#Biddy Rich

[thecryptkeeper]

me going to work in a bit

[batemanofficial]

old women on the luas. WHY do you act like that

[successfulgoddess333]

MY LONG AWAITED SUCCESS STORY PLUS RANT/YALL NEED THIS STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND READ

First things first

I’m tired of being nice

I have took time out of MY day to help you guys

EVERY DAY

I have given tips methods

Advice answered questions

Replied to countless amounts of DMs

Etc etc I’m not providing false hope here I AM trying to help you guys

I’m getting so many different suggestions and asks

Let me say this

STOP

from now on

No more questions

If it’s urgent

Like you really wanna know something

DM me

I WILL respond

No more questions asking how to enter the void

My account is literally talking about HOW TO ENTER THE VOID STATE

Are instructions not clear?????

Get off your butt and fucking do it!!!!

Stop procrastinating stop being lazy stop asking questions you spreads know the answers to

And for the love of God

STOP ASKING ME TO ENTER FOR YOU!!!!!!!!!

I’m doing what I can to help you all manifest

But it’s YOUR job to make it happen

Y’all used my kindness against me and it’s pissing me off I’m tired of people not even asking anymore

Just begging me

I AM NOT A MAGICIAN

I was literally YOU

not too long ago

I am a nice person but I am at my limits

Stop repeating questions

Look at my page for the answers you need

Stop asking me to enter for you

If it’s not happening

DM me for ADVICE

I used to be the kid that got asked by others to do their homework for them

If I didn’t put my foot down

Y’all were gonna drive me insane

Literally

I love y’all but stop depending on me

Just ask

For advice

But stop treating me like a Genie

And I manifested for someone and it doesn’t work

Then what

Am I a liar now???

Am I fake??

Like are you serious

Bruh I’m serious when I say

I’ve had enough

Read this story to see how YOU CAN ALSO

Transform your life

I literally went from

TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️

I went from slitting my own wrists and going in my closet trying to hang myself EVERY FUCKING NIGHT

I used to stare in the mirror

Crying about how my body looked

I used to go to school scared because I was getting abused by guys there and bullied by girls

All my friends turned their backs on me and I literally said

FUCK IT

I don’t deserve this fucking life so you know what I did????

I changed it

It’s so easy it’s insane

I too over complicated it

I too was desperate

But your desires are yours

They just are

Ignore them MF negative thoughts

Matter of a fact don’t even call it that

You are giving your “intrusive” thoughts power by saying they are negative

Don’t label them as intrusive thoughts

THEY DO NOT EXIST

THEY WILL NEVER MANIFEST

And I’m not just saying that it’s true

It’s soooo fucking true

By labeling them as “intrusive” or “negative” you’re giving them power

To take over and control your life

When this is not what you want

Don’t fear your own head

Bitch it’s YOUR BRAIN

It can’t NOT listen to you

Change your goddamn assumptions

You are a bad bitch you’re hot beautiful

You’re THAT bitch

Bad bitches don’t beg we make shit happen

Get off your cute ass and go get your dream fucking life

Bitch you can have it all

You can marry Shawn Mendez

Be the sexiest model on the planet (but you’re only 5’3) OK ANDDDDD

Marissa Rose is the first 4’11 runway model

You mean to tell me it’s not possible???

They have plus size models

Shirt models

Models with tig ol biddies

Models with tattoos models with piercings models with scars etc

ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE

You can get a call back from that job

Better yet fuck 9 to 5s

Bitch YOU ARE RICH

You are literally Jeff Bezos

Don’t manifest “small shit” cuz if you can get an apartment and a job

You can also manifest $100 million and 2500 square feet mansion

You can have superpowers

You can be a master manifestor

You can become a celebrity and overnight

You can meet your favorite celebrities at awards shows

You can sit next to Ice Spice at the Grammys

EVEN SHE MANIFESTED HER DREAM LIFE

There’s proof in her old tweets and in your interviews

YOU CAN HAVE HARRY STYLES TICKETS FOR WHENEVER HE DECIDES TO DROP AN ALBUM

YOU CAN BE THE NEXT BEYONCÉ

YOU CAN MEET OR EVEN PERFORM WITH TAYLOR SWIFT

YOU CAN HAVE ALL THE MONEY YOU WANT

YOU CAN SHIFT TO ANOTHER REALITY AND MEET MICHAEL JACKSON

YOU CAN HAVE THE SINGING VOICE OF AALIYAH OR MF MARIAH CAREY

YOU CAN MANIFEST THAT YOUR DOG NEVER DIED OR THAT

YOUR EX STILL MISSES YOU

KANYE WEST MANIFESTED KIM K

TOM HOLLAND MANIFESTED ZENDAYA

YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU CANT HAVE

MICHAEL B JORDAN WAITING ON YOU HAND AND FOOT????

YOU CAN ENTER THE VOID MANIFEST YOUR Sp

AND WAKE UP NEXT TO YOUR CRUSH

YOU CAN MANIFEST BEING IMMUNE TO BAD SHIT BEING A GODDESS BEING SO BEAUTIFUL THAT PEOPLE FORGET MEGAN FOX EXISTS

YOU CAN MANIFEST LOOKING LIKE MARILYN MONROE

OR MADISON BEER

YOU CAN MANIFEST TALENT

BITCH ITS ALL POSSIBLE

You OWN THIS SHIT THIS IS YOUR LIFE BOO

Go fucking get it!!!!!!!

SUCCESS STORY

I was tired of own shit so I used the method that I created

I already posted it

Go read it

Here’s what I manifested

1. SP

I manifested a girlfriend because I’m bisexual asf

And I created her on my phone

Just write if list of what she looks and acts like

I manifested my dream career

I manifested platonic SPs

As in friendships

Money

A strong intuition

More knowledge

A better self concept

Immunity

The ability to hypnotize with my eyes(OK I HAVENT TESTED THIS OUT BUT IM EXCITED TO)

Meeting a celebrity

Can’t say who but I manifested it for the future

I even got pets now!!! A puppy two kittens and two snakes!!

I manifested lots of cool talents

I improved my dancing!!!!!!

I was insecure about my voice

So I changed it

Deadass I sound kinda sexy now

I wanted a whispery ass voice😭😭

So I got oneeee

I also manifested a LOT of personal stuff that I won’t share

Unfortunately I’m SUPER protective of my soul and just overall self

And I’m not posting a face reveal

This might seem surprising to most

My passive aggressive behavior but this is literally how I am daily

I really am nice but y’all just make me ANXIOUS

But still

I love you darlings soooo much

Like for real

But please just pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Don’t make me your wish granter

Make your own wishes come true

If it’s cool with y’all

I’ll manifest tonight

That entering the void will be easy for you guys

But you HAVE to do it yourself I can only guide you

You got this babe

If you got offended it’s working

That means you needed this

Take this tough love and go use it for good

I better see some goddamn success stories this month or we gon fight

(Not literally that’s just my humor talking)

Love you bitches

Now go meditate before I appear under your bed tonight and yank yo shit

Love youuuu💗💗💗💗💗

[daycourtofficial]

The City of Starlight auction incident

Pairing: Cassian x reader | WC: 2.2k | Warnings: none

Summary: for the first time in centuries, Cassian is the only one of his brothers still single and participating in Velaris’s annual Kiss for a Cause bachelor auction. What happens when word got around about last year’s auction and an all out bidding war commences over the general?

Cassian peeked out from behind the curtain, surveying the crowd of fae gathered for Velaris’s annual Kiss for a Cause Auction. Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian had all been a part of the gala’s main event: auctioning off Velaris’s most eligible bachelors to the highest bidder for a dinner date. Every year prior to this one ended up with Cassian landing in the bidder’s sheets, a fun night for everyone involved.

He didn’t think that was relevant at all to his current predicament.

Pulling the curtain back just enough, he looked at the crowded table at the front packed full of just the fae he was afraid to find: old, rich biddies eager for him.

Last year had been his first year at the auction solo, both of his brothers becoming mated males much to Cassian’s chagrin. He loved them and he was happy for them, but he couldn’t pretend like seeing them happy wasn’t a thorn in his side.

Being picked last never stopped hurting, no matter hoe old you were.

To make matters worse, at the time he and Nesta had just had a cataclysmic breakup, causing him to drown his sorrows in the female who paid for his company last year. Cassian had no idea how old she was, but he was certain she was fully grown when Ramiel was formed to give any indication to her age.

