#Apple without makeup looks weird

[luveline]

Could you do a drunk cuddly Steve if you're feeling up to it?

When Steve comes home to you that night, you evade his hug. “Steve, you smell awful.” 

Steve flinches away from you. In any other moment, you’d notice how lovely he looks —there’s something special about the way he squints when he’s pissed off— but his smell is overpowering. 

“Sorry?” he asks, offended and confused. 

“You’ve got stuff all down you. What is that?” You try to be kinder. It’s not like he smells bad on purpose. “Do you need help?” you ask.

“What are you talking about?” 

“I’m gonna take your shirt off,” you say gently. 

His scowl relaxes. “You are?” 

“What is it, do you know? It doesn’t even smell like beer. It smells like death.” 

Steve doesn’t laugh at your joke, he’s not as smiley as you’d like him, but you suppose that’s the perils of telling him he smells. You grab the ends of his shirt and you pull it over his head, careful not to get the wet part on his face, and then you snag a packet of makeup wipes off of your vanity and pull on out to wipe down the skin near his heart that’s still shiny. 

“That’s nice,” he says, swaying at your touch. 

“Yeah?” You fold the wipe and rub him down. “I’m gonna put that shirt in the laundry. Get in bed, sweetheart.” You touch his face quickly. “Make yourself comfy.” 

You forbid his gross shirt to the laundry basket in the bathroom and take a moment to stretch. Steve, though drunk, isn’t doing his usual sweet brigade. You must’ve really offended him when you said he smells. You aim to put it right. 

“Sorry,” you say, pushing open your door again. Steve’s done as you told him to do, sitting on his usual side of your bed. “That was mean. You didn’t smell awful, just the shirt.” 

You climb onto the bed and kneel in front of him, stroking a perfect lock of hair back from his forehead. “Forgive me?” 

Steve winds his arm behind your back. He presses his face to yours, before his head falls into the curve of your neck, where it stays. 

“I’m sorry for being gross,” he says, heartily drunk.  

“You’re not gross, the beer just surprised me,” you say. 

It’s clear he drank more than he tipped, his movements wobbly, but his hand curling protectively behind you in a good effort. 

“Oh, hello,” you murmur, “this feels like forgiveness.” 

“Some asshole tipped beer on me, I’m sorry.” 

“Steve, it’s okay! Don’t say sorry, you smell just fine now.” You take a performative sniff of his hair. “You smell amazing.” 

He squeezes you and pushes you down into the bed. He has just enough wits about him to be careful about your head on the headboard, shifting over you, and pulling the blankets up to cover your shoulders. His naked torso presses against your arm, your chest and your stomach, his skin feverishly warm. 

“Do you think you can call me sweetheart again?” he asks strangely. 

“That depends, will it make you feel better?” 

He scoffs, which is more like him. “I won’t beg.” 

“No, you asked nicely enough the first time,” you say agreeably. 

When he leans back and pulls you into his chest, you feel forgiven for certain. Slowly, you let your nose skirt along the curve of his neck before kissing the shadow of his Adam’s apple. 

“Sweetheart,” you say, barely audible, “I love you.” 

He’s like an octopus from that point onward. You’re dragged flush to his front with your hand on his collar, his nose and mouth pressed to your forehead. He’s soft underneath you but not without muscle, a strong bicep behind your shoulders squeezing you securely even as he mumbles drunkenly into your skin. “Love you…” And finally, finally, he seems to recuperate from your accusation, “It’s weird when you don’t wanna hug me.” 

“I always do. It was purely olfactory related.” 

“Ol-what-ery?” 

“It wasn’t personal.” 

Steve squeezes you until you sigh. “It felt personal.” 

“It wasn’t. I just blurted it out. You smell really nice now,” you say, and he does, cologne and skin and sweat, too. 

“So you still love me?” he asks. 

“I just said I did, didn’t I?” 

He wrestles you with both great care and great clumsiness to his face for a tipsy kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth. “Can you tell me again?” 

You offer to say it a hundred times, but after twenty he’s snoozing into your shoulder, his thumb stuttering where it lays against your back. 

[prettypinkporkchop]

My girl

Paul lahote x Black!fem reader

You are Jacob Black's adopted older sister. You had moved away a few years ago when you turned seventeen. It was a big mistake. You regret it every single day. You left for a man who did not like your family at all. He treated you like actual shit.

But, here you are. Back at home. Things are different. All of the boys had gotten so close. They're like a little gang. They cut their hair and gotten their tribal tattoos.

You just came back yesterday morning, and Paul is already acting strange. Why wouldn't he?

Flashback:

"Y/n, please. Stay." Paul, who is sixteen, begs you. Your seventeen year old mind is set on a man who promised you forever. You keep throwing your clothes in your duffle bag.

Paul grabs your arm. "Y/n, don't leave me for him." His eyes plead into yours. You blink away tears and look away. "Paul, you are a cheater. You are still so young. You're not ready for what I am."

Paul growls and backs away from you. "Oh! So, you're accusing me? You're my girlfriend and you actually ARE cheating." You don't respond. "When you come back because he hurt you, don't you dare come crying to me. I hope I never see you again."

The scene plays out in your mind while you stare at yourself in your vanity mirror.

He didn't greet you yesterday. You two made eye contact, but he ran away after. He just glances at you.

Tonight, there is a bonfire. You finish your outfit and makeup and step outside where all of the noise is.

The whole night was severely awkward. Paul was always just a step away from you, taking glances. Every move you made, he was there too.

"Y/n!" Jacob's voice calls to you. You turn around and smile at him. "Hey, so, me and my friends are actually having a party in a couple of days. We are inviting everyone on the rez. Some random outsiders, too." He shoves his hands in his pockets and lean in to your ear. "You should come. I know that things are weird between you and Paul, but I think spending some time with him would help the tension.'' He backs away with an awkward face, sucking in a breath. "Uh, uh. No! No way, Jake." You cross your arms and shake your head. "First off, I don't like parties. Second, Paul hates me. which, in turn, makes me hate myself. I can't even look at him without wanting to throw up from guilt." You admit. Jake stands there, and his eyes dart behind you.

God.

You turn and see Paul standing behind you a few feet away. His face is serious but, at the same time, soft. It's holding in so many emotions.

You let a tear slip, and you observe his new looks. He's so muscular. He's older. He is so handsome.

You shake your thoughts away and run inside to your old bedroom. You sit on your bed and cry.

--morning time--

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Come in." You groan, rolling over to face the door. It opens, and there stands your dad. "My sweetheart, Jake said you got upset last night. Do you need anything?" He places both hands on his lap. "Thanks, dad, but I am okay. Just trying to adjust to a healthy life again." You smile. "Lesson learned. I can't express to you how happy I am that you are back and you are safe. Never let a man do that to you again." He points a finger at you and then shuts the door.

You sit up and stare out the window. Quil, Jared, Embry, and Paul are setting up tables and such, you assume it's for the party.

You quickly close your curtain and stand up. You make yourself look half decent before stepping out.

"Yeah! And then, there was this-" Seth begins excitedly.

"Shhhh-shut up. She's awake." You hear Leah.

"What's happening?" You sit next to them at the kitchen table. "He's just blabbling." Leah giggles. Seth rolls his eyes. "What's on the egenda?" You ask, grabbing an apple and biting into it. "Setting things up for the party." Leah answers. "I thought that was tomorrow?" You question. "They moved it." She grimaces. "Not a party lover?" You swallow the apple piece in your mouth. "No." She shakes her head.

Later that night, Jake is in your room, convincing you to go to the party. "Y/n, please! You're (your age). Live a little! Hey, you'll get to meet my girlfriend!" He smirks. You turn to him in confusion. "Since when? Is it Bella?" You ask in surprise. He scoffs and chuckles. "No. She married Edward, and they're on their own thing in life. Her name is Nessie." He keeps eye contacting, HOPING you'll give in. "Fine." You mumble, standing up out of bed. "Yes!" He cheers and leaves your room.

After getting ready, you walk to the front door, already smelling the fire, hearing the chatter and music, and you are hoping not to run into Paul. You step outside and see a small crowd. People you know and people you don't know.

Jake has his arm wrapped around the waist of a woman. Her lips are a bright red. She is so stunning! You walk up to them and she looks at you with a beautiful smile. "You must be Nessie?" You chirp and pull her into a hug. She giggles and hugs you back. "You're y/n! It's so nice to meet you." She gushes.

You guys talk for a bit before you notice beer in different people's hands. "Time to bounce." You walk over to a cooler in the back of a truck. The tailgate is down, and there's a guy sitting on it. "Uh, hey. May I have one?" You ask. He looks down at you before jumping off and opening it. "We got some, uh... coors?" He begins, but you see your favorite alcoholic drink. "I'll take that one!" He grabs it and hands it to you. "Nice choice." He gets back up on the cooler.

You keep drinking, drinking, and drinking. Your face goes numb. You've just been chilling with Jake and Nessie. "Hey, maybe you should stop." Nessie grabs your hand. You shake your head and look at her. "I don't want to. I'm very sad." You whimper. "Why's that?" He leans closer to you, giving you her full attention. "I love someone. I fucked up. It's too late." You start to cry. "Please, hide me." You ask her so no one will see you cry.

She stands up, holding onto you, bringing you away from the crowd of people. She leads you into the house. She sits you down on the couch, crouching in front of you. "What's going on?" She asks.

"I'm in love with Paul Lahote. I always have been. I left him just to be abused. I was stupid for leaving him. I hate myself. I want him back. I was seventeen, then. I didn't understand." You sob uncontrollably. Nessie stands up and looks behind you.

Again?

Footsteps make their way behind you. You stand up from the couch, whipping around to see Paul standing behind the couch. "Nessie, Jake is asking for you." He looks at her and says softly. "Will you guys be okay?" She asks. "Yes, ma'am. But Jake needs you, and I'm not sure why." Paul repeats. She nods and leaves the room.

You walk around, behind the couch, to follow Nessie, but Paul's hand grabs your wrist. A volcano erupted in your arm. A burst of life ran through your veins and into your heart. You turn and face him.

"So, you love me?" He smirks. You don't know what to say, "I didn't say that."

"You did. Just now."

He steps forward and looks into your eyes. "I love you." He whispers.

----

You wake up in the morning with a raging headache. You roll over to see painkillers and water next to you. Your phone is charging. You don't remember much. You sit up to grab the medicine but see a body on your floor. He's laying on a blanket, with one over his waist and a pillow under his head.

"Paul.'' You whisper. He doesn't wake up. You take the pills and check your phone. Then, you slowly crawl out of bed and crouch down to him. "Paul." You gently shake his shoulder. "My girl." He grumbles and smiles as he slowly begins to wake up.

Your stomach catches butterflies. That was your nickname from him before you left. You remember how you guys confessed your feelings, but nothing after that.

"What happened?" You ask. He opens his eyes and sits up beside you. "We said how we felt. Accept I was sober, and you weren't. I didn't want you to keep drinking, so I brought you in here and made sure you were okay. I'm sorry if this crossed a line. I was just worried about you." He stands up, throwing your pillow on your bed. You stand up and look over his face. "You don't hate me?" You lift your hand to hold his cheek. He grabs your wrist, leaning into your touch, closing his eyes, and kissing your palm. "No. I can't." He smiles. "Why do you forgive me?" You ask, voice cracking with hurt. "Because I imprinted on you when you came back."

"What?" You ask. He looks at you and grabs your waist with his hands. "Take a shower. I'm going to go home and get ready. I'll be right back. We are going on a date. I hope you don't have anything planned for today." He smirks then bites his lip.

---- At your favorite diner, he tells you everything---

"It makes sense! All of it! I can't believe the legends are true. That is insane." You whisper, moving your face closer to his. "But I'm beyond thankful it is real." You continue, sitting back, to take a sip of your drink. "Why's that, baby?" He reaches for your hand and rubs your knuckles. "Because I have you for life."

After eating lunch, he drives you to his house. "I haven't felt your lips on mine in a few years. May I?" You ask, facing him as he closes his door. "Don't ever ask. Just do it." He quickly grabs your waist. Your hands find his face as you smash your lips on his. He kisses back with longing. You run your hands up through his hair and move your hips against his. He slowly pulls his lips away with a small bite on your bottom lip. "Calm down, my girl. You haven't had me in bed, and I've grown since then." He looks at your eyes with a smirk. "Show me." You respond.

