#because the last time I could regularly go out and pay for my own food

[cesium-sheep]

yay food :)

[fernhoney]

Hey!! It’s EXHAUSTING to run a small business — but YOU can help!! Yes, YOU!! YOU have the power to make a difference in other people’s lives. In your own community.

Literally the biggest thing to help us small businesses continue to exist is by giving us money. Shop with us.

BUT THAT’S NOT THE ONLY WAY!!

If you can’t afford to do so, tell your friends to shop there. Help us advertise because advertising is a huge amount of labor and requires tons of money. It’s hundreds of dollars, sometimes thousands, just to appear on the radio for a few minutes. We do what we can with the free advertising and promotion through our social media pages, but often that’s not enough. you can still help.

Also, make it a point to STOP shopping through places like Amazon, Walmart, TJ Maxx, the Dollar Store, Etc. I promise, it’s not as hard as it might sound. If you know the name of a business that feels like it exists everywhere (Starbucks, McDonalds, Barnes & Noble, The Home Depot to name a few) that means the money you give to that business is being sent directly away from the community you live in. Sure, some of it is used to pay the employees in the store, but the location exists because it *profits*. Those profits are not being kept in your community, and unless billionaires regularly visit your neighborhood and spend their money, it’s NOT coming back.

By shopping at these businesses, You are mailing money to people who already have more than they could ever need, and in turn, devastating your local economy and breaking the hearts of your friends, family, and neighbors that work tirelessly to offer you their businesses.

One of the smallest things you can do to help is just to VISIT the businesses in your community. My shop has existed for more than two years, on a Main Street, and still there are people that live less than two miles away discovering we exist for the first time. It makes me smile every time. Stop in and say hi!!

When you shop small, you’re building a stronger community and giving more value to your neighborhood. When you shop at the small local business, you’re paying your neighbors— this will allow them to fix that broken down car in their driveway, replace their roof after 12 years, reseal their windows, buy a new weed whacker, replace that refrigerator they’ve had for 28 years to reduce their energy bills, and give their children better lives. We’re not asking for much. We’re not trying to hire people to build rockets for us so we can go to space. We’re asking for food and shelter. We’re asking to replace the heat lamp in the chicken coop and to have just a little more time to sit by the fire in the wood stove and knit a blanket for our loved ones so there can be some sort of long lasting sign that we existed in this world and we actually made something.

I’m in a small town so this might sound a little rural, but the same goes for cities. The destruction of the small town is also true for the small city neighborhood and contributes to urban sprawl. If the city doesn’t have it, the suburbs do, and people commute to find their “big box stores” as we say, which contributes to the traffic that EVERYONE hates. Shop at the places in your neighborhood — the places that are run by your neighbors.

If you want sources: There are books, articles, studies, that you can read on how this impacts local economies. There are documentaries, podcasts, and lectures on how small businesses create our community cultures and how large corporations are the primary cause of wealth inequality across the world. The information is out there. Please go seek it.

I see and hear so often people describing how they feel a lack of community, they feel alone, they feel like they’re losing their culture and sense of self. This is how culture, tradition, community, art, sustainability, TOGETHERNESS, is built. Shop local. Shop small. Make a difference.

[morfinwen]

Vent post incoming.

I don't think i have ever hated the necessity of eating more.

I've never been one of those people who would say they love to eat. Pizza or ice cream might motivate me to do something i would not otherwise do, but i wouldn't be excited about the prospect. There are foods that i like, but none that i regularly experience cravings for.

That doesn't mean i don't have preferences -- sadly, i do. I want my potatoes fried and my bread as white as possible. I prefer red meat to white and have yet to find a fish i can tolerate. There are a few green vegetables i like, but not enough to seek them out or prefer them to alternatives. I would subsist off of carbs and sugar if i could.

Over the past few months, i have spent an absurd amount of money paying for fast food delivery, and it has made the situation much worse. No fast food restaurant sounds particularly appealing anymore, and what little tolerance i have for cooking or even assembling my own food has been eroded. I canceled my subscription but have already caved and ordered more several times because as overpriced and unappealing as it is to order food, it is the only thing that i can halfway tolerate sometimes.

My inability to use regular or even lactose-free milk in some circumstances is only making things worse. In the past, i could use cereal as a last resort, now i can't even do that.

I don't know what to do. Fresh vegetables are hard to finish off before they go bad and require constant resupply, but freezer space is limited and it would be difficult to overstate how much i hate even the idea of cooking. I specifically requested and received a rice cooker for Christmas and have never personally used it even once. I'd go without, but that's probably unhealthy, and i'm currently taking a medication that requires me to eat twice a day.

[ghoulangerlee]

there have been a few really nice people to my sister and brother in law today; someone got them a nice milkshake at the wawa while they were out there, it's hot in Florida.

And then my sister said that two ladies came around and passed out dinners to all the homeless people that were gathered around the wawa later on. Spaghetti and garlic bread. So they got a nice meal in their bellies tonight too because at this point I don't know how often they're able to regularly eat.

The Comfort Inn's rooms are 145 a night now (they were just 121 last week) and jfc I don't know how many hours my brother in law has worked this past week so I don't even know if he's going to be able to afford a room come Wednesday. Not to mention my sister's phone is off right now and needs to be back on so she can keep in contact with the nurses and stuff so he's also gotta pay for that too. The nurse is supposed to come out and change my sister's wound vac tomorrow but they don't do that when she's not in a room because y'know. germs and stuff.

Anyway, I don't know. I don't make enough money. We need food at the house and I need to get money out for rent and pay my bills and do all the Things and I can't also give her money for this too. If I give her 145 for a room that's 1/3 of my check, and after bills that leaves me maybe 40 dollars to spare if I'm lucky to give you an idea of how shit the entire situation is.

I'll send her $10 when I can but that $10 that I send her is money that I could have used on my own lunch at work. Or food for the house. Or just something else. I feel selfish keeping whatever I have left of my check because I could be using it to help her or do this or do that and augh. Having to make these decisions is so fucking hard for me I don't want to do this anymore at all god. And I know this shit is hard on her because I was in her place at one time too. Being homeless. The shit sucked. But I wasn't in a wheelchair, and I wasn't having a reaction to an antibiotic like she is now.

I just need for them to be okay and for them to have a place to sleep at night and for my sister to get better so she can go back to work. (the job is still hers, her boss has already said she's got her job as soon as she's cleared to come back). or fuck. if they want to get the fuck out of Florida after this is all over with, that too. I don't know.

I've been posting a lot about this I know but I'm just so pent up. I feel like I'm always 10 seconds away from crying every single second of the day. I don't talk about this. I don't say anything about it because no one asks. No one asks me why I'm so closed off and quiet and tired. Why I seem so stressed out. No one fucking asks if I'm okay.

And I'm just so so so god damned tired.

I miss my mom. I miss my mom. I miss my mom. I don't know if she'd have been able to help with money because she was as poor as all of us but she'd at least be able to house my sister during her recovery. Hell. We'd have probably never ended up in the bullshit cycle of my aunt's abuse if she were still here. I don't know.

Anyway.

I told my sister in a last ditch effort I'd toss her cashapp and paypal one more place just in case. Don't feel obligated or anything. But if you've got anything to spare, whatever the amount, just DM me a prompt and I'll write it for you.

cashapp: $Mmurrell2012 paypal: melissa.murrell83@yahoo.com

Might not be around as much on here after this to be honest other than reblogging things ocasionally, I am. Very stressed. Very tired. Very much trying to deal with all of this. It's a lot for me, it's a lot for her. It's just a lot in general. I'll be around on Discord and Instagram.

I had plans to write more for Mushy May but. Well. I don't feel very motivated right now to be honest.

[fireheartedpup]

Finally asked about my dog's seizures again.

They want to know how often it's happening and for how long. I am not good at keeping track, and it's not really possible to get my phone out in time to get an accurate reading. I would need a stopwatch, or to already have it set to go. I can barely get it on film, because she tries to work through it and they only last a few seconds.

I did try, since that's the only information was given, and apparently she has like 20-30 seizures within 40 minutes of waking up.

Which, of course, is classified as an emergency. They want me to go in to see the vet.

I asked the vet directly about what was happening. She said she would need to see it.

I just want to know how to make it stop. I have asked multiple vets over multiple years about this. They all said pretty much the same thing: I don't know, I would need to see it.

I think that if you've read your medical textbooks, you should be able to recognize the description of a seizure when you hear one. I know owners can get it wrong, but come on--blank stare followed by uncontrollable spasming. Can only be so many things.

So now they're probably like, hey, why aren't you taking this more seriously, and I'm like, I did!! It wasn't treated as an issue!!!

I don't want to pay for yet another thing in the laundry list of things she's taking for her issues, but I want her to be okay. I think this is why she's barking when I'm gone. She comes to me for comfort when it starts, so when I'm not there I think it distresses her.

I'm not happy with myself. If I were better at doing things that earn money, I could just go get her what she needs without concern. I haven't touched my writing sites in months because I'm discouraged about the way things are going.

I had to stop taking the adaptogens because they loose effectiveness over time and I need a break, and I'm already struggling with the sleep schedule and with actually doing things again. I need care too. I don't know exactly what's wrong or how to fix it or how much that'll cost.

I wish I could be motivated to help her more. You'd think it's a no brainer, right? She needs help, so I need to help her. But I'm kind of paralyzed.

They say it takes 2 years after leaving a volatile house to recover. I was really hoping I'd be able to make something work for me before now.

I'm trying to calculate exactly how much all her things cost. Her heart medication alone is $80 a month. I tried a cheaper option and wasn't satisfied, and trying to get those approved is like pulling teeth.

Food is trickier to calculate because staples like flour and rice last longer, but it's at least $10-20 per month for fresh protein. If I add any canned food to that, it's usually around $2-4 a can and those last around a week, so that's $16 a month.

She wants a chew every night, which is valid and good for her teeth, so that's probably $30 a month? I don't actually give them every single night and I try to not let her eat the big ones all at once, so I guess I can bring that down to $15 a month.

I buy the ones that cost like $1 apiece. I should go get a bag so I can consolidate now that I know just how much she wants them, because she will go in search of other things to chew if she doesn't get one now. But they're not essential, so up until now they've been an occasional treat.

Treats are like $7-10 a bag now, and if I'm giving them regularly they don't even last a month. I don't give as many treats as I'd like because of this. I should make more of my own, because I think flour and eggs and brewers yeast and water is cheaper, but she only likes those for about 3 days and that's about as long as they last.

Kaolin for her diarrhea is about $10 a bottle. It lasts about a month. I think. The psyllium husks are also for diarrhea, and that was $7 for a bag that I'm only halfway through, and it's been around 3 months.

I'm really glad I got the huge jar of phosphorus binder for her kidney issues. That's lasted like a year and I'm only 3/4 the way through the container. It was about $40? I think?

Treatment for fleas and such is $50-60 and lasts for 3 months. I'm honestly falling behind on that one. I need to give her a bath and reapply.

Grooming is $100 a visit now, and she SHOULD be getting groomed about every month. She's getting groomed around every 2-4 months.

So adding another expense on top of all that is making me want to cry.

I would like to make something work for me instead of complaining all the time.

[mysticstarlightduck]

OC Interview Tag!

Thanks for the tag, @agirlandherquill (here)!!!

I'll go with Sam Delaways from Enchanted Illusions for this one, because I want to talk more about him and because I think you guys will really like this character! (:

Are you named after anyone?

"Nah. At least not that I know of, that is. I like my name just fine either way, though I don't think my parents put that much thought into it."

When was the last time you cried?

"Pretty recently, but why do you wanna know? (chuckles mischievously) You little rascal. I'm not telling ya that."

Do you have kids?

"No, but I take care of my little brothers - I'm all they've got since neither of our parents are around anymore. They're little kids, so one could say I'm raising 'em. Or at least that I'm trying my best to."

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

"Only when I'm trying to be funny - or when I really wanna annoy Augustus (laughs). That uptight necromancer needs to get a sense of humor and quick, haha. I never use sarcasm to be rude, though, there ain't no need for that - unless someone really deserves it. In that case, I can make an exception."

What is the first thing you notice about people?

"If they're dangerous in some way or another - and if they are, I try to find out ways to avoid gettin' in their way. I also try to notice if they're confident or shy, if they're arrogant or humble if they're temperamental or calm - these things can tell me a lot about whom I'm interacting with."

What's your eye color?

"Dark grey, I think."

Scary movies or happy endings?

"I tend to prefer stories with happy endings, though I like my fair share of scary stories, on occasion. Depends on my mood, mostly. I don't have much time to spend reading anymore, though I like to, and I ain't ever gone to the local theaters to see any of the plays and operas, but I hear they're awesome."

Any special talents?

"I'm not sure, haha. I think I'm quite good at climbing things, and I can hold my own in a fistfight if I need to - but I hate having to. I'm good at navigating the city and using my surroundings to get around faster, and I can build things pretty quickly. Otherwise, I know how to do a lot of stuff, but I dunno if they'd be considered 'special talents' - shoe-shining, fixin' boats, selling newspapers and matchsticks, that sort of stuff. It's what has kept us alive so far - cause the factory sure ain't paying me enough for that."

Where were you born?

"I was born in the outskirts of Ansburke. Y'know, the capital city of our land, and all that. But we moved to Strystead after our parents died - more factories willing to hire a nonmagical teenage street rat, you see. I dunno if it was a good plan in the long run, but it's too late to be thinking about that though."

Do you have any pets?

"Nah, can't really afford to right now. But if I could I would love to have lots of dogs, because they're adorable! Maybe one day I will."

What sports do you play?

"I'm not really the sporty kind. Seems like a waste of perfectly good time and energy for me. I've seen some rich folks playing a game called cricket, I think - and it looks very fun, I'd like to try it one day! I also know how to ride a horse, and I know people consider horseback riding as a sport, but it isn't something I do that regularly so I don't think it counts."

How tall are you?

"I think I'm average height, compared to my friends."

What was your favourite subject in school?

