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sst0rmm · 2 months

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𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ in the mornings ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

ft: isagi.

notes: more morning fluff to feed your soul (and the smallest bit of angst, too) ₊˚⊹⋆

warnings: slight sexual content, slight swearing too (no explicit mentions)

part/series: 1.0 2.0 3.0

wc: 2643

guys morning isagi has a chokehold on me

ok maybe all of isagi has a chokehold on me.

like you can't tell me the man is NOT a warm cuddle sleep love perfection isofjsdf

mans so genuine and sweet god im laufey lovesick

listening to rach 2 [start at 20:40, it's gorgeous] while writing makes me feel even more (yes i linked it it's amazing)

sunlight is just a daily morning occurrence when isagi yoichi's around.

"you sleep well, baby?" his arms come around the small of your back and across your body, centering you firmly on the warm, hard planes of his chest. it was a very long night, after all, you grin to yourself.

isagi smiles down at you, blue eyes bright and all. way too bright for eight in the morning. and still, you're filled with fondness, because this man, talent and cuteness personified, is yours.

you murmur up at him. "who's got you smiling like that?"

he swoops down tantalizingly close until your lips are just a hairsbreadth away from touching. you can feel a warm ghost of air flutter across your face. leaning in closer, you-

isagi pulls away with a smirk and you groan. "definitely not you," he hums and leaves the bed. sighing to yourself in half exasperation and half amusement at your boyfriend's antics, you spare a glance over at his retreating form.

"don't tell me your ears are blushing again," you call out, but he ignores you, despite the fact that the tips of his ears, are, in fact, slightly red.

cute.

and just seeing this action fills you with joy because isagi yoichi loves you, and damn everything else, because when it's just the two of you, you're light as air and rejoicing in a summer sun. the two of you, on the beach in italy, relaxing on warm, silky sand.

you're still a little sore from last night (isagi normally is a little different from isagi in bed) so you fall down into cozy, white sheets, and dream of nothing but happiness.

is this man even real

well he's in an anime so he's not but like that's not my point

where can we get these blue lock guys irl

breakfast is a... marathon.... you'll see...

a burning scent invades your senses as you walk drowsily into the kitchen. briefly, you're distracted by the pull of isagi's back muscles, and you can see the marks of where your hands were wrapped around those muscles last night.

you blush to yourself, before you hear isagi's sheepish voice. pan in one hand, apron stained with grease, and an adorably perplexed expression on his face, he looks at you more than a little embarrassedly.

"i'm telling you, i followed the recipe! i cooked the eggs just like epicurious said but-"

huffing at him in exasperation, you snatch the pan from his hands and scowl down at the offending iPad housing the recipe that caused this mini-disaster.

isagi's by your side in a flash, looking everywhere but your eyes and very much like a kicked puppy.

"you're not mad, y/n, are you?" you're not, of course, just amused and a little sorry for isagi (because this lowkey happens every other weekend), but you decide to try a little... experiment.

letting the sun warm your face gives you ammunition for what you're about to do next. you raise your eyebrows at him, give him an unimpressed stare, and sigh.

you start off a little slow. "it's fine, isagi, just-" you push him away mock-tiredly and plop yourself down on the coach.

it's around two and three quarters mississippis before he comes right by your side. blue eyes startingly clear and misty with emotion, looking at you like that's enough to make tides move, end the world, and stop your heart.

like you're the one glimmering light in a world of darkness. like you're the only thing that matters.

that look sends a pleasant burst of heat through your veins, and you almost want to give up the ruse. not yet, you chide yourself. just a little bit longer.

his voice's soft, low, and melting your insides. "i'm so sorry, y/n, you have to forgive me. baby- i was only trying to make breakfast for you, and it just-"

you sigh despite yourself. in spite of being one of the world's best strikers, isagi yoichi's pretty lacking on some other basic human survival skills. common sense is a little uncommon these days.

"i mean, how did you manage to burn an egg and ruin my pan? and spill milk on the floor without even cleaning it up?"

"i spilled milk-?"

you're starting to get a little frustrated, even though this all started off as a harmless act. "it's right there, dripping on the floor, isagi."

and he looks so distraught that you just want to wrap him up in your arms, mold yourself to his warm frame, hold him tight and never let him go. you know what isagi's about to do (it's what he does best, although you'll never admit it).

he goes in for a hug. a special hug, á la yoichi. it's one more comforting than warm coffee on a hot day, one more loving than words can even describe. it takes your breath away every time, even more than the gorgeous view of the city of stars mapped onto a blanket of inky, purple sky you see every month.

hikes on mount jiju are worth it.

and in that hug, isagi says all he needs to say and volumes more. a delightful rush of heat courses through your veins, magnetizing and all-consuming. like that, your lips press his like a moth to a flame, splendidly, effervescently, totally consuming you whole.

you feel all of him. toned arms clinging to you like it's the last time he'll ever hug you, lips gently coaxing yours apart with a soft sigh on your end as you melt into the utter beauty of the kiss. the way your arms slot perfectly just underneath his neck, like you were made for each other.

he presses his lips even firmer on yours, passionate and all-consuming. you think you can feel your heart melting into a little, happy puddle of warmth and everything isagi yoichi. your mind's consumed whole with the blazing inferno of heat warming your heart completely, and the sheer mindnumbingness of your boyfriend's kisses.

then, you two break apart. cheeks flushed, breathing heavy. his eyes meet yours, and you think you might cry with the pure love and passion practically shining out of them. suddenly, you feel utterly whole and human in a way.

you can even feel the press of his coc-

"do you forgive me, y/n?" isagi distracts you from your... thoughts.

"i wasn't ever mad," you smile up at him. spills of milk and broken pans are temporary, they're easily mendable. but love and emotions and memories, now that's forever.

he picks you up gently as a porcelain doll and suddenly you're on your bed, the white sheets warmed by the sun. featherlight kisses make their way down your neck, and he traces absentminded patterns on your chest with warm, gentle fingers.

indelible marks on your skin showing your love.

"may i?" he smirks, moving further south.

"i thought you'd never- ahh- ask-" you breath out a soft sigh as you feel his lips press soft kisses on the inside of your thighs.

"fuck being a gentleman," he says, and it's your last coherent thought before you really feel all of isagi. you fall underneath the spell of the sun and the sheets, completely and utterly blissful.

it's always the two of you, broken down to sand, it's the two of you. you and isagi yoichi, together.

and that's enough.

GAWDAMNN WHATTT

i did NOT think that was how it was gonna play out LMAOOO

lowkey i never have any set plans, like i just write and write and yeahhhh

that would be an amazing ending, but now i want to reverse the roles a little bit!!!

a fresh coffee spill glares at you from on your computer, a silent, undeniable sign that maybe mornings aren't the best time for working.

especially not mornings like these. (your mind heats up at thoughts of just hours before, skin on skin and lips on lips and you two just-) shaking your head to clear it, you try to focus on your work again.

you can hear isagi puttering around the house. he's a real house husband, truly, doting and all. even if the tasks he does aren't exactly the best results, they're certainly intented with the best result in mind. effort is what matters most in your eyes.

"hey, baby," he comes in with bangs tied up with a red bandana, sweat slightly beading on his brow, and looking totally and utterly adorable.

"it's giving housewife from the 80s," you tease him and he makes a mock-affronted noise.

then, he seems to change his mind. "actually, being a housewife's tough work," he nods sagely, "and i think good housewives deserve rewards, don't they?" he says this with such a straight face that you can't help but crack a smile, despite your macbook's bright screen shining up at you a reminder to get back to work.

you lean in to peck him on the cheek.

"i think a kiss should be sweeter, don't you?" he smirks,

he smirks, and leans in, but you back away. despite the warm tinge of heat you can feel emanating from his body, soft and sure and everything you want. despite that fire courses through your veins, threatening to set you and everything around you ablaze.

somehow, you manage to affect a tone sweet and soft and languid as honey. "if you kiss me, i don't think i'll be able to finish my work."

isagi lets out a soft, low laugh. "when'd you start becoming so hardworking?" he leans in closer, and closer, and like the bewitched lover you are, you're powerless to back away.

then, you feel the absence of warm heat, and only the soft scent of isagi's shampoo.

"get your work done, y/n," he whispers with a smile, and then he's gone. you're left alone with only thoughts, a half-spilled cup of coffee, and a undeniably empty word document.

time passes, yet your productivity remains frustratingly low.

11:39 A.M., your computer blinks up at you and you resist the urge to slam it shut. time's moving slow, but not sweet. slow as a snail slowly inching past your door, and your head's muddled with thoughts of precisely nothing.

you're walk down and your eyes are met with the sight of a cheerful isagi, covered in a form-fitting plaid shirt that's faded and a size too small, hair tied up in bandanas and all, talking with a delivery girl up ahead.

said girl is very clearly starstruck, and it sends a ray of sunshine through your otherwise very grey, very tired brain.

sometimes, you forget that your boyfriend's a striker celebrity. you smile fondly, going up to receive the forlorn pizza in her waiting hands, when you freeze. it's like ice freezes in your veins, slowly threatening to swallow you whole.

she's giggling at something he said, twirling her hair behind her ears, and, oh- it fills you with a hollow pit of jealousy and a frightening feeling of rage.

she's flirting with your boyfriend.

and you see her grab onto his arm- oh- it's like a bucket of cold water's dumped onto your head and now the rose-colored reality of earlier this morning is no more. you aim to walk forward, to give that girl a piece of your mind, and you notice her lean into him.

oh- and the second you don't see him back away, it's like something's stabbed your heart, piercing it into pieces and shattering it whole. suddenly, you don't have the fight, the energy. looking on helpless for a moment that feels like forever, you're oceans apart.

heart thudding fast, you feel the emotions threaten to spill over your cheeks. soft tears cascading down in a never-ending waterfall and forcing you into an melancholy abyss.

isagi looks back then, and you see a confused quirk of his lips before his eyes widen.