She - Pandra, Amara maybe, sat at a table at the front row, a bouquet in her arms as she chatted with her friends, all of their hands tight on their bidding paddles.

Cassian sighed, closing the curtain once more, debating on how it would look if he began bidding for himself. He watched as several of the males moved out from the curtain, the crowd cheering at each newcomer, having to wait to be called for his bidding.

Cassian cursed under his breath, hating his brothers for being happy and leaving him behind for this. He had forgotten all about it until he ran into one of the old ladies while out shopping a few days prior, and by then it was too late to pull from the auction. A hand ran over his face, feeling his skin prickle with the uncomforting knowledge he’d have to reject whoever bid on him.

A voice pulled him from his stupor, an assistant or volunteer coming by to get him to stand and helping straighten his clothes before they pittered away.

“Ladies and males, please if I could bring your attention to the curtain. I’d like to introduce Kiss for a Cause’s last bachelor. The size of a doorframe, wings bigger than your bed and thighs the size of your torso. The lord of bloodshed himself spends his days training every muscle in his well-toned body.”

The swooning could be heard across town, surely.

“He’s helped us raise more money over the years than any other bachelor, and Cassian is a good looking male with a heart of gold and an endless stomach.”

Cassian stilled. He knew that voice.

“Previous dates have described him as being large and in charge. Cassian is very set in several of his opinions, not letting true love get in the relationship he has with his training leathers.”

He started to turn, rolling his eyes at the less than flattering commentary provided for him, but the curtain moved, a faelight blinding him.

“Please feast your eyes and open your purses for Cassian!”

He felt the warmth of the lights before walking out from behind the curtain, the light slightly blinding him. He heard rustling at the table beneath the stage, a voice laughing, “I haven’t opened the bidding!”

Cassian couldn’t stop the sigh from spilling from his lips, until he looked over where the announcer usually stood to find you there, a smug look on your face as he walked down the stage, seeing every hand in the building raised high.

“Now should I even bother with low bids?”

The crowd mumbled in a tizzy until a voice called out, “two thousand gold marks!” Cassian’s eyes widened almost comically, shocked at such a high starting bid, but you continued in a confident voice.

“Two thousand marks, do I hear two thousand one hundred?”

Cassian watched as the paddles remained fixed in the air as you prattled off numbers, sweat pouring down his forehead as you reached five thousand gold marks. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, desperate for any form of breeze to cool him down. The numbers prattled on, climbing higher and higher, but Cassian remained fixated on one spot on the wall as he began gnawing on his bottom lip, wanting this night over with. You had stolen glances at him since he had come out onto the stage, your face growing more concerned as Cassian fidgeted more and more.

“Do I hear seven thousand gold marks?”

Cassian finally met your gaze amid the excited bids and you looked like the wind had been knocked out of you before you turned back, addressing the crowd once more.

“Um, actually I bid ten thousand gold marks and going once, twice, sold to me!” You banged the tiny gavel on the podium before dropping it. “Congratulations to me, thanks everyone for participating, have an okay night!”

You looped your arm through Cassian’s dragging him backstage, rushing him further from the upset murmurs of the crowd. Cassian’s eyes were wide on you, his feet nearly stumbling as you pulled him to the backdoor. The cold air and the heat from your hand caused his skin to erupt in goosebumps, your grip tightening the further from the building you got.

Your hand on his arm felt so comforting, so familiar, it started soothing his erratic mood.

“What’s wrong, Cass?”

He blew out, slouching slightly under your scrutiny. “I’m- Rhys and Az aren’t here.”

You nodded, expecting him to continue.

“We’ve always done everything together. And now they’re both happy and mated and I’m-” he practically crumpled in on himself before you, “I’m here being bid on like a piece of meat.”

He couldn’t take how you looked up at him with such softness, his mouth moving hefore he could stop it.

“I want my days of being a bachelor to be behind me. I don’t want to be the most eligible bachelor in Velaris.”

He wanted to tell you how long these feelings had been swirling inside him, how he longed to spend his nights with you and not some random female who paid for his company.

For months now, every time he saw you, the confession laid on his tongue, something always stopping him from telling the whole truth.

“You don’t have to be the most eligible bachelor in Velaris, Cass.”

He shrugged, leaning against the wall, his wings barely touching the brick beneath his back. The two of you kept toeing this line - you were both so close to admitting the truth, but never fully committing.

“Easier said than done. I felt like a prize horse prancing about that stage.”

“I didn’t see much prancing up there, stallion.”

Your jest pulled him from his self-deprecating thoughts, turning his mouth into a lazy smirk.

“And yet you paid how much? Ten thousand gold marks for no prancing? I don’t think Rhys or Az garnered that much in a few years of doing these.”

You pushed him lightly. “You looked so sad, Cassie. I just- you were so upset after last year’s bidding, and seeing you look so down, I couldn’t let anyone pay for your time.”

You sighed, crossing your arms in realization you had left your coat behind. “Besides, it was for a good cause. And I believe this means you now owe me dinner.”

Your elbow nudged him, prodding his ribs lightly. He rolled his eyes but held out his arm for you to take, a soft laugh coming from you at the contact.

“And what would my savior like to eat on this fine evening?”

“There’s that new Summer court themed restaurant - we can get takeout and head to my place?”

-

Takeout laid across your coffee table in several boxes, all half-eaten or picked at, three bottles of empty wine litter your kitchen counter as Cassian uncorked a new bottle.

“I think Gertrude would be a fine female to share your bed with.”

Your teasing was met with a huff. “Yes because I’d love for it to circulate through Velaris that I’m breaking the hips of little old ladies.”

Your hands shot up defensively. “Okay, as if there are better ways to get your hip broken.” Cassian raised his eyebrows and your laugh warmed something in his chest.

“How many hips broken does ten thousand gold marks get me?”

“Sweetheart, you can get a broken hip for free.”

The line slipped from his lips so casually, the wine doing little to stop his affections from spilling out.

“Oh yeah? And here I thought it was little old ladies who made your cock twitch.”

Cassian had to catch his breath from how quickly the conversation had turned, but he couldn’t help noting, “you sound jealous, sweetheart.”

He wanted to pinpoint the exact shade of red you had turned and color his walls with it.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cass. We’re friends.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He watched your jaw tighten, annoyance clear across your face.

“Cassian, this isn’t funny.” You stood, taking the empty wine bottles to your kitchen, turning your back on Cassian. “Our friendship isn’t a joke “

“That’s what I tell myself each night when I fall asleep thinking about you.”

Your head snapped to look at him so quickly Cassian wanted to laugh. “That’s not funny, Cassian. You don’t get to just say stuff like that because I spent a fortune on our date tonight.”

“Okay, fine then. I won’t tell you about how seeing you on that stage took my breath away and how I hoped you would bid on me.”

Cassian was animated, his hands gesturing wildly. “Because I think about you nonstop, there’s always some countdown clock in my head to when I’ll see you again.”

He moved closer to you, gentle steps as if he were afraid of spooking a wild animal.

You finally turned to look at him, your resolve crumbling as his hands moved toward your face. “Cassie.”

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, softly shushing you.

“It’s okay.”

Cassian hunched down to rest his forehead against yours.

“You can’t say that when you were just complaining to me about being alone.”

“Did you ever think I was talking about you? And how you’ve always been there for me? And how I want to be done with being a bachelor for you?”

You shook your head, keeping your eyes on the ground. “No, you don’t mean that. You don’t mean any of this. You just don’t want to be alone.”

“No, I do mean this. We’ve always been in this weird flux where neither of us have been single at the same time.”

“You’re still hung up on Nesta and just want company.”

A lie.

You both knew you truly didn’t believe it. Cassian hadn’t taken long to get over their breakup, having known for some time that things with Nesta weren’t working.

“If I just wanted company, I would have gone back to that auction and ripped off my shirt.”

You finally looked up at him, silver lining your eyes threatening to spill down your cheeks.

“Okay, fine I was jealous.”

Cassian’s heart rate spiked at your soft confession.

“I just saw in my head their old lady hands all over your body.”

He started to gloat, but you kept going.

“And fine, I was jealous of Nesta too. She didn’t understand you like I do. And you both deserved better!”

His chest felt so tight, so many emotions swirling inside of it like his heart was caged, throwing itself on the bars to get out.

His voice rose. “And who would be better for me?”

“Me!”