"Never went to school, but I think I would have liked history or magic classes, those seemed fun!"

What is your dream job?

"Ain't got time for dreams in Strystead - dreams don't pay your debts, neither can dreams put food on your plate at the end of the day. Learned that the hard way a long time ago. Currently my 'dream' - if you could call it that - is to pay my debts and get the heck back to Ansburke before these factories finish breaking my spirit too, but unfortunately, I don't think I'm gonna be able to do that any time soon. Eh, that's life though."

Tagging (gently, no pressure):@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @late-to-the-fandom, @eccaiia @willtheweaver @littleladymab @cabbojage @lassiesandiego @little-peril-stories @oh-no-another-idea @thepeculiarbird @rickie-the-storyteller @crowandmoonwriting @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @gummybugg @forthesanityofstorytellers @doublegoblin @aalinaaaaaa @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @elshells @clairelsonao3 @anyablackwood @tabswrites @illarian-rambling @kaylinalexanderbooks and OPEN TAG

[truckstoptigers]

I can't just be a normal person, can I? like that just isn't possible for me. there are things I will never be able to do. there are even more things I will never be able to do comfortably.

sometimes I can't brush my teeth because of what the motion reminds me of. sometimes I wait a few days too many to take a shower because I don't want to see my body. sometimes I think about cutting all my hair off because the last time it looked like this, I was still stuck with my father. the only difference is that my hair is dark brown now. I can't help but think I got it from him, because my mom is blonde & my grandma, her mother, is a redhead, and my uncle (mom's brother) has black hair. I don't want to share ANY features with that man - he was the one to drag me into hell - but my aunt makes a point sometimes to tell me I do. it makes me want to throw up.

in my head it's a constant stream of these memories on loop behind my eyes, and it never seems to end, stretching on into infinity. the worst moments of my life playing in technicolour over and over and over again, and I'm powerless to stop it. all I can really do right now is distract myself, but even that doesn't work sometimes. that's when I have to sneak away to the bathroom/outside so I can cry and not have anyone see me. sometimes I can't cry at all. sometimes I can't stop. I get nervous when random numbers I don't know call me multiple times a day because I'm scared that somehow, one of those men found me again. it's highly unlikely, but that doesn't soothe the fear any.

there's pictures and videos of me out there somewhere. I know there is. my father regularly took his own photos/videos so he could keep them for himself, but also so he could sell them. he had the men he sold me to pay extra if they wanted to 'document' anything for themselves. there might be indecent photos/videos of me as a child, being abused, on somebody's phone or laptop right now, and that disgusts me. there's nothing I can even do about it. I didn't have a choice. and now I'm nervous whenever I'm in front of a camera because I can't help but think about the camcorders and cameras and phones they used.

my appetite completely disappeared around the time I started recovering memories. a lot of the time I can go hours, even days, without feeling hungry once. I've lost around 30 or so pounds at this point. the last time it was this bad, I was 13, extremely depressed, constantly crying & suicidal. I can get myself to eat if I smoke a bowl, but otherwise it's like hunger doesn't even exist for me. I get hunger pangs, but none of the hunger that's supposed to come with them. sometimes I have to stop eating before I'm done because I start to gag.

I remember that my father would withhold food & drink from me basically whenever he wanted. or he would force them on me until I was gagging and, sometimes, throwing up, which I then was promptly punished for as if it was my fault. punishments always hurt. there was really only a few ways I could 'make it up to him,' as he would say, and all of them had to do with me laying down somewhere for him and letting him do what he wanted. whenever I make a mistake I still think of that, and it makes even the tiniest 'oops' turn into an anxious stomachache that lasts for hours because my hypervigilance kicks on and tells me something bad is about to happen to me for something as simple as dropping a cup that doesn't even break. I don't cry and hyperventilate anymore, and it took years to get to that point, but I'm still terrified every time.

I get nervous when random men stare at me a little too long in public because I can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, he was one of the many men who abused me, and he remembers what I don't. I get nervous when we're in a store and there's a man walking behind me - I can't get myself to calm down, even when they pass by. I feel like I have to be on guard 24/7 and I feel like the second I let it slip, something terrible will happen because I wasn't paying attention. even my own stepdad standing too close to me can trigger this response, and he has nothing to do w/ what my father was doing. I don't like to be crowded, but sometimes my stepdad will purposefully get into my space because he knows I don't like it. he doesn't know why I don't like it, but I shouldn't have to divulge my trauma for my boundaries to be respected. it makes me just as nervous as it does when it's a random man I don't know.

I don't get to be normal. I didn't even have a fucking personality before it started because I was literally a preschooler. I will never know the kind of person I could've been if none of this ever happened, and I will never get the childhood I should've had. I get to live with chronic pain that makes it hard for me to do anything but sit and wait for my meds to work. I get to have violently graphic flashbacks for no discernible reason that turn me into a sobbing, shaking mess for hours. I get to live with the fact that no one has to answer for the horrible things they did to me - at least, not in this life. I get to be severely traumatized to the point of constant fear that it will happen again. after all, it did happen again freshman year - just with someone else. and I can never be sure it won't ever happen again.

I can't be 'normal,' and I hate my father for that.

[jan-pipijan]

ok this is a follow on from my last post about Theodora (ik i called her aliya in the last post but i realized while writing this one that theodora works better), a woman priest in a fallout like post apocalypse.

What is the character’s go-to drink order? (this one gets into how do they like to be publicly perceived, because there is always some level of theatricality to ordering drinks at a bar/restaurant)

for being in public she'd stay sober, so i suppose something like a shirley temple, assuming there's ginger ale and grenadine. im going to assume that most of the time thats not available, so then it'd probably be something very low proof. if she's at someone's house and they dont have a way to purify water she'd probably teach them how to make a simple charcoal and sand filter.

if she's at some bar/restaurant she's probably either eating, evangelizing, or socializing. if she's just out with friends she'll probably drink some, maybe even get a little drunk but she'd probably keep a lid on it. while im thinking about her drinking i could see her taking the loss of her priest/mentor pretty hard and spending some more time at the bar. if she's eating by herself she's probably in her own world and will just ask for water with whatever she's eating, also theres a very good chance she'd be working on something or other. if she's evangelizing then she's definitely staying as sober as she can, but if the person she's talking to is drinking she might order something alcoholic but low proof.

2. What is their grooming routine? (how do they treat themselves in private)

for a post apocalypse they bathe surprisingly often, before mass on sunday morning. they also make their own soap and shampoo with animal fat that they get from hunters and butchers as tithe.

to get to the meat of the question tho, she's may take a little worse care of herself than most folks, she doesnt have these words for it, but she has what we would call ADHD and autism so she's prone to hyper focus and forgetting to eat regularly.

3. What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? (Gets you thinking about socio-economic class, values, and how they spend their leisure time)

i am Very excited to answer this one, bc the question itself is wrong.

in short (this was going to be shorter as i went to get some food, but its actually plenty long already) in the local community, most folks are subsistence farmers and hunters (she herself is from a farming household) but ever since she "flew the nest" as we would say, she's been either training under the local priest or has been the local priest.

in post apocalyptic conditions, any strong communities that arent just a single family unit would have alot less 'tit for tat' bartering than you would think, and would mostly work on the idea of "ill help you when you need it because i know youll help me when i need it". in her town (which for writing purposes will just be my home town) most folks would be farmers, and anyone who isnt a farmer would be some kind of specialist in this or that trade (hunters, butchers, tanners, leatherworkers, smiths, brewers, &c.). as a priest in this community Theodora (Theta) would likely serve her community in Several ways; most recognizably she would be leading mass and teaching the community (her parishioners) important skills for living in the post apocalypse (passed down through generations as a means of keeping the community afloat). on top of the normal "love God love your neighbor dont demand people pay you back if you give them something" she would also be giving practical advice couched in (what we would call) religious language; skills like crop rotation, water purification, even folk medicine.

of course, given that she is helping her parishioners survive in the wasteland, her parishioners would help her live as she needs: providing her food and drink; helping with upkeep for the church; farmers may give her grain or bread for the Eucharist, brewers may help her find wine or may even give her wine if they have a vineyard; maybe even some of the youth in town would be acolytes (basically the priest's apprentice) to ensure that when Theta dies, someone will be able to fill her role in the community. (i could go into a tangent about the place of death in a community like this, but i wont. suffice it to say: theres a reason that the Anointing of the Sick is a sacrament and that its listed before holy orders and matrimony.)

that's all before we really get into her role as a 'magic' specialist; she would probably spend time blessing folks homes, storehouses, farms, tools, &c. or how she would probably be keeping the best track of the passing of time so she can know what days are holy days, therefore allowing her to help the farmers keep track of the passing of seasons. and taking care of the spiritual (and likely mental) needs of her parishioners.

all that to say; she takes care of and helps organize, unite, and educate the community, and her community helps take care of her in return.

for any normal person, that would be an exhausting job, but, Theta has been touched by God and chosen from among her people to serve God and them (she is very autistic and gains enough energy from the tedious bookish parts of being a priest to serve her community)

well... thats more than i thought i would write about that.

4. Do they have any scars or tattoos? (good way to get into literal backstory) 

oh absolutely. scars are far more common in the wasteland than they are here and she's less likely to notice when she's injured anyway so she absolutely has a whole bunch of scars.

im not so sure about tattoos. i could see tattoos surviving the bombs, but in the town i think tattooing would have to be rediscovered. im sure there's somewhere in town to get tattoos. that being said modern tattoo machines need electricity so unless someone (some wired nerd w/ old world blues) gets that working they might not be all that common. i feel like if someone was scrounging through the town looking for old world novelties theta would help them. also once tattoos are a thing theta would 100% one honoring her mentor and maybe some about faith and time, maybe a memento mori

5. What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances? (Good way to get some *emotional* backstory in.) 

oooh, maybe this is getting into spoilers, but im the writer so its ok. after theta's priest died (i should get that man a name) she went to "talk to the bartender" about it; the bartender, recognizing theta was in a Bad Place™ recommended she go talk to the (technically catholic but whatever) priest in the next town over (which is actually the bartender's hometown (she left for backstory reasons)). theta went, cried, learned about catholic last rites (i think the last rites in the BCP could do better),

6. Are they an oldest, middle, youngest or only child? (This one might be a me thing, because I LOVE writing/reading about family dynamics, but knowing what kinds of things were ‘normal’ for them growing up is important.)

probably a middle child of a small handful (ive decided her dad left her mom when she was pretty young and she was raised mostly by her mom, but also she spent alot of time at church as a kid which is how she became the priest's apprentice).

over all families as a social unit would be alot more relevant then than they are now, just because capitalists benefit from the atomization of the family. over all in that respect the town would be the historical norm where this society (and especially the US) is the fucked up outlier

7. Describe the shoes they’re wearing. (This is a big catch all, gets into money, taste, practicality, level of wear, level of repair, literally what kind of shoes they require to live their life.)

theres a joke in Only Fools & Horses where the road sweeper, trigger, has gotten an award for using the same broom for 20 years, therefore saving the local counsel money. when his friends doubt that a broom could last that long, trigger helpfully lets them know that the broom's had 17 new heads and 14 new handles in those 20 years. i imagine theta's shoes are a lot like triggers broom. all in all there what we would call leather sandals (probably made by the local leather worker) that she brings in every once in a while when they need new soles, straps, maybe resizing when she was a kid.

im making good time (after writing a 3-4 paragraph essay (also no i wasnt i got the numbering wrong and had to redo it))

8. Describe the place where they sleep. (ie what does their safe space look like. How much (or how little) care / decoration / personal touch goes into it.)

this might not be how it shakes out exactly, but it'll give you the vibes.

when Theta was an acolyte, maybe 15 or 16, the priest (in conversation with theta's mom, of course,) decided that she'd be his apprentice. part of being an apprentice meant living in the church and doing a lot of the boring work of being a priest (calculating calendars, preparing orders of service, transcribing, copying, &c). so the priest (im tired of calling him the priest so hes going to be *drum roll* Fr. Samuel) brought her to a small room with a desk for writing, a bed frame to put a mattress on, and a great big bookshelf full of pre-war books (of which sam's read like, 3. maybe). sam, theta, and theta's mom (drumroll2.mp3, Nadia) brought theta's mattress from her house to the church. done that that bit of tedium theta hulled up in her new room, and in about a year or two, she's read the whole bookshelf. more often than not she has at least a few books on her desk (a bible, bcp, her journal, maybe a calendar or a book of tables).

that story didnt quite go where i thought it would but oh well. her room is fairly clean. the floor is basically completely clear save a couple rugs (one at her desk and on at her bed). her bookshelf is kinda cluttered but her desk is usually some kind of mess, books, notebooks, broadsides. she went scrounging through a prewar shop further in town and found a handful of corkboards to put things on which helped, but her desk is still a mess. for a few years after she started keeping the daily offices she had an improvised kneeler next to her desk because she'd "ask the woodworker to put in a real one later"

9. What is their favorite holiday? (How do they relate to their culture/outside world. Also fun is least favorite holiday.) 

i think it'd be advent/christmas, and that she'd be an outlier for liking it as much as she does. id bet after a few generations their christmas would look a lot less like ours and a lot more like a medieval christmas, which is to say a community feast in the middle of winter. (now that i think about it i think it'd be more interesting if the town were somewhere far enough north for there to be snow. great lakes? that'd be a good excuse to have some sailing.) over all winter would be pretty boring, and i think this is when (as a kid) she'd have the most time to spend reading the bible, thinking about God, pestering Fr. sam about theology, &c, and i think that something she'd find particularly interesting is the Incarnation, for which christmastide is dedicated. i think after a while she would get a case of the old world blues and eventually learn about the tradition of gift giving on christmas, so she'd commission this and that from whoever would make that thing, and then on christmas night she would lead a vigil, during which she could sneak out the back, get the things for her fellow townsfolk and quietly deliver it to them (leaving it either near their door or wherever they keep their firewood to keep with the 'gifts down peoples chimnies' of it all (wow i keep having more and more to say about these than i was expecting))

10. What objects do they always carry around with them? (What do they need for their normal, day-to-day routine? What does ‘normal’ even look like for them.) 

