own cabin even acknowledged my existence,” Will took a deep breath, and after a heavy pause, he muttered, “I was made head counselor as soon as the battle was over.”

With all the losses they’d faced over the last few years, it was sadly almost too easy for Nico to forget that Will had lost at least four of his siblings during the Battle of Manhattan. Everyone coped with trauma and loss differently, but you wouldn’t look at Will Solace and think that he was hurting. Then again, Will’s optimism and willingness to constantly help others may very well have been a way to disguise that hurt. He hadn’t been able to help the people he’d lost.

Nico had been about to express his condolences when Will asked, “Where were you during all of that?”

“Convincing my dad to let me borrow his dead army,” Nico laughed humorlessly, the memory rushing back to him. “And helping protect Percy’s parents.”

Will’s head tilted. “What were Percy’s parents doing on the battlefield?”

“Sally Jackson is a powerhouse of a woman and will stop at nothing, not even a Titan. Plus, I felt like I kind of owed it to Percy after...everything I’d done.”

Will made a humming sound, as if to say that’s fair. Over the past few months, Nico had opened up more about his early years at Camp Half-Blood. Even now, he felt a pang of regret for how he used to behave towards the people who were only trying to help him. Will didn’t know all of the details, of course, but he knew enough to understand.

“I remember seeing you out there,” Nico continued, his voice a whisper. “We hadn’t even spoken before, but I knew who you were.”

Will responded just as quietly. “I knew you, too.”

Not in the ‘I’d heard the whispers about the reclusive son of Hades’ way, or the ‘I knew about the boy who had lost his sister’ way. No; he’d said it like a confession.

“You-,” Nico swallowed hard, “you did?”

“You kind of fascinated me,” Will murmured. “Can you believe it only took me another year to actually speak to you?”

Nico felt his heart jolt in his chest. Why hadn’t he known this before? If he knew any better, he’d think Will was only confessing this now because of his delirium. Or maybe he’d wanted to admit it for a long time. Nico knew exactly how that felt.

“And you initiated conversation by asking me to touch your hands that had just birthed a baby. Real smooth, Solace. No wonder I liked you so much.”

With that, Nico tied off the final suture, cut the excess thread, and carefully placed the tools back in the box.

“I think...I think it’s done?” Nico exhaled, finally letting his hands tremble freely, begging for the pent up anxiety to somehow release through his fingertips.

Slowly, carefully, Will reached back behind his head with his left arm, tracing his hand across the delicate stitches, checking for error. Nico stared intensely, only just now taking the time to notice the details of his own work. It was nowhere near perfect. Hardly satisfactory, even. His handiwork was messy, uneven. But it would keep the wound from reopening at least until they got back to Camp.

“Not bad for a trainee,” Will said finally, dropping his hand and turning to face Nico. “Thank you. Really. You know I never would have asked you to do this if-”

“Don’t apologize,” Nico cut him off. “I’d do it again. In a heartbeat. I...”

Nico frowned, his brain finally catching up to the scene in front of him. Without the distractions of the blood and sharp objects, the sight of Will Solace shirtless suddenly brought a rush of warmth to his cheeks. He unconsciously leaned back, all too aware of how close they were sitting, but that undeniable tense energy still radiated between them. Speaking of heartbeats…

“How were you so calm through all of this?” Nico asked.

“Because I had to be. I always do,” Will shrugged without thinking, then winced from the pain. “All in a day’s work, you know? Someone’s got to step up when there’s an emergency.”

“That someone shouldn’t always have to be you.”

“No. You’re right. It shouldn’t,” Will said softly, his gentle eyes locking with Nico’s.

It wasn’t meant to be a cruel comment, but Nico felt the weight of the words press down on him. He didn’t have the time to come up with a retort before Will spoke again: “Maybe we both have a thing or two to learn about helping others. Or helping ourselves.”

Will reached out and took Nico’s hand.

“You’re still shaking,” Will said. “You don’t have to be nervous, you did a good job.”

Nico felt his face grow hot. He stared down at their intertwined hands, then back up into Will’s eyes.

“That’s not why I’m nervous,” he said.

#solangelo #my writing #will solace #Nico di Angelo #PJO #toa

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ohbeaby · 4 years

Text

So the all of the boys we have met really are just rich. The only one who isn’t is probably Mammon but even he is only in debt due to some of his strange spending habits.

So this is just a silly little thought about how the boys might react to an MC who isn’t very rich at all and has habits to save money.

Clothes:

While they all take decent care of their clothes they also tend to just throw them out if a hole is made or a stain appears. Belphie might keep his longer out of sheer laziness but it’s not like he’s trying to fix any of the issues with his clothes he’s just too lazy to go get more.

MC probably has a small sewing kit and some tricks to get stains out of just about any fabric. The brothers try to throw clothes away and Mc swoops in your save the lightly used fabric from the garbage. They also have a small collection of patches and fabric strips that they give to Levi if he needs extra material for his cosplays. All the saved clothes get returned to the brothers who are very confused as to how the holes all got patched up and WHY MC would bother patching them.

This spills over into Purgatory Hall when MC learns Solomon keeps ruining his clothes in different disasters. The issue is the word disaster clearly has different meanings to everyone because MC just about loses it when they learn that the “disastrous” state of his clothes is just some tears and some small spots where a potion spilled.

All the boys confront MC at some point about why they keep fixing their clothes and MC just explains that they find it wasteful to throw the fabrics away when they could easily be repaired and maintained. They’re all mildly impressed but don’t say anything, though there is a distinct lack of clothes being thrown away after everything is done and some even come to MC for repairs.

Food/Soaps/Jewelry/Bedding:

So when MC first got there no one really paid attention to what they were buying for themselves. The brothers simply didn’t care because it’s just some human. As they get to know MC more though they start to pay attention and realize that MC isn’t exactly buying the highest quality in anything. I imagine Lucifer might be the first to actually say something.

MC: I think I want to get some hot coco.

Lucifer: Yes that doesn’t sound nice. Some milk and cream with coco powder- What are you doing?

MC: *holding up a box of instant hot coco* This is what I usually get. Just add some hot water and it’s okay.

Lucifer: *internally screaming at how terrible that sounds compared to what he was imagining* Do you...not know how to make hot coco?

MC: *laughing* Oh I know! It’s just more expensive than this.

Lucifer makes sure to accompany them on their grocery shopping trips and tries to get them to be a bit more open to buying more expensive cuts of meat or cheeses. He just wants them to enjoy some of the nicer things they feel comfortable indulging in.

Asmodeous probably has a heart attack when he realizes MC is just buying the most affordable shampoos and body washes. Poor boy isn’t able to comprehend that MC doesn’t want to drop 100’s of dollars on soaps.

