#what do mulberries taste like

[crzygthumbs]

Munch Mulberries Much?

Tons of Dwarf ever bearing mulberries. Morus nigra are supposed to be the best tasting of the mulberries. If you look online, experts on mulberries say the dwarf ever bearing variety is not a nigra. So, even nurseries mislabel this tree. If you want the nitty gritty try this link. These were sold to me as: “Dwarf everbearing morus nigra” the link above says that that is not correct: That…

[fthrdvs]

Munch Mulberries Much?

Tons of Dwarf ever bearing mulberries. Morus nigra are supposed to be the best tasting of the mulberries. If you look online, experts on mulberries say the dwarf ever bearing variety is not a nigra. So, even nurseries mislabel this tree. If you want the nitty gritty try this link. These were sold to me as: “Dwarf everbearing morus nigra” the link above says that that is not correct: That…

[http-tokki]

one more please- choso kamo

~ tattoo artist!choso kamo x fem!reader ~tags/cw: mature content, smut, explicit language, established relationships,choso being a lil freak and having a thing for your legs ~ wc: 1.1k ~ not proofread. posted at 2am

Choso has a weird thing for your legs. not your feet, your legs; from the top of your thigh to your ankle, your boyfriend was obsessed with your soft skin. always touching you in some form or another (whether it be soft strokes up the expanse of your plush thigh or absent-minded tracings of the lines that make up your tattoos) his fingers are always ghosting over your skin in tender touches, but tonight, there is something different about him. a man possessed, desperate, feral.

As per usual, Choso has your legs slung over his shoulders as he bullies your poor pussy with his fat cock. he often jokes that this position is a two-for-one; he gets to touch your legs and watch as his cock disappears in you, creamy white rings accumulating at the base and dripping down your cunt and onto the towel below, spurring him to keep going and pump you full. on a good day, he couldn't get enough of you but today, there has to be something in the air or the planets and stars because Choso is relentless in his need to be within you.

"Cho, baby, we can, hnng, take a break if you, hmph, need one." you are barely able to get the words out as your body jolts upwards at a particular sharp series of thrusts. "you've cum, fuck, three times already." you grip onto his muscular arms, nails digging red crescents into what untattooed skin remained.

Choso shakes his head. "need one more." a hand wraps around your calf. "please, princess."

You nod, staring up at your gorgeous boyfriend and marvelling at how utterly feral he looks. His hair is mused and hanging to his shoulders in soft, freshly washed waves. His cheeks glow red in the dim light, and sweat covers his skin in a celestial glow. His mulberry eyes are trained on the spot where you two are connected. His jaw is slack as drool begins to collect on his tongue.

"You're drooling." you point out, giggle turning into a huff as he fucked into you again.

choso opens his mouth further, sticking his tongue out as a signal for you to do the same. a fat glob of saliva is dropped from his mouth to yours, the taste of menthol, coffee, you and him mix on your tongue as you swallow. That action seems to wake your boyfriend up as he turns his head to the side, begins to kiss across your ankle, and bites on whatever skin he can find to purchase.

"toy." he blurts out, words mumbled as he continues to kiss down your leg. when you don't react to this strange outburst he clarifies with a rushed "Get your toy, I wanna feel you cum with me"

you blindly reach out to the bedside table, fingers scrambling to find the small but mighty vibrator that had been both yours and Choso's best friend since the first time you had sex. it was hard for you to finish sometimes, medication inhibiting that part of your brain but somehow, you finished quicker and easier with a little help. (at first, you were worried choso would feel icky about it, like he would feel emasculated that you could only finish thanks to a vibrator but that could not be further from the truth. choso had managed to get you off with his fingers and tongue just fine so what was the issue with adding a little help when he was a tad preoccupied?)

the silicone brushes against your fingers and you're clicking it on, holding it against your clit as you feel yourself being split open once again. two hands wrap around your hips, tilting them up ever so slightly in the way that choso knew had you seeing stars.

"I need you to cum, please princess." choso starts to pant, jaw clenching as he tries to hold off his orgasm. "please, baby, please." his pleas are stretched out, words failing him as his head starts to swim.

You feel the familiar tightness in your stomach, fingertips buzzing with heat as you turn up the speed, knowing you and him are teetering on the edge and you both need that final push. you can't form words, only whimpers and moans and the occasional head nod as you slap your hand over your mouth to stop the cry that wants to rip through you.

"you gonna-?" he can't finish the sentence but you nod feverishly, brows knitting together as you feel white-hot pleasure shoot through you.

Choso curses, hips stilling against you as he spills into your spasming pussy. his cheeks blaze red, mouth dropping open in a cute 'O' before he clenches his jaw again, shaking as he empties his balls. you feel warm, tingly and floaty, like you had just swallowed starlight and it was now flowing through your veins when suddenly, you feel a sharp pain in your calf. Your legs, still on Choso's shoulders, tense and your calf cramps.

You swearing, trying to grab at your leg to stretch out his muscle but your boyfriend is so lost in his world he doesn't notice until you start to cry his name, pushing at his arm to allow the room for your leg to lay flat.

choso is instantly terrified. concern replacing ecstasy in a second as he clocks the pain cry as opposed to the pleasure cry and he pulls back.

"What's happening?" his hands fly to your thigh, unaware as to what is going on. "Did I hurt you? Are you okay? Baby, what's wrong?"

you shake your head, no answer in your answer and cry out. "I have a cramp."

you flex your foot, feeling the muscle spasm as you cry and wait for the pain to subside. Choso relaxes beside you, now aware he has not unintentionally hurt you, and replaces your hands on your calf. strong fingers rub tenderly at the muscle and when only you stop whining and hissing, does he put your leg down.

"Better?" he asks and collapses onto your chest, resting his full weight atop you.

"Much," you nod and begin to card your fingers through his hair. "You good?"

Choso nods, a smile creeping on his face until he is beaming. "So good." burying his head into your chest, you feel his teeth nip at your breast and arms tighten on your waist. words immediately after sex are minimal between the two of you. For a few minutes after, there is nothing but the sound of rushing blood in both your minds and you need a few seconds to gather your thoughts before speaking in full complete sentences.

minutes pass and there is nothing but the sound of your breathing and occasional sighs of contentment until Choso pipes up. "I lied."

you humm your question.

he grins sheepishly at you as you feel his cock stiffen against your thigh. "I think I need one more."

[jamdoughnutmagician]

A Slice Of Life (Waitress AU) Part 2

Doctor!Steve Harrington x Waitress!Reader

<- Previous part Next part ->

Warnings: Steve is a sweet guy in this, and Billy continues to be a horrible husband. Brief mentions/descriptions of sex.

Word Count:2,158

*dividers by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist // Steve Harrington Masterlist

Quickly you rush into work, the time on your watch already ticking into your shift. You’re running late.

You push through the diner doors, and sure enough Hopper is there to greet you, with a stern expression set on his features. His moustache sitting over his lips pressed into a thin line.

“You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”

“Cut me some slack, Hop, the bus was late.” you huff as you try your best to straighten yourself out.

“Why don’t that husband of yours buy you a car or something?”

“Because he doesn't want me going anywhere.” you scoff, pushing past him to the back room to get changed into your waitressing uniform.

As you step out of the room, Nancy is there to catch your eye.

“How did you get on at the doctors this morning?” 

“Well, I’m definitely pregnant, if that’s what you’re asking.” you laugh to yourself. “It was a new doctor. A man. He’s taken over since Doctor Bloom retired.”

“Ooh a man? Was he cute?” she joked, nudging you with her elbow.

Nancy watched as the heat bloomed on your face, your eyes not meeting hers.

“Oh, okay so he was definitely cute.” she gathers from your embarrassed expression. “Is he single?”

“Nance!” you gently slap at her arm, you’d been friends with Nancy for too long for her not to know when you liked someone. “Okay, he was kinda cute, I guess. Didn’t see any ring on his finger either.” 

“Hey, could you do me a huge favour?” 

“Sure, what’s up Nance?”

“Can you serve Joyce today? She’s in her usual seat by the window. I don’t know if I have the energy to face her this early in the morning.”

“Sounds like someone's got a guilty conscience? You poke at your friend.

“Just because you know I’m sleeping with her son, does not give you the right to hold it over me. She smiles, narrowing her eyes at you. “Joyce. Table 7. Please.” she begs.

“Alright, alright. I got it. No need to get your panties in a bunch.”

“Darling, you’re an absolute angel.” she says with a pat on your shoulder as she whizzes off to tend to the other guests sitting at their tables.

Coffee pot in hand you make your way over to Joyce’s table where she’s sat by herself, reading over a glossy magazine.