WELL ITS FUNNY YOUD ASK (i already detailed this in a different post let me paste it in here)

she has a messenger bag that she always has on her or near by with several books. among them a bible (or two, or three depending on her patience for the kjv), a copy of the book of common prayer (it was her priest's copy and they've been using it to keep track of apostolic succession on top of its liturgical use), a notebook of prepared liturgies (she uses that and the daily office lectionary to say the daily office, but she also has last rites fully copied in it which are a mix of the episcopalian and catholic last rites, she also has the rosary and the devine mercy chaplet, the latter she says over the dead or dying before last rites), a small calendar (which is copied from another, larger calendar book she keeps at the church which has a 19 year calendar to keep track of the metonic cycle, a 28 year calendar she uses to keep track of normal time, a table for calculating easter and other unfixed holy days, and notes on how you could maybe use astronomy to derive the year if you weren't keeping track of it), and maybe a pre war novel shes reading for fun. as much as i clearly had to say about it, all that doesnt weigh all that much, without the big calendar (which i realize now is basically an almanac) it comes out to less than 10 lbs.

So my problem with most ‘get to know your character’ questioneers is that they’re full of questions that just aren’t that important (what color eyes do they have) too hard to answer right away (what is their greatest fear) or are just impossible to answer (what is their favorite movie.)  Like no one has one single favorite movie. And even if they do the answer changes.

If I’m doing this exercise, I want 7-10 questions to get the character feeling real in my head. So I thought I’d share the ones that get me (and my students) good results: 

What is the character’s go-to drink order? (this one gets into how do they like to be publicly perceived, because there is always some level of theatricality to ordering drinks at a bar/resturant)

What is their grooming routine? (how do they treat themselves in private)

What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? (Gets you thinking about socio-economic class, values, and how they spend their leisure time)

Do they have any scars or tattoos? (good way to get into literal backstory) 

What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances? (Good way to get some *emotional* backstory in.) 

Are they an oldest, middle, youngest or only child? (This one might be a me thing, because I LOVE writing/reading about family dynamics, but knowing what kinds of things were ‘normal’ for them growing up is important.)

Describe the shoes they’re wearing. (This is a big catch all, gets into money, taste, practicality, level of wear, level of repair, literally what kind of shoes they require to live their life.)

Describe the place where they sleep. (ie what does their safe space look like. How much (or how little) care / decoration / personal touch goes into it.)

What is their favorite holiday? (How do they relate to their culture/outside world. Also fun is least favorite holiday.) 

What objects do they always carry around with them? (What do they need for their normal, day-to-day routine? What does ‘normal’ even look like for them.) 

[nickgerlich]

Raise Your Hand

My trip to Albuquerque—which was actually a Final Jeopardy answer last Thursday—would not be complete without a visit to Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s. I always make a major grocery run when in the presence of either or both of these, primarily because we will probably never have either of these in Amarillo. I come for the variety, but stay for the quality. In the case of TJ’s, I also come for the prices.

And in the case of Whole Foods, I also come for the technology. Why, it’s almost as if I come there only so that I can wave my palm on the way out.

How’s that again?

Simple. A couple of years ago, Whole Foods—which is owned by Amazon—debuted Amazon One Palm Pay at its stores. Essentially, once you have set up your Amazon account with a scan of your palm and a preferred payment method, all I have to do, quite literally, is hold my right palm over an optical scanner, and off I go.

Naturally, as a Marketing prof with a strong bent toward all things digital, I was fascinated when I first read about the technology. I made sure to be in Dallas shortly afterward to visit my daughter and son-in-law, and to visit a nearby Whole Foods so I could see how this worked. I was amazed. I was also hooked.

Of course, there are naysayers who are either concerned about privacy and data breaches, as well as those who are certain this heralds the coming of antichrist. The ancestors of that latter group were the same ones who dissed barcodes when they were introduced on food products in 1974. That didn’t happen, of course. Antichrist, that is.

I am not worried about safety and privacy though with this system. Unless someone were to cut off my right hand, or handcuff me and make me pay for their groceries, I am pretty confident that this is safer than carrying credit cards around and having to tap or swipe. Perhaps I—and all of us—should be concerned about Amazon’s broader data security, because most of us are already shopping their regularly from our phones and computers.

One of the biggest questions, though, is whether consumers have adopted this method of payment. I will be honest and say I have never seen anyone else do it. Not long ago when I shopped at a Whole Foods in Plano, I seized a relative moment of quiet and queried the woman running the cash register in my lane. I asked her about what percentage of shoppers use Palm Pay.

I was shocked to hear her say only about 15%. She cited the naysayers as a big part of it, but I suspect there are those who simply have not seen any benefit yet from adopting it. That was a lot of hardware to install in more than 500 stores, to have only 15% of shoppers using it.

Amazon has a long track record of pushing the needle on all things digital. They were the ones who developed the Just Walk Out technology for their Amazon Go stores. They also licensed it to quite a few concessionaires at stadiums and airports. But they ultimately killed it at their own stores, and decided to go with intelligent shopping carts that allowed people to scan items as they placed them in their cart. They also included the Palm Pay system in those stores.

I realize that change can come slowly for many people. Whenever someone upsets the established order of things, it can often take a long time for the majority of people to warm up to it. It took a long time for people to transition from cash to checks and then to plastic. Ditching all of them is a rather huge leap. I get it.

We got over barcodes, though, and now we have no problem with them. Heck, we even embraced QR codes once we learned how to use them during COVID. We have gone nearly cashless these days, although there is some pushback among a minority of consumers. If you are on the WT campus, you better have plastic, because they aren’t taking your money. Same goes for a lot of stadiums.

I bet that Amazon is really on to something big here, and that a version of this will one day be the new norm. It’s just that Amazon has always been about introducing new paradigms, whether we like it or not. In that regard, they are a lot like Apple, the company that Steve Jobs said was always developing new products we had no idea we needed.

And to be fair to all, it would not be very nice of me to virtue signal while at the checkout, loudly proclaiming to all nearby, “May I have your attention, please. I am going to wave my hand over this device, and walk out with my groceries. Watch now, for this is the future.”

Actually, it’s a lot more like what that woman also told me. “Be careful waving your hand around here. You might be buying groceries for everyone.”

Touché.

Dr “Hands Down” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[harbingrs]

Bouncing off tags on my last post... moral OCD is the one thing I hate most about myself and actually what makes me a far worse person than I could ever be without it.

(Note: Bits about 'maybe I /should/ sacrifice xyz' are not me being dramatic for attention, I genuinely, sincerely don't want to discount the possibility that people will think so, because I do not think I'm more deserving of safety and well-being than anyone else.)

I am trapped in a place where I cannot do things I desperately want to do to help people (like d*nate money - in addition to being poor - or volunteering my time on anything) because I cannot regulate my thoughts/behaviour around it and cannot stop it escalating to a scary degree.

And I know how self-indulgent and pathetic any of this sounds. I hate it beyond belief. This is genuine loser behaviour, I will say that in advance, I get that.

And the context is that I am poor. I am regularly food/housing insecure. If I was sitting on a pile of wealth or even average means maybe it would be different.

But if I start with something small that opens that door - like 'doing what I can' or 'd*nating what I can' it quickly escalates out of control and my brain will never stop upping the stakes. And maybe it's right to do so.

But whatever I do is never enough. I'm not choosing to feel this way or make it about me or be dramatic. But it escalates to the point where I'm distraught about like... feeding myself or paying my rent because how can I justify doing that. I go from 'd*nating what little I can' or trying to make small sacrifices 'where I can' to buying the cheapest food I can survive on to tally up what I've saved to living on bread with my body falling apart and it still doesn't feel like enough.

And maybe I should be doing all that. Because I'm not more deserving of food Maybe there should be no limits, when I'm not more fundamentally deserving than anyone else. My well-being is not any more important than someone else, and its not right that someone else has to suffer when I can prevent it but I'm just prioritising myself, I'm choosing to buy bread or medicine for myself.

It usually takes less than a week for me to go from doing 'what little I can' to the point where I'm running scenarios in my head knowing if I'm not alive I can't d*nate anything, and if I'm too weak/sick or unhoused then I can't work, so what is the bare minimum I can spend on myself to maximise what I can help with or give away?

And the obvious answer is 'well you could simply be normal about it'. But I try time and time and time again and I never get that option. I can never control it and harness my actual intentions shape it into the outcome I actually want.

I try, and the same thing happens. It escalates until I run into a wall with not being able to fully grasp the pros/cons of myself existing, because the money I am being paid for work still exists if I am not here, so it must go/be somewhere, but I don't know enough about economics to fully understand the implications of that.

It only stops when the web of cause and effect gets so complex that I can't follow it any more. And it's terrifying to reach that point and get a visceral sense of like... having a gaping abyss where other people have a sense of 'how to be normal about it'. I reach for it and it's just not there.

It turns out that 'do what you can' is actually a lot - because I could always sacrifice more. There is always room for more if I can need and want less, if I stop treating Me and My Life like something that matters, because how can I ever justify that? There's an opportunity cost to everything I gain. Every meal may as well be snatched from someone else's hands.

I know that other people have... guardrails, I guess? Like a sense of how much is enough and how much is too much. It's a given that someone is allowed to 'put on their own oxygen mask first' - to make sure they are fed, housed, safe and (relatively) well, and then to help others with the means they have.

I don't have that - not that I have some kind of overt belief about self-sacrifice, and I especially don't have that belief about what other people should do. I don't worry about what other people should do because I do not have to make that decision. But I do have to decide for myself and it's absolutely terrifying.

I reach for my own sense of what I should do, how much I deserve to meet my own needs, and there's nothing there. I reach for some kind of grand cosmic truth to tell me what's right, what anything even means, what the purpose of /anything/ is and it's not there.

And so I have no way to justify caring for myself - especially beyond the minimum I need to stay alive and be able to give away the rest. To simply be a conduit to the benefit of others wherever possible - because I cannot find a justification to do anything else. I can't find anything that gives my life (and especially my quality of life, to want more than the minimum) significance beyond that.

And this is not a choice to be dramatic and play martyr, this a deep, terrified reckoning. I want to know what to do and more importantly /how/ - how to be okay with whatever I do, how to live with it, how to feel like it's ever enough. I don't want an excuse or a permission slip to be selfish and slack off on the work, I want anything but that.

But ending up on the precipice of having no answers, ever - no peace, ever - no meaning, ever - is terrifying. Because I cannot find it no matter how long and hard I look. There's no way out other than to shut it out and never open that door, because that's the only place it ever leads to. I have to disconnect from reality and experience life like it's happening to someone else who plays the part of a Normal Person and when I eat and sleep and work I'm following the script. I can't be present because then all of it would be real and I don't know what to do with real. I can't be present with all the questions and no answers and no way to solve it, ever.

All I have to hold onto is what the people who care about me say and want for me. There's nothing else besides the fact that they want to see me fed, clothed, housed, generally alive.

And I swear to fuck this is not a martyr complex, this is not about my image of wanting to be the most morally righteous person on earth. I don't /want/ that. It's about the unknown. It's about the fact that I don't know what is right or okay or what I should do or how. It's the fact that there IS no reference point for 'should' and that is beyond terrifying. There is no fundamental truth to uncover there, there's just the world and my life and I'm supposed to decide what to do and how to live and how to live with the choices I make.

For other people, it's like they Just Know - that they can care for themselves, that it's okay to be alive and meet their needs, that their life matters. And I don't question that about other people, but when it comes to myself, I can't find any justification to hold onto.

I try and try and I can't find it beyond my ability to do good for others - but then how does it work in practice? How do I figure out exactly what I need to do the most good, without taking more than I need and taking that away from someone else?

How much can I justify eating, resting, caring for my body? Because I need to do those things to be physically and mentally and emotionally capable of helping others. But how do I know what will pay off? Will eating better food now make me more capable of giving or make me live longer? Is me living longer doing more harm or good?

Even if I found that perfect balance, I have to decide what to do and how. Where do I d*nate, when giving to one is taking from everyone else. Is it better to volunteer my time and labour and live on the minimum needed to survive or is it better to work and d*nate what I earn? Can I justify resting in order to be able to volunteer or work to d*nate or is that time better spent?

The only clear answer in all of this is that I'm not mentally well enough to decide that or to navigate this based on my own thoughts and emotions. I have to trust in what people /I/ trust say is safe for me, or it's impossible.

I cannot grasp what is normal in these situations, what is 'allowed', what is expected. I have no concept of how to be normal about it or how to stay in control of it or how to make sense out of anything.

I have to trust that the people /I/ trust think my existence is justified, that it is okay for me to feed myself or get myself healthcare or meet my basic needs at all. I have to outsource that decision because I am not capable of making it myself and being safe, and maybe I should not get to be safe, but there we go.

And I know the assumption on that is that I'm being whiny and self-indulgent and dramatic, that nothing is about me, and I should just get over it to be able to do the right thing. And it's agony because that's what I wish I could do, with everything in me.

It's agony because none of it comes from not caring, from being indifferent or selfish or wanting an excuse or an easy way out. It comes from caring so, so goddamn much - but not having the means or resources to navigate any of it.

It's not a new and overly convenient 'excuse' about anything in particular. This long predates anything happening in the world right now. But the mechanisms I'd developed to cope and survive no longer work, not only because of the actual situations happening which warrant my attention and action despite anything and everything else, but also in light of people like... directly contacting me saying that my action or inaction is killing them and their children. And following up when I don't respond to ask why their lives are meaningless to me.

And I don't blame them one bit. I don't have the slightest bit of judgement for people wanting to survive and be safe and wanting their loved ones to survive and be safe.

I am not upset about it happening, I am upset that my brain being this way stands in the way of me doing what I want to do to help people. I would give anything not to be this way, not for my sake in any way, shape or form, but to be able to help without the messy, selfish drama my brain brings to the table.