Asmo: But look at how many harsh chemicals are in there MC! Your poor hair isn’t going to feel healthy at all!

MC: I mean...it gets my hair clean yeah? So it’s fine.

Asmo: At least get a body scrub! They help make your skin feel so soft!

MC: Is there one not quite as expensive? The one in your hand is a bit more than I expected.

Asmo: ...I don’t know what’s in the cheaper ones though. They probably don’t have as much moisturizer.

MC: Soooo I don’t need it?

Asmo: *screeching because he doesn’t know how to convey what the issue is*

Asmo takes time to find more affordable products that at least have a similar quality to his high end taste. He doesn’t like it but he does know he can’t force MC to buy the products he would normally use.

Mammon is VERY confused when MC is looking at jewelry of some kind but it’s like glass or shiny plastic instead of actual crystals or diamonds.

MC: Oh these charms are cool! Look there’s a crow!

Mammon: I mean...I guess? They aren’t real crystals or anything though. Looks like hard plastic.

MC: Eh? Why does that matter? *laughing* I’m just window shopping anyways.

Mammon: Window shopping?

MC: You know? When you’re just looking around but not actually going to buy?

Mammon: But if you want it why not just get it?

MC: These charms are each more expensive than my average meal! I can’t just drop that kind of money on little trinkets!

He’s probably the most understanding about all of it since he gets not having money. The realization that MC doesn’t actively seek out anything remotely expensive turns him to trying to save up more money to get them nice things.

Leviathan is probably the one to make MC the most uncomfortable with his spending habits. He is known to spend egregious amounts of money on things that don’t have an actual function aside from just being part of a collection. MC on the other hand will buy little knock off things like key chains or stickers because they don’t want to spend so much on the official merchandise but they still like whatever show or game it is. MC also knows how to make their own cosplays and repurpose things for props and accessories.

MC: *showing Leviathan some cute little charm from Pokemon or something* I love this one it’s so cute. I wanted to get the set but that was quite a bit more!

Leviathan: *sees it and knows immediately that it’s knock off and not even close to official merch* The colors aren’t even close! Look it doesn’t even look like the original character!

MC: I mean it’s pretty close. Maybe it’s just hard to make that color?

Levi: Why not just get the official merch?? It’s much better quality

MC: But the official is ten times more expensive. I think this looks close enough.

Levi: ...okay look I THINK I have an extra set with that character in it.

MC: ...extra set??

Levi: Well I buy more than one so I can sell them later.

MC: More than one??????

Leviathan makes it a goal of his to get MC whatever merch he can for their interests. He doesn’t like the idea that MC just settles for lower quality stuff just because they don’t think they should buy it. This is HIS Henry after all, only the best quality for them.

Satan also struggles hard trying to understand MCs spending habits. He prefers to get new books when he can as he doesn’t like the idea of buying a used book that someone ruined (ie. the corners have small bends or there’s a pencil mark in them, he has high standards for his books lol). The only exception he has is older books that are limited quantity. He gets frustrated when he sees MC carrying books around that look like they’ve been through hell and back in his eyes. He initially thinks MC is the one ruining their own books.

Satan: Really? The semester started a week ago and your books already look this bad?

MC: Bad? I thought I got a good deal on them.

Satan: Well when you bend the corners like that of course they look bad. Is that a coffee stain? Really?

MC: What? We haven’t even gotten to these sections yet. I’m not sure what you’re issue with my books is.

Satan: Well why are the pages all bent here of you haven’t gotten to these sections yet? Are you just incapable of taking care of your stuff?

MC: Maybe it was the previous owner? I take care of my stuff, don’t even try and pull that card.

Satan: ...previous owner? Like you’ve just gone and bought a used book? Why?

MC: Well actually it’s a rental, it was cheaper than-

Satan: RENTAL?!

Satan then insists that he buys MC all new books despite their protests. He isn’t going to sit around and let them use older books if it can be helped though he does start to understand why MC doesn’t mind used books when they show them places with discounted or even free textbooks and PDFs. It’s kind of handy to not have to pay a large sum for a physical copy when he can just have a free PDF of an older version on his laptop.

Beelzebub starts questioning what the humans habits are when he takes them shopping in place of Lucifer and sees them picking up instant noodles and coffee. He may be willing to eat almost anything but even he knows that stuff doesn’t taste the best and can’t be the healthiest for them.

Beelzebub: What about this brand? It’s got those little veggies in it.

MC: But it’s three times the price. I can just chop up some chives and put it in this for cheaper.

Beel: Why does the price matter?

MC: I don’t like spending too much if I can help it. Oh! They have frozen pizzas!

Beel: *increasingly concerned about the humans poor eating habits*

Beel probably starts taking them out to restaurants more or trying to rope them into cooking with him. He isn’t sure if they just don’t know what good food looks like or what their deal is so he’s just going to try and show them and hope they get the hint. He does avoid eating anything healthy they bought, like yogurts or frozen fruit.

Belphegor. King of sleep. Ruler of comfort. The one you know KNOWS how to take a good nap. He is absolutely pissed when he sees MCs room for the first time, most importantly their bed. The pillows look awful and the sheets are the cheapest ones you can get at the store. He confronts his brothers about the humans poor sleeping arrangements to which they all say “it’s what they chose when they first got here.”

Belphie: No. Unacceptable. Throw it away.

MC: You’re being ridiculous, I’m not throwing my pillows away.

Belphie: They don’t even have a shape they’re so flat! You have no comfort standards!

MC: My bed is comfy!

Belphie: The only comfortable part is the mattress which is also the only thing you didn’t choose.

MC: What’s wrong with the rest of it?!

Belphie: Those sheets are scratchy, the blanket is thinner than a piece of paper, those pillows look sadder than a kicked puppy, do I really need to go on?

MC: You’re being completely unreasonable.

Belphie drags Asmo and Mammon to the store to get MC a whole new bed set and even insists on getting them a new mattress. MC gets barred from their room for a few days until everything is set up. Belphie cares, he just wants MC to be comfortable, it’s important to him that MC sleeps well.

Overall I think the boys will learn to be a little more accepting of MCs habits. They also become increasingly more aware of how much richer they are than them and try to make MC as comfortable as they can.

#obey me headcanons #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me:swd

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naralanis · 3 years

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My first pen was a Pilot Metro Retro. And was promptly broke by an E-2 I let borrow it to sign paperwork (i kept the cap so he would have to give it back, but alas). And then a couple years later I jumped to a TWSBI Vac700 Iris. Anyway, i have a few different pens, but I havent found even a basic instruction on how to tune tines or maintain them besides washing them out with distilled water. And suggestions?