“Good morning, Joyce.” you smile brightly, filling up her coffee mug. “What can I get for you today?”

“This is my pie diner, you know?” she starts her usual morning ramble. “Jim likes to think he runs things here, but this is my place. I own it. It’s my name on the deeds, and it’s my name above the door.”

“I know Joyce,” you nod as you listen to her, suddenly feeling un-easy sick feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. You suppress it as best you can for now, to take her order. “So, what’ll it be today huh?”

There it was again, that nauseous feeling creeping up your throat, the kind that leaves a bad taste in your mouth. That couldn’t be morning sickness already, could it?

“I’ll have a slice of the “Midnight Mulberry” pie please, and a glass of water with ice when you get the chance, Hon.”

Midnight Mulberry. A dark chocolate pie shell filled with sharp black mulberries and blackberries, the sharpness offset by the dollop of fresh cream served on top of the chocolate lattice work on the top of the pie.  

“Alright, got it, one slice of Midnight Mulberry coming right up.” you say jotting down her order on your notepad quickly before turning on your heels to rush off to the bathroom.

“Wait a moment, before you skedaddle off, let me read you my horoscope.” she says, her eyes looking back to the magazine in her hands. 

“Libra, smooth sailing today as Mars enters your inner circle, whatever the hell that means. The ones you love will listen carefully to you today, just make sure you’re careful with what you say.” she finishes as she puts her magazine down “do you want to hear your horoscope, darling?”

“You know what, I’m a Libra too, the same as you. If you’ll excuse me I feel like I’m going to be sick.” your words rush out as you hot-foot it to the bathroom stalls in the back of the diner.

After you had emptied the contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl, and washed your mouth out with water from the tap, you head back out onto the diner floor to collect Joyce’s order and bring it to her table.

“Here you go, one slice of Midnight Mulberry and a glass of water.” you smile, placing her pie down in front of her.

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” she asks all-too-knowingly.

You shush her, not wanting anyone else around to hear her.

“I remember when I was pregnant with Jonathan, I could barely keep any food down for the first few months, nearly every smell made me sick, it was awful.” she sips from her glass of her water. “When are you due?”

“Shh, Joyce, I can’t have Hopper hearing you or I’ll lose my job. I’m trying to save enough money so I can get away from my husband, but you’ve got to promise me that you won’t say anything about this baby, okay?”

“What baby?” she smiles at you with a wink. 

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Sitting next to Robin in her small, run-down car as she gives you a lift home, because apparently Billy had been too busy at work to pick you up, although the background chatter from the bar he would frequent after work told you otherwise. However, any thoughts of your husband are elsewhere, as you mindlessly watch as the hazy sunset breezes past your window.

“Billy has no idea that you're pregnant, does he?” Robin says softly, breaking the comfortable silence. 

“No, he doesn’t. And I'm never going to tell him. I’m just going to run away.”

“How much money have you got saved up?”

“Not much, about $1,000, and I can save up a bit more before the big pie bake-off.”

“And how much is the prize money?” she asks, her fingers gently tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel.

“$25,000.” you reply with a grin curving across your lips.

“Wow. So what pie were you thinking of baking?”

“I’m not sure yet. I was thinking of baking one of my more unusual pies. Y’know, the kind where you don’t think the ingredients are going to work together, but then they do.”

“You know what you could do with that prize money though,” Robin says, her eyes briefly flicking over to you.

“What’s that Rob?”

“You could open up your own pie shop.”

“C’mon Rob, that’s crazy talk.” you scoff with a playful laugh at your friend’s suggestion.

“No, I’m serious, you totally could. "The Pie Palace’’ I can just see the sign in my mind!” she laughs, her freckled cheeks round and rosy.

The morning comes and you find yourself sitting on the bench a block away from your house, waiting for the bus to take you to work. Closing your eyes, you allow yourself to think about the life growing inside of you, and what your life might look like with a baby in the picture.

Baby’s screaming its head off in the middle of the night pie.

New York style cheesecake base, brandy-brushed filled with pecans warmly spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg.

“Hello.” comes a voice from beside you. “Mind if I sit?” 

It’s your Doctor, Doctor Harrington.

“Sure, go ahead.” you gesture to the empty space on the bench beside you.

He sits down in comfortable silence next to you.

“So what’s a doctor doing catching the bus, huh? Thought you’d have some big fancy car or something” 

He chuckles, a gentle rumbling laugh that illuminates his face with a bright smile.

“Oh no, I do have a big fancy car,” he jokes with that charming smile. “..it’s just having a few problems at the moment. Friend of mine who runs an auto shop downtown is looking after it for me.”

“So, do you live far from the Doctor’s Practice?” you ask, the flow of conversation between you 

“Uh, no, not too far. I live over on Ashmore Road.” 

“Oh, it’s nice over there.”

“Yeah it’s nice. Lotta trees, which is good, uh, y’know, if you like trees. I mean who doesn’t like trees?” he stumbles over his words with an adorably nervous cadence.

“Trees are good.” you smile back, nodding to him.

“So, you’re a waitress then?” he asks, as he gestures at your blue and white waitress's dress.

“I am. I work in a little diner just off I70, Byer’s Pie Diner.”

“I’ve never been there. Is it..is it good?”

“Yes, it’s very good. We make all the pies there fresh. Breakfast pies, dinner pies, twenty-seven different varieties of pie, and a new house special that I create every day.” you smile. “I was actually just inventing a new one in my head when you walked up.”

“So, that peach and raspberry pie that you brought me, you made it?” He asks, sitting up a bit straighter and turning his body towards you.

“Indeed I did. Peaches In Paradise Pie.” 

“That was quite possibly the best pie that I have ever tasted in my life.” he says, his bright smile somehow feeling even more brighter than before. “I mean, that pie was like, life-changingly good, that’s how good it was. You could win contests with stuff like that, I’m serious.”

You delight in his praises, smiling to yourself at the kind words of this man.

“Well thank you very much.”

There’s a beat of silence that falls between you both before Steve speaks again.

“Y’know, when I was a kid, I used to go to this diner all the time after school, I had this insane crush on this waitress that worked there, her name was Margaret but everyone called her Peggy. She’d always wear her little uniform, and she was just so damn adorable, ” he admits shyly. “Of course I was just a dumb kid and didn’t realise that she would never see me in the same way that I saw her, but I don’t know, when I saw you sitting here, you just reminded me of her.”

“Wow, that is quite the thing to say.���

“Sorry, I guess in a round-about way I was just trying to pay you a compliment.” he blushes. 

“No, it was a nice thing to hear, thank you. No-one ever really notices me in that way.”

“Well, I suppose someone must’ve noticed you in that way, or you wouldn’t be in the condition you’re in.” he says, his head vaguely nodding towards your stomach.

“Ah, yes, you mean my husband.” you nod, you’re brought back to reality, suddenly all too aware that you’re a married woman flirting with a handsome man. If Billy only knew what you were doing, his hand would be stinging your skin in an instant. 

The bus rolls up to the bus stop.

“Here’s my bus. It was nice talking to you, Doctor Harrington.”

“If there’s ever anything you need, anything at all, don’t hesitate to call, and please, call me Steve.” he smiles as he waves you off as you get on the bus.

“Please, Honey, you know I can make you feel real good.” Billy pleads as he mouths at your neck, trailing sloppy kisses into the crook of your neck that only served to make your skin crawl. “It’s been at least a month since I last felt you, and you know a man like me has needs.”

“Billy please, I don’t feel even the littlest bit sexy right now.”

“Honey, you have never been more sexy to me.” his raspy voice gravelled out. “I mean, call me crazy, but your tits are looking a lot bigger than before. Not that I’m complainin’ about that, of course.” he chuckles, his wandering hands grazing over your chest, feeling up the swell of your breast. 

You fight against the shudder that wants to run down your spine.

“You’re probably just imagining things Billy.”

“Honey, please, you’re killing me here, I gotta be with you.”

 You lay back in the bed, totally out of it as Billy holds himself above you, chasing his own high, sloppily rolling his hips into you whilst he huffs out groaning moans, before flopping down in bed next to you.

“That was so good, Honey.” he groaned once before turning his back to you and falling asleep without a single thought about your pleasure, but that was your husband. Uncaring and selfish. 

Lying back, your eyes cast up to the ceiling, you think about how different your life might have been if you’d never met Billy Hargrove. 