That was enough for him to turn you guys around and shove you against his door. Your legs wrap around his waist. His hands hold onto your thighs. His lips attack your neck, leaving harsh bites.

[being-addie]

How to Glow Up for School

Got an ask for tips to glow up, thought I'd make a separate post for it too.

⭐Workout⭐:

There's no rule that the gym is the only place to workout.

Youtube videos: There are tons and tons of great workout videos from people with a large following. My favourites are Caroline Girvan, growingannanas, Pamela Reif and Madfit. Go get sweaty!

Makeshift weights: You can water bottles filled with water/sand as weights or buy ankle weights to put around your wrists as you get stronger.

Run: This is an amazing source of cardio. I gave up a while back on this because I detest running, but it really does work. Plug in your headphones and go for a run in nature.

Dance: Dancing is a really fun way to workout. Try Zumba, hip-hop or K-pop routines. Hell, even Just Dance has some good ones. Join a class if you want to stay accountable.

Let me know if you want me to drop my workout routine too

⭐Diet⭐:

Honestly, I can't give much advice here, because I'm not qualified enough. Go to a nutritionist to see if there's anything you can do. If not, eat plenty of protein and fibre, limit your junk food intake and drink lots of water. Make lots of salads and fruit bowls. Overnight oats are healthy, filling and delicious.

What I like to do, is eat everything in moderation. Say I've had a healthy breakfast, lunch and dinner. I won't deny myself a nice bowl of ice cream (again, not a sundae, the key is moderation). But if I've had greasy food for lunch and takeout for dinner, I'll probably settle for fruit instead. Know that you can eat without punishing yourself, but remember not to go overboard. Food is fuel, remember.

⭐Other tips⭐:

Skincare: Don't make it too fancy. I know influencers and the like have those weird 15-step skincare routines, but it isn't necessary. I use the Cetaphil Gentle Skin Cleanser and the most basic Cetaphil face lotion I could find along with an organic lip balm my mom buys. It works like a charm and its not too fancy. I also take an ABC smoothie (Apple, Beetroot, Carrot + some water.) This is such a game-changer.

Abundance mindset: I like to think of the universe constantly working in my favour. It's always looking out for me, and I'm the luckiest girl in the world. What you think is what you attract. If you think negatively, you will begin to see only bad things around you. Stay positive.

Wardrobe: Go thrifting, or DIY some old clothes. Pinterest has tons of amazing ideas. Paint your T-shirts, dye your skirts, make cute jewellery at home. There are no limits.

Makeup: I don't recommend it honestly. I'm more or less anti makeup to the point where I only own two pieces of makeup(eyeliner and lip gloss) and even those are used sparingly. Don't get used to your painted face. Your natural beauty is beautiful; and should not be hidden. There's something so amazing in someone who is confident in their own skin. Own yourself, and people will love you more for it.

Hope this helps you become the best version of yourself. Baby steps to your goal, okay? This takes time and with consistency, you WILL get there. Stay lovely. xoxo

<3

[welcomingdisaster]

appearance, sleep, and cooking/food headcanons for fingon?

ohoho my favorite boy! thank you for the ask :,)

Warm color palette! Really warm skintone, amber eyes, hair is a very dark warm-brown rather than black. Gold brings this out very well.

Rounded figure! Built lower to the ground. Softer cheeks, heart shaped face, slightly slanted oval eyes -- in sharp contrast to Turgon and Fingolfin, who are both very sharp boxy guys. Not very tall but not very short (like, random number here, but if Maedhros is 7ft tall and Turgon is like 7'10, he's maybe in the range of 5'10-6'3).

On that note, looks much more like his mother than his father (I always picture Fingolfin as kind of boney and sharp, and TALL).

Dramatic makeup looks! He has pretty dark skin and no freckles, but he will draw them on in silver or gold, and/or wear sparkly gold and silver eyeshadow. Wears a lot of red/yellow/orange tones on his lips/eyes/cheeks.

Maximalist style of dress! Bright colors, bright patterns, generally an "everything at once" kind of guy. BIG earrings, two lip rings, etc.

Also I personally think he's one of the first elves to abandon is Quenya name completely, mostly because of his guilt over the kinslaying. He won't really correct people about it, but around the time of the Quenya ban just begins introducing himself exclusively as Fingon and signing his correspondence that way.

Elves in general don't need to sleep much and Fingon strikes me as a "doesn't sleep in bed" kind of guy. He HAS a bed, which he uses exclusively for other bedroom activities, and prefers to catch short naps in the study/library/meadow/etc. Definitely weirds Hurin out by napping at his kitchen table a couple times.

For food/cooking... hm. I think he probably doesn't have much experience, having grown up as a prince, outside of basic food prep on hunts. When it's down to him, I think he'd probably be the kind of guy to take bold risks without fully knowing what he's doing. Very "yes this seasoning smells great I'm going to put a ton in the vegetables." This sometimes tastes very good and sometimes fails spectacularly.

Definitely a snacker! Especially post-Helcaraxe, he tends to have fruit/crackers/jerky/hard sugar candy in his pockets. Especially fond of apples -- his people plant and cultivate a great variety of them, and he is delighted by the fruit.

I usually imagine the Noldor princes' halls tend to have a lot of hunting hounds and such around, and they tend to sit around his chair at feasts. He's always complaining about how the dogs have no manners and are horrible beggars while continuing to feed them table scraps. This drives Fingolfin absolutely crazy. The "they wouldn't do this if you didn't feed them" conversation is had daily when the two of them are in the same place.

[kahlanmars]

BAD FEELING part.30

HEY. This chapter, then the final one and maybe an epilogue and WE END IIIIT.

MASTERLIST, BAD FEELING ON AO3

taglist: @crimsonincursive

sorry but the gif is just perfect

30. Forgiveness

When you wake up, you are in your room in the District. Not Thirteen, Twelve. The room is slightly different from what you have left for the Hunger Games. The walls are wooden walls, the room is still very small, but you have a bed and a little closet, for yours and your mother’s clothes. When you open the closet there are different clothes, though. 

Your dress for reaping day, you forgot about it. A simple light green dress your mother sewed to you and you embroidered white lilies on the sleeves. You outgrew it. 

A white dress for school, a black dress for work, a pair of trousers and a blouse. These were all your clothes when you were younger, “There is no point in a lot of dresses when you are still growing up”, Holly used to say, but now you suspect she simply didn’t have any money for the fabric.

And yet, you weren’t poor in the district. Not more than others. You almost always had a meal on your plate in the afternoon and some bread for lunch, which was a luxury around there. Holly worked day and night, and you soon followed her path, cleaning houses - the major, some doctor, peacekeepers - and babysitting the kids when the mothers had to go to work. You remember their payment, not always in money: food, fabric, some trinket if they had it, or favours.

You watch yourself in the mirror. You are still you, but different. Your face is without any makeup, you notice at first. Weird thing to notice. Your eyes look a little bigger and your face is rounder. Your hair is in pigtails, you seem shorter and skinnier. 

You don’t look older than twelve, maybe thirteen.

The light is illuminating the room and you observe what is on your bed. A basket, because you probably were about to go apple picking, and two blue ribbons.

You remember those ribbons. You sewed them, one for you and one for Dianna.

You watch over the window. The meadow is still intact, and so are the houses of your neighbours. It’s quiet, probably morning, the men are working in the mines and the children are at school or in the fields, and most women are in the kitchen or sewing. 

Twelve is nice. You don’t remember it that way, because the memories are broken by the reaping, but people are nice. True. 

«Hi.»

You’d recognise that voice anywhere. When you turn around you see Dianna Undersee standing at the door.

She is older than you are here, fourteen or fifteen. Her blonde hair is shiny, too shiny for the district, but her family is richer than yours. You forgot her green eyes. You used to dream about her green eyes, too in love to think straight. They used to be your favourite colour. She is in a light blue dress, one of the dresses she used for the reapings and the weddings, the fine dresses.

«Dianna.» You gasp. You don’t know much but you know she is dead, and yet she is in front of you. «I, I missed you.»

«I miss you too. But I see you sometimes.» She sits on the bed, like she used to do when she was in your house. «You are all grown up now.»

«I’m sorry, Dianna.» You start, and suddenly you feel the urge to confess everything to her. «I’m sorry about the district, about your brother, I’m sorry you got locked in your house after our kiss, I’m sorry about-»

«It’s not your fault.» She stops you. She is calm, seraphic, and for the first time you don’t think she is real. You are not thirteen and she is not fourteen. 

She is twenty four forever.

«But it is my fault. I killed Clark.»

«In a game where you needed to survive, and my brother tried to murder you first.» She resonates. 

«I ruined your life.» You tear up, and it’s the first time you need to confess it. You’ve always thought about that, the sweet girl who couldn’t leave her house anymore because you stained her. 

«You were fourteen. You were a child.» She strokes your hair and you hug her tight, and you don’t care if she is alive or not, if she is real or you are just gone completely insane, you feel her. You can hug her. 

«I miss you.» You confess. You never think of her, just like you never think of anything bad because you don’t want to trigger a panic attack. It is easier in Thirteen, a place where Dianna has never been. But now that she is here it’s impossible not to think about the times you were together. You spent all your childhood and adolescence with her, she is the first girl you’ve ever been in love with, the only girl. 

«I miss you too.» She smiles at you, a real smile. Like the ones she used to have when you stole strawberries or wine from her father. «But it’s not the time for you, Daisy.»

«But I feel good here.» You argue. You don’t want to leave, you miss the district and your friend, and it’s peaceful here. You don’t see peace anywhere anymore. 

But your mother, Haymitch, Effie… they are on the other side, and you miss them. They are not at peace. Maybe you could wait for them.

«You’ll come eventually. I will wait. I have my family.»

«Your family hurt you.» You open your eyes and you are trying to think about some way to save her, but she is still serene. 

«Not here. Not my mother. I’m at peace, Daisy. You don’t have to be worried for me.»

«You deserved to become an adult. To live your life the way you wanted.» 

She doesn’t try to stop your tears, but she caresses your back like she used to do after the reapings, when a friend of yours was called for the Games. Every year. It’s easy to forget how bad it was when you were a teenager.

«And you deserve to wake up.» She insists. 

«No, Dianna, it’s all my fault.»

«Daisy.» She takes your hand, and she flashes a new, real smile, and now she is an adult, taller, her twenty four year old self. 

«I’m sorry.» You whisper again.

«I forgive you.»

«Oh my God she is awake, she is awake!» You hear voices, but you can’t speak and the faces are confused in your head. You wish they were quieter.

«Rest, Sweetheart, rest.» You feel someone stroking your hair and kissing your head, but you only want to sleep.

You wake up in a kitchen, but it’s not yours. It’s a victor’s home, Haymitch’s, back in District Twelve. The sun is illuminating the room and you can see it’s definitely a different kitchen. His kitchen back at home is full of liquor and nothing else, but now it’s full of food. Weird in Twelve. 

You don’t see dirt or rubbish, it’s all clean and fine to look at.

Then you look at your hands and you gasp, because they are not smooth like silk, with long nails and the bracelet on the wrist, they are wrinkled and rugged and old, and so are your arms. 

And there is a ring on your finger.

«Sweetheart.» 

Strong arms circle your waist and you feel the familiar scent of wood and liquor. You close your eyes for a moment, and a kiss is placed on your neck.

«Haymitch?»

«No, your other husband.» He jokes, but then he kisses your hand. 

«Are we married?»

He turns you around and you can see his face. He is old. Not older than you, like before, because forty one is not old and he is still handsome. Now he is very, very old, like eighty. He has lines on his face and around the eyes, and his eyes are still so blue. It’s slightly odd how he is still attractive. Maybe you have a problem. Or maybe you are simply too in love with him.

«What did you think, that I would have let you go? Nah. I put a ring on that finger the minute you let me.»

«Yeah, I imagine the resistance…» Since you are not able to deny him a kiss when you are mad as hell at him, you think the minute he asked you jumped and said yes. «And we are still in love.»

«Like stupid teenagers. Even if we have grandchildren.» 

Because you are old too. You can see white hair wrapped in a braid, and you don’t need a mirror to feel laboured and tired.