You had shouted it at him, not a hint of drunkenness to your words.

“We are so compatible! I’d be fantastic for you!”

You kept blabbering but Cassian surged forward, taking your face in his hands before kissing you. It was messy and half drunken, but he felt your hands wrap around his neck, desperate to keep him close.

He felt so warm inside, like this was where he was meant to be. As soon as he had the thought, he felt something stirring in his chest.

He kept kissing you, moving you to sit on the counter so he could stand between your legs. He swore he could spend the rest of his days like this - his hands wandering all over your body, your legs wrapped around his waist holding him to you.

Cassian felt a sharp tug in his chest, nearly causing him to stumble before he pulled away, eyes opening to take you in.

Your eyes were so big and warm, full of love and wine, and he knew it right then. His days as a bachelor were over, and all the other fae who had bid on him over the years and he had bedded were behind him.

Sitting before him was his mate, the last person to ever bid on Velaris’s annual Kiss for a Cause’s most eligible bachelor.

Author’s note: happy last day of @cassianappreciationweek !!! Wanted to get something out before the week was over 🫶🏻 was this proofread? No. Was this good? Still no. But it was fun 🫶🏻

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Thanks for reading ❣️

[r-o-s-e-f-i-r-e]

ok so beach lifeguard captain steve who loves the water loves his job drives the gator between all the towers setting up equipment in the morning and waves at every chubby baby he passes. eddie who comes to stay with wayne for the summer in his little coastal tourist town & work in his auto shop

(except when wayne had called him it hadn't actually been a request: "you can come stay for the summer," he'd said, after eddie's dad had been booked again, after the cops had agreed to drop the charges against eddie; eddie knew it actually meant "get your ass down here.")

"lotta kids your age hang out at the beach," wayne says, when eddie shows up with his van and his guitar and a massive chip on his shoulder and the vague, overwhelming sense of dread that he's balanced precariously between two possible futures, that if his attention falters for even a second or he stumbles the wrong way he could end up like - well. and another part of him that sounds way more like his dad than he wants to admit, whispering: 'why don't you just fuck it up and get it over with.'

so. he grits his teeth and does oil changes for rich old biddies in sun visors and practices guitar until his fingers bleed because he's going to get out, he is, he's going to fucking make it, and walks to the library every few days to exchange his current stack of pulpy fantasy paperbacks for a new one and that's where he meets robin buckley. grade a band nerd, clumsiest person he's ever met in his life, teaching herself mandarin for fun, unexpectedly best friends with --

"no, really, he's a good guy," robin says, at the diner across the street from the library. "i know he has the whole," robin makes a vague jazzy gesture towards her torso and face and then exaggerates pushes her hair out of her eyes the way eddie has seen steve harrington do.

"but he's, like, my best friend," she continues, shoving eddie's fries in her mouth. "and a total dingus, don't let the baywatch bit fool you. and you'll like nancy and jonathan too, and his friend argyle has a MASSIVE stash of weed he's bringing--"

"i'm in," eddie says immediately. and then he goes back to the shop and rotates mrs. henderson's tires for her and thinks about what the fuck one even wears to a bonfire on the fucking beach and definitely does not think about steve, who of course he'd seen on his meandering evening beach walks, when the day had cooled down and the dune grass shimmered in the blue light and steve would jump in the ocean for one final swim, diving cleanly through a wave, coming up and tossing his fucking hair back, before coming back up to the lifeguard stand, dripping wet, toweling off --

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 5

Hello, hello, hello! And we have completed the set this week! All for stories getting new and beautiful chapters. Though, with WIP Wednesdays spilling into Thursdays, I might change up my posting schedule a bit to accommodate the influx of asks.

But we'll see.

Here we see Steve dealing with a wild Karen or Linda as they were called in the 80s (at least out where I lived). Yep! We've always had a name for busybodies. It's just changed with the times.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4

~

Steve had to throw out the rest of his food, it having gone cold while he was on the phone with Dustin and his mom.

He sighed in annoyance, but it couldn’t be helped. He could hear his mother now, just screaming about all the wasted food and all the starving children in Africa who would have appreciated that meal he just wasted.

Thankfully she was in whatever fresh hell Dad had dragged her off to after he threw him out.

He decided the best thing to do after all that was to go to the gym and run on a treadmill for awhile and just turn off all those dark thoughts swirling in his brain. So he got dressed in cropped swim team t-shirt and a pair of old basketball shorts. He pulled out his favorite sneakers and grabbed his room key.

He got some string and tied it to his wrist so he wouldn’t lose it while he was exercising and not be able to get back into his room. He wasn’t even sure the hotel knew who it was that was actually staying in the room with everything under Eddie’s name.

He made his way to the gym, but as he went through the hotel he noticed people staring at him and not in the fun way.

The women would sneer and the men would look down their noses at him. He tugged on the crop top, a little insecure now. By the time he got the gym he as ready to turn tail and run back to his hotel room.

But he stopped at the glass door to their very state of the art gym. The people inside were all dressed similarly to what he was wearing. He looked back into the hallway and thought about all the other patrons that looked down at him.

Steve squared his shoulders. He was used to this kind of bullshit. He had got from his parents, their friends, and hell even his own friends over the years every time he tried coloring outside of the lines.

Well fuck them. He had every right to be here, same as them. He yanked open the door and got situated on the treadmill nearest to the door, set it to a low speed and began to walk.

Once he got into the rhythm he switched up to a slow jog, then a full on run. He slowed it back down and counted out his heart rate.

“I think you have the wrong time, honey,” this sickeningly sweet voice said from behind him. “The help are only allowed use of the facilities after the guests have gone to bed.”

Steve paused the treadmill and turned around to face her. She was blond woman covered head to toe in pink! Pink tracksuit, pink tennis shoes, pink headband, even pink sunglasses. Though why she needed those, he didn’t know. It wasn’t that bright in here.

“You think I’m staff?” he asked incredulously. “What on earth gave you that idea?”

She looked up and down his body and sniffed in disdain. “The high school phys. ed attire for a start, darling. Then there’s the...” she waved at his body. His very tanned, muscular, lean body. “All of you.”

Steve put his hands on his hips and raised an annoyed eyebrow. “Look, honey,” his emphasis on the last word, throwing it back at her, “you’re probably not from here. But my parents are very rich and you are just some biddy who thinks bullying people is acceptable. Which it really isn’t, no matter what your tax bracket is.” He looked her up and down. “Which judging from the fact your track suit is from two seasons ago? Theirs is bigger than yours.”

The woman sputtered and fumed but Steve just hopped of the treadmill and got a water bottle from the courtesy fridge, downing quickly. He threw it in the trash and without a word or even so much as a backward glance, he strolled out of the gym with his head held high.

God, that felt good.

Of course the only reason he knew it was two years out of date was because his mom bought one then, wore it once, and then threw it in the back of her closet never to be seen again. Which, he thought with a huff, was probably what she wanted to do with him, if he was honest.

He got up to his hotel room and untied the key from his wrist to unlock his door. He stepped into the cool sanctuary of the black marble and brass fittings. It wasn’t a style he would pick out for himself, but there was something about the black and brass that reminded him of Eddie in a way. Dark and bright at the same time.

Steve spotted the package right off the bat this time. He walked over to the black gift bag and took over to the sofa. He opened it to find a box of chocolate raspberry truffles, a small jewelry box, and a nice black wallet.

He opened the chocolates first and took a bite. The tart of the raspberry hit his tongue first and then richness of dark chocolate. Fuck they were good. Steve forced himself to just eat the one. Otherwise the whole box would be gone in an instant.

He pulled out the wallet next. It had cash as well as shiny black credit card in his name. Well, he supposed since Eddie was loading cash on it, it was more like a debit card, but still it was black. Not even his parents had a black card. He could spend whatever he wanted and Eddie would pay for it.

Not that he would. God no. But Christ, he could, he absolutely could. He ran his fingers over the shiny surface in awe. Then he counted the money and he closed his eyes. There was about a thousand dollars in there. Five crisp one hundreds, ten crisp twenties, twenty tens, and twenty fives. The wallet could barely close it was so stuffed.

Steve could not spend the money and Eddie would never know. He could barely use the card, but Eddie would know that and be concerned why he wasn’t getting everything he needed and send more money. Plus, Steve had a pretty good idea what the smaller bills were for anyway. Tipping. The wait staff, housekeeping. Things that were polite to do when other people were doing everything for you.