I'm in absolutely pieces about everything and at the same time, I know how selfish it is to feel any of this at all, and to give any time and space to my own emotions.

I can't do a single thing without opening that door. I can't add image descriptions to reblogs because I do one 'when I can' and suddenly any time I'm not doing them, I'm passing up a chance to do something to help people. And I don't even mean that I feel bad reblogging stuff without them, I mean any minute of the day where I COULD be helping people by adding image descriptions to things, I'm failing.

So I do image descriptions only for my own original posts - which are rare, so that's self-limiting. But I can't open the door to something that ISN'T self-limiting because I cannot regulate myself as long as I could be doing More.

For a solid decade, I've only been able to handle the /existence/ of d*nation posts with the rule of 'I only share them from people I know personally' - because again, that's self-limiting and can't escalate. And it avoids spiralling over my limited ability to vet stuff and opportunity costs - not just if I accidentally share a scam, but also the logistics of sharing lots of donations posts - because where do I stop? There are more to reblog, and I could do this all day and night for the chance that one of my five followers will d*nate or share it - but the more I reblog, the less of a spotlight there is on any individual post. Which are more deserving? What am I costing people? How many times should I reblog them? How can I always be doing more and more and more? How can I ever justify not doing more when I could?

Current circumstances mean the 'only people I know' rule went out the window. Or more accurately, that I have been trying to push it over and over and over with disastrous results, as in I am completely falling apart. And I am not even doing that much, if anything.

It doesn't help that every platform has an algorithm, that the more I engage with, the more I see, the more people contact me, the more I need to do, the more I can't stop.

The advice is always 'do what you can' or 'do what you can without harming yourself' but the answer to the second one is always inevitably nothing. I'm disabled and struggling to stay fed/housed, I have no time or energy to spare, I have no money to give. To 'do something' at all will always be at my own expense - and that's not even starting on the implications of opening that door for me.

The amount I can do without harm is nothing because the smallest action will start the cycle of never-ever-ever-enough until I have to check out of my own brain. Writing a single image description is not safe for me because I have to keep doing it until I've missed days of work and people want to know why. D*nating a dollar is not safe for me because clearly I could give more and more because to feed or house myself is to take that away from someone else.

The answer is 'just be normal about it' and I want to be. The answer is 'stop being so selfish and dramatic and get over yourself' and I want that more than anything. I want to be able to 'do what I can', genuinely and sincerely, without it spiralling into a complete, dysfunctional breakdown where am no good to anyone.

I want to be able to exist and be present in my own life - without the complete terror of things being real, that I have to make real decisions that affect real people and I am making all the wrong ones and there's no way I can live with that.

Because that's what it's all about with me. Not moral OCD as in 'desperately wanting to be A Good Person' or 'wanting to be percieved as A Good Person'. I want to know how to live with myself and live with the world as it is. And if I let myself think about it, if I know I'm not doing everything I possibly can, I don't know how to live with it. I don't know how to just exist that way. I'm not indifferent to people suffering - it matters so deeply to me I can't feel any peace if I could do something to help and I don't.

But I could always do more - with every dollar, every minute. I don't know how to be okay with it. And all the advice in the world doesn't help - putting on your own oxygen mask first, needing to be at your best to do the most good for other people, etc. Because it's still too vague and unclear about what to do and how and how much and how to make sense of it all - and how to ever feel okay about it. How to sleep at night knowing you've done all you can, when every cause and effect is so vast it's impossible to know.

And it's so useless that it distresses me so much that /I/ end up useless. I know I could do far more letting all of it go and making SOME small effort than being this way and not being able to do anything. But I try, I try to choose that outcome and I can't.

I don't have a reference point. I don't have a theology or belief system to hold onto to find peace with anything. There's just people and their lives and their suffering and all of it is really and that's all that matters. And I am never ever doing enough.

And it still should be simple. I should shut up, put up and do what needs to be done. I want to. I swear I want to.

[xerserise]

I used to supervise the graphics department of a small publishing company, making coffee table travel books. I was their highest paid non-management employee. (I didn't have authority over employees, I had authority over the design made by the employees. And a lot of organizational and technical responsibility, in addition to the design work that I did for the books and for the company.) It was one of my last jobs, and I've had a lot.

I've also had thousands of dollars of dental work, because I couldn't get myself to brush my teeth regularly.

I don't work for a living anymore, because trying to survive as a worker under capitalism gave me autistic burnout and an adult-onset tic disorder. Thankfully, with the help of friends, family, social workers, and a lot of trauma that I could have done without, I survived and won my Disability claim.

Now I pay someone to call me multiple times a week, on a schedule, so that I can make plans for the upcoming week (and the rest of the day), be reminded of things that Past Me thought were important, and go down my list of basic things that I need to make sure I do (brush teeth, take meds, clean and refill my humidifier, look at and reply to my messages and mail and such, etc.). It's been a huge benefit to my life, over these past years.

If I were working, I wouldn't have the energy, focus, or capacity to work on my own life and goals the way I do now. I know this, because when I was working, all I could manage was work and escapism and sleep.

My autism and ADHD diagnoses came after the breakdown and the onset of the tic disorder, after I had become completely unable to work, was struggling to eat enough (for stress reasons), and was losing an unhealthy amount of weight (which messes with brain chemistry), at a time when I was very traumatized and unable to mask.

But I was unable to handle it all, long before then. I used to drink and smoke all evening, pass out, wake up, go to work, and do it again. I had dirty dishes that stayed in the sink for over a year. And I would go to work every day. I would manage to do my laundry before everything was dirty, and shower before work, and do the things that were required to appear normal once I walked out my door. But that was it. I had cavities that I could see and feel, and I did nothing about them until my canine tooth broke. I moved my futon into the living room, because my bedroom was filled with boxes of stuff that I didn't want to deal with. The bedroom became a place to shove stuff out of the way. I almost never opened the door.

I was able to have a job. But I wasn't able to also have a life worth living. Now? Now that I have a meager income from SSDI? I'm living a simple life, focused on myself and my needs, with support. And I'm giving support to others. And I'm finally connecting with a few people, and making real friends for the first time in my life, as I near 50 years of age. I'm using my knowledge and experience to build a local queer Discord, to help others find connection.

I can't work (anymore). But that doesn't mean I can't contribute to society. I can contribute far more as a happier person who is connected to community and free to follow their interests than I could as a lonely and depressed replaceable staff member who disassociates all the time.

And even if I couldn't contribute, I would deserve food and shelter and medical care and the like. Because everyone deserves it.

Instead, the requirements of life, of community, of basic human interactions, are used as ways to extract as much money as possibly from the workers who create everything. Are denied us, kept behind barbed wire, with fees to access anything.

And pointing the finger at groups of people, saying 'they are useless, they are taking your resources, they are destroying your family, you deserve more', is a good way to get folks to ignore the systems that paywall life itself and instead blame the people who such a system already marginalizes and oppresses.

People can contribute to society in many ways, while also requiring support from society.

Our value as a human beings exist whether or not we can contribute to society.

And many jobs exist that don't contribute to a happier, healthier, more welcoming world. Only to a dystopian hellscape. Sure, you're contributing. But why?

Many, many things are being implied when disabled and neurodivergent people are called burdens on society.

Society, as it is, is a burden on us.

Fuck the system.

“Of course autistic people can go to the bathroom by themselves and have jobs!!” Some can’t. They’re not burdens or an “epidemic” either. Please don’t get pulled into an argument about usefulness, because that feeds into their baseline eugenic idea that you have to “contribute to society” to justify your existence. Nobody’s worth is tied to what they can do for the state.

[moriitis]

BloodLust. Ticci Toby x Fem Reader.

Chapter One. MINORS DNI 18+

TRIGGER WARNING AHEAD! [Y/N] -> Your Name. | Word count : 5185

MASTERLIST !! ——————————————————————————————————————

You never really gave it much thought as to how you would die. You knew it would be one day. Old age perhaps, in a care home surrounded by the people that loved you, a family you had created, who sobbed and grieved the loss of such a woman as yourself. Nobody really thinks about the way they would die, life too wrapped up to even consider it. But as your head bled profoundly, making it harder and harder to even think, the warmth of the red liquid draining your very body, it was starting to become a reminder that maybe your death wouldn't be as peaceful as you had imagined, maybe then you wouldn't be laying on the floor thinking about the ultimate end in the first place. Who thinks about death last minute other than a dying person, right? Because this is what you had planned on what was such a peaceful Wednesday night.

It all started with headaches, nosebleeds, memory loss and soon enough, you could only put the blame on your crippling mental health. You went to countless doctor appointments, complaining about each symptom and their only response was to drug you up on whatever pill they had on hand. With the fear that maybe in reality, you were spiralling, you followed orders and downed a handful of each separate pill from each separate bottle until you found yourself most nights knocked out on the couch.

'I'm going to get better, this was just the start.' Is what you told yourself when you began to notice things in the corner of your eyes, when you felt an uneasy feeling of someone watching you and now you were arranging appointments for better security systems inside your home. But when was it going to get better, when the letters began appearing under your door? Love notes of someone confessing themselves to you or when they would send you pictures of you inside your own home, asleep or even getting dressed. You see, feeling better wasn't something that you could convince yourself so easily because the stress of it all snapped and got you. Losing weight was another step, then you could've sworn your hair was falling out and one night, you found yourself in the hall of your apartment complex, having no memory of it at all.

And now you were here, on your wooden floor, dying and desperately trying to fix your blurred vision in an attempt to call for some kind of help. You didn't fall, no, you couldn't have, because you felt the weight of something smack you around the head before you could even collapse.

———————————————-

"I'm dropping out of school." The table around you suddenly grew quiet, your father's lips were pursed like he wanted to say something but before he even could, your mom was already throwing her cutlery down onto her plate. "You're what?" She said and before she could even give you a chance to explain yourself, she was off. "What? What do you mean? You were doing better? Your therapist told us! Everything changed, what happened?! What do you mean dropping out?! You devoted your life to this." "My therapist told you..?" you mumbled softly, letting your gaze drop to your plate. The food was barely touched, the chicken had been picked at from the nerves of even letting this conversation arise and you'd drank at least three full glasses of water before you could bring up this very topic.

Admittedly, you knew medical school wasn't going to work out, it was too much stress load on your shoulders and you desperately needed a more stable job to push through actually paying your rent on time. Med school was unrealistic and simply put, you gave up.

"You can't drop out! You put so much of yourself out there for this, we were so proud of you-" "You were? So what, I drop out and now I'm nothing of a deadbeat daughter, right?" This happened way too regularly, you went round your parents house for dinner and one way or another, you'd wound up in an argument about some useless shit that more than likely would be forgotten about by tomorrow. "Now you know, that is not what I meant," your mom spoke in a stern voice and with your dad now awkwardly in the middle, he slowly poked his chicken breast with his fork as he listened in to what was unfolding around him. "I need some time to myself, I need to go back to therapy, ideally a therapist that doesn't hand out private information to their clients parents." With that, you took one mouthful of chicken and chewed momentarily before standing and grabbing your jacket that hung on the back of your chair. Your mom followed suit in standing, your dad just about but by the time he actually stood you were already by the door with your jacket slipped around one arm and moving to the next. Your mom grabbed your shoulder and pulled you, abruptly holding you hostage for a moment as you turned to face her. Her one soft features had wrinkled given time, her hair had a few strands of odd white ones that she desperately tried to hide with cheap hair dye but no matter what, you could always see it poking through. Seeing your mom growing old was that reminder that life wasn't going to stop and wait until you made up your mind about things, about how you wanted to live your life and leaving med school seemed like a better idea in your head when you thought about it for weeks on end.

"Your therapist spoke to us because you are our daughter, it is our duty as parents," there was a waver in her voice, like an array of emotions were showing through that you couldn't read off her face so well. Being her only daughter, you brought more stress upon this woman than you would've liked too but your relationship with your mom was always a pretty messy one. Hell, one time you refused to speak to each other for a month because of how stubborn you both were. "Bullshit," you spat, your lips wobbled into a frown as your head began to shake, you could hear the way each lie laced her very voice. "You palmed off some money to her, didn't you? I'm not an idiot." And there it was, your mothers silence which could only confirm your guilt. "I'm leaving, see you another time."

As you finished peeling your jacket on, you turned the handle to the door and stepped out into the cold air. Autumn, a couple months prior to your attack. Cold, wet, dreary, the best weather in your opinion. As you walked down the porch steps of your mom's house, the security light switched on as it alerted your presence and there, just out front you could see your car. It was a scrap of metal, nothing amazing, nothing expensive but it worked and really, that was all you needed. You could feel the eyes of your mom lingering on your very being as you got into the car and slammed the door shut. Truth be told, if she wasn't standing at the door watching you as intently as she was now, you would've probably been punching your steering wheel for even allowing yourself into this very position in the first place. Glancing over at your mom, your heart throbbed for a moment and you sucked in a steady breath before giving her a gentle wave, pushing the key into the ignition and letting your crappy car roar to life. That was something you never did, leave on bad terms. Fuck, mom could've dropped dead tomorrow and the last time you spoke to her was about some petty argument.

The drive back to your apartment was slow, you could've sworn luck was not on your side tonight because you were hitting every damned red light imaginable along the way. Just as your pulled up at the parking of your apartment block, a light drizzle of rain started and that was enough to tell you already that you should hit the hay and call it a day. Stepping up the stairs of the building block, you turned and headed toward the direction of your door. Considering you were short of money already, the apartment block wasn't a great one. The neighbours were loud, the carpet of the halls felt sticky every time you stepped on it and your mail would always end up disappearing or ending up in someone's else's mailbox. It was whatever though, right? You had an apartment, a tv, bed and the basic needs like a toilet and shower. What it was. If you could get some work, all you needed was to put some money aside in your savings to hopefully find somewhere better.