"thanks for the pizza," he looks down at her nametag, "val," before he runs towards you. you see her shocked, indignant face, and you can't help but feel a gleam of fury.

"get the hell away from my boyfriend," is all you say before she huffs and shuts the door and you collapse into isagi's waiting arms.

"baby, don't cry," you hear his voice crack and his hands rub soothing circles onto your back.

you scoff. "oh, please, isagi. i saw the way you two were flirting. good for you, she's a great catch-"

he cups your face in his hands so gently you can almost feel your heart begin to mend itself. it's a mindbending stare that sets all your nerves alight. long fingers wipe your tears away gently, and you can see his eyelashes and watery eyes too.

"it's not what it looks like."

you sigh, "well, what it looked like to me, was her arm was on yours and she-"

isagi looks at you firmly, eyes entrenching you in that sea of love you want to fall back into. but insecurity nips at you, pulling you back into that dark abyss.

"it's true, but-"

"and i'm just terrified, you know," you whisper so soft the silence's almost serene but not at all, "that you'll leave me-" your voice cracks, "for a better, younger, prettier-"

he presses his lips to yours. it's nothing like the kiss from earlier today, that was pure, raw passion. this one's tender, like you're falling into the arms of a waiting angel.

soft, sweet, and slow.

your arms find their comforting space around his neck, and your world's tumbling on your axis. but his lips on yours, arms a constant warmth on your skin, ground you, and center you. rebuild you, because he's there.

"listen to me, y/n," he whispers so fiercely you can feel the gravity of his emotions and everything else blocked out for a moment but the two of you.

"i will never, ever leave you. never. because there is nobody, more gorgeous, more intelligent, more caring, more kind than you."

"even a gorgeous pizza worker who should be a korean idol?"

isagi's hands come to grasp yours, lovingly, reverently. "definitely not. and you know why?"

"why?" you breathe out softly.

he looks at you with that gaze that could stop tides and set the world aflame. again, like you're the only object of his affection and his whole world's you. it's enough to make any girl cry. "because she's not my y/n. in my eyes, you're the most perfect ever. there's nobody else who's comforted me, helped me, and just loved me as much as you."

each word's punctuated by a wordless deeper meaning that you find yourself remarkably understanding. he loves you.

"i love you to the ends of the earth, y/n. till we grow old, and forevermore, i'll always be with you."

"i-" your breath shutters to a close with the soft press of his lips on yours.

isagi grins at you, smile so gleamingly wide with all the force of a thousand suns you can't look away from it's brilliance.

"i love you too," your lips curve up and are captured immediately with his. fireworks set off in your brain, glorious in their radiance and defeaning all your inside thoughts.

because you're isagi yoichi's, he's yours, and nothing will ever take him away from you. for a moment, just being together's enough.

kisses speak unspoken volumes. of memories, of desires, of pure love.

of being infinitely together, forever.

WOWOWOW i did not have any plan for it would end

isagi's really the sweetest, isn't he? that's how i imagine him, at least, soft cuddles and small smiles. he's not the loudest about his affection, but he shows it in actions that warm you to your core, fundamental things that can rent you asunder, tear your world apart, because of his love.

and when it comes to, we love poet isagi.

ignore the fact that this one's 2x longer than the first i had a lot of ideas okay

a humongous thank you to @benkeibear and @cute-sushi-roll for dividers, idk what i would do w/o u 🫶

man makes me powerless, you see his normal cute adorable side on the left, and let's just say the one on the left's when he gets really passionate, and i don't just mean on the field ;)

THANK U SM for reading, you all keep me motivated! any reqs you have for the future, don't hesitate to comment! 💖

#blue lock #bllk #isagi yoichi #isagi yoichi x y/n #bllk imagines #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi x reader #blue lock fluff #i love blue lock and i love isagi yoichi

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angelkhi · 2 months

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red velvet - a.a

links to support palestine🇵🇸: ways to help | esims | donate food | click to donate (it’s free!!)

pairing: baker!abby anderson x reader

summary: abby is stressed about a new recipe, you just want her to relax.

warnings: MINORS DNI, nakedness. no real warnings to be fair?? just very soft and mushy. still, i mean this in the meanest way possible, minors fuck off xxx

word count: 1.3k

a little note: hi it’s been a while. some softer stuff for you. i think that’s all i have to say. okay bye bye.

Abby's passion for baking is something you can't help but admire. Her attention and care to each bake, the way she scrunches her nose as she concentrates, the way she stands there, eyes wide awaiting your opinion on her latest bake. You admire it because you love seeing her happy whilst creating something that she's proud of, and of course the sheer amount of baked goods you get presented with daily.

It's hard to understand how she finds such solitude in baking, considering her brow is permanently creased whenever she is in the kitchen. The first time the two of you met, she (and the countertops) had been caked in flour. Then there was the melted baking tray, and the batter covered walls due to a stand mixer related incident. Though the more you saw her, the sooner you came to realise that a messy kitchen kitchen is her natural habitat.

Getting to see her happy and relaxed in her own little way became some sort of a drug. You would sit across from her, most of the time not speaking, just watching. Her rough hands becoming delicate, arms flexing as she rolled out yet another batch of pastry, smiling widely whenever you tasted one of her creations.

She would silently place a cupcake or a pastry in front of you and step back, arms crossed, lip pulled between her teeth, brows furrowed, watching intently for your reaction. You would hum, nod, then compliment without pretence. Her smile would be so wide, so bright in the dim light of the kitchen. That was your favourite part, it still is, seeing her light up like that.

Each and every time she pours her love into her baking until it's overflowing, bursting at the seams, warming your insides and filling your stomach until you were full, yet it still left you hungry for more. At first it was the offering of a stray baked good when you visited Ellie and Dina, then it was sending you tupperware of fresh cookies and pastries weekly as though she knew the key to your heart lay in flaky chocolate chip croissants.

The final straw was your birthday cake. She stood there, face lit delicately by the slow burning candles, eyes as soft as her smile.

The cake itself was beautiful, topped in delicate piping, filled with a strange combination of your favourite flavours that seemed to mingle in your mouth, erupting across your tastebuds in each pleasurable mouthful.

This time when she gnawed at her lip in anticipation, you couldn't help but kiss her. Acting completely on impulse and pent up yearning. Seeing her hands work almost every day, tasting the fruits of their labour was one thing, but to feel them was something entirely different. Now, some years later she comes home to you, bringing a different sweet treat from her bakery everyday.

Today she comes home to an empty living room, the slight thrum of a running shower and quiet music welcoming her. She drops her things over the couch, puts a small box of sweet treats in the fridge, and follows your quiet humming to the steamed up bathroom.

She can perfectly map out each dip and curve of your body, despite the fogged up shower door, the sweet smell of your conditioner carried by each misty tendril.

She doesn’t think as she undresses, just wanting to be close to you after a long day alone. She calls out to you softly so she doesn’t startle you half to death. For once, the almost scalding heat of the shower is welcome against her taut skin, though she’ll never understand how you can withstand it for so long.

Resting her head in your neck as she breathes out a tired sigh. You stroke a hand through her soft hair, small flecks of cocoa power dusting her golden tresses.

"Long day?"

Abby nods her head, breath tickling your neck, the low hum of her words brushing against your skin.

"Mostly just missed you,"

She presses a kiss to your neck, hand resting on your stomach lightly, fingers itching to trace each dip and curve. Her hands don’t leave your skin as you turn to face her, a dollop of her pine shampoo in your hands. The moment your fingers touch her scalp, it’s like all of the stress in her body melts away into nothing.

“You’re all tense, what’s bothering you?” Your fingers massage until the soap becomes cloud-like, nails gently grazing her every now and then. Her eyes close on instinct, fingers tracing the skin at your waist, indistinct patterns that somehow feel like home.

“Nora’s trying out a new menu, m’trying to come up with some ideas but nothing feels right.”

“Your hands make magic. It’ll be perfect.” She smiles softly, staring at you for a moment before looking away. One day, you think, she’ll learn how to accept a compliment.

The more she relaxes the slower her hands move, and as much as you want to keep slowly running your hands through her hair, she’s practically falling asleep on her feet. You make quick work of rinsing and conditioning, being glad for once that she’s not a ten-step shower girl and shut off the water.

You hand her a warm fluffy towel, watching as her eyes droop even further. Your hand rests on her back as you guide her from the steam filled haze of the bathroom. You know she doesn’t need it, she’s more than capable of finding her way, but she deserves it every now and then, a helping hand no matter how soft. If you could give her only one thing, something she’d earned with each waking breath, it would be a moments rest, an anchor to ground her even on the most tiresome of days.