Hi there! Sorry about your Metro, and hope you're happy with the TWSBI! I once let someone borrow my Décimo and they... mangled it. Heartbreaking! I was eventually able to fix it, but it took some doing, and it was also a last ditch effort -- I was already fully prepared to dish out the money for a brand new nib unit, so I figured there was no harm in trying.

I'll get to the easy stuff first: if your fountain pen is writing OK, it doesn't really require more maintenance than a good flush every now and then. You don't even have to use distilled water (unless the water in your area is like, exceedingly mineral-heavy) -- plain tap water and regular dish soap will do just fine.

As for nib tuning/readjustments, they are not part of a pen's general maintenance. Readjustments are done if there's a problem with how your pen is writing, and personally I view nib tuning as something done to improve the experience to the user -- mostly to smooth a scratchy nib.

Here's the short answer as to why info on making these adjustments is a little less widespread (though still relatively easy to find):

1) While often simple, these alterations can be a bit fiddly, and it's very easy to irreparably damage your pen.

2) These alterations, but especially tuning/otherwise modifying your nib/feed, will almost certainly automatically void your pen's warranty.

Keep that in mind if you decide to undertake any tuning -- it is always at your own (and your pen's) risk.

That's the short of it! For the (much, much) longer version, as always, see below the cut!

sorry this one took so long, I got really, really into it and it is stupidly long adalskjadhls

So, first things first. Your pen writes completely fine, you wash it every now and then or whenever you're changing inks, and have an overall pleasurable experience writing with it.

Congrats! Nothing else needs to be done. Enjoy your pen.

Now, let's say your pen isn't writing completely fine. Maybe it's skipping, maybe it feels scratchy, maybe it's laying down too much ink or not enough.

Before you go straight to tuning your nib, the first thing you do is: you clean it.

"But Nara, I already cleaned it." Clean it again. You'd be amazed how often a more thorough flush fixes simple flow problems -- do it with dish soap if you used only water the second time.

The next step? Try a different ink, if you have some. Then, try some different paper. It's good to have a paper/ink combo that you're familiar with to use as a standard. I like to use a Rhodia No. 19 Dot Pad and Waterman Serenity Blue to test all of my pens -- nearly every pen I buy writes an 'inauguration' page with that exact combination.

If your pen is a cartridge/converter, always make sure the cartridge or converter is the right fit and that it's seated properly. It should fit securely without a ton of pressure -- if you can basically bop it off without trying, it's probably the wrong fit. If the converter provided to you by the retailer doesn't fit, contact them -- maybe you got a defective pen.

Alright, so you've done all of the above, but your pen is still writing funky or not at all. Now it's time to take a closer look at the nib.

Enjoy this expertly made reference image I made on my phone before I realized I could just link you to a better one.

Before you start researching how to tune/grind your nib, let's check the nib and feed alignment -- the feed is what allows the ink to travel from reservoir to paper, and if cleaning your pen hasn't solved the problem, there's a good chance it is probably not seated correctly.

Here's what you should check for:

1) Make sure your feed is flush to the underside of your nib

If there's a major gap between the underside of your nib and the top of the feed (where the ink channel is), the ink simply can't get to where it needs to be (i.e. the tip of the nib). I

If there is a major gap, you can check if your nib and feed are seated correctly in the nib section. This depends a little bit on the pen and the model, but most of the time, you can try grasping nib and feed together and gently pushing down. Remember to never grab your nib by the shoulders/tines, as that will most likely ruin it.

2) Make sure your feed is properly centered with the nib.

This is easier to check if your pen has a breather hole, which most of them do. Basically, check to see if the ink channel at the top of your feed (you can see it through the breather hole) lines up with the ink slit. Here's a good example:

And here are... not so good ones. Coincidentally, both on Conklin pens.

This is usually a simple fit -- sometimes you can gently wriggle it back in place. Other times, you need to remove the nib and feed from the collar (basically the plastic thing that holds the nib unit together) or they are friction fit to the section altogether (like in the Lamy AL-Star). Do a bit of research on your pen model before you try disassembling it.

Feed is centered? All good to go? OK, now we move on to checking the metalworks, so to speak. I recommend using a magnifying glass or loupe for this part. Here's the one I use.

4) Check your tines for a) factory oopsies and b) misalignment.

Here's an example of tines that were just... cut very wrong (sorry for poo-poo pic quality, but you should be able to see the tine on the right just... ain't right)

In the case above, contact your retailer. I noticed this one before even inking my pen, but they should cover a replacement regardless.

DISCLAIMER: all adjustments from here on out may void your pen's warranty.

(maybe not a simple realignment, but don't risk it, or ask your retailer before you try anything).

Here's an example of slightly misaligned tines (ON THE SAME PEN AFTER EXCHANGE BTW).

I stupidly didn't get pictures of my Décimo or the Duragraph above looking straight at nib pointing up -- you could actually see one of the tines sloping slightly downward. That causes unbearable (to me) scratchiness and can tear off paper fibers. No fun.

There are better examples from JetPens' Fountain Pen Troubleshooting Guide (which you should absolutely check out!)

You can fix misaligned tines yourself. It requires patience, a little pressure, and a lot of finesse not to overdo it. You can manually bend the tines back into place, but before you try it yourself, I recommend going to YouTube to see how other pen people do it. My method is similar to this one, but there are several others. You can use your fingernail to push it down, just be very careful with how much force you use.

The one method I personally don't recommend is, ironically, the one JetPens recommend on their guide. It might work just fine, but I just think it is way too easy to overdo it and get splayed tines or create a major gap between nib and feed.

OK, seems like the tines on your pen are fine? Time to...

5) Check the distance between your tines.

Your tines should, ideally, be juuust a hair apart-- only enough for the ink and capillary action do their thing. They shouldn't be touching, since that would hinder ink flow, but there should not be a gulf of distance between them either. Let's revisit another Conklin

Yay. Fun.

This is also fairly simple to fix, but again: you have to be delicate about it. I manually manipulate my tines into position and kind of go by feel by now, always testing and checking with my loupe. Here's how PenBoyRoy does it:

youtube

Again, there are many different methods, and you will often hear different things from different pen people. It's down to preference and what works for you!

OK, now we've gone through an odyssey of troubleshooting (I AM SO SORRY), let's talk about nib tuning.

Yet another disclaimer: doing anything I describe below will 100% void your pen's warranty.

Tuning your nib isn't necessarily fixing it. It certainly can, if you've done pretty much all of the above and everything looks fine but the pen isn't writing the way you want it to. I use it to smooth down pens that are technically writing OK, but the experience of writing with them isn't entirely pleasant for me.

Essentially, you're using a rougher surface to basically... 'sand down' your nib. There's a wide variety of techniques (from using a rough paper bag all the way to actual fine-grit sanding blocks), but the most important detail you need to remember is you're removing tipping material (however little).