Fumbling with the keys in hand, you found the right one and lifted it to push it inside the lock of your door before the sound of anther door opening on your right caught your attention. Anne. She was probably the only neighbour you liked, she was kind and sweet, the occasional arguing you could hear in her apartment was questionable but really, you never found yourself asking her about it because it was her business what happened behind her apartment door. "Hey," she called out and immediately you turned to her, giving a soft brief smile. You were not in the mood for a chat and Anne didn't seem like she was in the best spot either. There were bags under her eyes and she seemed exhausted. "Hi," you replied, short and quick, hoping that maybe she'd get the hint you weren't in much of a talkative mood. "Got something for you." That raised enough interest from you and your head perked up a little, a brow raised in a questioning manner. Before you could give a soft hum, she disappear momentarily like she was fishing for something behind her door and soon she reappeared. It was an envelope, a brown one exact and it looked like your name was written pretty poorly on it, like a child had done it. "What's this?" you found yourself asking as you reached out to take it from her hand. Anne gave a shrug. "Dunno, was in your letter box. Thought I'd save you the effort of looking. Don't worry, I didn't open it, just wanted to hold onto it for you." A kind enough gesture, sure, but did she really have to go through your mail box? Seriously, your mail boxes need keys and locks or something to prevent this from happening. Maybe Anne was just trying to be neighbourly, sure. With a soft smile, you held it up and approached back to your door before pushing it open with your foot. "Thanks, Anne."

Flicking the lights on and pulling the keys out the lock of the door, you used your back to close it behind you and immediately your interest was diverted to that brown envelope. Who the fuck was sending you mail? With no return address either? Not only that, it looked like a kid had written your name on the front. There was slight hesitation as you flipped it around to open it, like a sort of feeling you get when there's paranoia of impending doom. Before you could let your mind ponder on it for any longer, you decided to rip it open and pull out the contents. It was a white letter, folded and as you began to pull it from the envelope itself, you could see what looked like sharpie marks that had bled through the white paper. Narrowing your eyes for a moment, your heart was thumping. Why? Why were you so scared?

'Don't be so angry at your mom.' The letter wrote, the same, sloppy handwriting that was written on the envelope to begin with and now your heart was really pounding. This was recent, too recent, like half an hour recent, surely? You just left your moms house, there was no way you saw anybody near your moms house and how did they know you were pissed at her? Questions flood your mind in a state of panic and now you felt your heart in your ass. Flipping the paper, frantically to look for more answers, you were left in the dark. Why were your hands trembling? Dropping the letter on the small table by the door, you swung it open and immediately began marching to Annes door. She had to have been connected to this, she took your mail to begin with. This all wasn't making sense as your fist began to pound frantically against the wood of her door. There was a beat of nothing, your foot tapping impatiently before you began to hound her door again. The fifth knock and suddenly the door swung open. Not all the way so you could look inside her apartment, just a fraction so her head and face were just about visible and squished between the door itself and the wall next to her.

"Holy, you okay? Knocking pretty-" You cut her off, there was no time for blatant chit chat. "That letter. Who gave it to you?" you were talking so fast that it felt like your words were slurring and your cheeks felt red, like the sheer panic was hitting you harder than you could've imagined. Was it really this big of a deal? Were you overreacting? Before your mind could blurt out more questions at Anne's face, your noticed her nose bleeding and suddenly you felt like an asshole for not noticing it sooner. "Holy shit, your nose, you're bleeding." Anne lifted a finger quickly to touch her upper lip before taking a glance at her finger, like she was suspicious to even believe you. "Yeah, it happens a lot." Anne forced a smile, a smile you could so plainly see through and before you could begin hounding her with questions again, her face disappeared and you found the door closing on you. Shoving a foot between the door, it stopped abruptly before Anne's face reappeared. She looked desperate, a look that almost screamed like she needed help and yet, you were so oblivious to notice. "Anne," you urged, the desperation laced your voice and she didn't hesitate to notice the state that you were in but it wasn't like she reacted in any way, that same, eery smile was plastered across her face. "That letter, where did it come from?" Anne's lip trembled, like she was about to burst into tears and she quickly shook her head. "I'm sorry," she spoke in a hushed whisper, like people were listening to her and she was frantically looking up and down the hall in a paranoid manner. "I had to, I had to, otherwise they wouldn't leave me alone, I had no choice, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Your face contorted into one of confusion, everything she was saying made no sense, neither her mannerisms and how she was reacting. Your eyes were searching for a hopeless answer and quickly, Anne used her own foot to push yours out from her door and there your answer remained, with the door slammed shut in your face, leaving you to stare at the designs of the wood, speechless and lost.

Raising a hand, you ran it through your hair and felt the tremble. You knew this place was weird, but what the fuck was that? You hesitated, almost wanting to knock again and demand answers but now your brain was running through the words she spoke, desperately searching for a clue, an answer. Little did you know, it had already ended for Anne. She was only passing this problem onto you and it all started with that brown envelope.

Weeks passed and then months, nobody had heard from Anne. The sound of her tv which was heard through your paper thin walls of the apartment was now silent, the soft arguing that sometimes broke out was now naught and you couldn't help but think back on that night where you hounded her for questions. The hopeless apologies she gave you, the desperation in her voice and the way her nose started to bleed almost out of nowhere. A part of you couldn't help but feel it was your fault, for almost harassing her over what seemed like nothing now. Sure, the letter was creepy but it actually didn't feel like that big of an issue in the long run. You hadn't received anymore letters and you had just about managed to convince yourself it was nothing but a prank.

Your worries for Anne only increased when each time you left your apartment, there was a smell that lingered and burned at your nostrils. It was foul. putrid, enough to make you want to heave and each time, you had to pull your shirt up and over your nose to try and block out the smell. Maybe it was a plumbing issue, which wouldn't be a surprise considering this place was a shit hole but the smell lasted for weeks, to the point where your concerns and worries for Anne only increased. It had been almost two months now and as you laid in bed, the smell was drifting almost under your door and hitting you in the face. It was a smell you couldn't even pinpoint, a smell that made you shiver. The only way you could really describe it was like rotting garbage except there was a hint of fruity, rotting undertones. Had the animals gotten at the garbage outside? No, that smell had to be lingering from Anne's apartment and another week of this shit, you were gonna call quits. Pushing the covers off your torso, you slid your feet off the bed and reached out for your phone. It was on the bedside cabinet and the bright light of the screen as you unlocked it hit your tired eyes harder than imagined. You opened up the dial pad and let your fingers hit 911. You hesitated, your gaze glossing over at the time at the top of your phone. It was late and if Anne was okay, this would be a pretty shitty wake up call for her. Your gut was telling you otherwise and soon enough, you found yourself on the phone reporting the crime.

Crime. Your mind was wandering now as they call responder was speaking but it was falling upon deaf ears. Was this a crime? You bit your lip and found yourself hanging up shortly after they confirmed that officers were on your way. Going back to sleep now would be a shitty thing to do and you were wide awake, so you picked up a crappy shirt that had holes and bleach marks scattered across it before slipping it on and over your frame. You took a moment to rub the sleep from your eyes before emerging from your room, taking in the surroundings of what your apartment looked like before heading to grab a glass of water. The water was short lived, you felt so sick at the smell that you could find yourself tasting it with each sip you took so decided to settle with leaving it on the kitchen counter. As you leant against the counter of the kitchen, something caught your attention. Right there, on the coffee table that sat in your living room was that brown envelope. You froze for a moment. You threw that shit out, you were certain of it and now it was sat in your living room? Cautiously, you flicked on the lights to illuminate the living area before stepping over to the coffee table. The brown wrapping of the envelope was pristine, like it had never been torn and you reached down to pick it up and flip it over. It had been torn and upon pulling out the contents, it was the same letter you have received the night you confronted Anne about it. Now you felt a little crazy, why was it here? You hadn't seen it in months and now it turns up again, a little reminder that it happened and that you shouldn't forget about it.

There was a soft knock on your door and you felt your frame jump at the noise, quickly and almost carelessly dropping the envelope down onto the counter before approaching the door to open it. Two officers stood, tall and a little damp from what you assumed was from the light rainfall that was pattering against your window. The first officer that was closest to the door had almost buzzcut hair, a light shade of brown and his partner behind him had more longer hair but tied into a bun. They already seemed repulsed by the smell and it was a relief almost that you weren't the only one who noticed it. "Evening, ma'am," the officer who stood closer to the door spoke and you gave a small nod to acknowledge them. "Next door, you smell it too, I can tell by your face. Look, I don't know, maybe a welfare check or something?" you felt a small urge like plea in your voice, like you actually cared about Anne despite your not so frequent interactions with one another. The officer gave a nod, turning to look at the direction of where Anne's door was. "Know much about her?" the officer with the man bun spoke now and you felt yourself awkwardly fidgeting with the bottom of your shirt. "Her names Anne, she's probably like.. late twenties I think? We don't speak much," you paused, there was hesitation and the officers took note of that. The envelope, what she said to you, you pursed your lips and gave a shrug. "That's all I know." The first officer who knocked gave a nod and turned to his partner. "Let's give a knock, no answer and we'll break down the door. That smell.." his voice lingered and his partner spoke up. "Only smelt it once at a suicide." That stuck with you and your jaw clenched. Suicide? Was he saying this smell was.. a dead person?

Unsure on what to do, you watched and listened intently before the officer closest gave you a nod. "We'll take it from here," he said with a reassuring smile before stepping away. You hesitated, not closing the door as you heard them knocking and calling out for her name not far. You felt conflicted, would it be wrong to wait around and take a peek inside her apartment? Turning, you walked back to your room to slip on some shorts and make yourself at least half decent before sliding on some sliders and stepping out from your apartment. You left the door open for now, seeming as you were pretty close and let your arms wrap around your frame in an attempt for some warmth. The first cop withdrew his gun and giving a nod to his partner, his friend did the same and quickly they kicked the door down. The smell was like nothing now the door was open and you found yourself gagging, eyes watering and you had to step away, attempting to wave a hand in front of your face in a desperate attempt for some clean, fresh air. The officers were more than appalled too but they reacted better than you had and began to step inside. Curiosity nagged at you, harder than anything and you found yourself taking slow steps toward the door of her apartment to peek inside.

It was dark and as the first cop tried the light switch, it was evident her power was out. Had she packed up and left? Maybe the smell was just rotting food from her fridge she forgot to clean out? But then you glanced at the side, where the shoe rack was and there was an array of beautiful shoes. From red heels, to grubby sneakers and wedgies that had a little bow on top. A little snippet of Anne's life you never bothered to put interest into. As you edged closer, you could see that now the cops were using flashlights and that was when you saw it. No, not it, Anne. A bloated corpse, her red hair tangled, her arms above her head as she laid on the floor by her coach. It looked like she was leaking body fluids as there was a soft, brown line around her body and only now, it explained the smell more than anything. Throwing your hands up to your mouth, you just couldn't peel your eyes away. There was so much to look at. Maybe it was that she was actually missing facial features, maybe it was the endless and endless amounts of paper that were scattered across her floor, wall and table. Drawings of some kind, etchings, there were writings too but you couldn't make it out and it wasn't until you glanced at the counter in her kitchen, you noticed something too familiar.

A brown envelope, neatly tucked just above the endless amounts of paper and your heart was thumping. You could feel it in your chest, there was a lump in your throat and now suddenly, with the excess of saliva building up in your throat, you were running back to your apartment begging and hoping you would make the toilet in time to throw up. Your throat burned at the acid, your eyes watering as you tried to erase that imagine of Anne in your mind and now the guilt was eating away at you more than you could've imagine. You had to look again, you just had to and now you found yourself wiping your mouth clean and stepping back out your apartment to glance back in. There was no sign of struggle, but who the fuck bludgeoned her face beyond recognition? You peeled your eyes away, a hand pressed to your forehead in disbelief. The first smell you should've called in, you should've knocked and checked before this happened. Her words now were repeating in your mind.

'I had to, otherwise they wouldn't leave me alone. I'm sorry.'

Who was they? Was she murdered? Your forehead grew sweaty and as you found yourself gazing down the hall, your mind an array of questions and 'what ifs,' you saw a door open a couple doors down and it caught your attention. You wouldn't say you were well acquainted with all your neighbours, but you could always point out a new face when you saw one and that was just it. You've been in this apartment complex for at least nearly two years now and you hadn't once noticed this stranger who was emerging from an apartment down the hall. Had you completely missed that he had moved in? Narrowing your eyes, you noticed tuffs of messy brown hair and his same, almost piercing brown eyes glaring back at you. There was something about his eyes, or the way he was looking at you in general that made you feel a pang of anxiety deep in the pit of your stomach and you swallowed back the urge to heave again. "Hey..!" you called out, now wasn't the time for introductions, sure, but you had to at least confide in a neighbour, right? You found yourself approaching and now this guy was at least taller than you, which already made you regret your decision to approach in the first place. As you grew closer, you saw the door quickly coming to a close and you reached your hand out to stop it. "Hey-" you said again, a little softer and friendlier this time before a voice cut you off. "N—.. Not interested, lady-.." You narrowed your eyes, that was pretty rude so you pressed again, not letting that door get shut in your face. "You smelt it too, didn't you? It's not hard to miss-" before you could even finish your sentence, the door swung open and you nearly fell flat before catching yourself with your foot.

The guy inside emerged, tall, maybe just about pushing six foot even and he had brown, messy hair. There were visible bags under his eyes and he was so pale, like he never left his apartment. Your eyes immediately noticed the gauze on the side of his face, covering just the corner of his lip and cheek and you pulled your eyes away to not seem rude. He took a look at you, his jaw clenched and he peered back down the hall. The officers had emerged and it seemed they were calling for some more units on the scene. Your gaze followed momentarily but you quickly looked back at him, it was hard to even catch a peek of what was inside his apartment as everything was dark. Not much of a surprise considering it was late. "Sh— Shame.. isn't it?" he spoke, his voice was husky and you noticed the the way he stammered and occasionally almost ticked as he stood in his doorway. You narrowed your eyes questioningly. "Well, she obviously k-k.. killed herself." His words hurt harder than you imagined. "How do you know-" you were cut off again. "I j-j-just moved in," he seemed pretty bothered by something, you could maybe only assume it was his stammer. Then he clicked and his head twitched, you tried to ignore it. "Toby." There was no handshake and awkwardly, you shuffled in your spot. Pursing your lips, you forced a friendly smile. This was a weird night. "Y/N." Toby finally forced a smile but it didn't seem very inviting, it was the opposite and now you felt a little uneasy. "I should go sleep, work in the morning.." you mumbled. You were unemployed, that was just an excuse to get out of this guys weird fucking aura. "S-S-S-.." he clenched his jaw, clearing his throat. "Sure."