But it feels good. It feels good to have a family, and children and grandchildren, and to have a family with Haymitch of all people, the man you love more than anything in the world, it feels right. After the Games and the war and the lover and the ex, you did it. 

You won.

«I want that.» You whisper.

«Then wake up.» He strokes your hair, like he used to do.

«I can’t. I’m too tired.» All you can do now is stay in the dreams. Waking up feels like moving a mountain.

«Then you can stay here for a while, but after that you have to promise me you’ll wake up. Okay?»

He takes you by the fireplace, and he puts a blanket on your legs. 

«Do you promise?» He repeats.

«I promise.»

It goes like this a few times - you wake up but you can’t do anything and everything is confused - but finally you manage to speak.

«Prim?» You ask, because she was in your dreams at some point between a wake up and another and you don’t know what it means. 

Dianna. Dianna was in your dreams too. She was in a long dream, and she… she forgave you. 

«She is okay. Well, no, she is not. She is in a wheelchair, but she is okay. Given the circumstances. » That is reassuring. Then you focus on the voice that answered you, it’s Perla.

«Hey.» You welcome her, trying to smile. It’s hard to smile.

«Hey» She shoots back, and you can see she has tears in her beautiful blue eyes. She looks stunning as always, but a little tired. She has dark circles around her eyes and even bags. She is in a simple dress and her face is bare, without makeup. No jumpsuit, though. So you are not in Thirteen or the rules have changed. 

«Why are you crying?» You ask. 

«Because of you, you stupid idiot. You have been here for three weeks.» 

«Three weeks?» That’s almost a month. You’ve lost a month of your life you have lost in a coma. You are so tired it doesn’t feel like you’ve slept at all.

«You’ve been in a coma for a few days and then you were sleeping for most of the time. You woke up once or twice.» 

So old Haymitch, Dianna, they were all dreams. But they looked so real. You hugged them, you talked to them, especially Dianna.

«That is crazy. I don’t remember anything about waking up.»

«Here, have some water.» She probably guessed it by the state of your raspy voice. You can’t get up, so you drink it very slowly. 

«What happened?» You want to know then. You want to know if you are under arrest and if you are still underground.

«Katniss shot Coin, Thirteen wanted to kill her but your Haymitch and Plutarch managed to get her an exile in Twelve.» Exile in Twelve doesn’t seem like the worst. Twelve is her home, and you don’t think she would have wanted to stay anywhere else anyway. 

«With her mom and Prim?»

«Yeah, that’s the thing… her mom decided that Prim needed more cures and she flew to District Three.» 

You open your mouth in shock. She did everything to save Primrose, from the very start when she volunteered, and now her mother decides that she doesn’t want them together anymore. It feels like another punishment. «She needs her sister.»

«Agreed. But since they are not eighteen they can’t decide for themselves. Haymitch is now Katniss’ tutor. He has been here all the time, by the way. They sent him home because he was driving everyone crazy, but he should be here any minute now.» You smile at the confession. «Me, Lora and Effie are here for anything you want, ok? This is my turn, but they’ll come too.»

«Finnick?» You want to know. You want to see him.

«Finnick and Annie flew to District Four the moment you were out of the coma, to stay with Mags. But they still call everyday.»

«Am I… Am I safe?»

«They say you will be weak for a long time. No stress, no heavy work, and you will need to sleep a lot. And you can’t eat a lot of things, but the doctors will tell you all the things you’ll need when you will be ready, Holly knows everything. Oh and, I know you won’t like it, the scar is… not pretty.»

«Oh.» You sigh. Stupid instinct to save the man you love. «But I meant with Coin and Thirteen.»

«We will have elections. Paylor will win, probably for the best. She is all right.» You really want to chat with Perla, but your eyes are starting to become numb. 

«And I have to tell you something, Haymitch and Holly have been arguing about telling you for days and by the way, I now hate them both. They argue about everything.» It’s funny to think about them, but now you are worried.

«What do you need to tell me?» 

She closes her eyes for a moment, surely she is not supposed to tell you. But you are a team. «You were practically dead. They used mutt technology on you.»

Oh. Well, it’s not that bad. At least they used mutts to save you and not to kill you. You prefer not to think about how they used them or which one. You really hope they didn’t use the scary lizards.

«Well, I’m alive. And I don’t want to know which animal they used.»

«Yeah.» She kisses your hair. «Then they wanted to change your brain with a chicken one, but they opened the head and said “Oh, we must have already done that!”» She looks so proud of herself. She just insulted you and she looks adorable. 

«For how long…?» 

«Since I knew about mutt technology.» She burst into laughter but soon they change into tears. She seems so afraid, so scared it almost scares you. And you want to console her and hug her, but you can’t right now, you don’t have enough strength to lift your arms.

«Hey, no, I’m here! I’m here, you can make fun of me!» You try to fight the tiredness. 

«I know, we just thought… we weren’t with you.» She sniffs, you never saw Perla like this. You supposed she couldn’t crumble in front of Lora, because she needs to protect her, she needs to be the tough one. As if Lora needs a protector, Lora is more determined and strong than the two of you together.

«It all happened offhand, you couldn’t have done anything. You stayed here with me.» She nods, a little reassured, and so you go on. «Now I should sleep a little.»

«Yes, of course. I’ll call Lora.» 

After Perla there is Holly, who practically only cries - and you with her, and Lora, who tries to sneak inside some strawberries but she’s caught by a nurse. Effie and Portia are next in line, but before them there is your favourite non boyfriend.

Next day, you pretend to sleep because Haymitch is looking at you and you just love when he stares at you. But, right now, it’s not a great sight. You don’t have any makeup on, your face is jaded and strained by the fatigue, your hair is a mess and your lips are dried. 

«Tell me the truth. Am I ugly?» You whisper after a while.

«You are looking good enough to eat.» He states, and it may seem shallow or inappropriate, but he knows you are worried about your appearance now that everyone visits you.

«Eat me then.» You reply with a grin and he leans down to kiss you properly. Your lips are dry and your face is scary, so you don’t think it’s that great for him, but you are sure your heart skipped a beat at the kiss. «Hi. I love you.»

«I love you too, but if you scare me like that again I don’t think I could survive.» He kisses you again and again. «They said you were going to die.»

«I’m here now, am I not?» You reassure him, «And soon I’ll be home. With you. And the devil’s birds.»

He laughs. «If you don’t want the geese… Everything you want you can have.»

«Oh no, I want them and I want to complain about them.» You open your eyes and you see him. The face of the concern. The man you love, with blonde hair and blue, blue eyes that turn grey when he is not happy.

«Complain all the time you want. As long as you don’t complain about me.» 

«Never. I mean, all the time but not about serious things!» You clench your hands in his shirt, you are strong like that now. «Will you bring me home today?»

«No, you have to wait a few days here. They have to check on you.» You scoff. You’ve been here for a month, they did all the checks they needed. You want to go home, away from Thirteen - Paylor or not Paylor, you don’t trust people in Thirteen. And you want the sun and the meadow. 

«I hate hospitals.» You roll your eyes. 

«And I hate to see you in this bed.»

You want to keep chatting, but your eyes are closing. «Go home and rest while I’m sleeping, old man.»

«You have to stop calling me “Old man”, Sweetheart.» He grunts.

You laugh a little with your eyes already closed. «”Old man” is sexy.»

«You are sexy.» He deadpans. You nod. «I’ll be here when you wake up, okay?»

«Okay.» You whisper.

«And never, never ever scare me like that again.» He kisses your forehead. «I’ll never let you go.»

[dollsonmain]

Random babbling

That lot of dolls with Jetta is on track to arrive tomorrow. It’s in Hagerstown today which is one stop away from our delivery hub.

The other Goodwill buys haven’t shipped, yet.

There’s a mystery package OFD that’s coming from where MiL lives so either she’s sent something for That Guy or Son and forgot to tell me. She usually tells me when there’s a package for Son so I can let her know when it’s arrived, so might be for That Guy. It was his birthday this past weekend.

-

Things have been disappearing lately.

The take out food containers I’d been reusing to work on dolls and ponies all just vanished at once. All of them. Poof. They’re the shallow, plastic ones with lids. One of the boys must have recycled the whole lot of them. Don’t like that. I used them a lot to hold things while working on things, keep them separate, keep them off the counter or touching other things I’m working on if it’s something gross like rusty tails, etc.

It’s frustrating to have something I use a lot suddenly gone.

Another thing is the cleaning cloths. That was a pack of 12 and I can locate about half as many, now.

However, I have caught myself throwing those in the trash without thinking a time or two, like I would a paper towel. I may have thrown them out and not realized.

-

I realized that I have That Guy’s credit score in my hands and that’s very weird. I could easily rack up his card pushing him into over-use (though his credit limit is really high so that would be rather difficult), or not pay the bills without saying anything and let it go to collections.

Not that I would do either of those things. It’s just weird that, in a situation and relationship where I’m very much cut off from money in such a way that I can’t stash any away in my savings or use it to buy what and from where I actually want (like dolls and stuff off of stores like Mandarake), I also have that kind of possible influence.

It seems illogical.

-

I barely ate this past week, and that’s very likely contributed to my hard crash over the weekend.

I did eventually get through the bag of apples other than two that I had to toss because they were prematurely gross. I ate all of the peppers. Ate the loaf of bread and 2 pieces from the bag of pitas. The boys ate a good deal of the pita chips I’d made. I know I ate 1 stove top and 1 microwave ramen at some point, and I think 2 TV dinners.

For a whole week, that’s not much food at all.

But also I’ve noticed things don’t smell or taste right again. The microwave ramen smelled like elephant poop, and lots of different things have smelled and tasted like play-doh. I wonder if I picked up covid again at that school meeting and am just not having many symptoms this time, or if it’s the same occasional Smell Wrong that I’d been experiencing since the first couple bouts of covid a few years back.

But it triggered a memory of having a similar kind of problem causing food aversion a long time ago and now I’m wondering if that bout of diagnosed anorexia was really a months-long struggle with an unrecognized viral infection.

Though I do still have the body dysmorphia (50 pounds ago I felt like I look the way I do now).

-

I’ve been inundated with makeup and hair videos on Instagram again, likely because I interact with doll faceups and styling videos.

It’s.... How to say....

I still find it uncomfortable that so many people feel obligated to go to such lengths to make themselves look different than they are.

Like, grooming is one thing. Being clean, you know? Putting some goop on your skin so it’s not itchy and cracking and you’re not picking up little infections. that kind of thing. Grooming.

But it’s so much of curly haired people straightening it, straight haired people curling it, wear a wig even though it’s itchy, put on those fake lashes, your nose is the wrong shape regardless of the shape it is so change it with makeup, do not dare to have uneven skintone...

I think that I am very lucky to be ok with how I look. Like, I don’t find myself attractive, but I also don’t feel a need to put on makeup or spend lots of time styling my hair into a shape it doesn’t want to be.

I found the haircut that suits my hair and it happens to be a wash-and-wear cut, too. I have lots of pimples and pick at them because they annoy me but don’t feel a need to cover them up.

Which has nothing to do with people that do their hair and makeup in a way that ISN’T meant to conform to “beauty norms” and do it to be more colorful and for fun.

I think I am lucky in that because so many people can’t feel content in their own skin.

(Though, going back to the body dsymorphia thing, I do feel a need to cover up my body because it feels like I’m doing the general public a disservice if I don’t, and that’s silly.)

-

Also thought it was funny that Volks released Tall Wolf Man BJD, and then Luts was like Oh? GIANT Cat Man BJD, then!!!!

[casiavium]

Posting my AU day fic for Ghiralink week a couple hours early because I'm bored!!

You can also read it on ao3

Link first sees him when he's unloading baked goods from the delivery truck out back. A tall man dressed in pants with more rip than jean is leaning against the alley wall, smoking some sweet scented thing though it's barely 6:30 in the morning.

Link is carrying a rather heavy crate of bread when the man notices him, blowing a long stream of cotton candy breath without breaking eye contact. Weirded out, Link sets the bread down, and goes back to the car.

The building next to them is vacant, so Link is used to seeing roughed up teens hanging out, usually when the sun is down. He usually closes, so this morning shift is new to him.