While tuning your nibs isn't necessarily hard, it's very, very easy to overdo it, and that will cause pretty much irreparable damage. If tuning nibs is something you're interested in, practice on inexpensive pens first -- I practiced on ye olde Pilot Varsity.

The Varsity is great to practice tuning because 1) it's super cheap, so even if you fuck it up completely, it's not the end of the world. 2) It has a medium tip.

The bigger the tip = the more tipping material = more room for error.

I mainly use two things to tune my pens: micromesh and mylar paper, which are both super fine abrasives. Goulet (and other pen retailers) sell entire nib-tuning kits with everything you might need to get started, but here's my own (plus a few extras that may look scary, but trust me, you don't need all of this):

In my pen kit above, you can see my newer sheets of micromesh and mylar and the scribbles I use to tune my nibs. I hold the pen the way I normally would when writing with it, and scribble over the abrasive, but I don't do it randomly. Figure 8s are usually the go-to for simple tuning; you can also go a particular direction if you know exactly which area of your nib needs to be smoothed.

Again, even micromesh and mylar paper (particularly the latter) are incredibly fine abrasives, it is still very easy to overdo it. I have fucked up nibs before, mostly on my practice pens, but also on a not-super-cheap pen, and I had to buy a whole new nib unit.

So, like I said, possible? Very! Simple? Sure! Finicky? Hell yeah.

Side note: tuning a nib is mostly just making it write more smoothly. If you'd like to change the shape of the tipping material entirely (and thus create line variation), that is totally something that can be done!

It is called nib grinding, and it is better left to the professionals, but it is super cool!

pOK, I didn't quite mean to go into a full nib troubleshooting post, but I should have known my brain could not be stopped. Hopefully, this (extremely) long-winded, tangent-riddled descent into the rabbit hole was at least a little bit useful!

Thanks for dropping by!

#soulofkeys #ask naralanis and maybe she will deign to respond #fountain pen #pen asks #nara rambles #and holy shit how she rambles #I AM SORRY I COULD NOT HELP MYSELF #anyway #have fun I guess?#also #please do more research than reading what 1 (one) hyperfixated idiot put together on a Tumblr post #I avidly encourage it #pen talk

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years

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wait ik weird question but how do you imagine nathan's bathroom looks like

Please find me GOING WAY TOO HARD in response to this ask below the cut. I mean it, moodboards (PLURAL), the whole deal. I’m SO sorry!

Nathan Bateman’s Bathroom: Luna Goes Way Too Hard

Canon vs. Headcanon + about this post: his bedroom is underground, so if he has an en suite it might be similarly windowless, and possibly even quite Spartan. I think the complex may have multiple bathrooms though (and I’ve realised I imagined at least three different ones in my head for different fics), so if we’re bending the rules a little to imagine a bathroom that makes the most of the setting, I think the moodboards suggest the general aesthetic I have in my head. Basically, since none of the pics I found were 100% accurate, and because I’m a huge NERD, I also followed up with lengthy descriptions no-one asked for. (Look, I never promised I wasn’t over-invested... and not just in the character of Nathan and in the movie, but ALSO? The architecture / design / setting of that house is my dream, and I’m a bit of a geek about interiors and especially how they link with characters so I’m sorry if you REGRET EVER ASKING!) Of course, if anyone has other thoughts on this, or other questions I can go WAY too deep on hmu! 🧡

Bathroom mood/vibe: efficient / understated / minimalist / slightly clinical edge. Decadent but in a very subtle way. Not flashy- luxurious more because of the materials, setting, design etc. rather than anything “in your face”. Not cosy exactly, but don’t get me wrong- everything is high-end- heated floors, amazing water pressure and settings, softest towels.

Colours: raw concrete, slate grey, stone beige, wood colours, maybe a hint of teal/copper but very subtle.

Textures/materials: It’s not exactly a cosy / warm room in some ways, but the natural textures soften it a lot and make it oddly comforting. Think raw concrete, exposed rock. Glass, obviously, with the floor to ceiling wall of windows. Accents of slatted wood-panelling reminiscent of a steam room. Natural textures in accessories e.g. wood bath tray, soap dish. Amber glass pump bottles- no plastic to be seen! Maybe a hint of marble. Nothing too shiny, not even the shower fixtures- maybe black!? And nothing that looks like it isn’t meant to be there or isn’t in-keeping with the natural textures... anything too modern will be hidden somewhere seamlessly. Nathan doesn’t have a lot of tech on display for a tech genius...

Shapes: sharp lines and boxy shapes, and everything very uniform, contrasting with the naturalness of the exposed stone and outdoor scenery (parallels with the whole theme of natural vs. manmade in the movie). Boxy shapes but everything integrated into something else if possible, adding to the sense of elegance and efficiency, e.g. boxy shelves set directly into walls, or ledges popping-out to form benches. Maybe a long countertop the length of one wall with the sink set into it. Lots of continuous lines and shapes rather than items plonked around with no coherency.

Wow factor: that view though! Imagine either a free-standing or sunken tub at the far end of the room (I asked irl husband and he said maybe the bath even disappears into the floor when it’s not in use and then it’s just a giant wet room!) with a whole wall of windows looking out over the stunning, wild Alaskan landscape. It’s not overlooked so you can start the day nude having a cold shower (like the glacial waters you see in the distance) like Nathan does, or you can finish it off in a hot bath while looking out at THAT majesty, watching golden hour rake through the trees and spreading dappled, molten colour through the room. I also imagine that some of the roof is glass, maybe with a covering over the top which is retractable, (so imagine a glass cube jutting out a little from the side of the compound), so that you can lie in the bath and stargaze, and almost feel like you’re outside without being subjected to the thaw.

Layout/design: I don’t imagine shower doors, or many traditional doors or windows. I think it would be quite opened up, like a whole, multi-purpose wet room. However, I think instead there might be well-located partitions e.g. a partition separating out the toilet / bidet. Who wants to look at that?!

Functional stuff: No obvious bulbs or bright lights but soft, hidden lights. Slight lighting drama in places to highlight features e.g. lights fanning across textures of stone, running along the edges of a boxy shelf. Plus, the dim lighting is appreciated by Nathan when he’s hungover. At least one of those fancy rain shower heads. But also other attachments and taps and nozzles for whatever you may wanna do. Everything is convenient and customisable. Nathan is fussy and why would he settle for less than his exact pereference when he doesn’t have to?! And why should you?! Also, there are obviously integrated speakers in case you want to listen to music or whatever, without having to faff with a Bluetooth speaker. Nathan often likes it silent, but the option is there for when the mood strikes. Oh, and I hope he has a hot tub and lil steam room somewhere else in the development, out on a deck we haven’t seen. Maybe further into the forest, or underground.