Feeling his eyes on you, you turned and walked back to your apartment. Who the fuck was that guy and why was he giving super weird, creepy vibes? Before you stepped inside your apartment, you glanced at Anne's door and your heart twinged a little. You felt so.. guilty and upset but you could only hope morning would give more answers to the endless questions you were going to plague yourself with. Shooting a glance back up at Toby, he quickly slammed his door shut and you felt that pang of uneasiness again. As you dragged your feet in and shut your own door behind you, taking note to lock it, your eyes slowly creeped back to that envelope. Before you could consider the endless possibilities of how this thing ended back up inside your apartment, you felt something drip down your upper lip and hit your shirt. It was warm and instinctively, you raised a finger to press against your lip.

It was blood.

[wildemaven]

I Wanna Remember

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Rating: M

Content Warning: Allusion to spicy time, language, mostly two idiots in love

A/N: I wrote this last year, right before finding out I was pregnant. So naturally it just sat in my drafts for the past year. It was intended to me more angsty and two parts— but I revised it and went in a different direction with how I originally planned for it to end and I like it better this way. I’m so nervous to put this out into the universe, so please be gentle with me.

Also, thank you thank you to @just-here-for-the-moment for beta reading this for me last year! She’s such a gem!

The title is based off the song I Wanna Remember by NEEDTOBREATHE

Masterlist

You’re late. Sitting in the back of this musty cab, your phone buzzes. It’s probably one of the guys wondering if you’ve left yet. Pulling your phone from your purse you see a text notification from Benny light up your screen.

-You on your way yet??-

-Yeah, I should be there in like 10 minutes. Got a late start but I’ll be there shortly-

You breathe out a heavy sigh, head falling back on the head rest, eyes closing if only for a brief moment. You turn your gaze out the window to see the houses and trees that lined the streets blur together as the car made its way across town, a drive you knew by heart and took regularly, the route to Will’s house. Lost in thought, your brain feeling like it’s going a million miles a minute, going over every detail making sure you weren’t forgetting anything important.

Tomorrow you would be driving across few states to the place you previously called home—California, to the house you grew up in. A place you hadn’t been back to since moving 4 years ago after taking a freelance job on a whim. And now you were making the trek back. Your mom oblivious to the fact you were just wanting to grab the rest of your things at your parent’s home and your storage unit you were tired of paying for, selling off anything too big to bring back. She was never fond of you moving away, especially states away and she still holds resentment towards you for it. But you are a capable adult, who is capable of making your own adult decisions.

Another sigh escapes.

If you hadn’t moved here when you did and by chance stopped into that dive bar across town on your first evening in, where after a few beers you were in a heated match of pool with 4 ex-Special Force members, you probably wouldn’t even be heading to this BBQ at this very moment. Some would call that fate.

The car came to a stop and pulled you from your reflection. Grabbing your things as you exited and thanking the driver, you made your way up the drive way. Will’s home had become a sort of hang-out hub for you all. It was decent in size and had a pool, so it only made sense to migrate to his place on summer nights when bars and fight nights weren’t on the schedule.

You could already hear the music booming from the front as you rounded the side of the house. Benny must have been in charge of the playlist because it was definitely a familiar 90s tune blaring for the entire block to hear, Third Eye Blind if you were to take a guess. Which also meant that Frankie must have lost a bet since he had some unwritten rule about whoever was cooking was choosing the music and since he was always in charge, it was repeatedly his playlist of Queen, Prince, Fleetwood Mac roaring through the speakers. Frankie had dubbed himself the backyard chef too on his own accord, which could have been purely a control thing or it was because there was a point and time when Will burnt an entire package of hotdogs—how that was even possible is still beyond anyone’s comprehension.

You pushed through the side gate to find everyone already in full cookout mode. Table filled with an array of finger foods and coolers overflowing with what looked like favorite beers and waters. You were going to miss this sight while you were away. Your favorite people all together. A rare occurrence with Santi all over the world for his line of work, Will traveling for his speaking engagements and Benny doing his MMA fighting, he was either in the gym or prepping for an upcoming fight. Frankie ran his own business in town so he was always around and up for hanging out even if it was just the two of you eating take out on his couch binge watching some show you’d both seen a hundred times already.

“Look who finally decided to show! We were getting worried that you might have found a better looking group of friends to hang with.” Santi hollered making his way over to you, pulling you in for a hug and grabbing the case of beer you had brought. A better looking group of friends than what was on display before you??- Doubtful!

“You know, I had asked them to hang out, but they were all busy. So here I am with you idiots instead.” Sarcastic banter was what had sold the guys, you could keep up with their remarks without skipping a beat.

“Ouch! That was a low blow, even for you.” Will dramatically clutching his chest before wrapping you in his arms for a quick squeeze.

“I only kid. Can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be. Plus, after the long drive a head of me, I need a kick back evening, even if it’s with you fellows.” You quipped shooting him a wink.

“We’re gonna miss you. Several weeks is going to be a long time without our girl here to keep us in check.” Will said hip checking you as he made his way over to the outside bar. “Also, I got all the ingredients for that drink I was telling you about. You want one??”

“Yeah! You’ve been talking it up so much, I guess I have to try it now.”

Since Will was no longer allowed with in a 10-foot radius of the grill, he took it upon himself to come up with specialty drinks each time you all got together. The other guys were generally beer drinkers, unless shots were being poured, so you were usually his go-to taste tester. And you had a great poker face, so even if tasted like pure gasoline, you drank with a smile because the thought of crushing Will’s ego was the last thing you’d ever want.

As you waited for your drink, you gave a once over to the man standing at the grill. Hoping it wasn’t too obvious taking in every bit of Frankie, as if to take a current snapshot for your memory bank to hold you over while you were away. His brow pinched, especially when he was in deep thought or really focused on whatever task at hand, so it was not real surprise to see such a look of concentration while tending to the grill.

“Hey Sunny!” Frankie said snapping you out of your reverie. His head tilted to the side and that lopsided grin putting that damn cute dimple on display.

Sunshine, or Sunny for short, the nickname the guys had granted you with early on when you joined the group. Seemed only fitting being from sunny California, Benny noting it being the “Sunshine State” proudly-- no one really wanting to break his heart and correct him that it was actually Florida. Regardless it stuck and you didn’t mind it.

“Hey Frankie. Thanks again for doing this, I know it was kind of a last minute thing but I really appreciate it.” You said almost nervously making your way towards him with a death grip on your drink. Thankfully the condensation on the cup masking how sweaty your palms were. Were you always this nervous around him? Get it together!

“It’s no problem at all.”

Giving a kiss to your cheek, as your hand came up to rest on his shoulder as you leaned in to him. His soft brown curls on full display sans that well-worn hat of his, brushing against your nose. He smelt of cedar and sandalwood, a scent that had become your favorite. You noticed he had trimmed down his signature patchy beard too, leaving just a touch of hair on his chin and well-groomed mustache—cheekbones on full display.

Fuck he’s gorgeous.

He pulled away still grinning. Your eyes locked with his for a brief moment and you felt as though time stood still. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but this embrace felt different and you didn’t want it to end.

“So, have you let your mom know yet that you’re coming?”

“Not yet. I’ll either call her when I am half way there or just show up and ‘SURPRISE’”

You had shared with Frankie over the years how your relationship with your mother was a strained one. He never judged you or made you feel any sort of guilt, something your mom already did a good deal of whenever you did speak to her.

“It’s not too late. I can still come with, I could be some sort of buffer for you.”

“No Frankie, I’ll be fine. You have so much here that needs you, I couldn’t ask you to just drop everything just for me.” You were so taken aback by his offer, to drop everything in his life just so you didn’t have to be alone in dealing with your mother.

“You don’t have to ask. I- we would do anything for you Sunny.” They would and have, numerous times. But something about the way he stated it, made your stomach do flips.

“Well, I appreciate the offer Frankie. It means a lot knowing you all have my back. But I need to do this on my own and if anything happens, you’re just a phone call away.” Trying your best to stay calm and collected while internally screaming.

From across the way you didn’t notice but Santi had been observing you two while sipping from his beer-- not only in this exact moment, but since you had started hanging with them all those years ago, he was quick to pick up on all the subtle, or not so subtle, quirks you and Frankie shared. The constant inside jokes, spending more time alone together than with the other guys and the way you both could literally talk about anything for hours as if no one else was around. Santi figured you both would have quit this charade a while ago, coming to your senses and just admitting to each other the feelings that were clear as day to everyone else.

“I uh.. I better get back to this,” He said pointing at the sizzling steaks, “Don’t want another burnt food incident on our hands.” His eyebrows raise and head nodding in Will’s direction. You couldn’t help but cover your mouth to muffle your laugh.

“I can fucking hear you!” Will yelled from the makeshift bar “And they weren’t burnt…just slightly crispy.”

Shaking his head, Frankie let out a slight chuckle as he rolled his eyes turning back to the grill. You gave his muscular shoulder another slightly longer squeeze, your hand sliding down to his forearm as you turned to walk over to take a seat. Were you always this hands-on with him??

Francisco Morales, the epitome of everything you wanted not only in a friend, and so much more if you were being completely honest with yourself. He had such a presence about him, with how he carried himself. You’d constantly find yourself lost in his brown eyes while in deep conversation, wishing you could run your fingers through his hair. His hands looked skilled, so very skilled— all calloused and strong. And while he might have been a little more reserved than the others, you found it alluring. Like he saved the best parts of him for only those who he truly cared about.

Your most favorite thing about him was that he was such a good dad, a title he carries proudly. It made your heart swell seeing him with his daughter. He wore a permanent smile when she was around. She was his world and he made sure everyone knew it.

Frankie had a great co-parenting relationship with his ex and made sure to ask Jess if he could have her this weekend so she could see you before you left— knowing how sad she would be not seeing you while you were away. You were grateful she had agreed, Jess had always been kind to you and love the relationship you had with their daughter. You were surely going to miss that toothless grin and full head of gorgeous brown curls boppin’ around.

Mia was a bonus when it came to being friends with Frankie—a built-in bestie who was just shy of 5 years old and loved getting in some fun girl time with you when she was with Frankie. He loved when she painted his nails and did his locks up with colorful burettes, but he admired that you took the time to do these things with her too. Shopping trips where she would talk you into getting the latest Barbie accessory or a new color of slime you knew Frankie would never go for. Ice cream dates at that cute little shop where they always let her taste-test each flavor before settling on a scoop of vanilla with sprinkles every single time. If Frankie was working late, you would offer to grab her from school to make it easy on his schedule. Taking her to the park for a picnic and pushing her on the swings for what always seemed like hours. The car rides home were either silent and filled with soft snoring coming from the back seat or it was windows down, music up while you both sang along to whatever song she requested—being her father’s daughter it was naturally always a Stevie Nicks ballad. She was a ball of energy and constantly on the move but you always managed to keep up.

You’d always wanted kids of your own at some point in your life. At times you thought it might never happen, so getting the chance to be a small part of Mia’s life was something you cherished deeply.

As if on cue, she came running out the back door screaming, with Benny the ‘Tickle Monster’ right on her heels. “Sunny!! Save meeeee!!!” She screeched throwing herself into your lap and you snatched her up quickly wrapping your arms around as is if to create a safe shield over her as Benny came around wiggling his fingers ready to attack. “No Benny!” Her hand shooting up at him telling him to stop. “You can’t get me… Sunny is safe, so you can’t tickle me now!” She declared.

Benny played along with the dramatics and retreated with his hands up in the air. “Whelp, I guess the Tickle Monster has been defeated by the Sun again.” Giving you a wink as he grabbed a chair on the other side of the table.

“I gonna miss you Sunny.” She whispered laying her tiny head on your chest.

“I think I’m going to miss you more. But I will be back before you know it. And then we can go do something fun together, your choice!” You responded sweeping her hair out of her face and placing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll try to find something special to bring back just for you too. But don’t tell the boys!”

She looked up at you, her expression gentle and appreciative. Shifting slightly she wrapper her small arms around your neck giving a peck to the tip of your nose. “Thank you Sunny!!” Both of you exchanging beaming grins.

Before you knew it, Mia was hopping off your lap skipping towards Frankie. From your seat at the table you had the perfect view of him, covertly staring from behind your sunglasses as you continued to enjoy your drink—which was actually really refreshing. His ice-cold beer in one hand and the other cupping the back of Mia’s head playing with her curls as she leaned into his leg while she munched on a juicy slice of watermelon. He was wearing a pair of snug jeans and a well-worn tee- not his usual attire but you definitely weren’t mad about it. Especially with how well the t-shirt emphasized his broad shoulders and those jeans fitting in all the right places.

It wasn’t long before your mind began to drift again, the alcohol aiding in your concocted thoughts about Frankie. Yearning for the fantasy you had conjured up of being with Frankie, wishing it into existence. Sitting in your backyard together every evening, his secure arms wrap around you and pulling you in so his handsome face could nestle into the crook of your neck, whispering how much he adored you while his fingers danced across your skin. The thought instantly giving you goosebumps, a warmth blossoming in your belly. Was that the alcohol’s doing or the rush of dopamine making you feel like you had the literal butterflies??

You gulped down the rest of your drink hoping to shake away any nervousness that was starting to build, when you overheard Mia asking Frankie if she could go for a swim.

“Please Papa! Please can I go swimming!!?” She was in full beg mode now “I already have my swimming suit on and everything!”