It also meant that if he wanted to he could go out a buy booze if he ever just wanted a beer. Because it was within the bounds of Eddie’s rule. Don’t use the card to buy booze, no mention of his cash, so...

Steve set the wallet aside and made sure to remember to call down to the front desk for the combination to the room safe. He knew there was one. Especially in a place like this. He pulled out the little white jewelry box and opened it. Inside set in gold was a little bird pendant on a gold chain. Steve held it up to the light and marveled at it as it spun, glinting in the light.

He put the necklace on and continued to marvel at it on his neck. It was beautiful. He set the rest of it aside and bounced up. He flopped on the bed and picked up the phone, dialing Eddie’s number.

“Hello?” an unfamiliar voice answered.

“Oh!” Steve cried. He never expected someone else to answer the phone. “It’s Steve, I’m calling for Eddie.”

“Oh, shit!” the voice said. “I thought it was my phone that was ringing. Sorry, man. I’ll get him for you.”

A moment later Eddie was on the line. “Little Canary, if you only call me when I send you pretty gifts, I’m going to have to up my game and send them more often.”

“Oh!” Steve cried again. “Sorry about that. Everything has been happening all at once. I was going to call you when I got back from the gym, but I saw your gift first.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Eddie soothed. “I was only mostly teasing.”

Steve laughed and shook his head. “But everything was amazing by the way. Those chocolates were to die for and I really loved the necklace.”

“No mention of the wallet I see,” Eddie said with a chuckle. “I can stop sending you money if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, no,” Steve said in a rush, “I am a little uncomfortable with it, but more because I don’t have a safe place to keep it right now then because you gave it to me. I appreciate the money to be able to start tipping the staff.”

“That’s a relief,” Eddie said. “I was worried I might be overstepping with the cash. I’m glad it all shook out okay. So tell me about the gym. You’ll never catch me in one and I’m curious.”

Steve told him all about the trip down and the bitch on top of how great the gym was.

“That bitch,” Eddie agreed when he was done. “She was jealous on how good you look, baby.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Steve agreed. “The way she turned purple when I told her her outfit was out of fashion was just the icing on the cake.”

Eddie hummed and went on to talk about how the last two days were back to back concerts and how tired he was.

“You’re taking care of yourself, too?” Steve asked. “You want to take care of me, but who’s taking care of you?”

Eddie’s smile could be felt through the line when he said, “My band. There’s Gareth, who answered the phone. He’s our drummer, then there’s Jeff, he’s rhythm guitar and lead vocals–”

“What’s rhythm guitar?” Steve asked. “Is it a different instrument?”

“No,” Eddie explained, “but I can see why you might think that.” Then he went on to explain what it meant and why Eddie was lead guitar and backup vocals. “I can sing fine, but Jeff? He’s got a real talent for it. Gives us a unique edge. And then the last and certainly not the least is Brian who’s on bass.”

“First base?” Steve teased.

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

Steve snickered. “Who’s on first? That old timey comedy sketch about baseball?”

He could hear Eddie snap his fingers. “That’s right. Wrong kind of bass though. And it is a separate instrument, but not to be confused with a upright bass. Which are those weird, big violin looking thingies.” He went on to describe the differences between a bass and a guitar.

“Oh it’s like a violin and a viola,” Steve said, “they may look similar but they aren’t the same.”

Then it was Eddie’s turn to be confused, so Steve explained.

“See, little Canary,” Eddie said after he was done. “You’re plenty smart. And sadly I have to go. But I want you to call me more often, okay?”

“Aye, aye!” Steve said with a jaunty salute.

“You menace,” Eddie huffed fondly. “Bye, Stevie.”

“Bye, Eddie.”

After they hung up Steve picked up the pendant and looked at it again. A little canary. Well then.

He got up and decided that it was time for lunch and maybe pay his cousin a little visit. He needed news. News only Monty could provide.

~

Part 6 Part 7

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt

9- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

10- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @blondie1006 @sadisticaltarts

[tinsnip]

okay who fandom you folks are sleeping on 'the seeds of doom'

this series has everything. discount british andy robinson plays a millionaire plant-obsessed queer-coded villain who wants to obtain an alien pod found in the antarctic to... grow it??? i guess??? but uh oh, the pod is super dangerous and eats a dude and HE becomes a big plant, and then the flunkies of the rich guy steal a second pod and blow everything up, and now we're back in england with the doctor being shoved into a fucking giant composter, lying on his back in the middle of a pile of vegetable waste, and it starts to go and it's gonna chew him up but sarah-jane runs in! and so the doctor's yelling 'PUSH THE BUTTON' so sarah-jane pushes the button and the composter goes faster and the doctor yells 'NOT THAT BUTTON!!'

also there is a nosy old biddy artist who is actually working with the World Plant Trade Union or something who are i guess badasses? because the one guy has a gun and acts real cool? gets eaten tho because Comeuppance

and there's at least one more episode to go

shit is grand

EDITED because i forgot to mention the villain gets to say 'why am i surrounded by idiots?!' TWICE

[sitting-on-me-bum]

Los Islotes, Espiritu Santo national park, Mexico, 2022.

California sea lions enjoy protected status in Espiritu Santo national park in Mexico. The region is a no-fishing zone, which provides them with an environment rich in food, while limiting human activity benefits the stability of their population. The one threat that does remain is the climate crisis.

Photo by Simon Biddie

The Prince Albert II Of Monaco Foundation Environmental Photographer Of The Year 2023

Environmental Photography Award

[murcielagatito]

idk how even to start this post bc wile im using miles morales as an example his actual comic race differs and this is the fault of people just straight up not understanding how race in regard to us puerto ricans works. and its all thanks to racism colorism and the depiction and representation of latinos in media

to fully understand this and how deeply we are affected we need to go alllll the way back to the beginning

its 1490whatever and cristobal colon has just discovered the americas. and on one particular island, boriken, he discovers a tribe, the tainos <3. we brought him gold and showed him kindness. and to make a long story short he fucked us over immensely. if we didnt bring meet his gold quota it was chopped off hands. he killed us he raped us he did countless atrocities. we were given a new name: puerto rico “rich port”. most americans know what happened to the many indigenous nations on the mainland but not many are taught about us the indigenous islanders. los tainos. we spanned across el caribe: jamaica, cuba, haiti, dominican republic and puerto rico (where im from!)

but dont get it twisted we didnt just roll over and take it. the very first freedom fighter, cacique (chief) hatuey fought with many other tainos to be liberated. unfortunately, he was executed in 1512 and that was that

one year later, in 1513, what imma call ‘phase two’ began. with him this time, colón brought enslaved africans to work the fields alongside tainos. its over for us. we are miserable, malnourished, and theres no escape. and as one does when youre live and work and die together, you love together. and love we did!

everyone who lived in puerto rico loved and loved and every combination possible of taino, african, and spaniard was born. and this has continued for 500 years. a caste was created. and that caste still hurts and affects us to this day. because all it was is colorism and racism. and after seeing the horrid takes about latinos in the spiderverse fandom and beyond…. well here we are now because somebodys gotta say it

but hellbaby? why did you have to add all the history stuff?because the way miles’ family was portrayed could have been awesome representation for many afrolatinos. and they fumbled big time. its not bad representation so dont twist my words. it just could have been better

the representation of latino families in hollywood has always been a bit…. stereotypical. and not just sterotypical but homogenized and caricaturized. anyone remember george lopez (the show)? when someone thinks about latinos NOW, the household names are pedro pascal, gina rodriguez, or oscar isaac. pale people!!! and then as fame works, jenna ortega and all the other pasty latina biddies are who rise to fame and household name status. everyone recognizes them ofc

but what about gina torres, laz alonso, rosie perez, judy reyes, tatyana ali, selenis leyva, amara la negra and many more? how many of these actors can you recognize from name alone? did you know theyre all afrolatino? (and did you know theyre in extemely well known movies and tv?)