@penguinsandpotterheads @paybacksawitch @mrsjellymunson @seatnights @ali-r3n @potatobeanpies

[scrubbinn]

Slime HRT 10 months: Big changes

Content warning: Dark tone, discussions of identity death

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Oh, right. I kinda forgot to write in this thing. It's certainly been a long time. I'm still not allowed at work, but I've been assured that I'm not going to be fired or anything. Apparently, they want to see if slimes have any roles in construction that would be less of a danger to myself and others. Not that I could go back if I wanted to, I've been having dizzy spells all day for the past week. It's probably some new change to my body. Oh my god, I forgot to write about the changes. There's a lot to catch up on, and thankfully, it'll all be positive this time!

First of all, I’ve been meeting up with the Doc every month, but this time he hasn't chewed me out for not writing in this journal, he thinks I'm writing out a new page every week. All I need to do is tell him what he wants to hear. It makes me wonder if I actually could have just lied about living as my preferred species for the past two years. Not that I ever really figured out what that meant (Should I have like? Absorbed my food through my skin??) Either way the Doc has never had anything important to say, it's always the same questions, a physical exam, and then he tells me what changes I should expect, and he's usually wrong. Like a few months ago, he thought I was going to gain translucent skin. Nope. Tongue is now made of goo. I mean, my skin started to change eventually, but, ok, let's just go in chronological order with everything that's happened so far.

So my tongue and presumably most of my insides have turned into a solid bunch of goo. It'll probably dissipate once the rest of my mouth changes too. It's made eating interesting. I don't have taste buds anymore, which sucks and drives me crazy sometimes, but now I don't have to worry about how gross health foods are. There are some other pretty big downsides though. I've had to change up my diet a lot to avoid blacking out, because yeah, that happened a while back. It's ok now. I think it was just a new body needing different levels of nutrition. It should be fine now, at least cause it hasn’t happened again.

The big change is my skin. It's finally began to change, the doc said my skin was supposed to transform into a translucent gel, but instead, I got a new gooey layer to my body that gets cloudier and cloudier every day. It's just on my limbs at the moment, but it's been spreading outward as time goes on. It’ll probably cover me within the next month. There's definitely some change going on underneath, but I can't say I know what that might be. It can definitely hurt like hell from time to time, but I got used to the pain, and I mean, that means it’s working, right? I’m finally becoming a slime. Really, truely a slime!

To be real for a second though, things have been really scary. It's been great and all to see progress these past months, but it's terrifying not knowing how the changes will go. This is a brand new treatment after all. Not a single other slime has developed the way I have, and it seems like that doctor doesn’t even know how it’s supposed to work. These dizzy spells and headaches have been getting worse lately, and every new change seems to have some sort of downside. Don't get me wrong I still want to be a slime, but it's been…

1 week later

Doctor Hans: "And that's the last of your journal. It's a shame to learn you've been lying to me about your notes. Perhaps things wouldn't come to this if you'd been more studious."

Mayday: "It was your faulty medication that made me pass out. Besides, I've blacked out before, I don't see why this is such a big deal. Not like we can do anything about it, right?"

"You didn't wake up for three days! You could have died if your friends hadn't brought you here! Your brain started dissolving Ms. Mulberry! You’re growing new organs that we know nothing about! It could be a replacement brain, or it could be a cancer. Without proper study, your very life could be in danger, and despite what you may think of me, my top priority is the safety of my patients. I am sorry for the damage I’ve done to you already, but I’ll have to cancel your prescription for now."

"What? Y-you can’t do that?! You think that it's ok to just remove my happiness? This has to be illegal, right? You can't just do that? You can just use the normal slime medication, right? The kind that other slime I met used, that’ll be fine, I’m ok with that, I don’t need to shift my texture and color, it’s fine!"

"No Ms.Mulberry, it isn’t fine. Putting you on a different HRT even for a slime could lead to catastrophic results, It’d be more dangerous than having you continue with your current prescription. I’m sorry, but I can not allow you to continue with your transition until we know it will be safe. I’ll just need more time to study the effects. It hopefully won't take long. The CT scans we've gained have been quite helpful. If you're lucky, you can continue transitioning in six months."

Dr. Hans laid out the photos in front of me. My bones were barely visible, and my organs were either gone or transparent. Half of my brain was missing and replaced with what looked like a stomach with plant roots twirling out of it. Terror struck me the more I looked. A person's insides were never something I could handle well, but seeing my brain being a half and half abomination was a horror I couldn't look away from.

"Is it safe to let it stay like that? Shouldn't I keep taking my treatment so it fully forms into whatever this core is? Sure, a lot of this stuff has hurt, but isn't it more dangerous to just leave me halfway?"

"Ms.Mulberry… Preliminary psych exams have shown that you've sustained a significant amount of memory loss. A normal slime would have the brain dissolve near the end of their transition, with specialized cells acting as neurons and allowing the whole slime to act as one brain, the HRT for them is designed so that the neural pathways of the brain transfer over to the new pathways of a slime. But your body doesn't have the gel to do that. If whatever you have is a new brain, then it's clear it's not copying your mind correctly. It's very likely you would forget your entire life if this process continued. In the best case scenario you’ll be left with some memories and irreparable damage to your life. Worst case, complete identity death."

"So that's it, there's nothing for me. I'm going to stay like this forever. Just half a slime that doesn't fit in anywhere. No job, no community, alone, isolated, afraid, and damaged. Is starting over from scratch really that bad?"

"Please think of how your friends and family would feel. It's not like they'd abandon you. You can wait until I make sure your mind won't disappear, and then continue your medication. There is a chance you won't fully transition after such a large gap, but it will be worth it, I assure you."

"I'm so tired of doing things to please others. I don't even remember what my job was or what my father looks like. Why should I care about other people when I won't even remember them? Why should I care about this stupid life I have if the universe is just going to hurt me over and over again. Can't I be selfish about one thing in my life. I just want the one thing that will make me happy. Isn't that what we're taught. To fight for what is right? Being a slime is right for me. I don't care about the cost."

"If that is what you wish, you have that right. I legally can't let you continue your treatment until we know it isn't life threatening, but you have the right to start taking it again after another three weeks of observation. If you truly do not care about the consequences of your transition, that is. I only ask that you spend this time thinking things through."

"I will..."

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Mention list: @a-shramp , @calliecwrites

[pen-inks]

Pen inks shows you all their poems⁉️

Open hands he bestow

The king, yet humble, with his crown

How eyes so holy, wry and frown

Is that the harp? Is it now?

Aye- listen to he who cry

The blood of the morose

Fills the sky

None shall come to thee if not for lie

Busy hand at the harp

And none shall heed to thee; If not what is last—

And tremble do my shudder dry—

The hands, down, thrown

If he, dear dove, dare not fly.

If not the cross,

Whom is the stallion of dawn,

If not what is past?

If not Mortes, death upon me, the last?

And shall useless choir sing low,

The blood of the harp, our lungs; Hark!

Ah! And the image of he

Does the wings of salvation

Feather upon me?

And thou shall not pluck a single from the plume

Aye, cry Hark!

Doom, Ires, whom?

Brutal and barrage

Crawl, rage, bawl!

Spines of the sun stab us gone

Blood of harp; note long.

Ah, I rest here.

And his voice to me

“Come back, come back!”

And my harp, heed at last,

“No,” I say, “The ripping of mast.”

The eyes they grimace

The lip, it foam.

The words they rave

Fist, curl;

Hand of stone.

And into my bosum;

Into my heart,

Into the harp, where busy hand start

Where holy feathers; they fall and fly

And sinner I, sinner I die.

NEXT POEM

He perch on throne thine wrath

He relinquish in memory hath

And would thou tremble at that

He say

“Thou shall shutter at the glass”

Tyrant restraint of thy mind

Estne in my judicious eye

Caedes! Alas! Removed my heart, did he see

Beat, bruising, moral flee

O’ woe of thee!

And upon the dreary throne

Rex de la pallid, horrid light shone!

I do not do as he so!

He who marionette the throne;

tremble the trees

And glass shutter and shriek

“Thou will not come” he so believed—

Ah, and wondrous plague!

Oblique arrival, goth and vague

Of wine in pax would drift away

And in the inferno of the past

Luctus! Shutter glass!

In crimson blood dare he lay

In stone, and blade of heart

Shriek they:

“He shatter Glass! He shudder free!”

He lay there as wrath of me

And yet, behind those glazed eyes

Glare and less

And mind portrait me as best

A horrid brutus!

And Mortes say up at me

“Sallow morose, sin of thee!—

Lie here the body, forgiveness plea”

Whom is the impetus of ires!

But the likeness of me!