The look on his face read like he was trying to figure out how to let her down easy, seeing as he was still cooking and knowing he couldn’t fully watch her from where he was. Her beautiful eyes, that were so similar to his gleaming up at him, pleading with admiration without so much as speaking a single word. He knew he couldn’t say no.

Rising from your chair and making your way over to the two of them, you knelt down and scooped her up into your arms positioning her on your hip. “Let’s go my little M&M.” The nickname you had given her for obvious reasons. “If your Papa is ok with it, I’ll take you to the pool.” You both look in his direction waiting for an answer. Now met with two sets of beautiful pleading eyes, he was done for. He nodded and gave Mia a quick kiss on the forehead before you started making your way to the pool, not before turning your head back to Frankie giving him a wink while he mouthed ‘Thank you’.

Helping Mia get her arm floaties on and situated as she sat on the edge dangling her tiny legs into the cool water. You rid yourself of your outer layer of clothes revealing the new swimsuit you had picked up the other day, with the slightest prospect of a certain someone seeing you in it, today would be a perfect day to show it off especially with how great you felt wearing it.

A quick jump into the water to get yourself acclimated and ready. “Ok, your turn baby girl. Jump in!”

She stood up to her full height full of confidence ready to leap towards you.

“1…2…3—” Jumping as high as her little legs could take her, eyes glued shut as she flew through the air, nose pinched shut with one hand and the other arm reaching in the air. She made contact with the water, fully submersed then bobbing right back up almost instantly wearing the biggest grin. She would swim back to the steps and repeat it all over again, and again and again.

Back on the patio unbeknownst to you Santi was helping Frankie finishing up plating the food.

“Hermano, when are you going to ask her out?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t play stupid with me. We all see it.” Motioning over to Will and Benny who were both nodding in agreement. “The way you look at her, it’s obvious you have feelings for Sunny.”

Heat traveled up Frankie’s neck. He wasn’t embarrassed, not one bit. He just didn’t think anyone had really noticed how much he had fallen for you over the years.

“I don’t know Pope. I don’t think she even likes me like that. We’re friends. Things get complicated when deeper feelings get involved. I don’t want to lose her if I mess something up. Mia would never forgive me.”

“Idiot,” Smacking him upside the head “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she feels equally the same about you as you do her. Plus, look how she is with Mia,” Pointing at the splashing and giggling coming from the pool. “She would stop the world for that little girl.”

Santi was right though, there was no denying the feelings he had for you, those all-consuming, can’t get you out of my head sort of feelings. But he would always get in his head whenever he got up the nerve to even get close to asking you out. Self-doubt setting in, questioning if you even would entertain the thought of dating him. After the split with Jess, he had put jumping back into the dating scene on the back burner wanting to focus on himself and Mia, he wanted to feel whole again before bringing a new person into his world. And he had gone on a multitude of dates, some welcoming a second or third date, but then each fizzling out and him finding himself broken again. Then he met you and he felt like he could breathe, his lungs filling to full capacity, no longer drowning in his negative thoughts, you brought him to the surface. You were driven, witty, selfless— he thought you were too good for him. Yet you somehow weaved your way into his heart, an indication that love was possible after so much loss and pain. Here you were investing your time with his daughter, his friends and him.

The night carried on as the sun set below the horizon, a soft glow emanating from the string lights strung from the house to a large tree, illuminating the backyard just enough to make out faces draped in shadows. Mia had been whisked away by Frankie’s mom at some point, leaving the rest of you to carry on. Music mixed with the heavy chirping of crickets, a true summer time chorus.

A few games of poker turned into round after round of friendly roasting, exchanging stories of memorable one-night stands and their service stories followed by impromptu karaoke battles— mostly between you and Benny, always trying to prove who was more proficient with their knowledge of boy band melodies, and surprisingly Benny always gave you a run for your money.

As it approached midnight, yawns were being exchanged left and right. You did your duties of helping gather trash and bringing food into the kitchen. Making your rounds to say your goodbyes, wrapping each of the guys in a decent hug as they wished you safe travels and reminded you to text them along the way to let them know you were safe.

The street was all but quiet now and the spot where you stood was lit by the overhead street lamp, the soft glow giving light to the dark street. You pulled your phone out as you stood on the sidewalk in front of Will’s house, searching for the app to request a ride back home.

A cool breeze blew through, washing over your previously summer dampened skin sending a chill all over you. Drawn back to your phone ready to finalize your ride request, a familiar voice calls out behind you.

“You need a ride?” You turn to see Frankie strolling up to where you stood, hands in pocket eyes cast directly at you, that smile that you love so much on full display. Your body suddenly buzzing with adrenaline as he came toe to toe with you.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?”

“Yeah, I only had a beer while grilling earlier, I’m good. Plus, I’d rather know you got home safely myself than alone with some random stranger. You can never be too sure these days ya know.” Frankie, always the protector.

“Okay.” You said as you bit your lip and felt your face grow hot, you hadn’t had a drink in a while either so you couldn’t even blame this sudden warmth streaming through you on the alcohol. Why were you feeling nervous all of the sudden?? It’s just Frankie, your friend who’s given you rides on a regular basis, who you’re alone with regularly. Except this feels different and thrilling.

“Okay.” Nodding and flashing that smile that instantly makes you weak in the knees.

****

The drive was quiet, which was unusual for the two of you. Conversations between you always flowed with ease. It was like your brain and mouth just stopped working together, thoughts forming but the moment your mouth was ready to speak them there was nothing. The air almost felt heavy. Like you couldn’t breathe due to him solely existing in such close proximity to you. This drive home was different than the hundreds before this one.

Is he feeling this too??

His old beat-up truck pulled up to the curb outside your cute craftsman style home. You had saved up and purchased it over a year ago with the hopes to fix it up where needed, while still maintaining its charm that you had fallen in love with and was the deciding factor in putting in the offer that was accepted the following day.

He quietly walked you to your front door and you both stood there like teenagers who just finished their first date, not really knowing what the next move was.

“Do you want to come in?” You suggested lightly, breaking the weird silence that was still lingering. Selfishly thinking you could garner a few more hours with him, soak up as much time as you could. “I have a few slices of pizza you like from the other night that I can reheat?”

“Um..I..” He said searching for the right way to respond as his hand rubbed at the back of his neck hoping to ease his nerves. He wanted to come in, wanted to continue on with the night with you, just you. But that small voice slowly inched its way to the forefront of his mind. Skepticism edging out confidence. Were you just being a good friend and asking him in out of friendly obligation like you would Santi, Will or Benny?

“It’s fine.” You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding waving your hands about as you turned to unlock your front door to make your way inside so you could sulk in sadness by yourself, so much for feeling bold and fearless. He clearly would rather be elsewhere than eating old pizza at 1 am. Your chest feeling as if it was caving in—Rejection. You could feel your chest tightening and the tears welling up, trying your best to hold them back, you were not going to cry in front of him. “Don’t worry about it,” Waving him off over your shoulder. “It’s late. I’m sure you have better things to do, like sleep.” You forced out a simple laugh as you pulled your keys from your purse.

He felt his breathing quicken. Pope’s words ring in his mind; “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she feels equally the same about you as you do her.” The last thing he wanted was for you to feel like he didn’t want to be here. And he wouldn’t see you for a few weeks, you could easily meet someone while you were away. So it was now or never. “Fuck it” he whispered out as he grabbed you by the wrist spinning you around tenderly. Keys crashing to the ground as he pulled you into his chest. His hand coming up to cup your face. His gaze fleeting between your eyes and lips.

Carding your hand through his soft curls at his nape, the other gripping the hem of his shirt you pulled him as close as possible, as if you might float away if you let go. Your body was buzzing with electricity in this moment— intoxicating and overwhelmed.

His lips met yours with such delicate ease, so exquisitely soft yet commanding. You craved more, lips parting slowly inviting him to explore. His tongue artful and passionate, proficient in conveying outright lust. Your sensory board overloading, body tingling with heat and fervor.

His skilled hands snaking around to your lower back gripping you tighter, grounding you both in this moment. Of all the times you had envisioned this, Frankie kissing you, this actual moment was beyond anything you could have ever imagined. It felt as if your soul was being freed, bared for him to revel in.

Chests heaving, he pulls away first, forehead rested upon yours. The corners of his glorious mouth turning up as his eyes connect with yours. “Hi.” He exhales out.

“Hey there.” It almost comes out as a giddy giggle. Your hand caressing his neck. His rapid pulse beneath your tender touch.

“Is that invite to come in still on the table?”

“Yeah…” Slowly nodding, still trying regain your breathing. “Yeah, it definitely is.”

Clothes strewn across your floor, not sure where yours start and his end. Both of your tangled bodies among sheets and pillows. Pulling pleasure from each other over and over again. So much want, need—synergistic desire.

At some point exhaustion setting into your worn muscles, bleary in perfect contentment. Warmth radiating off of Frankie’s firm body, his arms enveloping your dazed frame as you began to drift off. The rise and fall of his chest against your back, his nose nestled into your neck. Soft snores fanning across your shoulder. Frankie, here in your bed, making you feel adored and secure. Sleep beginning to pull you under gradually, shifting your body to face Frankie hoping to not wake him. He looked so tranquil and captivating, even in his dream state. Smoothing out his tousled mop and placing a tender kiss to his nose.

“I love you Frankie.” You say just above a sleepy whisper as you begin to succumb to sleep. His arms pulling you close as possible as he murmurs into your hairline, “I love you too Sunshine.”

I wanna remember this moment forever.

[room-surprise]

400+ Views on the Kabru/Mithrun College AU fic!

This sneaky little fucker rolled over past 400 overnight! 🥳 🥳 🥳

Well, here’s a sneak peek at chapter 3 to celebrate. Enjoy!

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“--Slimes in the elevator shaft, and a tentaculus growing in the stairwell!” Marcille was in the middle of saying. “All the common areas are disgusting. As soon as my lease is up I’m getting a new apartment. One in a building that has a real dungonium, not just a courtyard with a pest control problem.”

“Where will you move?” Falin asked, her eyes wide behind her glasses.

“I don’t know,” Marcille huffed, “Hopefully somewhere closer to campus. If your brother would get his own place, I could move in with you...”

“Laios doesn’t make enough to afford that…”

“Didn’t you say he just got a job?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t pay that good.”

“I guess it’s better than being totally unemployed,” Marcille said with a sigh. “But I’m telling you, he’s never going to shape up if you keep babying him. He’s the older sibling! He should be taking care of you!”

“Well… I don’t want him to move out, I like sharing with him…” Falin said reluctantly.

Kabru had never met Falin’s brother, but he’d overheard enough to understand why Marcille had such a negative opinion of the guy. Laios Touden had followed his sister to Vakstran to get away from their parents, something Kabru could relate to, but after arriving, it sounded like all he did was get high and play video games. As far as Kabru knew, their parents didn’t know Laios was here, they sent Falin money every month to pay her bills, and the Touden siblings found some way to make that money stretch to cover two people.

Well, at least he had a job now, that was a step in the right direction. Falin seemed to like him, so maybe he wasn’t a bad guy, just going through a hard time.

“Where’s he working?” Kabru asked, both because he was curious and because he wanted to help Falin get out of the uncomfortable conversation she was stuck in with Marcille.

“Oh, I keep forgetting the name, but it’s a fast food place!” Falin replied, “There’s a clay oven for baking bread, it’s really spicy, they serve curry… Oh! Korma Kitchen. That’s what it’s called.”

“Huh, I didn’t know there was a fast food place that served South Vestran cuisine,” Kabru said, genuinely surprised. He didn’t think of the food from his home region as something that was popular enough with the mainstream to have a fast food chain that featured it. When he’d been growing up, South Vestran food had always been an exotic specialty that was confined to ethnic neighborhoods and specialty grocers, you had to know where to look if you wanted to get it.

But apparently the times were changing. South Vestran culture as a whole had been growing more visible over the last decade, in no small part due to all the immigrants that had been forced out of Vestra by the numerous civil wars that regularly rocked the continent.

Kabru didn’t normally eat fast food, but maybe he’d have to check Korma Kitchen out sometime, just for the novelty of it.

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"Show Me How to Get Off the Ground" Master Post

[windvexer]

Hi! I'm reblogging because it's too many words to reply back.

(Sorry if I'm less coherent today, I was up super late traveling last night and I'm a little brain melty)

In the way that I work sorcery there is a difference between enchanting an item to fulfill a purpose, and then filling that item with power so it can do its job.

If I took an unenchanted item which has never been magically worked over, and then did a proper feeding charm and applied enchanted feeding oil to it, then I wouldn't really expect anything to happen at all. I wouldn't even necessarily expect the current "vibes" of the object to be amplified. It's like taking gasoline and pouring it onto the ground.

To me, the act of enchanting an object is similar to the act of building an engine. Something can be built to fulfill a purpose/function, but lack the gasoline to make the cylinders fire. The feeding oil is the gasoline. It can be applied during the object enchantment process, but also afterwords in the normal course of the spell's life to empower it and recharge it.

But also, for me at least, it's like a numbers thing!

I am a sort of low-energy practitioner and the act of directly feeding/charging any spell using direct energy work is very tiring for me.

When I've got, idk, a protection amulet and it needs to be recharged, sitting down and directly funneling energy into it could literally take an entire day or two of my magical juice. I'm just not high octane enough to do it on my own.

So a solution to that is to dedicate physical offerings to a spell, just as you would offer to a spirit. Oil, food, incense, liquor, honey, etc., are all substitutes to feed/charge a spell when it runs dry. This way, you can sacrifice a physical offering instead of doing direct energy work (so I can feed all my spells in one day and be drained, instead of feeding only one and being absolutely wiped out).

I also believe that properly feeding a spell isn't as easy as smearing some olive oil on the spell jar; there is also a bit of a charm to help the spell "find" the food and gorge on it. This feeding charm takes some amount of energy as you are, I suppose in a certain sense, guiding an astral beast to the physical world and helping it find the smeary oil to feed on.