Signs of life: Nathan’s fluffy, slate grey bathrobe. Slate grey and spa white towels. The bare minimum of grooming products (dental stuff, beard oil, grooming kit, shaver, aftershave) and a large rectangular sink with a mirror so he can groom the beard and keep his head freshly buzzed (the mirror also comes in handy so he can check-out the results of his working-out, or to have a good view if he wanna get, ahem, frisky with anyone). Although, I’m convinced that although Nathan’s routine is minimal, he probably has something fancy stashed away - some lush oils for sore muscles or facial treatments. (Basically, I don’t think he’d be entirely against a spa day.) Other things he has stashed away? Painkillers/over-the-counter hangover remedies, some scientifically proven super vitamins, who knows what else? He’s pretty secretive. Ocassionally, some magazines or journals or papers he’s been reading are casually strewn in there. He has to keep up with the outside world somehow, and we know from the post-it wall that sometimes he appreciates things analogue. Also, he subscribes to some art quarterlies that I’m clearly not fancy enough to know about, so there’s that.

How does he use the room? Headcanons etc. I personally don’t see Nathan as a bath person. At least, not unless someone... persuasive convinces him of the benefits. He’s efficient and mainly sees it as a waste of time. Also he sits down enough that he’s keen to stand when he can. Besides, for someone who works out and gets sweaty so much, showers make more sense. There are exceptions; for example, he might bathe if he’s super sore from weight-training, but he has a lil bath tray and he’s willing to risk electrocution by bringing his laptop in there so he can soak and work at the same time. However, the tub is technically roomy enough for two. And, crucially, it has middle taps, so no-one gets poked in the back if you go end-to-end. Ah, why not pour some champagne and bubbles and lie back and see how long you can keep him there. I’m sure you can put up a pretty convincing argument.

If you actually read of all this I both apologise and thank you 🤣🙏🙈

#someone please employ me as a set decorator? lol #I got way too into this #Ex Machina #set decoration #Nathan Bateman x reader #luna answers #Nathan Bateman

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kryptsune · 4 years

Text

Happy Birthday UT... -_-;

🌼Ok I am going to say a few things that may be off putting to some people... please be aware this is my opinion and just how I feel in general. This is just something I want to get off my chest... this is a very serious topic so please read with that in mind.

I am sure some people remember the Dear UT Fandom post that I made a while back. This is an extension to that. After stepping away from the fandom I have seen more trends that have left a VERY sour taste in my mouth. This fandom used to be welcoming and passionate but lately I have seen some behaviors that I can only classify as immature, narcissistic, and entitled. Now I am not saying everyone in the fandom is like this, no, far from but as someone that has been in the UT pit for a very long time... It is disheartening to say that the more of this I see the more I begin to question if people actually UNDERSTAND what the game was trying to say to begin with. I am going to go on record here to say that I am seriously tired. On a level that I did not think was possible. I still love what I have created and I still enjoy the content that my friends put forth that will never change. At the same time with my split from the fandom I have realized that if you are not in then you are out. In other words those connections you once had seem to break down because you are no longer in the fandom 24/7? Is that... ok? Sure people have different interests but you don’t just drop people because they aren’t in the thick of it like they used to be. What... how? I don’t even understand that. In addition I have been seeing some highly toxic people spouting some shipping war garbage. Now I know what you are thinking... but Kit you have been dealing with that for years! Yes, sadly but this is where I draw the line. Look I know certain ships are not everyones cup of tea. You all know I am personally uncomfortable with Fontcest and Sanscest content. THAT IS MY OPINION. I am and will always be a RISK girl. That said... I have increasingly seen people become extraordinarily hostile when it comes to this.

I am not going to name who I saw this from because honestly I don’t want to give them the platform but... come on guys. It’s easy to filter tags. Does it always work? No.. but it’s a start. It’s what I do. You really have to check yourself when you go on your blog to call out a specific group of people calling them things like “sick fucks”. Just because you don’t like something doesn’t mean you can tear down the people that do. Their argument for this was something along the lines of... again the same beaten to death annoying excuse I get every single damn time, pedophilia. They are even claiming that those that make older adult versions are also in this category. The truth of the matter is they are spouting out mindless generalizations in favor of their own outcome... Yes, I am a Frans shipper. It makes me happy but let me tell you a little story. When I first played the game I had no shipping at all. It was a cute little game that I thought had a very profound message to tell. Then I got into the RP side of things. I have always kind of been a person that is into the dark stuff so I auditioned for Fell Frisk, hence my old username. Do you know why I started shipping Frisk with Red? Because of the interactions between my version of Frisk, which would eventually grow into Underworld Frisk, and my friends version of Red. Let’s be honest here... Red is NOT Sans. At least their version wasn’t. It was their own, an OC in a Sans the skeleton skin. That is where my love came from because I will tell you right now... the Red that existed and one I still see from time to time... I LOATHED. I hated his character so much.

My point in telling this story is that people automatically assume that I looked at the game and went HECK YEAH they should be a couple. Absolutely not. In fact it was quite the opposite. I fell in love with a characterization under that same same. So before people go pointing fingers maybe they should stop and actually think. Not everything is cut and dry. I am sorry if I am pontificating a little bit but I can’t help myself. I am sick of seeing “you need to see help” posts by people that refuse to actually take the time to get to know people.

That is one of the main problems of social media. How well do you actually know someone? The answer... you probably don’t. Ok I am going to pull back from my soap box. Look... I love this fandom it has been very good to me but I am glad that I am out of it now. I made the @fallenfellfrisk blog for you all who have supported me and enjoy that kind of content because as a creator I love interacting with people. I know people want to see more of those designs and I eventually will deliver them but for now... I hope you enjoy and support this massive Hell Lore world build I have been working on. It’s going to be crazy and it’s honestly a lot of fun to play in. So to end this very long “vent” enjoy what you enjoy and don’t be a jerk about it. Don’t put others down and accuse them of things that are not even remotely true. Instead of being so one way or the other people need to really think about a few things. We are all human beings. We are all individuals. Not everyone is going to agree with what you have to say. THAT IS OK. There are ways to shield yourself from the content you do not like. Do not attack your followers. Do not call them names. Do not treat people like garbage or spread rumors about them effectively separating them from the ones they care about.

Try to remember that your actions have consequences and that your behaviors even more so. Be the best person you can be and remember the humanity of others. Be a positive influence in life and not a toxic egotistical and narcissistic asshole demanding something of someone else. Be... well... kind.

Today is the day... Happy birthday... Undertale.