NEXT POEM

I’ve always been fond of your embrace

Your crystal eyes, how they rest in your face

Your mouth so soft with its distinct taste

It makes me wonder if you feel the same

Every night I fantasize,

With the moon in its sigh

You approaching me at my door

“Hello friend” and not more

But we look and we share

Something we want there

Something we know in our hearts.

Very much.

And maybe to be entertained, my heart is beating in vain

and I wish you would pull me apart

so that this hideous beating was to stop

and even if they never know

a phallic symbol is always thrown,

We love so closely,

I feel at home

And even with our depart

How I want you to pluck me apart

like the feathers on my tongue

What is my lungs but a sack of filth? May your holding grasp choke them until my blood runs cold

until my eyes roll back

until you are told

But how can you stop, if I am dead?

You mustn’t, no shouldnt,

There’s all this blood to be shed.

My wings are twisted and crooked,

and God laughs in my pain.

My bones they poke out

the ivory in the gaze

I am nothing but wine and meat

A sinner unsaved

Feast upon me!

I consent to your game!

Maggot like do!

I cry and sob, but it’s none to you.

They slither, my insides, like mulberry snakes

and your teeth, so white, will be colored the same

I wrestle and choke and bleed and cry

I beg for you to let me die

But to make my whines cease,

You break my jaw, expose my teeth

With all this sickness and blood and gore

Out jumps my heart, beating and sore

Beating.

The hideous beating.

It’s all in my jaw

So cold and broken,

and to never be thaw

A face of winter

White and blank

I turn plum,

My mouth agape

But in the end, with all this agony,

the price of your love

it kills me

You grab my face

“I love you most”

And to your lips

So sweet

So raw

I simply…

And that is all.

And when I am dead

as you suckle my lung

all fall out, the feathers on my tongue

NEXT POEM

Mist was in the air

I looked up above

It tickled on my face

Feather of the dove

I asked it to rain

But with a refuse to pour

“You ask me so rudely! Frozen to your core!”

I ask it again, I once more implore

“Please do rain”

“I refuse to pour!”

“Snow, you must!”

“Mist I be!”

I looked out, and abounded

Oh forgetful me!

Ghosted was the memory, right under my toes

And once I had realized

I was unknown

I needed the rain

I pleaded once more

And with a lethargic sigh,

It started to pour

Right onto my head

Right into my mind

Wash away the dust, the dirt, the grime

Listen to me, listen as I speak

I reveal such a secret, one I shall not keep

I was simply asking

Begging, implore

Heartache, throbbing,

Coughing so sore

And for only a while

Did the rain dare to pour

And when I was washed

And the sun washed on shore,

I sheepishly smiled,

And begged no more

NEXT POEM

The Wolf of Massachusetts

There was a certain wind

That laid so high

A scent so faint

Like the tear in my eye

I tell you this tale

With much discrete

I tell you so softly

Heed me as I speak

I lived up North

A healthy man

A wealth to be respected

known among the land

And I walked upright

On my Jersey boots

On tether a dog

With an acute snoot

And as I make my way with the rifle

I pinprick the sound

It was ever so trifle

So faint

So dainty

I tensed my loose

And thereupon my track

Was The Brute of Massachute

I am a keen man

And I knew the land so well

I could decipher a noise

With no prevail

And I crept so sneakily

I caressed the ground

I did so quietly

As not to rustle abound

The pelt was of cloud

Like storm above

A transgression of lambs

With a tail that hung

Between his haunches

I could see

An animal painted crimson

Torn by he

As the hunter I am, as I was before

To return to town, my snoot implored

But to refuse such pelage

No, I’d never wanted more

But no! I was foolish!

The beast was the shrewd!

He snapped suddenly

For what could I do?

The monster growled

The largest in Massachute

I stepped back meekly

Who could save me, oh who?

And with each step,

I tell you as he do,

He grew more robust

He grew and grew!

Horns of the ram!

Bust of the hen!

I thought I was to never hunt again!

It growled like a cat!

It hissed too!

So helpless was I,

For what could I do?

I fired a shot, I fired two

But it was futile

Who could help me, who?

Fruitless, per se

While whimper from I

My snoot, a bay

And I, so clearly

Remember the day

The Brute of Massachusetts

Came to my dismay

The horns like lamb

Ivory in day

But the shade of brute

Choked the sun away

My snoot it dashed

And I was at last,

Met with no companion on my side

No where to seek refuge and hide

And I remember last

Among the blurry past

The creature’s crimson eyes

The kind no fauna has ever hast

Now if you fancy me

Don’t fancy me mad!

The scarlet is bore into my skull

You may look when you’re mourning and sad

I claim so big! It is in my mind

The hunger that lay so darkly upon those eyes

It had the teeth of daggers

It had the fangs of knives

It had a heart of frozen time!

The saliva… it dripped so slow

It hung in glass

And hung in a row

And came upon me!

The wretched brute!

And pounced upon me, The Creature of Massachute!

But I, a hunter as before

A hunter until death

A hunter till sore

I knew that if I was to go

Then glory it may be!

The creature’s wit was no match for me

Logic? I could

But instinct?

Not I.

But in such time, I was as vigilant as flies

And stared up the beast, into its’ very eye

And with a swing of the rifle and an audible wack

Fell down the Massachute

To aid him no pack

And up he arose

And vaulted on me!

His teeth gnashed!

I clambered

I cried!

But so stubborn, the hunter I

Slipping out of the grasp,

And with my Jersey boot,

I kicked down the beast

The brute of Massachute

And I stomped it down

And grabbed my rifle too!

And with a BOOM!
I CLAIMED VICTORY ON THE MASSACHUTE!

You fancy me crazy

You fancy me mad!

But around my neck

Horns of ram

Lay so subordinately

Around my pipe

In the fire, it gleams,

The intrinsic stripes

No goat I’ve ever seen

Has the pelt I claimed as a lad

And I conclude the story I have

I tell you my truth, with arrogance and glad

That the Wolf of Massachusetts was slaughtered at last.

NEXT POEM

Upon the window

I look on the candle

And the fire that dances upon it

the riches of past

I dis-lawfully grasp

So very egotistic

A creative mind

inside I

I think of that before me

I peer at the flame

And make a game

Of fantastic phony

If the flame were a woman

so slim in her frame

a dancer of fire

A dancer of fame

and upon her dress there lick different shapes

As she convulses in grotesque ways

in her stomach, it is dense

Brighter and bolder than the rest

She shed not a tear to flow away

No,but I am not that way

I ask her a question

"The weight on my heart?"

She replies with only a strut and a hop

And upon her sea of rays,

she gracefully grande plie

And I look at the time on my watch

one of the many who line up on my haunch

"And for what must I sore?"

The ballet turns phoenix

abolishing the core

Feathers abound and astray

But no reply for the things I dismay

I ask her again

answer I implore

"The weight on my heart?"

But she says no more

My face grows hot

I red when fall is to stay

I beg her to give it away

But she dances gracefully

And I cry painfully

"The weight on my heart?"

I ask once more

no reply for I

I am no more

I snuff out the candle with a lick of my finger

And the remaining wax falls so slowly

as if to linger

to remind me that of my murder upon her

Was my own guilt of the reminder

NEXT POEM

A bunch of words

Spewed on a page

Are not so wise at long

You say a thing

About love and gain

And you leave it out to thaw

You break it every other word

For a

sentence

you

can just

say

Call yourself an artist

Yet you do this all day

If you call yourself a poet

And follow that simple law

It's just a phrase

For the gaze

And not a poem at all

NEXT POEM

Balls balls wiener balls

And upon the sultry crimson

That lay before I

He came to me to speak

Softly, his whispers rising high

"Dear, I fear

You are not near

The one I do seek

And if you wish

To accomplish this

Then you take order from me"

And for the stumble tumble wry

And upon the whimpering quake

The hand of he

Struck upon me

My heart pulled to ache

"Think of heaven and sky above, think of what's at stake

Think of glittering glamorous groves

And fluffy Angel cake

Think of what I want for me

And what I deserve

And if you were smart

The striking of art

You'd have the nerve"

And dear me my lie crystal skies

Across the darken cove

Would I stagger

As he went madder

I fell below

A blade of good man and mind

A blade of wonderful sheek

The price to pay

A horrid game

A slash upon my cheek

Blood trickle down my face,

Among the softened scars

Like tiger flesh

Or a random guess

Among the looking stars

Hand grip around my pipe

Busy as if rope

And pull and choke

My will broke

And gasp for the floor

Starry glittering freedom

Handsome wonderful things

I want to see

Beyond the sea

Beyond the rushing lake

Pry my hands

wry my face

Wrinkled, pitiful, cry

But he say, address my name

With a voice not mumble nor meek

"Fine the seek I dare shall find

Find it with your eye

And then we will see

Another week

The true man who should die"

NEXT POEM

"My dear friend left me

On Tuesday cold and drew

With a bottle of water

And a dollar for stew

A flute in his baggage

His voice not ravish

But rather silk and skin

With butter flat

And a tip of hat

Off his trip began

And off my dear friend go,

Luck in his gait

To distant lands

Beyond man

Beyond the glittering lake

Discreetly intangible,

Choke dear me on light

Would it be unfashionable

To reach the night

Ah, and what wonders does glee provide me

If not certainty

If not insanity?