The two of you work around each other like a well oiled, yet sluggish machine. She hands you a sleep shirt, you hand her underwear, she hands you moisturiser, you braid her hair. It’s a dance the two of you are more than familiar with, one that has no end but rather slow swaying pauses.

A slither of moonlight runs from her arm across to your fingertips, her quiet curses empty of malice as she chucks the many pillows to the end of the bed. You smile, knowing that come morning they’ll be neatly arranged, not because she wants to, but because knows that’s how you like them.

“Snagged you some red velvet brownies.” Her words are muffled by a long yawn.

“I knew there was a reason why I liked you. That’s breakfast sorted.”

Abby chuckles, considering for a moment that your insatiable sweet tooth had played into some Pavlovian response to her constant baking. But whatever hold her skills in the kitchen had over you were minuscule compared to way you’d managed to entrance her just by being you.

“Anything to keep my girl happy.” She presses a kiss to your shoulder, pulling the covers higher once she notices the slight chill on your skin.

“I’m sure that’s what Nora tells the accountant every month.” Another chuckle from her, the sweetest symphony ever directed. You spend a moment shuffling around, getting comfortable, finally ending up with your arm strewn across her waist.

“Now relax, get some sleep, and stop thinking about whatever concoction i’m sure you’ve already perfected.” Your thumb moves in the same way hers had before, hoping it soothes her as much as it had soothed you.

“M’not even that tired.” She protests, her usually furrowed brows slightly relaxing, words slurred by sleep. You know she’ll be snoring in five minutes.

You relish in the feeling of her breaths slowing, her muscles releasing the pent up tension, of her finally relaxing. You quietly thank whatever invisible string of fate tied the two of you together. For allowing you to have moments like this in the quiet of the night. For letting you wake up to her every morning. For her.

#abby anderson fic #abby anderson x female reader #abby tlou #abby anderson fluff #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson

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space-invading-pigeon · 2 years

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Steve makes lunches for everyone, but he's one of those people who has a theme for every single lunch.

Dustin gets cute little sandwiches that have been carefully made to look like computers, cookies shaped like walkie talkies, and juice bottles that are decorated with the scientific equations.

Max gets grilled cheese cut into skateboards, a fruit salad packed into a little California-shaped box, a snack cake that has a cute little cake Steve decorated to look like that game in the arcade she refuses to let anyone beat her high score in, and she always gets a little note telling her she's amazing and "please don't beat anyone up today."

Will gets lasagna carefully cut to look like a dragon, charcuterie, and cookies that are shaped like lightning bolts. Steve used to include a drink, but then Jonathan mentioned that Will's favorite thing is chocolate milk so now he just packs some money to buy it cold from the lunchroom; he's the only member of the Party that gets a lunch AND lunch money.

Mike refuses to let Steve pack his lunch, but he doesn't complain when Steve packs him snacks for the day. Steve always packs his favorites, labels them with the name "Paladin Shithead," and sometimes hides some small candies in Mike's backpack.

Lucas gets two lunchboxes, but only because Steve is overprotective. There were times in high school where Steve passed out after practice because no one ever thought to offer him a snack, and Lucas was the most active BEFORE he joined the team. All of his food is curated to be sure he's getting as much energy as possible without making him sluggish and bloated. If Steve makes them look like jerseys, basketballs, tennis shoes, and baskets, that's no one's business but Lucas's.

Robin gets a lot of food that's been made to look musical, like ice cream, or, her favorite, like ears. She thinks it's hilarious that her little comment in Starcourt about her ears being geniuses stuck with Steve, especially now that she knows how difficult it is for Steve to remember anything (his concussions have not been kind to him).

Nancy and Jonathan both get simple lunches, everything looks normal, but their desserts are always decorated with guns and a heart with N+J in the center. Steve never really figured out how to act around the two of them when there isn't a crisis, but he loves both of them and keeps them well-fed until they go off to college.

Joyce gets a lunch delivered every morning, packed with healthy foods and labelled "For my real mom." It makes her tear up every single day, and she usually repays Steve by sending home the lunchbox full of copies of Byers family recipes, "for my darling son." They don't mention it to anyone else, but Steve makes sure to try each and every recipe even though he adds them to his own recipe box anyway.

Hopper gets a lunch full of little police stars, and his sandwich is shaped like himself, mustache and all. The first time Steve did this, he left the lunch on Hop's desk at the station with a note that just says "To Dad," because Hop has called Steve his son almost exclusively since 1984. The sentiment makes him go all misty-eyed, and because one of his deputies dared to mention it, the entire station knows not to bring up Hop's son as any sort of joke again.

Eleven's lunches are full of sweet foods. Honey ham, candied nuts, any new dessert recipes that Steve wants to try, they all go in her box. She gets normal, healthy food too, but she'll only eat it because Steve makes them look like waffles. (She likes being able to eat anything, post-Lab, but Steve dotes on her like she's the baby sister he never got to have) Her favorite thing, though, is the notes he packs for her, telling her that she is always going to be his hero and he's proud of her for pushing through school.

Eddie claims he gets the best lunch: hand delivered by Steve every day, full of hearty food to both help him heal up and put on some weight (Steve was appalled when he realized he could count almost all of Eddie's ribs, because of course Eddie is hypoglycemic). His desserts are always bat-shaped, both the animal and Steve's signature weapon, and Steve usually leaves a post-it note with nothing but a heart in the box. Eddie has collected every single one, he keeps them in a drawer.

Erica's lunch looks like she has a personal chef, each one with her initials on the entree. She boasts to anyone who is in earshot that her babysitter made it for her, and that he's the best cook in the whole state; as a result Steve's been signed up for every bake sale, auction, and school dance at the middle and high school.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things headcanons #the party #dustin henderson #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #will byers #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #mike wheeler #eleven #chief hopper #joyce byers #erica sinclair #chef steve

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ceruleancattail · 1 year

Note

HELLOOO CONGRATS ON 700!!! as for the event... u get to choose between 3 of these challenges (bc I couldn't choose lmao)

"Azul! I trusted you!" (yandere)

"Jade... what have you done?" (yandere)

"Please let me go...Floyd." (yandere)

ABYWAYS HAVE FUN AND CHOOSE WHICHEVER U VIBE WITH AND FEEL LIKE DOING AND AGAIN CONGRATS ON 700!!!!!

All you could see was blue.

Submerged completely, the cold biting into your skin. Enclosed within four panels of glass, you were quite literally imprisoned. Fingers trailing over the glass, your palm closes into a fist, clenching it in frustration.

Raising a hand, you bring it down onto the glass, hoping against hope to see the spidery starts of cracks, some sort of weakness in this prison of yours.

Nothing. It only worsened the throbbing pain biting at your knuckles. Throwing your hands up in frustration, all you could do was sink back down. Catching a glimpse of your lower half, you bit back a groan.

Where your legs would normally be, a fish’s tail was there instead. Scales shimmering, fins spread out, gracefully flowing with every breath you took. Gills on either side of your cheeks, filtering the air from within. Bubbles form, puffy little shapes drifting upwards, towards the surface.

At least something’s free in this cage.

Your walls shake slightly. The imprint of a hand, pressed tightly against the glass. You rush over, placing your hand over it. Eyes wide open, pounding desperately against the walls. Your mouth moves in a silent plea.

“Help.”

“Oya, oya, what’s this?”

A velvety voice, crooning into your ears. Dripping with malice, hissing and spitting. Mismatched eyes gleamed with cruel amusement as they watch your every movement.

Jade Leech. Your upperclassman. He should be worried about you, right? Maybe even help you get or of this cage…

He tilts his head, a curious gesture. Walking around the tank slowly, admiring every inch of you. Jade seemed in no hurry to help you out. You heart sank with every step he took.

“Jade… what have you done?”

He feigns ignorance, before turning behind him, beckoning someone closer.

“Azul, you’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

You felt yourself freeze, blood growing ice cold.

A prideful laugh, from someone rather satisfied with himself. A figure emerges from the darkness, curls of grey sliding down his scalp, perfectly framing his face within. He strolls right up to the tank, a smug smirk playing on his lips.

Azul Ashengrotto, the Head of Octavinelle himself. He presses his palm against the glass himself, breath slightly fogging it up. A misty patch of white, pressing against the wall of the tank. He watches you almost gleefully, a sparkle in those grey eyes of his.

“Of course! The potion was my magnum opus, after all. I’m glad that prefect drank it all~”

Drank it all? Your mind flashes back to the previous day. A vague memory of Azul offering you a drink, asking for your thoughts on Mostro Lounge’s newest recipe. How he seemed so thrilled when you chugged it all down, clasping your hands in his.

Balling your hand into a fist, you trash against the walls once more, startling the two. Throwing your tail against the glass, making your tank shudder with every syllable.

“Azul! I trusted you!”

Rapping the tank sharply with his knuckles, Azul gives you a small smile. A gentle, horribly patronising expression. You scowl, before slinking off to the back of the tank, far as possible from the two.

Ripples creep across the surface of the tank, the dull splash of something entering the water. Whipping around, your shoulders tense, fight or flight instincts going into overdrive. Heart pounding wildly, throwing itself against your rib cage rapidly.

Scaly arms wrap around your waist, webbed fingers pressing deep into your flesh. Upon ensuring a secure hold across your body, they squeeze as tightly as possible, pulling you closer into them.