The man looked different from the typical angsty high schooler spray painting the walls and smoking pot to get back at the system, and Link clocks him as trouble. He's his age, if not older, and probably their dealer. He makes a note to bring him up to management, though he knows they won't do anything. He has half a mind to get Zelda to help him, just to have another person there, but she's busy getting ready for the morning rush.

Link has moved onto the pastries when he is startled by the man in white jeans. He's leaning against the truck now, and up close, looks stranger than before. Pure white hair, bold makeup, shaven brows. Link almost drops his box, but gathers himself before it's too late.

The man clears his throat. Link ignores him.

On the way back to the truck, he stands in Link's path so he can't avoid him.

"Do you work here?" He gestures to the small building behind them, and Link nods. The man's face turns into a disgusted sneer. "How... quaint."

Flipping his asymmetrical hair, he doesn't get the hint that Link is busy. "How long have you been working here?"

Frowning, Link has to set down the pallet to hold up 5 fingers.

"Days? Years? Weeks?"

He nods at weeks.

"Don't get used to it." Ghirahim scoffs, and at Link's confused look, jingles keys in his face.

Prancing back to the abandoned building, the man ducks into the door with a satisfied wave, pointing at the insignia of a popular coffee corporation on the door.

Damn.

Link makes a mental note not to leave the building alone anymore.

The coffee company opens within a week. He knows the state of the building, and knows there had to have been some OSHA violations to get it up and running so fast. But the coffee company is a megacorp, and they can do whatever they want. Link occasionally sees the white haired man in the window, usually behind the counter, sometimes at a table with a laptop open in front of him and papers strewn about. He doesn't enter.

Once or twice he's seen him pass the mom-and-pop coffee shop Link works in, stopping to glance in the window. He's made eye contact a few times, but nothing more.

It's another week before the door rings to signal a new customer, and the white haired man walks up to the register while Link's on shift.

"Pleasure to meet you again..." He glances at the smeared name tag. "Rin. Strange name."

Link almost laughs. The man makes a show of reading the menu, belittling their minuscule choices compared to the chain next door, critiquing the handwritten down-on-the-farm chalkboard style. Finally, after a long sigh and a comment on how confusing it all is, he asks,

"What would you recommend?"

Were a friend to ask Link, he'd say a hot apple cider with three pumps of pumpkin spice, whipped cream and cinnamon on top. Given that this is not, he points to their drink of the week taped to the register, which just so happens to be their most expensive. In Link's opinion, this week's is atrocious.

The man's lip curls when he reads the cutesy name, but he agrees anyway. Link holds a pen to the cup, clearly asking for a name.

The man raises a blank brow, still leaning on the counter. There's a line now. "Don't talk much, do you?"

Link stares.

"Ghirahim." He sighs, straightening his posture. "G H I R A-him. Spell it right."

He adds a shrug as he leaves. "Or not. I'm not fussy."

Link passes the cup to Zelda and takes the next order.

A flurry of customers go by, but Link is sure to be "busy" washing the blender when his coworker has made Ghirahim's drink. She has it at the bar, pauses, and squints at Link's bad handwriting.

"Drink of the week for... Gary Ham?"

Link watches smugly as Ghirahim snatches the hot coffee, storming out of the shop with a huff.

Link can no longer hide behind a messy nametag when the owner Pumm decides they all need to look more professional. "Link" is printed clearly and legibly in stark black ink against a white background, pinned to the top of his apron where everyone can see.

Ghirahim avoids coming into the coffee shop, but Link sees him outside the window occasionally. He always glares at him when he notices.

He's with a group of people when he visits them next, his nasally whine loudly ringing through the room that they "could just go next door, he gets a discount there." A tall woman with hair as white as his waves his complaints off, saying she likes the taste better here and he doesn't share anyway.

Ghirahim's the last to order. Link almost makes Kina take it this time, but she's already busy with the drinks and Ghirahim's already seen him. He smirks at Link's little glare, and leans against the counter.

"Nice to see you again, sweetheart." He mocks, but his eyes glance down at the nametag. His face freezes when he sees the name is not Rin, and for a moment, Link wonders if he can pull off the evil twin act.

However, the chance that both twins have a brain that doesn't connect to their vocal cords is low, and Ghirahim rolls his eyes.

"So it's Link." He draws out the 'k', and it's kind of nice the way it rolls off his tongue. "You just have the handwriting of a toddler."

Link is pissed. This time, before Ghirahim can order, he grabs a cup without writing a name. Ghirahim squawks a protest over the sound of mid-tier pop music, his friends teasing him in the background. Link throws some sugary syrup into a cup, giving him what appears to be a glass of straight milk when he's done.

Kina's on the third friend's drink, who makes a snide remark about the service if Ghirahim's getting his first. A battle for dominance, Ghirahim walks to the counter to take it from Link's hand.

He doesn't let go.

From behind his back he pulls out the worst flavor they have, cherry syrup that tastes like cough medicine, and pours it over the top of his mocha-less white mocha. Ghirahim glances down at the red collating in the sugary monstrosity, barely holding together his disgust.

On the house Link seems to say with a smile and a tilt of his head.

Ghirahim snarls and takes the cup.

Just Link's luck, the friend group snags a table and stays there for a while. Ghirahim ignores him, but Link pays attention as he mulls over the slow coffee chit-chat, occasionally sparing him a glance to take a long sip when he knows Link's watching. It can't be good, the number of unappealing things Link put in there, but Ghirahim drains the whole glass.

As he leaves, he licks a drop of the cherry syrup from his finger, sending a smirk and a wink in Link's direction.

Against his better judgement, Link is the one to make the next move in their game of chess. He visits the megacorp coffee shop two weeks later, walking through the front door without looking back.

Ghirahim isn't there. Link isn't sure what his plan was now that he's at the register and can't speak, a bitchy barista telling him to hurry up as he frantically scribbles something on a pad. Someone is waiting behind him. He can't find his wallet. He fumbles the pen, plastic falling from his fingers, and is on the verge of panic when it slides under the counter.

"I'll take this one."

Link snaps up from crawling on the floor to see Ghirahim's hand on the shoulder of the other, gesturing with his eyes for Link to leave the line and wait at the counter. A hot flush floods his cheeks, and Link shrinks back.

Link doesn't see what all Ghirahim is making. He watches matcha powder get placed back on the shelf, hears the clink of ice, and then the man disappears behind a swinging door for a second. When he comes back, it's with a self absorbed smirk.

"Here." He slides a bright green drink across the bar, the sides ringed with threads of red syrup. Link's eyes widen. "Much better than what you gave me, I'll say."

Link takes the drink, eyes cast away. With a fluid motion he moves an open palm from his chin to out in front of him, and hurries away.

Thank you.

He doesn't know if Ghirahim understands.

The next time Ghirahim visits, Link is working alone. It's closing, and Pipit is taking the trash out that night. He doesn't expect any customers that late on a Tuesday, not even a stray college student pulling an all-nighter.

He's slacking off behind the counter, watching videos on his phone, when the bell rings. Nearly falling from his chair, he gasps when he sees white hair and tight clothes, a splash of purple makeup on a pale face.

Immediately, he gets to work.

The espresso machine has been cleaned and shut down, but Link fires it up anyway. This time, he takes his time pouring the syrup around the edge of the cup, mixing the white chocolate powder until it's smooth and creamy. He gives him oat milk, though they're supposed to charge extra (and he's not charging him at all), and tops it off with whipped cream.

Link makes a second of eye contact before grabbing a pen. Something possesses him this time. He writes his number on the cup, and the first words he's ever "spoken" to Ghirahim. Leaving the drink on the bar, he scurries behind a curtain to finish his closing duties.

From behind the fabric he peeks out, Link watches as Ghirahim's mouth quirks into a smirk when he reads his messy writing. He pulls out his phone, types something in, and walks out of the coffee shop without a word.

Link's phone buzzes.

"I can give you something other than coffee to keep you up all night. Call me."

You couldn't have thought of a better pick up line?

[reynie-muldoons]

'A Perilous Journey' liveblog!!!!

GOOD MORNINGGGG its season two timeee!!!

I decided I'm watching episode 1 now, and episode 2 in a few hours. My shift starts weirdly late in the day so it works out.

As always, spoilers below the cut!!

Before I even get started I love how this episode is called a perilous journey. It's not quite the book title but damn near close 😂

0:10 ITS A RECAP BAYBEEE

1:27 dad!Milligan will never not make me cry

1:29 AND MOM!MISS PERUMAL RIGHT AFTER

2:12 HERE WE GOOOOOO

2:19 BLEASE tell me Kate is training rats

2:23 just kidding its Sticky

2:36 STOP MADGE STOLE THE RAT LMAOOO

2:41 oh. She left a letter. That's not conspicuous at all 😂

2:59 Mystic is so tall now 🥺

3:13 WETHERALL FARM??????

3:17 I SEE A BARN THIS IS NOT A DRILL. Also that was fucking creative Kate but how strong is that boomerang to knock multiple full-grown apples off of the tree

3:24 MILLIGAAAANNNNNN

3:34 MADGE NAME DROP!!! I have a confession to make related to Madge that I think is the funniest fucking thing ever. Remind me to tell y'all at some point

3:46 omfg are we about to watch the kidnapping??? how telling is it that I thought of Gert immediately LMAOOOO

3:55 they look adorable. Matching umbrellas, cute long coats... icons

3:58 THEYRE FAMILY BITCHES

4:06 is that supposed to be a time magazine dupe

4:06 I also think its hilarious that Curtain's original plan was to take credit for solving the emergency by just. mass brainwashing. good plan there bud, very sustainable

4:06 but like isnt he wanted now??? Isnt that a thing? In the books the government was actively looking for him so tf is this

4:14 THE OPENING IS BAAAACK

4:14 "skip opening" how insulting. No

4:42 THE SHORTCUT!!!!!

4:50 who decided to make Constance's screen an arctic clown ship 😂😂

5:12 here's that unhinged interview from the trailer. I didnt think it would come this quickly

5:28 Constance just fucking staring at the TV as if she can intimidate him into stopping LMAO

5:39 WHAT??? So in S1 when he said he'd "share the spotlight" THIS is what he meant?? What a curveball. He's going to regret countering her

5:50 fucking god complex strikes again

6:01 he looks like he's wearing a straight jacket on that back cover. Probably appropriate considering he's uhhhh Like That

6:20 god I hate him. Stop being manipulative challenge (impossible)

6:26 YES ABSOLUTELY sadness, anger, frustration, anxiety, all of the shit makes happiness stand out. Without the struggle our lives would be shaded of grey because happiness wouldnt be distinguishable

6:43 why does this sound like homeopathic medicine

7:03 is this like a weird TV hypnosis thing. Is he doing the fake happiness thing on her without her consent

7:09 ohhhh I did NOT like the shift from looking at her to looking at the camera. Creepy

7:15 RHONDA YOU SHOULDVE LET HER DO IT

7:15 Rhonda as usually you look fucking fire

7:26 Dutch baby?? First of all, presentation is 10/10. Second of all it makes me very sad that they're the only two in the house because Mr. B and Number Two are already gone.

7:38 why the fuck did she answer in French 😂😂

7:44 THEYRE SISTERS YOUR HONOR

8:03 HAHHA THIS IS THE LOG-CUTTING THING??? I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

8:13 that scream sounded like a fucking bird of prey HAHA

8:29 literally describing how it feels to travel with parents over a long period. I swear they are literally a fucking family

8:36 "just as much for him as it is the kids" oh absolutely it is, he's a mess when it comes to Nathaniel

9:01 DOES HE JUST GO TO SYMPOSIUMS AND GET UP AND SPEAK 😂😂😂 what the fuck guy

9:24 "who's mocking me?" "Doesnt matter." They're banter is UNCHALLENGED. also his face is fucking funny HOLD UP

9:24 GRUMPY MAN IS GRUMPY

9:37 calling Nathaniel "some guru with all this influence" REALLY makes him sound like he tries on makeup products and does skincare routines on youtube 😂

9:41 "we seem pretty safe" oh babygirl if that's not the nail in the coffin

10:05 they really nailed the "local man does something weird" vibes in this scene

10:17 dont tell me it already happened. Oh no

10:27 OH SHIT THERE IT IS

10:39 oh my gosh he's such a DADDD.