Would it be that I would dare clamber upon

The hearty seed

And shoot into the sky?

Across the bridge

Graze the ridge

With my sugarcane eye

And there my imaginary mind go

beyond the quivering snake,

And beyond the venom of wolves howling

And stinging of fate

No, it seems, beyond the bend

Beyond the mulberry grove

Where blood and shatter and nothing of matter send

Things I know

Beyond my dearest mindset

God foresaken me

And watch my friend and dear holy men

Curse at the sky for me

So I stare at a page

And sleep in my cage

And know that I am free

I act like my quick feathered life

Has much before me"

THATS ALL

@cecilthecowardly

[witchersmistress]

The road to Hell

Hello my darlings!! this man almost, ended back in the punishment room!

Trigger warnings: age gasp, foul language sassy FMC, forced marriage

Word Count: 2.7 K

Amelia’s POV

Your wedding day is supposed to be one of the most exciting days of your life. Just like my mother, I’m about to marry a man I didn’t choose and who I don’t love. I actually despise him and everything he represents—money, greed, and power are just a few of them. My mother hates my father, but there was nothing either one of them could do. Their fate was decided, their destiny sealed. Same as mine. Same as my children’s. And my grandchildren’s. We are bred for the sole purpose of power. Control in numbers. Fuck that!

Women in my world—the secret society of the Ravens—should not reproduce. I don’t want children. The cycle will end with me. It has to.  The Ravens will only find a way to use its members. They marry us off to ensure we add to their army. The next generation of Ravens and Ravenia will help them take over the world.  Phil though he was so smart and allowed me to see a  Raven approved Drs only, well the joke was on him, that particular doc, i saw his wife instead who was a fellow Ravenia and a Nurse practitioner. By the end of my first appointment, I had an IUD and that idiot was none the wiser. I’ll be damned if I allow them to have any say over a son or daughter I'll never have.

 I stand in the middle of the room, overlooking the white dress in the mirrored wall, running my hand down the mulberry silk—some of the finest silk available in the world. I take in a deep breath. It cost a whopping two million. Two million dollars for a fucking dress? My soon-to-be husband had it custom-made by a designer in France. I know this because my mother reminds me every chance she gets. Why would I get to pick out something so important in my life? That’s insane, right? Give that money to charity, or he'll let me loose in a bookstore, not that i could spend two million dollars but i'll try like hell.

 To think I should have any say in what I wear on the day I give my life to another. It’s as if she thinks his wealth will impress me. It’s blood money. I know this because it’s the same fortune I grew up with. I never did want the finer things in life. I know a poor person would roll their eyes at that statement, but it’s true. Give me a beer, a cheap hoodie, and a hat to hide my three-day old mop of bleach-blond hair, and I’m happy. But no. That’s unacceptable. The one percent aren’t allowed to look anything less than perfect. Not in public anyway. I’m surprised they even let us speak. We as women might as well walk around with duct tape over our mouths dressed in nothing but chains. A Raven needs a Ravenia but not because of the reasons you may think. It’s a way to hide who he really is. He’ll have fucks all over the world, but we’re expected to cook, clean, and spread our legs for him when he’s home. Worship him like he’s God himself and birth his children. I’ve never been religious, and I’m not going to fall to my knees and start worshiping a man now.  

My brother comes up behind me, his eyes scanning over my dress in the mirror. “At least he has good taste.” I roll my eyes. “As if that matters.” “Just pop out some kids and get fat.” He shrugs. “Then he’ll screw anyone but you. Oh! Hire a hot, much younger nanny.” He nods to himself. “Let me try her out first, though. Make sure she’s good enough.” His words just prove that all Ravens are the same. He’s been a Raven for years but has yet to marry. He has the privilege of fucking his way around the world while I’m forced to sign my life away. A cell rings, and he pulls it out of his tuxedo jacket to answer. “Hello?” Sighing, I pick up the dress and walk over to the stained glass window. You can’t see shit out of it. This place is ancient. The Cathedral is to a Raven as a church is to a religion—their sanctum. It holds a hundred years of secrets like a sarcophagus encloses a mummy. 

It was handed down to them years ago—a place to perform their sick and twisted rituals. There’s nothing fancy or special about it, if you ask me. I could be walking down the aisle in blue jeans and a T-shirt or lingerie. Doesn’t matter. Not all Ravens and Ravenia are required to wed here. But it’s where my future husband picked. Our parents wanted it to be as traditional as possible. It’s a bullshit reason. They just want to make a spectacle of handing me over to him. We might as well be standing in a courtroom with a judge sentencing me to life in prison without the chance of parole for a crime I didn’t commit. I place my hand on the cold glass, listening to the rain fall. It’s been storming for the past two days. It's like the world knows I've been destined for a lifetime of servitude to a man I'd rather kill than kneel and suck his dick. 

I blame my mother. She raised me to be strong-willed and determined. But now, I’m just supposed to turn it off and believe that I'm to devote my life to a man that will neglect me during the day but demand I spread my legs at night. I won’t accept that. I deserve more. I want more. My brother ends his call, getting my attention, and looks at me. “We have a problem,” he states. My whole life is a fucking problem. “What?” “Phil is missing.” I snort. “Don’t toy with me like that.” That’s not a problem; that’s a prayer answered. “I’m serious.” He swallows, looking around the large room nervously as if Phil’s going to appear out of thin air. “He’s not here. He never arrived. He’s also not at his house. He’s missing. No one has seen him.” “I’m not sure why that’s a problem.” I don’t want to marry the sick bastard. Phil Buxton is the highest-ranking Raven you can come by, which just makes this even worse. Ravens are like anything else in this world. You have some at the bottom, and others at the top. There are different tiers. 

But honestly, it doesn’t matter; they’re all sick fucking bastards who will kill anyone to get to where they are. Even the bottom feeders will destroy anything to get a chance at serving. He steps over to me. “Amelia …” The door opens, and my father enters with my mother. I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m guessing this good fortune has nothing to do with you two?” My mother’s injected lips seem to thin a tad at my comment. She’s told me a million times that this is just the life we live. That it’s a “tradition” and I just have to accept it. That as far as Raven and Ravenia goes, we’re royalty. Bull-fucking-shit. I’d rather be someone’s bitch than a Raven’s Ravenia. My father, however, stares at the floor while running a hand through his dark hair. “Daddy?” I step over to him, holding my dress in my hands so I don’t step on the hem. “What’s going on?” His throat works, swallowing before his eyes find mine. There’s a look of regret in them, and hope fills my chest. Maybe he’s realized that I don’t want this life. He clears his throat. “I just received a call …” “Please tell me you did this—called off my wedding?” I rush out, my words hopeful. “I’m sorry, Amelia, but the wedding is still on.” He sighs. And what little hope I had is now smothered. “But Dylan said Phil’s missing.” I point at my brother. Had my father received the same phone call that my brother did? Or was it someone else? “You are no longer to wed Phil.” He yanks on the collar of his tux. Picking up the dress so I don’t trip over it in my six-inch hooker heels—that my soon-to-be husband also picked out—I take a step back, my heart picking up speed. This is good news. Why does he look so concerned? “I don’t understand. If he’s not here—” “A new Raven has chosen you,” he interrupts me. My mother places her hand over her mouth, trying to quiet a sob. “No,” I argue. ��That can’t be.” It was decided that Phil would be my husband when I was eighteen—three years ago. 

Things like this aren’t just changed at the last minute. I’ve lived the past few years preparing for this day. To be his wife. What he wanted. A Raven can’t choose to marry me, not when I’m already promised to another. “Who?” my brother demands. “Who in the hell would make this change?” He fists his hands at his sides. I reach up and grab the pearls my mother gave me. She thought they would give me some kind of comfort, and I laughed, but now I hold on to them as if they’re an anchor to a lifeline. “I—” The door swings open once again, this time hitting the interior wall and making me jump. A set of baby-blue eyes meet mine, and my stomach drops. The wind knocked out of me. I haven’t seen them in years, but they’ve haunted my dreams ever since.