You gasp, gagging from the pressure. A shudder, as a body slides against yours, fitting itself against your back. You could feel a tremble, someone laughing, that movement flowing through your skin.

“Shrimpy~ You’re so cute like this!”

A clawed finger dragged across your chin, pressing into you ever so slightly. A tail wraps across yours, intertwining like the fingers of lovers.

An affectionate gesture… if he wasn’t literally squeezing the living daylights out of you. Between sobs, you manage to choke out a plea.

Desperate clawing at Floyd’s back, begging him with tears brimming in your eyes.

“Please let me go… Floyd.”

He hums to himself, before spinning you around, a torrent of bubbles surrounding your feeble form. Floyd’s claws press deeper, blood spilling out in clouds of crimson, trailing off in the water.

“What if I don’t want to, Shrimpy? You can’t do anything about it~”

He drawls, a certain childish quality in it. Mocking you, voice dripping with sadistic glee.

“Just stay here with us.

His fingers flick at your gills, chuckling darkly.

You don’t have a choice, either way.”

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antiquatedplumbobs · 8 months

Text

~an excerpt from Violet Sewell's private journal~

Winter 1914

I think it's always a bittersweet day when a mother realizes her little girl is well on her way to becoming a young woman. We recently celebrated Elsie's twelfth birthday and I hate to admit it, I found myself getting quite misty eyed when letting down her skirts for what feels like the fourth time this year. She's closing in on me heightwise and I swear just last year she was only at my elbow. She's looking so grown up even if she's still in short skirts and pigtails. Her hair has recently darkened to more of an auburn than the fiery red of her father. It's almost a combination of his and my coloring now.

I made a special birthday supper for her; she loves fish and Will was able to purchase a beautiful carp in town so we had that fried up with some tomato preserve. The real showstopper was dessert though, I made a coconut cake - a flavor none of us had had before. I had seen the recipe in my Ladies Home Journal and when I came across the coconut at Greenfield's it just felt serendipitous. They're ugly things and quite hard to get open, but the aroma was very pleasant. The cake turned out lovely, I even caught Charlie licking his plate, a behavior I strictly admonished. As a birthday treat, I wouldn't let her help a whit with the cooking or clean up, even if she has become quite a hand in the kitchen.

She's grown into such a responsible young lady, I am quite proud of her really. She's always quick to help and is quite accomplished with her embroidery and knitting. She can be a bit fanciful at times, no doubt encouraged by all the fantastical stories my father tells her and Charlie; I haven't the heart to tell them they're all embellished to high heaven or just pure fiction. The faith of youth is such a special thing and all too soon the world will feel more real. Time certainly sneaks up on you, I recently came to the sobering realization that I was only six years older when I married Hamish. It seems of late more and more of the young ladies of Brindleton have been finding beau's from further afield, Britechester or even San Myshuno. I can only hope Elsie won't stray so far when she marries.

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

next / previous / first

#i have been waiting literal years to see what Elsie would look like #hazards of being slower than a snail unfortunately #BUT LOOK AT HOW CUTE SHE IS #ts4 decades challenge #decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #ts4 storytelling #sims 4 storytelling #sewell legacy #sewell legacy 1910s #elizabeth sewell #violet sewell #hamish sewell #charles sewell #sewell 1910s

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star-girl69 · 11 months

Text

Ultraviolence

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: thanks to google translate and my very limited knowledge of high school french for their help this chapter 😍 i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: blood, injury, swearing, kissing, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Twelve - Amoureuse

—-

1996-

The séance was held in the attic. If you closed your eyes and breathed in deep, you could still smell the slight rot of a dead body.

“O’ keeper of this wild and hidden place…” Jackie dipped her finger into a bowl of something red, swirling it around. “We anoint ourselves with blood and earth.”

She draws an X on Shauna’s forehead, who has a piece of cloth wrapped around her face, and is holding the hunting knife by a string tied to it.

Jackie turns back around with a chipper smile, an X already drawn on her forehead.

“Here,” she says, handing it to Travis. He looks at the metal bowl, shooting her a look. “It’s just dirt and deer blood. Class witch recipe. Relax.”

He takes the bowl and marks a X to his forehead, before handing it to Natalie, who doesn’t even notice he’s handing it to her because she’s too busy staring at you.

You could feel her eyes on your back the entire walk back, and you can feel them on you now.

Jackie breathes out, sitting down, wiping her bloody finger onto the cabin floor. She raises her hands up, and Misty, who you’ve ended up next to, does as well.

The rest of the girls shuffle around with passing the bowl of blood, still besides.

“O spirit, we offer our sister as your instrument. Come to us and speak your peace.”

“It is I, Jacques,” Shauna says. A few of the girls laugh at her light monotone voice. She clears her throat. “Jacques,” she says, her voice deeper, earning more laughs. “Ask your questions. The pendulum will answer them.”

“Okay,” Van says, passing off the bowl of blood and clearing her throat, raising her hands out, palms to the sky. “Dear dead hunter guy… did O.J. do it?”

You and the other girls laugh, and you smile, grabbing the bowl of blood from Misty. You dip your finger in, looking at the bright red rippling.

“Come on, you guys, serious questions.”

“The veil is thin between our two worlds,” Shauna- or Jacques- confirms.

You tap your finger against the side of the bowl, watching the excess blood fly off, before lifting it back up to your forehead. Your eye’s meet Natalie’s.

You inhale and draw the X, handing the bowl off to the girl next to you.

“Ask what is in your heart,” Shauna says.

“Okay,” Mark says, holding her hands out and closing her eyes. “Is Principal Berzonsky screwing Ms. DeWine?”

The girls laugh before turning to Shauna and the pendulum. It spins in a circle, and a few of the girls gasp.

“It is certain,” Shauna smiles.

“Hunter guy, if we hadn’t crashed, would we have won Nationals?” Akilah asks.

The knife swings back in forth, and the girls start booing and laughing.

A few more questions go by, all making you laugh and forget about everything that happened earlier that day.

“They’re obviously fake,” Nat says. The conversation had steered towards Christie Caper’s boobs. “You really need a ghost to tell you that?”

“You think?” Mari asks, as Javi comes upstairs and sits between Nat and Travis. “But who would have paid for them? Her parents?”

“I think they got divorced recently. It could have been guilt money.”

“Well that’s just creepy,” Mari replies to Van.

A small smile crosses Van’s face. “‘Well, honey, your mom and I are splitting up but don’t worry, ‘cause your tits are gonna look amazing!’”

“Okay, guys, guys, focus,” Jackie says through the laughter. “Next question.”

Misty raises her hand, and Jackie motions for her to go. She looks around the circle excitedly, before closing her eyes.

“Dear spirit, I need to know the truth. Does the person I like like me back?” A few of the girls coo, and you can’t help but smile at her, trying not to look at Natalie.

The pendulum spins in a circle, and a few of the girls whoop and whistle, applauding Misty.

“Okay, next question?”

Javi raises his hand and Jackie nods.

“Are we all gonna die out here?”

The circle becomes silent.

The knife starts spinning.

“Okay, an eight?” Van asks, shuffling slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not an eight, it’s an infinity,” Mari says.

“Yeah, okay, Aristotle.”

Lottie screeches at the top of her lungs. Everyone jumps back and the window swings open, the candles all going out, the attic turning dark. More screaming fills the cabin, and you realize one of the screams is yours.

“Who has the matches?” Jackie shouts.

Someone closes the window. Your back is nearly pressed against the wall, huddled into the corner.

A few of the girls crowd around Lottie while she pants and sobs.

“Guys, somethings really wrong with her,” Van says, holding onto Lottie’s shoulder, who lets out another scream.

“What’s happening?” someone shrieks.

“It wants… it wants…” Lottie cries.

“Misty, what do we do?” Van shouts.

“It wants!”

“Lottie, I swear to God, if you’re fucking with us-”

“I thinks she’s, like, possessed!” Akilah shouts back.

“Lottie. Lottie, Lottie, sweetie,” Shauna says. “What’s going on? What is ‘it’?”

“More like what does ‘it’ want?”

“Hungry,” she cries. “Hungry.”

She starts laughing cackling, a shiver rips across your spine, and you almost scream when someone places their hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N?” Natalie. “Are- are you okay-?”

“Shh,” Lottie says, grabbing onto Shauna. “It’s in you already.” Shauna bats her away and stands up.

“Lottie. This isn’t a game,” Tai says like she’s scolding her. But the more you look at her, the more you watch her, the more you think she’s not faking.

Lottie sits up straight.

She starts speaking in something that’s not English.

You grab Natalie’s hand, the one that’s still on your shoulder, and she squeezes, still looking with wide eyes at Lottie.

“Is that French?” someone asks, and you listen closer. “Since when does Lottie speak French?”

“Jackie, w-wasn’t she in your class?”

“Yeah, but she sucks at French!”

Lottie is speaking French. You let go of Natalie’s hand and take a step forward, trying to listen, even when Nat tugs on you and says your name.

“Well, what’s she saying?”

“I don’t know! I suck at French, too!”

“Damn it, Jackie, try not to!”

“Ça veut du sang,” Lottie keeps repeating, over and over.

“It wants blood,” you mutter to yourself, as Jackie tries in vain to translate Lottie’s hurried sentences, one after another, blending together.

“Uh, uh, it wants!” Jackie yells after a moment. “What? What does it want?”