#kit talks #vent #undertale #thoughts

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nerdprincess73 · 4 years

Text

The Ugly Fireplace Part One

So, my fireplace looks like this. I hate it. We do typically have things on the mantle, and a grate in front, but I was prepping for the makeover. Also, I missed the corner in the shot, and the hearth, but it's all painted the same horrible beige. I'm taking it on as a project because I'm living here for the next indefinite time, and I want my surroundings to look nice. And I hate this. The structure is fine, I even like the craggy texture of the bricks, but the paint is... so bad.

Anyway, long winded ramblings about my admittedly poor choices re: safety, and the process of the first test. When I finish, I'll probably have a separate post about it, with progress photos. If I remember.

I was partway through taping off the fireplace when I thought to take progress photos. I hadn't actually done anything yet, just applied tape and assembled my tools.

The paint is very thick, and it's a terrible color. It may not be obvious in the photo, but we have white lightbulbs in the overhead lights. That yellowish color is the paint, not coming from warm indoor lighting. The fireplace is painted a light cream color. The white paint from a previous layer shows through little gaps where the craggly texture made for poor contact with the roller or whatever was used to paint last.

Up by the mantle, the uneven corners of the bricks have gone from jagged to blobby, with the thickness of the paint. It's got measurable depth, even where the brick is relatively flat. Where there's craggy texture, some of the deeper holes are fully filled in with paint.

I'm going to tell you now that I did not test for lead paint. My house was built in 1978, the first year that lead paint was banned in the US. Even if the paint was original to the house, the likelihood of it being lead based was very slim. Additionally, it was one of two model homes in the neighborhood, which means the company building them was likely inclined to make things look as nice as possible--and you don't really want to tell prospective buyers that you used lead based paint in the model home, but don't worry they won't use it in your home, no sir, little John Junior and Sarah are going to be perfectly safe.

Also, we didn't believe it was original to the house (I'm less sure now, there's so much paint, it looks like it's been 4 different gross shades of off white--why you'd repaint it to another hideous shade, I don't know--had removal been untenable, we were going to paint it a deep brick red and apply a grey wash to make it look aged.)

Also also, I was planning to do an initial test patch to see how the stripper worked, and see whether I had to leave it overnight, and really figure out how well it'll work, and figured if I saw lead paint, we'd stop and reassess. Not terribly great practice, and my neighbor is a home inspector, so he probably has test kits, but I probably consumed more lead eating grass in my yard as a kid than I'd be exposed to during this whole journey, even if there were lead paint. (There isn't).

The bad news: there's so much paint, and the bricks are textured in such a way that my paint scraper is basically useless.

The good news: Citristrip actually cuts through the paint quite nicely: it has become a matter of removing the paste and paint goop after that's a puzzle.

The brick underneath is concrete, but it looks so far like it's distinct bricks, which are mortared together, like you'd expect. It's going to be a very nice base for a colored stain, and we'll have a very nice looking fireplace.

We've got a patch sitting overnight, with plastic wrap, to let it really get in there and dissolve the paint.

Also, apparently, soap and water helps the paint ball up and not reglue itself wherever it sits.

It's going to be a process, but I think tomorrow, I'm going to assess the overnight patch, and then apply and set up a swath for either tomorrow evening, or the following day.

#home improvement #diy #ugly fireplace chronicles #beautify my home

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thatnerdnextdoor24 · 4 years

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Where did you learn to dance?

Sorry, this is posted so late, I got busy today and then I just couldn't stop writing so we got a big boi today. The final installment of this little mini-series will be posted not tomorrow, but the next day. Now you'll have to wait and suffer mwahahaha. Anyway, if your wondering, this takes place during TWP, if Kit and Ty were to, sorta, make up before then. It's not really consistent with the canon story but it's fun. Prompt; Dancing. Part three of ‘May I Have This Dance?’

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Ao3

More Kit/Ty

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

Kit fought the urge to run his hands through his hair. He had spent an embarrassingly long time trying to comb it back with copious amounts of hair gel. All while Dru had shoved Ash’s head under the sink faucet to wash the soap out of his hair. To say it had taken a lot of work to get his hair right would be an understatement. He was NOT going to ruin it by running his hands through it. Even if his hands hadn’t stopped twitching the whole ride here. But running his hands ruthlessly through his hair might be better than the alternative he wanted to do. Which was; Strangle his best friend.

He might strangle Dru. He really might. Kit stepped out of the truck, white hot rage racing through him. He had to clench his fists at his side to keep from hitting something. Dru was leaning against the door, rolling her eyes at his death glare. “Seriously? I gave you the perfect romantic opportunity and you do nothing!?” She hissed. Kit huffed a breath through his nose, “That was a romantic opportunity?! You slamming the breaks and making him crash right into me?!” He took a step closer, jaw clenched. Kit towered over Dru but she didn’t seem to care. She just glared right back up at him. She opened her mouth and jutted a finger at him, ready to argue some more.

“Drusillia, Cristopher, it is time to go!” Ash called from the other side of the truck, cutting them off. Kit sent one more glare at Dru, “Stay out of my romance life!” He hissed one final time before turning on his heel and rounding the side of the truck. Kit and Dru had had this argument a million times before. Every time Kit told her to leave his relationship with Ty alone, and each time she wouldn’t listen. As much as he loved her as his best friend, she really got under his skin sometimes. Kit popped the kink in his neck, doing his best to smooth out his glare and plaster on a smirk before joining his Parabatai on the other side of the truck.

They had parked down the road of one of LA’s warehouses. Only this was no empty warehouse, It happened to be home to one of the biggest Downworld parties of the century. Anyone who was anyone would be there, and lucky for them, Kit had kept contact with some of Johnny’s clients. Kit’s connections had come in handy lately. Actually, it seemed that any time Ty called him, it was to use his connections. Which only really ensured his belief that he had made the right choice in keeping those connections. If that’s what it took for Ty to talk to him, then so be it.

Kit chanced a glance around, and found that Dru had come around from the side of the truck. She too, it seemed, was acting like nothing had happened. Kit wondered if it was a Blackthorn family trait. For a second, nobody said anything, then Kit remembered why they were here, and that this next part was up to him. “Right,” He said, clearing his throat. “Just follow me. Stay quiet, be careful what you say,” He looked Ash in the eyes, “Your name is Jonathan, and you’re not a Prince of Fairie, got it?” Ash narrowed his eyes.

“But neither of those things are true…” He whispered, Kit nodded. “That’s the point,” He said. Ash blinked. “Got it…” He murmured, and Kit wondered if he really did get it. “Just stick with one of us,” He said, and Ash nodded. Kit thought that probably meant that Ash was going to stick to him like glue all night, but he’d work with that. He ran his hands over his suit one last time, smoothing out any wrinkles, before leading the way.