10:45 "a tiny go bag or gorp". I love him so much

10:54 HE WITTLED IT FOR THE BUCKET STOOOOP

11:03 AND THE DEPENDENCY ARC CONTINUESSSSS

11:10 "it's my job to take care of you also. Additionally." He understands she's been on her own up until this point and acknowledges that she can handle herself, but also that she's a kid who needs help just like anyone else. CRYING.

11:15 she didn't even put it in the bucket, just her pocket 😂😂 she's so reluctant to accept

11:25 MILLIGAN PLEASE GET A BUCKET HAHAHA

11:30 okay that truck is incredible LOL

11:40 .....why would you do that to a grapefruit. What did the grapefruit do to you huh

12:08 HERE'S THE LETTERS ANGST. REYNIE WROTE THEM SO MANY LETTERS

12:16 can I just say Miss Perumal is the queen of pastels

12:43 the reality of long-distance friends. My best friends from high school and college live SO far away and it's like this sometimes

12:50 acknowledging his feelings, giving him comfort, AND indulging him?? If the adoption papers arent signed already they really should be

12:57 HAHA IS SHE PRACTICING TO SEE THEM??? LMAO KID

13:19 stooooppp she's so cute

13:26 LMAO EVERYONE GOT THERE AT THE SAME TIME

13:44 Reynie and Sticky had the sense to bring a suitcase, Kate

13:51 she's not wrong, they are taller 😂

13:58 THAT LOOK BETWEEN CONNIE AND KATE LMAOOOO

14:01 this is a funny moment and all but Reynie desperately looking for affirmation anywhere he can find it makes me so sad for him

14:07 THE HIGH FIVES!!!! Cue everyone wincing

14:15 HAHA HAVE THEY JUST NOT TALKED ABOUT THE WHISPERER SINCE THEN

14:27 ohhhh Milligan looks nice

14:38 STOP THEYRE SO FUNNY

14:45 it looks like a minecraft golem, or the pokemon golett 😂

15:01 oh lord the news broke, that has to be it

15:15 dun dun DUNNNN

15:34 it's so cool that they planned check-ins like that. How smart

16:15 okay both of them switching between languages was fucking sick

16:18 and here it is, the kids have been told no, so they will find their own way

16:41 oh shit, they have a short timeframe then

16:47 I cant tell if this is manipulative or Constance not being able to contain herself. Like I doubt she would do this in front of the others but she's already shown she trusts everyone more than she lets on, soooo

17:09 is this Constance's room??

17:16 HAHA I KNEW IT she DID hug Rhonda to get something out of it

17:31 he sounded so offended 😂😂😂

18:09 she kills me. The line delivery is just on point

18:59 is this from the book? It's a dictionary, right?

19:14 HAHA he just fucking LEAVES

19:22 OH SHIT HELLO????

19:43 RAGE GIRL, RAGE

19:46 HAHAHAHA HER FACE WHEN THE SNACKS POP OUT

19:46 IM CRYING HER EYES BUGGED OUT SO MUCH

20:13 "many sociopaths are unfailingly polite" that describes Nathaniel so fucking well

20:25 casual destruction of property

20:25 HOLD ON LMAOO how much did they have to pull on that thing for it to come out of the door at such a small tug???? Oh no I'm sad

20:33 AYYYY there it is, it's a dictionary

20:52 "last...time I checked" oh buddy hahahahah

21:14 "there is no system" the system is the organized chaos that every person with ADHD understands- it's a mess but a very specific mess

21:19 awwwww. He's trying to reach across 🥺

21:29 VERY SMOOTH REYNIE

22:00 okay the nothingness club sounds like a cult

22:13 awwww there it issss. The dam is breaking

22:30 AND NOW ITS THE SAME WITH THE GIRLS. I love that they're ramping up the similarities between Reynie and Constance

22:45 awwww loneliness. They're so sad

22:59 "not dad. Roommate" okay girl you tell yourself that

23:14 THE BOOK CHAIR. THATS INCREDIBLE

23:23 "You LIKE me." LMAO KATE CALL HER OUT

23:40 needy dad is needy

23:54 hagagaga why does he keep looking at Constance like that

24:35 good job Kate!!!!

24:46 YES THEY GOT THE JOURNAL FUCK YEAH

25:16 TAKE THE SHORTCUT BABY

25:47 "does anyone feel like they've entered a trance" Constance 😂😂😂😂

26:12 "I feel uncleen" HAHAHAH

26:25 THERE IT ISSSS TAKE THE SHORTCUT BAYBEEEE

26:42 MARITIME MONTHLY LMAOOOO

27:15 yeah Kate, everybody knows that. Gosh.

27:44 YES Reynie get the group's consent before doing something stupid

28:02 she's writing a fucking newsletter apparently

28:10 very subtle guys

28:19 okay the fact that Kate is left makes me think Milligan is going to come

28:24 okay, just kidding. Also I love the shoes

28:27 ayyy public transit

28:34 OKAY WHO TF WAS THAT

28:48 wow they didnt get any kind of head start, Rhonda's going to see they're gone immediately

28:58 SHIT SHE SCREAMED FOR HIM

28:58 KATE LEFT HIM A NOOOOOTE 😭😭😭

29:11 MISS PERUMAL NOOOO

29:12 ayyyyyy it's the Shortcut!!!

29:37 oh shit the adults have the tickets??? So what I'm hearing is the kids are sneaking on and the adults are using tickets

30:14 oh shit Sticky 😂 or should I say "oh ship"

30:20 HAHHAHA KATE "ha. stern" CRYING

30:34 PETTY CRIME BAYBYYYYY

30:42 NOOOOO its Boston tea party but without the tea

30:56 oh God why is he like that

31:03 he looks like he's about to star in a 80's dance video

31:07 NOOO HE ACTUALLY STARTED DANCING

31:15 WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS

31:18 PLEASE STOP HAHAHAHA

31:27 please dear god let SQ walk in on this

31:30 not SQ but someone else

31:46 what the fuck just happened

31:49 ITS GOLF CART TIME BITCHES

32:16 I'm so glad he looks that stupid in his little cart thing. I cant wait to make fun of him

32:32 who are you calling "Associate" bitch

32:46 CULT

32:52 "elated" OH GOD OH NO OH FUCK

32:59 Milligan holding his hat like that is just too fucking endearing.

33:06 so are their tickets just. Null and void now 😂

33:12 did they really just ditch their shit 😂😂😂😂😂 the bags are just there in the open

33:18 parents. PARENTS. Also this kind of is like Reynie although Miss Perumal has never seen him in an active life and death situation like this

33:23 Rhonda is once again the voice of reason

33:27 "they believed us" AWWWWWW

33:45 shit is it already over??? Damn those are some long credits then

Wow, that was really good. The kids met back up, they had an awkward start but fell into that familiarity almost immediately. The parents were very parental. Although in hindsight, Sticky's were pretty much absent. What the fuck's up with that??

And the biggest tragedy is that there was no "roll credits" moment. They didn't namedrop the episode title 🙃 please bring that back in the test of the season I loved that so much

This took a lot longer to do than I thought, so I'm waiting to watch episode 2 until later tonight. I cant wait to talk about it with y'all!!!

[mlobsters]

supernatural s7e4 defending your life (w. adam glass)

possessed car?? we did ghost truck i guess that's different enough. oh, no. ghost car. okay, the splat effects (and sound effects) on the titles - i have been itching to snark about. combining the splat of the ghost car victim and the titles is so goofy

okay. *argh* stop making me mad at you, dean. he was just railing into sam about not telling them about the hallucinations, but now he just lied to sam's face about jewel staite.

DEAN Some kind of ghost? DEAN With a license? License to kill. SAM Seriously?

why are they acting like that's weird. wasn't there a ghost truck that killed people episode already?? are they gonna talk about cassie???? (no)

SAM No. Just dirt. Could be "Christine"-like. DEAN Ugh. Even possessed cars can't do stairs. It's something spectral.

great minds

sam's hair, it's very fluffy and long and feathery, what's going on

DEAN I gave up AA for Lent. SAM We're not Catholic. DEAN Always with the details. AA gives me the jeebs. SAM Wow. Shocker.

so is this gonna be a very special episode where we acknowledge dean's alcoholism? (no)

DEAN Kind of makes you wonder if the guy wasn't drunk when he ran her over. SAM Yeah.

this episode has been full of weird pauses/moments focusing on reactions to things that may or may not have warranted the reaction that happened.

okay so i was like you know there's not a lot of pale red haired covered-in-freckles people in media, being a pale and covered-in-freckles person myself i do tend to notice, so i had to get a screenshot of the hands. my people's hands 😂 though his face does not look freckled in the same way but it's stupid hard to cover with makeup and still look vaguely skin-like... anyway. he's also been in altered carbon lol

altered carbon s1e4 force of evil - teach grant as jimmy desoto

what's going on with grumpy mcgrumperson dean. very special episode where dean learns people can actually grow and change? people like jewel staite and i dunno, sam?? (no)

DEAN Wow. I'd be so interested in that if I ate apples.

you really gonna have dean "pie's #1 fan" winchester say this?

DEAN I'm gonna check the bar. SAM To work or drink? DEAN I haven't decided.

i'm at the very special episode about alcoholism. i'm at the very special episode where dean tries to learn that people can change. i'm at the combination alcoholism and how people can change very special episode.

BARTENDER Love life or job? Two quick doubles, it's something. I'm Mia, by the way. DEAN Well, Mia, that is a complex question. I'm Dean, by the way.

lol. and plausible deniability

oh he's grumpy because he killed jewel when he told sam he wouldn't and that he trusted sam? because you should feel bad about the lying. and the not trusting.

BOBBY They identify the God Osiris. Real authoritarian type. He gets ahold of you, he's judge, jury, and executioner. Lore says that he can see directly into the human heart. He weighs the guilt. If he finds more than a feather's worth – boom, you're done.

weighing guilt, great. clear consciences all around.

DEAN It's been a while. But you owe yourself. It's nothing but a ground ball – you just got to put your mitt down. You are Dean Winchester. This is what you do.

hyping himself up for his hookup? kind of assumed that was still happening off camera.

aw, he's "sammy" in dean's phone

OSIRIS You and that waitress had quite a talk, huh? Get a couple drinks in you, and the guilt comes pouring out.

course it was too much of a real interaction to be anything other than a little plot device. this dude's voice/accent was very familiar, and aha.

the magicians s3e1 the tales of the seven keys - faran tahir as the great cock of the darkling woods

haha lawyer!sam what au fic is this

SAM Witness is being called without prior notice. DEAN Good one. SAM I saw that on "The Good Wife."

this is a weird episode. tone and message keeps bopping around.

SAM So why'd you start? To impress some loudmouth ass you just met... Or 'cause you wanted to be like your dad? JO Daddy issues. Definitely.

dean looking hurt/embarrassed about being called a loudmouth ass, hum. and same jo, same.

OSIRIS But were you or were you not happily out of the family racket until Dean showed back up in that gas guzzler? Ah-ah. The truth, now.

you know i like to talk about the money they have to spend to keep the impala fueled

OSIRIS But don't you think that your brother dragged you back into that catastrophic mess because he'd rather damn you with him than be alone?

okay but all that and dean i guess REALLY feels guilty about is killing jewel staite. not the torturing people in hell thing. or a million other things. so don't feel guilty that that's what made you guilty, dean -_- was inevitable

login successful!

DEAN You were a kid. JO Not true. DEAN You and Sam. I just – you know, hunters are never kids. I never was. I didn't even stop to think about it. JO It's not your fault. It wasn't on you. DEAN No, but I didn't want to do it alone.

okay. no longer at the combination alcoholism and people can actually change very special episode. we're at the dean should not feel guilty for getting sam and jo into hunting very special episode? (eh?)

been a tick since their last scenic drink and chat date

SAM Look, I don't know what to tell you, Dean. I mean, I've spent a lot of time feeling pretty crappy – like, my whole life. DEAN What, you got a secret stash of happy pills? SAM Hell. SAM Look, I'm not saying it's logical. I just... you know, I feel like I did a lot of stuff I should have felt bad for, and then I paid a lot of dues and came out the other side, you know?