how many stories in television do you know in this day and age that have afrolatino characters whose latinidad isnt ignored? i can name one off the top of my head. monse from on my block. a show revolving latinos that was relentlessly made fun of. like i get it its a comedy and its funny and fun. but latinos may as well be synonymous with getting laughed at at this point and we are soooooo fucking tired of it

it all boils down to one simple message. the erasure of black and indigenousness from the latino community. “miles is latino because his mom is latina” “miles is black and latino” its not something you can put into two separate labels. miles is a black latino. he is afrolatino. and that means a lot of things for a lot of different people but until you can understand that black people can also just be latino we will always be stuck in this horrible era of people assuming that afrolatinos cant just literally be black hispanics…

when miles morales was first announced to be the protagonist of spiderverse so many rasict ass latinos were upset. “why does an afrolatino have to be the first representation we get of a latino spiderman?” and many other things like that were said about him. “well the reason hes latino is only because of his mom” and just like that, the knowledge of the existence of black people that have been latino for centuries has gone down the drain. a new (old) misconception was brought back to the surface and popularized. and its gutwrenching and heartbreaking and horrible. black latinos exist and miles morales is afropuertoriqueño

there are so many nuances when it comes to race and latinodad that ppl just dont bother learning more about and how racism and colorism plays into it. and it has had many negative effects to how real life afrolatinos and indijenolatinos are perceived and treated. we arent asking for the impossible we’re just asking for recognition and understanding

[rhetoricandlogic]

The Magic of Found Family in The Magician’s Daughter by H.G. Parry

The Magic of Found Family in The Magician’s Daughter by H.G. Parry

By Vanessa Armstrong Published on March 1, 2023

It’s a rare book that is able to create a detailed, immersive world that also has richly developed and complicated characters. The Magician’s Daughter by H.G. Parry, I am happy to write, is one of those books.

The novel takes place in a 1912 version of our world and follows Biddy, a 16-or-so-year-old girl who has lived on the magical island off the coast of Ireland called Hy-Brasil her entire life. She was raised by a magician named Rowan and his rabbit familiar, Hutchincroft, and she has met no other person since she washed up on the island’s shores as a baby.

Biddy loves her home but yearns to see the world beyond, a place she knows is full of people and a place that no longer has magic. Even Hy-Brasil, an isle once rife with magical energy is waning—the interdimensional rifts where magic had seeped into the world started closing up 70 years ago, making magic a scarce resource. In 1912, Rowan and the other magicians out there believe all of those rifts are gone, making the remnants of magic that remain something that other mages seek to hoard and have control over. Those other magicians find Rowan, Hutch, and Biddy one day when creatures made up of dead bone and sinew come to the island and attack Biddy. It turns out, Rowan hasn’t been honest with her about the state of the world or about Biddy herself, and the three leave Hy-Brasil for the deary streets of Whitechapel on a mission to protect themselves. That mission soon goes awry, and Biddy finds out there’s even more that she’s been left in the dark about. Her journey goes on from there, where she seeks to save those she loves and possibly even save magic itself.

The plot, however, is arguably the least interesting thing about The Magician’s Daughter. That’s not to say the plot is bad, it’s perfectly fine, although those looking for a fast-paced, plot-driven story won’t find it here. There’s so much else to really love about the book, however, to make up for the relatively slow pace of the prose (if that’s even a negative to you to begin with).

Parry, as in her other works, weaves a rich version of the world the story takes place in. Her 1900s Britain isn’t without its sharp edges and dark sides, and the places that are meant to be damp, deary, and sad are exactly that. But then there’s Hy-Brasil, a beautiful, wild place that people from the mainland can only see once every seven years, and that you can’t help but want to visit as you read.

The magic that suffuses Hy-Brasil also suffuses the rest of the book, and as such, becomes a character in itself, with its own personality and wants. In this world, magic is an untethered thing, an essence that, when it was plentiful, helped people when they were at their worst. How magic helped, however, was a fickle thing, and may make things change in ways that the receiver might not accept or even, in certain circumstances, appreciate. That doesn’t stop Rowan, however, from expending what little magic is left when he wants to warm his cup of tea, and that doesn’t stop Biddy from always yearning to be able to touch magic directly like Rowan can.

This world and the chaotic fantastical power that once infused it is enough to get lost in on its own. But the heart of the story is the relationship between Rowan, Hutch, and Biddy. They are an unexpected family, but a family that couldn’t love each other more, although their relationships still have complexities and problems. The love the three have for each other is heart-aching, however, and I couldn’t help but want to give them all (but especially Hutch in bunny form) a hug.

It’s Biddy, however, who Parry eloquently describes as a “liminal person, trapped between a world she’d grown out of and another that wouldn’t let her in” that makes The Magician’s Daughter so refreshing and so compelling. She is the protagonist of the story, and while it seems at first that she’ll be a protagonist who follows the Chosen One path, Parry instead subverts that trope and gives us something different. Biddy isn’t special—she cannot wield magic and is, by one definition, one of the least special characters in the book. Despite being adopted by a mage and tied to magic in a way that few others are, her strength and ability to achieve remarkable things come from her unremarkable but solid convictions. She knows she is loved, and she also knows that she is, in many ways, alone. And while she finds herself thrown into a maelstrom of power grabs, undying vengeance, and mystical creatures beyond the confines of time, she is able to remain true to herself.

It’s through this harrowing journey that Biddy comes into her own. And you can’t help but feel for her and root for her—not just to save magic as well as her found family, but to figure out who she is and who she wants to become. If you’re looking for a book about found family, coming of age, and a tale with beautiful worldbuilding, then this is a book you should definitely pick up. And if you’re also looking for an adult book that reads like a fairy tale, where the plot is secondary to just wanting to spend time in this world and with these characters, then you should not only pick The Magician’s Daughter up but put it on the top of your TBR list.

[lasudio]

VeronaHills, Round Nine: Teatherton

Alex had never mourned the end of an era quite like this one.

She no longer tripped over the toys of a daughter and words with a husband - been there, done that, left behind the tee shirt. She'd put a pause on sailing solo and tossing rich tossers overboard - it certainly wouldn't be as fun without the chance of Betty Goldstein being out there anymore; may the barbed biddy rest her bones. But her best friend getting swept away by a faerie? That bee stung.

Cyd and Penny were happy. Alex knew that. Yet, where the old Alex would have relished newfound independence in the trailer, it just felt... lonely. The word sat in her mind as a brand new visitor. She arrived at the animal shelter as a brand new visitor, too - pets needed a hell of a lot of commitment - but she was drawn to the pictures she saw online of a shaggy girl named Jinx, who had been surrendered by previous owners for barking too loudly and being "too much".

Alex only saw a giant cloud-shaped angel.

[bethanydelleman]

Concerning Miss Grey and her insistence on marrying Willoughby, my theory is that the sheer size of her dowry suggests it is derived from trade. And not yet in quite the same sanitized, invested-in-funds-let's-buy-an-estate way that Bingley money is.

In which case Willoughby, who is a landed gentleman, no matter how tiny his estate, is a reasonable marriage partner for her. Could she go higher still? Yes, and then be looked down upon all her life for her birth.

Willoughby, on the other hand, is still a step up socially, allowing her to quit her sphere, but he's not so high that it would invite sneers. He also has good prospects via his temporarily offended aunt. So Miss Grey advances socially, gets two estates and a husband with a solid lineage who will be easy to force into a favourable marriage settlement and should, in theory, be grateful to be saved and put back into his aunt's good graces.

Is he the best option? Perhaps not. But he's also young, handsome, not diseased (that we know of), affable and it won't be so hard to tie his hands.

Now, the lady who should be fending off suitors if she ever had a season is Anne de Bourgh. Seriously, she can do way better than Darcy, Lady Catherine!

This question relates to this question.

You are totally right that Anne de Bourgh would be beating off suitors with a stick, if her mother ever put her on the open market so to speak and if she's strong enough to wield a stick.

Now for Sophia. There is a good chance she's from trade since Mrs. Jennings knows her aunt, and Mrs. Jennings's husband was in trade:

“Fifty thousand pounds, my dear. Did you ever see her? a smart, stylish girl they say, but not handsome. I remember her aunt very well, Biddy Henshawe; she married a very wealthy man. But the family are all rich together. Fifty thousand pounds!"

The problem with Willoughby's prospects is that when Sophia marries him, Mrs. Smith has disinherited him, so they do not have a reasonable expectation too get Allenham. Willoughby is only a man with six or seven hundred a year from Combe Magna. Mrs. Smith forgives and reinstates Willoughby after he marries:

Willoughby could not hear of her marriage without a pang; and his punishment was soon afterwards complete in the voluntary forgiveness of Mrs. Smith, who, by stating his marriage with a woman of character, as the source of her clemency, gave him reason for believing that had he behaved with honour towards Marianne, he might at once have been happy and rich.