Getting into the party was easy, (Getting the invitations had been much harder, Kit had to pull many strings. But Ty had asked him for his help, so he didn’t disappoint.) But sticking together was much harder. The warehouse had been transformed into a giant ballroom. With brass sconces on the walls and crystal chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceilings. Plants and vines hung down from the ceiling. There were tables along the walls, each crowded with a group of Downworlders. The center of the room had been turned into a large dance floor, crowded with dancing couples. A classical band made up of fairies were playing on a raised platform at the back of the room. Kit kept his grin on, and winked at passing acquaintances. He used to hate parties. He still did. But he did like the way Ty stood closer to him.

“Should we split up?” Ty suggested, the four of them had to lean into each other in order to hear over the roar of the music and people. Kit was going to suggest that they stay together, when Dru grabbed Ash’s arm, “Good idea! We’ll go this way. You two go the other way.” She was already tugging Ash away. Kit muttered multiple curses and glared at the back of her head until the two of them were lost in the crowd. He clenched his jaw, biting down on his cheek.

Someone bumped into his side, he turned to tell them off when he realized it was Ty. He had stepped closer against Kit, “Sorry,” He said, barely loud enough for Kit to hear. Ty was glancing around the ballroom, his hand fluttering at his sides. “It’s cool,” he said, he half heartedly looked around the room. Ty was so close to him. Practically tucked against his side, he could almost feel his breath on him. It was making it impossible to focus and look around the room. His friend should be here, somewhere.

The band was starting up a new song. One that started low on the piano, violin trickling in behind it. A cello setting the pace, and a clarinet heard all above it. It was beautiful. He glance over at Ty again. He was scratching his wrist, he looked uncomfortable in his suit. Which was a shame, because he looked really good in it, too. The music seemed to pull at Kit, it made his heart beat in a different sense. He held his hand out to Ty, who looked startled by it. “May I have this dance?” The words left before Kit could stop them.

For a moment, he thought Ty would say no. Instead, he smiled, a little, and took Kit’s hand. “Okay,” he said. A real grin spread across Kit’s face, and for a split second, Ty gazed into his eyes. Ty’s gaze always felt like an ocean crashing over Kit, in a good and vast way. Kit tugged them both onto the dance floor. Where a werewolf couple flowed out of the way for them.

Kit pulled Ty against him, “I’m not a good dancer,” Ty confessed. Kit took him into his arms easily, guiding Ty’s hand to go on his arm, their other hands staying clasped together. Kit leaned into whisper into his ear, “Just follow me,” He could have sworn he felt Ty shiver. “Okay,” He whispered. Kit gave him a reassuring smile, letting his feet fall into the rhythm of the music. Kit felt himself stand up straighter, he was dancing with Tiberius Blackthorn, afterall. Hadn’t he had a dream like this before? The band was picking up pace a little. Causing the dancers to move a little faster. Kit followed them easily enough, and Ty matched his every step. Even as Kit spun him once in his arms. Ty gasped at the sudden spin, giving Kit a bewildered look when he returned.

“Where did you learn to dance?” He breathed. Kit shrugged, his face was heating up from dancing. “Tessa makes me dance with her while Jem plays,” He pulled Ty closer, to avoid getting bumped in by another couple. But Ty didn’t pull away when they passed. They were really close now, close enough that Kit could make out the slight dark circles under Ty’s eyes.

“Really?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow. Kit smiled, biting his lip a little nervously, “Yeah, she’s a pretty strict dancing teacher, too.” He chuckled at the thought. Ty squeezed his hand, “A pretty good one, too,” He said, their breath mingled in the small space between them. Kit got lost in the dance for a moment. His feet moving mindlessly through the song, his hands keeping them close together. Ty was looking at him. Seeming to look at each part of him, he felt naked under the gaze. Like Ty could see every part of him.

His gray eyes flashed like a storm at sea, their color stark against the bright blue of his tie. His inky black hair spilled in semi wild curls all around him. The light of the room making them shine brighter than normal. Kit spun him again, this time Ty was ready, he came back to Kit with ease. As if they had danced like this a thousand times before. A smile had erupted across his face and he laughed as Kit spun him once more. Kit felt his grin widden, “You’re getting pretty good,” He said, there was a slight lump in his throat, making his voice sound deeper than before.

For a moment, Ty just looked at him again, in the eyes. That weight returned, and it knocked the breath out of Kit. It took all he had to keep his knees from buckling, to keep his feet moving. Kit felt himself lean closer to Ty. He licked his lips, “Ty,” He said. There wasn’t really a better time to say this, was there? Maybe. Kit didn’t care, there was something about dancing with Ty, maybe it was the music, that made him want to spill his guts. To finally tell Ty that he was tired of only being around when Ty needed him.

Kit wanted to be friends again. He wanted to be more than friends, actually. So much more. He knew he had messed it up last time, but maybe this time they could do it right. Things felt different now, very different. “Yeah?” Ty asked, his eyes drifting way from Kit’s. “There’s something I want to tell you,” He glanced away, for a split second to gather his thoughts, and saw a boy with a shock of white blonde hair, waving a hand above his head. Something tugged at Kit. The boy's face looked so familiar. “What is it, Kit?” Ty’s voice tugged at Kit, in the opposite direction than that boy’s face. The boy kept waving, more frantic. He was standing at the edge of the dance floor. Looking like he was afraid to step on it. He waved at Kit again, his lips formed his name and he gestured to the band wildly.

Ash.

That boy was Ash. He was pointing at the band, because Kit had been right. It really was the music. His feet really were moving without him thinking. He was stuck on the dance floor, and so was everyone else. He looked at each face that passed by, staring into the face of their dance partner the same way Kit had.Two woman twirled by, and Kit noticed blood dripping from their shoes. Kit felt the color drain from his face. “Kit?” Ty said, his face scrunched in worry.

Kit’s head pounded from the music, which now seemed far too loud. “We can’t stop dancing,” He said. Ty gaped at him for a moment, before realization dawned on his face. “The music,” He hissed. Kit felt himself starting to stare at Ty again, he tore his gaze towards Ash. But he could still feel Ty’s eyes on him, like his gaze was burning holes into his skin. Kit sent Ash a panicked look. What do we do? He mouthed. Ash shrugged, his face pinched in panic.

Kit pressed his lips together, searching for what tied him to Ash. What tugged him toward his Parabatai, their bond. He pulled on it, pulled and pulled at it down inside him. He felt Ash pull back. They pulled against the tug of the music. Kit felt his Parabatai rune on his arm flare and burn. Ty hissed, pulling his hand back from Kit’s burning rune.

Still Kit pulled, pulled until they had moved closer to the edge of the floor. Sweat poured down his back as the neared Ash. Kit’s eyes never left Ash’s, in fear that he would get stuck in the music’s thrual. They were getting closer now, he could feel Ty try to take control of his legs. It was getting easier the farther from the stage they got. Until they were close enough that Ash reached out, grabbed them both by the arms, and yanked them of the dance floor.