DEAN Well, I don't know whether to be, uh, jealous or weirded out. SAM You'll get used to it. I mean, I don't want to sound lame, but... I kind of feel good, Dean.

shut your mouth, sam, you know that's just asking for it. happiness is not allowed on this show. is this just denial though. foreshadowing something awful works all around

[littleblondesoprano]

Please forgive me if this is untoward, but I'd love some advice, if you're willing? The selfies you take are absolutely breathtaking and I was wondering how you get them to look so soft and ethereal? I've been speaking with someone who I'd like to share photos with, but every time I attempt to take them I hate every single one and feel discouraged. I don't *hate* my body, but I always think I look hideous and it kills me to think someone else will see what I see. Yours always look so pretty and if you had any tips or advice I'd be forever grateful ❤️

This is not untoward at all, my friend! I am always here for y'all, this is a safe, welcoming place <3 I'm gonna put this under a read more, just because I talk a lot, lol! :D

Firstly, thank you so much! You're so sweet, and I completely understand that feeling. Know that you are gorgeous and anyone who receives your pictures is one damn lucky person! I'm not just sayin that either, it's true!

Well, and this applies for face or body (I've still not mastered the body bit, but i'm workin on it!) the biggest advice I can give is to get comfortable in front of the camera. What that means is, trying out your angles, turn and twist in weird ways that might feel odd at first, try out silly facial expressions to try and relax! When I do cosplay, or just selfie makeup, I always have to take a break in between pictures to be as silly as I possibly can. I'm talking making videos to whatever I'm listening to, headbanging (unless it messes up my hair), dancing around, crossing my eyes, and making the most hideous faces I can, just so I can get back into that happy, relaxed zone. Do the whole Sharpay trill but with your whole body! Limbo under nothing! Really commit to the bit and get yourself laughing! When you loosen up, or at least when I do, I find the pictures come out better, because I am genuinely having fun.

So, you're sending these to a special someone (👀) maybe thinking about them when you take the pictures will help, too! Think about how they make you feel - that warm, excited energy in your chest, and believe me, it translates to the photos. Try to imagine them in front of you, and how excited they'd react to seeing you, or how excited they'll be to be such a special recipient.

Another bit of 'technical' advice is try using your camera's timer! For body shots, I use the 10 second timer on my phone camera (usually in tandem with the 'Portrait Mode' preset under 'Contour Light' if you have an Apple - I'm not sure what Samsung or Android have, but there should be an equivalent) and start trying out poses. The timer helps because you can watch your pose and shift without having to fumble with the camera. This also works for like, face selfies too - but with that I, personally, use Snapchat's camera and 3 second timer function, just so my arms are free to wiggle.

There are also apps, if you want a variety of filters beyond Snapchat, that offer some good ones! I used to use BeautyPlus in highschool/early undergrad, because it gave me those images with sharp contrast. Just, beware the ads.

An issue I run into, especially with like, body shots, is running out of poses, or trying to think new ones up. I'm not sure if you run into this, but looking online always helps me! I'm a plus size person (also bi as hell so this is very fun for me) so going into the plus size tag on tumblr, or looking up plus size boudoir shoots/photographers helps to see people with my body type being sexy, and what poses they adopt. It becomes an issue trying to do all that by myself, but there are compromises.

Lighting is your best friend. In face or body pics! If you've got a soft light, maybe play around with how it looks on the planes of your face! That meaning, wave the light around your face and see how each angle looks in a mirror, or a camera. That's how I kinda started, besides messing with the blinds in the dining room when the sun hit the perfect spot. For me, full lighting on my face with shadow behind works best. As I learned from ANTM as a teenage bab, lighting can make a shoot.

But the biggest thing is just - try stuff! Try it even if you don't think it'll look good, and really take time afterwards to appreciate yourself. This is what I want you to do, this is my homework to you - I want you to try out taking pictures, body, face, whichever, and when you sit down to look through them (that's crucial, do not look through them until your energy for taking photos is gone - only do a cursory look as you take them, no in-depth look until after, that'll psych you out if you look too long while you take them) I want you to compliment yourself on each photo. You don't have to say it out loud, but I want you to appreciate how beautiful you are, because you are beautiful. I don't care if you think you're Quasimodo incarnate - you are fucking beautiful and I want you to realize that.

I also want you to know that I completely understand. For every 1 good picture I post, there's probably 50 that I don't. I've had times where I took pictures and bawled my eyes out because I hated how I looked. And I've gone back, a year or so after, and saw how banging the pictures actually were! So let me just say, doll, it's nothing wrong with you. Your mind might just be spinning you a horribly wrong yarn. And I say: snip, snip, motherfucker.

Besides, special person that's getting these photos? If worst comes to worst and they have such little taste as to not like you, then why ever would you want them around you? We want someone in your life who lives every inch of you as yourself and shows you that, early and often. But, you also owe that same energy to yourself, because you are amazing!

But just remember, a bad photo is just that - a bad photo. Everyone takes them, and it reflects nothing on you or how you look/appear as a person. If you start to feel yourself winding down, or psyching out, take a break, drink some water, and get sillay. Just play for a while! You've got this!! I have so much faith in you, and I am so proud of you!! <3

[eddies-puppet]

𝙇𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙄𝙣 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙁𝙞𝙧𝙚 | 𝙎𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙧 𝙍𝙚𝙞𝙙

Chapter 15: ‘Trauma Forms Bonds’

Warnings: Arguments, mention of cheating

Word count: 2,004

Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16

——————————————————————

Becca sang along to her favourite song, playing loudly on her phone beside her as she ran the straighteners through her long hair.

'Ooh, I love it when you do it like that, and when you're close up, give me the shivers.'

She'd fallen asleep quickly after the shower, her hair still wet, and there was no way she was stepping foot outside the hotel room door without making it more presentable! 

The bathroom door opened softly behind her, Spencer appearing through the doorway, a white towel wrapped around his waist.

"Good morning," she smiled at him in the reflection of the mirror as he walked up behind her. 

Slipping his arms around her waist, he pulled her tight against his bare chest, his breath warm against her shoulder.

"Good morning," he smiled back, placing a gentle kiss against her shoulder before making his way towards the bed and laying down, his back against the headboard. "How did you sleep?"

"Good," she nodded. "Unfortunately my hair didn't fair so well," she laughed.

"You're ridiculous, you look beautiful," he smiled sweetly as she shook her head.

"Yeah well, you're slightly biased, you have to say that," she laughed.

"You know me better than to think I would say something I didn't mean," he chuckled. 

Turning the hot straighteners off and putting them down on the dressing table, she made her way to Spencer's side, taking his face gently in her hands as she kissed his lips tenderly.

"And that is just one of the many reasons I love you Dr Reid," she whispered, kissing him quickly again before grabbing a pack of wet wipes from the bedside cabinet and heading back to the dressing table to put her makeup on.

"While we're on that subject, we should talk about maybe telling the team about us," Spencer said. "So many of them know now, and even those that don't already have their suspicions."

"I know, it was Em I was worried about purely because of us working together, but she seems to be really happy for us," Becca smiled contentedly. "Penelope is going to be go crazy," she laughed. "Do you think everybody else will be ok?" She asked hesitantly. "I know how much they worry about you, and I don't want anything to be weird. I really feel comfortable with everyone, I don't want that to change," she explained nervously. 

Spencer sat up on the bed, crossing his legs beneath him.

"Bex, they love you, you're part of this crazy family now," he smiled reassuringly as he pushed his wet hair back from his face. "Yes, they look out for me, but that's because they want me to be happy. And you make me happy. Happier than I've ever been," he beamed. "And that's all they'll need to know." She nodded, sighing deeply as she swept the mascara wand across her long lashes. 

"The only person who might have had anything to say would be JJ, but even after everything that happened between us she was so supportive of Max and I, and she already knows you better than she knew Max," Spencer babbled.

"What do you mean, everything that happened between you?" Becca asked quietly, the hackles on the back of her neck rising as she screwed the lid back onto the mascara.

"When she told me she loved me," he said matter-of-factly. Becca froze, her heart seeming to skip a beat as she turned to look at him.

"When she what?" She exclaimed. "Spence, when was this?" A look of panic fell across his face and his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed hard.

"I assumed Emily had told you things had always been a little complicated between the two of us," he muttered, his voice cracking with anxiety.

"She told me you two had been on one date years ago, but you saying 'always' makes me think this is more than that."

"Bex, I'm sorry, I should have mentioned it before," Spencer whispered as he stood up, taking a few steps towards her. She put her hand out in front of her, silently telling him to stop.

"No kidding," she spat. "You need to start talking, because from where I'm standing, you seem to have kept a massive part of your life from me."

"It's not like that baby," he insisted. "When I first started at the BAU, I had a crush on her. Gideon got me to take her to a football game, and we had fun, but nothing ever went any further than that. She met Will not long afterwards and had the boys, and over the years we became best friends, nothing more," he promised her desperately. "It's kind of a long story, but she was pretty much forced to tell me that she loved me. I thought she'd just said it to satisfy the unsub but she told me later that she'd meant it."

"When was this?" Becca asked reluctantly.

"Maybe a year and a half ago," he mumbled.

"This is despite the fact that she's married and has children?" Becca questioned. Spencer nodded silently. "Classy," she spat, her voice dripping with disgust. "So I assume Will knows nothing about this?"

"No, and he's never going to," Spencer said forcefully. "Because nothing ever happened. And nothing WILL ever happen."

"You'll forgive me if that doesn't fill me with confidence," she snorted, grabbing her gun holster from the dressing table and clipping it to her waistband. "It's hard to trust a woman who tells men she loves them when her devoted husband is probably at home looking after their children," she said angrily.

"Becca, you don't need to trust her, you need to trust me," Spencer said, his voice laced with frustration. She turned sharply, anger burning behind her dark eyes.

"Yeah, well that's going to be a problem too," she sneered, nodding her head indignantly. "You see, I've spent the last few months falling stupidly in love with you, despite knowing it could never end how I wanted it to, and you can't even bring yourself to tell me that the woman I thought was my friend is in love with you? She has done nothing but tell me how much you mean to her and how wonderful you are, and now it just feels like the two of you have been laughing behind my back."

"Baby, please," Spencer begged. "You've got to believe me, you have nothing to worry about. I love you," he said desperately. She shook her head, scoffing at his words as she snatched her satchel from the chair, heading for the door. Spencer reached out, trying to take her arm as she passed him, but she quickly shook him off, storming past him.

"I'll see you at the station," she muttered, slamming the door behind her before he could see the tears begin to fall from her eyes.

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

"Morning my love," Penelope grinned as Becca entered the busy conference room at the police department.

"Morning," Becca mumbled back, her eyes trained on the floor in an attempt to hide her swollen eyes as the door closed loudly behind her. 

She could sense the eyes of the rest of the team burning into her skin, the silence unnerving as she sat down next to Dave at the table, throwing her bag down on the ground.

"Everything ok kid?" Dave asked quietly. She nodded silently, not trusting her voice to speak. "Hey, tell me what's up," he whispered kindly. 

She looked up at him, her eyes filling with tears again as she opened her mouth to speak, but she froze as she saw Spencer walking towards her. His face was pale, sad, as he smiled despondently at Luke. He made his way around the table and sat down beside her.

"Bex, please talk to me," Spencer begged quietly, his hand gently touching her leg beneath the table.

"Now's not the time or the place Spence," she muttered, her sad eyes looking up to meet his.

"Ok guys," Emily said loudly, getting everyone's attention as they each found a seat around the table. "Penelope has been running facial recognition overnight and has tracked down who we think is Peter Cox. We believe he's inside an address downtown, the deputies and I will be going out in a few minutes. Spence, Matt and Tara, I want you to come with us," Emily told them, the three of them nodding silently as they rose from their seats. 

Becca felt Spencer's hand brush gently across her back as he passed her on his way to the door and she lowered her eyes, watching her hands as they wrung in her lap. 

"We'll keep you updated," Emily called over her shoulder as she left the room.

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

It had been just over half an hour since half of the team had left to apprehend Peter Cox, and Becca sat alone at the table in the conference room. 

Luke, JJ and Derek had gone to the diner along the street to grab some breakfast and Hotch was sat in the departments break room speaking to Jack on his cell. 

She flicked absentmindedly through her social media, struggling to concentrate as she thought back to her argument that morning with Spencer. 

She knew all too well that she had overreacted, that the green-eyed monster that lived deep within her had crept into her brain, confusing her thoughts. She knew in her heart that she could trust Spencer, that he wouldn't do anything to purposely hurt her. 