“God, Jackie!” you shout, walking over to Lottie and crouching in front of her. “It wants blood! It wants blood! Have you never paid any attention to Madame?!”

“Blood?!” Jackie yells.

“Not the word I want to be hearing right now,” someone shouts.

“Lottie, what? What else? Uh- pourqoui, Lottie? Pourquoi veut-il du sang? Why does it want blood?!”

She stands up and turns around, facing that one lonely attic window, staring out into it.

“Ici,” she pants. “Ici, ici,”

“Here!” you shout, trying to work up the courage to go up to Lottie again. “She’s saying ‘here’!”

“There’s blood where, Lottie?” Van shouts, before tugging on your arm. “Translate that!”

“Fuck, uh, où y a-t-il du sang?”

“Why are you encouraging her, Van?” Tai shouts.

Lottie doesn’t answer.

“Blood here? Or out there?” Van shouts.

“Ici? Là-bas?” you shout. “Where, Lottie? Where?!”

“You must spill blood,” she whispers finally, and it’s not in French anymore. “Or else…”

“Or else what, Lottie?!”

Then, she throws her head back, rearing up, and plunges her head right through the glass of the window.

You scream. It’s all you can think to do this moment, but you’re not even thinking- it’s all you can do.

When Lottie turns back around, blood falls down her forehead, dripping past her nose. She raises her hand to the space in between her eyebrows, and looks at her fingers, which come away slick with blood.

She starts wailing.

The girls help her to the floor, and she just keeps wailing and wailing, screaming like banshee, and all you can do is stand there and try not to scream as well.

“The power of Christ compels you!” Laura Lee shouts, running past you with a Bible in her hands. “Begone, Satan! Lottie! Lottie, stop!”

Then, just when it seems like Lottie will just scream and wail forever, Laura Lee throws the Bible at her.

The wailing stops.

“Ow!” she shouts. “What the hell, Laura Lee?”

“Seriously?” Mari asks. “What the motherfuck just happened?”

All you can do is stand there, looking at the blood falling down Lottie’s face, the memory of her screams ringing around in your head.

—-

“Do we think it’s still up there?”

The subject of the seance and the attic had become taboo in the last hour. After cleaning Lottie’s wound and letting her go off to bed- everyone had tried to get to bed themselves. But all of you were thinking it. Akilah had just said it first.

“You all need to stop,” Taissa hissed, sitting up. “There’s nothing up there. Lottie’s been acting weird for weeks.”

A small snore came from the cot Lottie was sleeping on.

You can’t help but sit up as well. “I don’t mean to, like, freak anyone out but- I once overheard Lottie say she was close to failing French. I don’t- l don’t think she knows how to say what she said.”

Taissa cuts you a death glare. But the rest of the girls remain silent.

“Fine,” she spits, grabbing her blanket and pillow and standing up. “I’ll prove it.”

“You’re gonna sleep up there?” someone asks.

“That’s right. Who’s with me?”

You lay back down on your bed, listening to Laura Lee’s prayers.

“Fine. More room for me then,” Taissa says, and you listne to her footsteps going towards the attic, then up the ladder.

Laura Lee keeps praying.

Eventually, Shauna and Jackie start whispering, and Shauna ends up going to the attic as well.

You sigh, and try to go to bed, the fire dying down, the room becoming shrouded in darkness.

Someone taps your shoulder.

Your makeshift bed was still next to Natalie’s, a remnant of when you were just friends, and maybe if you weren’t so drained from the seance, you would have moved to another spot.

“Y/N.” You pretend you’re asleep, you can’t face her, not yet, not right now. She shakes you. “Turn around, please.”

You stay silent, trying to control your breathing, scared of everything that could happen.

She exhales. “I know you’re not asleep. C’mon.” She tugs on your arm, and unwillingly, you roll over, shifting so there’s still space between you, staring at her.

“What?” your voice doesn’t come out quite as firm as you want it to. You sound like a child trying to hide the fact they’re crying.

“Are you okay? After tonight? I mean, you were like right in front of her, being really smart and shit, but- still.”

Your shoulders relax, and you wish that they didn’t.

“‘M fine, yeah.”

She smiles lightly, awkwardly, and you feel bad that you’ve caused all this weirdness between the two of you.

“Hey, I- I know its fucked up, but, can we talk?”

“Natalie, I’m tired-”

She leans forward and brushes her lips against yours.

She closes her eyes, but you’re left shocked, your eyes wide open, your lips parted, hers pressed hard against yours, not even a kiss, like she just wants to say that she did it, check a box. She’s just pressing her lips to yours, and your stomach flips and turns because you love it.

She pulls back, and takes a breath, so you can feel it on your skin.

“Sorry. For that. I-I just didn’t know how to tell you-”

All you can do is stare at her.

You can hear sirens go off in your mind, screaming danger, danger at every turn. This could all crash and burn like everything else that’s happened in these past few weeks- but maybe Natalie is just a single speck of violence in a world full of it, and maybe having someone on your side, someone with you, is just want you need.

Just what you want.

Not just someone to protect you, to be with, but you want her.

You’ve spent so long in these woods denying it because you were scared of losing her, of losing your friendship- but after tonight? The worst has already happened to you. You didn’t choose it. You’ve already been plagued with violence and this time- you want to choose it. You want to choose her.

You choose her, and press your lips against hers, violence in a world of violence, and don’t pull away until you’ve completely sunk into her, into her ultraviolence.

Loving her is violence, but you’re choosing it, and this violence feels like love.

—-

taglist:

@sweetdayme4427 @dreaming-for-an-escape @peachydoki

#yellowjackets x reader #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader

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neuroprincess · 10 months

Text

Yellowjackets - They cook for you (Preferences)

Classification: Fluff

Pairing: Lottie Matthews, Misty Quigley and Natalie Scatorccio

Warnings: None

Word count: +800

Lottie Matthews

Having been raised with treats and a maid to make anything she wanted to eat, learning to cook was never a priority while growing up. After the crash and time in Switzerland she acquired some autonomy, enough to learn the basics and not starve, scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, if she risks pancakes with uneven edges. And when she's inspired often risks it, so begins a Saturday morning, the weather is mild, it's a rare quiet day in Camp Green Pine and you're sleeping over the clock, perfect moment to surprise with a breakfast in bed... and maybe almost set the stove on fire while trying to make pancakes. ��

"Lottie!" you yell running to the windows, opening them all so the smoke clears as soon as possible while she coughs trying to put it out "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

In fifteen minutes everything stabilizes after the scare, she tries to explain and in the end you are both laughing about what happened, but the intention of the act warms your heart, Lottie is so attentive, kind and dedicated. She'll do anything for you, even if it means almost killing herself in the process.

"How about a sandwich?" the brunette asks excitedly and gets up without even waiting for an answer "We have bread, cheese, ham? Do you want some? I can make sandwiches."

Misty Quigley

This woman has a lot of talents and one of them is cooking, however it's not a big hobby that she dedicates herself to, in fact routine makes her more practical when it comes to food. She keeps tupperware everywhere for a reason. Was and is like that for a long time, at least until she meets you, not pretentious at all when she shows up with brownies on your doorstep and a spaghetti at lunchtime, but Misty goes crazy in euphoria when you say that you loved everything. It doesn't take long for her to show up with more and more recipes, somehow mysteriously she knows all your tastes, from what you love to the little things you don't like to eat, there's never anything in the dishes you're allergic to.

"Dinner at your place tonight?" she asks taking a bite of her own lunch salad "You can see the chef working." and winks, a little smug, especially since you're still smiling, eating contentedly.

"How about yours? I want to see the chef in her natural habitat." you propose genuinely "And I'd really like to meet Caligula."

Hours later you're together in her small kitchen, not caring about the lack of space because this feels comfortable and nice, it's almost a slow dance, she asks you to get something for her, hips rubbing, fingers touching slightly, music playing in the background and lots of smiles exchanged. Caligula is at the table, wanting some of your attention too, he just adored you and that's a great sign for both of them. Misty leans over, spooning some of the sauce into the palm of her hand and stretches it out for you to taste, it's automatic, by the time she realizes it's too late and she's sure you'll, at the very least, think it's weird. But you just put your lips there, soft and tempting. She almost faints.

"It's perfect."

Natalie Scatorccio

She grew up before the time in some ways, with parents like hers Natalie had to learn many things for own survival, one of them was cooking, while her mother was too busy watching some show on TV and father drinking she managed in some way, that's how she started and after a few weeks found herself doing almost everything. She knows how to make the necessary things, but it doesn't guarantee that it's of the best quality or that she remembers the recipes no matter how simple they are. When she became an adult not much changed, except that she barely has a place to do it, patience, memory, most meals are made in cafeterias, junk food and, the most practical, snacks from the vending machine near the hotel room.

"Will this work?" the brunette asks as she re-reads the website, a page of recipes on the screen "One egg still seems like a bit much."

"But works, if they say it works, then it probably will. Who lies on a recipe website?"

"People lie everywhere, Y/N." she defends her own point and rolls the eyes, picking up a fork to mix in the mug, still a little disbelieving.

After a lot of mixing and one minute that feels like an eternity in the microwave, a nice and soft chocolate cake is done, it doesn't smell as good as she thought it would, but the taste seems to have won Nat over. She soon makes another, and another, and another, just in case you're not satisfied. There's also a small stock of instant noodles in the cupboard, snacks she bought earlier in the day. Popcorn is already popped, beers are on the table, if you prefer wine it will be there too.