An enchanted feeding oil simplifies the process a couple of times over, by A) being ritually empowered to be powerfully vivifying to all spells, above and beyond what a simple mundane offering could provide, but also B) by virtue of being enchanted, it's a lot less draining to do the actual feeding process.

If something is already lit up on the astral plane for the purpose of readily combining with a spell, that cuts out a heck of a lot of having to manually work with the spell and get it to feed. It's like if a steak dinner had legs and a neon sign that says "Eat Me!". The feeding oil (or other prepared substance) will do a lot of the legwork on it's own.

At the end of the day, for me, preparing a feeding substance is draining and takes plenty of time and energy as any major ritual would. But, it's something I can do once every several weeks (as I like to regularly re-enchant), and then as needed, I can feed and empower spells very often without draining myself to the point of literal fatigue, headaches, or other issues. So it doesn't take the place of enchanting an object, but it helps out (IMO) a heck of a lot in maintaining an object to keep working as often as I need it to.

(Especially since I find that when I need all of my fancy little magical spells to work, it's because I'm in an emergency, probably a stressful one where much of my energy is already going towards helping those around me, or dealing with a crisis, and I really can't just nope out of life for several days so I can personally charge all my spells. As I mentioned above, for me it's a numbers thing; it's a bigger upfront investment but it pays big dividends)

(Sorry I really hope this addressed your interest, when I get worn out my reading comprehension kind of sucks and it can be hard for me to organize thoughts)

To prepare a feeding oil for spells, for the purpose of charging spell vessels without direct energy work

In my strain of witchcraft, feeding of any spell (such as amulets or wards) is best done by applying a charmed physical substance, such as oil or incense. To use direct energy work is a stopgap solution not suitable for normal upkeep. To imagine the spell refilled with energy, without active energy work, is never a suitable solution.

Feeding of spells can be made from a chore into a breeze (*1950s commercial transition*) with the use of a small quantity of pre-charmed oil, such as olive oil, or any shelf-stable cooking oil (not E.O.). The most basic of these formulas is only a fat or oil with no other ingredients added.

Charming about an ounce or 30ml of oil will last months or more, even if you use it often.

The preparation is best performed on a Monday or full moon, or from the turning from midnight to the new day. Re-enchant the oil as often as desired, especially if it couldn't be initially enchanted under ideal conditions.

Put the entire quantity of oil you want to use in a clean, sealable container. Take the oil to a place free-flowing with magical power, such as under the full moon, in the presence of your allied gods, or within a cast circle teeming with elemental power.

Enter magical headspace through trance or any technique you prefer.

Using a clean stirring stick, or with a very clean finger, stir the oil clockwise while petitioning the powers in your presence. Call to the full moon, gods, elementals, and so forth, and ask them to bless the oil for the purpose of feeding, so that when spells consume it, the spell is revitalized and made fat with power. Speak plainly or plan a rhyme ahead of time. Work over the oil with constant stirring for several minutes, or until every petition is made, or until you have said everything that needs to be said.

When intuition advises, or when there's nothing left to be done, perform a sealing charm ("so mote it be" or variants) over the oil.

Thank all present powers and, if your tradition recommends it, provide payment as necessary.

If any energy is left raised, ground all of it into the oil.

Seal and set aside. Close the ritual as you normally do.

To feed a spell as you are casting it, or after it has been cast, dab a bit of the oil onto a tissue or Q-tip and wipe it on the spell vessel. Avoid sticking fingers into the jar as bacteria helps oils go rancid.

Re-enchant the oil in the same method as often as you like. To top off the oil, add more oil and re-enchant.

[gossip-girl-of-middleearth]

Imagine helping Legolas deal with a sprained ankle

It was all your fault, so Legolas would say.

“If you hadn’t had been so reckless, I wouldn’t have had to jump down from the boulder to assist you with the orc,” he’d complain regularly, from his position forcibly laying down in his sleeping pack with an elevated foot.

Whenever he’d try to rise again to bicker louder with you, a tending Aragorn would push him down again with a hand to his chest.

It was funny the first few days, you couldn’t lie, but now? Well, now it was just sad.

Legolas prided himself on his athletic ability, that much was obvious to you and the rest of the Fellowship early into your journey.

He’d regularly prance ahead like a young foal, or walk across snow with a smug smirk on his face. He was the strongest member there, and never let anyone forget it. This is also why he took injury the worst out of everyone.

It wasn’t, in all actuality, technically your fault. You needed help with an orc, yes, but Legolas timing his jump wrong and spraining his ankle had nothing to do with you.

Alas, he was gaining cabin fever from his immobilised state, therefore anger was bubbling in his chest—directed at you. You didn’t take it personally, but it was starting to wear down on you.

The walks through the days were slower, as Legolas would limp along with a homemade walking stick, fashioned out of a long branch.

Whenever he’d notice you or someone else looking at him over his shoulder, as he bared his teeth in wincing hurt, he’d quickly glare and push on harder.

You’d softly shake your head, but look away regardless.

It was unnatural to see an elf in such a state, like roses freezing over. Even more so, it was unnatural to see Legolas so grumpy. He was quite light-hearted at the beginning of the journey—you remember making a mental note that he’d probably be one of the best to hang around with due to so.

Alas, his sprained ankle and no doubt self-inflicted embarrassment brought the deeply rooted competitiveness out within him.

You were all sat around a fire tonight (save for Boromir and Gimli, who were off scouting the area), like many other evenings—laughing and pulling rabbit meat off of a skewer.

Legolas was a few yards away, pouting in his sleeping bag. You had brought his food to him a few minutes earlier, but he turned you away and claimed he wasn’t hungry.

“You’ll need sustenance to heal, little elf,” you laughed, trying to humour him.

All you received was a gruff grunt, and, “Don’t tell me how elves heal—I’m quite aware of my own race, thank you very much.”

You heard Pippin hissing through a wince, and bared your own teeth in cringe as you turned on your heel and headed back towards the campfire.

“Pay him no mind,” Aragorn said, leaning across to you. “Elves, especially the Mirkwood strain, are very prideful folk. He’ll come to his senses once his foot heals.”

“I can’t imagine it’ll heal anytime soon if he keeps pushing himself every day like he’s doing,” you pointed out.

Aragorn sighed. “That is entirely Thranduil’s blood coming out in him.”

“Remind me to never step foot in Mirkwood then,” you grinned.

Aragorn gave a toothy smile back, and bonked his skewer with yours in a “cheers to that” motion.

You could feel Legolas’ eyes burning into the back of your head, but paid it no mind. You didn’t dare glance over your shoulder, lest Mordor freeze over.

The rest of the camp continued on in low chatter, that is until Boromir and Gimli came rushing back—completely out of breath.

“What is it?” Aragorn asked right away.

“Orc scouts,” Boromir answered, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Thirty, give or take, approaching from the west.”

The camp looked around at each other quickly in fright, before Aragorn jumped into action. Rising to his feet, he grabbed his sword and dictated everyone else to do the same.

“We’ll meet them half way and use the element of surprise,” he said.

Legolas began rising to his own feet, though, a great deal of strained effort was noticeable on his end.

“I’m coming, I just need to get my bow,” Legolas announced, barely able to move the foot resting on a sleeping pack.

“No, not you, mellon nîn,” said Aragorn, upholding a hand and motioning for Legolas to lay down again. “Please, stay behind. Though your valiance is admirable, you will only get in the way of this fight. Rest, and fight when your ankle heals.”

Legolas’ face contorted in hurt, and you imagined this was the first time the athletic prince had ever been sidelined.

You all stood around in misplaced guilt, fiddling with your swords and avoiding eye contact with Legolas.

Finally, the elf’s jaw set, and he forcibly fell back down into sheets—turning over and pulling the covers up over his shoulder.

“We can’t leave him vulnerable,” Sam pointed out, whispering quietly as to not anger Legolas further. However, you could see his pointed ears twitching back, and knew he heard every gut-punching word.

Aragorn nodded, and turned his eyes to you. The hobbits had to stay under the protection of Aragorn, and leaving Frodo and the Ring out of sight and alone behind in the camp simply wasn’t an option.

Aragorn gestured between you and Legolas discreetly. Understanding his words, you dropped your shoulders and sighed.

“I’ll stay back and tend to the camp,” you announced.

The rest of the Fellowship gave you an apologetic look, before running off into the forest towards the orcs.

You were soon left with the silence of the camp, save for the angered breathing of Legolas and the crackling of the dimming fire.

Stood there unsure of what to do in the awkward space, you continued fiddling with the pommel of your sword, and looked at Legolas.

His back was rising and falling quickly—clearly infuriated with the whole situation. You felt bad for him, you really did, but you were still unsure of how to approach him.

Looking down to the fire again, you saw untouched skewers of meat, and arrived at a resolution.

With the food in hand, you walked over to the prince. He could hear you coming, and with every crunch of your boots on the foliage, his eyes twitched.

Sitting down beside his back, you placed a hand on the broad of his shoulder and shook him gently. “The rabbit smells really good, and has that beautiful, slightly charred smoky taste. Seems a waste to not eat it, no?”

“Not hungry,” Legolas grumbled.

“You need to heal your ankle, Legolas,” you said again, this time sterner. “You need to ea—”

“Not. Hungry.”

Thinning your lips, you shook your head down at Legolas in disappointment. “Legolas, I know you’re upset with me regarding your ankle, but holding a grudge isn’t going to—”

He swiftly turned over in his pack, and stared at the dimming fire.

“We need more firewood,” he said, glaring at the dying flames.

You followed his line of sight, and noticed he was indeed right. However, you recalled the orcs and what Aragorn expected of you.

“We’ll just have to wait for the others. I can’t leave the camp to fetch more, and I definitely can’t leave you vulnerable to—”

“Ugh! I’ll do it myself!” Legolas exclaimed. He rose swiftly and tried limping out into the woods with clenched fists and squared shoulders.

“Legolas!” you called, quickly grabbing your sword and cursing under your breath. “Wait! You shouldn’t be on that ankle!”

But he was already marching on.

Heading a few strides out into the forest, Legolas went farther and farther to find the best firewood. You ran behind him, surprised he could go so far for someone who was injured.

“Wait!” you yelled again, finally jumping out in front of him. “Go back to sleep, Legolas. Now.”

He merely glared at you, and stepped around your form—pushing on.

Groaning in frustration, you turned around and pulled on his shoulder. “I’m serious, Legolas! There are orcs out here at the moment, and I need to stay by the camp!”

“Then you can go back,” Legolas growled, forcibly shoving your hand off of his shoulder. “I don’t need to be babysat by you.”

“No,” you agreed, “but you do need my help with your ankle!”

Grabbing the bottom of his cloak, you started pulling him back towards the camp.

“Let go!” he shouted, digging his one good heel into the ground and pulling his cape back—initiating a tug of war between you both.

“No!” you denied, pulling the cloak again. “You’re coming back with me, and that’s final!”

“NO!” Pull. “I’m helping by getting firewood!”

Yank. “You’re not helping at all! You’re putting me in a tough situation instead!”

“It’s not your problem!” Tug.

“Yes, it is!” you exclaimed, pulling the cloak one more time. “It is my problem, because you’ve become a HUGE problem for the entire Fellowship!”

Upon pulling one last time, Legolas lost his footing and tripped, causing you both to fall down.

You each groaned in pain as your backs were sprawled across the foliage. Legolas was the first to sit up, but immediately yelped in pain as he did so.

He held his ankle tight, and bared his teeth as to stop himself from crying out.

“It’s worse,” he whispered, avoiding your eyes. “My ankle—I think I hurt it more.”

You stared at Legolas in horror, as he clutched said sore ankle. You sat up next to him, and ran a finger along it.

He jolted immediately, and fought back another cry by biting down on his bottom lip.

“Dammit, Legolas…” you cursed, furrowing your brows and shaking your head. “Why couldn’t you have just listened to me? You need to rest.”

Upon glaring up at him, you were taken aback, for there were unshed tears in the elf’s eyes. He was clearly holding himself back from letting them fall, as he sniffled and studied his ankle.

“Legolas?” you called softly, reaching a hand up and gently directing his chin to face you. “What’s going on with you?”

Letting the first tear fall, and swallowing the lump in his throat, Legolas spoke up in a quiet voice—finally unbottling his emotions.

“I’m supposed to be the athlete,” he said, studying your eyes before looking down again. “I was always the best in training. I’ve pushed myself through rain, mud and more, because I’ve always been the best. And now? Now I can’t even fetch firewood for my friends...”

Sympathy overtook your eyes, as you suddenly understood the elf.

“You still are the best here, Legolas,” you promised, trying to catch his eyes as he averted them. “A sprained ankle means nothing in the grand scheme of it. You are, without a doubt, the strongest one of us here. None of us think differently of you simply because you’re hurt.”

“But I feel so useless!” he exclaimed, letting a few more tears fall. “My friends are out there right now pulling their own weight against the orcs, and I’m stuck here crying on the ground because I can’t even walk.”

“But you will walk again,” you assured him, turning his chin once more. “And when that day comes—which isn’t too far off, mind you—those orcs will wish they hadn’t ever left Mordor.”

You laughed brightly for a moment in afterthought, earning a smile from Legolas.

“What?” he asked gently.

“Do you remember how you took that cave troll down in Moria?” you chuckled again, thinking of the memory. “You scaled atop the darn thing and shot two arrows into its brain!”

“Three…” Legolas sheepishly corrected, now grinning in a shy way.

“Three,” you annulled, grinning back up at him. “Trust me, Legolas. Your friends think nothing less of you than pure amazing talent. Don’t let it eat away at you.”

Legolas nodded to himself for a moment, before another sheepish grin formed on his lips. “Speaking of eating…are there any of those rabbit meat skewers still left back at camp?”

You smiled warmly, and helped him up.

He tentatively accepted your aid, and slowly wrapped an arm over your shoulder, as you helped him limp back to camp.

“C’mon, athlete. Let’s get you some food.”