She was just so confused by JJ's actions. She'd always thought JJ and Will were the perfect couple, deeply in love and committed to their life, and to their family, so the thought of her declaring her love for the person she described as her best friend came like a bolt from the blue. 

Her eyes were drawn away from her cell by a coffee cup being placed down on the table in front of her. Looking up, she found Dave smiling at her as he sat down beside her.

"You look like you need that," he smiled, nodding his head towards the hot cup.

"Thanks," she said gratefully, her voice barely audible over the cacophony of voices around the station.

"Are you going to tell me what's happened?" She sighed softly, shrugging her shoulders.

"I don't know where to start Dave," she chuckled sadly. "I might have messed this up."

"I doubt that judging by the forlorn state of our friendly neighbourhood doctor when he left," Dave smiled reassuringly.

"Did you know JJ told him not too long ago that she's in love with him?" Dave simply shrugged.

"So what if she is?" He said flippantly. Becca's brows knit together, confused. "Does he love her?"

"He says not," she whispered.

"But you don't believe him?" She shrugged slightly, the movement barely visible. "You can't punish him for her feelings Becca," he said simply. "You know better than most the pressure and the emotional trauma that comes with this job. That trauma forms bonds that no words can even come close to explaining."

"I get that Dave, really I do," Becca explained. "I guess I just feel hurt. I really thought that she and I were friends," she said sadly. "I don't understand why one of them didn't tell me before."

"And how would that conversation have gone?" Dave smiled knowingly, a chuckle falling from Becca's lips.

"Probably not well," she laughed. Dave raised his eyebrows, nodding.

"Becca, that boy loves you, and you love him. Do you really want to throw that away?" Becca held Dave's gaze, her eyes softening as she shook her head. "That's what I thought." 

Dave's cell began to ring shrilly, and he pulled it quickly from the inside pocket of his jacket. Answering the call, he put the phone on speaker. "You get the son of a bitch?"

"Yeah, we got him," Matt said calmly. "But you need to get to the hospital. Spencer's hurt."

[theriverspath]

Crowley's first gig with Luci's band! On the way there, one of her new band mates offers up his makeup skills and some helpful advice. Oh, and Crowley has an important realization about apples and butterflies. Prompt: Crowley's snake

Rated Teen. CW: closeted trans teen, dysphoria, grief

"How old are you?" Crowley looked over at her brother in confusion. They were loading the black cases that housed the band’s gear into the back of an old three-row family van. Tonight was her first gig, and her hands shook with nerves.

"Um, sixteen?" She ventured an answer. Had her brother really forgotten her age?

"Nope. You wanna know why?" Crowley narrowed her eyes, then gave a noncommittal shrug. Luci was up to something, but she wasn't sure what it was yet.

"Well." Luci hefted a guitar case onto an empty spot of carpet behind the van’s second row of seats. The third row had been removed months ago, when the band had started using it for transport. Once it was settled, his left hand dipped behind him and dug a folded leather wallet out of a back pocket. "If you're sixteen, what would that make me?"

"Nineteen. I guess." Crowley knew exactly how old her brother was. She’d been celebrating his birthday her whole life, hadn’t she? Luci handed the wallet over. Crowley took it and, with what felt like a sickening shock of electricity in her gut, realized that it was their dad’s. When had her brother switched to carrying this? How had he even gotten a hold of it? Her thoughts spun as she stared down at the palm-sized object.

“Wrong again. What does my license say?” Crowley flipped the wallet open. There was Luci’s driver’s license framed inside the clear plastic window that took up the left half of the interior. The little photo of her brother looked back up at her from where her dad’s image had been for as long as she could remember. It was hard to make out the numbers in the fading evening light, but she could just read his birthday. 

“Twenty one?” Crowley looked back. “Where’d you get this?” Grinning, Luci reached out and took the wallet from her. 

“Don’t you worry about that.” He slipped a fingertip behind his license and pulled up. Two more little plastic cards slid out from beneath it. He pushed one back, but not before Crowley caught sight of her father’s face. Luci handed the other to her. “This one’s yours. If anyone asks you for ID at the bar, show them this.” Someone had taken one of her most recent school photos and replaced the background with the same blue that Luci and her dad’s license featured.

Crowley remembered that picture day. She’d hated the white polo shirt her mother had insisted she wear. It had made her look like a prep, and had felt like some sort of weird costume. But her mom had found it at a yard sale, and had beamed with pride when she showed Crowley the little gator logo on the front. “Can you imagine? A Lacoste for two bucks! All it needs is to have this little bit on the hem sewn back up, and you’ll look just like one of those boys over at Trinity Heart.” Crowley winced at the memory of being compared to the guys who attended the nearby private school, and then immediately felt guilty.

“You can’t buy a beer with it, but at least the owner won’t make you wait in the back room when you’re not on stage.” Luci’s voice brought her back to the present. Her eyes focused on the neatly printed letters and numbers displaying her information. She skimmed past the single letter M, and found her birth date. It was two years before her actual one. According to this, she was eighteen: not old enough to drink, but old enough to be in a bar without getting hassled for it.

“You gonna drive us to the gig now that you’re all legal? I mean, sort of.” Crowley jumped at the question coming from inside the van. She’d been so focused on the license that she hadn’t noticed when Eric had climbed in the side door and settled into the bench-style middle seat. His brother leaned in through the open sliding door and handed him what looked like a fishing tackle box. He gave Eric a look that clearly communicated his opinion about his brother’s lack of any sort of sense.

“Hell no, he’s not driving my van -”

“Our van,” Eric interrupted. When Crowley had first met the two band members, she hadn’t been able to tell the identical twins apart. The fact that their mother had named them Eric and Erick hadn’t helped, either. But after a few months of them hanging around the house for practice, she now knew the individual mannerisms or tones of voice that distinguished one from the other. 

“Our van,” Erick rolled his eyes at his brother. They were painted with bold, black liner. Thin triangles of the makeup radiated down from the bottom lid, almost like spiky lashes. It was a dramatic look, and one that he shared with his twin. They’d also both shaped their hair into two short points on top, mimicking devil horns. “Especially not all the way to New Orleans.” He said the city name in three syllables: new-OAR-lens. “And we’re never gonna get there if we don’t leave.” He walked around the vehicle and hopped up into the driver’s seat. Luci made a face at the impatient guitarist’s back, then closed the van’s back doors. He joined Erick in the front. This left Crowley to share the middle bench with Eric.

Crowley slipped the fake ID into the pocket of her black jeans. It nestled next to her tube of lip balm and the bit of cash Luci had given her for the night. She’d have to get a wallet for herself soon. As she slid the side van door closed, she thought about the little clutch purse her mother used to carry on special occasions.

Erick started the engine and pulled away from Luci and Crowley’s house. He and Luci argued about the best way to get to the main highway as the van threaded its way through small residential streets. Eventually, they were on the long bridge that stretched across a huge lake. Pools of light rose and fell as they passed under the streetlights that lined the causeway. The van gently rocked as the wheels drove a cluh-clunk-cluh-clunk rhythm over the connected sections of concrete road. It might have lulled Crowley to sleep if it hadn’t been for the Metallica blaring from the front speakers. Hetfield growled a song about shifting his shape~, and Crowley nodded along as she stared out the window into the outstretched darkness.

Without really deciding to, Crowley let her thoughts drift to yesterday in the garden: the way Aziraphale had said her name when he saw her, the confession to giving Evie his report, the stumbling apology. How he looked when he took that bite from her apple. She felt her cheeks grow warm. The butterflies she’d felt at that moment were making a return appearance. This is ridiculous. I can’t be crushing on Aziraphale, Crowley told herself. A memory of the lunchroom dream surfaced, and she saw Aziraphale alight with that radiant smile. Can I?

“So, Dante usually paints red streaks on his face before a performance. Like, dripping from his eyes or mouth.” Eric’s voice was just loud enough for Crowley to hear above the music. Startled, she turned away from the window to face him.

“Yeah?”

“You wanna do something like that?” He patted the tackle box on the seat between them. “I’ve got plenty of stuff in here for it.”

Continue on ao3...

~Of Wolf and Man

[genderqueer-karma]

UGGHHHHHHH I HATE MAKEUP CULTURE

(RADFEMS DO NOT TOUCH THIS GODDAMN POST OR I WILL FLAY YOU ALIVE. I LOVE MY TRANS SISTERS AND THINK IT IS SO COOL WHEN THEY GO OUT IN PUBLIC WITHOUT MAKEUP AND WITH THEIR NATURAL VOICES AND THEIR BODIES AND EVERYTHING. SUCK MY BLACK, GENDERFLUID, NONBINARY BALLS. LOOK UPON MY BEAUTIFUL ADAM’S APPLE AND WEEP.)

i was scrolling tiktok (ik, first mistake on my part) and came across this video of a person doing a “boy beat” for a fucking job interview.

a) what the HELL is a “boy beat”, and

b) WHY DO YOU CARE????? ITS A JOB INTERVIEW. THE PAY CANNOT BE THAT GOOD.

**NOTE: this person did happen to be masculine-presenting, and so this isn’t even a dig on “men” wearing makeup (i’d be the biggest hypocrite on planet earth; i mean look at my gd icon, my theme, my EVERYTHING.)

so they were doing a “natural” makeup look i guess that had somewhere in the realm of *10 steps*. they put on TWO DIFFERENT TYPES OF BLUSH. WHAT THE HELL DOES ANYBODY NEED WITH TWO BLUSHES!???????

lemme tell y’all. this persons face was *perfectly fine*. literally just a human fucking face. the most “issue” they had was some dark spots/acne scars. and really: WHO GIVES A SHIT ABOUT ACNE SCARS AND WHY IS IT YOU ????

and yeah they were just trying to sell a product (of course) but it still is so deeply harmful to basically tell people: “hey. your natural face isn’t good. please cover up your blemishes in favor of society.”

i personally have experience with being so deeply insecure about my natural features that seeing shit like this anywhere makes me remember that time!!! it’s not fun!!! the whole idea that you need to cover yourself in order to look nice is bullshit, and it took me years to realize that.

i’ve had to learn that, yeah, other people thought i was “ugly” but that that didn’t. matter. if they thought so, it was their issue. not mine. i didn’t need to make them like me or my face, and i definitely didn’t need to change myself for them.

specifically about the corporate world also: why do we care what type of HUMAN FACE a company deems “professional”? it’s literally someone’s face. if your company thinks someone’s natural features are unprofessional, your company’s policy is inherently discriminatory. period.

also, what the hell is with the incredibly pointless gendering of a makeup look??? why does more “natural” makeup equate to being more “masculine”?

are feminine people the only ones who wear dramatic makeup? do we really have to act or present ourselves a certain way to put certain kinds of paint on our fucking faces?

long rant short: makeup culture and weird beauty standards are so fucking shitty because they make people do such off the walls shit like cover their actual natural features in favor of a more palatable version of themselves.

this greatly upsets me and many others because there shouldn’t be a “required” minimum number of makeup products to make you look presentable to the public. not everything is a performance, and we are not clowns, dancing monkeys, or fucking jesters whose sole purpose is to make others view us as “attractive” or valuable.

peace tf out. i hope y’all actually start to love yourselves.

**(smaller note for anyone who somehow made it this far: i actually don’t have a “real” adam’s apple. i’m just very thin which means my larynx is exposed more than other people’s, but it brings me joy to describe it as such.)

[crazysim-mary]

[takalzuoom]

take this un-proofread, unedited, peace of dokey i wrote on the fly on my phone

“vil they’re not coming”

“hush epel- rook is out getting them now. they are going to come”

yeah right. what has it been- 20 minutes now? and there’s no way you’d voluntarily go with rook to some undisclosed location.

but as always, epel had to keep his mouth shut with an eye roll of course or he’d never hear the end of it from vil.

what were they doing might you ask? simple.

they were going to show you why you were made for vil. curtsy of rook’s genius master plan of getting you to kiss vil- who had apparently fallen under a sleeping spell after a fatal, unavoidable potions accident. true loves kiss being the only thing to cure said curse.

but yet, there was no true love here? 🤨

and epel had to wait by vil’s night table for 20 minutes now, and frankly- he was getting bored. he just wanted to go to his own room to lie down, take a nap- hell, maybe even peel some apples, who knew🤷🏻

but no. apparently he wasn’t allowed to leave until vil got his ‘happily ever after’.

and so here he was. bored asf.

and vil wasn’t holding up much better. polished nails drumming impatiently against the silk sheets that covered his body elegantly. staring up at the veil that was draped over his bed, he just wanted to storm out of his room, drag you by the wrist and get this over with.