"I'm a master at the art of improvisation." Natalie says handing you the mug cake, a proud smile on the lips "Ready for movie night?"

Join my taglist here ^^

#yellowjackets #lottie matthews x reader #misty quigley x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets x reader #preferences

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jungle-angel · 1 year

Text

His Funny Familiars (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: You thought wifey’s familiars were a sight to see?? Wait untill you meet Rhett’s

Tagging: @sebsxphia Hon the video that inspired this was too cute to pass up and I couldn’t resist (lol).

“Fuckin hoodlums,” Rhett muttered as he carefully pulled the prybar from the fencepost for the nine millionth time in a row. Why the hell was Wabang full of so many disrespectful little shits from out of town who thought they owned everyone and everything?

He pulled the prybar loose, his face taking on a pinched look as the pain in his hand shot up into his arm and elbow. “Ya’ll better get that checked out,” remarked a familiar drawl. “Fractures can lead to something worse.”

Rhett turned his head to see Billy Tillerson making his way down the hill with a wicker basket in his hands, his eyes looking more tired than usual. “And you’d better get some rest,” Rhett chuckled.

“Oh believe me, I am,” Billy answered. “Gotta get it now while I can. Shania’s gonna have the baby soon.”

“Six more days,” Rhett assured him. “Six more days and the little guy’s comin.”

“Don’t remind me,” Billy laughed as he set to work, helping Rhett repair the fence.

The two of them bantered back and forth as the early morning sunrise began to peek over the hills, the mists surrounding the hills as the chilly spring morning welcomed the day. Rhett loved mornings like this, cool, misty and with hints of sharp moisture and the smell of grass in the air.

“Oh by the way,” Billy said. “I made a little something for your Ma last week. (Y/n) was kind enough to share the recipe with us.”

“Her Irish Soda Bread?”

“The very one.”

Rhett’s huge grin grew bigger as he hammered in another nail when all of a sudden he caught sight of a familiar ringed tail hanging over the edge of the basket.

“Hey! Meeko, outta there you little ring-tailed thief!”

The baby raccoon chittered and squeaked as though he had understood Rhett perfectly, his chubby little body dropping into the grass and zooming straight to his master like a tame dog.

“That thing’s tamer than our dog,” Billy laughed.

“Probably because (y/n) and I feed him and his siblings all the damn time,” Rhett replied.

Billy’s head suddenly looked up to see a dreaded sight making its way over to the fence along a path from the road. “Uh oh,” he groaned.

“What’s up?”

“Brace yourself,” Billy said under his breath. “The gorgon approaches.”

There she was, Gale Burch, that pinch faced menace from up the road, her grey hair cut into a neat pageboy, her grey dress stiff and without a single wrinkle in it, black shoes holding in her feet while on her elbow was a little black purse hanging from a thin silver chain. God she looked evil, more evil than she usually did when the Abbotts and the Tillersons saw her at St. Mike’s on Sunday mornings.

“Ah just who I wanted to see,” Gale crowed. “The neighborhood heathen and his little accomplice.”

Rhett cleared his throat and mustered all his strength to bite his tongue and be polite for once. “Good to see you Mrs. Burch.”

“Oh spare me the polite façade,” Gale spat. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you Mr. Abbott. In fact, several.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t play dumb with me you brainless sinful little twerp,” Gale hissed. “That disgusting little pest sitting there at your feet went rooting through my trash receptacles looking for his next meal. If it were up to me, I’d have it turned into a hat.”

Meeko chittered and curled around Rhett’s ankle, covering his little eyes with his tiny paws.

“Well, who knows, maybe it’ll cover the bald spot on the back of your head,” Rhett said with a smug little grin.

“Oh you smart mouthed little shit!” Gale hissed. “You’re just like your mother. A hateful, godless little Irish heathen that breeds like a lowly rabbit!”

Rhett’s blood began to boil as Gale walked away, her pointed, beaky nose in the air and an insatiable urge running through him to the core, the urge to bury Gale Burch in a hole so deep it might as well be on the nearest doorstep in hell.

“Now Rhett, I wouldn’t....”

“Oh I’m not gonna kill her,” Rhett said, cutting Billy off. “Believe me, I’ve got something better in mind.”

Back to the house they went, where they found you in the kitchen and tiny little Hannah sitting on the counter, swinging her legs and her little socked feet as you scooped pumpkin cookie batter onto a tray. “Whatcha lookin for cowboy?” you asked him.

“Lookin for that mealworm shit you bought for the raccoons,” Rhett answered as he searched the cabinets.

“On top of the fridge,” you answered.

Rhett gently moved you sideways before grabbing the bag of mealworm and chow mix off the top of the refrigerator. “Might I ask what you plan on using that for?” you enquired, noticing the mischevous look in his eye.

“You don’t need to know darlin, it’s all good,” Rhett answered as he and Billy traipsed back out the door.

As soon as he was out of earshot, you peered out the kitchen window to find the two of them heading down the driveway hill in the direction of Gale Burch’s property.

“Son of a bitch,” you whispered, rolling your eyes.

“I know that whisper (y/n),” Cecelia remarked, picking Hannah up off the counter and onto her hip. “What are those two little weasels up to now?”

“I don’t wanna know,” you answered, throwing up your hands. “They told me I didn’t need to know, so I’m not asking.”

“Any idea where they’re going?”

“Over towards the Burch property.”

Cecelia made a face. “Wonder what old fish face did to’em now,” she seethed. “The other day she was giving Mrs. Garcia hell for her climbing roses being too tall.”

“Well,” you said. “We’ll find out tomorrow what they were up to.”

********************

“Alright Meeko,” Rhett whispered to the little raccoon. “Go git’em.”

Meeko climbed straight up the perfectly white picket fence and into Gale’s yard, dropping right into the neatly manicured grass to pick up a few of the mealworms, digging up the miserable witch’s vegetable beds like a kid in a sandbox. Betty Sullivan’s little chihuahua, Pinky, had attempted the same feat but had been met with the unfortunate wrath of Gale’s nasty cat, Gremlin. Rhett prayed that Meeko would make it out without arousing the wrath of that spoiled rotten little furball.

“Ya’ll think he’s gonna make it out?” Billy asked.

“He’s a smart little fucker, of course he’ll make it,” Rhett answered.

The two of them tensed up when they heard the clanging and dropping of old glass bottles from the recycling cans. Their hearts threatened to beat out of their chests when they heard that horrid snarl and hissing that signaled Gremlin lurking about.

“Oh shit,” Rhett said under his breath.

Meeko hissed a second later, the two men only able to guess what was going on behind the fence, too nervous too look for themselves. Finally, Meeko wriggled his way out from under the fence, climbing straight into the curve of Rhett’s arms.

“You little turd,” he chuckled. “Scarin us shitless like that.”

“Holy shit!” Billy laughed. “Rhett, ya’ll gotta come and look at this.”

Rhett peered over the fence, biting his lip as he held back a laugh.

The garden beds were an absolute mess, dug up down to the roots with the vegetables all knocked over and the driveway littered with garbage from the trashcans.

“C’mon,” Rhett told Billy, still holding on to Meeko. “Let’s get outta here before we get attacked by that monster cat of hers.”

********************

Rhett knelt beside the pew in the church, crossing himself before he scooted in next to you, Hannah, Royal and his mother, biting his lip as though a devilish little laugh could escape at any minute.

“Rhett?” Cecelia whispered.

Rhett snickered as the other parishioners began filing into the sun filled church. Sister Bernadette made her way down the aisle towards the front, her white hair completely hidden by her black habit.

“Rhett James, what did you do?” Cecelia hissed, resisting the urge to hit him on the back of the head with a hymnal.

Rhett didn’t answer her. He just kept his eyes on his hands that were folded in his lap, never once daring to look up at his mother.

You and Cecelia cast each other a quick glance before you saw the sour looking Gale Burch walking into the church, mean as ever, muttering something under her breath about a raccoon tearing up her garden. Cecelia turned to Rhett, slackjawed, wide eyed and shocked as she clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Oh my God, you didn’t,” she hissed under her breath.

“I did.”

You laughed a little yourself before Father O’Keefe entered and the service began. You couldn’t wait to hear this one when you got home.

#outer range #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #royal abbott #cecelia abbott #billy tillerson #lewis pullman #lewis pullman x reader

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the-judicial-assistants-notebook · 1 year

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Carrying on from this post because I do actually think I was valid there for once, but also because I was thinking about Phoenix's poison line. You know, this one from Recipe for Turnabout:

Phoenix: (There are two things that I consider inexcusable. Poisoning, and betrayal! Only a coward would hurt people using either of these tactics.)

And I was thinking about it in conjunction with how he feels after BttT, and how it could have warped (or been warped to fit) his perception of events there.

Because, while it is Dahlia who sets the whole thing in motion by poisoning Diego, the only one who can be said to have "betrayed" Godot in any way is... Phoenix. It's not Mia who tells him who stabbed Misty, Iris refuses to cave even when it becomes clear that she was an accomplice, and Maya begs Phoenix to leave things alone the whole time she's on the witness stand. The one who actually pushes the revelation and finally brings the truth to light is Phoenix. As Mia and Godot both say, that final battle was all him.