All three of them were panting. “Where’s Dru?” Ty huffed between pants. Kit almost didn’t notice her missing. He felt a guilty stab in his heart. Ash gestured to a table where Kit could just see Dru in her silver cocktail dress, her face white as she glared at the werewolf in front of her. The very one they had come here to meet in the first place. Kit moved towards them, but Ash grabbed his arm. “No,” He hissed. In fact, he had both Kit and Ty locked in a tight grip in his hands.

He shook his head, “They sat down to talk, and now they can’t get up. You were dancing, and you couldn’t stop,” Ash gave Kit a deadly serious look. “This isn’t a dance,” He said, his voice grave, “It’s a faerie revel. In the middle of LA.”

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grimoire2020aa · 4 years

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Everyday Magic 🌻✨

Witchcraft comes in all shapes and sizes, and so do us witches. We can’t all always afford the same items, time, energy, spaces to practice larger bouts of magic, and that can leave us feeling a little lost or sad that we haven’t practiced or performed anything.

But, don’t fear, little birds, because I have a whole list of different types of tiny magic practices and there’s definitely something here for everyone! Whether you don’t have many spoons or can’t scrape much cash together, there’s every day magic for you.

Kitchen Craft:

Sprinkle some dried herbs into your smoothies, pasta sauces, or dips to invoke their correspondences and intents

Stir clockwise to manifest intentions or anticlockwise to banish/let go of thoughts

Drink different herbal teas for different intents, like ginger tea for clarity and grounding

Coloured utensils! Keep different coloured pots, cups, or spoons to use in baking. Pink cups for love drinks, green spoons for money magic, and so on

Keep store bought dried herbs for spells if you struggle with/cannot have real plants

Draw sigils with the sauces you apply to your food

Make your own breads and sauces and turn the recipes into different spells

Home Craft:

Sprinkle a herb onto the floor and leave to sit for a few minutes before you vacuum to bless your home with that intent

Let a black candle burn by the front door to cleanse off negative energies which may have come through it

Light basil incense around the house for new beginnings and cleansing

Keep a money jar, and each time you add to it, make a wish for future prosperity. When you break it, spend the money you need to or give it away to the less fortune/charities to spread the fortune it brought you

Make essential oil sprays to spruce up a room with your intent easily, but be sure to do your research (here’s two to start you off)

Play calming playlists to re-energise your home, I personally like to use forest sounds

Hang herb bundles on doors to invite their intents in, like a bundle of basil and lavender for prosperous and positive new beginnings

Set out diffusers and match the number of sticks to an angel number you wish to invoke, such as four for support and family

Bathroom Craft:

Soaps and shampoos with scents/ingredients/colours matching what you wish to invoke

Add petals or herbs to your bath to bless yourself in their intents

Sing chants, songs and poems in the shower about how you want your day to go

Carve sigils and runes into your bars of soaps

Draw sigils into the smoked up glass and mirrors

Keep a white flannel for cleaning the bathroom, and could even put herbs or magic water onto whilst doing so

Sleep Craft:

You can put any manner of things under your pillow to invoke their intents, from sigils to leaves to crystals to money

Read a story before bed similar to what you want to manifest into your own life, such as a love story or a poem about being courageous

Sleep with a playlist with calms you to ease yourself into rest when you’re struggling

Say goodnight to your guides or ancestors!

If possible and healthy, wake up to an alarm at an angel number to ‘fit’ your day to that energy, for instance, if you have to get up at 6am, try 5:55 instead

Travel Craft:

Pack yourself a mini witch kit if you don’t have access to your things. You can include mini herb hard, micro crystals, a small pen and paper, string, and a small birthday candle, for instance

Talk to your guides and beings in this time in your mind to wish them well and ask them for advice or to accompany you if you wish

Take a moment to listen to the natural bustling world around you between having your headphones on

Say any prayers you wish to give in your mind at this time

Trace sigils on the windows or surfaces around you

Write sigils into your shoes for safe travel and unsore feet

Wear crystal pendants associated with safe travel

You can learn on the go! Whether it’s books, blogs, or podcasts, this would be a good time to dedicate to learning new craft

Work Craft:

A desk plant is still a plant, and you can use it as a spell of growth in your career

Bring lunch with you that you’ve magically prepared at home (kitchen magic above!)

If you’re someone who doodles as they work, but you don’t want to be told off or caught, keep an empty pen for drawing out invisible sigils (but make sure it’s really empty)

Keep spell sachets for success at the bottom of your work bag

Garden/Nature Craft:

Collecting ethically and sustainably can take a lot of research, so when you’re unsure, simply use the ‘discards’ rule. Take only what you see is discarded by nature, such as broken off stems or fallen wilted flower heads, sticks from the ground, or leaves also. Be sure you know if they’re safe to use, touch, or eat though

In your own garden, plant all year round and native plants if you don’t have much time for upkeep

Use food waste as compost for your plants! This is an easy way to recycle otherwise landfilled food waste whilst also giving your plants a nutritional meal for them. Take a read here about composting.

Keep window boxes for your plants if space is an issue, or even a vertical plant holder

Strolling/being in nature, parks, and gardens is a brilliantly way to recharge you and your tools

Art Craft:

Paint your dreams and what you wish to manifest

Sing songs about your desires and wishes

Work with colours reflecting the intentions you wish to invoke

Before using a canvas, lightly wash it down in magic water with any herbs or spices which reflect your intent for the piece you’re making

Weave your crystals into pendulums and jewellery to bond with them

Sew sigils into the inside of your clothing or bags

Sew a dried herb pouch into the inside of a bag or coat to bless it with these things (but be sure to do so properly and not let it get wet to avoid mould)

Write letters and poems to the universe thanking it or asking for blessings

Divination Craft:

A pendulum can be made out of anything and string. Whilst crystals and pure metals and such are nice, don’t overlook a metal key or a beach stone

You can make your own deck, tarot or oracle, and it can be as detailed or not detailed as you like

Homemade runes can be made in an oven! Hunt around for people’s various different methods of home cast runes

Your own body can be a pendulum if you concentrate on the question and allow your sway to take you

If you’re a scryer, you don’t need a crystal ball, a regular mirror can work with your technique, but always do your research on the method nonetheless

Keeping PDFs on meanings is 100% valid, okay, and actually a really wise thing to do! They can help look at your spreads in a way you didn’t initially see

You can pull a card a day without having a set question

Sunlight and moonlight can charge your decks

Selenite is known to be a good charger for any and all tools

Source: underworldariel

#witchery #magic witch #witch aesthetic #witchblr #witches #different types of witches #everyday magic #everyday witchcraft #witchcraft

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