Three years ago

 “Where is she?” my mother demands, entering the hospital. She received a phone call that my sister was brought in tonight, but no other information was given. “Ma’am—” “Where is my daughter?” she screams at the nurse, pounding on the check-in desk. I turn around to see my sister’s boyfriend walking toward us. His white T-shirt and jeans are covered in blood, and my chest tightens to the point it restricts my air. My mom’s legs give out when she sees him. “N-o,” she chokes, placing her shaking hand over her mouth. Walter catches her and holds her body to his, but his baby-blue eyes meet mine, sending a chill down my spine so cold, it’s paralyzing. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “She’s gone.” 

“Walter,” my brother growls, shoving me to the side and pulling me out of that memory, and steps in front of me.

[tammulberry]

Sweet Beginnings: Marichat AU (Mulberry Conundrum)

SYNOPSIS: After graduating high school, Marinette inherited the bakery of Tom & Sabine. While business was booming and life was peaceful, all that changed when a mysterious man in a gaudy outfit by the name of Cat Noir makes her try to weaponize bread.

RATING: PM for Passionfruit Macarons

Copyright © 2024 by T.A.M. Mulberry

A Cat With Sunglasses?

Working in a bakery was a feast for the senses. The smell of fresh pastries, delicious bread and sweets. The elegant yet simple designs that surrounded the place. The taste of home. Marinette was content, to say the least.

After graduating from high school, she was set to inherit her parents' famous bakery. Some would say it's the best one in Paris. Tom and Sabine's Boulangerie-Patisserie.

What more could Marinette want? She certainly didn't want anything to change.

Until it ... did.

See, there was a certain customer that always showed up at a specific hour and a specific day. Friday at 7pm when the bakery is about to close.

***

As Marinette was cleaning up and saying goodbye to the last few customers, she heard the bell on top of the door ring.

"Welcome to the best boulangerie-patisserie in Paris!" Marinette greeted in her best customer service voice. "How may I help you...?"

She turned around to see a tall man. Now, Marinette wasn't normally intimidated by tall men but whatever she was looking at right now was enough for her to go into full panic mode.

Bright orange board shorts. Green patterned socks. Sandals. An oversized black hoodie with cat ears. A facemask. Perhaps the worst one of all... huge sunglasses at 7 in evening.

If he showed up this late at night with an outfit as ugly as that then it meant that he most definitely had some ulterior motives. Ulterior motives that Marinette absolutely didn't want to know.

So she screamed and the man mirrored her.

"W-wait a minute, I just wanna—!"

"I HAVE A STALE BAGUETTE AND I'M NOT AFRAID TO USE IT!" Marinette swung it around like a sword before throwing it at him. The man dodged it smoothly. A little too smoothly that Marinette didn't know if she was frightened or annoyed that he wasn't scramming. It hit the door of the bakery with a loud thud before it fell down and left a mess on the floor.

"Whoa! Marinette! Chill out!" The man tried to calm her, but the adrenaline made her ears ring.

"How do you know my name? Are you stalking the bakery?" She interrogated him further as she grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie.

He stepped away from her and laughed. He laughed.

"You have a name tag, ma'am!" The man continued to laugh and all Marinette could do was stare up at him, confused, embarrassed and oddly charmed by his laugh.

Shut up, self. You almost hit the guy with a baguette.

"Anyways, I'm sorry if I frightened you," he cleared his throat. "I'd prefer if we start over."

The man bowed down like a theater act and Marinette, whose head already managed to cool down was taken aback.

"Good evening, I go by many names but everyone else calls me, Cat Noir."

Marinette tried to stifle a laugh. That sounded so ridiculous.

"I'm Marinette," she said with a warm smile. "I'm sorry for trying to hit you with the baguette earlier. When they're stale, they can be... well, I— uh. I'm sorry in general."

"Hey, it's no big deal," the man said, holding out a palm.

"Well, since you walked in here..." Marinette started. "You probably want to buy something."

"Right. Yeah," he looked at the selection that was still available. "Do you guys still have passionfruit macarons?"

Marinette's face lit up. "Of course! Macarons are one of our bestsellers but the passionfruit macarons aren't as famous as our other flavors."

"Guess, I'll be coming here from now on then," he chuckled lowly and Marinette's face flushed. "I'll be taking your entire stock by the way."

Marinette looked at him incredulously. "Our entire stock is enough for a big family. Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I can pay for it," he fished out a wallet that looked expensive. Especially compared to the outfit he was wearing. He fished out 60 euros and offered it to her. "Consider it an apology for nearly scaring you to death."

The blue haired girl nodded and opened a box to place the macarons in. She felt awkward and embarrassed ... yet intrigued? While she didn't want to assume anything, there was something so strangely familiar about the guy, ugly clothes and all.

"So... Cat Noir? People call you that like a stage name?" Marinette questioned, in an attempt to make small talk. "What do you do?

"Well, I ... uh..." he said as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I do charity. And I chose to be a black cat."

"Is that so?" Marinette replied, not completely convinced. He looked like a mixed bag of traits. Smooth, confident, awkward and warm. She couldn't deny that it made the peaceful yet monotonous day a lot more interesting.

She realized she was already done with the box of macarons and handed it to him. Marinette almost wanted to ask him more questions but she hesitated. "Thank you for coming to the bakery."

"Thanks," his facemask prevented her from seeing his face but she could tell he was smiling. "I'll make sure to come back, Princess."

"Princess?" She repeated, her face flushed."

"Yeah," Cat Noir started. "Cuz you're sweet like one."

Okay, that was the cue to call Alya because she might actually faint on the spot.

He snickered mischievously and opened the door. "What? Cat got your tongue?"

END.

[silversodas]

Lackadasiy Makeup part 2

Part one was more of a ramble, wanted to make part two because I have a more in-depth analysis on the characters makeup

I mentioned in part one that makeup is usually thought of as a coverup, something for women to hide behind. But in Lackadaisy, makeup reflects each makeup wearers true self. Like Ivy and her flapper outfit, she is associated with light and the sun, and her shimmering gold eyeshadow and mascaraed eyelashes and gold dress, shows her true self, someone beautiful, youthfully charming, and radiates the warm glow of the sun.

Ivy also only wears makeup inside the speak easy. Before the 1920s “nice girls didn’t wear makeup”after the war and the men returned home, women competed for jobs and would wear attention grabbing makeup, buuuuuut it still wasn’t really seen as a good thing or a professional thing. I guess trendy is a better word. Ivy is not fully independent of her parents and maybe trys to keep her makeup on the down low, or it might symbolize that Ivy feels the most herself when dancing at the speakeasy. Or maybe she just prefers it for parties or partying.

Mitzi’s style and symbolism is also interesting

While Ivy’s outfit is ornate and playful Mitzi is covered in drip at all times, she is also heavily associated with peacocks. Peacocks symbolize beauty, wealth, and sinful pride. There is a double meaning to her peacock symbolism because peacock feathers have their own symbolism and it’s what she is seen with in her pinups especially her peacock feather fan

The peacock feather represents rebirth and hope.

Mitzi being insecure about her standing and was blinded by the glitz and glamour of the wealthy life style, sports an insane amount of drip, always wearing outfits and jewelry that belong in a magazine, always picture perfect, and compliments this with plumb eye shadow brown eyeliner and mulberry lipstick giving her a sultry look that goes well with her sleepy eye shape. This look more reflects what her true self has become, someone who has had a taste of the good life and refuses to go back.

Serafine Savoy is the opposite

Like Mitzi (kinda) she has come across good fourtune as a hijacker to a wealthy bootlegger, and wears expensive jewelry (I think) and cloths but has her own unique style that would NOT be socially except-able in her time

She can pull off dresses, but prefers either a snazzy professional suit

Or to let her true flag fly with her gangster pirate suit, bones and all

To complement all three of these looks she sports red eye shadow, black eyeliner and blood red lipstick. Giving her a dangerous look that gives her over all look an untamable aura. Unlike Mitzi’s mindset of never going back to being poor, I think Serafine could give a shit

Her and her brothers swanky suit isn’t treated any differently then if they were back in the swamp, it hasn’t changed who they are.

So she is more “I was homeless at 10 and lived in a swamp once, and bitch I will do it again!” At least that’s what I get from just having melted candles all over the expensive stuff and just treating the swanky stuff as a backdrop in any case. That kind of mindset was invaluable in the grate depression. It was the literal difference between life and death for rich people who lost everything and couldn’t except lesser work or a lesser life style

[yellowmagicalgirl]

an icy hand at the back of all of us

After the Lonely, John and Martin go to Martin's flat. John makes a mistake.