And of course it's ridiculous. Of course it doesn't add up. Because there was no betrayal. Godot killed someone. It is objectively right that he be sentenced for it, and, if it wasn't for his own interjection, he wouldn't have been found out at all! But then I think about what Phoenix says at the end of the case -- how he talks about "his own hand sending Godot to prison" (not, notably, finding the truth, as Edgeworth might justify) and how he specifically questions whether "justice was served with that verdict" because he "wasn't able to save Mr Armando" -- and I wonder if he doesn't feel some sense of misguided responsibility and guilt for that. Like, yes, he may not have known, and, yes, he technically owed Godot nothing, but that was the man who risked his life to save Maya's. And that automatically means Phoenix owes him something close to his own life.

And Phoenix sent him to jail.

It's a self-imposed debt; it's a fictitious betrayal. But the guilt is real.

Originally, I hypothesised that Phoenix grew disillusioned with the courts, which led to him leaving without a fight.

Now I wonder if what he actually grew disillusioned with wasn't just himself.

#hello i have more thoughts #phoenix wright #ace attorney #ace attorney apollo justice #godot #diego armando #i see your saviour complex phoenix and raise you martyr complex phoenix :)#admittedly this one is a bit of a stretch but all my posts are a bit of a stretch so. ehhh #*takes your phoenix and parallels him to iris* *takes ur phoenix & parallels him to pearl* *takes ur phoenix & parallels him to godot*#*takes ur phoenix and parallels him to kristoph*#i think it's both btw. i think it's both himself and the courts.#he has the capacity for it

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this-is-me19 · 8 months

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From MollyRobertsmagick.com

I am not affiliated other than an email subscriber and I lover their blog and works.

The golden, misty, mysterious magick of autumn stirs colors in the soul of the Art Witch

Let's explore a bushel of ways to bring your creative magick out to play this season with 13 Autumn Inspired Grimoire Prompts!

1) Record an autumn color collection. Create a page cataloguing the autumnal colors you notice in your environment to heighten your magickal vision and drink in the seasonal beauty

2) Dab cobs of corn with paint or ink. Roll the corn cob onto the page for harvest inspired textured backgrounds or papers for later use.

3) Create a page dedicated to all of the beautiful poetic names for the autumn moons: Harvest Moon, Singing Moon, Wine Moon, Sturgeon Moon. Make up a name for a full moon inspired by your own environment.

4) Write a list of all the teachers you are grateful for: spiritual, craft, vocation, ancestral, animal, digital and academic teachers.

5) Trees are the star of autumn. Dedicate a page to honoring Dryads! Leave your book in a tree overnight for tree blessings and green magick inspiration.

6) Experiment painting with fruit juices to invoke bountiful harvest energy. Try pomegranate, cranberry, berries and wine

7) Use acrylic paint, paint pens or metallic paint to decorate dry leaves with patterns, words of power and symbols for all the blessings of the season.

8) Make a cornucopia shaped pocket. The cornucopia is a powerful symbol nourishment and spiritual abundance. Tuck drawings, magazine cuttings, words or symbols inside the cornucopia pocket to invite abundance and gratitude.

9) Write an affirmation to help you navigate change gracefully.

10) Use boxing tape to create specimen tags of autumn herbs, flowers and leaves. Sprinkle or place your dry botanical specimen on the sticky side of the clear tape. Seal with a second piece of tape and burnish out the air bubbles until the tape is flat. (These make fabulous mini spell book marks!)

11) Compose a letter to Themis, the goddess of Balance, Justice and Equality. (Her feast day is September 28th.) Ask her to imbue you with Reason, Fairness, Truth and Justice

12) Mushrooms galore! Celebrate mushroom magick in your book: Draw mushrooms from life, write a recipe using mushrooms, learn the names of mushrooms in your area or research mushroom myths and lore.

13) Create a dark mirror in your book. Paint one side of a piece of clear plastic packaging or page protector with black paint. Adhere the plastic to your grimoire page *shiny side out*, painted side in. (This gives you a reflective surface.) Draw or collage a frame for your dark mirror and scry away!

#13 Autumn Inspired Grimoire Prompts #art witch #art magic #witchcraft #witchblr #witches of tumblr #magick #beginner witch #witch tips #witchcraft 101 #Molly Roberts #witches #witch community

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literallyourdreamgirl · 2 years

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autumn bucket list 🎃

read “autumnal” books like the secret history, the picture of dorian gray, dead poets society, coraline, ninth house, dracula, etc.

visit a haunted house and go pumpkin picking with friends !!

bake seasonal meals and treats! experiment with different recipes that incorporate pumpkin, apple, etc.

visit family owned bookstores and cafés

long hikes on misty & rainy autumn morning when leaves are littered on the forest floor

rewatch gilmore girls, harry potter, twilight, practical magic, hocus pocus, and over the garden wall <33

try pumpkin spice lattes from different coffee shops around my area :)

go thrifting with an goal of finding a cozy/oversized sweater

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disciple-of-frost · 1 month

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Okie dokie then... (0 A 0)

Also! I'm just going to be answering these as a comprehensive list and not send out more. I'm really really sorry, I just don't want to send more to people I might have already sent this to. Just know I appreciate each and every one of you and my inbox/messages are always open if you want to chit chat more!

Also Also! I'm just going to be answering 12 things that make me happy, a nice happy medium also cuz my brain like to freeze up whenever I try to think about myself and my interests. (T _ T)

1.) My mutuals OCs! Seeing the love poured into each character and the unique takes everyone has done to fit MSQ/character dynamics to them is so cool! I know we aren't all a hivemind and we won't like all of the same characters, but seeing you all uplift and be supportive to one another helped me be more open and post about Ishi.

2.) Coffee. I am a caffeine fiend and I have done my damnedest to recreate a lot of the drinks Starbucks has released at home. And I will say, I make a mean Lavender Cream Matcha. If you think you can't make something like that I'd say don't be afraid to try. You might surprise yourself.

3.) Monster High. I was in high school in conservative, small town nowhere when they first released and my parents didn't feel the need to buy things that weren't necessities. So now that I'm an adult and enjoying things I never got the chance to when I was younger I have 5 Draculauras hanging up in my bedroom.

4.) My cats. I know I said Animals already in another post, but I don't care. I have four fur babies and they are so special to me, I'm currently living in a really small semi-beaten up apartment because any houses for rent where I am have pet limits and I am not going to abandon two of my cat's just so I can live in a slightly nicer but exceedingly more expensive house. It's not a perfect place to live by societal standards, but it's ours and my boys are everything to me.

5.) Music. I am expanding my music horizons, but for the most part I still listen to a lot of the music I did as a teenager. Linkin Park, Killswitch Engage, Sevendust, Breaking Benjamin, etc. But I do try to find more independent artists that emulate a similar sound to my old favorites; Mallavora, From Ashes to New, Aviators, Magnolia Park.

6.) Gonna move away from physical/material things for a sec. That feeling you get when you get done cleaning a room and you sit down, take a deep breath, and just smell the clean.

7.) The satisfaction of finding a new recipe and nailing it on the first/second try.

8.) Seeing people be kind. I know there are horrible things happening in the world right now, but seeing seemingly small acts of kindness get's me teary eyed. A person rescuing goose eggs from a pond and returning them to their nest. A man picking up trash from a forest creek. Somebody getting gifted a plane ticket to go see their family in another country or having a family member show up to surprise them. I'm honestly getting misty eyed just typing this out. I'm just a really emotional/sentimental person.

9.) The fact that I have been able to keep a single plant alive for more than a week. My partner and I got a potted plant at a baby shower for his boss almost a year ago and that little guy is still kicking.

10.) Giving compliments to people when I'm out in public. I never got a lot of positive affirmation as a kid so whenever I see someone being unabashedly themselves and just wearing their style proudly I like to let them know they look good and that they're killing it.

11.) Finishing a game that had me emotionally invested. Lookin' at you Persona 3: Reload.

12.) Seeing my friends in person after not hanging out in a while. Being an adult can be lonely and people have responsibilities in their own lives that they have to put first before leisure and friends. So actually finding time to be together with the people I love and being able to hug them is super important to me.

Okay then. That's about it for now, if I do get another one of these I'll try my best to list a few more.

Thank you to @paintedscales, @shadesofblades, @myreia, @draconian-empress, and @corsair-kovacs! 💙

#inbox answered #paintedscales #shadesofblades #myreia #draconian-empress #corsair-kovacs #about me

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oofiesims · 5 months

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Misty Akins, an aspiring restaurant owner and talented patisserie.

Loves video games, baking, exploring different recipes and especially loves being outgoing.

#a taste of misty #the sims 4 #show us your sims #sims #sims community #ts4 #sims 4

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dduane · 2 years

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While preparing the background for the “Food And Cooking of the Middle Kingdoms” recipe for Honey Roasted Apples

I... genuinely wasn’t expecting prose.

***

“It may sound very romantic in the poems,” says Freelorn of Arlen, turning his glass around a couple of times on the table. “Seven years an outlaw, always on the run with his little band of loyal followers, living off the bounty of empty lands…” He shakes his head, glancing up. “But when you get right down to the logistics of it…? It's not much fun at all.”