Which is why I speculate that what Sophia really wanted was power over her husband.

I guess another possibility is that Sophia enjoyed Willoughby's lifestyle. She actually has the money to live very fashionably and Willoughby does despite not having the wealth. So together they can live the high life.

[ladykailitha]

How about some more of the sugar baby AU?

WIP Wednesday! Make me write!

Other asks here, here, here.

Snippet

Steve paused the treadmill and turned around to face her. She was blond woman covered head to toe in pink! Pink tracksuit, pink tennis shoes, pink headband, even pink sunglasses. Though why she needed those, he didn’t know. It wasn’t that bright in here.

“You think I’m staff?” he asked incredulously. “What on earth gave you that idea?”

She looked up and down his body and sniffed in disdain. “The high school phys. ed attire for a start, darling. Then there’s the...” she waved at his body. His very tanned, muscular, lean body. “All of you.”

Steve put his hands on his hips and raised an annoyed eyebrow. “Look, honey,” his emphasis on the last word, throwing it back at her, “you’re probably not from here. But my parents are very rich and you are just some biddy who thinks bullying people is acceptable. Which it really isn’t, no matter what your tax bracket is.” He looked her up and down. “Which judging from the fact your track suit is from two seasons ago? Is bigger than yours.”

[bitbybitwrites]

If I Can Make Your Heart My Home - Recipe and Song list - Chp 4, 5 and 6

Here is the music/recipe wrap-up for chapters 4, 5, and 6.

You can see the info under the cover art by @datshitrandom

Some spoilers are below, so if you'd like to read the fic first, click here

For Chapters 1, 2, and 3 songs and recipes, click here

To see the YouTube playlist for the fic, click here.

Chapter 4

The song playing as Kurt enters the tea salon:

The ridiculously long list of sweets that Chef Sylvester orders Kurt to make when he gets into work:

"Three dozen petits gateaux napolitaines, three dozen lunettes, four dozen croissants de lune, four dozen petits provençaux , five dozen tuiles aux noisettes, six dozen galette bretonne, six dozen petits palmiers and seven dozen macarons chocolate   to be completed before you leave in addition to your usual duties today.” Chef Sylvester barked out with military precision.

Petits gateaux napolitaines: Click here for Recipe 1 or Recipe 2 or Recipe 3: (pg 1) (pg2)

Lunettes: Click here for Recipe 1 or Recipe 2: (pg 1) (pg 2)

Croissants de lune: Click here for the recipe

Petits provençaux :

OK, fessing up. I couldn't find an actual photo of this online and I actually substituted it with photos of mini Gâteau Nantais (French almond rum cake) instead. Actual provençaux are made with anisette and almonds and are mixed with a madeleine batter (which are small sponge cakes baked into shell-shaped pans), so I thought it was an ok substitution. Bakers, don't kill me! I have the recipes for both below

Recipe 1 or Recipe 2 (Gâteau Nantais)

or

Recipe 2: (pg 1) (pg 2) (Petits provençaux)

Tuiles aux noisettes: Click here for Recipe 1 or Recipe 2

Galette bretonne: Click here for the recipe (I've made these, and they are soooooo good!)

Petits palmiers:

Many of these recipes call for frozen, pre-made puff pastry dough. But since Kurt is who he is in the fic, you know he's making that from scratch, so I'll include the recipe for that as well.

Click here for puff pastry recipe

Click here for palmier Recipe 1. or Recipe 2 : (pg1) (pg2)

Macarons chocolate :

Click here for Recipe 1 or Recipe 2: (pg1) (pg2)

*As a side note, the recipes listed above that are photographs from a cookbook come from: The French Cookie Book by Bruce Healy /Paul Bugat. It's out of print, but you can find used copies if you look online.

**********

The head chef let out a sound of disapproval.  "You might want to slice those cucumbers again, Salsa Verde." Chef Sylvester said, poking a finger at the pile Santana had growing on the cutting board in front of her."I think we will need paper-thin rounds rather than julienne today.  Can't have those old rich biddies choking on their cucumber sandwiches with their tea, can we?"

Cucumber sandwiches:

There were a couple of recipes shared in the 1st recipe/song round-up post, but here's another for you!

Click here: Cucumber Tea Sandwiches with Herby Cream Cheese

*******

The head chef's eyes looked around before she then zoned in on her next victim.  Her eyes narrowed as she observed Trent, who was working on yet another batch of bread dough.  It was Brioche pur Buerre to be exact.  

 Brioche pur Buerre : Click here for the recipe

*******

Are the croissants proofing?" Chef Sylvester asked as she watched Trent try to maintain his composure while paying attention to his work.  She snapped her fingers in his face when he did not respond quickly enough.  "Hey, Cream Puff, I'm talking to you."

Croissants: Click here for recipes and how to guide for making croissants.

********

Chapter 5

The song Kurt hears as he's walking through the Ramble in Central Park.

The 1st song Kurt sees Blaine play while at Belvedere Castle.

The songs Blaine plays while Kurt is up exploring Belvedere Castle.

Cinnamon scones: - for the recipe, see Chapter 6 below

*******

Chapter 6

She was on my case about putting too much grain in my multi-grain bread," Trent told Mike.  "I don't know how that is even a thing.  My sourdough was also too sour, and my quiche was as she put it . .  and I quote: 'as bland and unappealing as your own sad pasty face’  . . unquote."  

Multigrain bread: Click here for Recipe 1 or Recipe 2

Sourdough bread: Click here for Recipe 1. Recipe 2

Quiche: Click here for the recipe.

*******

"She had the gall to tear apart a croquembouche I had made for a bridal shower," Kurt said, the indignity of it all still simmering under the surface.  "As if I can't make flawless choux pastry in my sleep.  And then she had the audacity to say the cream puffs weren't filled with enough cream.  . ."

Croquembouche: Click here for the recipe.

Choux pastry: Click here for the recipe.

Cream puffs: Click here for the recipe.

******

“Your cinnamon scones - meaning your mother’s recipe?" Mike chimed in, now more interested.  "I've heard about these. They were the stuff of legend in the dorms."

Cinnamon scones: Recipe 1 or Recipe 2

******

"Seriously, I tried once to tempt him with some pan dulce in exchange . . even my mother's conchas and my tia's marranitos . . but was shot down right away," Santana told Mike.  "We're not wrong . . those are the ones you're talking about?"

Conchas: Click here for the recipe.

Marranitos: Click here for the recipe.

The song the young chefs here from Kurt's phone (one of Blaine's performances).

Whew! That was a lot of recipes and songs for those 3 chapters. If I missed anything you may be interested in, let me know!

Chapter 7 will be posted soon!

Thanks for reading!

[starlight-shades]

Called Home to the Depths of the Forest Ch. 6

• summary – Another trip to town. We meet some people we don't like.

• rating – M

• wordcount – 3.5k

• warnings – mentions of previous character deaths

• This is my first fanfic, so please let me know if there's anything I forgot to tag. Feedback is welcome and encouraged

Read on Ao3

Ch. 1 Ch. 5 Ch 7.

”Well we’re obviously going to have to get clothes that fit them,” Johnny said, breaking the silence that stretched between them.

Ailsa and Duncan were happily munching away at their breakfast (eaten at the table with utensils for the first time), positively drowning in the t-shirts Simon and Johnny had pulled out of their own dresser for them.

“I don’ want any dresses,” Ailsa declared.

She was cute, Simon thought. Her dirty blonde hair was haphazardly tied back as best they could manage with a strip of leather he had managed to scrounge up.

When he had first woken up, he had been surprised to find two small, very human, children staring at him. Her familiar honey-brown eyes were one of the first things to settle his racing heart. He might not have recognized them immediately, but he knew them.

Ailsa and Duncan both had a splash of freckles across their faces. Where Ailsa had blonde hair a similar shade to his, Duncan’s hair was a rich dark brown, long enough to be shaggy, but not so long that he could tie it back like his sister’s. They were both cute.

In their too-big shirts, wearing gym shorts cinched as tight as they would go, the pups looked every bit the foundlings they were.

“Okay, we won’t get any dresses,” Simon reassured her. “Is there anything else we should get while we’re in town? Do you normally go to school? Should we get you some school supplies?”

“Can I have a book like Johnny’s?” she asked.

“We’re not big enough for school yet,” Duncan said before they could answer his sister, speaking up for the first time. He sounded like he was parroting someone else’s words. Simon’s heart ached for what that meant.