This was originally written for the Hurt Comfort Exchange 2024 on AO3 for thursdayinspace.

AO3

FFN

SquidgeWorld

Leaving the Lonely didn’t fix everything. Even when John could no longer smell the salt and sand of the Forsaken beach, the fog still clung to Martin like a heavy miasma, threatening to smother all the light that made Martin Martin.

John couldn’t let that happen, but he didn’t know how to fix this. He broke everything he touched and hurt everyone he cared for. It was a miracle that John hadn’t started the apocalypse on accident by now.

“You…” You’re wonderful and far more than I could ever deserve. John swallowed and restarted. “You said that your flat is down this street, yes?”

Martin nodded, but he didn’t say anything. Everything about him was still muffled, even if the echo was gone. The two of them continued down the street to Martin’s flat, and as Martin fumbled with his keys they, too, were muffled. The jingling noise as he tried to find the key to his flat was damped, like they were metal plated instead of actually metal like John Knew they were. He Knew that Martin’s landlord used cheaper keys made of aluminum instead of a stronger material like brass, even though the landlord could afford to use a stronger material. Considering that the landlord had once had an encounter with the Slaughter, he really should have used better keys.

John squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them, he focused on the color of the door so his mind wouldn’t wander with unwanted thoughts. It was a mulberry color, a very un-yellow that John felt was comforting for a door. It wasn’t a door that wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t sure what he would do if the Distortion showed up right now. Helen had refused to help, and John still didn’t know why. He just wanted Martin to be safe, and even though Peter Lukas was dead, Martin wasn’t safe. Hopefully Martin wasn’t afraid of John.

John hoped that Martin enjoyed the color of his door. John didn’t ask, though, he just let Martin push the door open and lock it behind them.

A lock wouldn’t be able to stop the Hunters. It could at least stop Elias, no, Jonah, based upon the tape that John had listened to. He had listened to it over and over, just to listen to something Martin had said that hadn’t been part of a Statement.

“I’m going to go change,” Martin mumbled as he walked towards a hallway. “Get the sand off my trousers.”

John didn’t want to let Martin go, but he did anyways. Martin was speaking without an echo, which was good. And besides, why would he want to be around John? John had been a prick before, and now he had killed someone in front of Martin. Killed him to save Martin, sure, but maybe there was a better solution to the problem that was Peter Lukas. A solution that Martin would approve of. A solution that John hadn’t thought of. He hadn’t really been thinking of anything, not even whatever plans Jonah may be even in this very moment winding around John’s hands and legs like puppet strings or strands of webbing. All that John could think of was saving Martin. He hoped he had done that properly, at least.

John walked through the kitchen, noticing the layer of dust on the counters. Martin likely hadn’t been back to his flat in the past two, three weeks. Had he even left the Institute before today? John grabbed the kettle and rinsed it out, throwing out the stale water, before putting it on the stove. He had honestly expected Martin to have an electric kettle, like the one in the Archives, before he walked over the tea and investigated the boxes. There was a loose-leaf Earl Grey that John immediately passed over. He wasn’t sure what to do with a loose-leaf tea; he had only stopped microwaving his water with the tea bag in the mug when Martin had begged him to stop. John still couldn’t taste the difference between microwaving the water with or without the tea bag, but, well, John wished he could say that he had wanted to be in Martin’s good graces. At the time, though, he had just wanted his subordinate who actually had archiving experience to stop whining and lecturing John on yet one more thing John was unqualified for compared to Martin and all of his expertise.

The two boxes of tea bags that Martin had were a mostly full green tea and a mostly empty rose tea. John couldn’t remember which of the two Martin had more frequently drank, back when he was still in the Archives. Was the green tea mostly full because he didn’t drink it often, or because he often resupplied?

The Eye wasn’t giving John any helpful answers, just the knowledge that Martin used to keep one oolong tea bag that he just in case his mother ended up coming home because something had happened to the care home. Even after she died, he had kept it up until he had agreed to work for Peter Lukas.

Out of the corner of John’s eye, he saw steam. That was odd; it was too early for the kettle to be ready.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no. What had he been thinking?

John barely had the sense to turn off the stove – because that would be just their luck, to survive Prentiss and the Unknowing only to die in a house fire – before rushing to where Martin said the bedroom was. The fog in the kitchen had been warm, but as John got closer and closer to the bedroom, the fog grew colder and thicker. It clung to his skin and hair, muffling even the sound of John’s breathing.

And the sound of sobbing coming from within the bedroom.

“Martin?” John pushed the door open and knelt by the cloud sitting at the foot of the bed.

Are you okay? Is everything alright? John didn’t need to compel Martin to know that the answers to both of those questions would be no.

Slowly, scared of accidentally sticking his arms inside of Martin’s body, John wrapped his arms around the fog. He Knew that the last time that Martin had been hugged had been an awkward side-hug from Melanie.

The time before that had been before the Unknowing.

John had been the second-to-last person to hug Martin. It felt so wrong to think that – John had never been a person good at comforting people. And yet, it also made too much sense. He wasn’t good at comforting people, but he was what little that Martin had.

“I’m here,” John found himself saying in a voice so soft it was just barely above a whisper, or at least that was how the fog made him sound. “It’s going to be alright. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.” He didn’t know if time would prove him a liar, but John would try his best anyways.

“But for how long?” the fog said back.

“Forever, if you’ll have me.”

“You can’t promise forever.”

“Then for as long as I live.” That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because the fog began to shudder. John made soft shushing noises as he stroked where he imagined Martin’s pearl-white hair to be. “It won’t come to that, not any time soon. I’m getting increasingly hard to kill.”

The fog huffed in annoyance. John hoped that was a good thing, that Martin was coming back to himself.

“I won’t leave you. Not again,” John said. “For better or for worse, wherever you go, I go. Deal?”

“Deal,” Martin said, a distinct echo to his voice. He wrapped his arms around John, gingerly at first, like John was still as fragile as he had been when in the coma. After a moment, he squeezed John more tightly, the fog fading away. His fingers dug into John’s shoulders with desperation.

“I’m here,” John said. “I’m here, and I love you, and I’m sorry I ever left you.”

They stayed like that for several minutes, John murmuring promises as he rubbed Martin’s back. Eventually, Martin’s tears subsided, and he pulled away. “What you said earlier,” Martin said, voice still hoarse from crying. There was still sand on his trousers. “That sounded a lot like a wedding vow.”

“Well, how do you feel about eloping to Scotland?”

[phantomiaou]

elegance in the shadows.

don't say a word. you know that the words you scream in silence when you can't take it anymore don't do any good here, right? no matter what i put in my mouth, it tasted like nothing—like i was eating clay—chased by a clump of night, i fell into a puddle of water.

the girl started to cry and said, "why am i so sad?" looking down, i answered, "you'll get used to it soon, too."

on a see-saw in a park whose brightness grates on me, our quiet hearts seem to make a gentle revolution. the little lights that illuminate us sparkle like teardrops.

we’ll swim towards the center of the pale, pale darkness, so come here and follow me. let’s hold our hands tight and never let go; hey, are you still here? we’ll tiptoe along the long, winding edge of the streets, we won’t need shoes. don’t look away from me until the very end; hey, are you still here?

even when i forgot everything, i lamented at the obstruction in the evening chill. i knew that even just repeating happiness over and over was pointless, but even if i put dreams in my mouth, they tasted dull. i was just like a clay doll in a sunny spot on the road home; i realized i was married forever to my worries.

the boy who ran away said, "why do i hurt so much?"

looking him in the eye, i answered, "it must be for someone else's sake."

in a mulberry field whose liveliness made me lonely, it seemed like a life spent dealing with too much. i reached out to touch the reflections of fireworks that were floating on the bathwater.

[thelastrenaissance]

The Red Door

Let’s say our hero’s name is Francesco. He does ceramics and grows one of the types of pears that they still ate during the time of Catherine de Medici: small, cherry-like, and pleasant-tasting. He installed a red door with a raised, flesh-colored relief of turtles in a spiral on it. Francesco’s door was dedicated to the memory of his friend, a genius, and when it opened, you didn’t see the hills or the sun setting behind the olive trees, but something else entirely… There was a sundial in his garden that showed astronomical time. Francesco was more than seventy years old. He had achieved a lot. His life was a script that he himself had written, but this is where his error was. He wrote a script, only a large script. Everything else was in the hands of God.