We ran into the King at one of his preferred locals, the southernmost of the dozen or more public pleasances built around Prydon city—this one looking down from the southeastern city walls where the Bluff starts to slope down toward the wooded Menaskh and Talsasmë townlands. The view from here across the river Arlid toward Darthen is quite beautiful, even on a somewhat misty day, and it’s understandably a popular spot. When we arrived, the place was already full of City and “outwall" people who didn't mind the climb up to a park and dining space famous for its Arlene country-style food.

Predictably, King Freelorn declined to tell us whether this particular local was his favorite. It's well known in the City that he's got several favored taverns and eating- or drinking-spots scattered around Prydon, but there’s no way under the Goddess’s sky that you’ll get him to admit which one he most prefers. “Does it really matter?” he says when you press him. “The whole point—besides wanting to get out somewhere different for nunch—is to be someplace where people can just walk up to you as if you were anybody else out for a bite or a sup of an afternoon. They’ve got a right to know that I take my responsibilities seriously: and my work… which is being here for them.” He chuckles softly. "And making sure they know that I'm not afraid to be alone with them."

“So you don’t visit with a retinue, then.”

He looks shocked. “Absolutely not! If I'm a good king, it's my people’s business to keep an eye out so that no one makes off with my life without them having a say. And it’s my business to trust them to do that. If I'm a bad king—” He shakes his head. “Well, we have legal remedies for that, if the Goddess or the Lion don’t step in themselves to handle it. Either way, it can get pretty gory before matters are settled. But fortunately that doesn’t seem to be a problem for me at the moment.” The smile is both relieved and wry—the expression of a man who knows from experience how quickly things in politics, or kingship, can change.

The King has a drink of his wine. "But that's not what you were really interested in talking about, was it. Eating on the road…?”

He rubs his brow, then shakes his head with a rueful look on his face. “At first it was interesting, even exciting,” he says, “when the bloom was still on it. When we all thought that the people who’d exiled me would see sense, in weeks or months, and there’d be a recall. But weeks got to be months, and months leaned toward a year… Soon enough we came to realize that being the romantic sort of outlaw that turns up in the old songs—dodging into town and out again for necessities, slipping into taverns in disguise—wasn’t an option that was real, these days. If it ever had been.” His expression is that of a man who can’t believe what an idiot he was. “Once you’ve tried it once or twice and felt the tension—trying to eat like a normal person while you can’t help listening to every voice around you for an accent or a dialect that means they might have reason to be a little too interested in you—” He rolls his eyes. “In the songs, the common people are always on your side. But in my case? When times have been getting hard, and the price on your head's more than most people would need to live on for five years at a time...?”

A laugh of pure amusement at his own witlessness. “So. There we were, just the five or six or seven of us… running for our lives. Or—let’s be truthful—mostly running for mine.” And the smile he’s been wearing goes very dry indeed. “So we were always traveling very light, because packhorses have to be fed, not to mention stabled if you’re anywhere near people… which we learned not to be, pretty quickly. Ducking casually into some town’s market? Not when you might be recognized, and never in a group. Even one person alone had to be careful, because… Well, if you’re a townsman, and somebody you’ve never seen before comes into the local half-month market and buys as much food as one rider can carry, and then rushes off with it? Country people get curious… and suspicious. Who wants outlaws in their neighborhood, after all?” He shakes his head. “That kind of behavior gets that lone rider followed, and then…”

He heaves a long sigh that seems to boil down to meaning “serious unspecified trouble.” “...So that’s something you learn not to do. Especially when, even if you could afford a market run, money’s still always an issue. You’re thinking ‘If we spend it now, what about next month?’ ...And even when you can afford it, it’s not smart to be carrying a lot of food when at any moment—in the middle of the afternoon, in the middle of the night—you have to throw everything onto the horses and just go, because some local opportunist whose lands you’ve recently ridden over has put it all together and figured out who you are. Or made an educated guess.” He shakes his head, laughs at himself again.

“So all that comes to mean that you resign yourself pretty quickly to living off the land—the unpeopled land—as much as you can. And you learn a lot of things in a hurry… and some more slowly.” He has a drink of his wine, looking thoughtful. “You learn to harvest wild grain, if it’s ready; and how to fire it so you can eat it green, if it’s not. You learn to bake flat bread in a pot over the fire, and get over it bringing up memories of town-bakery bread you've loved and won’t get to eat again any time soon. You get really good at killing game, and learning how to dry meat over the fire for another day, another week. You learn that if you try to live too long on just rabbit, you’ll get very ill indeed. You learn that you’d better have at least some vegetables with all that game, or your insides rebel against you and make it really hard to ride. You learn to forage, and to be smart about it—for example, not to pick all the viol-head fern you find, no matter how much you want to, because you might wipe out a supply you'll need again, some day. You learn that fruit helps keep you from getting sick, and you learn how to deal with drying that too, when you can.” He sighs. "All the while, you learn never to assume you're going to find enough to eat. And how to distract yourself from an empty stomach."

He sips his wine, puts it down, gazes into it. “But sometimes conditions are kind,” the King says. “We spent a lot of time in Steldin. Funny, you might think, when the Steldenes were the ones who were hottest to collect the bounty on my head! But between the climate and the terrain, the far south of Steldin near the Peaks is some of the loneliest country in all the Realms. And because of the weather up there, in the summers there’s a lot of good fruit scattered around, free for the taking. Apples, especially: not something you can get every day… especially not down north. Moris came up out of nothing with this dish, one time…and after that, sometimes we all practically lived on it, because it was nearly all there was, and we didn’t even mind. Apples pot-roasted in honey, with belly pork roasted in with it if you’ve got some.” He shakes his head and grins, apparently at himself. “Goddess, it’s ridiculous, we must’ve lived on that for days at a time, over the years, and it’s still making my mouth water—!”

The pleasance’s taverner is passing by, and the King catches her eye, picks up the empty pitcher sitting on the table, waggles it at her. She rolls her eyes at him, nods, and moves on. “And Stelet,” he calls after her, “wait a breath! Are the roast turnips on today?"

The taverner looks back at him, her eyes crinkling in amusement. “Small or large, King?”

“Large, please.”

The taverner nods again and walks on into the pleasance-house to see about his refill. “I missed breakfast...” says the King. "Anyway, we all got to be pretty good cooks as regarded simple things. Probably Moris was the best cook of us all. But then he worked in the kitchen at the Black Palace for a while, did you know? The Queen’s always teasing him about it. After him, Lang would probably have come in a close second—a natural talent. He even wound up teaching Segnbora how to cook. Until he got to work on her, she was no good at that at all.” His eyes went a little distant. “Of course, the two of them were getting quite close at that point." A sidewise look out of hazel eyes. "I expect you know about that, though. I know a chronicler when I see one."

“Oh. I’m sorry, I’ll—”

His eyebrows go up: an amused expression. “What? No, just sit down, for Goddess’s sake. This happens oftener than you might think. It's not as if the biggest library and document repository in the Kingdoms isn't just up the hill...”

After that for a few moments the King says nothing, just turns his glass around and around a few times on the table’s polished stone.   “…Seven years of it, though,” he says eventually. “Of never being sure of where your next meal, and your friends', is coming from. And of not knowing whether getting it is going to somehow get you killed... or one of those friends. Don't get me started on the wild pig stories.”

“Ah. Well. I'll make a note to avoid those.”

He laughs. “Do. But what a life like that does for you, again and again, is show you how hard the people you rule may be having it—not just sometimes, but a lot of the time. What you're doing, they too must often do if the weather's been bad for the crops. So when you finally take up the job to which you were born and bred, you do whatever you must to make sure there's always grain in your people's storage bins to grind, and that their markets, and the movement of food from region to region, are protected. And subsidized, when they need to be. Because that's what the Queen of the World gave you this job for: making sure your people are fed. Ideally, you do that with your brains, and your realm's money. But if that's not working out, then you do it with your heart's blood ploughed into the ground to make the fields bear.” His expression, as he says this, is strangely gentle.

“...Surely that doesn't happen very often, these days."

“These days? No. Normally if the land doesn't bear for a couple of seasons running, the Four Hundred press whoever's sitting in the Throne to step aside in favor of someone else in the royal line better suited. And they do. Because if you're on the Throne at present, the price of your rulership is being ready to do what the Realm needs...even if it kills you.”

Freelorn stretches briefly, then settles again on the bench. “Meanwhile, if these days the King has a bit of a reputation for enjoying his food,” he says, “I'd say that’s just fine. Because it means that every time he sits down to a meal where he doesn’t have to be looking over his shoulder to see if someone sitting a few tables over is trying to work out whether his head’ll fit in the bucket of brine they brought with them…” He shrugs. “Then it means that, every time, he’s got leisure to think of the friends who made sure he got this far—and to thank Herself for them.” And he leans back, tilting his glass, and twists it just enough to let a drop's worth of libation fall on the paving: then drinks.

“...But enough about me,” he says, as the new pitcher of wine arrives and he puts his glass down again. Those hazel eyes glance up from it and without warning become very sharp, very focused indeed, as he pushes the spare glass over and pours it half full. "With an accent like that,” says the King of Arlen, “you're not exactly from around here, are you? Let's talk about you.”

#Middle Kingdoms #Food and Cooking of the Middle Kingdoms #Freelorn #and probably the wine is one of the Brightwood whites #but you knew that

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