“Yeah, we can get you a sketchbook, but I think Si was talking more along the lines of things for kindergarten. How old are you two?” Johnny asked.

“We’re five,” Duncan answered at the same time Ailsa said “We’re this many” holding up her hand with all five fingers outstretched.

“Okay, we’ll get clothes and a sketchbook for Ailsa. Duncan, bug, do you want anything?” Simon asked, on a mission now.

He stared down at the table, obviously thinking very hard, his face scrunched. Then, after a moment, voice soft, he said “Can I have more orange juice, please?”

It had been a few weeks since his last foray into town. They had gotten better about managing their supplies, supplementing their groceries with whatever they could catch or forage.

Every few weeks was still much more frequent than Simon was used to, and he had gotten comments about it every time he had been seen by one of the old biddies. He was not looking forward to whatever comments they would receive this time.

Duncan had shifted back into his wolf-shape not long after they left, but he had insisted on staying with them on their trip to town. Simon had had to put his foot down when Johnny tried to use the baby backpack again, but it was agreed that he had to wear something to indicate he belonged with them.

“Okay Bug, do you want to pick a collar, or do you want me to grab one real fast?” Simon asked, pulling into the parking lot of the tiny pet supply store in town. He looked back at Duncan in the rearview mirror.

“This paw for pick your own, the other for Si picking one,” Johnny added, leaning over the center console to reach into the back seat, tapping each of his paws in turn.

“I wanna come in too,” Ailsa announced, squirming in her car seat (he had had to special order those—another awkward conversation when he came to pick them up from the post office).

“I guess we’re all going in, then,” Johnny said, turning to arch a brow at Simon who just shrugged in response.

When Duncan affirmed he wanted to pick his collar, they all filed out of the vehicle, Johnny quick to unbuckle a wiggling, impatient Ailsa who immediately glued herself to her brother’s side when she was placed back on her own two feet. With one hand buried in the fur on his scruff, she walked them over to Simon’s side, sliding her free hand into his. Johnny completed their line, coming to stand beside Duncan who pressed back into him.

They were as ready as they were going to be, but they stood as a united front.

Simon had only been inside the store once before when he had first bought supplies for the pups, but it was still small enough that he had a general idea of where things were. The options were limited, and in the end Duncan chose one with a thick green band.

“Wait, can I have one too? I want to match,” Ailsa said, quieter than she had been previously. She fidgeted with her hands, not looking at either of them.

“Which one do you want, darling?” Johnny asked her, taking one of her hands and pulling her closer to the rack of dog collars. He had a pained look on his face as she picked out a bright purple one.

With the two collars (and the matching leashes) in hand, they set their purchases on the counter.

“Sir, your dog needs to be on a leash,” the cashier hesitantly informed them when they went to check out.

Simon just wordlessly slipped the collar on Duncan and clipped the leash on. Three of them silently stared at the cashier until he folded, handing Simon his receipt. Ailsa bared her teeth at him, letting out a child’s approximation of a growl as they walked away.

On the way out, Ailsa spotted that they had a machine that engraved tags, and she insisted they had to get the one shaped like a paw print.

“Cuz we’re woofs,” she explained, very much like a professor giving a lecture with her matter-of-fact tone.

Johnny and Simon both nodded solemnly.

“But does that mean you’re gonna wear one too?” Johnny had asked.

Simon shot him a look. Why would he suggest that when he was always so insistent that they were not dogs? God forbid Simon buy dog shampoo because he wanted something that wouldn’t irritate their skin, but Johnny suggests they get matching dog tags?

“You’re right! You need one too. And Simon should have one, but he’s not a woof.” Her little face scrunched up very much like her brothers as she thought. She stared at the options again. Duncan jumped up to look too, pressing his paws to the machine, pushing too many buttons at once that had it beeping in protest.

“It’s alright, I don’t need one,” Simon reassured them, gently guiding Duncan back to the floor. When he whined in protest, he scooped the pup up, balancing him on his hip so he could still look with his sister.

“But me and Duncan and Johnny are getting one. You need one too.”

“You can’t argue with that logic, Si,” Johnny agreed.

Simon just glared at him. He only grinned wider.

He opened his mouth to snap something at the other man, but before he could Ailsa squealed.

“There’s a pink one, Simon! You need that one because you turn pink sometimes.”

“Wait—“

“You’re so smart, a bhobain,” Johnny praised, interrupting him before he could even protest. He put his money into the machine too quickly for Simon to even think about stopping him.

They walked out in the same line that they walked in, but this time they all had the glint of metal at their throats. The trip had left them relatively unscathed, which Simon was grateful for, but he knew the real trial would be clothes shopping.

He was quickly proven correct when they were waylaid almost immediately after entering the store.

“Simon, dearie!”

When he saw who it was, he closed his eyes for a moment, praying for patience.

Three older women toddled over to them, practically frothing at the mouth to be the ones to provide fresh gossip. For all intents and purposes, they were identical to him, always traveling in a swarm.

He grunted in greeting as they descended.

If it were anyone else, they would move on immediately after hearing the tone of his voice. But these ladies were different. They were worse than everyone else. They were the garden club…

“Oh Simon, who is this precious bairn?”

“What a beautiful dog! Almost looks like a wolf, don’t you think?”

“Are you watching them?”

They fired question after question at him, not pausing for him to answer. Duncan let out a whine, and Ailsa shrank back, clinging to Johnny’s leg.

“Who do they belong to?”

“And who is this dashing gentleman?”

“Aren’t you just darling?”

When one of them reached to pinch Ailsa’s cheek, she growled at the offending hand, almost biting the fingers.

“You little beastie!” she shrieked, yanking her hands out of reach.

Johnny scooped Ailsa up, tucking her head into his neck. Duncan started growling, hackles raised.

“Oi, hands to yerself,” he sneered.

“Why, I—“

Simon slid himself in front of his little squadron, shielding them from sight.

“Simon, you need to reign in your—whatever they are!”

“She needs to be taught manners!”

“And you, young man, should have some respect!”

The biddies tittered at him, but he was unmoving.

“I think you should leave us to our shopping,” he said, voice low.

They gasped, looking shocked and offended, but he couldn’t care less. They had scared his pups. The biddies retreated, and he moved, staying in front of Johnny, Duncan, and Ailsa until they were gone.

It might have been a sharp escalation from an outside perspective, but he knew that today was already incredibly stressful for the children without introducing any scary old ladies.

They make it to the children’s clothing section before they’re intercepted again.

“Simon?” A young woman approaches them slowly. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said, not unkindly.

“Mary,” he says. This one he will tolerate, but not for long, he thinks as Ailsa reaches for him from Johnny’s arms.

“You have a daughter?” Mary asks, clearly bewildered as she watches him take Ailsa from Johnny.

She looks even more shocked when after Duncan paws at Johnny’s chest to be picked up too, he’s scooped up in much the same way as his sister.

Simon didn’t answer her question, just grunted.

“Mary, this is Johnny. Johnny, Mary.”

“You can call me John.”

When he doesn’t expand, she rushed out, “My mother tried to set us up, but um, obviously it didn’t work.”

“Oh,” Johnny said, an odd edge to his voice.

“And who’s the wee one?” she asks, smiling at Ailsa, but luckily not reaching out.

Simon looks down at her, and when she tucks her face into his neck, he feels his chest warm. She’s right to feel secure with him. He would kill to keep her safe.

“She’s my pup,” he says, letting Mary assume he means “kid.”

The silence settles awkwardly between them. Before she breaks it again.

“Oh well, it was nice seeing you and your partner. Good to meet you, John,” she said, sounding genuine.

Partner?

Without even thinking about it, Simon’s eyes darted to Johnny, who apparently had the same reaction. His face flamed.

“See? Pink,” Ailsa whispered to him, resting her little palm on his cheek.

“What do you think of these?” he asks her, abruptly changing the subject as fast as he could by redirecting her attention back to the task at hand.

Somehow, they manage to pick out enough clothes for both Duncan and Ailsa, getting a few looks when they asked Duncan to pick things he liked. Eventually, they made their way out, dropping off the bags at the car before making one last stop at Simon’s go-to bakery.

Ailsa squealed when she saw the little storefront. It was bright yellow with wide windows and a faded blue sign hung above the door proclaiming it “Sweetie’s.” They were greeted by the scent of vanilla and fresh-baked cookies when Simon pushed open the door, holding it open for all of them.