I’m a happy person – that’s what he would tell himself over and over. He had his own garden with little hillocks and tiles that he had breathed life into as if they were his own ceramic pictures – the mosaics of greenish-blue raised light that looked like a spring Resurrection… A wise dog… a wife as old as he was… They walk here along the path. A sunny house… big… no swimming pool or air conditioner. He didn’t want all that modern junk, even though it was over forty degrees in the shade. A basket full of big bright yellow and violet fruits that he had grown with his own hands…

How much more can he write? Fellini has been there for a long time, and not just Fellini. But here, life is unique… And that luxurious, hot, aromatic air… He’s rich, but what does he need it for now? What’s the sense in that? It’s odd: when you’re young and it seems like you can move mountains, you’re constrained by lack of money, and you spend all your energy on trying to earn something. And then, once you’ve achieved everything that you wanted, then it turns out that you’ve only got a few drops of life left in you, you’re grey as a dog and your digestion is ruined. There’s the entire secret of being. Even when you leave, there’s still some bitterness at the end, like some kind of bilious sediment. And what about other people? The ones who work all their lives, achieved their goals, suffered even more than you did and ended up with nothing. What do they do?

…here are his mulberries, olives, and peaches… In the shade it’s nice to drink velvety wine, nice to feel the clay giving under your fingers, sweet and unbearable to hug your wife, the one who understands you without a word. Quietly and unhurriedly assess what has been done, analyze what has passed, remember, remember everything and smile… Flip through the scenes of your own immortal movies. Look at the young couples embracing. Wash in the morning, shave, and inhale the aroma of your favorite coffee, read letters… Meet your children and grandchildren by the door…

He stops in the center of his clock. The shadow shows that it’s a quarter to two. Afterwards he goes to the red door. He breathes in deeply and opens it. His friend, the genius, sits on the hill and waves a welcoming hand at him.

[mercerharlan]

today's been pretty cerebral

idk i can't get out of my own head

i'm just v excited to have a tumblr again

pics are from a little backyard zen jungle, in the suburbs, where i planted things years ago then let them run wild

while the overgrown mulberry no longer has fruit, and idk what happened to my black raspberry canes, and none of the currants have fruit anymore either, and the wild rose bush has been cut back, and its hips are gone (?? why /how), I saw the American cranberry bush with two berries on it, and being the opportunist i am, i tried one. for the first time ever. had that thing since gosh 10+ years back, but it's a slow grower, prone to infestation, and rarely gets much edible fruit. so, this was my big chance. can confirm - tasted like a cranberry. the mint plants are bountiful, as are the melissa. maybe - if i have time - i'll clip a bunch and take them home, do something with them like make iced tea

[argentarrogance]

[ 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄 ] ― sender and receiver lock eyes across the room

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐒 || @fallesto × ] acceptingㅤ➠ ㅤJOKER

Ten years from now on would crawl through faster than than immovable queue of petrified hydra he got himself stuck in. Poising elegantly with crown of indifference or gliding down mound of ashes -- his punishment walks abreast with indefatigability. Waiting made even the air taste of brine. Woe to him, for six more people couldn't decide whether they wanted a large menu or a light snack down their stomachs. The only thing he wanted right now was that one pack of warm cheese-coated nuggets desired greatly once in a blue moon and what he couldn't get from regular store. Now, how hard was that to get?

Of course, on spot he could violate the law of motion divided by time ... but whilst endearingly taken by such oblique tergiversation to hold -- defiant of winds and walker on seas was sure he hardly flinched to give pretext for suspicion or exposure even though there was always time for degustation of forces. Coincidental or maybe not but rather sensational is the reflex that guides his vision to stray and not root on thoughts cultivating understatement. There was someone who visually did not seem to quite fit into locality frame of context, someone bluntly ignoring portion of food behind the table and rather tracing with mapping eyes; a count down to ease tightness in his face. This Gotham city sure was one hella suspicious place. Out of the whole line, he was the one he was looking at, and while it certainly wasn't prohibited by law to gaze at anyone he was piqued by ambiguity of such long pointed degree of fixed stare which he had noticed several times before. A curious amalgam of the anti-traditional and the modern.

Painted face pale ceruse, denoting suit once violaceous engulfed in a crumpled shade of defiled mulberry. His inner thunder rising. Lipstick smeared upon brim-contours reaching parabolic heights. Additionally, another thing that irked him more than green hair ( and a whisp of 'yoohoo~' lying unspoken but resonating so much from his countenance he expected to hear it aloud any minute ) he so tried to ignore when eyes ran over him ... not something that had to do with personal conception but rather a presentation of the external form reminding him of a clown ... but the worst part? The more Pietro looked at him the more he was smiling ... and it was that kind of smile that would prettily put on you lavallière decorated by poisonous malachites of distress.

― Huhh??? He compounded the problem by trying to make wrong things right. Pietro's sharp intake of oxygen via nostrils resulted in a brisk 'look-away' for a solid moment until secretion delivered recurrence and certainty that maybe this time the funny chap got bored of his prolonged act of ignorance except no ... still. Why. Why was he still staring?! ... past bearing, full of holes, intolerable. Eyes cerulean like wintry gales exposed with a slide of sun-dodging lenses, and as terrible as it was fascinating within absurdity of the moment the situation created a fusion of disparate elements; eye lock at length finally happened under timing such as pop of soda can that seemed louder than ripple of noises withindoors.

[plasma-tree]

he's been staying over almost every night.

It's nice.

I keep thinking about what Hel said. About somewhere... Feeling like home.

...

I don't know.

I leave for work and she runs after me for one more kiss. All the way down the stairs, if she has to.

When he comes home, everything seems... Brighter.

By the time she's in my arms again, she's already got my pants on the floor.

Man.

I don't think anyone has ever wanted me this much. Not just sex-- I mean...

Yeah, that part is pretty great, though.

Really great.

It's really cute how he loses it when I bite him.

And he tastes... Sweet.

Sweet like mulberries, not like strawberries.

Earthy and warm.

I went off like a bottlerocket without fail, every time she got those teeth on me.

I was calling her Daddy and shit.

I'm getting distracted.

If I come clean, I'd be dead to her. She's too good to me. I can't do this to her.

I feel like a teenager in love. We've only known each other for about a week.

I couldn't stand to lose her.

[08]

[princess-butters]

Do you have a favourite TOP (Twenty One Pilots) album?

Oooh!!! Okay so this is a great question because I’ve been a fan of TØP since late ‘14 to early ‘15. This is gonna be kind of long 😅

So in order from favorite to least favorite.

1. Vessel. This album helped me through a difficult time and a lot of the songs on here (Holding On To You for example is my all-time favorite of theirs just because of the message and MV behind it.) And it’s just so freaking good! I mean every song on here is a banger! Ode to Sleep, Holding On To You, Screen, Run and Go, Fake You Out, Guns for Hands, Migraine, Semi-Automatic, Car Radio and Tress. I mean, they’re all such good songs and they truly represent who Twenty One Pilots are! And this is when we’re introduced to Josh as a new member of the band as Chris Salih and Nick Thomas left due to wanting to spend more time with their families.

2. Trench. Loved the style they went for in Trench, it went harder than most of their previous albums and it worked! I really hope Clancy (their new album to be released) has similar vibes, Overcompensate gave us a taste of what’s to come. Jumpsuit, Levitate, Morph, My Blood, Pet Cheetah, Neon Gravestones, Chlorine, The Hype, Nico and the Niners, Bandito. I mean- it’s such a good album! This to me felt like Vessel 2.0.

3. Blurryface. Yes I know it’s one of their “mainstream albums” but I think this album is perfect despite it being at 3. Tear In My Heart, Message Man, Hometown, HeavyDirtySoul, Lane Boy, Fairly Local and Doubt are instant classics when I think of TØP and really capture what they are in terms of their music.

4. Self Titled. There’s really not a whole lot I can talk about with this album, it’s not a favorite and I don’t listen to it all the time but I still think it’s a great introduction to who Twenty One Pilots are. This was actually when they were a three piece band and Josh wasn’t even apart of the band yet so it’s interesting to hear how different their style was compared to how. Still some awesome bangers like Get Up Johnny Boi, Addict with a Pen, Friend Please, and Oh Ms. Believer are some of my favorites and the only ones I can really think of from Self Titled.

5. Scaled and Icy. Now my opinion of this album is changing but I still have it as my least favorite only because I don’t really know a lot of the songs aside from Mulberry Street and Shy Away. I know, I should be shamed for this as a fan but I really did not like SAI when it first came out, it’s changing though and I’m starting to understand why they went for this direction as the lore about Clancy and Trench is becoming more obvious, but I still personally think Trench and Vessel are their best albums.

(Disclaimer: This is just my opinion, this is not actual facts but this is just how I personally feel about each album.)