BUT NO- YOU HAD ALREADY DECLINED HIS INVITATIONS TO SPEND QUALITY TIME TOGETHER SO HE WAS FORCED TO RESORT TO THIS

opening his mouth to speak, a bzzzt was heard as epel hurriedly took out his phone, face illuminating not just from the phones light, but from the notification.

“rook said he and the perfect just entered the dorm! they should be here in less than a minute!”

“perfect” was all vil said, getting comfortable again. patting the blankets out around his, flicking a stray out from his face, applying some smudge proof mascara and lip gloss epel robotically handed him. he knew - he was ready

there was a knock as they both jolted, epel more so as rook’s sing-song voice still creeped him out.

‘oh monsieur cherry apple! we are about to enter!”

as the door creeped open, epel nervously stared at vil, who’s eyes were already cluttered closed, and face relaxed on command- and if epel wasn’t in on the little scheme and didn’t watch vil shut himself off like a robot.

he really would’ve thought he was dead asleep

“are you sure i’m needed rook? i mean i haven’t really talked much to vil- oh hey epel”

“hey y/n”

fuck fuck fuck fuck this was hard.

no- vil agreed to no ballet lessons for a week if this went off without a hitch. so even if epel wanted to say something, he just couldn’t 😿

you’d understand, right?

right🤨

“roi du poison! comme tu es belle quand tu dors!”

(how beautiful you are when you sleep)

rook praised, hand in the air as all he needed was some skull to fit in with those weird theatre kids at home.

“how is our précieuse dorm leader doing monsieur cherry apple?”

“u uh h alright i suppose…. hasn’t really been able to do much”

“and yet he still looks magnifique as always! and it appears he just applied makeup to!”

rook you fuck.

“oh, yeah- you know how he is… he’d kill me when he wakes up if he knows it didn’t help him”

“if” you interrupted, now standing besides epel and overlooking the sleeping beauty “if he wakes up… we still don’t know if this is going to work”

“oh contray! true loves kiss prévaudra alors que nous célébrons l'union entre deux amants !”

you and epel shared a look

“right… are you sure this is okay? i don’t want vil to murder me if this works. and it just feels… wrong? to kiss someone when they’re asleep, oblivious to what’s going on” you fiddled with the wrinkle of the bedsheets before, eyes solely trained on the folds before you patted them down.

“i just don’t want to step on any toes”

epel could only sigh, just imagining the smirk his dorm leader would be wearing if he was able to have a word in this conversation ‘if only you knew’ he shook his head.

“better to explain yourself to a living vil, then a sleeping one, right!”

you shrugged “i guess”

and here we go. the real hard part- getting you to kiss vil.

from you getting cold feet, getting distracted by rook, changing the topic, pretending that you already did- it was a shit show

and frankly, mr,queen bee was growing tired of your hesitation. real tired. he’d have to work on that with you later down the line, but for now- he’s just have to hope rook- who was he kidding, rook is probably already doing something about this

oh and that he is

with a little gasp, and a feigned worried ‘oops’ he bumped into you, causing you to topple over the dorm leader and your lips to land smack on his lips

rook cheered as epel gasped, overlong his face as he saw vil twitch.

and like you’d just touch a bug on a picnic, you flew into epel, trying to get as much distance from vil as possible as you as incoherent mumbles left your lips

“oh my god im dead/ so dead- if vil doenst lill me than his fan girls will- oh. my god im gonna be all over twitter, if you even have the equivalent to twitter here, which i hope you don’t! cuase i don’t want any 14 year old vil fans to start dozing me and- oh my god and i gonna die”

“oh trickster! you will not die…” he trailed off, green eyes slanting as he slithered from behind you like a snake ensnaring it’s prey.

“unless you end up not being the one to wake out Belle au bois dormant…”

(sleeping beauty )

“o oh…” you chuckled nervously, muttering something else as you looked to epel for help. but even though he could feel your stare on him, he couldn’t do much expect look at vil, wondering when he was going to put a stop to this whole shared to (at this point) put you out of your misery

but as a minute passed- there was nothing.

mans all epel was left to wonder was ‘the fuck is he don’???’ like. okay.

we all know vil just loves his entrances, and has a knack for being fashionably late. but don’t you think it’s getting more late and less fashionable?????

like c’mon! even vil must see you were ready to keel over with rook’s ‘smiling’ face and tight grip on your shoulders.

this has to be some kind of pay back… maybe for saying no all those times? or cause you accidentally smudged his lipstick? was it both?

whatever it was epel was thinking of just putting an end to this whole charade.

“oh?”

with a flutter of his eyes, and a frown on his face, vil stirred, lazily turning his head to the side as he made immediate eye contact with epel.

😨

“bonjour roi dub poison! how was your sleep!”

“dreadful..” was all vil snipped out, gaze boring onto epel’s before he met yours.

“ah, potato. what are you doing here?” he fully sat up now, hair perfect as ever he sat up against the head broad.

“i… was just l”

“do you not remember?” rook gasped, head now resting on your shoulders with a pout

“our little trickster here was the one to break you free from your eternal slumber! isn’t that so monsiuer cherry apple?”

he nodded

“ah! is that so..” vil beckoned you over, a slight smirk on his face as you hesitantly took a step forward with rooks… guidance

“how vil of you potato. to kiss me like that when i am under a spell” he teased. epel shifted uncomfortably as he saw your face heat up in all different color hues of red. fingerings snapping in each direction at the  ferocity you were ‘cracking them’.

“i didn’t mean to, really- they just said that you”

he held up his hand. immediately stopping your tangent as vil took your hands in his. “i am not some damsel y/n”

“i-“

“however” vil interrupted, motioning you to let him finish. “you did, in fact, save my life. and even though i’m not inclined to believe in the hogwash that are fairytales- it was by true loves kiss, wasn’t it?”

you stayed quiet for a moment, staring at your intertwined hand(s) before you felt vil’s curled index raise your chin.

“i suppose so..” you mumbled

he jumped in agreement, smile finally settling on his face as he glanced to rook. “tell y/n, why don’t you stay here for a little while, as my body still feels a bit sore from the after affects of the potion- if that is alright with you”

like a deer in headlights, you agreed. vil’s hand tightening around yours as his other one made sure to clasp around them.

rook couldn’t help but chuckle “venez monsiuer cherry apple!” shooing epel out as he walked behind him. he wasn’t able to take a glance back at you both as rook softly closed the door.

and all epel could say was- good luck charlie 👍

take this flaming load of trash while i continue with requests and over whelm myself 😻🫶

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Twisted Tarot II — The High Priestess

“Right thinking comes with self-knowledge. Without understanding yourself, you have no basis for thought.”

The High Priestess, Upright: intuition, sacred knowledge, divine femininity, the subconscious mind

The High Priestess, Reversed: secrets, disconnected from intuition, repressed feelings, withdrawal and silence

He is called upon to reflect on himself and to embrace his femininity. His knowledge and experiences must be attuned with his intuition, for it is not in rejecting one or the other that he will achieve enlightenment. Open your eyes, do not shy away from your stirring realizations, and let your instincts guide you.

Reveal the Shape of thy Soul...

... Epel Felmier!

Mirrors were the bane of Epel’s existence.

Their shining surfaces reflected a reality he, more often than not, cursed.

He was constructed as daintily as a doll, with smooth porcelain skin and wide rounded eyes that shimmered like sapphires, hair falling in delicate lilac locks around his soft face. Even clothes seemed to hang off of his lean frame to emphasize how small he was.

Fragile, like a looking glass itself.

Epel’s mouth knitted into a tight-lipped grimace. He glared at himself in the mirror, resented it for all its shine and its ornate frame in gilded gold.

Bull fucking shit.

He was a man, a MAN, dammit!! Hot-blooded and burly and badass, not the type of person that stood and stared into mirrors, scrutinizing every feature and painting himself.

“Oh, stop making that face,” Vil tutted, a manicured hand sternly brushing off Epel’s shoulder. “It’s very unbecoming.”

“This whole thing’s ‘unbecoming’,” the first year grumbled back.

He wasn’t used to the fine feel of his new robes, how long and flowy the fabric was. They were impractical, snagging on every little thing and collecting dust like no one’s business—and the problem was further exacerbated by his dorm leader’s insistence that he begin learning how to apply makeup.

Whatever weird creams or powders Epel was handed would inevitably manifest as dubious stains on his clothes. The seniors would call him out on it—or worse, tattle—and then he would be reprimanded, wrestled, and retouched by a nagging mother hen.

Primped and polished until he glowed—or, in Epel’s case, glowered.

“Pomefiore’s traditions may differ greatly from those of your hometown,” Vil chided him, “but it is no reason to turn your nose up. A narrow mindset will do you no good here.”

The dorm leader popped open a tall vial, a paddle wand affixed to the cap that corked it shut. Dipping it a few times into the thick, shiny contents, Vil expertly slathered gloss onto Epel’s waiting lips.

“No one said I had to like this prissy, froufrou stuff,” the country boy shot back. His mouth tingled, feeling heavy and sticky from whatever was in the vial.

“And I never said you had to. However, I expect you to act with a certain level of dignity and decorum. Any bad behavior from you will reflect poorly on your dorm.” Vil passed a look into the mirror as he screwed his lip gloss cap back on. “A shame that such good looks are wasted on a wild child.”

“Good.”

Vil groaned. “It seems that you don’t realize, nor appreciate, the power that you have.”

It ain’t ‘nough if Ah can’t beat ya into the dirt yet, Epel thought. He reined back his words, didn’t dare utter them aloud, knowing that he would be chastised and lectured on his manners once again if he did.

He felt two sharp nails digging into his chin and tilting his face up. Epel’s stare met his reflection’s in the mirror, and it looked just as startled as he did to see it.

His hair was set in in whimsical waves, curling against cheeks dusted with the color of apple blossom blush. Coal lined his eyes and crushed amethyst coated his eyelids, his mouth sparkling with particles of glitter. Not an imperfection on his face, nor on his uniform.

He barely even recognized himself.

“Listen well, potato. This beauty is an asset. Your looks, a weapon. No different than your magical pen.”

“Hah?” Epel had always suspected that Vil was one apple short of a bushel, but he hadn’t anticipated to hear something so odd out of his mouth. “Come again?”

Vil sighed. “Does a warrior march into battle without first sharpening his sword? No? The same can be done with your looks. They can be accentuated and perfected, making you all the more dangerous.”

Epel’s expression turned even more dubious.

“Beauty of all kinds can be lethal, but it is often mistaken as something far more benign than what it really is,” Vil continued, waving a hand at him. “When others are drunk on the sight of you, they will never notice the poison in their glass, never feel the dagger driven into their back.

“Beauty is a poison apple.” A smirk took form on Vil’s handsome features. “Innocuous, even tempting, at a glance, but rotten to its very core if wielded right.”

“You’re saying that looking good will help me kick your ass? Somehow... I don’t think I can believe that.” Epel balled his hands into fists. His repressed words spilled out like water bursting through a busted dam. “Ain’t no way magic ‘n muscle would lose ta makeup!!”

“Accent, young man!!” Vil planted his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes. “And another thing! Your notion of beauty is like something out of a story book: old and utterly outdated. It is time to update your fairy tales, Epel.”

The first year hesitated, but broke out into a wicked grin. His reflection followed suit, challenging his upperclassman.

“Heh. Tell that to my face when I’ve got yours buried in the dirt and your crown in my hand.”

“... Honestly, you never listen,” Vil tutted, shaking his head. I suppose that’s part of his ‘charm’, but...

“Don’t think I’ve given up, cuz I haven’t. I’ll keep kickin’ and shoutin and fightin’ ‘til I take you down!”

“Oh? I should like to see you try. I’ll turn you into mashed potato before you can even lay a finger on me.”

“Yeah? We’ll see how pow’eful yer ‘beauty’ is when yer beggin’ me fer mercy next rematch!”

“Epel, accent...!!”