The pups made a beeline for the display case at the counter, with a broad selection on view. Small hands pressed against the glass, doubtlessly leaving smudges, but they weren’t nearly as bad as the marks left by Duncan’s nose. Simon thanked whatever powers that be had left the store mostly deserted aside from one man who sat at a table, typing away at a laptop.

“You can have one each,” he instructed them. When he saw Johnny standing with them, staring longingly at the baked goods alongside the children. Simon sighed fondly. “You can have one too,” he teased.

“Awa’ an bile yer heid,” Johnny retorted, smiling that grin that left him feeling adrift.

“English, MacTavish.”

“I’ll tell you later, it’s not something for wee ears,” he chuckled, tousling Ailsa’s hair.

“Simon!” the man behind the counter exclaimed as they approached the register.

“Si, do you know everyone in town?” Johnny asked, bumping him with his elbow.

He rolled his eyes. “Hi, Peter.”

The middle aged man laughed, a big-bellied sound. “Oh, he just knows the good ones,” he whispered like it was a secret, shooting Johnny a wink.

“I’ll get my usual, and whatever they want.”

“Anything for Janet?” Peter asked.

“Not this time. What do you want, love?” Simon directed the question at Ailsa who had once again attached herself to his leg as soon as a new person was introduced.

“That one,” she mumbled to him, pointing with her finger. “Duncan wants that one.”

“Alright, those two. Johnny?”

“I’ll have one of those big shortbread cookies you’ve got there.”

“Good lad,” Peter said with an approving nod in Johnny’s direction. His face changed, like something had just occurred to him. “Say, Simon, you live up out there in the woods? Detective!” he called to the only other person in the bakery.

He felt his stomach drop, but he couldn’t stop it from happening.

When the man looked up, Peter gestured to Simon. “This lad is up by where you were looking for your missing hunters!”

“Is that right?” the detective spoke as he pushed himself up.

He was a lanky fellow with an unremarkable face. His hair was a dull blonde and his eyes were a watery blue, set deep in his face. The clothes he wore were wrinkled, his shirt stained in a spot or two, and his pants a size too small for his frame.

Ghost had long ago grown out of the expectation that he could overpower someone with brute strength, having quickly learned not to underestimate anyone based on appearances. But he knew without a doubt that he could rip this man’s throat out with his teeth. He was a threat to him and his.

“Detective Constable Collins,” he said, showing them an ID badge. “I’m investigating the disappearance of a few men who were up here hunting a couple weeks ago.”

Simon grunted, pulling Ailsa closer to him. Johnny was silent at his side, one hand on Duncan’s head, the other on Ailsa’s.

“You live up in the woods, you say?” Collins asked.

“I do.” His answers were short.

“He’s up by the old game trails,” Peter supplied, clearly wanting to be helpful.

“Did you come across these three men in the past few weeks?” Collins pulled out what appeared to be ID photos of the hunters.

When Ghost looked at them, all he could picture was the glee with which they had murdered Duncan and Ailsa’s parents. Their laughter echoed in his mind, quickly swallowed by the sound of their screams as he killed them.

“No.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed.

Ailsa snarled at the detective, her whole face contorted. To Simon’s horror, her eyes flashed a brighter gold for a moment. Reacting quickly, Johnny scooped her up, pressing her face into his neck, rubbing soothing circles on her back. Duncan moved to take her place at Ghost’s side. Collins’s attention lingered on her for far longer than was comfortable.

“With all due respect,” Ghost began to redirect his attention, with no actual respect intended, “I would prefer not to have this conversation now.”

Collins’ demeanor shifted. Where before he had been mostly polite, now his shoulders were tense. He held himself more stiffly, straightening to his full height (he didn’t even reach Ghost’s chin), meeting his eyes again.

“Well, we can discuss this back at the police station.”

“I apologize, sir,” he spoke, his voice level. He had trained for interrogations far worse than this. “We really have to get home.”

“I’ll need to note your information down.” There was a thinly veiled threat in Collins’ voice.

Reluctantly, Ghost handed over his ID. Johnny had to shift Ailsa to dig out his wallet and hand his over when Collins held out a hand for his. Duncan let out a whine. The detective studied the pup for another too-long moment before looking back at Ailsa.

“And this is your child?” he asked.

“Yes,” he lied easily.

Collins stared at him, glancing back at her in Johnny’s arms.

Before he could ask anything else, Ghost collected their order from Peter.

“Any further questions can be asked at another time. It’s time for her nap, so we really need to get home.”

The detective narrowed his eyes. “You’ll be hearing from me.”

Ghost could feel Collins’ eyes on them as they left the bakery. He refused to hurry, not wanting to make him even more suspicious, but his instincts were screaming at him to get them away away away.

As soon as the back door of the car was open, Duncan darted inside, curling up on the floor. Ailsa, trembling in Johnny’s arms, shifted, letting out a heart-wrenching cry as she practically dove to huddle with her brother.

Johnny climbed into the backseat with them, curling around them as best he could, and Simon desperately wanted to join them, but he needed them safe more.

The bag from the bakery was discarded in the passenger seat as he drove them home.

Their interaction with D.C. Collins set back any progress Duncan and Ailsa had made. What had started out as a day to celebrate had turned sour.

The pups had barely eaten dinner, not even interested in their treats from Sweetie’s. All they had wanted to do was curl up in the bedroom. Simon and Johnny couldn’t get them into the bed. They had chosen instead to cuddle together in the corner of the room.

Sighing, Simon grabbed the comforter from the bed along with their favorite plushes and tucked them in on the floor.

When he looked back at Johnny, he could see the man’s emotions plain on his face. He was devastated at how their day had ended. Simon was too.

“I need to make a call, can you stay with them?” he spoke softly, squeezing Johnny’s hand when he didn’t look at him.

“Aye, I can.”

Simon nodded, but as he turned away, Johnny pulled him back by his hand.

“Come back quick,” he murmured, “We need you.”

“I will,” he whispered.

He left the room as Johnny shifted, the big brown wolf curled around the pups in their makeshift bed on the floor.

It broke his heart to leave them there, but he needed to ensure their safety. He didn’t like the way Collins had asked about his girl.

The line rang three times before it was picked up. It was a voice he hadn’t ever expected to hear again.

“Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“Ghost. Can’t say I thought I’d be hearing from you.”

“I need you to get me some documents.”

He could hear the steel hardening in her voice. “What do you need?”

“Adoption papers.”

The line was silent.

“Kate?”

“You need to tell me everything.”

He was exhausted when he returned to the bedroom. As he looked at the pile of wolves in the corner, he debated if he should get into the bed. Johnny, as if hearing Simon’s thoughts, lifted his head and made a chuffing noise at him.

So without further thought, he joined them on the floor, making a brief detour to grab some more pillows from the bed. He settled in, molding his body around the sleeping pups at his side.

How quickly his life had shifted to revolve around them. He had no regrets.

Johnny moved closer to him, nudging him into his side where Duncan and Ailsa had situated themselves. He laid gentle licks across Simon’s face, down his hair, across his shoulders.

Simon sputtered when Johnny’s wolf-y saliva got in his mouth.

“I’m here, you big mutt,” he muttered, pushing Johnny’s muzzle away, and instead burying his hand in Johnny’s thick fur on his neck.

Johnny huffed.

Sleep did not come easily, but it came for them all.

[soniabigcheese]

As you've probably noticed, I'm not around much nowadays.

That's because it has been pointed out that I seem to be 'glued to my phone and not doing much' by hubby.

That's rich coming from him who watches TV 24/7 if he can get away with it.

Anyways, because of his comment, I realise that I've been doing a lot of doom scrolling and not much else for that matter.

I've even slowed down chatting to folks. Sorry about that, I've nothing to talk about and all I seem to do is moan and groan anyways.

I'm definitely living up to my birth 'day' Wednesday - you know ..

Mondays child is fair of face

Tuesdays child is full of grace

Wednesdays child is full of woe

Thursdays child has far to go

Fridays child is loving and giving

Saturdays child works hard for a living

.... and so on

I was born on a Wednesday and therefore a woeful old biddy - always having something to complain about

So yeah, it's probably a phase I'm going through and will eventually snap out of it. But for now, you'll just have to put up with the rare posts/reblogs and chats

Besides, it's coming up to the 1st anniversary of the death of hubby's dad and sister, so he'll be miserable and moody